EPILOGUE

I swapped the humidity and 35 degree temperatures of Buenos Aires for the grey, overcast and wet, 4 degrees of England. Welcome home!
I had planned to take a couple of weeks to settle in and come down to earth, but as I found on my journey, the best laid plans sometimes go awry. I was brought swiftly down to earth by several events. I`d heard my car had failed its MOT and would need scrapping, my lap top had crashed and burned before I left and wasn`t repairable, I needed a new phone, and I had a big tax bill to settle within a couple of months. Sadly, with no immediate work on the horizon. Happy days!

MUCH, MUCH LATER………………

It`s now exactly a year since I headed off for the biggest adventure and challenge of my life. I`ve been back in the U.K. for over 3 months. My planned period of reflection never really happened. Instead life`s events took over with a vengeance and I fell into an emotionally demanding maelstrom of trauma, upheaval and change. In the time I have been back we have had the Christchurch earth quake, and the Japanese tsunami. My first mentor from my school days died, a speaker friend of mine died aged just 52 and a very close friend was diagnosed with a brain tumour and needed surgery and radiotherapy……

The business world has changed too. The post recession cuts are starting to bite deep. It was always a risk to leave for a year and try to pick up the pieces on my return so I could repay the significant investment I borrowed to fund the trip. It is proving even more demanding than I thought.

My trusty bike has been sold and I confess to moment of sadness and reflection as it was strapped to the trailer by its new owner. Even though it was bought for a specific purpose, it had served me well and had been my one and only constant companion throughout the whole journey.





In the face of all that has happened and continues to happen, was it all worth it?

I left behind everything and everyone I loved and cared for, stepped well and truly out of my comfort zone, spent a good deal of the time being anxious, worried and sometimes downright scared, had many “dark nights of the soul”, travelled nearly 20,000 miles through 15 countries, met some amazing people, discovered I have a degenerative spinal condition (which almost brought my journey to a premature end), and in the process raised £3,000 for The Northampton Hope Centre.
So was it worth it?

“Twenty years from now you will be more disappointed by the things that you didn't do than by the ones you did do. So throw off the bowlines. Sail away from the safe harbor. Catch the trade winds in your sails. Explore. Dream. Discover.”

Mark Twain

Unequivocally yes.

I was privileged to have the opportunity. The journey not only reinforced my faith in human nature but took me on a profound inner journey, the findings of which will reveal themselves over time.

To everyone who generously sponsored me I would like to offer a very profound thank you and I assure you all that every penny donated went straight to The Northampton Hope Centre. I would also like to thank everyone who followed my blog, your support and comments helped me enormously, particularly when the going got tough.

Helen Keller was right...

"Life is either a daring adventure or it is nothing at all..."

Buenos Aires: The "Journey for Hope" is over.......

I spent the next three days edging ever closer to Buenos Aires. The deserts of Peru and Chile were exchanged for lush, green farmlands, with roads so straight and long (very long) you`d think the Romans had engineered them. For three days I rode across country not too dissimilar to Lincolnshire in England, flat terrain as far as the eye could see.

From Mendoza I went to San Luis, then Rio Cuarto and Venado Tuerto before ending up in the little town of San Antonio de Areco. I hadn`t even planned to stop there, but I decided 170 miles was far enough for a day and it would put me within a couple of hours of Buenos Aires. As soon as I entered the town I knew it was a good place to stay. It had a good feel to it.

I was waiting at a traffic light when a car pulled up beside me and the driver wound down his window to ask me about the bike, when the lights changed he wished me good luck and drove off. Two minutes later I pulled over at a corner to get my bearings when another man approached me also interested in the bike and my trip. This turned out to be Santiago, the son of the car driver Oscar who had spoken to me earlier!

They were both really interested in my journey and since they both spoke good English we had a brief conversation. It turned out that Santiago knew Northampton because he had been there to watch rugby games when Frederico Mendez (a great Argentinian player) used to play for the club! A small world! I explained I was looking for a hotel,

“No problem. Let me make a call”, Santiago said.

“I`ve found a good hotel for you, follow us”

He took me to a place I would never have found and it was better and cheaper than most of the hotels I had used up to now,

“Thanks very much for your help”

“That`s O.K. Would you like to join us for dinner tonight if you`re not too tired?”

“His wife is a cordon bleu cook”, added Oscar.

“I`d love to!” I replied, relishing the prospect of some good, authentic home cooking.

“I`ll pick you up later so you don`t have to ride in the dark”

I spent the rest of the day wandering around the town and relaxing watching some U.S sitcoms. At about 9.20 p.m. (yes I know, I would normally be in bed!) Santiago picked me up and drove me to his beautiful, big old house in the town. Santiago`s wife Paula had cooked a beautiful meal and in the company of their friends, Enrique, Florencia, Juan and Ema I enjoyed the best food and wine of the whole trip. Luckily everyone spoke good English so I didn`t have to stretch my limited Spanish. It was such a great night and after many weeks on my own it was a real joy to be in such hospitable, kind and generous company. Santiago dropped me back at my hotel in the early hours of the next morning and promised to return with his daughters before I set off so they could see the bike.

Once again I reflected on the synchronicity of the events that had led me to meeting such amazing people. San Antonio de Areco wasn`t even in my plans! A few short hours later, I was up with the bike packed up and ready to go when Santiago arrived with two of his daughters to say goodbye. Apparently he had been regaling them with stories of my bear encounters on the roads in Alaska and Canada! Waving goodbye and with the possibility of meeting up in the city for a drink later, I set off for Buenos Aires and officially the end of my journey.

I had arranged to meet up with Sandra and Javier who run Dakar Motos and were going to help me with the shipping arrangements to get the bike back to the U.K. My next challenge was going to be finding their location in the city without the aid of a GPS or even a proper map of the city. I`d looked on Google maps and had a reasonable idea of the rough location and decided to trust my navigational abilities, after all, I`d come this far and always managed to find my way eventually. Two hours later I`d reached an area within a couple of kilometers of their garage when I stopped to ask a local rider if he knew the street, sadly he didn`t, nor did his friend he phoned to help out, but we happened to be parked across the road from a taxi driver, so I just paid the taxi to lead me the last few minutes which saved me a lot of time and got me to Dakar Motos more or less on schedule.

