Global Enduro

Money, No Kill!....

When you hear the words money and kill in one short sentence you know the situation proberbly isnt ging to get much better, and that is exactly what I heard when I was rudely awakened at around 3 am by a group of men supporting very large knives.

I was sleeping in my tent in a place called Portobelo waiting to board my boat to Colombia the next day. Lucky for me I had already paid the captain or I wouldnt have found this such an amusing experience.
So I was camping with 3 other guys I met who were also on my boat. You would assume safety in numbers would apply, but obviously not in this case. I was the first to wake up and unzip my tent as I saw shadows moving about. As I stuck my head out the first thing I saw was one guy with a bandana over his face holding a huge knife.

After I finished going oh shit, oh shit I then noticed the other two surrounding my tent. Then in his best english the first one keeps saying to me `money no kill´, `money no kill´. I mean seriously you have to wonder what direction your life is heading in when the only english you learn is money and kill. If I wasnt bricking it that I was going to be sliced and diced I may have tried to correct his gramma but maybe this wasnt the best time.

At this stage the others woke up and Mike (one of the guys I was with) stuck his head out of his tent whilst his mate stayed put inside the same tent. However Mark decided it best not to come out of his tent till they made him. This actually proved rather amusing watching one of the robbers trying figure out how to open a tent. He kept clawing at the sides unable to find the zip, and in the end started shaking the tent like crazy and shouting Ì kill you, I kill you´Finally Marks head popped out. They then proceeded to rob us, but again I was quite lucky as I was only carrying my `please rob me´wallet so they took that which had the impressive sum of $7 and 2 credit cards in. They got about the same off the others and left without even searching the tents where I had my i-pod, camera, sat phone etc etc. Very lucky indeed. To top it off, Mikes friend who stayed in their tent didnt even get noticed so got away without being robbed. Lucky sod.
The next 5 days was spent on a 44ft boat loaded with 10 people and my bike sailing to Colombia. This was a squeeze to say the least. Although it was fairly calm out to sea, my god those boats roll around a lot. About half of the people on board were being sick pretty much everyday. I managed to hold it down but 5 days feeling a bit crap really isnt that fun.The trip was an experience though and Im glad I did it. We caught some pretty cool fish like tuna and a shark which we promptly ate. The tough part about eating was I couldnt spend more than 5 mins in the gally without wanting to puke, so my food was always fried as fast as possible and shoved down my throat before I decided maybe I wasnt hungry after all.

Anyway, now I find myself in Cartegna, Colombia. Its pretty nice here but the paperwork to get the bike into the country has been a nightmare. It ended up that I actually brought the bike in illegally as I came in on a sail boat not on a cargo ship. This proved tricky, but with a few well placed lies and a lot of smiling I finally got it stamped in. So that was pretty much my whole birthday spent sitting in custom offices in Colombia. Great way to turn 27 hey! Today I finally sorted out the last of the paperwork, some insurance, which you would not believe the amount of time it took me. I was close to a nervous breakdown at one stage. These people choose to have lunch from 11am for two and a half hours!!! So after waitng that long they decided to tell me that actually their computer doesnt work. After a lot of shouting and moaning and almost 2 days of trying I finally have $10 worth of insurance. ARRRGH!
The city of Cartegna is very nice in the old town and there are police everywhere so in fact the place seems way safer than Central America. Tomorrow Im going to attempt to get to Medellin with is 400 miles. This has to be done in the daylight due to security reasons on the road, so tomorrow is going to be a long old day.
Anyhow, I hope you enjoyed the money no kill story and perhaps it will make you all feel sorry for the crappy areas I keep camping in! Ill post some photos in the next few days.

Rain so Heavy... I think Im starting to rot.

Since leaving Lui and Honduras I have been wet. Now the term wet is thrown around very liberally, especially by us Brits, but I think I may have found out what wet really means. I swear the onset of trench-foot has been a close reality. It has been pouring so hard that my kangaroo leather riding gloves have actually started to rot, and I might add, begun to support new life forms. Basically I smell, and I smell bad!

The smelling is normally a problem as it tends to repel anyone who may be a good conversationalist, however it has proven to have some really good points which I shall come on to in a bit.

So I left Honduras and headed quite a few miles of the Nicaraguan Border. This ride was Ok but with the dog count decreasing with every mile, and therefore so was my entertainment for the day. I finally arrived at some random border town to stay the night. Ate a hunk of cow nose in a taco and went to sleep.

The next day, once again the border was a breeze! So far (I say cautiously) I'm not sure what people are moaning about. Anyway off I head towards a main road between the border and Leon on the Pacific side. This main road is terrible. (see pic) So bad in fact that I half destroy my head bearings on my bike and ride the next 100 miles with the front end falling apart. I am not joking when I say some of the pot holes are as big as a London semi-detached in floor space. They are massive! And to add to the hazard they are full of water.

Anyhow, the night before I had organized to stay with someone I met who had also biked the Americas, his place is just outside Managua. I arrive there mid afternoon.

Salvador, my host is a top man, and full of useful info about the next leg of my trip. Also he also managed to fill me full of rum, so the next day was a balance of repairing the bike, teaching his employee English and trying not to vomit. I think I managed all to some degree.

I had a great time at Salavadors and it really made my stay in Nicaragua, as I didn't have much time to see anything else. The reason being is that I have found a boat to Colombia!! YES! So currently I am rushing down to catch it on Wednesday. (Ludwig, kiss my arse! clearly your sea sick cat got the better of me, and you never replied!)

I wish I could comment of the beauty of Nicaragua and 90% of Costa Rica, but with the rain I could see nothing at all. I'm sure it is very nice though, and in fact I am feeling pretty annoyed by not having time to see more of the area.

So after a good night I left in yes, more rain to head to Costa Rica and a friend of the families place. The rain is still unreal! So bad that the road keeps on colapsing, and as always the standard warning of an imminent 6ft hole the size of a two up two down...? yes you've got it, a small twig in the road.

The border to Costa Rica was the worst yet (I knew I spoke too soon!) So much sodding paper work it was a joke. By the time I cleared it, it was about 7.30 pm, totally dark and raining so as I always seem to do, I end up camping in some diesel smelling mud at the back of a petrol station. (Life doesn't get any better than this!)

The next day was a long ride towards San Jose and up a mountain to our family friends place. The drive was horrendous. More rain than ever. Please understand that after 3 days of putting on soaking wet clothes which smell much like Swampy the hippy of the Newbury Bypass I had almost had enough, until..... I get stopped by the police for speeding. Yes Evil old me is doing a gruesome 55 mph in the middle of the jungle on a main road where everyone else does 70 +, and of course I should have known the real limit was 38mph. Pah! ''yes please Mr Mendus that will be $50" says the nice policeman. I then put on my sad face (see smiling photos of me anywhere) but it doesn't work. He says I need to go to court on Tue. I look surprised (see photos of me after bad taco!.. ref Mex. sept 07) Yet again it doesn't work.....Then, my luck turns, slowly, ever so slowly the policeman edges closer to me, until yes, he catches a whiff of me. As he leaps back in repulsion I quickly point to my tent and say I have no money. This does it! I catch him in a dizzy spell, and with a look of disbelief he say ''Mr Mendus, you really don't have any money do you!?'') No, I reply, he then proceeds to rip up the ticket, look sorry for me and wished me good luck and a bath. What a top man!

On I ride in the rain for a few more hours, past a 10 mile traffic jam, as more road has been washed away and finally I reach my destination up a volcano. And what can I say! What utter luxury! I have the nicest room, a bath, oh sweet Jesus, a bath! and great food and great company. To top it off I have washed my things, dried out my clothes and beaten the onset of trench foot. And as a final pat on the back I got to see England beat France! It doesn't get any better than this, I assure you.

After a great rest in Cost Rica I was forced to leave in order to reach Panama for my boat. (Michael, if you read this, thanks for all your hospitality, it was great to see you, the house and to recover from all that rain!) It was a really long ride to David in Panama over what is a fairly short distance. This was due to about 20 landslides which really didn't make life easy on the road. The road I wanted to take had been washed away so the main Pan-Am was the only route open. Numerous times I found myself stuck behind diggers desperately moving landslide before the next one slipped down. The rain (to no surprise) was terrible again. All my nice clean dry clothes where but a distant memory.

I crossed the border into Panama with a bit of hassle as there were huge numbers of people waiting to clear customs. This was (I hate to say it) the first time I had to grease the palm of anyone, but it was getting dark so I was forced to speed up the process by giving the short fat grumpy customs man $1. And he still wouldn't smile!

