One man caravan

They think it's all over - it is now!

2009-07-19T01:36:00.000-07:00

After 7 months, 25 countries, 38,000km, 3 punctures and a few tumbles, I rolled off the Pride of Dover onto the Dover quayside. The day before, I had met a couple of old friends in Epernay who had driven down from London to escort me safely onto English soil. Pete and Tim have a (completely unfounded) belief that I am a catalyst for accidents, natural disasters and other Acts of God, and thought that since I had made it this far without any major dramas, an upset was probably overdue. Obviously, as a bloke I did a totally inadequate job of explaining to them how touched I was that they took a couple of days off work and came all that way to share the final day of the trip, but it meant a great deal to me. From the very first day of the trip, I had imagined the journey ending with a great reception from my mates somewhere in Europe, although I thought that if I managed to entice anyone outside the M25, I would be lucky. The moment did not disappoint.

Guys, can I just remind you that the Transalp tops out at 75mph...

I set off with a mild hangover on the final day to cover the 200 or so miles from Epernay to Calais. The weather forecast was fairly grim, but fortunately the rain held off in Northern France. Unfortunately, it was blowing a gale, which provided my escorts with plenty of entertainment as I weaved my way down the autoroute (the panniers act like a sail in the wind).

Dumb and dumber...

I had assumed that they wouldn't see many vehicles with Aussie numberplates crossing the Channel, so I was amazed to see that the car in front of me was also from Melbourne - a 1932 Lagonda Rapier driven by a couple of similar vintage from East Brunswick (although they'd shipped it over for a round-Europe tour).

The exact moment of landfall...

Even though I had seemed like I was on my victory lap since I entered Western Europe, it was still a bit surreal riding the last few miles through the City of London, which used to be my old stomping ground on a ZX6 seven years ago. Felt bloody good to be back though!

Back to reality - breakfast with Emma and Joe

After a couple of nights with my brother Joe and his fiancee Emma, I headed up to Churt for the christening of my godson, Oscar. I think I managed to conduct myself appropriately, although I was out of my seat with my hand up pretty fast when the vicar asked who had travelled the furthest to be at the service...

My new godson Oscar, with Malcolm, Alicia and the vicar

After that, all that remained was the final 200 miles up to York to see my parents. And sure enough, the English weather lived up to its reputation. By the time I reached Newport Pagnell on the M1 at 8pm, the rain was so heavy and the spray was so bad that I had to put on the high-vis vest that had not been required on the entire journey thus far...

So did the trip live up to expectations? Of course, it far exceeded them. I had more fun, met more interesting people, and saw more incredible sights than I could ever have imagined. And the Honda Transalp performed absolutely flawlessly - the only maintainence required was routine replacement of tyres, filters, brake pads and chain, in spite of some pretty rough treatment and a few big stacks. It was always up to the job, even though it was up in the snow at 4,800 metres one week and in the sand at 50 degrees the next. It always started first time, even though it didn't get a service for almost 40,000km - hopefully this will still be the case after I've stripped it down and rebuilt it next week...

Would I do another trip like it? Of course - in fact I'd happily do the same trip again. But hopefully the next big ride will be Argentina to Alaska - may be a few years away though...

Almost there!

2009-07-08T02:15:00.000-07:00

You'll have noticed that the blog updates are now coming thick and fast - all thanks to my swanky new iPhone which allows me to surf at my leisure in wifi-enabled cafes, and failing that, by loitering outside houses with unsecured networks...

Kotor in Montenegro was just a taste of things to come, as I worked my way up the Dalmatian coast through Dubrovnik and Split sipping coffee, camping by the beach and topping up the tan to impress folks back in the UK.

You say "one way street into Dubrovnik" and I say "racetrack"...

After a few days on the coast I decided to cut up through Bosnia, which is a beautiful country with some great biking roads. I spent an evening in Bihac (pronounced, somewhat amusingly, bi-atch), largely because I had forgotten that not many of the roads leading to Croatia actually enter Croatia (since it's a separate country...). Anyway, Bihac turned out to be a delightful place. In fact, I was really taken with the whole of old Yugoslavia. But even though there's been a lot of construction, there are still a lot of bullet holes around!

Bosnia to Croatia - road closed!

Bihac - peppered...

A nicer view of Bihac

Onwards and upwards, through Slovenia and into Italy. By now I'd been in and out of the EU a few times, but it wasn't until Italy that it started to feel like mission accomplished. There are some breathtaking roads in the Dolomites, and I enjoyed cruising through the mountains with Matt Monroe's 'On Days Like These' on the mental iPod. In fact, the roads are so good that I found a cozy B&B in Arabba, ditched the luggage and went out to scrub the edges off my new tyres on the racetrack that masquerades as a public road around the Dolomites - Passo Campolongo, Passo Gardena, Passo Sella, and Passa Pordoi. The Transalp took everything in it's stride, which is more than can be said for me when I tried to run up the Passo Pordoi later that day - I blew a gasket after about 15 minutes and found myself coughing my guts up next to a couple of friendly cows called Nesquik and Hannelore (it's so fancy up there that the cows have name badges...)

Parking in the Alps - keep the Jags on the left and Astons on the right, please...

After the great roads in the Dolomites, I didn't think it could get much better - but it did. There weren't many landmarks on the trip during planning, but one of them was the Stelvio Pass. Which turned out to be 46 hairpins of pure pleasure (they're numbered - I was too busy to count them) - and that's just the way up. I felt quite a sense of achievement at the 2,800 metre summit, so you can imagine how all the cyclists felt after 2 1/2 hours... Is is better that the 1148 in Thailand? Who cares - they're both incredible. But as a measure of just how good it is, the Stelvio Pass sticker was only the third one to get valuable real estate on the bike screen. On the way down, I was planning to cut over the umbrella pass to Switzerland, but then I saw the way down the Stelvio Pass - missing it would have been like climbing up the stairs but not taking the slide down.