Sandra had arranged for me to take my bike to the airport the next Tuesday to deal with the customs and prepare the bike for shipping, so my plan was to stay at Dakar Motos until then where I could keep the bike secure in their garage. They also have 4 bunk beds where weary overland motorcyclists can stay and if necessary do maintenance on their bikes before moving on. It seems that everyone who rides down through South America usually ends up at Dakar Motos!

I shared the bunk room with two other riders, Ralph and Carol from Canada. They`d just got back from Ushuaia and were waiting to head back home. After a cup of coffee, I met with Sandra who explained the two stage plan to me:

1. Tuesday ride to the airport, meet my contact there. Have the necessary paperwork for customs (bike documents plus photocopies, passport plus photocopies, temporary import document plus photocopies). Remove wing mirrors and windshield, let air out of tyres, drain the petrol, disconnect the battery and prepare the bike for being crated.

2. Wednesday go back into the city to the shipping company`s headquarters where they will tell me exact cost of shipping (based upon the volume of the crate). Then I have to go to the local bank and pay cash (only!) into their account get a receipt and come back to exchange the receipt for the air way bill. Simple really!

I spent the next couple of days attempting to get used to sleeping in a bunk bed again, sweating profusely and being savagely attacked and eaten by the worst mosquitoes I`d encountered on the whole trip! In the meantime, I took a couple of trips into the city to look around and orientate myself. Dakar Motos is about a 15 minute train ride from the centre. I also wanted to find a centrally located hotel to stay in for the last two nights before flying home, and locate the one bank that would give me money on my credit card as the ATM`s were refusing to accept it.

On the tuesday morning I was eager to get going and complete the final few miles of the journey. Although a technicality, I didn`t feel I`d actually finished the trip until I had no more riding to do which meant getting to the airport and strapping the bike on to the pallet! I got some directions from Javier about the route to the airport and was told it would be about 25 km. I was carefully monitoring the petrol consumption because I didn`t want to have too much in and have to drain the tank at the airport and at the same time I didn`t want to run out of gas on the way!

As it turned out, it was much further than I thought, in fact a lot further, 25km turned into nearly 30 miles! I ran with the petrol warning light on the whole way and breathed a sigh of relief when the signs for the airport came into view.

The process at the airport was fairly straightforward but time consuming. It took me an hour to get to the airport, 3 hours sorting the bike and dealing with the customs and another 2 hours to get back (having mistakenly taken the slow bus) stopping at every bus stop in Buenos Aires and the surrounding area! Everything was now almost complete with only the bank to deal with the following day, so that night I went out to celebrate with a kind donation from my friends Tim and Kris who had suggested when I get to Buenos Aires I should celebrate with a good meal and a nice bottle of wine. It was such a generous offer how could I refuse! I managed to find the perfect restaurant (waiters wearing aprons and table cloths on the table!) and had a half bottle of superb cabernet sauvignon and a steak dinner. Perfect!

That night I lay in bed with the ceiling fan cranked up to maximum (to keep the mosquitoes a bay) but sleep still evaded me. My head was a maelstrom of thoughts and emotions. I kept running through the events of the past eight months, and I wondered how long it would take to assimilate the experiences I had been through. I was very excited about my imminent return and at the same time I was finding it hard to believe it was over. It didn`t seem possible that in a matter of days I would be back in the U.K.

After 8 months, more than 19,000 miles, 15 countries and 29 border crossings, the "Journey for Hope" has finally come to an end.........

"The sweet taste of success! A bottle of Malbec and a juicy steak"

I arrived in La Calera around midday and rode around for a while before eventually finding a cheap hotel, in fact it looked like the only hotel in town. For 7,000 pesos I got a “cell” with a single bed and my very own padlock to lock the bedroom door. Yes, a really classy place!

The rest of the day was spent avoiding going into my cell so I was forced to drink beer (they had no bottled water – what can you do!)and work on the internet in the hotel bar. There was nothing to do in the small town so I ended up eating dinner there too. I was so excited about the morning and the thought of reaching Argentina I went to bed early and tried to get some sleep. It reminded me of Christmas as a little boy!

Sure enough I slept fitfully and was up before the sunrise, packing the bike and on the road about 7.00 a.m. I worked out it would take me about 2 hours to reach the border somewhere up in the Andes mountains.

After an hour or so I entered the foothills of the Andes and wondered how high I would have to climb. I had heard that there was a tunnel through part of the route and so I was interested to see how much of the Andes I would climb over and how much I would ride under. Passing through several half tunnels I started to climb steadily and then sharply as I approached what turned out to be 31 tight, hairpin bends with dozens of trucks crawling around them like giant caterpillars. Still seeing no sign for aduana or migracion, I pushed on until the sharp curves straightened out and the road plateaued eventually leading me to some kind of checkpoint where an official looking woman was manning the road,

“Donde esta migracion. Salida de Chile, por favor?”

“15 kilometres” she said pointing further up the road.

It all seemed a bit strange, especially when I saw a sign saying, “Bienvenidos Argentina”. I hadn`t officially left Chile and here I was in Argentina. You`d think after 13 previous border crossings it would all be easy and straightforward by now, but everyone has been different, as this one was proving to be.

The road suddenly ran out and became a dusty, dirt track with visibility limited by a truck in front kicking up the dust and the strong wind blowing it into my face. A quick twist of the throttle took me out of the dust storm and further up ahead I glimpsed a sign indicating the border was near.

I was in Argentina but wasn`t ready to celebrate before it became official. Dropping down in altitude I saw up ahead a solitary building which was obviously the official border crossing. I joined a queue of stationary traffic, turned off my engine and in the heat of the midday sun proceeded to wait, every few minutes pushing the bike ever closer to the checkpoint. Once inside the building I could see the system. It was a joint Chile and Argentina migracion and aduana. Get your passport stamped a one booth and move a little further and get your temporary import permit for the bike at another one. What a good idea! Central America could really learn a lesson here!