Off I rode heading towards Boquete near David, to the house of Paul, another bike rider I met in Guatamala. I got totally lost on the way and it was really dark. I stopped off at a petrol station to try get directions. The owner was useless but then a bus stopped. What luck I thought, someone must know. Then the driver got out and claimed he knew where to go, but just before he wanted to leave he felt it necessary to get a bashing stick out of his bus to beat up some guy who hadn't paid. So there I was lost in Panama in the dark watching some 4 ft man get softened by the drivers bashing stick. (advise: don't skip bus fares here)

After the driver had shined his stick back up and wiped the victims slobber off it he said we could leave and I could follow. Now most people would be slightly wary of following a man who had just clubbed a fare jumper like a young seal pup but at this stage I didn't care, so off we went. The next part was franky a joke, this man had no idea where to go, I followed him down roads I knew were wrong for about 30 mins, but every time I tried to escape he insisted it was right. Finally we arrived at some hut with a moped outside it. Not at all what I wanted, but I had to look pleased and say it was right just to get him to leave. I was worried he wouldn't leave leave until I knocked on the door of the odd looking shack, but finally he pulled away. Back I ride to civilization where I finally find a phone that works. Eventually I arrive at Pauls.

I couldn't really have asked for more hospitality from a man who hardly knew me, he gave me a bed, food and a workshop to do a well needed major service on the bike. I got to meet his family and friends, and everyone was very kind indeed (again, if you are reading this Paul, thanks very much to you and your family, better than spending yet another night in a petrol station!)

The next day me and Paul worked on the bike. The first wash it has had in months was an emotional experience I can tell you. We replaced the rear tyre (tyre number 5) as well as the front and rear sprocket (which were so far gone the teeth had become curved like a circular saw!) and chain and the pads. I also got rid of the really annoying exhaust noise, cleaned the filter and a few other things. Here I finally have a nice feeling bike again.

I left Pauls place yesterday to get to Panama City. Once again I got soaked and I arrived in the city after dark. To top this off I later found out I wads in a really dangerous area, and due to this I bumped into some police on bikes. Of course the first thing they say is, wow what size is the engine! and after that we got chatting. After he told me that there were many 12 yr olds running round with guns I was more than happy to except his offer of a police escort through the city! yes, I got a police escort right into the center with lights and sirens. It was quality. And to top it off he took me via a disturbance and he asked me to wait while went to beat a few people up. It was so funny. At last I looked important and the car drivers looked scared off me.... about bloody time!

So after being lost for an hour or so more as it turned out my police escort had taken me to the wrong street I finally found a hostel, and it is here were firstly I have re-discovered the missing millions of Australia, but also I wait for my boat, which now leaves on Thursday not Wednesday. So I hope you all enjoy the world cup final whilst I stuck with captain Pugwash on his sinking tub for 5 days.

Right enough said. Next post, new continent. So here were are, finally I have completed the whole length of North America. Christ it was a long old way!

tyres used: 5

miles completed: 16,000

road kills: sorry still the same, but I'm trying my best, the wildlife is getting too cunning!

Guns, guns, and a few more eeer.... Guns

Well as far as I am concerned I have reached Central America for sure. I am offered numerous clues to support this fact, mainly for the simple reason that every dodgy looking person has a grin on his face due to the large pump action shotgun over his shoulder and the revolver stuffed into his yellowing Y-fronts. Good example... Lui was on a bus the other day when she told me a man sat next to her and proceeded to get a hand gun out of his bag and sat it on his lap looking very proud of himself. I think after Lui did nothing but look concerned, he decided to shove the Berretta back into his stained Y's and go to sleep. What a country!
Anyhow, I think the last time I wrote was in Mexico. Puerto Escondido was at last a pretty nice place in Mexico which wasn't stupidly expensive. We stayed a few days there watching a surfing competition. The waves were huge so I decided I preferred living than trying to surf them (badly) After Puerto Esc. We carried on to San Cristobal, which is a colonial city in the mountains, and once again rather easy on the eye. The ride there was very long so I ended up sleeping in my tent in a petrol station rubbish dump, and was forced to waste away the hours drinking with a local policeman and his machine gun. Meanwhile Lui took the night bus.... what luxury!
During our stay we took a tour down a big old gorge on a speed boat. This was all very nice apart from the fact the river was choked with tonnes of.. well crap and rubbish oh, and vultures. I must admit it slightly spoiled the beauty of the place, and just sums up how the locals really cant be arsed to clean anything at all! (see pic). Southern Mexico was a vast improvement than the North. Finally the time came to leave Mexico and hit Guatemala. The border was actually a breeze. Not even a mention of a bribe. I firstly got stopped and some odd individual decided he wanted to fumigate me and the bike. So there I was standing there with me and my bottle of coca-cola getting covered in what I'm sure was some nasty stuff. After that I did all the other bits and moved on.
Straight away the atmosphere of Guatemala seemed much nicer. The scenery was great and the dead dog count was ever increasing. Other sure sign of being in CA is the amount of landslides covering the road. In true CA style they couldn't be bothered to clear them up so they just put a large twig 20 metros ahead of the pile of boulders in the road, and the answer is simply to drive round it. This is fine until you go round blind corners and suddenly notice there is no longer a road, and instead there is a large chicken bus on your side hurtling towards you. You soon get used to it though.
After a brief stop in some town not even a master speller like me can spell correctly, we moved on to Lake Atitlan. This was rather nice. Basically a big old lake in a collapsed crater with volcanoes and towns around the shore. We stayed in several places, but I had to ride round the lake on its pretty crappy road as the small passenger boats would not take the bike. This was fine, and I shrugged off all the locals telling me one stretch of the road was full of bandits. I rode round without incident, but on arriving at the last town we met a Scottish man who lived there. Without knowing I had a bike he starting telling us about the roads round the area, basically saying, 'do not, whatever you do, ride down a certain road as 75 percent of people get robbed at gun point on it' I proceeded to tell him that that was the road I had just been on. (whoops) But clearly I must have either looked to poor to bother robbing, or more likely I smelt too bad*
Anyway, after I drunk myself through the thought of almost having a 9mm stuck up my left nostril and fleeced of the one pound fifty I have left to live on, I felt fine. During our stay in Lake Atitlan I also did a bastard long zip line thing through the trees, that was pretty fun, but of course being the man I am I didn't scream like a girl, seriously, I didn't!

So Lui and I left the lake and headed to yet another bloody Colonial City. Antigua. All very nice, I must admit, but there really is only so many language students and cobbled streets a man can stand, and to rub it in there was a direct flight from L.A to here, so it was full of blimps in Bermuda shorts throwing money at any child with a bit of dirt on their face. I was well up for rubbing a bit of donkey turd round my chops to make a fast buck, but Lui wasn't having any of it, so instead we found a Burger king, of all places, and I got my chops round a whopper instead (talk about eating local)
The weather in this part of the world is pretty wet as its around 2500 metres up in the highlands, so we had finally had enough of cold wet weather and we decided to head for Honduras and a spot of sun.
Off Lui went on her bus, through Guat. City, me on the other hand headed off on the bike trying to avoid the capital city. This would be easy in a developed country, but really is very tricky here. I managed to find a round about route down some back roads, but my map is quite frankly crap. It marks local roads exactly the same whether they are the best laid tarmac (which some actually are) or just a track littered with dead dogs and vultures. So off I went over the top of a volcano to head to the coast. The road started off very nice, but after going through an utter dump of a town the situation got steadily worse. I found myself on a dirt track, riding through fairly thick jungle. Basically I had just ridden right into every muggers dream. Great. I carried on very keen not to stop, passing lots of wrinkly locals with large machetes, and after about an hour popped out where I was supposed to. A slightly worrying moment, made worse by the fact my map suggested similar roads for another 100 miles to the border. Anyhow, it turned out there was no need to worry, as I have typically found my map was totally wrong, I came out on a brand new dual carriageway. Oh I love the Guatemalan President, and his road building scheme. I think I very well may have gone mad without it that day. Finally after a few more hours I arrived at the border of Honduras near the ruins of Copan.