The final few curves on the way up the Stelvio Pass...

...at the top...

... and back down the other side

Now I'm back in Europe, I'm starting to miss the constant attention I got throughout Asia, which is probably because the roads here are full of touring bikes and nobody recognises my numberplate. I lost the AUS badge from the back of the bike somewhere in Nepal, so in order to comply with EU law (but mainly to attract some attention) I made a new sign with some insulating tape. Unfortunately most people now assume that I'm from Austria - not the best outcome...

No, not Austria, STRAYA!

After a chilly night of camping in St Moritz, it was on to Zurich to stay with Paul and Sue Calthrop, who provided great company, a delicious Sunday roast and a very comfy bed. Next day I crossed the Bodensee by boat and continued north to Ulm, where I called in to see Claus and Rainer, a couple of the Africa Twin riders that I crossed Nepal and India with. It was great to see them again, and I suspect that there will be many more adventure rides for us.

Reunited...

Another day of riding northwards brought me to Frankfurt to visit the Bohles family. Unfortunately Carlos was away on a business trip, so I took the opportunity to corrupt the kids - sorry Carlos, but I think the girls are all expecting motorbikes for their birthdays now!!!

Meet the Bohles...

Next stop? Well tomorrow I'm meeting up with my guard of honour, who will be escorting me the final few hundred kilometres to the UK. Jenksy and Morris have arranged a final night out in Epernay, which suggests that they have far too much money and no idea how low my standards have slipped over the past 6 months...

Er, which country is this please?

2009-07-08T01:15:00.000-07:00

Over the past few weeks I've done the rockstar thing and jetted into Glastonbury for the weekend (well, Luton to be precise) and I'm back on the road in the Balkans.

Glastonbury was a blast and provided a gentle reintroduction to life in the UK - great music, happy people and even some sunshine (what do you mean England`s not usually like that???). Actually, it rained constantly from Thursday evening to Friday lunchtime, which completely justified Pete and Caroline renting a campervan, which seemed far too bourgeois when the trip was planned six months ago.

Slumming it at Glastonbury

That`s more like it...

So in keeping with tradition, the place turned into a quagmire and everyone got to wear their Hunter wellies, except for yours truly who decided to brave it out on flipflops. Which would have worked well except for the fact that I had absolutely no traction and needed a tow whenever the going got tough. The game was finally up when I got stuck in the mud and did irreparable damage to my footwear (apparently the technical term is 'blowing a plug'). Anyway, Neil Young rocked, Bruce Springsteen had the time of his life, and the company wasn't bad either...

Eminem called by at our campervan to say hello...

Not much to report from Istanbul - retrieving the bike from customs was the same frustrating ten-signature process as before, only in reverse and over ten different lunchbreaks. I managed to run out of petrol on the way back to the city, but fortunately the few drops in my stove were enough to get me to a filling station - good trick, that...

Back on the road, I headed north and crossed into Greece at Ipsala. Fortunately I had bothered to get green card insurance from Arisa, because I was asked to show it at the border. Unfortunately, the cover note was still in the mail. But my new iPhone came to the rescue, because I had received a copy by email. Now the customs officer was clealy bamboozled by the technology and wanted me to go back to Turkey to buy another policy, but I utilised my 'firm' negotiating approach (I've been trying to do 'polite but firm', but I can't pull it off), and his boss relented. So I'm claiming to be the first person to achieve an e-crossing into Greece...

On to Thessaloniki, which has changed massively since I was there as a teenager (or maybe it was because I was too broke / stupid to go beyond 100 metres from the railway station back then). Anyway, the waterfront is very fancy, the girls scrub up really well, and the party keeps going all night, even on a Wednesday.

The original plan was to head from there to Naples to visit some friends, but it turned out they were all going to be on holiday (next time I'll give them less notice), so I decided to collect some more stamps in the passport and head through the Balkans. Some of those countries are so small that they should really be called counties... In fact I managed to pass through the first two without spending any money, which is my idea of a successful visit...

Peaceful Albanian scenery? Look closely for gun placements in the background...

Admittedly, I stayed at the Sheraton in Tirana and busted out the frequent flyer card for a free stay - I'd been keeping the points in reserve in case I got really stuck anywhere, but they tend not to have Westins in the hotspots of the world, so I figured it was time to cash in on those many months of servitude as a consultant for a hot bath and a comfy bed.

If only all my hotel rooms had been like this...

I offset this indulgence by dining on bread and cheese that I'd been carrying from Greece, thus avoiding the need to change any money into Leks. On the way to Tirana, I managed to pass through FYROM (that's Macedonia to you) in an hour and a half (including a 20 minute kip), and I never even found out what currency they use...

Ever wondered what Macedonia looked like? No, neither had I

Albania was nicer than expected, with some fetching commie-era relics and a breakers yard every kilometrew. Surprisingly, the place is full of cars with UK licence plates - mercedes e-classes to be precise. In fact, most of the cars on the road are mercedes e-classes with Italian number plates, german number plates... I was told that most of the working population have left the country, and are just back for their holidays...

Is that a gun, or are you just pleased to see me?