With minimal fuss I was now officially in Argentina! I had done it! The goal that was a long time in my head, a year in the planning and over 7 months in the execution was now achieved! I allowed myself a smile of satisfaction as I rode away from the border and a massive feeling of relief swept over me. After all the ups and downs, and the physical and mental challenges, I had finally completed what I set out to do last June, and 4 months ahead of schedule too! There was of course the small matter of 1,000 + km to get to Buenos Aires, but the actual journey was “Alaska to Argentina”, and here I was in Argentina!

The landscape was totally different from Chile. I was riding along winding, hilly roads in the foothills of the Andes surrounded by snow capped Andean peaks framed against a bright blue sunny sky. I was heading for the city of Mendoza, the wine capital of Argentina. I had promised myself a decent bottle of wine and a good steak dinner when I got to Argentina.

As I rode along the twisty roads and closer to the city, my thoughts turned to home and I wondered what it would be like to return to normality, but I had to remind myself to stay “in the moment”. I still had Argentina to cross and I would allow myself the indulgence of the necessary assimilation and introspection when I arrived in Buenos Aires.

My immediate plan was to spend 3 nights in Mendoza to recover from what had been two long, back to back days on the bike and celebrate, but first I had to find a place to stay. I made for the centre and stopped at a couple of hostels but they were both full, as were the next two hotels I tried. Peak holiday time again! Nevertheless, I was confident I would find the right place soon because I always have. The very next hotel came up trumps. Secure parking, wifi, air conditioning, cable tv and all for about $40, which was a massive improvement on the overpriced hotels in Chile. I had a feeling I was going to enjoy Argentina!

That night I did treat myself to a steak and a half bottle of very nice wine, but Chile had blown a huge hole in what was left of my money and I spent the evening studying the figures and working out how I could eke it out to get home.

"Long, thin and very expensive..........!"

Arica proved to be a pleasant little place where I did indeed find a half decent cappuccino, although I was shocked by the general cost of everything in Chile. Everything seemed much more expensive than Peru and yet the quality wasn’t in line with the cost of things.

My plan was to follow the coast line all the way down ultimately to reach Santiago about 1,300 miles away. I exchanged the long desert days of Peru for the equally long desert days of Chile!

My next stop was Iquique which is a city by the sea and I made the mistake of heading for the beach front hoping to find a cheapish hotel. After a fruitless hour checking out every hotel and hostal in the area I was forced to pay an extortionate amount for two nights in an apartment block with no wifi and no cable tv.

Apparently I had arrived at peak summer time. Iquique was not a great experience and so I was very keen to get back on the road after my enforced sojourn and make my way further down the coast to the small seaport of Tacopilla. Tacopilla is a working seaport and to be honest a little rough around the edges, in fact, parts of it were completely scuzzy and yet the hotels had the audacity to charge up to $40!!

Certain things were becoming apparent, if South American countries were supermodels, Chile would be Elle McPherson – long, thin and very expensive! At this rate, I was doubting whether my funds would get me as far as Buenos Aires. One night in Tacopilla was certainly enough, and the next day saw me following the coast down to the city of Antofagasta for another $60 room. I had planned to possibly take a couple of days off the bike and rest up but I couldn`t really justify the expense, and also none of the places I`d been to so far really captured my imagination, so I decided to keep moving.

The following day I was heading for the small seaside town of TalTal, which meant the small matter of riding through the famous Atacama Desert, famous for being officially the driest place on the planet. There are parts of the Atacama that haven`t seen rain for over 400 yrs.

Looking at the map, I had two possible routes to take. I could follow the main Pan American highway or taker a shorter, more direct road right through the middle of the desert. I was debating the issue on the road the following day when I came across a long stationary queue of traffic, riding to the front I found another rider on a BMW 1200. Mattie was a German who was riding South America in stages in between flying home to work. We discussed our routes south and he told me the direct route through the desert was actually a good, paved road and not a dirt track as I first thought. Perfect! That was obviously the road to take. I waved my thanks to him as he disappeared into the distance (I couldn`t have kept up with him if I`d wanted to!) and settled into my 60 mph rhythm.

At the next fork in the road I took “the road less travelled” cutting through the beautiful Atacama Desert. Beautiful, and very cold. Much of the Atacama extends into the Andes.

As I climbed to about 2,600m I started to shiver and had to pull over and put on extra clothing. The terrain was unlike any of the other deserts I`d crossed during my journey. It seemed vaguely familiar in a strange way. Then I realised where I`d seen something similar before – on Mars!

Apparently, soil samples taken from Mars by several NASA probes are similar to samples taken from the Atacama. NASA even uses this desert to test instruments for future missions to the Red Planet. After several hours of riding across “Mars” the road dropped in elevation and the temperature climbed steadily as I rode into the little town of TalTal where found a delightfully quaint, and slightly incongruous little hotel. It wouldn`t have been out of place in an English seaside resort, beautifully quiet and peaceful (and of course, expensive!)

I had been aware for the last couple of hundred miles that I was due to do an oil change and air filter change very soon and was waiting for the right conditions to occur i.e. I needed a place with a garage, or safe parking, and preferably covered to keep me out of the heat of the baking hot temperatures I was experiencing daily. So far nothing had materialized until my next destination of Copiapo.

I rode into town the next day and found a hotel with exactly the right requirements. It even had a motorcycle shop right next door where I could buy the oil! This must have been an omen so I had to get on with it. I must admit I didn`t really want to do it as it is such a pain in the ass to take everything off the bike to do what is essentially a fairly simple job. Nevertheless, I parked the bike in the shade and set to stripping off the panels and bash plate only to get to the sump plug and discover that I couldn`t budge it. The BMW dealers in Bogota had obviously tightened it far too much. Shit – bloody dealers. The only reason I`d let them do it was because I was feeling far too ill to do it myself when I arrived in Colombia.

Luckily, the owner of the bike shop was available (after the mandatory siesta) to take a look, and with the loan of a socket extension and a 2 ft long spanner I managed to get the leverage I needed to get the job done. What a stroke of “luck” to find a hotel right next to a motorcycle shop?

With the last oil change of the journey under my belt, I set off the next day for the town of Vallenar, which would be a stopping off point before I made for the city of La Serena. La Serena was a big, modern city but with an attractive centre with pleasant boulevards and plenty of cafes and bars. Sadly, my accommodation left a lot to be desired again, all I could find was an overpriced Hospedaje (guest house). Very nice and friendly people but pretty basic facilities to say the least! It didn`t really encourage me to stay longer and I knew I had a big ride the next day to take me to the outskirts of Santiago.

