Global Enduro

Epliogue (Kind of)

Well I couldn't possibly leave my last post with the question of whether me and the bike made it back to blighty or not. So I thought it only fair to let you all know (I can tell you were all SOOO concerned! Ha!).

Finally after much deliberation on how to get home and whether to sell my bike not, I decided I was far to  much of a sucker for nostalgia and of course stubborn and could not tear myself away from my beaten up KLR. Therefore I decided the way to finish off the trip was a trip home on a cargo boat.

On the 8th January I boarded the Grand Brazil cargo vessel in Buenos Aires, with a slight tear in my eye, not because I was leaving, but because I now have a depressingly large credit card bill to pay for this boating luxury off we went.

The boat sailed via Paranagua, Santos then over to Dakar up to Hamburg and finally Tilbury and home. In all it took 24 days. I was on a Swedish registered vessel with Philippine crew, and everyone seemed very pleasant which was a relief as I was the only passenger so the onset of insanity was very real consideration what with having to talk to myself for over 3 weeks!

I don't have too much to report on Santos and Paranagua. Nice enough but after a quick look round I was done. Rio was really nice, and I found the energy to have a look round the city to see all the usual stuff. On the way back to the port I ended up getting hopelessly lost, and in true ME style I ended up in a Favella near the port. Now my Spanish is OK these days, but my Portuguese is non existent, but lucky for me the word for Kill and Dangerous seem to be very similar, so my suspicions were mildly aroused by various weathered locals clawing at me blathering these words. All was confirmed when a Hilux topped up with heavily armed police went tearing past. At this stage I decided if I wanted to continue floating across the Atlantic it would be best to turn around and find another way back. Finally after a few failed attempts I managed to find a fairly safe looking road to the port entrance, but having thought about it some more, what serious disappointment any mugger would have felt having risked robbing me for my life savings of $1.76, so maybe I was worrying for nothing.

The trip to West Africa was a good laugh as the Sun was out and with bugger all to do I could concentrate of trying to build up the ever illusive base tan that seems to be required of anyone who wants at least someone to believe they have been abroad and not in the pub round the corner for 8 months. With this in mind the week to Senegal went by very nicely, complimented of course by the Karaoke that the Filipinos seem to love, and with my singing voice I'm sure they were all desperately jealous! Also how could I forget the Olympic size pool (actually it was a large bath tub with salt water in it) and of course the Gym (1 broken exercise bike)

The arrival in Senegal was great. I must admit I have a soft spot for Africa and all that seems to go with it, so with my return to Senegal I found many things quite endearing. Namely the important observation I have made regarding cats...

Now something suspicious is going on here. In South and Central America there seems to be a huge shortage of mangy cats but plenty of dead dogs, whilst in Africa it has always been the opposite (maybe the cats are more streetwise). I got off the boat and walked into central Dakar and noticed straight away the huge quantity of cats that by now I wasn't used to seeing. It seemed that every dustbin was some sort of cat manufacturing plant, with a steady stream of felines tumbling over the top and onto the street. Of course they all come in the same spec, which is generally mangy, somewhat leathery with a kind of stringy appearance and of course fitted with an impressive yowel. (If you look hard you can find some fitted with special options like 3 legs or no tail, but I must stress this is a rare find)

After giving this some thought (clearly cabin fever was getting to me) the idea of shipping out the yowling moggies to the Americas in exchange for heaps of squashed dogs seemed a fine plan and would sort out that un-natural imbalance which seems to have occurred. Definitely an export West Africa should be proud of I think.

Anyway, after stepping over numerous heaps of leathered cats I decided Dakar has little to offer, which might be why I didn't bother going there last time! However in my truly energetic state of mind I managed to make it to the Island of Goree where the slaves were sent to the Americas back in the day. This I can honestly say was a trip well worth it. Amazing history and interesting architecture which was accentuated due to the dump that is Dakar right nest to it. To top it off it still has the cannons and gun emplacements from world war 2 in position. I even met some guy who slept inside the large bore cannon at the top of the Island. Great view out of the breech but maybe a tad claustrophobic I felt.

So I left Africa that night, but it was great to be back for a brief visit, and it also confirmed the fact that I would love to ride the beast down the East Coast as soon as the bank manager gives up on the idea of taking my knee caps in payment for this trip.

The week up to Hamburg was pretty dull really as the weather turned and the base tan soon fell off after all that hard work doing nothing the previous week. I must have watched about 40 DVDs a with slight concern that I was going to turn into Barry Norman protege (English Film Critic) if i watched anymore, it was with great relief that I arrived in Europe.

Finally on Friday the 1st of Feb I arrived in Tilbury by London. Great to be home but by god its cold. We sailed in to port in 80mph winds which was fun as I almost got blown off the deck, but of course with a few tins of salted fish my Swedish captain found the energy to steer us home in one piece.

Finally my bike cleared customs that morning without any duty to be paid (quite right too!) and I now find myself back in cold old England with the gripping excitement of spending the next 35 years in an office. (Next major landmark in my life: retirement) So times are good as I'm sure you can all imagine.

Anyone who wants some sensible info on the container home and getting foreign bikes into the UK, send me an e-mail and Ill try my hardest to send you a sensible reply. So thats it. I'm off to find a pension plan and a tedious after work hobby that costs nothing (train spotting seems to fit the requirement)

Keeping positive as always...

bye.

Finally, the End of the End

This shall be my last post for this trip. Before the tears well up in your eyes just think what a load of crap I normally write, and that you reading my blog each week for over 28 weeks during work hours (we all know you have been) has probably cost your company a fair amount through unproductive work time. Now I whole heartedly approve of this, what is life without pointless websites you can access whilst at work, however I'm sure your company does not feel the same. Because of this, from now on I take personal credit for the mysterious increase in productivity in your office of at least 30 mins per week now that I have given up writing this rubbish.

There is of course one exception to this being the last post and that will be if something amusing and unfortunate happens to me in the next few weeks that will make you all smile. Of course I hope this isn't the case but I'm a team player and always happy to break up your next Monday morning with a final chuckle about how some misfortune has come my way. We shall see.

The situation as it stands is a tricky one. I have now whittled my options for returning to Europe down to two. I either catch this cargo boat, which means I will probably end up on the back of a 1982 Toyota Hilux somewhere in Sierra Leon for a few weeks polishing the militias large caliber machine gun, fun yes but work would never believe that one when I turn up 2 months late. The second option is to sell the bike here. A filthy thought I know, but being financially embarrassed as I most certainly have come to be, it has to be considered. I have 2 days to make my mind up so any intelligent thoughts on why I shouldn't sell would be worth hearing now as I need some guidance on this matter. If I do end up selling it will not be easy and frankly I may be even more distressed than when my pet hamster committed suicide by hanging. (another story, it hurts to remember) But money is money and I need some fast so I must forget my sentimental side as well as the images of Peanuts hanging from his wheel and man up. On the 3rd of Jan I shall have decided.

Anyway, back to the point which is the trip back north the Buenos Aires where I find myself now. Crimbo in Ushuaia was fun, but camping was not. I was very sick of it by then. Also I knew I should have worked harder at my German when I was at school as I was one of very few who didn't know how long a boiled sausage should be cooked for and also one of the few who couldn't speak the lingo, personally I blame the fact that I forgot what apple-juice was in my GCSE oral. Anyhow I survived as they all spoke very good English. We ate lots of food thanks to a master chef from Holland and I tried my best to fly the English flag by drinking as much as possible.

Apart from the Christmas fun I also rode to the final sign at the end of ruta 3. Got the pics done and rode back again. During my time in Ushuaia I met some great people with many different stories from dodgy places round the globe. Always great to hear, and fun to meet others with the same interests.

Finally after 5 days enough was enough, so me and the Welsh contingent I had met there headed off on the 26th to get to BA for new years. The was by far the classiest motorcade formed for quite a while as it consisted of not one but two KLR650s. We must have been the envy of all the, eeerr well Llamas and Emu on the way back, as thats all there was. There was one amusing moment at the border coming back into Argentina where the guard clearly wanted a bribe after spending too much on his nagging wife over Christmas so demanded I show him my insurance. Yeah right, insurance, of course I have it, was my response really hoping he would say, OK, great now you can go. Instead he demanded to see it. I went out to my bike pretending to get it, but really not having any clue what to do.

Finally I found a letter in English that looked no more official than a piece of junk mail. I took it in and as confident as I could be handed it to him. It had no evidence of being related to me or my bike or in fact insurance, but I just preyed he couldn't read English. After 5 Min's of scanning the letter as if he was some Oxford Scholar he says to me, `is the really your insurance?`, `yes of course it is` I say trying not to sweat on his nice polished desk. He then goes and asked a few more police, but lucky for me the only English they know is the word bribe, so he had to accept it. He wasn't best pleased at all. but after I got a bit stroppy with him and told him he had to give me the stamp as I had insurance the job was done. Quality blag!

Once again I was committed to riding silly distances to get to BA in 5 days. Clearly we managed it, and even got to see the Welsh Colony on the way which I must admit I really quite enjoyed. I even sampled a cup of fine tea and some Welsh cakes at some posh tea room. Still I'm not quite sure why they advertise Welsh tea as a specialty as I have not come across the rumor that the Welsh are famous for tea before, and nor had my Welsh friend, but hey there we go. The tea was good and the cakes were even better.

I wish there was more to say about riding up Ruta 3 to BA but frankly it was duller than... eeerr, well its duller than sitting at a desk for 8 hrs a day, 5 days a week pretending you have an important job to do, whilst instead reading travel blogs, but anyway there were more Emu and Llamas to see, and in fact we came across one llama that had got into a fight with a car, and clearly lost as it was dead, but I'm pretty sure the car was rather dead as well with its whole front end smashed in. Luckily the occupants were OK but clearly wished they had fitted some form of Llama bars to the front of their car.