Onwards and upwards, to Montenegro (I guess FYROM was already taken). Now when I was at primary school, I think I could name every capital city in the world (I was a lonely child...). But Podgorica was a new one for me - although to be fair the whole population is less than half a million. Combine that with some mountains and you end up with fantastic biking roads. Once in a while on this trip, I have a 'wow' moment where I have to stop the bike and take some totally inadequate photos of a stunning view, and I cetainly had one of those on the road from Cetinje to Kotor, which winds it's way from a cliff about a kilometre high to a beautiful medieval port with mountains on all sides (google it!) over the Trojica pass.

View from the Trojica Pass

I was planning on pushing on to Dubrovnik, but it was 6pm, I was hungry, and Kotor looked interesting, so I figured out what currency they use and stopped for the night in Montenegro (it's Euros, in case that question ever comes up in a pub quiz).

Kotor - the super-yachts are just starting to arrive...

Mediterranneo!!!

2009-06-11T12:44:00.000-07:00

Another foreword - the last blog from Iran was a bit of a whinge-fest, which I thought would be a turn off, but people seemed to like the change in tone (or return to normal???). Once again, by the tıme the One Man Caravan left Iran, ıt was ın a state of socıal and polıtıcal upheaval (just lıke Thaıland, Nepal, Indıa and Pakıstan) - I thınk I've seen more electıons than a UN monıtor recently (not that there were many of them ın Iran). I can only conclude that a lot of Iranıans are readıng my blog and were spurred ınto actıon by my explosıve crıtıque of theır regıme...

*****

Anyway, I'm pleased to report that things have brightened up again in Turkey, figuratively if not literally. Turkey is a great country to travel through, with great biking, scenery, food and people. However, I had Turkey down as a 'hot' country, but within 5 minutes of crossing the border, some ominous looking thunderclouds formed, prompting me to don my Dryrider rubber suit for the first time the trip. No sooner that it was on, the heavens opened, but the suit fully justified being carried for 30,000km and I was dry as a bone. The only leak was from my gloves, which by now are looking very second hand (pun fully intended...).

Lake Van, Turkey

From the border, we headed west to Van. The countryside in the east of Turkey is very beautiful and makes for excellent bike riding. T-bone and I made good progress and found plenty of good places to camp. My only complaint about the country is the price of petrol - one pound fifty a litre!!! Quite a step-up after 30p a litre in Iran...

Improvised Turkish campsite...

Turkey is blessed with many historic sites, and first stop was Nemrut Dagi, a hilltop where King Antiochus built a tomb-sanctuary flanked by huge statues in the first century BC.

The heads of Nemrut Dagi

View from the top

The next day, we decided to cut cross-country to Cappadoccia across about 100mk of fantastic dirt roads. I came up behind a tuk-tuk, which seemed a bit out of place since it was the first one I had seen in Turkey. Just as I overtook, I noticed a big slogan on the back that read "Kolkotta - Paris" and as I cruised past, a couple of French guys waved at me! We stopped and had a good chat - Sylvian and Elred bought their tuk-tuk in Calcutta and are driving it to Paris to raise money for charity! Great guys, great adventure!

Calcutta to Paris by rickshaw - only the French...

More relics...

Later that day on the road to Cappadoccia, the rubber suit came out again. It takes a few minutes to put on and sometimes it's tempting to ride through light showers without it, but there was no mistaking the ominous grey clouds on the horizon. A few kilometres down the road, I was riding through a storm with hailstones the size of marbles! With no shelter in sight, there was no alternative but to plough on through, even though the hail was a couple of inches deep on the road...

Hailstorms in June? Not even in England...

I battled on, and by nightfall I reached Goreme, the so-called backpacker centre of Cappadoccia. I checked into the excellent Flintstones Hotel, where I enjoyed the most comfortable bed in about three months. I also passed the 30,000km milestone for the trip, and the Transalp still hasn't missed a beat.

Cappadoccia - surreal

Goreme by night

After Goreme and a night in Egirdir, I headed south to Olimpos where I saw the sea for the first time since Phuket - the Med may still be a long way from the UK, but İ'm definitely starting to feel close to home. Turkey is a great country for motorbikes - the hıghways are ın good condıtıon and not too busy, and wıth a few hours to spare, there's usually a back road or dırt track alternatıve to the maın road.

First glimpse of the Mediterranean

From Olımpos, I've just been workıng my way north along the Medıterranean coast, through Fethıye, Bodrum, Kusadası and Ayvalık. The mountaıns drop straıght ınto the sea, so the coast road ıs full of twısts and turns and has beautıful vıews of the blue sea and Greek ıslands just off the coast. Accommodatıon has been a combınatıon of pensıons and free campıng on the beach or ın the mountaıns.

Cross-country to Olimpos

Camping with a view

Spaghetti bolognese cooked on driftwood!

In Ismır I was fınally able to change the tyres on the bıke. The Brıdgestone on the rear that I pıcked up ın Shımla was defınıtely lookıng worse for wear, partıcularly sınce I had two punctures ın three days. The second tıme, I managed to pınch the ınner tube twıce, so I ended up removıng and replacıng the tyre on the rım three tımes. If you've never changed the tyre on a motorbıke before, the process ıs just lıke changıng the tyre on a bıcycle, only ıt ınvolves about 10 tımes the blood, sweat, tears, oıly fıngers, skınned knuckles and swearıng. So I was glad to see the back of the Brıdgestone, and the Contınental on the front had seen 26,000km (sınce Brısbane!) and had about as much grıp as a banana skın.

Slow crossing...