My original plan had been to head for Santiago and maybe stay a couple of days if the bike needed anything from the BMW garage, but as I have been discovering, my original plans have been changing on a regular basis! Since, I had already done the oil change and Santiago was further south than my crossing point into Argentina I made for the town of La Calera instead, which would put me within striking distance of the Argentinian border and the realisation of my goal.

"Was God an astronaut....?"

The ride to Nasca was thankfully a short one. The “Nasca Lines” are the world famous “drawings” in the desert around Nasca. They are thousands of years old and are of such a scale they can only be viewed in their entirety from the air. Which of course begs the question how were they created by people who hadn`t the wherewithal to view them from the sky?

It was all very interesting to ponder on as I rolled into the town and found some accommodation right on the main plaza. Sadly, my budget didn`t stretch to the popular flight over the “lines” themselves, so I had to make do with wandering around the exhibition of photos in the plaza. Still it was fascinating, especially if you remember Erich Von Daniken`s 70`s best seller, “Chariots of the Gods” where he poses the interesting question “Was God an astronaut?” Many people believe the “Nasca Lines” were ancient landing strips for extra terrestrial spacecraft.
To be honest, it seems like a pretty coherent theory to me!

The following day I was on the coast road south heading for Arequipa which was going to be too far to ride in one day, so after several hours in the saddle I reached the small town of Camana which would put me within a couple of hours ride of Arequipa the next day.

Camana had little going for it apart from a bikini contest being held in a hotel on the main square. With nothing else to tempt me I thought I might drop in and check it out that night. Whilst in Camana, I also noticed with concern, a disturbing trend developing. It would appear there is at large a “Phantom Peruvian toilet seat thief”. The last few hotels I had stayed in had no toilet seats! I actually had to request one! The manager disappeared (obviously to his toilet seat cache somewhere in the basement) and magically dug one out. No doubt when I checked out he would remove it again for “safe keeping”. Maybe I should buy one and strap it to the back of my bike?

In Camana, I checked in, noticed the missing seat and came straight down to reception and said,

“No tengo una asiento en mi banos?”

The manageress just looked at me with one of those looks that clearly said,

“Yes, and your point is…….?”

It`s a funny old world.

For the record, I didn`t actually make the bikini contest. It started at 10.00 p.m. and I`m such a lightweight after over 7 months on the road, I`d eaten, had a couple of beers and was in bed by then.

I arrived in the city of Arequipa at around midday and made for the historical centre of the city hoping to find a decent hotel and stay for a couple of days. After the usual ride around the central plaza in ever increasing circles, I came across a good hotel (with toilet seats included, obviously more geared up for tourists!). It was more than I wanted to pay and whilst negotiating a better deal, an older lady at reception (maybe the owner`s mother, I thought) said to me in broken English,

“Que paix? Where are you from?”

“Inglaterra”

“Inglaterra! I am poor, you are rich!”

In other words, pay the going rate you stingy b*****d! I must admit I didn`t look rich, stood there in my filthy riding gear, but I suppose my second hand bike is worth more than some would make in a year A salutary thought. And I didn`t have the Spanish to say,

“Yes, but I borrowed the money from a good friend and now it`s running out and I`m on a tight budget”

The historical centre of Arequipa is very attractive and at its heart is the large main plaza, where, as with every town and city I`ve visited, everyone comes out in the evening to walk and socialise.

From Arequipa I headed south for the border and stayed in the little town of Moquegua which would leave me a short ride to the Chilean border the following day. My last night in Peru was celebrated in fine fashion with 3 cans of beer and a bag of peanuts in my hotel room.

The next day I crossed into Chile, my 14th country. The border crossing was reasonably straightforward apart from their insistence that I take off my bag and put it through an x ray machine – the first time that had happened. My destination in Chile was the city of Arica only 20 km down the road. Maybe there I would get a decent cappucino?

"These are the days that must happen to you" - Walt Whitman

Feeling more confident now the work was done on the bike I navigated my way out of the teeming metropolis of Lima and headed down the coast to the town of Pisco about 150 miles away. An uneventful ride brought me into the town at around mid day.

As the temperature began to soar I happened upon a convenient and affordable hostal right next to the town`s central plaza. Pisco is an uninspiring place probably made more so because they were completely resurfacing all the roads around the plaza adding to the general unattractiveness of the town.

As I wandered around the in the afternoon, I was again struck by the Peruvian propensity for gambling. Every city and town I had visited in Peru had one thing in common, they all had at least one casino. Maybe that`s where all their money goes as it certainly doesn`t go on finishing their buildings!

The next day I set off for Nasca, a world heritage site famous for the “Nasca Lines”. I was about 40 miles into the journey and just leaving the town of Ica when I heard a strange noise and felt a slight jerk at the back wheel, pulling over immediately, I got off and a cursory inspection saw the chain flopping around.

“That doesn`t look good”, I thought, (or words to that effect).

I quickly found the right hand, rear chain tensioner had completely exploded (or imploded – either way it had disintegrated). I unloaded the bike and got out my tools in a pointless attempt to put some tension back into the chain. To be honest, I didn`t know what else to do. It was clear I wasn`t going any distance with the chain as it was. At that point, a local tuc tuc driver who had been parked at the side of the road exactly where I pulled over, came over to see what had happened,

“Necessito un mecanico”, I said. “Hay un mecanico aqui cerca?”

He said there was one back in Ica a few minutes away and offered to guide me there. I followed slowly, barely getting out of first gear. He took me to a Honda dealer which I knew was a long shot as the part I required was specific to BMW`s. After a brief conversation between the tuc tuc driver and the Honda mechanic I heard the word, “Repuestos”. He was suggesting we find garage that sells spares. I was still doubtful we could just pick up that kind of part, in fact I was certain we couldn`t.

My mind was racing ahead with possible scenarios. I would either have to get one shipped in from The U.K. or maybe even go back to Lima and pick one up from the BMW garage as it would probably be quicker than getting one sent, but how would I describe which part I needed? All these thoughts were racing around my head when we pulled up outside a spares garage. Alonso (my driver) ran over to the garage and came out a few minutes later and pointed to another one down the road. Eventually we found a man who insisted he could make me a part,

“Si es posible?” I asked desperately hoping he would confirm what he said.