Slowly we reached our destination, and with that the ques to the petrol stations became longer and longer. It was misery having to wait at least half an hour to get filled up to then be told they had just run out anyway. Every now and then we would reach a station with no que, where I can only liken the feeling of joy at not having to que as a similar feeling one gets when you actually find a Ginsters pepper steak slice for under one pound in a UK petrol station. Sheer joy, I'm sure you will all agree, but sadly becoming a rare find!

After 4 nights in a tent with no shower and a chain which was literally falling off the sprockets, we arrived in BA. What a relief to be here, first things first I had a beer, or course. Then met up with Irish Kev, the man who liked crashing into hedges way back in Peru. Interestingly he decided to crash again in Peru post bike repair, but he is fine and is now here waiting, yes you have got it, more repairs and more BMW parts!

I now find myself unsure of what to do for new year but hanging out with an Irishman and a Welshman, we have yet to find the Scot though, but Ill make a point off approaching every pasty looking male in a street fight tonight, and ask him if he is Scottish and would he like to join us.

But until then I have cleaned the beast and fitted new sprockets and chain. I even have a buyer lined up, so seriously if anyone can think of a good reason why I shouldn't sell, and bring the beast home then this is your chance to persuade me.

Thanks EVERYONE for following my progress, it has been and epic trip, and I have so many lame stories to tell my friends in the pub at home they will hate me. (At last I can put the badger story to bed boys!)

Finally a huge thanks to everyone who has helped me out over the past 7 months and 1 day from leaving Anchorage to arriving in BA. There are too many people to thank so don't cry if I forget you, but thanks to everyone who let me stay for free at their place, including Don and Kirsten in Smithers, of course Jeff and Danial in Victoria (Ill be waiting for you both to show up in England soon!). Random man in Oregon, the Hodder family in Seattle, Kats friends, and how can I forget Bob and Jon! San Fran Bob, the T-shirt is still with me mate, and its the cleanest one I have! cheers buddy.

Also great to have met the boys at flying, I think I have forgotten how now so I shall expect free lessons soon (yeh right) Sierra I hear you finally have a job where you need to get out of bed before 4pm. Life's a bitch hey! Tim I made it mate, and I even stopped once or twice for a piss and a spot of food. I'm sure you owe me a pint when I get back, and I told you the KLRs rule.

Michael thanks so much for the hospitality in Costa Rica, it was nice to see the place, watch us win at rugby with a fellow Brit and dry out after being wet for 3 weeks!

Salvador and Guido thanks so much for having me stay when I rocked up out of nowhere. It was great to hang out and I think you should come the the UK very soon so as I can fill you with warm English beer with bits floating in it.

I never thought I would be saying this, but also a huge thanks to Kawasaki for all their help. Especially Kawasaki CIDEF in Santiago. Rodrigo and everyone there, thanks so much. I would have been stuffed without your help.

Well there we go, I hope I haven't forgotten anyone, if so I'm sorry. I have to say another huge thanks to everyone who has donated towards my trip, it really did make it possible to continue, you should feel proud, its not often you see such generosity. And finally thanks to all the people who have been reading my site and keeping an interest in the trip. Its great to know someone is reading it, and as I said it feels even better that Ive managed to use up some of your boring day at work. Africa shall hopefully be next.

THANKS EVERYONE!!!!! and happy new year and a that crap.

Simon

Until next time..........

MISSION COMPLETED-I have reached the finish!

By Christ that was a long way, Im sure if someone had told me it was going to be tougher than a commute on the Northern Line I may have reconsidered, but when my friend Geoff suggested it as a good idea after a few ales I forgot to check the distance. (Yes Geoff I blame you whole heartedly)

Anyway, here I am a tad after over 25,000 miles, 8 tyres, 4 chains, 2 and a half sets of brake pads and 2 pistons. I now find myself in Ushuaia the most Southerly City in the world. It also so happens that I am camping right next the what I assume to be the most southerly rugby club in the world so I shall certainly be taking a pic of that for the Rugby Club at home. Im sure I could quote plenty more stupid stats regarding the trip from top to bottom, and no doubt after 10 or so beers I shall, but for now this is the story from Santiago down...

After asking a few veterans of riding how long it would take to get to Ushuaia they said that 10 days was possible but it would be a serious mission. Clearly I took this too much to heart as it took me 5 days which included a minor detour of 370 miles and a spot of sight seeing as well.

I rode like a man possessed for about 450 miles the first day which was not easy after 3 hours sleep, also I was trying to run the bike in after its rebuild. So with no more than 55 mph on the speedo it was a long long day, but the road was a very agreeable dual carriageway so all was well. After the first night camping I rode to Puerto Montt where I was stupid enough to trust what a toll booth woman told me and ended up riding the wrong way for almost 200 miles! Silly, yes however I did realize this issue but thought I could use it to my advantage by getting the boat from a place called Quellon on the island south of Puerto Montt towards Chaiten where I could ride the carretera Austral. So I got there to be told I missed the boat by about 8 hrs but I could go back to Puerto Montt and catch it there the next morning.

Off I ride feeling pretty annoyed, leaving the town, and a heap of dead pooches splattered on the road. I think some kind driver must have thought it more sporting to kill a whole group of socializing dogs rather than choosing to delay his journey by 20 seconds and stop. I carried on back to the short but expensive ferry back to Puerto Montt and finally arrived at 10 pm. A total waste of money but the guard at the ferry port said I could camp there for the night, so I set my tent up in the managers parking space.

The next morning I sensed victory, and when 9 am finally arrived I went in to get my ticket only to be told the boat was full and I would have to wait 2 days! ARRGG! I could stand it no more... Off I went all the way back to the crossing to Baraloche in Argentina.

I am quite glad it turned out that way as the road to Baraloche and beyond was very nice indeed. Great views of snow capped mountains and a seriously pleasing assault on my nose from all the flowers by the road. This new smell was quite incredible to my senses after many months of smelling the standard waft of road kill and stewing carcases. It was a very nice ride indeed.

After my second oil change in as many days due to the new piston and the miles I was covering I was ready for the long haul South. On reaching the famously windy Ruta 40 I realized that yes it is indeed some what gusty to say the least. This was not too much of an issue on the tarmac but the gravel later on did not mix too well with those mean old cross winds.

The next few days all seemed to merge into one really. There was a lot of riding and a lot of wind, occasionally complimented by an Emu or an Armadillo throwing itself in front of the bike. The Emu are particular amusing. They really do look like that puppet that the entertainer Rod had his hand stuck up all those years ago, but they certainly didn't seem to have the same balls Rods pet Emu had when attacking Parkinson, instead they just flapped about madly and often ran in front of the bike.

Armadillos on the other hand are much quicker than I imagined. I tried to chase one to get a photo but the little sod was too fast for me, then again I would run fast if I had some unsavory looking slob in bike gear was chasing me.

One section of Ruta 40 was a long piece of gravel, apart from that I was surprised at how much tarmac there really was. Even the gravel parts of the road were very good. The only problem which faced me was where the cars had pushed the gravel into deep lines made it very tricky to ride in. Clearly I would therefore not ride in it, but this is where the wind came into its own. With one big gust whilst riding 60 mph you may not have any choice whether you were going to end up in the gravel or not. All told though I made it through without any falls.

After the 3rd night camping I got to El Calafate and went to see the Glacier there. Well all I can say is that this Glacier was seriously impressive and well worth the entrance fee. It blows the Alaskan ones out of the water (no punn intended!) It was certainly ranks high up amongst the most impressive things I have seen on this trip, and unusually for me it lived up to what was promised to me! The sheer size of it, the creaking and crunching as well as the chunks falling off where really cool. I think I may be right in saying it is one of the last advancing glaciers in the world (I may be wrong though) at 2 metres a day! Quite swift hey. 

After a bit of sight seeing I headed off South once more, but for the past few days I had noticed my chain becoming stupidly loose, and only after 1 day post adjustment it was almost coming off once more. Next new chain I fear. So finally after another cold night road side camping I arrived at a main town and bought myself a new chain. More expense, but I fitted it and headed off towards Ushuaia.

All was fine but the borders were a pain in the arse. Basically I had to leave Argentina to enter Chile to then leave Chile to re-enter Argentina. Each time I had to do all the paperwork required for the bike. What a pain, but finally after this and a small boat crossing I was on Tierra del Fuego and on my way to Ushuaia.

I couldn't help but get the feeling my bike had finally had enough as everything seems to be dropping off it now. I have lost my flip-flops, my cooking pot and then one of my panniers half fell off. Luck for me I have many spare nuts and bolts from previous minor technical faults, so ten mins and I was off again.

Finally at about 8pm on the 21st December 2007, I arrived in Ushuaia! YES!!!!!! In my mind I expected some kind of great celebration, but clearly reality is very different. After a few pics by the sign I found my campsite and have set up camp for 5 days before I leave on the 26th for Buenos Aires where I catch a container boat back to Europe on the 8th January.

Before you all cheer and clap at this being the end of my posts, I am afraid there will prob. be 2 more to come. (If you're lucky!) One for the trip to BA, and maybe another to let you all know if I sunk or got sold into white slavery.

Sorry this post insnt too gripping but frankly I am very tired and need a Crimbo sleep.

HAPPY CHRISTMAS EVERYONE.

Kawasaki to the rescue!!!!

I thought finding decent material for this post would be tricky what with entering a world where people actually pay attention to the laws of the land, drive on the side of the road they are supposed to, and even stop at traffic lights. How dull I thought, where is the fun in that, but in fact things are turning out very well indeed.

After a few days in Salta, North Argentina I decided my hunt for this illusive ´amazing´ steak I had been promised was not going to happen. Dissipointment met me at every resaurant. It got so bad someone even tried to palm a badly fried egg on a burger off as a steak to me. Pah! However the weather was good and I met some cool people. The bike however was still ailing and things were only getting worse.

The day I left Salta I tried to start the bike but was met with nothing but a small click from the starter. Now my battery had decided to give up. Normally not a problem you may say as I would use the kickstart... I do not have a kickstart, this meant I had a problem. So my friend jump starts the bike for me and off I go, but I was fored to keep going without stopping the engine as the bike was far to heavy to push by myself. This sounds OK but when you have to stop for fuel and for road blocks it is far from easy.