The source of the tyres, new brake pads, and other delıghts was Ergur Motors ın Ismır. The tyres were fıtted at a workshop round the corner by Barıs Tok, local motorcyclıng legend and reıgnıng Turkısh 600 Superstock champıon. Barıs then demonstrated the benefıt of years of racıng experıence by straıghtenıng my bent front brake dısk wıth a hammer... Izmır ıs defınıtely a cıty for bıkers - we spent the afternoon hangıng out at the workshop and talkıng bıkes wıth Hakan and Mustafa, a couple of other racers...

Slightly pleased with himself...

How a professional straightens bent forks...

From Ismir, I headed north again, with a quick stop to check out the ancient city of Ephesus. There are more ruins in Turkey than you can shake a stick at, and I must admit to blasting past most of them with a 'seen one, seen them all' attitude, but we were told that if you only see one, then Ephesus is the place to go. And I must admit that it was interesting to see a two-storey classical building - I was starting to wonder if the Greeks ever got beyond building the foundations...

The Celsus Library at Ephesus

The final run in to Istanbul began at Carnakkale, where we took a ferry over to the Gallipolli peninsula and finally reached Europe after almost 6 months on the road. I may only be a pseudo-Anzac, but it was still pretty powerful to see the Commonwealth cemeteries from WWI.

British memorial at Cape Helles

It was a great feeling riding into Istanbul - until we got completely crossed up with some terrible Turkish signposts trying to find Sultanahmed. But we got there eventually and found a room at Just Bar, where we were very well looked after by Ibrahim and his staff.

Just Bar (although it actually offers food and accommodation too...)

Istanbul is a fantastic city, but to me it had a totally different vibe when I first came here over 15 years ago as a teenage backpacker. It was my first trip outside Europe, and it felt very exotic back then, but this time I was amazed at how modern and European it felt (or maybe it's just me...)

The Blue Mosque

Istanbul was an important milestone for another reason. When I had originally planned the trip, I thought it would be a good idea to 'bookend' it with a trip to Glastonbury. That would neatly cap the trip at 6 months, and Glastonbury was significant because it was the last event I attended 7 years ago before I left the UK and moved to California. So I duly assembled a small crew (Pete, Caroline and Rich jumped at the opportunity - everyone else is too grown up these days) and forked out 185 quid for a ticket (ah yes! Back to UK prices!). But in Nepal, it became apparent that I would struggle to finish the trip in 6 months, so I reckoned that Istanbul was a realistic place to reach by the end of June, and booked a cheap flight back with Easyjet.

Now one thing I hadn't reckoned on was the complexity of Turkish customs. Instead of stamping the Carnet like most other countries, they record the details of the motorbike in your passport. By coincidence, I watched an episode of 'Long Way Down' in Pakistan where the intrepid explorers are prevented from flying out of the Sudan until their motorbikes are locked up in a customs depot. By sheer good fortune, I checked with Turkish customs when I entered the country, and sure enough, the same thing applies in Turkey (try figuring that one out on the fly...). So my last day in Istanbul was spent locating the special 'car customs' office, which doesn't have an address and is located on a motorway-under-construction, and then navigating my way through a convoluted process which required no less than 10 (ten) signatures, took 2.5 hours and made Indian immigration look efficient. But eventually the process was complete, and my motorbike was parked in a lot full of Mercedes that had either been illegally imported by drug dealers or totalled by tourists. To cap it all, I had to sign a form saying that if I didn't collect the bike within 30 days, it would become the property of the Republic of Turkey...

Don't worry, I'll come back for you...

The next day, T-Bone was due to head back to Germany, so it only seemed fitting to celebrate our three months on the road together with a few beers. We were having a bit of trouble finding some nightlife, when we met a couple of local guys who offered to take us to a club... After one drink we were joined by a group of Russian ladies, who ordered champagne, and we were then informed that we would be picking up the tab for everyone, which was 150 quid! We both found it hilarious that after chancing our luck in the snow of the Himalayas, with the Taliban in the Swat Valley, and with the Iranian secret police, that we should fall for the oldest sting in the book! We left the manager in no doubt as to what he could do with his bill, had a brief scuffle with some frankly disappointing bouncers, and walked off into the night - can't beat the taste of a free beer!

Iran - big brother is watching you

2009-06-11T04:39:00.000-07:00

A quick warnıng prior to reading this blog posting - it comes across as a bit of a Ewan-and-Charley style whinge... I am starting to appreciate how sometimes you just want the locals to bugger off and give you some space and respect! The good news is that Turkey is shaping up to be much more fun!

*****

Well, I was in Iran for about ten days, and I have to say that I have some serious reservations about the place. Sure, the complete absence of bars, alcohol, and almost anything resembling fun is a negative. And the naivity / xenophobia is extremely tiresome - every couple of minutes in the street, someone will mutter 'Hello, how are you' and walk away giggling wildly to his mates. The treatment of women is also troubling - making them sit at the back of the bus seems pretty lame for the 21st century. And for practıcally the first time on this trip, people have tried to rip me off - in fact, almost every visit to a restaurant or petrol station ends in a heated debate about the bill (even though petrol costs the same per litre at every filling station...).

Sorry Iran - no prizes from this visitor!

But what bothers me most is the not-so-secret police, who have really pissed me off and have brought out a subversive streak in me that has not been seen since hıgh school! Equally strıkıng ıs the ambivalence that most people have to the ınterference of the polıce in everyday life.

The nonsense started as soon as we entered Iran. Our passports were confiscated with no explanation, leaving us stuck at the border. Eventually it was explained to us that we would need a bodyguard to proceed to Zahedan, but no indication was given as to when this bodyguard would arrive. After 90 minutes, a boy-soldier (about 19 going on 12, and doing his best to act tough) presented himself, with no radio, no gun and no transport. Not much of a bodyguard. But he had our passports. Now there's not much spare space on the back of my bike, but this lad can't have been more than about 50kg, and since the alternative was to pay $25 for a taxi for him, he was duly added to the rest of the luggage and we set off.