“Si, Si!” He seemed very confident which is just what I was looking for.

“Puede hacerlo hoy?” (Can you do it today?)

“Si, si, tres horas”

So, with a possible solution, I said I would come back that afternoon. In the meantime, I asked Alonso if there was a local hotel with internet that I could stay at, having decided that whatever happened I wouldn`t be riding further that day. He raced off and came back a couple of minutes later. He`d found one just down the road and helped me unload the bike and took me with all my baggage to the hotel. I thanked him profusely and paid him for his troubles.

With sweat pouring off me I dumped my stuff in the room and grabbed a quick shower. When I`d recovered I thought back over the last few hours.

“It had finally happened”, I reflected.

Ever since I began this journey, one of my biggest fears had always been breaking down and not being able to fix the problem. It had been at the back of my mind virtually every day. Even with a limited knowledge of quantum physics, the notion that “thoughts become things” and whatever you continually focus on will manifest eventually, has been proven time and again. I finally got what I`d been focusing on. What was interesting though was how I handled the situation. I was much calmer than I thought I would be, probably helped by the synchronicities that surrounded the day.
How convenient to break down right next to that tuc tuc driver?

The hotel I was staying in unfortunately had no garage or secure parking, but there was a garage I could use at night about a block away. Not ideal, but never mind.

At the appointed hour I went back to see if he had managed to fashion a replacement part. It cost me an arm and a leg but amazingly he had done the job! From possibly being stranded in the town for several days I was now in a position to get back on the bike the next day! As I rode back to the hotel my mind was still puzzled by how the problem had occurred in the first place and also, when I checked the chain, I noticed it had a “tight spot” which shouldn`t occur in a brand new chain. Something wasn`t quite right and I didn`t know what. It was just a gut feeling.

That night I rode slowly up the garage and enquired,

“Cuanta cuesta por una noche?”

“Tres soles”. Well that was reasonable, 3 soles for parking overnight, and the owner happened to be a bike mechanic! Synchronicity number 2. I asked if he would look at my lights and horn as they had suddenly decided to stop working, strangely, just after the BMW garage had finished working on the bike.

The following day I was at the garage for the appointed time of 8.00 a.m. and sure enough the mechanic turned up on the dot at 9.00 a.m. Peruvian time! For some reason, before we even looked at the lights, I asked him to take a look at the chain. When he took off the front sprocket cover, I couldn`t believe my eyes. There should have been a huge nut and washer holding on the front sprocket. It wasn`t there! Nothing. Nada. The BMW mechanics had forgotten to put it back on!

I had ridden nearly 200 miles with nothing stopping the front sprocket from coming off and taking the chain with it. If that had happened at high speed……… ? I didn’t even want to contemplate it. The mechanic asked if the BMW mechanics were German or Peruvian. When I said Peruvian, he just shrugged his shoulders.

My next problem…… where could we possibly get the right size nut? It wasn`t a standard size. Asking him if he knew somewhere, he nodded confidently, jumped on his bike and took off, reappearing 10 mins later with an exact match! Was I glad I bumped into this man the night before! He spent a good 3 hrs working on my bike testing and cleaning the rear sprocket also, before declaring it ready.

“Cuanta cuesta por su ayuda?” I asked him.

He asked for 40 soles (about £9). I think he was quietly pleased to be able to work on something different from the usual small, 125 cc Chinese bikes that everyone rides in Peru. A BMW is a rare bike in South America, which is probably why he insisted on having several photos of him posing next to the bike. I thanked him and rode back to the hotel to pack the bike and finally head off for Nasca. While I was packing, I refelected on the last 24 hrs and considered the lessons I had learned:-

1. Always trust your gut feeling
2. Be mindful of what you focus on
3. Never trust Peruvian BMW mechanics

"Barren deserts and bent cops" - Welcome to Peru!

As I approached the border town there was a clear sign pointing towards the Peru/Ecuador border, so I naturally took it and was pleasantly surprised to find myself on a beautiful, brand new, two lane highway. All was going well until I passed under a sign saying,

“Gracias por su visita” followed quickly by another one saying “Bienvenidos a Peru”

Bugger! I`m now in Peru and haven`t passed through Ecuadorian migracion to get my passport stamped and aduana to cancel my temporary import permit for the bike. How the hell did that happen? Pulling up at the Peruvian control I asked,

“Donde esta migracion de Ecuador?”

The border guard pointed back down the road. Somehow I must have missed it. With the temperature rising, I climbed back on the bike and headed back 2 km and asked again, this time I was directed to Ecuador`s migracion on a completely different road. Passport duly stamped,

“Donde esta la aduana?” I enquired.

I was directed another 2 kms down the road I`d originally ridden! The simple border crossing was becoming unnecessarily complicated. Eventually I arrived back at the Peruvian migracion which was unnervingly quiet after the fiascos of Central America, in fact, there was only me and two other bikes, ridden by two Colombians who were riding down to the town of Mancora before heading back home to work.

The process went fairly smoothly and I was soon on the road in Peru! What a complete change to Ecuador. The mountainous, verdant landscape had now changed to hot, flat desert conditions reminiscent of Arizona. Even though I`d been on the road for several hours I was keen to push on to Mancora which was another 1 ½ hrs away. Juan, my Argentinian friend had recommended it and as the Colombian riders were going there too it seemed like a good idea.

The road followed the coast and it was refreshing to be by the sea again, it reminded me of riding the Pacific Coast Highway in California, but I was beginning to tire and I was pleased to see the outskirts of Mancora appear ahead. After a fruitless ride around the town searching for accommodation I came across The Grand Hotel (not so Grand in reality) which was more than wanted to pay but I`d had enough of trawling around in the heat so, given that I got a discount for staying more than one night and they had a secure garage, it was a done deal.

I stayed for 3 nights, got some much needed washing done and enjoyed some time walking on the beach and watching the surfers drain the last drop out of the surf before the sun went down. I even found a little café that managed a half decent cup of coffee which is saying something, because most of the time you just get a cup of hot water or milk and a jar of instant powdered coffee.