Finally it was too dark to carry on so I was forced to stop in a nasty little town in the desert after about 400 miles. That day I used almost 1 litre of oil. Rather a lot really when the engine only holds 2.5 litres! Too top this off I had no money, very little petrol and I couldnt start the bike on my own, certainly not what I needed.

The next day after getting a nice man on a scooter to push the bike for me I was off. So I carried on riding almost out of fuel,(which of course was a rouge guess as my speedo is now bust) finally arriving at a small town where Murphys law once more, they had run out of fuel. I soon realised the reason why there was no fuel was due to an angry mob of locals who were blockading the road into town with flaming tyres and branches, typically of course the road I wanted to use to get out of town. So to add to the fuel tankers not getting though nor was I. I tried to sweet talk them but several hairy shouldered Argi yobs threatened me with broom sticks so I retreated. I then asked the police to move them but they couldnt care less and only stood there smoking cheap cigrettes whilst sweating on each other.

So there I was with barely any fuel, unable to turn the engine off as I couldnt start it again and a road full of simpletons kitted out in dirty wife beaters whilst burning tyres. Plan 2 had to be put into action. So off I tore as fast as I could over the dust through the thinly placed bushes 10 metres off the road. Before the resident 'leader' and his minions knew what was going on I had ridden round their blockade, back on the road and off to feedom. As I rode off all I could here were the angry whistles and shouting. I answered with a merry toot on the horn and preyed my petrol wouldnt run out now.

After reaching another town where I got fuel and managed to resurect the battery for a full day of starting I was back on the road. Finally after many more hours of tedious roads and a poor attempt by a policeman for a bribe (clearly he wasnt prepared for a man so well versed in not paying) I got to Mendoza. I found the hostel that some friends I had met booked me into and it was time to relax.

The few days in Mendoza was spent in a very productive way. I was either contacting people at Kawasaki in Santiago to try and prepaire them for the slob of a man that would appear (me incase you hadnt guessed by the pics) or I was blind drunk on free wine. (I emphasise FREE of course) Being English and being broke free wine was a blessing, the hangover the next day was not. (The long forgotten curse of cheap wine Im afraid).

I also tried my hand at a spot of wine tasting with my friends, two of which have an unhealthy love for Manchester United FC I might add. So me, Sharyon (alright Shaz! ha ha) and the boys headed off on the worst bicycles in the world to sample some treats of the grape variety. It started in disaster with 1 puncture and then the first vinyard was shut dam it! After a team talk and more dam cycling we managed to drink ourselves into a good mood. I can assure you the spit bucket for the wine was not used once!

So off I head to Santiago and Chile to meet with Kawasaki and to see if they can help my now seriously ailing bike. I arrived at the border to firstly be called an illegal repeatedly for not stamping out of Chile the last time, but after I explained that it would be a good idea to put an immigration office on their other borders and not 150 miles from them, they decided maybe I wasnt an evil person. Finally I got through.

I was greeted in Santiago with loads of sunshine and lots of crazy drivers. I found the Kawasaki dealership and well the rest is, for me at least, quite frankly amazing. The people at the dealership have been incredible. I can seriously not emphesise this enough. On arrival I was greeted straight away, they took my bike in and began work without even an explination. After taking the engine to pieces Carlos the mechanic found that I have actaually broken the piston (see pic) For me, although it maybe should not have happened in the first place, (but with the fuel in Peru I am not suprised) I think it pays hugh testement to the KLR as I have ridden around 2500 miles since I first noticed the issue and the bike just kept on going.

After talking to Carlos the bike needs a new piston, the cylinder machined. On top of this I shall be replacing the tyres, the battery and hopefully the speedo drive as well. Here comes the really amazing part....

Kawasaki are doing all the work under the USA warrenty, and I assure you they are by no way obliged to do so!!! The rules of warrenty for the bike state that it is covered in the USA only (place of purchase) so for them to help me out they way they have is incredible and has quite franky enabled me to carry on my trip as I by no means have had the money to pay for the repairs. LEGENDS!!!!! (I must stess this is NOT THE NORM but I assume very kind Crimbo generosity by Kawasaki.... later examination of the piston discovered the damage to be bad fuel causing piston knock.... advise to others... dont go to Peru as they have shit fuel, * not a realistic option I know* or dont work the engine too hard if you hear it pinging)

So the weather in Santiago is very nice indeed, I currenty have a bike that has been rebuilt and this leaves me a whole 10 days to get to Cape Horn,(not actually that easy!) If I dont get there in 10 days it will be a really fun old Crimbo in a tent in Patagonia by myself. I really cant wait! I plan to leave here on Saturday if all goes well, but of course there is no rest for the skint biker as I am now on a misson to try and get me and the bike back to at least the right side of the world, with the ideal being Europe, for as cheap as possible.

The only way to achieve this cheap price and I can assure it is not really that cheap is to take a cargo boat back with my bike. Its therefore looking more and more likely that I shall be on the high seas via Africa for 24 days in order to get home! Does the ridiculousness of this story every end you may ask. Well who knows, as I often ask myself the same question.

After this passed week and the help that Kawasaki are currently giving me I cannot offer enough thanks. I really would have been stuck without them. Also with regards to me trying to get home on the cheap, if there are any wealthy eccentric types reading this (English landowners you normally fit this descripton) And you really dont know how to spend your large piles of money. PLEASE whatever you do dont bequeeth it all to your pet cat or for that matter your faithful labrador, thats just dumb. Instead you may want to help me to get home without having to scrub the decks of a cargo vessel for almost 4 weeks. Feeling tempted? well you should be, swill down another pink gin and get on paypal. You will be assured a free bottle of Bombay Saphire if you do.

Again please let me stress the help I have recieve from Kawasaki, you may all think I am on their pay roll, but no you are wrong, I wish I was. I really mean this, Kawasaki, especially the Santiago branch you saved me! A special thanks to Rodrego Nuno, Eduardo and Carlos. You were all great and a credit to your company! Many Thanks!

This is me signing out once again. Next post somewhere between here and the bottom of the continent.

Sat. Nav. is for wimps

Well all I can say is that the religious moment my bike experienced must have paid off as I have made it to Chile and a bit more in one piece (just) The story goes a little something like this...

After haggling with a lot of wise old bats at the market in La Paz I managed to buy absolutely nothing useful for myself, however I did manage to find a dried Llama fetus for you Jethro. As well as the mummified llama I also managed to find myself the best map I could of Salar Del Uyuni and the Atacama desert. Not only did this take me a whole day, but the best thing I could find resembled a map drawn in the early 1900s but a blind man with no hands. This was one serious doodle of a map. But I was the best I could find so beggers cant be choosers and all that.

After much tinkering with the bike with the hope that it would survive the next week off I went to ride the worlds most crappiest.... eeer sorry I mean dangerous roads. So I got there trembling with fear. I even made sure I emptied my bladder post decent in case it was really that terrifying, and what was I met with but a pretty good road really. I'm sure you were all expecting that comment, and frankly I don't care. It wasn't dangerous, Ive seen more dangerous kittens in my day. In actual fact I think it may have been one of the safest roads in Bolivia. The only reason why it got its nickname was due to the road being the only main road between two towns, so the Bolivian drivers had to use it. That coupled with the fact the drivers in Bolivia seem to pride themselves in trying to slaughter each other on the road spells a recipe for disaster. However a new road has been built to try and streamline the killing somewhat. So all this leaves you with is an empty road full of people called Charlie and Hugo bumping down on mountain bikes, without even the slightest hope of a truck running them off the edge.

So there I was on the bike honestly trying my up-most to plough down as many cyclists as I could but not having to much luck, waiting with anticipation for the pit of crocodiles or pool of ill tempered minnows which I would be forced to negotiate. Of course as expected I found none of this. The only thing I found was the bottom of the hill and a very tidy little town. Good fun but dangerous I think not.

I may write a letter suggesting they make it obligatory to drink a bottle of rum before the decent. That way it may spice it back up again, or better still just let the locals back on the road!

After I finished riding ´the road of flower arranging´ I heading along some great dirt roads on the way to Uyuni which my crayon sketch of a map suggested was about 100 km long. Two days later, with some of the most epic riding I have done I arrived near where my map said I would.

I can honestly say that this two day ride was easily one of the best rides I have done the whole trip. The roads where truly epic and yes I love to say it, it was far more ´dangerous´than the pant soiling experience I had earlier on that day. After negotiating crazy truckers, landslides. river crossing and many many sheer drops I finally decided I wasn't going to do this road in two hours like the map suggested.

Just before I finally found somewhere to camp would you believe it but I came across a dead leopard thing (later I found out it was a Jaguar). It was really cool looking apart from being a bit dead, but clearly it had taken on one of the truck driver who had been banned from plouging down half of the Eaton school leavers on the road of death, so instead he took out his anger on a rare species. I took a quick pic for the family album and went to camp.

The next day was almost a full day of the now infamous 2 hour road (ref. child's school map) After passing through an amazing variety of climates and altitudes, included a valley full of mango trees I was really taken by this area and Bolivia in general. I got so exited by the site of thousands of mango's I finally had to stop and ask a local if I could have one. He took me to his farm where he proceeded to give me about 10 before I could stop him. I was so overcome with excitement and hunger I ate 3 at once, was almost sick and was forced to leave before I vommed all over his ripening crop. Great days.

At last I reached tarmac and the road to Uyuni. I rode that section without incident but then reached the turn off to Uyuni. I bought a spare fuel can, topped up with another 1/2 liter of oil (yes still burning lots) and off I went back to the dirt. The stuff was tough with really deep sand. I was all over the place, but after a few hours I finally reached Uyuni. What an amazing few days I had experienced and with 3 more to go I think that was just the start.