I'll spare the gory details of the remainder of the day, but it took us 14 hours to cover the ~350km to Bam, with brief spells at 120kph behind police escorts interspersed with lengthy waits in 40+ degree sunshine outside many, many police stations. At one point we waited 30 minutes to be escorted 500 metres to the next post. No smiles, no explanation, no passport. I was extremely pissed off. We eventually received our passports back about 50km from Bam, but only because the final escort ran out of petrol. We were then almost run off the road by another police escort arriving in Bam, who thought they could tell us which hotel we would be staying in. To make matters worse, it was the hotel that I had planned to stay at anyway, so I had to make it absolutely clear that I was staying there because I chose to, and not because they wanted me to...

With Akbar and friends ın Bam

Akbar's Tourist Guest House in Bam proved to be a great place to stay, and Akbar and his son Mohammed were wonderful hosts. My stay there was somewhat spoiled by a chronic case of heat exhaustion / diahorrea, for which I blame the Iranian police for keeping me hanging around in the sun the previous day. Bam was completely devastated by an earthquake in 2003 and is still being rebuilt, and the ancient mud-brick city is a far cry from what it once was, but it's still an interesting place to visit.

Ancient city of Bam

Akbar insisted on calling the police to let them know that we were leaving, and escorts continued on and off to Sirjan. We checked into the uninspiring Fadak Hotel and left our passports with the manager. When it came to dinner time, the conversation went something like this:

Overland biker: "We're going out to dinner. Can we have our passports back please?"
Hotel manager: "You can have dinner here. We have kebabs."
OB: "No thanks. We're going out. Passports please."
HM: "You can't go out."
OB: "Why not?"
HM: "Police"
OB: "Sod the police. Passport please! Now!"

Passports duly received, we went out and had typical Iranian fare (uninspiring fast food). By then end of the meal, there was a couple of plain clothes policemen sat outside in a car, who then followed us back to the hotel. At the hotel, they asked to see our passports and noted down the details. Next morning as we were about to leave, another plain clothes policeman arrived, insisted on seeing our passports and noting down the details (did they change overnight???), and escorted us out of Sirjan (as far as the next escort).

Salt plains on the road to Shiraz

Shiraz didn't really do much to float my boat - it's a reasonable city but there's not much to do there! And Persepolis was a bit of a let down - sure, the 2,500 year-old bas-reliefs from the palace of Xerxes are pretty interesting, but I was over it in about 2 hours. We also got ourselves involved with a bit of a lunatic called Mr Ematy, who claimed to be an English teacher, invited us to lunch at his mother's house (which we accepted), and gave us a very uninspiring tour. Mr Ematy bore an uncanny resemblence to a fat Borat, and after 60 minutes of his company we tried to extricate ourselves from the lunch invitation, at which point he protested that his mother had already prepared lunch, so we reluctantly went along. The lunch was quite good, and when he asked if he could show us his nearby language institute, I had a moment of weakness and agreed. Long story short, he then drove us 35km to his 'institute', whıch was closed, and then started approaching strangers ın the street to see if they wanted to talk to us (thankfully they were as unimpressed by this as we were). At this point, I totally lost the plot and made it very clear to our friend that he should return us to the motorcycles immediately...

An old ruin, and Persepolis...

I wish I could say that thıs was the turning poınt and Iran got better from here on, but it didn't really. On the posıtıve side, we met a very nice girl called Samaneh who showed us the beautiful bridges in Esfahan.

Thirty-three Brıdge, Esfahan

We also met a cool guy ın Oremıa called Resa who drove us round the cıty ın hıs brother's Hıllman Hunter (stıll ın productıon ın Iran...).

The Hıllman Hunter - long belıeved to be extınct...

We also vısıted the seasıde - the Caspıan seasıde, that ıs.

Makes the North Sea look lıke the Carıbbean...

The Turkish border - and my first beer in 6 weeks beckons...

50 in the shade (if you can find any)

2009-06-03T01:23:00.000-07:00

Yes, that's right, I didn't know temperatures went that high, but they do, in Pakistan in the summer, and I rode right through the middle of it. Since the last update from Dharamsala, I've holidayed in two of the world's most notorious hotspots (Peshawar and Quetta), endured hours of police escorts, and I am now recovering in Bam from a spot of heat exhaustion (read - extreme diahorrea). I'm still travelling with T-bone, my intrepid German companion.

I would normally have steered clear of Peshawar, but I had received a strong recommendation for a tour guide there, and when I contacted the Prince he assured me that all was well. The ride from Islamabad was fairly straightforward until I got a puncture about 20km outside Peshawar. There was a big chard of metal in the tyre, so it went down pretty quick and gave me a big speed wobble at about 100kph. Fortunately there was a tyre shop about 50 metres away, so after taking the back wheel off, I paid the grand sum of 50 rupees and spared myself the trouble of changing the tube.

Pimp my bus - Peshawar style

On arriving in Peshawar, we checked in at the Rose Hotel and called the Prince, who came out to meet us with his colleague Hussain. While I was waiting for the Prince, I went across the road to a tyre shop to see if I could find a replacement inner tube (for a Transalp? Not easy...), where they told me that the Taliban had bombed an internet cafe in Peshawar earlier in the day with many casualties - I decided the situation was sufficiently hazardous for me to stay off Facebook for a few days. The Prince and Hussain arrived and they were an absolute blast, so we decided to stay in Peshawar for a couple more days so that they could give us the full tour. On the way up to their office, there was a loud bang which sounded suspiciously like a bomb blast, but the Prince assured me it was a wedding - he later fessed up that it was a bomb, but he didn't want to worry us on day one...