The border was a bit of a pain but nothing like African ones. after they said they were on a 5 minute lunch break, they started to process my documents one hour later. I thought this would be the case, so I started buttering up the local border policeman the best way I know how, basically you compliment the massive machine gun he is holding, ask him what it is and where its from, then ask if he shoots people with it. After these few questions you will normally find you are their best friend, and the rest goes smoothly.
After paying $30. (not happy, but I think it was legit) I was allowed into the country. Copan was a nice little place apart from the old muddy faced child trick being totally over-acted by some small weazely faced child. He even went to the length of putting on some worn out old sandals and tugging at my shorts for effect. Clearly after no sympathy from me (the tightest whitey in Central America) he left.... In fact I'm sure I saw him with the latest Reebok Pumps on later on that day, little bugger.
Next stop was the Bay Islands which is where me and Lui find ourselves right now. The trip here was uneventful apart from I have never seen a lorry full of coca-cola being guarded by two men with machine guns and shotguns before. Only in C.A! (or maybe the best coke in the world) A few miles from La Ceiba which is the hopping off point for the islands I actually witnessed the demise of yet another leathery, spaced eyed pooch on the road. The culprit of said crime was only going about 10 mph, and clearly thought he was doing Mutley a favour, he didn't appreciate that at the time I was alongside him, trying to overtake, and for such an malnourished pooch it didn't half make a squelching noise.
At La Ceiba I met an utter tosser at the port. Basically he was the boss, and he wanted me to give him $88 to put my bike on the boat to the islands. The crossing is only 1 hr, and the right price is about $30, but because he was such a tosser he would have none of it, so for the past four days I have been like a father who has lost his child. The bike has been parked in La Ceiba, being guarded by a man who quite frankly I would not trust to guard my old toe nail clippings let alone my bike, so if in the next post i am riding a donkey to Tierra Del Fuego it will be his fault!
Lui is off in two days to teach small children how to rub dirt into their faces and look sweet so as they can make a good living in this country from overweight tourists, so I shall find myself alone once more (letters of sympathy to e-mail address, and any cash deposits to my bank account please) In the mean time we are having good fun on the islands, I dabbled in Scuba diving and we are off white water rafting on Sunday. If only I could kill every mosquito here I may, just may stop moaning for a bit. Oh and they love the English here, the only problem is they keep assuming we are American. Bugger.
p.s I am also in the process of trying to find passage from Panama to Colombia. This is proving very tricky indeed. If only I could trace Captain Ludwig with the sea sick cat..... If you're reading this captain, leave the cat alone and e-mail me!
p.p.s Would you believe it!.... I got back to my bike on the mainland and the man who was supposed to be taking care of my bike went and cut my lock in half! (pic) I was not impressed to say the least, and he made some wet excuse up about the bike being too close to an exhaust pipe of their generator, anyway, I am now lockless and am on the hunt for a new one. Not good for my blood pressure I can assure you!
p.p.p.s YES, YES, YES WE BEAT THE AUSSIES!!!!! Come and get it you Frenchies!
Miles completed: 14,200
Road Kills: As before, plus witness to cold blooded hound murder.
* smelling bad= hazard of not washing bike riding gear....ever!

PLEASE NO MORE TACOS!!!

Well what can I say, I think if I have to eat another taco I may very well go on a crazed rampage with one of the stale tacos they hand me every time and scure the next sweaty vendor who promises me his is the best taco in Mexico. Whoever said Mexico has the richest choice of food is quite simply a liar. So far anyhow.
I knew there was a saying that bad things always happen in threes but after the old man dropping dead on me I thought that was easily bad enough to add up to 3. But oh how wrong I was....
So there was me and Tim more than ready to Leave Baja and escape to the mainland where we hoped things would get cheaper, but also people would not be dropping dead on us, so off we head to get the ferry to Topolobompo (i think) We arrived at 9 O'clock in the evening and the ride to the town was about 30 mins, and only the second time ever I have needed to ride in the dark, and what happens, the fuse on my bike goes for all the lights. Now you might say that is bad thing number two, but oh no, this was just a teaser. I carry spare fuses, but the annoyance was having to take all the stuff off the bike in the dark, in order to get the seat off to replace the fuse. Finally this was done and we headed into town. We found a hotel after Tim dropped his bike as his foot got caught on the top (hard to imagine but easily done I can assure you, oh, and no this too is not bad thing number two you will have to wait...) So we got to our hotel and unfortunately Tims bike had suffered some damage with a part broken clutch lever and a bent gear selector, so for good reason he was pretty annoyed.
That night we went out for a quick drink in an impressively seedy bar.  After several mentalists tried to soak me to death with their drool when repeatedly asking for money and beer we decided to leave and get some sleep. The next day we left this fair sized town and here the fun begins. Straight away in the traffic we got separated, Tim had no phone and after I waited for a while he didn't appear so I thought the obvious thing to do will be to wait on the main road out of town, the only way he can go. So off I head and wait at a petrol station for 2 hours, and no sign. I am forced to head on as it seemed pointless waiting any longer, also he knew we were heading to a place called San Blas. (This was the basis of bad thing number 2... losing my friend) The one impressive thing to note, is that within about 50 miles either side of the tropic of cancer, which I have now crossed the scenery turns from desert straight to jungle. All pretty cool , but that only opens the road hazards up to more exotic things than just withered 3 legged dogs.
I spent that night in Mazatlan but still no sign on Tim, so the next day I continued on to San Blas, on the way there the final (well I really hope it is the final) bad thing happened to me, I went and bloody crashed! And yes, it really rather hurt. Lucky for me, it seemed to have hurt the bike more than me, as it is looking rather bent, but still fine to continue.
I was riding out of a small town called Rosario when (at this stage I might add it was totally my fault!) I clearly had some major lapse in spacial awareness. On seeing a rather large hole in the ground, and a massive boulder to the left of it I decided to avoid the large hole and forget the boulder. At I think about 25-30mph my right pannier hit the boulder and I did a very impressive superman impression for about 10 meters in the air, the landing I can assure you was not so graceful. And I can honestly say I am most glad I wear all my safety stuff regardless of the heat, as the landing tore right through one of my gloves, and my knee protector tore through as well.
Before you all rush out to buy seedless grapes and get well cards to post over here, I am clearly fine and with all my limbs in tact or clearly I would not be typing this right now.  All that happened to me was a slightly swollen knee and a tiny cut on my hand. As I said a second ago, the bike was not so good. The pannier has a huge dent in it, the other pannier is now more like a parallelogram shape and the frame for the panniers broke into two pieces. Also the handle bars don't really point straight anymore, but thats more cosmetic I think.
So there I was looking slightly worse for wear with a rather bent bike wondering what to do. In the end I got some locals in a pick up to carry my stuff to the local welders shop whilst I followed on the bike.
At the welders was a man called Herman (I think). It was basically a court yard with a dirt floor, an archaic welder and a fat caged pig, however Herman did a spectacular job at fixing the bike, and 3 hours work only cost me 5 pounds!
After I left I rode to San Blas, which is a small town with great surf and very few tourists. I spent 2 days there camping and getting my gammy knee back to normal. Then I moved on to Syalita just North of Peurto Vallarta where finally I met Lui. It was quite an expensive place but it was very nice to be with Lui and not camping for once. After two days we moved south as we are currently trying to get to the Chiapas region and into Central America. We have stopped at various small towns with Lui on the bus and me ahead on the bike. This seems to work quite well so far, but the ever increasing amount of wildlife that keeps throwing itself in front of the bike is quite spectacular. As always there are many leathery dogs to dodge but now I am getting lots of other things. I'm afraid I ran over a gang on mini brown frogs the other day, but in defense I didn't realise what they were until they went splat. I was also forced to dodge some large lemur type thing (not sure what it really was) and also had a stand off with a large orange crab, which on seeing me stopped in the middle of the road, raised its claws in a  ´fancy a fight` kind of way, but then realised it may loose, so ran off sideways into the jungle. All quite amusing.
Acapolco is OK but nothing special, and by Christ, riding in the traffic here is a NIGHTMARE. I never thought there would be a chance of meeting a grizzly end by being run over by 400 Beatles at one time! argh! However the cliff divers were certainly worth seeing (twice in fact as Lui got her way!)
After Acapolco I rode down to Peurto Escondido which is now where we are. This place is actually pretty nice and the nicest place I have seen in Mexico so far I think. The waves here are huge, and famous so I'm told for surfing, but only if you're any good so I am staying well away from them, they are huge! The ride down here confirmed to me that I was clearly wrong when I said Mexican drivers aren't that bad. They are terrible, and seem to get worse the further south I get. A typical example would be their use of indicators. You might think it is obvious that if someone indicates right, it means they intend to turn right. But no, not here, it could mean one of several things, either they are turning left, so indicating right to tell you that its OK to pass them, or that they think you should pass them regardless of a big lorry coming the other way, or that they are aware you are there, even so they may still run you over. Finally if you are very lucky it may mean that they are actually turning the way they are indicating. But I can only stress this is a rarity!
So anyway, three days here then off to Oaxaca the state capital then its off to Guatamala via San Cristobal. I feel this entry isn't that riveting-a-read, but what can I say, lots of jungle, large ants, dead dogs and crazy drivers. Not too much else to say. (there seem to be lots of rogue pigs on the loose down south too). Next entry will prob be in Guatemala. So me and Lui are off to eat some food that we are going to cook. The only way to ensure it hasn't been clawed by a sewage stained local chef. Oh and ill add photos soon, I just cant be bothered now.