After 3 nights I was ready to move on and make some headway south as I still had a long way to go to get to Lima, the capital and more long rides to reach Machu Picchu, one of my original goals. I decided to make the journey as comfortable as possible for my back by riding only 3 / 4 hrs a day, so my plan was to set off straight after breakfast and reach my destination late morning, which would give me a full afternoon to find a hotel and look around the city/town. The first stop was the colonial city of Piura which wasn`t as picturesque as I was expecting, but across from the hotel was the city`s best Chinese restaurant, so naturally it had to be tried. Chinese cuisine, Peruvian style, washed down with a couple of beers. The locals seem to be very keen on their local drink “Inca Kola” (yes, that`s what it`s called), I would be tempted to try it if it didn`t look remarkably like a bottle of urine. Call me unadventurous, but anything that colour is unlikely to tempt me away from a decent cerveza. In fairness, the meal itself was pretty good. As ever, I had a huge plate and felt like another one within an hour!

With nothing really tempting me further, I left Piura early the next day and made for the bigger city of Chiclayo. The main Pan American Highway hugs the coast on the way through Northern Peru deviating inland and carving its way through mile upon mile of barren desert. Straight, flat roads with nothing on the horizon but sand and more sand.

One night in Chiclayo was also enough, and the next day I was on the road to the more attractive Trujillo. Another 3 hrs of desert to cross. It`s interesting how even on a motorbike your mind can wander and even dip into a minor trance while riding in a straight line for hours on end. I had to consciously pay attention and focus. My senses on high alert and my mind fully occupied to avoid being run off the road by reckless truck and bus drivers attempting suicidal overtakes.

In the mean time, I occupied my brain by singing all the back catalogue of Simon and Garfunkel, Jackson Browne and as many Beatles songs as I could remember (yes, it was a long road). With the final chorus of “Lady Madonna” ringing in my helmet, I rolled into Trujillo. My GPS unit has finally given up the ghost, so in every town I stop and ask the locals,

“Donde esta el centro per favor?”

I headed for Trujillo`s central plaza and then tracked around looking for a suitable hotel. The first one wanted the equivalent of $80! I had been warned by Andy that Peru wasn`t as cheap as you might think and so it was proving. So sadly, it was back to the “hostel experience”, or to be more accurate the “hostal experience”, which is not a backpackers hostel but a more basic kind of hotel. Yet again, one night was enough (I`m getting used to these "one night stands"), and the next day saw me on the road to Chimbote about a 100 mile ride away, although I had been warned by the hotel manager in Mancora that Chimbote wasn`t a particularly nice place and had an unpleasant smell! It was on the route and I thought it would be a convenient place to stay a night, but as I approached the city the stench wasn`t just unpleasant it was almost making me gag. There was some kind of fish processing plant located there which produced a stench that seemed to permeate the very landscape.

I fuelled up, looked at the map and decided that I would push on to the next likely looking town which was Barranca, which meant a further 100 miles or so across the desert. The desert road snaked its way southwards occasionally touching the Pacific Coast, with a continual onshore wind blowing sufficiently strongly for me to maintain my course only by leaning into it at a 50º angle, which made the going very tiring. Mile after mile of barren flat desert, intermittently broken by mile after mile of barren, hilly desert eventually brought me into the town of Barranca. It had been a long day in the saddle so I didn`t waste much time searching for a hotel but basically stopped at the first place that looked O.K. and so I found myself at the door of Hotel Chavin (you could probably lose the “in”), but it was comfortable and had wifi and a nice hot shower. Oh for the simple pleasures!

One night with the “chavs” made me eager to get to Lima which was now only a short 2 ½ hr ride. I had decided to find the one BMW garage in Peru (located in Lima) and possibly get a tyre change and maybe chain and sprockets too, as it would be another 2,600 miles to the next BMW garage in Santiago, Chile and I wasn`t sure whether both would last that long.

The last few miles heading into Lima were littered with multi coloured shanty towns, clinging precariously to the hills. The noise, the heat and the traffic congestion ramped up considerably. The tranquil trance of endless desert miles evapourated quickly. But unfortunately, not quickly enough. The road into Lima is a dual carriageway and across the other side of the carriageway I saw a group of Policemen, but I only began to pay atention as one of them waved me down, and it wasn`t to have a polite chat and admire my bike.

I heard the words, “Quarente cinco” - “infraccion” as he pointed to the speedo. Then he took out a little book and jabbed his finger at paragraph b, subsection c, “Infraccion” he repeated. Of course I had no way of knowing whether I was “speeding”or not. Then he wrote down on his pad “S100” (100 nuevo soles, about £22). I was taken so unawares that I actually paid it! I didn`t even offer less, for which I berated myself for several minutes afterwards. As I rode away from the mugging, I tried to console myself with the fact that it was the first time I had been a victim of this literal highway robbery in the whole journey and vowed to pay much more attention in future.

These thoughts were still in the background of my mind as the traffic intensity and heat built up further getting closer to the city when I saw a police car in my mirrors and then heard the siren right behind me signalling me to pull over.

“You`ve got to be joking” I said out loud to myself.

This was turning into an interesting day. So what was it going to be this time, more speeding? You`ve guessed it.

“Quarente cinco” – blah blah – “infraccion” – blah blah………

“No es possible………….yo vie…..45kph…….la misma……todo trafico……” This time I was putting up a defence saying I was going the same speed as all the other traffic. Then he pulled his ace and said that I passed a radar trap some kilometres back. Whether I did or not is a moot point as he wanted his bonus too. Clearly he had been informed by his mate that a “meal ticket” was riding his way and I was an easy target. This time the “fine” had gone up, “S150” and he had my paperwork for the bike.

“No es possible. No tengo mucho dinero” (you scum bag, I added under my breath).

“Quanto tienes?” (how much do you have)

“Quanto tienes?” he repeated. I rummaged in my pockets for a smaller denomination knowing I had a couple of S20 and a couple of S100 notes and just hoped that I pulled out the right ones. The offer of $20 saw him wrinkle his nose up with disgust, eventually the bribe cost me S44 and he returned my precious paperwork.

Welcome to Lima!

Apart from a decent cup of tea and coffee, I`m even missing the good old English bobby.