So after sorting out supplies in the form of soup and more bloody tuna I was ready to ride Salar del Uyuni and the Atacama desert to Chile.What made Uyuni a half decent place was only because I met a great couple from Belgium, (Hi if you're reading this and Freddie thanks for the help on the bike, don't be upset but the hand guard broke off when I thought it a good idea to crash. Gutted! At least we tried)So armed with my Chris Columbus style doodle of a map and my trusty compass off I went. I got to the Salt which thankfully was dry and took off.

I must admit it is very surreal riding as fast as you like (which isn't fast at this altitude!) on a smooth bright white surface. I'm sure a lot of you have been here so I wont go on, but I drove about a bit and after a few hours and deciding my map was totally inaccurate I brought out the compass I headed South West to the track I hoped was there to get me into the desert.

Thankfully the track off the salt lake did exist and believe it or not I did actually find it using a compass and the map. The problem with the salt lake is none of the tracks on the salt are accurate as each year it rains and the routes I assume disappear. I soon worked out not to trust the map for this bit. (or the rest!)

After riding the rest of the day I reached San Juan. The road there was very rocky and disaster struck. Yes I lost my camera tripod. I am still gutted and all of you be thankful you are not traveling with me as the moaning didn't stop for hours. (to myself of course) So anyway you can all be pleased that no longer will you be getting the boy band pose of me with the bike in the back ground. Sorry, I know its a shame.

I got more fuel at San Juan out of coke bottles camped in the desert and waited for the next day which I knew would be tough.

So I was right day two was very tough. It began with the fatal mistake of me asking a local the way. Of course they sent me the wrong way and I am still cursing myself for Not trusting my compass bearing I had sorted out. I got totally lost... Actually not lost, just temporarily unaware of my position (for 3 hours) But on a serious note thankfully I had a compass as the route is very disorientating and there are so many tracks all unmarked. So finally I decide to trust my better Judgment and ignore the map which is useless, ignore the locals which are more useless and in fact nowhere to be seen anymore as not even they are dumb enough to ride around in the desert in midday. And so I trust my compass. After another hour or so now riding over scrub as there are no tracks I get to the brow of a hill and see the lake I have been searching for. Rather overjoyed I bump down the mountain side avoiding large cracks in the ground and reach the lake. Here I am met by hoards of tourists. None of them can appreciate how vast and empty the area is when sitting in there 4x4s being driven about. Something I wish they did as the stupid grin on my face at realizing I am on the right route was met with I'm sure thoughts of ´who is this crazy fool´Anyway, after a few pics with the pink flamingos off I went with my trusty compass.

The rest of the route was fairly easy in terms of navigation as there are tracks to follow. but the sand was very deep in places and very hard to ride in. The rest of the day was complimented by two falls in deep sand. Not too bad but tough to pick the bike up and get the momentum up again, especially at 4500+ meters.

Second night was spent camping at another salt lake full of flamingos. Very cool birds really even if they do find it hard look manly, balancing there looking all pink with one limp foot dangling down. Anyway sexual orientation of the flamingo aside, the scenery was great the whole day, really bizarre with incredible rock formations, huge mountains and incredible colours. Now who sounds like a flamingo hey!

The last day was spent riding the last section to the Chilean border. the road was ok, in fact not too bad at all. I had to check the bike out of Bolivia so rode up to the grand altitude of 5025 metros to the Aduana office. The guy was nice but after almost 1 hour of him singing along to the Bolivian equivalent of Frank Sinatra I was very ready to leave. On the way out I saw some geysers full of smelly old mud bubbling away, very flash Gordon indeed. And off I went.

About 10 milesfrom the end of the deep gravel roads and the border I was now meeting more and more 4x4 s coming along full of tourists. All the time I'm on this surface the only way to stay ´rubber side down´as they say is to stand on the pegs. Something I have become actually quite good at, and not an easy task with all the weight on the bike. Then 1/2 mile from the end a 4x4 comes tearing along decided he wont move over, pushes me into really the gravel and BANG, I'm off, and off hard. I fly off the bike, and end up on the ground with the bike top of me (A habit I must shake off I think). The 4x4 stops but doesn't help, instead all the fools inside just stare, and would you believe it but one cock even takes a picture.

I manage to kick the bike off myself and have a very sore leg. I think I was very lucky as I think my boot was prob the only thing that stopped my leg being broken.(once again I might add) Finally the driver gets out, helps me pick the bike up. After which some wealthy old cow in the back seat of the 4x4 says to me. ´maybe next time you should stop´. I seriously would have punched her if my leg wasn't hurting so much to stop me walking over to her. Instead I said nothing. Now I may be wrong but she certainly didn't look like the 2007 dirt biking champion, and in fact she looked more like the type of person who was more accustomed to riding her range-rover to the local Gin palace and back, so for her to try and tell me how  I should be riding wound me up no end. For the record, if you try to stop fast on 1ft deep gravel when a jeep comes flying at you round a corner you are finished for sure, the front wheel would dig in and that would be it. The only thing I could do was try to ride it out and hope for the best. Next time ill stick her on the bike and drive at her a 50 mph, then see what she does. (deep breath....calm down Simon...)

Anyhow, finally I find myself in Argentina after deciding Chile is far too expensive. The one problem is that I managed to leave Chile without getting stamped out of the country, the Argentinian side didn't seem to care, but I'm a bit concerned on how to explain to the immigration why I am the wrong side of the border when I try to get back to Santiago. Argentina seems great, for me spring has finally sprung. It is finally nice and warm with lots of greenery and stuff. Just to test me I had yet another puncture yesterday in some stinky little village so I spent my evening with a tyre iron and a lot of bad language to get it fixed. Finally the job was done but I assure you I shall not be buying another Wallmart hand pump, its about as effective as asking a fat asthmatic child to blow up your tyre.

The ride towards Salta where I now find myself was very nice indeed. Great road in warm sun with loads of butterfly's everywhere. It felt like I was in some kind of Disney Production as I rode along surrounded by butterflys, I almost found myself breaking into a rendition of the sound of music or something equally terrible but the mounting levels of bug juice from all the butterfly's squashing against me spoiled the moment.

Lastly for now (I promise) another huge thanks again to everyone who is helping me out via the website, wish I could thank you all individually but I have to send out one big wet world-wide-web-kiss,(great alliteration) thanks so much! So there you go. It is very nice to be in a country where animals entrails take second place to good old fashioned meat. and where, yes at last there are roads signs! Yippee!

Stats:

Road kill: plus one more sparrow (they really are stupid) total count: 6 I think

Miles: An educated guess due to broken speedo but I recon about 21,500 miles maybe more.

Punctures: 2, chains 3, tyres 6 and finally me falling off: too many to remember!

Mission to Machu Pichu then off to Bolivia

So I finally thought to myself it would be criminal not to go up and see Machu Pichu. However a rant is going to have to begin as the cost is quite rediculous! If you want to do it the normal way and I think the cheapest way for most people, you are forced to fork out around $70+ dollars for the Train, (where locals pay $3). You then have to buy the entrance ticket for $45 and to top that off the bus up the mountain is another $12. CRAZY! I mean it was very impressive but my god Im struggling to think it was is $150 impressive!

So to live up to my tight arsed nature I decided I can beat the system and do it on the cheap. I leave at 3pm on the bike to ride up to where the train leaves from. I get there, and after trying to get a local priced ticket and failing I decide that I defo have to use the bike to get as close as possible. To add to it I went up there with a grand sum of $65 for everything incl. enterance, fuel, food etc, so paying the normal price was not an option.

Now it is possible to take a 4 hour ride round some mountains down dirt tracks and crumbling passes all the way to a hydro electric station near a place called Santa Terresa from where it is possible to walk the 3 km down the rail tracks to Aquas Caliente (town by Machu Pichu). So I head off in the dark with the aim to camp half way. The bike is totaly unloaded with just me and me camping gear. So off I head for 10 miles until I realise of course I have a bloody puncture! 10 miles away from any town with no repair stuff. In 20,000 miles this is my first puncture and in 20,000 miles the first time I havent been carrying my tools to fix one. So dam typical. So I ride 10 miles on a flat down a mountain road with lots of nasty bends. To top it off I am going that slowly that every dog in the neibourhood sees its chance with me going so slowly am runs out to bike my legs. Lots of dog kicking required.

Finally I get back to a small town where I find a tyre man. He lives in this crappy hut in a mud car park. He proceeds to fix the tyre, but to say it was a frustrating experience is an understatement. He gets the punctures repaired (3 of them by a big nail) and proceeds to put the wheel back on without having any idea of how to do it. In this part of the world the answer to something not fitting is to hit it with a hammer. It took me 20 mins to stop him trying to hit the axle, and another 20 mins to get him to just leave me alone and stop trying to help so I could do it myself. ARGGHH!

Finally the job was done but it was so late I ended up camping in his mud car park. Now $8 poorer for the puncture repair.

The next day I was off at 4 am. The ride was a nightmare. I was told the road was tarmac but almost all of it was mud and rocks with numerous landslides.(If the loclas dont know they just make stuff up. Anything better than losing face!) I had no money for food, very little for fuel and only just enough for the entrance to machu Pichu. So after 4 hours of hard riding I arrive at the hydroelectric plant. Only to then walk 3.5 km to Aquas Calientes then after buyimg my ticket I couldnt afford the bus up the mountain so walked that too. By this stage I only just had enough money for fuel to get back so I couldnt even afford water. To add to this people in this area were so unfriendly no one would give me even a drink of tap water. Its quite amazing how mass tourism makes everyone involved really quite nasty and money grabbing. I wasnt too impressed to say the least.

Lucky for me, halfway up Machu Pichu I came accross some english tourists coming down, they spotted me drooling and panting up the hill, took pitty on me and gave me some water. When your lucks down you can always trust a Brit!

Finally I arrive at the top to be met by fast food joints and shops. I fight my way through the crowds and in I go.