Pretty Crappy evening- Short Entry

Last night me and Tim were walking down a road on the sea front of La Paz when we walked passed a woman and a man sitting on the bench. Clearly things arent good with the man and the woman is pretty histerical and clearly has no clue what to do. At this point I felt that it would have be unfair and maybe irrisponsible to leave the woman that no one was helping as her husband had clearly just had something along the lines of a heart attack (or something serious anyhow) In hindsight I am also very glad I took the medical course that I did before I left otherwise it would have been a pretty awful situation to be in not having any idea of what to do.
I did all the stuff I think I had been taught to do, but in that situation that I have not been in before it was all pretty hectic. To cut down what seemed like a rather long time, I gave the man CPR for a fair few minutes before anyone else bothered to help, and after a while several others bowled in offering help so in a fairly disturbed state I let them take over, and decided I had tried my best and not to hang around any longer.
All I know is that things really didnt look good.  I later found out the man died, and in fact was proberbly pretty dead when I was trying in vain to give him CPR.
Anyway, that was my saturday night. All very odd, and although I sure it doesnt sound that bad, for someone not expecting it and for some one who has never experienced something like that it was all a bit odd. I can honestly say Im glad I had been trained to some extent to at least try and help, and Im glad I did try and help rather than walk by even if the ending was a rather sad one. But there we go, I suppose thats the way things go, so I thought I should add this to my journal as it is certainly a fairly significant event during my trip.
Hopefully the next entry will be one of a slightly more amusing nature, oh and I tried to load up some photos for the earlier post but the computer just electrecuted me! I think Ill try on another machine!
 

Baja=road kill heaven

Dogs, horses, cows, cats and large green lizards seem to be far more street wise in southern Baja. I have come to this conclusion after becoming what I feel as somewhat a wealth of knowledge regarding Mexican road kill.
I left San Diego 8 days ago with my friend Tim, whom I met whilst learning how to fly. We both rolled up to the border at Tijuana feeling quite relieved to finally be moving on from the USA. The border process was a bit of a joke. We somehow managed to end up in Mexico without even trying so had to be let back in though a big steel gate to try and find a US immigration man to stamp us out of their country. Though finally I didn't have to call the immigration man 'sir' 400 times before he would process me as I promptly informed him I was trying to get out of his country not into it. So we went back to Mexico to get us and the bikes imported.... What a ridiculous system! Most people would assume you would get this process done at the border, but no, in Mexico you need to drive about 1 mile past the border to an un-signposted place in a back street where of course, its so obvious... this is where you get all the stamps. Lucky for us the immigration man who was armed with a very undernourished attack dog took pity on us and told us where to go. I felt slightly disappointed the attack dog didn't go for my lower back, as its toothless old chops looked like it would have given a great massage, but instead it just sat there drooling and eying up every potential truck tyre as a quick way out.
So we got our paperwork done after about 2 further hours and were finally officially 'imported' into Mexico. Next was to escape Tijuana and the northern towns as that day was a Saturday which to me meant most Mexican police men were putting their best bribery face on ready for hordes of unsuspecting gringos. On leaving T.J I finally realized how many suicidal dogs there were in Mexico, within 10 mins of riding I negotiated past 2 Alsatians, 1 Labrador cross and I think 2 chowawas. Well at least I think thats what they were as they were blending into the hard shoulder when I went passed. Initially it is fairly gruesome to see Fido the dog purified on the armco, but it is something you get used to. What you don't get used to is the fact you dint have an air-con filter on the bike to sift out the smoldering dog smell as you pass them. My nose has now got used to all the flavors the road had to offer in Baja, and I must say cat seems to be a far more subtle aroma, where as dog is more sharp on the pallet.

We got passed Rosarito and I must admit all the rumors of Mexican drivers are (SO FAR) not true. I must stress this is comparing them to American drivers which are terrible. Granted the Mexican may think driving on the right hand side is a suggestion, and that traffic lights are merely Morse code for go faster, but at least they keep their eyes on the road, which is far more than I can say for the US driver. Especially as the Americans cross the border they feel that they can drive even more dangerously as it would only be a 'local heathen' they would run over if all went wrong. The only redeeming feature of the average uncle sam being in Mexico means they still have one hand free to hold the wheel, as in the US one hand is for the mandatory mobile phone, the other is for the burger being chewed on, and the eye sight, well in the USA they are normally reading a book, but at least in Mexico they need to keep an eye out for the next suicidal pooch waiting for an exit from planet earth.
So after leaving the last major US incursion of Mexico (Ensanada) after day 1 we headed east towards the sea of Cortez and some dirt roads. On the ride across central Baja we saw some great scenery. It really is a very picturesque area of Mexico with great desert, mountains and lots and lots of cacti. Whilst riding along my attention was drawn to the edge of the road by something I was not used to, and oh yeah, a new smell, this one, slightly nutty. And there we have it, road kill comes in all shapes and sizes here, we now have a horse! I pitty the poor old sod who met with black beauty, but I can assure you that the horse was more red coloured and certainly no longer a beauty.
I shall brush over san Felipe as a place full of annoying tourists who has somehow slipped past all the military road blocks to arrive in a peaceful town, only to rent 14 quads, 32 jet skis and a large 4x4. They then proceed to ride them 24 hours a day. Nowhere was safe, and everywhere I looked it seemed there was a large pasty beached whale of a man tearing round on some sort of vehicle or another. Night 2 = bad nights sleep!

Day 3 we rode towards the dirt, We had already been through about 6 military blocks where they seemed to care more about the size of my bike and where I was going. As soon as I mentioned Argentina in my slowly increasing Spanish vocab, they just called me 'loco' and waved us on. We arrived at the dirt track along the coast line. The scenery was amazing but it was so so hot. The rest of the day was taken up by riding the worst roads (if thats what you can call them) I have so far ridden. The average speed must have been 10 mph the whole way in either really deep sand or huge rocks. We passed a couple of Mexicans in a HiLux who we saw at the end of the dirt road 2 days later. They told us they had received 4 punctures in about 130 miles, they ended up driving the last 30 miles on the rims! That is how bad this road was! Anyway back to the track.... So late in the first day of off roading both bikes are doing well but we ran out of water, I for one was so tired it was unreal so made the call we go down a track which suggested it had a restaurant. This may seem obvious but all the tracks say that, and you are greeted by a burnt down old shack or a dog waiting to die (you should see his eyes light up as he sees the wheels of the bike roll up!) So we rode down a track of horrid deep sand towards the sea and it turned out we were in luck, this place even had a dirt airstrip, but no Cessna's to have a go at flying unfortunately. I was so tired I decided to stop the bike in the most stylish of ways by applying the brakes till I stopped rolling and with great style falling off. Very cool.

So we found some leathery old bat who said she would cook us our 400 th taco of the trip, and even had some cola, so all was well. The place was actually really nice, and the beach was deserted apart from some whale bones, so we decided to stay the night here. We met the Mexicans who owned the place and they were really nice and let us sleep for free even though the taco woman try to sly $5 out of us for a beach she claimed to own! We spent the evening chatting with the Mexicans and this crazy American guy. I then notice that I happen to be sitting on a black widow spider! It really was!! I was on a chair, got up to get some water, and when i came back I shone the torch at the chair to see a black widow just hanging out in his web right where my legs were. Obviously the Mexicans found this very funny, but not me, and on closer inspection these nasty little blighters were everywhere! The Mexicans reassured me that I probably wouldn't die from a bite, I would just be very ill and live long enough for a medi-vac. I felt much better (yeah-right!)