Local dress to help us blend in
(although the T-bone looks more like a Parisian painter???)

Fun and games with the Prince

The next couple of days were a laugh - the Prince (who really is a Prince) was a constant source of entertainment and Hussain was a constant source of political debate. We enjoyed fantastic Pashtun cuisine (i.e., meat), we visited architectural wonders, mausoleums, schools, markets...

In a 350-year old house in Peshawar

Dining out Pashtun-style

We met with the local tribal leader, which was a bit like meeting the Wizard of Oz - he was about 35 years old and his inner sanctum was like a teenager's bedroom, with posters, toys, a big TV... and lots of guns. We took the obligatory 'western tourist grinning inanely with an AK47' photographs, which will not be appearing on this blog in case I ever attain high public office and you decide to use them against me.

Is it loaded? If you have to ask...

Making bricks = donkey work

I then had to visit Islamabad again to collect my visa from the Iranian Embassy (come back at 4pm the next day - NO EXCEPTIONS!). Rather than spend another night in the dump that is the tourist campsite, T-bone and I rode up to the hill resort of Murree. It provides welcome relief from the heat of the plains, but has a big problem with touts. After being hassled by the same half dozen or so, that apparently work for every hotel in the town, I had worked up quite a temper, so it was not a good time for the local policeman to pull me over and tell me that I did not have a registration plate on the front of my motorcycle, and my bike was overloaded. After the overloading I've seen over the past few months, the reaction he got was sufficient for him to wave me on quickly...

I then embarked on the long slog across Pakistan to the Iranian border. There are three routes across to Quetta: very unsafe, unsafe, and moderately unsafe. We had originally planned to take the latter, but we figured that we could take about 200km off the journey by riding across the mountains through Lorelei (the 'unsafe' route). Unfortunately the plan came unstuck fairly quickly - we arrived in Dera Ghasi Khan to be greeted first by the traffic police, then by the real police, and finally by some shady looking 'military intelligence' in plain clothes. Our conversation did not get off to a good start - they asked me for my passport, I asked for their ID, they didn't have any... it was made clear to us that we were not to stay in DG Khan, and I was escorted back 100km to Multan. In Multan, the first two hotels I tried were 'full' (read - I don't want this Taliban-magnet in my hotel)... I finally found an overpriced room, but by that point I was beyond caring. We later found out that there was a bombing in DG Khan a couple of months ago that killed 30 people which explains why the locals were a bit twitchy...

Next day, we elected to play it safe and take the longer route to Quetta via Sukkur. Other than being extremely hot, the ride to Sukkur was fairly uneventful. In Sukkur we receieved the same 'no room at the inn' treatment from the locals and ended up paying a bit more than we would have liked (3,600R) at the Inter-Pak Hotel.

Riding through the desert

On the final 400km ride up to Quetta, we had a police escort most of the way. Other than one old Toyota pick-up that couldn't manage more than 45kph, we cruised along at about 90kph so the escorts didn't really hold us up much. They were always very polite and considerate, and we had a chai break every time we switched escorts at the end of each district (far more pleasant than the Iranian escorts - more of that later). I'm not sure how effective they'd be if we saw any trouble, but fortunately it never came to that...

My guardian angels - I feel much safer now...

This was probably the hottest day of the entire trip - in Sibi, the locals told me that this is the hottest place in Asia, and a quick check online confirmed that the maximum temperature on the day that we passed through was 50 degrees (and it felt it!). It's not too bad when you're cruising on the bike, although I managed to drink about 10 litres of water in one day.

Quetta had some pretty stern security, and really felt like it was on the edge of a war zone. We were passed by a convoy of trucks carrying new toys for the US Marines in Afghanistan - I don't know exactly what was under the tarpaulins, but I'm pretty sure that Teledyne don't make washing machines... But all in all, another friendly Pashtun town, and we stayed at the excellent Bloom Star hotel.

From Quetta, there was a gruelling 650km ride to the border at Taftan. To make things even more interesting, we heard that a group of French tourists had attempted the same trip a couple of days earlier, and were ambushed by Al Qaeda - one of them was kidnapped and is still missing. So security was stepped up even further, although I think the police were more afraid than we were (after all, nobody was going to bother kidnapping them...). This manifested itself in Taftan, the final town before the border, where we were unceremoniously dumped at the Customs House by the final police escort at dusk. We spent our final night in Pakistan sleeping rough in an unguarded truck park, deep in unfriendly territory - not the best recipe for a good night's sleep... Next stop, Iran!

Final resting place in Pakistan...

Pakistan - it's a man's world

2009-05-10T01:34:00.001-07:00

The last update came from Dharamsala in northern India, where I was enjoying a few days of R&R at the excellent Hotel Akant Lodge after a tough week in the Spiti Valley. I changed the oil at a local workshop. The oil filter on the Transalp is not well protected by the bashplate, and it had obviously seen a few big rocks - it was totally bent out of shape, but fortunately it wasn't punctured. From there, we had a relaxing day's ride down to Amritsar except for the last 100km where we were playing Tata-roulette with big trucks overtaking cars, bicycles, ox-carts... I'm now in Gilgit in the far north of Pakistan after a mad dash up the Karakorum highway - more of that later - and I'm planning to stay here for a week before travelling back through Baluchistan to Iran.