It certainly is an amazing place, and the scenary is great too. I wondered around looking at the ruins but was frankly so tired I really struggled to muster up any energy what so ever. Here comes the dark side of the place and of course my moan. The number of tourists of course spoils it slightly. There are litteraly hundreds, the funny thing is that there are loads of gap year students pracing around with walking sticks they have paid far too much money for and dont even have a need for, due to this it seemed to be a serious hazard to be anywhere near them as they swing their sticks wildly round without realising it, as what a surprise at 18 yrs old their legs are working just fine without the help of 4ft of walking stick. To top off this hazzard the stick acrobatics being performed were knocking over all the old ladies who actually needed the sticks but didnt have one due to the gap year students buying them all up! Really, it got quite frustrating, so after an hour or so I had to leave, stepping over the carnage of crippled grannies with walking sticks lodged in their hip-replacements and I headed back down.

I needed to get back to the bike by 4pm as the policia guarding my bike was leaving then. So I really had to get back fast.I persuaded the bus woman to give me a free ride down the hill after I told her where I had walked from, mustered up a small tear and played the sympathy card, so that was a bonus but after that it was the long walk back on the rail lines to the bike, then a five and a half hour ride through dirt mud and rain back to Cuzco, where I finally got to at 8.30 that night. That was a 4am to 8.30 pm non stop excersise session which was evident by the massive blisters and swolen knee I was now supporting. Even the Policeman looking after my bike couldnt belive how fast I had done it. A true mission, and to top it off I only just had enough money to buy fuel to get back. What a trip!

When I got back to my hostel I had a great suprise. Totally broke and tired I arrived to be met by an envolope from a fellow KLR owner who I had met. In it I had been left a very generous donation to keep me on the road. (Thanks so much Aussie Ben, if only you knew how much that helped! See you at the bottom for Christmas)

That same night I also bumped into an old friend from the money no kill incident n Panama. So it was great to hang out with Cessar and we had a funny few days. The best parts had to be summed up by the frog smoothy we both enjoyed. This involved buying up a skinned and gutted frog from some wise old bag, who happened to insist it was good for my health in every sense, whilst telling me that she looked like she was about to drop dead at any moment and was just about hangging onto one last black fang at the front of her mouth. Somehow I felt that she either didnt sample her own remedies or maybe she was just lying, and I was actually buying a basic garden frog with no more mystical powers than a pot of green tea.

So Cessar and I headed to the smoothy stand with said frog, the woman happily abliged on purifying the frog with several delicious fruits and we the downed the whole lot. And before anyone askes no it didnt taste like chicken, in actual fact it tasted like shit! But to look on the more positive side, although I dont feel 10 years younger like the old crone said I would, I am still alive. To add to the irony she told me it was good for my lungs. The next day I got the onset of a chest infection! Rather than eating 20 more frogs to beat the bug Im afraid I went back to good old fasioned antibiotics. I am on the mend.

So the next day I left Cuzco which was actually a great relief as it did seem like a mini dysney world. Off I rode to Bolivia via Lake Titicaca. The ride was quite long and cold but no too bad. Now for the more serious side of things. At this stage I think my initial worries about the bike could be valid. I am currently buring silly amounts of oil, have consulted a friend I met in the USA who knows his KLR´s and I have serious concerns that my piston rings are failing.

Right now I have no choice but to continue and keep filling up with oil as the nearest dealer is many hundreds of miles away. When all feels lost I decided I had one option left. Devine Intervention. So on my arrival to Lake Titicaca and Bolivia I head to a town called Copacabana. Thanks to a great tip from my mate Sal I get the bike and myself blessed by a priest (Also Sal thanks for the donation buddy. It really helps and if I need a new piston I may REALLY REALLY HELP, this same message goes out to Ned, cheers buddy. Im off today to buy mystery gifts of a cursed nature)

So I find myself in the main square of Copacabana in a line with lots of locals. I am the only bike and they find it hilarious. I dress the bike with flowers and other nick-nacks, and after a while the priest arrives. Chants an bit, throws water on the bike and me and wishes me luck. Maybe the now blessed KLR will decided it wants to stop burning the OPEC oil reserves what with its religious moment and all. I doubt it though. (see Video of blessing)

So after me and the bike being blessed, lots of pics with locals, an invite to lunch with a group which I declined as I needed to get moving, I headed off to La Paz. This is where I find myself now. Trying to decide what to do with the bike as the Atacama desert and Salar del Uyni is next. Not a good place to breakdown when youre on your own. All should be fine though as the only choice is to continue.

In a moment Im off to check out this witches market, and to buy a really bad woolly jumper as I am freezing with only T-shirts to my name. Signing out from another intallment

p.s To top things off my speedo has broken. Very annoying so my milage count will have to be an educated guess. Currently I am on about 20,200 miles. Oh and I ran over a small chicken by accident. I couldnt help it I swear! whoops, such a short but meaningful life. road kill count + 1.

Going solo once more...

Since I last posted all was rosie and well, Kev and I were off to ride some serious dirt roads all the way to Cuzco...

So off we set in the morning riding up some steep mountains on tarmac with tight turns. Every so often, with me at the front I was looking in my mirrors to see if all was well, then after one corner I look and see nothing behind me. Clearly there was nowhere to go so the answer to Kev's disappearance was obvious. With slight panic I spin the bike round and ride back to the last corner. Thankfully for Kev, and for my bloody pressure I see him standing up walking out of the verge. Yes, Kev crashed, and crashed quite hard at (we recon) around 50 mph! We really were in the back of beyond so it is SO SO fortunate that he was not seriously hurt. The last thing I needed was wounded Irishman slumped over the back of my bike for 2 hrs while I ride to the nearest witch doctor (my suspension really couldn't have handled it!)

Apart from a few cuts and bruises he was walking. This, however is more than can be said for the BMW. It was looking pretty trashed, with the front end taking most of the force. After a few hours of duck-taping bits together we haul the bike out of the ditch but it doesn't start. This is a serious problem as BMWs are stupidly complicated. It ends up that they have some sensor at the front, that if it takes a hard knock, it stops the bike from working what so ever. So we are stuck.

After much Sat. phone use (lucky I have it hey) we get absolutely nowhere. BMW are useless, but we work out there is no dealership for a very long way. In fact another country! And this particular BMW prob. needs of course a special touch from only a BMW dealership. I hate to say it, eeer actually no I don't, KLR wins over once again. Simple is good.

After a lot of head scratching and fiddling and a total lack of luck in trying to stop the odd passing truck Kev gets the bike started! Incredible I cry, as we promptly leave to head back towards civilization (hence why I have not done the dirt tracks I intended)

After about 100 plus miles we need fuel so we stop at a station. Fill up I start up, off I roll, and Kev, well he stays put. Bugger, I turn back round to find out the bike is totally dead. After a lot of waiting and thinking I finally head off in the dark to the next hamlet where the local patriarch has a Toyota Hilux. After much begging I manage to get half the village out to help. They load the bike up and drive it to the local main town Jaen. This is where me and Kev must part company. I make sure he gets the bike on a truck to Lima the next day, from there who knows but it looks like Quito is the nearest place with a dealership (500 miles away at least, plus international border) So without the time to spare off I head, solo once again.

With my route totally changed I have some thinking to do. I am forced to ride to the coastal road where I decide I shall go and visit Huaraz in the high Andes. That night I am forced to stay in some nasty little town, so I check in to a Hostel and sleep. In the morning I have one of those moments of realization inspired by a flea sitting on my arm looking at me. Yes would you believe it! I splash out $10 for a nice bed, and am woken up by a big brown flea checking if its safe to plunge his fangs into me. Urgh! This however was an important stage to get me back to camping alone after the money no kill incident. Why, I ask myself should I pay $10 to become infested when I can pay nothing and be without parasites in my tent? Exactly, back to camping it is.

That same night I'm sitting on my flea pit when I first think my guts are grumbling at the thought of another chicken foot soup. Then I realize not even my guys are that powerful... Instead its a bloody earthquake! Honestly do I have bad luck or what, first a flea then an earthquake! By the time Ive run around the room 3 times deciding what to do the tremor has stopped. It was about then that I realized I probably should have got out of the building 1 minute ago.

The next day I shower the fleas off me in the super modern electric shower, which happens to electrocute me every time I try to turn it off (so I left it running) and off I go. I reach the main road to Huarez from the North. By a main road I mean it consists of a faint line on my map. This road is awful, but at the same time great. The riding is tough but great fun and the scenery was amazing. There was me riding on a single lane dirt track with deep ruts, 1 foot to the right of me is a 600 meter sheer drop. This is all well and good until a car comes tearing along the other way. You just have to hope it happens when there is a passing spot.

After 4 hours (about 50 miles) I finally reach Huarez where I intent to treat myself to a spot of rock climbing. On the way down this dirt track I have never until now met so many suicidal dogs. I must have counted around 60 dogs attempting to throw themselves in front of the bike. In fact I lie slightly, as I think their aim was to bite a chunk out of my leg, but every time they miss and end up getting clobbered by the bike or if they are really lucky my boot. To top this off the locals were nothing shy of plain nasty. Some horrid little girl had the cheek to chuck a papaya at me. Personally I would have preferred it if she gave it to me as I was hungry, but instead it flew past my left ear and hit the grass. Apart from that there were lots of locals shouting `gringo´at me. Although I wanted to, I decided it really want worth the hassle of trying to explain the origin of the term Gringo, and explain that I am English not American. And in any case if I had stopped I only would have been pelted by more papayas.

When I arrived in Huarez feeling rather despondent about the local population, I thought to myself, well at least I have the climbing to look forward to. I went into a shop to sort it out. They told me it was too wet, come back in 4 months when it stops raining. Enough said, I leave Huarez by the main road.

As it got dark I rode up a track to find a place to camp (without fleas) I ride into someones field at the front of a mud hut, met by of course 4 more suicidal dogs throwing themselves at the bike. After they tire the owner comes out. What a great guy. He gladly lets me camp outside his house, and even offers me to sleep inside, although I decline. To top it off he invites me in for supper and for breakfast the next day into his mud and poo hut along with the whole family. Now that is what I call a real local experience. This man re-instilled my faith in the locals and I left really glad I had asked to camp there.