I have subsequently found the copy of my paperwork that would have given me more leverage if I had it at the time! You live and learn.

Another 30 mins brought me into the seething, cacophony and chaos that is Lima. My next challenge was finding my way to the BMW garage and then to a hotel in a completely different part of the city without my GPS. This all took another 2 hrs. I finally arrived at the garage only to discover they didn’t have any tyres and they couldn`t check whether they had a chain and sprocket set because the service department was closed! This was all relayed to me by a very helpful Peruvian biker who spoke good English. Carlos gave me the address of a shop that sold tyres,

“Here`s my e mail address and phone number. Give me a call if I can be of any more help”

Faith in human nature restored again, I thanked him and set off to find a hotel in the Miraflores district of Lima about 30 mins away. After asking the way several times I finally arrived at 2.00 p.m. My short 2 ½ hr ride to Lima had now become 6 hrs. I discovered that all the cheap accommodation was full,but managed to negotiate a 3 night deal at reasonable hotel. After showering and collapsing on my bed, I contemplated the challenges of the day and noticed that I felt remarkably calm considering how that would have affected me a few months ago.


I spent the rest of the weekend wandering around Miraflores and on Monday morning set off to find the garage that could supply me with tyres, luckily it was located very close to my hotel and even better, when I arrived they had tyres in stock. Result! Strapping them to the bike I rode to the BMW garage to get them fitted and also change my chain and sprockets if they had a set available. They did! The plan was coming together. It seemed strangely sad to change the chain I had so lovingly tended every day since Alaska, and maybe it could have lasted the course? But it would have been right at the end of its life and why take the chance? Tomorrow I`m back on the road south heading for the town of Pisco, (presumably the home of the sour?) then Nasca and across the Andes to Cusco.

"Cappucinos and the Meaning of Life...."

New Year in Quito

Tim and Kris arrived that night and we had a great time catching up and drinking beer. Kris had also e mailed me previously to ask what special treats I would like and turned up bearing gifts of chocolate and tea bags!

New Year`s Eve was spent in traditional fashion, dinner, a few beers and into bed at 10.30 p.m.!



In fairness, they had been up very early and crossed a few time zones in the previous few days and wanted to catch up on the sleep they`d missed. Sadly it was not to be. Down in the valley, several miles away, a renegade DJ was determined to see in the New Year his own way, playing non stop music from 10.00 p.m. to 10.00 a.m. The wind carried the sound up the mountain and it seemed as if he was right next door. Even with my motorcycle ear plugs I hardly slept a wink. Happy New Year Quito!

The next few days were spent wandering around Quito old town, searching for cappucinos and the meaning of life.



Found the cappucino!

It was on such a quest that I decided to get myself a much needed haircut, so while Kris was shopping I found a local “hairdresser”. I had an uneasy feeling as soon as I sat down, it all smacked of “Sweeney Todd”, I bet if I`d have looked closer I would have seen traces of blood around the place. It was undoubtedly the worst haircut I`ve had since going to the barbers in Blackburn when I was about 10 years old. I`d always assumed with age goes wisdom and experience. My barber was at least 70 years old and maybe a little blind and unsteady, but by that time it was too late, I was committed, as big chunks of hair fell to the floor, much to the amusement of Kris as she dropped by to take photos. Still, I thought, it doesn`t matter, it`ll have plenty of time to grow again. I paid the $3.50 for the “haircut” and left quickly.

“You`re bleeding!” Kris pointed out as she rummaged through her bag for a paper handkerchief. Never trust a blind man with a cut throat razor, I reflected as I stemmed the blood flow from my cut ear.

“Did Van Gogh ever come to Quito?”

Whilst wandering the streets of Quito we also noticed an interesting Ecuadorian tradition, outside many shops and house were life size dummies (very much like the Guy Fawkes tradition in England) which are ritually burned at midnight along with a last will pinned to the dummy, symbolically getting rid of everything you didn`t like about the year gone by. I thought it was a pretty good idea – one way of exorcising the past.

We did find the cappucino and we were still working on the meaning of life when all too soon it was time for Tim and Kris to head home to New Zealand. They were up at 5.00 a.m. for an early flight, and after waving them off, I packed up the bike and set off for the town of Riobamba, a four hour ride across the mountains. With my GPS no longer playing ball, it was down to the old fashioned way to find my way out of Quito. At every junction I would ask locals and taxi drivers and eventually found the main Pan Americana.

The temperature had certainly taken a steep dive since crossing into Ecuador and now I was glad of the ice breaker, merino wool layers I had bought back home. At this rate I would be digging out my heated jacket I hadn`t worn since Alaska! Riobamba was a pleasant place and I arrived I bright sunshine and spent another 30 mins riding around looking for the “right” hotel. Luckily because I`d set off early enough, the weather stayed warm and comfortable while I unpacked and sorted the bike out before the ominous black cloud that had followed me over the mountains finally unleashed its contents. Time to break out the umbrella again. It seems I`ve entered another rainy season.

The next stop was the city of Cuenca. This proved to be a more demanding day than I`d expected. More mountainous roads and high altitude riding through dense clouds and were the beautiful paved roads I`d become used to suddenly ran out. Nevertheless, I still arrived in plenty of time to find a reasonable hotel in the centre. Again, the temperature climbed as I arrived in the city only to cloud over and rain heavily later in the afternoon.

Cuenca was a nice city and I decided a two day break from the bike would be good for my back. My stay also coincided with yet another festival. Latin Americans really love to party! Another huge parade with many floats carrying pointed political messages, most of which were aimed at the “Gringos`” greedy exploitation of Ecuador`s oil and natural resources (again see “Confessions of an Economic Hitman” for the real explanation).

I reckoned I had another two days ride over the mountains to the border of Peru so the next day I made for the city of Loja which would put me within striking distance of Peru if I rode hard all day. I was conscious of not overdoing it but at the same time was eager to cross into Peru. For some reason Peru was a key milestone for me. I`m not sure why, maybe because I`d heard so much about it – the beautiful scenery, the Andes, Macchu Picchu, Lake Titicaca, the beaches, whatever it was, I was excited about crossing the border. As with all my riding in Ecuador, the ride from Loja to the border proved to be much longer and harder than it looked on the map. The beautiful paved roads suddenly ran out and I was back on dirt and mud. These were obviously the last roads to be constructed, and so the journey to the border took nearly 6 hrs.