Amritsar was a bit of a pilgrimage. In September 1997 I stayed at Mrs Bandari's guest house, where I met an Australian couple travelling up to Europe on a BMW motorcycle. That was the inspiration for this trip, so I was keen to stay there again. We camped in the beautiful gardens, and although it is no longer mentioned in the Lonely Planet, it is still as welcoming as I remember it, even though Mrs Bandari died a couple of years ago (aged 101).

Through a connection, we were able to visit a company in Jalandar than builds buses for Mercedes Benz India. The road from Amritsar to Jalandar was one of the most dangerous I've seen - it's under construction, and every few kilometres it switches from dual carriageway to contraflow with no warning - total chaos at 100kph... Indian drivers really are the worst I have experienced in any country, and after weeks of pent up road rage, I finally lost it and landed a well-placed boot in the passenger door of a Maruti Suzuki that had cut me up (if they're within range, they're fair game in my book)...

The Sutlej bus factory in Jalandar was a trip. We were hosted by Bernard, an engineer who had been sent by Mercedes to teach the Indians how to build buses like the Germans. After two years he was reaching the conclusion that this was an impossible task. He was under a lot of pressure because the order book was fairly thin and the family obviously had complete faith in this German whizz to rescue the company. He told us about all the challenges he faced - he had even been attacked by buzzards that were circling overhead. Just as we were preparing to leave, there was a swoosh and another buzzard swooped down and took a chunk out of his scalp! "OK", he says, "now I get a gun!"

Next day we took a quick look at the Golden Temple, and headed to the Pakistan border at Wagah. We were warmly greeted at the Pakistan side with a plate of gulub jamun. At 6:30pm the flag ceremony began , with large crowds on either side of the fence to watch the rabble-rousing chants, pythonesque high-stepping, and haka-like grimacing that is the nightly closing of the border.

Bordering on the ridiculous...

From there, it was a quick dash to Lahore to stay at the Regal Internet Inn, which seems to be the place to stay (which makes me wonder what the other hotels in the city are like). Already, Pakistan felt totally different to India - the city was more open and modern, the welcomes were warmer, and in the evening the smell of beef on the barbecue was never far away (as opposed to the smell of burning plastic).

On Wednesday, our group had a big parting of ways, with three of the Germans starting on the 3-4 day trip to the Iranian border. I headed north with Thomas Bohn, hereafter known as 'T-bone' or 'Boner' ('TaliBohn' was also considered but we're not making those jokes right now). The motorway to Islamabad begins with 3 lanes in either direction but we soon discovered that this was no autobahn as we encountered donkey-carts, tractors travelling in the wrong direction, buses stopping to pick up school kids in the fast lane, and even an old man salvaging grains of wheat from a broken sack in the middle of the road. Not to mention the speed bumps...

Islamabad is a new city build specifically for government buildings, and looks suspiciously like Milton Keynes. We stayed at the much heralded Tourist Campsite which was a huge disappointment. The manager was extremely beligerant, told us Islamabad was not safe, and then insisted that we camp right next to the road in the filthiest part of his near-empty campsite. Now I'm no security expert, but I quite liked the idea of putting the French motorhome between my tent and the road in case the bullets started flying. A brief stand-off occurred, but suddenly we were best of friends and I could camp wherever I wanted. We shared the campsite with one French and one German couple who had spent 10 days there and quite liked it (why?????), and about 30 Frontier Constabulary troops who had clearly not been told that it's impolite to point an automatic rifle at your midriff while they're practising their English with you. And they had made a real mess of the toilet block...

Next day I headed to the Iranian Embassy to pick up my visa. When I asked if I could collect my passport the same day, I was given the ambiguous 'Inshallah, inshallah' and sent off to deposit money in a local bank and make photocopies of my passport. Well bugger Inshallah, because after 2 hours of waiting around I was told it would be ready the next working day, and because it was a Thursday that meant Monday. I was not inclined to hang around in Islamabad for 4 days, so I grabbed my passport back and by 12:30 we were heading at full speed for the Karakoram Highway.

We were hoping to cover some ground and possibly reach Bisham by nightfall, but at the first stop for petrol we were ushered into a very smart office by a very important looking gentleman who welcomed us warmly to Pakistan, gave us a glass of apple juice, and insisted that on our return trip we come and stay in his village. That pretty much set the tone for the whole journey - every time the bike stops, people are very keen to have a conversation. At Haripur we stopped for lunch, and when we told the locals that were we planning to stay in Bisham, they laughed and said "Taliban! Taliban!". Good joke, guys...

In the end, we only made it as far as Mansehra, where we stayed at the overpriced Karakoram Hotel. I was not much reassured by the old guy at the gate with a double-barrelled shotgun, but at least he was first in the firing line if there was any trouble. Next day, we set off at 6am because we wanted to cover the entire 460km to Gilgit. We knew that the road would be rough and is prone to landslides, and we had to run the gauntlet through the Swat District and Kohistan, which are not known to be particularly tourist friendly. I had read online that the Pakistani Army was currently engaged in a full-scale offensive against the Taliban in the Swat Valley, and although the highway passes through the Swat District about 50km from the front line, it runs along a parallel valley (the Indus river) and is not affected by the fighting.

No left turn...

I was a little on edge when I saw a company of Pakistani soldiers on patrol with weapons drawn, but the only trouble we experienced was with the Pashtun kids, who are crack shots with their catapults. Fortunately, at 60kph I am safely out of range by the time the little buggers have loaded. This is not so good for T-bone who usually rides behind me, and he took three direct hits...