The next day was a real pain in the arse. I was forced to ride some of the infamous coastal road towards Nasca and finally the junction to Cuzco. Now I had heard tales of the cops being bad but that is an understatement. They were terrible, the worst I have ever experienced. Firstly I must note the sods didn't get a penny out of me. They can sense a tight arse when they see one. I was prepared to do jail time rather than leaf over a dollar!

So in about 1 hour I get stopped 4 times. Each time they try to accuse you of speeding even though they don't have speed guns and are in fact normally reading the paper when you appear round the corner. So the first two times was OK. After I told them I knew the speed limits (stupidly slow at 35 kph on empty straights) The first one only wanted to chat and get a photo together. The second one tried to get me on my paperwork but the false license worked a treat for the first of a few times that day. (I have lost my IDP and my real driving licence) The third one was a joke. He pulled me over even though I knew I was doing 35. He then acted all nice and introduced himself as Franko (self modeled on the dictator I think) He then checked all my paperwork, then after 20 mins began pointed to my speedo saying how easy it was to speed but i needed to pay. The weaselly piggy eyed Franko then calls his pal over who tells me to give him money. I bluntly refuse then telling him I was not speeding. After another 15 mins of this he knows it wont stick so he starts saying give me money for food, as he sups on a coke and chews on a chicken claw. No chance is my reply, but I say I have something for him. His face lights up as I reach into my tank bag and pull out a sticker. At this point he realizes he is getting nothing and lets me go.

Ten mins later and the last one trys it on. He pulls me over saying I was speeding. I tell him I wasn't and I know the speed limit, he then goes, no not here, my colleague was on the radio saying I was speeding earlier in a eeeerrr, he pauses while he looks at the bike, the begins again.... a eeer red bike. Thats it I have enough by this stage, I get off my bike and began telling the policeman off for being corrupt and a bad person. Never in my life did I think I would get the chance to reprimand a cop. To top it off he then apologizes for being corrupt, says I can go, and before I ride off I tell him I'm sick of being stopped, and he tells me he will radio ahead and tell them to leave me alone! Would you believe it, and I didn't get stopped by a single once the whole rest of the way. Victory to the tourist!

After I negotiated Lima which looked like a hell hole I got far enough out to camp. The whole of the coast line in North and central Peru is just desert. Almost a Martian feel to it. Initially its quite cool, but after you get sick of sand, straight roads and the immensely strong wind you really have had enough. I ended up riding off into the dunes by the coast and camped in an amazing spot right by the cliff edge down to the pacific. Really amazing, and no one robbed me for the second night running.

Yesterday I rode hard all day towards Cuzco. I went passed the Nasca lines so gave them a look. Still a bit suss that the government have paid an old man with a rake to doodle in the sand, but I was assured by the locals they were real. In fact they do look quite cool, but I could only afford to see them from a tower by the road instead of by plane, but it suited me fine. At the same time I also met another rider going North on an Africa Twin. Nice guy, hope you make it to Colombia if you're reading this. I also had one very scary moment where I missed hitting a llama thing buy the skin of my teeth at 65mph. The stupid thing ran straight out in front of me. It was pure luck that I dont have to add the llama and myself to the road kill count!

In the evening I had yet another great night camping, this time at 4100 meters. By god its cold that high up but the scenery was really great. I'm defo getting back into camping and adjusting to life on my own once again.Not too much else to report apart from loads of suicidal dogs. I am now in Cuzco which is full of tourists! I'm off to see what this waffle about ruins on a hill are all about in a few days (Machu Pichu or something like that) I assure you all that I shall be riding or walking as far as humanly possible as the prices are truly extortionate to get up there. In the mean time more bike service is needed as it seems to be burning a bit too much oil right now.

Sorry it was a dull report but I cant be robbed, fall off or be disappointed at something every time I write... Or can I?

Oh and Kev. I hope you get the beast repaired. All will be good, just be thankful I'm not practicing my sowing techniques to put your leg back on.... Luck of the Irish my arse!

Oh and finally Mr Briggs, you too have earned yourself a free mystery gift for your dontaion. Im leaning towards a cursed goats bladder, or something along those lines. Brace yourself.

A bit of Jungle, then a bit of Mountian, and a terrible bout of man flu

Well at last I find my self South of the Equator. I braced myself to see if beer washes the other direction down my throat, and other such myths, but I was met with the reality that not much changes, not even the weather, and in fact the con-man with the portable sink showing gullible tourists his impression of the Coriolis effect wasn't even there to make a vain attempt to squeeze a dollar from me by showing me his swilling action.

Anyhow, nothing lost really it was a good photo call straddling some red line on a windy Ecuadorian mountain. Other than the exciting experience of crossing into the South the day also offered more good times. We met up with a fellow rider Guido, who lived in Quito. Me and Kev spent an excellent few days staying round his flat in the center of town. It was pure luxury, and a good bit of R and R time. Guido is a great guy and I had a really good time, we got to see all the parts of the city but more importantly got to drink too much local moonshine and feel rather hungover the next day.

Also Guido persuaded me to make the very good call of changing the now infamously lethal tyre I had been riding on since Panama. This tyre had almost sent me off several mountains thanks to its $38 dollar lively nature, so after finding what seems to be a pretty good tyre we have now reached tyre number 6 of the trip! Really tough riding on the road with the new one (big knobbly one) but I am seriously glad I changed it after riding the recent jungle roads.

So back to the point. Quito... So there I was after one too many shots of moonshine thinking I had a very long lasting hang over when finally it dawns on me, I am suffering the worst fate of any male on this planet, and the worst thing to happen to me so far! I have MAN FLU! Seriously though everyone I think I am out of the woods now, lots of snott and sneezing but I feel I'm through the worst of it. All that said, still feel sorry for me and donate your hard earned cash as you never know it may return with a vengeance! (lemsip doesn't come cheap these days you know!)

So I struggle on like any true Brit to see the sites of Quito. To be honest I didn't expect much, but how wrong I was, the old town was very nice indeed, some top churches to look at and to top it off loads and loads of ridiculous protests to laugh about. In the space of about 1 hour we got stuck in about 4 different protests, the best one being the local taxi drivers who were protesting at how unfair it was that legislation was about to be introduced saying that they too had to obey the rules of the road, and if they didn't they would get points on their license. I mean, honestly how unfair, the poor old cabbies in Quito may no longer be able to tare down the pavement plowing down women and children just to get to the local coffee vendor without getting points. Life is SO unfair!

At one stage we found ourself wondering around hundreds of disgruntled and of course drunk taxi drivers ranting and raving, and it occurred to me that a protest of angry cabbies may not be the best place to be hanging out. My suspicions were confirmed by the fact that there were mucho Poilicia armed with tear gas guns. (I tried to get a pic with one, but he informed me he was too busy getting ready to gas a few protesters. Shame)

So after sight seeing and protester dodging some important bike stuff needed to be done. Guido took us to various places where we could get some stuff done, which led me to my new tyre.

So finally after 3 days we left Guidos place to head for a road, well actually track the headed towards a very rarely used border with Peru. The first days riding we went down into the Amazon basin to have a look at a bit of primary rain forest. The road was really bumpy, and in fact bad enough to make the exhaust of the KLR totally fall off! Lucky for me, I am one of many wise KLR owners, who of course rarely need any spare nuts and bolts, however choose to carry some just in case! So with a bit of bashing and some new bolts I was back on the move in no time.

The Rain forest... Well,  it did exactly what it says on the tin. It was very foresty and yes you have guessed it, it rained a lot! We ended up riding some dirt roads into the jungle and ended up camping under some locals hut on stilts. He was cool about having us there but that was where it ended, he was seriously hard work to talk to. He just sat there staring at us till it got too dark to see. He then decided it a good idea to play the local Ecuadorian equivalent of Chris Moyals on the radio loud at about 3am. This ended a very wet and bad nights sleep, but began what has been a very funny, and very very tough few days.

The KLR is able to go faster on dirt due to it being lighter and of course far superior to a BMW! So Kev being out of sight behind me was normal. At one stage I pulled over and waited...and waited, and waited. This is when I though òh dear´and turned around. 1 mile back I found him riding towards me slowly. After stopping I discovered he had come off on a corner, but thankfully was OK. A few bumps and bruises and a slightly damaged bike lacking indicator and slightly re-styled panniers, but apart from that all was ok. On a lighter note however on the way back I noticed the hairiest pig I have ever seen. So much so I thought it was a sheep. Quite incredible.

After riding out of the jungle we headed to Banos, a town with of course baths in it. These baths are supposed to be heated by sulphurous springs thus offering a relaxing treat to a weary biker, however I soon became suspicious. We arrived at the baths where there was a distinct lack of eggy sulphur smells, the norm one would think for this kind of place. Instead I was met with a yellowy tinged water full of hordes of screaming children. Now this is the theory, if you mix a large swimming pool with hundreds of kids, well we all know what children do in swimming pools don't we! The fact the water was yellowish and luke warm supported my theory strongly. After a long a thorough shower to wash off the large quantities of child urine, eeer I mean sulphurous water, I came to the conclusion that Banos was certainly not the place to be having a Banos!

The next main town we headed to was Loja. This is the last town to speak of for a long old way towards the Peruvian border. Kev finally got his tyres changed so there was no excuse anymore for falling off in mud, and off we went.

The road started well but soon turned to dirt. The first hundred mile or so was great riding, the dirt wasn't too loose nor too wet so I was having a great time. It also pains me to be emotional but the scenery was great, really picturesque, huge mountains, lots of tasteful greenery and other crowd pleasers such as waterfalls etc. This part of Ecuador really is amazing, and well worth a visit.

After riding though several small villages I had a hunger for more food, the diet out here is terrible to say the least. There is dry tasteless rice with everything, normally complimented by the standard udder soup and claw of chicken. It really does beg the question what the hell happens to the rest of the chicken! Not once have I actually found enough meat on the oil saturated hunk of foul to offer enough sustenance for even the smallest of creatures, let alone enough to feed an overly lardy Westerner such as myself. 