The mountain sections were really cold and I was glad I`d remembered to put my thermals on before setting off. Nevertheless, as soon as I started to drop down into the valleys the temperature soared back to the highs of Mexico and I was soon stripping off the layers. Maybe this would be a precursor to the climate I would face in Peru I thought, as flat, straight roads took me ever closer to the border.

"La Mitad Del Mundo!" - (The Middle of the World)

Cali

It turned out to be an 8 hr ride on Christmas Day through the twisty mountain roads of Colombia. Some beautiful and surprising scenery. I wasn’t sure what to expect from Colombia but I didn`t really expect rolling green hills and mountains. At times it felt like we were riding through the Alps and at other times we could have been in England. The roads were some of the best I`d ridden in Latin America.

Nevertheless, it was a long day. Longer than I would have liked having been off the bike for a while and my back was definitely complaining as we pulled up outside our next hostel, strangely located in the middle of a quiet residential district.

That night we went out in search of food and more importantly, a cold beer, hoping we would have more luck than we had on Christmas Eve. We found a lively strip and several beers and some BBQ`d chicken later I was ready for an early night! The hectic scene and thumping drum and bass music were taking their toll. As Andy pointed out,

“You know you`re getting old when the music is too loud to have a conversation!”

Cali may be a party town, but we both agreed it wasn`t a place to hang around in for long, in fact Andy was setting off in the morning to head for Pasto and then into Ecuador. I`d decided to stay one more day to allow my back to recover. After waving him off I went back to my room and hoped to catch up on e mails, the blog and skype, only find the internet had gone down. I was a little irritated, in fact so irritated, I packed the bike and an hour after Andy had left, I too was on the road.

I was going as far as the little colonial town of Popayan which was only a couple of hours ride. Hopefully my back would be able to manage that.

Popayan was a much nicer place, and like all colonial towns had some beautiful buildings and lovely central plaza which was decorated with Christmas lights and at night looked amazingly festive, which was more than could be said of me!

The joy of Christmas had definitely passed me by, mainly because of being on the road and also I still prefer Christmas in a cold climate.

I arrived in Popayan on Boxing Day and of course everything was closed, so I decided to stay another day, and set off the next day for Pasto, the last big town before the border. This proved to be another long day of about 6 hrs riding.

The main road between Popayan and Pasto had been closed for several days due to landslides, but Andy had mailed me to say it was now open. Nevertheless, there were many hold ups where the road was being repaired.

On the road I also experienced an interesting Colombian tradition. It appears that on this day for some reason, the local population of all the towns and villages have decided that it is a good idea to throw buckets of water and water filled balloons on to all passing traffic. I got a complete soaking. What a great idea. I`m still laughing about it now.

I eventually arrived in Pasto (wet and irritated) and just didn`t like the place so I kept on riding and ended up in the little town of Ipiales quite near the border where my back told me to stop.

The town was much closer to the border than I realised and the next day it only took me 5 mins to get there.

The crossing into Ecuador was the easiest I`d experienced. No hassle and very friendly. It was the complete antithesis of Honduras.

Ecuador

As with Colombia, I didn`t really know what to expect of Ecuador, but I was again surprised. The quality of the roads was excellent, much better than England. In fact most of the roads seemed to be virtually new, probably as a result of the massive investment in the infrastructure paid for by huge loans from the U.S, that the Ecuadorian government will never be able to repay, which of course is exactly what the U.S wants (see “Confessions of an Economic Hit Man” by John Perkins for the real story).
Anyway, enough of politics.

On the way I passed a rider coming the opposite way on exactly the same bike as mine, and as I gave him the customary wave it occurred to me that I hadn`t seen any other biker for a long time and that thought was occupying my mind when a few minutes later I checked in my mirror and saw the same bike right behind me signalling for me to stop. I pulled over and cut the engine,

“Do you speak English?”

“A little”, I replied with a grin.

“I noticed you were riding the same bike and I was on my way to find a garage” said Yaniv, an Israeli who had been riding with his girlfriend.

“My girlfriend has had a fall off road and broken her clutch lever. I don`t suppose you have a spare?”

“As a matter of fact I do!” I replied, rummaging through my spares and tool pannier.

What are the chances of that? In the mountains of Ecuador, looking for a spare clutch lever for a BMW Dakar and you just ride by another rider on exactly the same bike who just happens to have a spare?

After all the help I`ve been offered on the road, it was a real pleasure to help somebody else in need. Thanking me profusely, he gave me his card, and because he is heading the same way, no doubt we will meet up again on the road somewhere.

I didn`t want to push my body too hard, but wanted to get close to Quito, so as I arrived in the town of Cayambe, it seemed a good place to stay for the night and was only an hour`s ride the next day to Quito. I was excited about the prospect of spending New Year with my friends Tim and Kris who were stopping in Quito en route back home to New Zealand.

I was really looking forward to seeing them as the planned rendezvous had been under threat many times in the previous few months and as I got closer to Quito, I realised just how important it had become to see friendly, familiar faces again.

I had met up with Tony and Claire in Carlsbad, and of course Jane in Costa Rica. This would be the last of the planned rendezvous and I wanted to make sure it happened.

The next morning I was up early and on the road with plenty of time in hand so I decided to visit the Equator Monument as it was on the way. Le Mitad del Mundo As I arrived at the “Real Equator” (not sure where the false one is) I felt strangely emotional and had a lump in my throat as it just occurred to me that I had ridden from the Arctic Ocean to the Equator, and it was with some sense of pride I had my picture taken in front of the monument.

My moment of reflection over, I pressed on to Quito. The GPS maps I had been using were often hit and miss in terms of accuracy so I hoped it would manage to navigate through what is a pretty big city. The GPS did its job and got me within “asking distance” and a few minutes later I pulled up outside “Casa Encalada”.

Tim and Kris were due to land that night so it gave me some time to settle in and finally wash my dirty riding gear. As I wandered the hilly streets to orientate myself, I found myself breathing heavily very quickly, then I realised that Quito is over 9,000 ft.up in the mountains. I reminded myself it was important to keep hydrated so decided it was time for a beer.