The next day Tim and I rode on along the last leg of the dirt road through really tough deep sand. Not easy on a bike weighing as much as mine. Tim was handling it very well considering his experience, but I suppose he only had 1 pair of underpants and some petrol for weight. We got to the tarmac and continued through various towns which were a bit of a disappointment. We were chasing the tail end of a hurricane which we knew nothing about till we arrived at these towns which were full of debris and raw sewage, so to be fair it wasn't the best advert for a cynic like me.
We were now in the South (Baja Sur) This point is marked by more military types looking bored and asking silly questions. We headed for Lorreto along the Mex 1, and I began to notice something different. My nose had not been offended by the smell of stewing livestock for quite a while. However there were plenty more live ones loitering on the roads, amongst the usual suspects were goats who seemed to have joined the party. It brought back great memories of the plastic bottle chewing goats of Africa, and confirmed to me that once a pack of goats appear by the roadside you really are in a developing country. Due to the fact that the road was littered with living creatures made me come to the conclusion that they must be way more streetwise down south, or maybe its just because there are no American tourists running them over, whilst looking for the next Subway (the healthy alternative for fat people) and talking to anyone who will listen on their mobile phone. Very likely I'm sure.
After leaving Lorreto feeling a bit disappointed about firstly the huge cost of accommodation in this area but also the smell of poo due to the storm, we searched for another place to stay. We took a dirt road towards the mountains where there was supposed to be a really pretty mission built by do-gooders way back when. We rode on a great dirt road through streams and past great scenery for about 1 hr, and arrived at mission san Javier. This place was great! Certainly the best place I have been in Baja. A small mission with a really nice old church and cobbled streets. We camped in the local junkies vegetable patch for a mere $2 (money for his medication of course! ) And I was constantly bothered by a thieving Alsatian who found it amusing to run off with my tent pegs.
We woke up the next morning under mango trees, so breakfast was free. Very nice mangos too. Lucky for us the local junky was nowhere to be seem I'm sure due to his `medication' so we left heading west on the dirt road to the Pacific side. Now what you need to understand when it comes to locals is that a general rule is do not believe a word they say until you see it for yourself. Due to this hurricane that had gone through, the river was swollen, a few locals said we would not make it as the river was waist high, but several others including the local policeman said it was fine, so off we set. The first section of the road was about 2-3 foot deep in mud, I rode through the tyre marks made by other vehicles, but tip disappeared. I rode back to find him covered in mud, and totally stuck. After about 10 mins of laughing I decided it best to direct operations rather than get covered in smelly mud myself. The local loitering chap and Tim finally got the bike out. The next two hours consisted of about 10 river crossing where the water got deeper and deeper until finally we decided that the first local was indeed right, and we couldn't go any further. At this point the water was knee high on the bike, and we were having to walk every crossing to make sure it could be done first. This, I hate to say it, was the second time this trip that I have been forced to turn back. Again, I think a good idea which was confirmed a bit later on.
After making it back through the river crossings to the village Tims starter switch had packed in due to the water, lucky for him the old KLR's have a kick start. We rode back to Lorretto to join the main highway south.
We reached the tarmac about 1 hr later. I pulled over to check the bike due to all the shaking, and thank goodness I did. On close inspection one of my chassis bolts had worked loose and come totally out! (see pic when I load it) I doesn't really bare thinking about if I hadn't stopped and had tore off at 70 round the next corner. Good example of why to check nuts and bolts, a good example of how rough these roads are, and another good call turning back.
Last night we camped up a hill off the road by about 1 mile. We are sorting out the tents and cooking some food and a random man turns up armed with a rifle! Pretty funny really as, we got talking and he had a beer with us, ate with us and we then had a shooting contest with his rifle and a can. (I wont say who won as it would be unprofessional, but lets say Mexico came 2nd) All very random but a good laugh.
Today I find myself in La Paz waiting to get a very expensive ferry to the mainland. Baja has been a great experience but in summary I can honestly say that the main tourist towns are a big disappointment, however the back roads, tracks and tiny missions in the mountains have been excellent. The cost of things is another gripe, but thats probably because me and Tim are both mean old sods who don't like spending money.
Finally the bike is still running well, but tyres are not enjoying the roads, oh and the road kill count has increased by one mid-sized peppermint green lizard, I swear he never felt a thing.

miles completed: 11,150
road kills: 3 (lizard, sparrow and pheasant)

The Top Gun Academy awaits

I can tell this entry is going to take a while to write as it is tricky to find any time to do it. I'm sure no one told me trying to learn how to fly in 4 weeks was tough!..... Well maybe they did.So I think I was heading to Vegas last time I wrote. I spent the day sweating furiously by a large wheely bin at  the edge of the Mojave desert as it was the only shade I could find. My plan was to ride over the desert to Vegas in the wee hours of the morning so it seemed to have turned into a waiting game. During this time killing exercise I visited a quite impressively tacky tourist attraction called Calicot ghost town (or something like that) It really was most impressive how totally unoriginal the tourist industry can make a historical piece. I'm sure almost every rock and building was embossed with the Walt Disney logo. So I wondered briefly round this 'historic' silver town, past the gold panning hut (note it was a silver town, so I'm still confused as how they can claim tourists can pan for real gold!) and finally went back to my wheely bin for a bit of shade.
After trying to get to sleep early so I wanst too tired for my 4am start, I decided this was a pointless exercise as it seemed everyone in the area with an RV wanted to drive slowly past my tent with their headlights on full beam. I finally reached the end of my patience when one RV owner decided to do a 3 point turn right by my tent, and almost ran me and the tent over. At this point I decided it may well be time to leave.
At about 3am I left to cross the Mojave desert to Vegas. The ride was pretty dull and stinking hot but after 4 hours I got there. When I went to check in they wouldn't give me my room for 5 hours as they said it wasn't ready. This gave rise to a problem of what to do in Vegas that involves spending no money at all for 5 hours. I couldn't find an alternative so accepted defeat and lost money in the casino.
Vegas was OK, and as I expected really. I'm sure if you have tones of cash to spend it is great, and I did have fun as I met up with a couple of friends I had met the week before. There isn't much else I can say about Vegas really apart from I did actually manage to turn up during 1 of the 3 days in the whole year when it actually rains there. I was most impressed.
I left Vegas to head towards the Hoover dam, then the Grand Canyon. I had also persuaded myself to ride to monument valley after the Canyon as is seemed fairly close (I realize thats not true now!) The hoover dam was pretty cool and worth a visit even if I felt like my body was melting inside all the bike gear. Not much happened on that leg apart from a small posse of fat tourists explaining they had seen me on the road earlier. I'm never quite sure what to say to that statement, so I was forced to smile and say something along the lines of 'thats nice;' normally this leads to the 'oh my god, where are you from' stage, but due to my imminent evaporation I was forced to ride off with them blathering behind me.
It was a long old way to the grand canyon, which included a stretch of 'classic route 66' featuring what else but a brown historic sign telling me so. I finally got there in the evening after riding through torrential rain and thunder storms. after being ripped off at the gate of the park I rode to the camp ground and slept. The next day was the day of sight seeing with the canyon and monument valley.
On seeing the grand canyon, I hate to admit it but one does seem to make the same gawping noise as every other person, and as well as that I'm sure I had the same stupid look on my face which either tells onlookers you are mighty impressed or mighty simple. To be fair most of the locals in this area have that look on their face regardless of whether they are looking at large gaps in the ground or not, so I can only deduce that most of them fit into the latter category.
After seeing the Canyon in the morning I set off across the desert towards Utah and monument valley. It was actually a really long way but after a constructive site seeing morning I wasn't too bothered about the ride. Early afternoon I got to monument valley at the edge of Utah. I had a look around and then planned to ride a large loop back towards Arizona.
Monument valley is in the middle of nowhere, as you can imagine if you have ever seen some classic cowboy movies. So there I am riding between a place called Mexican Hat and the next petrol station which is an place called Mexican Water. These town type places are about 40 or so miles apart and really in the middle of nowhere. This is where the odd part starts..... So I'm riding along a pretty deserted road between these two places when a 4x4 overtakes me. This is pretty normal so I just keep cruising, but the vehicle is distinguishing because of some hay bails in the back. Then after several more miles I notice the same truck pulled over on the opposite side of the road facing me. (at this point I must point out it seems amusing now, but want at the time!) I pass the truck and see the lone driver, some middle aged man making gestures at me, which I can only describe as suggestively sexual and depraved. I'm sure you can all imagine! So I ride past fairly freaked out just thinking what an odd thing to happen. Then in my mirrors I notice the truck has turned round and is chasing me down this deserted road. At this stage it was really not amusing. I tried to ride as fast as I could, but 85mph was all I could manage on the road surface. This psychotic sex pest caught up with me in a few minutes and pulled up along side me trying to get me to stop. At this stage I was really feeling quite concerned and preceded to fumble around for my trusty bear spray whilst trying to keep on the road! Would you believe it, but for almost 10 miles this homo-sex pest nutter chased me repeatedly trying to force me off the road, then suddenly pulled over, turned around and drove off the other way. All this time not one car had gone past, and 5 mins later I realized the only reason he turned round was I was 1/2 away from the petrol station at Mexican Water. All rather disturbing, and after I had recovered from the mental images of me featuring in films like deliverance and Jeepers Creepers (for those of you who have seen them) it dawned on my that this was the only time I had driven for so long without seeing about 10 police cars. Typical, they are NEVER around when you need them! Anyhow, I thought people like you Olly and Noon would appreciate a good story of my 'almost' misfortune. In fact I can imagine you laughing right now!
So after riding 550 miles in one day, just to escape Utah, and Ricky-Bobby the over-sexed maniac I categorically decided I would never be going back their again unless I'm armed with napalm or some thing similar. What started as a really quite good day turned out to be a shocker. I spent a very tired night in a slum of a Motel in Flagstaff that night. At least no dead bodies were being carted out of the room opposite this time!
The next day I rode through Arizona to spend some time in Joshua Tree national park. Little did I realize that in fact it does rain in Arizona, and in fact they have a monsoon season once a year. It just so happens I had picked the month of their monsoon, and trying to ride on an interstate at 70 mph with a 35 knot cross-wind was really not easy; especially as it was being complemented by overweight truckers seemingly trying their best to run me over. After stopping several times as I couldn't cope with the wind, to the extent that it actually blew me off the road onto the hard shoulder at one point, I finally made it to the national park.
The park is really nice, and really quiet as well. I set my tent up in a totally empty camp ground and relaxed for a while. Then what seemed pretty funny to me, a guy turns up towing a KLR 650 just like mine. Pretty odd really as there really was no one else around.  To add to this, it seemed he was a fountain of knowledge on KLR's. After chatting for ages about what else but our bikes, he gave me numerous tips about keeping the beast running, I feel this may come in handy later on this year.
The next day I really enjoyed my sight seeing in the park, and of course posed for the standard U2 style Joshua tree album photos. I then rode off, next stop El Cajon and my flight school for the next month.
So here I am, and the reason for not writing for so long. I have been busy the whole time flying planes with my friend Rupert, who incidentally is now addicted to Gator-Aid (an energy drink). You should of seen the joy on his face when he discovered wall mart sell it by the gallon! We did also find an evening to cross the border into Mexico to check out all the drunk 18 yr old Americans who can legally go to bars there. The evening was amusing enough until we tried to get back into the USA, and they wouldn't let us in for about 4 hours as we didn't have some slip of paper with us, so 6am the next morning after finally persuading them we are nice people they let us back in. I shall not be trying that one again. Next time I leave the USA for Mexico it will hopefully be for good.
I currently have completed 37 hours out of 45, and have also completed all my solo flying without getting lost (quite incredible really!) I am also starting my night rating today. Hopefully within the next ten days I shall legally be allowed to fly around in planes which is pretty cool. I have also been spending far too much money on getting the bike ready for the next long long leg of the trip which I shall continue on the 1st Sept. Right enough of this I am off to fly some more.