So there I was with my strength waining and the road getting steadily worse (thats the excuse anyhow)and I managed to miss a corner in the dirt and end up stuck in a mud bank at the edge of the road. I must point out now I didn't fall off and of course I managed to direct the bike into the soft mud to prevent damage when I knew all was going wrong (yeah right!) After 5 mins or so of a local laughing at me whilst going past in his car, Kev and I finally pulled the bike out. Eventually we reached the Ecuadorian side of the Peru/Ecuador Frontier.

Dehydrated and with the energy from the chicken claw and cow gland fast running out we arrived at the Aduana for the Ecuadorian side of the border. This is required to export the bikes out of the country. This is where things started to get quite funny... This border is tiny with almost no one there, we showed up and was met by the customs officer, this guy was a legend, to start off with he was blind drunk, which made things very humorous indeed. He insisted we get photocopies of our import docs even though he didn't need them, and then wouldn't sign me out until I drunk not 1 or 2 or in fact 3, but 4 pints of beer with him, continuously saluting Ecuador and insulting Peru. By this stage he was like a small child filled with too much red food colouring, but in his case it was too much Ecuadorian Pilsner. He was charging all over the place giggling like a small girl.The next step for him was the photo shoot with him and friends (see pics) and after he rushed off to get more beer I though it time to go or we would be stuck in no-mans land between the borders, so a few more glasses of beer and off we went with the obvious tear welling up in the booze filled custom mans eye.(I'm not really too surprised as he probably sees 1 person every year!)

Finally we crossed a bridge into Peru, we left the bikes by the barrier and went to do the standard paperwork. This side of the border was slightly busier, by this I mean there were around 4 drunks sitting there clearly more interested in watching a pack of horney dogs trying to hump each other than going home to see their families. After a nod of appreciation at what good stamina the fat brown dog had, and how the skinny white one was clearly getting nothing on that occasion I think they decided I was no threat to their evenings entertainment and carried on their biology lesson unfased.

I got the passport (which means I but not the bike was in) stamped without trouble. When the woman accused Kev of having a fake passport I knew this wasn't going to go too smoothly. Finally we persuaded her that a country called Ireland did actually exist and she stamped him in as well. Then off we head to the Aduana to get the bikes imported.

We were met by some old chap who clearly had trouble writing, and in fact reading as well. This I knew would create problems. (In fact now thinking about it, I'm not sure he even knew where he was, or in fact who he was for that matter.) Finally with the help of his younger assistant and around two and a half hours he had completed about 10 mins worth of paperwork. It was now dark and really really heavy rain was on the way. It was then that Kev and I noticed the numbers assigned to our import docs. It turns out that Kev was number 23, and I was number 24. This is the number of vehicles that have passed though this border since the start of January 2007! No wonder it took him so, so dam long. Finally, we thought the end was close, he was just searching for somewhere to put our photocopied docs he had written out, when lowe and behold he found the right documents he should have used... Back to the beginning.

After a few more hours finally we were there. The confused customs man actually turned out to be quite nice and after a show of quivering lips and worried looking faces he took pity on us and let us stay in the customs office overnight. A great relief as the road ahead was as bad as the one behind us if not worse and the rain was now torrential. So we settled in to his customs office in a spare pair of bunk beds he had. All would have been great but I had to put up with a tarantula in the bathroom and worse still a pair of his skidded Y-fronts hanging in front of my bed. Most off-putting when you have that image in your head before you go to sleep.

The next day we set off after more chickens foot but with the addition of an egg this time too (I still wonder where the rest of the chicken is, I cant imagine just a pair of legs walking around laying eggs, there must be more too it, surely!)

So we ride the worst road yet, and in fact I think it took the prize for the worst I have ridden the whole trip. The rain had turned the road into deep mud, with the addition of fresh landslides and large holes. It really was awful, and not fun when your tired and have had nightmares of old Y-fronts all night. After about 60 miles of this, and just maybe going too fast for my own good I managed yet another crash. This time it rather hurt as I thought it a good idea not to move my leg out of the way as a big heavy motorbike comes crashing down. After a fair bit of pain from the pannier now squashing my leg, a hefty kick shifted the bike enough to get my leg out. No damage to the bike, and of course we all know thats the important thing don't we! I on the other hand was chafing somewhat, and have a rather sore leg. To top if off I now have a suspicious limp like I am supporting a wooden leg! A few days and Ill be good as new though.

Finally after reaching some decent enough tarmac we were in Civilization and proper Peru. We have just ridden a road feeling very tired to the next town, a big waterfall, in fact the 3rd biggest in the world. I have just got back from walking to it. It was most impressive and to top it off we were the only people there. After I clambered under the fall (738 meters or so) and Kev almost stepped on two very angry snakes who were having it off on the path (note I saved him from certain snake death!) I concluded that it was defo worth the long walk there. Tomorrow we head off to do the 400 plus miles of back tracks and mountain passes to Cuzco. All being well I should get there in a week.

Due to this momentous of trips in the past week I have really struggled to choose which photo to add as amusing picture of the week. Should it be the exhaust falling off the bike, or should it be the rotting carcass of old pig they tried to feed us one lunch time,  or maybe it should be the insanely hairy pig/sheep thing I saw? Well they are all amusing in my eyes, and worthy of being loaded up, which of course I have done, however, I know what will amuse most of my friends and I'm sure everyone else, and because of this I feel the amusing picture of the week by popular demand should be me and the bike stuck in a wall of mud after missing a corner. So there you go. Enjoy!

Note: Connection SO SLOW I can only load up 5 pics. Please wait for a week or maybe less until I find a place where I can load the rest. See pics in new album.

Stats

chain number 3! only 3000 miles on last one, how crap. you buy cheap, you buy twice!

tyre number 6 put on in Quito.

Road kill count, same as before, but I tried my best to get a monkey. (quick buggers dont you know)

Cheap Fuel at last... oh and another country

Hello everyone, well as I move South I finally move away from people trying to shove knives up my nose for my poultry fortune of a few dollars, instead I have once again reached hippy country, where the malnourished traveler prances around in their hemp underpants secretly dreaming he or of course she could really accept that all they want is a bacon sandwich. I'm not sure what it is about Latin America but they are all over the place. Seriously, as soon as there are no more bypasses to live on in the South of England, it seems they have all decided to come here. But on a more positive note would you believe that I am now paying around 19 pence for a litre of petrol, and to top it off so far the petrol has gone back to being clear from the normal brown colour I have been getting used to. A great help for the finacial side of things I must say (as well as for my fuel filter!)

So me and Kev left Medellin after having a pretty funny evening out on Halloween. We rode to the coffee area and a place called Salento, and much to my disappointment were not stopped by any military blocks, in fact there were hardly any, and there was me wanting a photo op. with heavily armored locals, god dam it. So the ride to Salento was really long and very wet, which I'm sure is to no-ones surprise now days. We managed to get lost on the way and ended up riding some dodgy country roads in totally the wrong direction, not really a good idea in this country! Finally after having to turn around as the road on my map didn't actually exist, and instead driving down a road that did exist, but not on my map (I really need a better map!) we found the main road once more. The route towards the main road was covered with landslides and mud, which in fact made the ride quite fun. After seeing some incredible views of the foot hills of the Andes and me riding my bike into a drain hole we finally arrived in the dark in Salento  (I think some thoughtful person had stolen the drain cover)

Solento was lovely, really rather picturesque stuff...clouds, hills, coffee, that kind of thing. We spent two nights there and in the day visited a coffee farm with its own performing cat with a lead on which I managed to photograph upside down up a tree. All very impressive. The coffee tour was also interesting but the cat did steal the show for me I'm afraid. I learned how to make coffee from the plant to the pot, and more importantly discovered a really useless fact; that a pineapple takes 2 whole years to grow... very interesting I know, so you should appreciate the work that has gone into it next time you eat one.

After doing the coffee thing we took the bikes out without all the luggage to ride some great dirt tracks to see some palm trees. Yes, some palm trees, sounds riveting doesn't it, but in fact they are far more meaningful than your common garden palms, they to hide another useless fact, so useless in fact that I forget exactly what it was. It was either that they are the tallest palms in the world or the highest altitude palms in the world. Anyway, they were actually very cool and the valley they were in was tear-jerkingly beautiful, well maybe not quite that emotional, but it was nice. The dirt riding however was great fun, and almost won the prize for being the most fun thing that day, that was until I witnessed my mate Kev in his big heavy expensive BMW  slipping and spinning and sliding his way up a muddy hill that the lovely KLR just floated up.... ha ha ha, he needed to be mocked about it as he keeps taking the piss out of my bike for its road performance. Sweet Justice prevails.

After Salento we rode to Popayan a town which I had images of being great and lovely, but for those of you who know me well, yes I arrived and was met straight away with my now infamous feeling of disappointment. What a dull place. So what the buildings are white, that doesn't make it nice. In fact it reminded me of somewhere like Crawley, or another equally depressing town. And honestly, does the pond life thats frequents Crawley shopping center equipped with their triple prams loaded with malnourished Dr Pepper drinking brats really think that if they whitewashed Woolworth's and Argos it would suddenly be listed in the guidebooks as a quaint town? Well maybe the answer is yes, as Popayan has managed it and has clearly sold itself to the arse that wrote the `rouge guide´ as the Elysian fields of Southern Colombia purely by whitewashing their local equivalent to an Argos outlet. Maybe I am being a bit harsh, and maybe you have sensed a wisp of sarcasm in my description of the town, but firstly yes, I'm English, so yes its my job to be sarcastic, but also I am merely trying to prove a point that it really isn't all it made out to be in the guide books Yes its a town worth a visit, but there´s no point in getting sweaty palms about it.

After all that I feel I must summarise what I thought of Colombia. (this bits for you Salavador-ref, conv. to neg.) The country as a whole was, I think, one of the best countries I have visited. Although everyone says this, the people there really were the nicest by far of any of the countries I have been through. The security situation, although clearly an issue, is not one to be concerned about at all. If I were a FARC rebel why an earth would I want to kidnap a fat tourist. All they are going to do is moan and sob and proberly eat all the rebels food, and we all know backpackers have no money so whats the point in trying to get a ransom for them. But seriously what a great country The only good point about its current reputation is that it keeps the hundreds of package tourists out and thus offers a far greater insight into the country and its people without being tarnished like most tourist hotspots. Apart from the slight disipointment of Popayan (which I totally blame the guidebooks for building it up) I give Colombia a 10/10. Great Coutnry, great scenary and great people.

We left Popayan the next morning for the push to Ecuador. It was a long ride of around 300 miles but the roads were actually really good. The scenery was incredible as the Andes are quickly rising up to meet us. We stopped in a tiny town in Southern Colombia. An area which is still deemed dangerous enough not to travel at all at night. In actual fact, during the day there were very few check points and it was all very pleasant. During our stop I was talking to the woman who was feeding me cakes and biscuits for breakfast and I innocently asked if coffee was the main source of income for the area. She bluntly replies in a most serious of tones that no coffee is not the source of incomes but Coca plants, and to be more precise, Cocaine labs, she then points to a few mountains and informs me that thats where the labs are, and that they are the main source of income for the area. She also then points out that it is far to dangerous to visit, in case I felt like it!

We soon arrived at the Ecuador border. This was pretty much a breeze apart from the Aduana man (customs guy) first saying he wouldn't do our bike paperwork till 8am the next day. After complimenting items such as his bushy mustache and his polished shoes he decided that maybe he could work passed 11.45 am that day and process our bikes. After that was sorted out and we had chased the resident leper away from our bikes after he insisted he wanted to clean our number plates (in my opinion he should have been focusing on his personal hygiene rather than the bikes) off we went.

After 10 Min's I was ferociously hungry, the cake fed to me by cocaine woman was clearly not enough for a days sustenance so we stopped at a decent looking Ecuadorian restaurant. Now you must remember that I am in Ecuador so by decent I mean it doesn't have any dead dog carcasses outside the front. So we stop and the withered old crone dished up several delightful platters. The first of which Kev claims could be a mushroom soup, so I tuck in to find out that they are not mushrooms but in fact incredibly chunky lumps of artery. After a few chews I really quite wanted to spit it out, but my good manners, a bit of British stiff upper lip and the fact that said crone was looking at me like she had just treated me to the best course on the menu at the Savoy, I decided it only fair to swallow. When I had almost recovered from the chunk of cow tube the next dish came out, lucky for me Kev had the majority, but after a bit of chewing, some close examination and some extensive vocab searching we realized we were chewing on some boiled cows udders. By Christ, I mean I'm game for trying most thing but this was frankly horrible, and just the thought of me chewing on a wedge of cow tit made me feel really quite ill. By this stage the wrinkly Delia Smith impersonator thought the whole situation was rather amusing, so she was way beyond being offended, and to make up for it she was even kind enough to offer me some lumps of spinal chord to make up for the cow boob. Very sweet but I declined, and maybe it beats eating cows head tachos. In fact, I think I have eaten almost every part of a cow by now!

After leaving the restaurant feeling pretty much hungrier than before we carried on to Otavlo, a small town in northern Ecuador. To coin a great blackadder line, at this altitude without re-jetting the carb. my poor bike seems to be accelerating like a asthmatic ant with heavy shopping. Rather frustrating when speed is the key whilst trying to negotiate round the hundreds of black smoke billowing lorries. I think all will be well though as long as I don't spend the length of the Andes dealing with the whole of the delapidated ex USA school bus fleet billowing black smoke in my face.

Today we leave Otavlo to go see the equator and test whether or not that sink and water buisness does really work. I promise ill try not to be dissipointed if its a big lie. Oh also check out the quality (genuine of course) duracell batteries I found.

p.s for more pics of this post look at the albums on the side.

The Narco state

Well I am still in Medellin after about 5 days due to numerous hold-ups (of the bike breaking kind not the robbery kind) I left Cartagena for a long old ride to Medellin after deciding I wasn't going to visit the lost city. Quite frankly I thought either way the trip would be a let down. Either the city was going to live up to its name and still be lost, so call me stupid but how were we ever going to find it? And if we were unable to find it well what would I be doing for 5 days!... Or the exact opposite would happen and we would find the place; clearly the more likely of the two but come on, if someone sells me a tour to a LOST city, I really cant help but feel slightly cheated when we end up finding it just round the corner. The guide then says 'that will be $200, thank you very much' Pah! So in the end I thought I would ride the long road inland to Medellin. The ride was around 400 miles in lots and lots more rain, yey. I left early to do it in one hard slog so I didn't have to ride at night. So there I was riding down a road in this most dangerous of Countries, yes this terrible narco state riddled with terrorists and heavily armed paramilitary when I get approached by a man with a large stick in one hand, and in his other hand not a lethal weapon but a small brown puppy. He then proceeds to try and make me take the puppy with me, I was temped as I could have trained it up as a bike riding guard dog to eat any more muggers that take me on, but due to the fact the puppy was about 20 cm long I thought by the time it grows teeth I will have finished the trip.

It was at this point I decided that Colombia really doesn't deserve its reputation, and quite frankly you are more likely to get injured by being poked in the eye by one the many Colombian plastic boobs the female population seems to support than someone chasing me with a large assault rifle. This idea was merely compounded by the fact the local hustlers best move was to thrust a small brown dog in my face.

So there I was, a usual day of riding in rain, negociating land slides and generally having a rather numb back-side from all the sitting down. At one stage I reached a large area where the road had collapsed. Normally there would be enough room for my bike to get through, but the nice lorry drivers had decided they would try their best to block the road for me to. After pulling out my best Spanish and trying to impress them I asked one to move his truck just slightly to the right so I could get through, as he got into his truck I thought nice one, that was until he moved it just to the left just to make sure I really couldn't get through. What a nice man. Maybe I need to brush up on my Spanish some more!Finally I had to get the army to tell the lorry man to move his truck. I used the age old trick of complementing his gun and his country. This did the trick. 1 minute and half a mile lorry s had moved and I was back on my way.

Finally in the dark I arrived on the outskirts of Medellin. Former Home to the US governments favorite class act bad boy Pablo Escobar. Now the deal in Colombia is this, anyone with a bike who lives in the city must wear a very trendy glowing jacket with their number plate on it. I am told this is to stop hit men from going about their business of assassinating whoever looks at them funny. The idea is that although they still get the chance to shoot the target, now they cant ride off without the whole city knowing if they have a personalized number plate or not. Clearly they haven't heard of fake plates here. So I arrive in the city, in the dark without a fetching glowing jacket , only to be stopped by a military block. Before I could blather some crap in my best English accent or take my helmet off so he could see my bleachy white face he thrusts me against the bike and proceeds to search me for a gun. The biggest insult was that the little rasp who was scrabbling around my crown jewels for an RPG was about 16 years old! Felt up by a minor, how humiliating! Anyhow, lucky for me some man on a V-Storm bike shows up. This type of bike is rare in this part of the world as most bikes are no more than 200cc. Basically he first helps to calm down the trigger happy minor who is now rather agitated by the fact I have no driving licence (money no kill stole it) and persuades him to let me go, and then,what a legend, the man offers to lead me all the way to the hostel.

The ride to the hostel was intense as the man seemed to enjoy riding about 70mph between cars. I decided that if I survived the trip there I may have actually enjoyed the ride. Once we were there I thanked him and off he went.

During the past few days, as I mentioned earlier I have been here in Medellin. This is because after arriving at the hostel I discovered that part of the luggage rack holding on my panniers has broken in two. This was a problem as it was aluminium. Not easy to weld at all. It took me 4 days to get the part fixed, and I might add how really really unhelpful the Kawasaki dealer was. Once again a local came to my rescue, and again a fellow biker, the owner of 1 of only 3 Ducati bikes in a city of 3 million (told you big bikes are rare!) This guy is a legend, as is his father, so thank you Diego and family for all your help. Basically he found a welder for me, sorting out the job and made sure I didn't get totally ripped off. All for nothing. To add to this I also went to a great bike shop called Moto Angel. These guys not only helped me to fix some bits on my bike, but also gave me a free hat! How cool. So many thanks to Moto Angel as well! In conclusion all I can say about Colombia so far is that all the normal people here are so friendly it is incredible. And it is so nice to be somewhere where people want to help you for nothing in return! Really quite rare.

Currently I am holding up for another two days before riding south through the coffee district and the start of the Andes. I now have company, a great Irishman called Kev. Even though he rides a ponsey BWM GS1200, I have decided to forgive him. So we shall hopefully be riding some amazing roads in Bolivia and Peru together.

The only other things of importance to note is  that yesterday I managed to get a photo of a horse with a side-stand. Either a very lazy horse or a fashion accessory I think. Made me laugh anyhow. Oh and also I keep forgeting to clear up the mystery of my friend who went missing back in Mexico, and I keep getting numerous people asking if he is still alive rather than being roasted slowly on a spit at the local tacho stand. The story is this: Basically after I lost him in Los Mochos I didnt hear from him for 3 days. Then I got an e-mail. It turned out his bike blew up on the road out of town. He was forced to sell it and then returned to the UK a week later. Currently he is back in Central America accepting that the bus may be a better choice for him! Hi Tim.  Anyway, thats the story, and he is fine.

Lastly, I hope all who are still following my progress like the new website. I thought it time to pull my finger out and sort one out. Many hours of swearing I can assure you. Also and most importantly, I want to say a huge thank you to the massively generous donations I have received from not only friends but also from strangers and new friends I have met along the way. I will be supplying mystery gifts to all that I can, Jethro you shall be getting a small pickled Llamas fetus, you lucky boy! Seriously though, thank you all very much and I hope my rambling and moaning is at least giving you 5 mins of entertainment in your fun jobs, and I can assure any donations are seriously helping to get me to the tip of this continent. Sods law always prevails. Whenever I am totally broke something always breaks on the bike!