p.s Yeah, I have now passed my Skills test and am now a pilot, all I need now is lots of money so as I can afford to fly in the UK! 6 days till the 1st sept, and time to leave the USA.....

Highway 1, LA and the hot trip to Vegas

I left San Fransisco in a kind of refreshed way. I was heading east towards Yosemite National Park, as everyone had been raving about it. I arrived there in the late afternoon to be met with so much traffic it was quite unbelievable for a national park. I drove in and headed for the main attraction being the valley where the famous mountains and waterfall is situated. Would you believe it but I actually found myself stuck in a traffic jam in the middle of the park which was a pretty big disappointment as you can only image the number of people that were also there.
The park itself is very impressive, and if I could have afforded it then it would have been an excellent place to try my hand at rock climbing, but along with the large number of tourists came a high price to do anything at all.
I arrived at a campsite which seemed to house the only wildlife stupid enough to hang around, being hundreds of squirrels. The were forever trying to get in and out of everything, if only the militant park rangers would allow people like me to eat them I would have had a feast that night, but for some reason the rangers would have none of it.
The campsite was actually OK, and had a great view of the valleys sheer walls, i was camping near some young American couple who it seemed had brought everything they owned with them... I even thought I saw some form of sink, not sure if it was a kitchen one though! They were very friendly, and after asking me what I was up to, they found it interesting enough to ply me with ice cold beer from their travel fridge. Very nice indeed.
I left the next day as I could stand it no more, and in actual fact the park wasn't as amazing as everyone had made it out to be. I'm afraid my vote still lies with North Alaska. I headed back west to meet with Highway 1 and head towards an area called Big Sur. The trip to the coast wasn't very exciting, but when I reached the coastal road the views were spectacular. I would definitely say that the stretch of H1 from San Fran to Santa Barbara is the nicest, and far nicer than the section north of San Fran. The sea seems to be much bluer, and the cliffs far more dramatic, and certain points the road hangs onto the cliff so close to the edge that all you can see is a sheer drop to the bottom. This however is not a motorcyclists biggest concern, the main concern for me, once again was the tourists in their cars feeling it was fine to drive on either side of the road as long as the were looking at the view, but what with the laws in this country, maybe that is OK. Who knows?
I arrived on the section know as Big Sur, named after a tiny settlement. This area is pretty empty of towns and is therefore very expensive indeed. I passed a place I had been told about called the Eselan Institute whilst looking for a hedge to camp in. Camping was impossible for free but I had heard that the natural hot springs at this institute were amazing and only $20 if you go between 1 and 3 am, rather than the many hundreds of dollars you must pay for any other time. Therefore I thought this a good way to spend the night, and I was lucky enough to get a space.
I rode on and to my surprise managed to find a cheap ish camp ground, so pitched up and slept to prep myself for my night excursion.
Now I need to brief you with a bit of history about the Eselan Institute before I go on. It was founded back when free love was still free, HIV was still just a bad case of the Flu and new age healing apparently worked. During this period some wealthy hippy healer decided he would invest in a healing retreat to 'find yourself' and thus this pricey escape was founded, and to rich people who follow this stuff it is apparently very famous.
So at 1am I arrived at the place, well actually at the lay by next to it , as us peasants were not allowing to drive in. It was very surreal and I was worried I may have ended up at some local wife swapping hang out as other cars began to gather. These people were in fact fairly normal, and were also there for the hot springs. We were met by an employee and taken down in the pitch black to the springs. In actual fact this old skeptic was quite impressed, it was really rather nice. The sky was totally clear and no moon, so without sounding too batty about it all, you could see some very nice shooting stars etc. The hot springs were built onto the cliff edge so directly below was the sea crashing against the rocks. All very nice. The only thing that I was slightly taken aback by was all the new age types insist on getting butt naked to aid the calmer or something, so I had to adopt the old saying 'if you cant beat them, join them.' So here I was butt naked in a hot spring with a load of people who were talking about the cosmos. Normally I would feel like vomiting at having to listen to this tripe, but actually I was quite content. It must have been the sulphur or something! I leave this little story with one last point. Why is it that every person who is happy to peel off their clothes in these instances are never in the slightest bit easy on the eye, instead they look like they have just been dredged from the local swamp and released into the community. Oh well, life isn't perfect I suppose.
The next day I relaxed at the same campsite, and even hauled my carcass down the cliff for a little stroll, during which I managed to burn my back to a crisp in the hot sun. My plan was to continue the day after to Santa Barbara via an Elephant Seal colony and Hearst Castle.
I woke up in good time and rode on the short trip to both sites. I arrived at the Seal Colony and was most impressed at a/ how smelly there were, and b/how bloody fat there were. You were able to get really close, and get a real good whiff as well. Lovely. But in actual fact they were very cool, and I recon given a wash and a bit of a diet would have made interesting guard-seals, training would obviously be needed but by crikey they had bad attitudes and seemed to be always up for a fight with each other.
After checking out the bad-arsed seals I moved on just 3 miles to Hearst Castle. I was more than prepared to be really disappointed like I am with most museums in the USA, but I hate to admit it but I was really quite taken aback. Lucky for me I arrived early enough to avoid the blimps and their motor homes. I payed the extortionate fee for the 1st or the 4 tours they offer... yes 4 bloody tours, money grabbing gits! So off I went on the bus up the drive.
Mr Hearst was bloody loaded. He was a media tycoon who had a taste for the posh life, and as with all Americans he was obsessed with having a bit of 'history'. I feel I must briefly digress to point out how obsessed the American population is about having some form of history. They label everything as a point of historical interest. The other day I went over a reinforced concrete bridge which pointed out it was a US historical piece. The fact it was only 40 years old seemed to be beside the point. Seriously, you will drive into a small town which will have a sign pointing to the local Waffle House eatery, the sign will say, 'site of historical interest', you will then walk in to be met with another sign pointing towards the nicotine stains on the walls, as well as the aging waitress, and the sign will say 'point of historical interest It really is that bad. I'm starting to think the only reason why the Americans will only grant a Visa for 3 months in their country for us tourists, is that if we stayed any longer, we would become points of historical interest, and thus they would have to invest in a small brown sign to point towards us. Crazy. Anyway I shall get back to the story. So here was mega rich Mr Hearst who after buying up half of California decided to build a holiday home. Basically he got a building made out of what else but reinforced concrete, and then once again did what all wealthy Americans love to do, he went to Europe and bought all our cast-offs with which he transformed the concrete blocks into an amazing Mediterranean style mansion.
This place was epic. It had the most amazing rooms which were furnished with amazing (mostly religious) artifacts from Europe and the far east. It was crossed between a Gothic cathedral and a stately home. Very impressive. The cherry on the top for me, and I think my friends Ru and Maritsa who recently visited the place as well, had to be the swimming pool. This was as 'bling' as it gets. Overall I was happy with the tour and came out for once not feeling disappointed.
I headed on to Santa Barbara and managed to find the only hostel in the town. I met some people there who were good fun. A few from Denmark and the first two people I had met traveling who came from the UK. Small world syndrome clearly kicked in as one of them lives about 10 miles down the road from me in the UK. Strange hey. The choice of hols for these people seems to be Californian road trips, and they all seemed to be enjoying it.  The hostel on the other hand was crap. Nothing worked, they threatened to call the police as I was having a bottle of beer with my food (no beer so I was informed, whoops) and the rooms were stinking. But with no choice of where to stay we all had to make do.
Santa Babs is very nice. The nicest town I had come across on my trip down the coast. With nice comes wealth, and basically it was rammed with lots of very rich types. The bars were good fun, and after two nights of going out with the guys I had met I decided this was a good place. The beach was pretty nice as well.
The next mission was to take on LA. I rode down H1 and arrived at Santa Monica, a posh part of the city. All the hostels were fully booked in the area so I went to a motel. It was really hot by now and I was feeling stressed out about the traffic. I asked the woman at the Motel who quoted me $250 for a room!!! Clearly I said no, so she gave me a card of one for $90 up the road. I went there, and that was my first mistake. The next part of this story, I must stress is exactly how it happened...
I arrived at the motel, it looked really shabby but I rode in and went to check in. The man told me it was $90, so, feeling worried I wouldn't find anything else I agreed and paid without checking the room. (mistake number 2) After paying he pointed out the 'NO REFUNDS' sign. I shrugged it off and went to my room, weaving round all the 50 cent wanna-bees. I opened my door, and the first thing that struck me was the stench. It really smelt like someone had died in there. Remembering the no refund policy I unloaded the bike and went it. This place was hagging. I have staying in some bad places in my time, but this took the biscuit. The beds were covered in what I can only say were probably crack cocaine burns as no one is that careless with a cigarette! Also the beds were covering in dirt and dust, I then worried I would catch some nasty parasite from these beds, so ended up sleeping in my sleeping bag on the floor with clean sheets that I requested.
After unpacking etc, I had to leave the room as the stench was too much, so I thought I would head to the beach and have a look around. here comes the crowning moment..... I left my room to be greeted by a gaggle of paramedics and fire men who had got into the room opposite me, and were proceeding to remove what seriously looked like a dead man! I cannot say for sure that he was dead, but there really were in no hurry to get him to hospital, and from what I saw, which wasn't too much was that he looked pretty lifeless. So I left the motel cursing the fact that I had payed so much money for such a hovel of a place. The only redeeming feature (if there was one) is that maybe there wont be so many burns in the sheets from now on if the resident crack addict had taken a trip to the pearly gates. We shall never know, and in fact I don't intend to find out, I was just mighty relieved that I survived the night.
During that day, mainly to keep away from my motel I wondered areas of LA, and I can really say it struck me as the saddest city I have ever been to. I am trying to find a good way to describe it, and I'm sure it is lovely if you are loaded and live in Beverly hills, but most of us are not that loaded and just walking around gave me a real sense of depression for so many of the residence. I walked along the length of Venice beach where I have never seen so many freaks. They are all there trying to offer some form of entertainment, or just looking sad. It struck me that so many of these people looked as if they had come to LA to seek some illusive fame and fortune which never came their way, so instead they all head to Venice beach to waste away the days. All very lame, and in fact it wasn't just that area of the city, the quantity of bums in the area was unreal, all looking for their next hit of special brew.
The next day I rode round all the places one should see in the city, and saw everything that I was 'supposed to see', but still my views on LA did not change. The only reason that I could tell anyone visits this city is to witness extreme wealth or extreme poverty. All the famous sites looked run down and nothing like you imagined they would look from the movies. Oh well, I couldn't get out of LA fast enough. This of course is my opinion and I'm sure many of my friends who have been there as well liked the place, but as I say thats what I thought.
I left LA yesterday and slept the night in the area where the start of  Jurassic park was filmed at the edge of the Mojave desert. The sandstone structures were very nice indeed but it was painfully hot at 42 degrees C. I am currently killing time in Barstow waiting for night to fall when I can avoid the current 45 degrees and hopefully make it to Vegas without smelling like roast pork.
Next stop Vegas, hoover dam and maybe monument valley then its off to meet my friend Rups and to learn how to fly....Right I'm now off to see if it really is possible to fry an egg on the road.

Welcome to the land of the Free!

I left Victoria after a very enjoyable period of drinking and having general Canada day fun. I arrived at the ferry port to get a boat over to the Olympic National Park in the USA. After fulfilling the main immigration criteria of not have a wild beard and a strangely brown appearance I thought I would be in without too much hassle, however this was not the case. About 1 hour later, which included searching through all my stuff he finally agreed that maybe I was really just riding through. Next stop the USA....
I arrived in Port Angeles then carried on through the Olympic national park passing a large lake, which I forget the name of, but I'm sure it was something like 'Elastic Waistband Lake' (well maybe not but the name seemed to suit the area, therefore I have chosen to re-name it). The amount of grotesquely fat women wobbling in and out of their RV's was quite astonishing. I started to question whether or not they were indeed RV's, but in actual fact huge 'mobility chairs' that the stenna stairlift company had seen a niche for. Every single one seemed to be occupied by a blimp of a human. When I was told the coast was good for whale watching I didn't mean they meant human whales! Anyhow, I hope I have no really fat readers, and if so I'm sorry... I'm sure you're not fat anyway, just big boned.
I rode on escaping 'Elastic Waistband Lake' and made for Mt. Rainer where I thought I would camp for the night before arriving in Seattle. I rode round the State Capitol called Olympia but then got stuck riding through the centre of a town called TaCOMA, and by Christ what a dump. I felt great sympathy for any poor sod who ended up living here, with the biggest attraction being 17 miles of fast food restaurants, and on leaving the town I felt how apt the name seemed to be, as quite frankly I recon the only way to survive the place would actually be to fall into a COMA, and really hope you would not wake up to spend a lifetime viewing Burger king and McDonald's every way you looked.
I camped near Mt Rainier which was stunning. It was impressive purely due to the fact the mountain appears from nowhere like a huge blot on the horizon. Very pleasant. I arrived at the camp ground so late that I managed to sneak in and out Gratis. Even better!
The next day I made some calls to the Family friends I was going to stay with a few nights, so I arrived at the Hodders house just north of Seattle midmorning. I had a really lovely time staying with them, and they made me feel really welcome. I spent the first evening in with them, then the next day I went into the city for the 4th July stuff. I hate to say it to all my US friends, but as far as I can tell the Canadians know how to party a bit better, but I suppose in Canada they haven't got half as many ridiculous laws just to stop anyone having any fun...Check this out, here a couple of utterly ridiculous laws the Americans thought it a good idea to introduce. Fireworks, now we all love explosions, especially the USA, or so I thought, but clearly not... In most counties in Washington it is illegal to buy any fireworks bigger than those little finger caps we used to throw as children, however, all you need to do is drive 30 mins up the road to an Indian reservation where by the roadside you can buy something that resembles a scud missile with a sparkler attached to the top, to only then drive back to the illegal part of town and set it off, grinning with glee as your neighbors experience the fall out. Classic. Here is another law, as I have got going now... Lucky for me I was informed that it is actually illegal to fill up your own petrol tank in Oregon. So what seemed to happen on a regular basis was some spotty teenager would swan out form the shop and make some half arsed attempt to fill up my bike. The only problem with this was that they would stick the nozzle right into the tank, fill it up till it cut-out, which would be about 1 litre. I would then point out that unless he wanted me to run out of petrol 20 miles down the road, then he is better off letting me do it. This may not sound that bad, but after the 10th time of explaining this I was almost ready to risk being arrested and jailed for life just so I could get a full petrol tank. AARRGH!
Anyhow, I feel I am ranting about bad American stuff, which is unfair as there are plenty of good things too, for one you can turn right on a red light, now thats good. But lets be honest it wouldn't be so amusing if I wrote about all the red lights Ive turned right on would it.
After a fun time in Seattle, which involved meeting a few new friends and my friends Kat, I left to head south. I rode along the coast of Oregon through Astoria where the Goonies was filmed, so after the necessary photo shoot of the house, the jail and the beach I moved on along the coast. The whole coastline is very picturesque, and at a risk of exposing my sensitive side it was quite beautiful. I arrived at a small place called Cannon Beach. This is where the Goonies beach is, and it seemed like a very nice place, if not rather pricey. So there I am preparing to sleep in a hedge whilst having some food when I meet a guy called Richard and his daughter, we get chatting over a beer, and to cut a long story short, they were kind enough to let me sleep at their cottage right by the beach. That was really cool as I didn't feel like sleeping in yet another bush.
The next day I carried on inland towards Crater Lake where the weather got super hot. It was actually a very long ride so I slept by a river 90 miles West of the lake and went to see it the next day. It was an incredible place which as always the pics never do justice to. I spent a few hours there before taking back roads through Oregon back towards the coast. Oregon is really a lovely State, even inland once you escape the fast-food towns.
Back at the coast I entered the Redwood national park, and with that I also crossed into California. The redwoods are, to no ones surprise, bloody huge! Its all very 'Jurrasic Park' when riding through them. I camped in the national park that night, then the next day planned to ride to San Fransico to meet with some friends.
The next day was one of those days where everything goes wrong. I did the standard 'drive through a tree' thing before carrying on to San Fran via some dirt roads. I was staying on highway 1 which you would not believe how wiggly this road is unless you had to drive down it; but alongside that it had incredible views all the way down. So here I am riding down H1 50 miles north of San Fran when it happens..... The bike BREAKSDOWN! Would you believe it but the beast actually stops dead.....
I found myself in a lay by between very small towns along the coast. Initially I act a bit cool about it as I had just filled up with fuel so thought the spotty teenager had put diesel in. After much inspection the fuel is good, but I have no spark. Over the next 4 hours I had the bike totally stripped but was at a complete loss to why it wouldn't spark. Then a nice lady pulls over to offer help. I get the number of a Kawasaki dealer in the next town 20 miles away. I call them up, but it is a real struggle as they aren't too happy about towing me back. The lady leaves as I say Im fine, but end up getting fobbed off by the dealer, so Im back being stranded. Then another nice person pulls over. A guy on a Harley. Its quite ridiculous as everywhere you ride, every single biker will wave at you like a total buffoon, but when push comes to shove and you really need some help, this was the only guy on a bike who bothered to check if i was OK out of a large number who rode by. So the next wave I get is going to be answered with two fingers waving back.
Anyhow this guy is awesome, we push the bike 1/2 mile to a store where he has a beer waiting for me, he then calls the dealer and talks American to them, which makes them come and get me. The dealership was actually very good, but it took them that evening and the next morning to even get the bike going. The cause still remains a slight mystery but is was linked to the accursed cut-out circuit again! (please note what a crap job the dealer in Fairbanks did as they were supposed to have fixed that!) Anyway, it is now totally shorted out so no more cut out probs I hope. Also it is very sobering that this problem could have occurred in the Yukon, or Alaska or in fact could have happened in 1 week when I am in death valley. Quite scary really, but all is good. One final note on this disastrous day is this. That night was spent in the worst campsite ever. It cost me a small fortune and the staff there were utter fu**kers. They wouldn't even lend me 25 cent to call my San Fran friends to let them know the situation. I will not go on, but if anyone reading this finds themselves in Petaluma (CA) never stay at their camp ground, in fact, go there do a turd in their reception, then leave again. I would appreciate that.
Finally on Thursday I arrived in San Fran to meet up with me friends Jon and Bob. San Fran seems very cool, if not  bit foggy. Right now I am recovering from 3 nights of merryment, and am about to head off to Yosemite N.P. The long weekend was fuelled with much entertainment, and all I can say is that I hope I am invited to the imminent wedding Bob, and the birth of you first 10 children which I'm sure will follow very soon, and whilst I'm on the subject can I come to the house warming when you find a place to buy next week! Anyway enough of the private jokes, I have had a quality time so thanks to Bob for letting me pas out on a regular basis on his sofa, intermittently watching 7 hours of man vs wild, and thanks for coming all the way out here from Hotlanta Jon. Good times, and we need to do it again very soon.
This has been an epic amount to write about, and I'm sure I have forgotten lots but my hands ache now. Next stops Yosemite, LA, Vegas and then San Diego. Signing out.
p.s Very annoyed as I never got to go onto Alcatraz.... Jon I know you feel my pain too. All the overweight school kids in the area had pre-booked the tickets so there was no chance of getting out there. gutted.
p.p.s pics to follow soon

Hobos, the seaside and people called Steve

At long last I have reached the coastline of the Pacific, and for all intensive purposes completed the fist leg of the journey.
Nelson, which is the town were I last left you is a fun place. It is basically full of hippies, cool bars and lots of vegetarian restaurants, so if you ignore the fact that every tree hugger looks undernourished and in desperate need of a hunk of cow to add colour to his face then the place is most agreeable.
I stayed in a hostel which was by far the Hilton equivalent of Hosteling. It was well nice. I met with the guy who worked there and ended up going out for organic beers (what else of course). So because of this I had a good few days there. On my day of departure disaster stuck. This was certainly going to be a day of mourning...
I was packing my bike back up when I noticed some hemp under pant wearing scoundrel had stolen my pot of 'Wriggly Jims bait worms' from the floor by my bike. For those of you who are wondering what I am talking about, basically they are some worms I bought with the intention to fish with, but after laziness, too many mosquitoes and 5500 miles of being travel buddies I had becomes pretty attached to my squirming friends.
The only reasoning I can come up with to why the clepto-hippy would want to steal my worms, is that either he was looking to expand his organic worm farm, or he finally had a hankering for a bit of meat, and whilst his hippy friends were too stoned to notice he took the opportunity to tuck into my bait. Dam him. In truth I must admit that I hadn't actually checked on my worms for a good few weeks, so they were probably more like twiglets than the juicy looking picture on the front of the pot. So not much nourishment for you Swampy.
I left Nelson feeling at a loss from such reliable travel partners, who never moaned about where I was heading or how impatient I am. But I soon got over it with the thought that at least I may have converted some fungus munching do-gooder to the way of the omnivore.
I got to Vernon and up the mountain to Silverstar where the Skillet plot of land was to be my home for about 12 hours. The roads were really twisty all the way there, but it also tipped down with rain so I was feeling rather soggy on arrival. The plot of land is decidedly bushy, and it was tough to find a place to pitch the tent, so I was forced to put it right by the road side. Very quickly curtains began twitching as the plot is surrounded by other houses. Finally a plump man called Lennard appeared, we had a chat and he told me that there were no shops open to get food. he then went into his house and came out with tins of food for me as well as beer. Nice one Lenny. So that night I was again well fed and watered for free.
The next day I was off to Whistler, on leaving the Skillett empire I left a pre-housewarming gift behind the big tree at the front, about 6ft up. So Guy you now are the proud owner of my fishing rod ($10 from walmart, and a bit broken) as well as a little note. I felt I could give the rod away as it no longer had a purpose what with the worms now being part of the criminal underworld.
I had yet another wet ride to Whistler and enjoyed yet another litre of oil with a burger floating somewhere in it at a hick pub in some god awful town. The rest of the trip was uneventful until about 15 km from Whistler, where I secured my second confirmed road kill. I was riding happily along when a pheasant kind of bird thing flew out of the hedge and made significant enough contact with the front end of my bike to in fact become part of the bike (see pic below) The impact was at around 65 mph, and lucky for me I was considerably better off than the bird.
Whistler was nice but again very touristy. In fact the other 4 squillion Aussies that hadn't worked out the road continued to Banff had ended up staying here. I had a good night with a few locals doing the usual drinking but decided I would leaving the next day to reach Vancouver.
I left for vancouver the next morning feeling some what delicate from drinking horrid shots of black stuff. The ride was only a few hours and I had actually tried to be organized and booked a place to stay. I arrived in vancouver, which it seems is actually a very pleasant city. It has a fair amount of greenery which is nice, and isn't that busy so in fact you don't really feel like you're in a big city. There are however, and incredible amount of hobos wondering the street and asking me for my money. The great thing is that they then look stupendously surprised when I refuse to hand over any of my hard earned (actually borrowed) money so as they can buy yet more petrol-scented booze to refuel with. The response to their utter shock at not being handed free money is normally something in the line of burbling and a pungent waft from their tenants super strength breath.
Anyhow, besides the copious amount of hobos littering the streets, the city is very nice, and my view on Canadian people since arriving here is that they are all  very very friendly. Also I have even learnt a few useful facts, 1. Australians do live in other parts of the world other than their country and Earls Court, 200 to a house. 2. Most Canadians are very helpful and don't always say 'Eh' after every sentence (every other one is more like it) and finally 3. Not all Canadians are called Steve. (Sorry Noon, our age old theory has been blown out of the water.)
I am just finishing off this section in Jeff and Daniels flat in Victoria on Vancouver Island where i am having a really cool time. The town is like a really nice English seaside town, and Jeff, Daniel and all their friends are showing me a quality time. Tomorrow is Canada day so it should be more fun and general consumption of beer. Excellent. After recovering from a hangover whilst watching Das Boot (5 hours of film is certainly long enough to recover so Das Boot = ideal) A few more days of fun will be perfect before I have to negotiate the USA.
The next post will be state side as long as the lovely immigration men decide I don't look or smell funny, which is tough when you have only had 3 t-shirts to wear in 5 weeks.
bye.

Miles completed: 5530
road kills: 2 (both in flight!!!)