We made good time and by mid-afternoon we were out of the North West Frontier Province and into the Northern Areas, which are a lot more friendly. The whole ride up the Karakoram along the Indus river was beautiful, and late in the day we were treated to a great view of Nanga Parbat, the 9th highest mountain in the world at over 8,100 metres. Arriving in Gilgit was fantastic - it's a vibrant, friendly town. We checked in at the Madina Hotel, an overlanders' favourite, where the staff are totally in tune with the needs of the long distance traveller. I think it's my favourite hotel on the entire journey so far. There's a Slovakian couple travelling to India by Jeep, and a German girl travelling alone through Pakistan on a Transalp (truly hardcore!).

In the Hindu Kush, with man's best friend...

We hung around in Gilgit for a few more days to catch the start of the polo season, which was fairly full-on - I think Prince Charles would have been lucky to escape with just a broken arm playing with this lot.

I hope those things have better brakes than my Transalp...

Then we pushed further north to the Chinese border and the Khunjerab Pass - the highest point on the trip so far at 4,800 metres (and boy was it cold...). Unfortunately it's nearly impossible to get permission to take vehicles into China so we had to turn back, but since there were no guards at the border, we thought nobody would mind if we just went a little bit further...

At 4,800 metres in China

I may already have waxed lyrical about the Himalayas in Nepal and India, but the Hindu Kush is really something else - photos don't do it justice, but I'm told that the Hunza Valley was the inspiration for James Hilton's Shangri-La.

Rakaposhi - from my hotel balcony...

Next stop is Peshawar - I know it's a little dicey at the moment, but we have a guide lined up who has promised to keep us out of trouble...

Incredible India

2009-05-02T04:18:00.000-07:00

OK, I admit to having been a bit skeptical about India. Overlanders don't always give it a good write-up, complaining about terrible driving, the overcrowded cities, and the oppressive heat. But while I've experienced a bit of each of these (and a lot of the first), India has turned out to be (as advertised) an incredible experience.

I'll pick up the story in Pokhara, Nepal. After doing the Jomson Trek with the Germans on rented mopeds, I headed west with them to Mahendranagar and the Indian border. The Nepali immigration folks were not too impressed that I had overstayed my visa by 5 days, and slapped me with a $45 fine before I could leave the country.

And I thought my ass was hairy (sorry mum!)

Across the border into India, the plan was to push on along the 74 Highway towards Dehradun, but navigating in India was a nightmare . Entering a town, we were typically faced with a crossroad. Straight ahead would lead into the market and a maze of alleys, leaving a choice of left or right, with no signposts to indicate which one would lead back to the 74. Furthermore, the 'main' (i.e., paved) road took long detours away from the route that was marked on the map as the 74. Eventually, we all ended up in Kashipur, having made much slower progress than expected and having taken a variety of roads to get there!

From Kashipur, I had resolved to split from the Germans and go solo again. I really wanted to see Dehradun and Rishikesh, where the Beatles stayed in an ashram and wrote a lot of the White Album. But Rishikesh turned out to be a fairly unremarkable (i.e., unpleasant) Indian town, and Dehradun turned out to be a fairly unremarkable (i.e., unpleasant) Indian city. To make matters worse, I didn't have a Lonely Planet for the area, so finding a reasonable hotel was hard work.

Next morning, I was feeling a bit sorry for myself - I realised that I was actually missing the Germans! Traveling solo in SE Asia was a lot of fun because it was never difficult to find a bar and meet the locals or other travellers. But India is different - people don't seem to go out and enjoy themselves, so meeting people is more of a challenge. Additionally, I was planning to ride the Spiti Valley, but I didn't want to do it alone because it involved about 800km in some very remote areas. So my solo travel lasted just 24 hours, and in Shimla I met up with the Germans again.

Shimla was a lot more pleasant than Dehradun, and I stayed at the charming Spar's Lodge. Parking was on the street, but the hotel was opposite the Lieutenant General's house, and the Gurkha sentries were more than happy to keep an eye on the bike. In Shimla, I finally had a breakthrough in the Great Tyre Hunt. I had heard of a guy called Vijay Parmar who runs a rally each year called the Raid de Himalaya. Turns out that Vijay is quite well known, because when I asked at the hotel if they knew where I could find him, they directed me straight to Motoworld, his workshop.

Vijay turned out to be quite a character. He told me all about the Raid de Himalaya, in which 150 motorbikes and 4WDs race around the mountains. It's been running for 10 years and has an attrition rate of 75%. He gave us a lot of information on our planned tour of the Spiti Valley, and confirmed which passes were closed. He loaded some of the rally stages onto my GPS for us to follow. But most importantly, Vijay had a couple of spare rear tyres that would fit my Transalp, so I was able to leave his workshop with a nearly new Bridgestone BattleWing - perhaps a bit too road-oriented for riding in the Spiti Valley, but hopefully good enough to get me as far as Turkey. As for the front tyre, it will just have to last (I don't use it that much anyway, heh heh). I also blagged a set of rear brake pads from the Germans (just trying to lighten their load...).

Race HQ for the Raid de Himalaya

In Shimla, we had a couple of encounters with other overland bikers. I was parking my bike near The Mall when I saw a yellow BMW 1200GS. Turned out it was Pascal and Arja. They're riding from Australia to Europe too, and we had exchanged emails a few times previously. A couple of hours later, another BMW saw our bikes parked at the side of the road and pulled up - this time it was Mark and Maggie Alsenbach, who are also doing Australia-Europe. I'd spoken with Mark a few times in preparation for the trip. So we had our biggest overlanders dinner since Bangkok, with nine attendees, and probably had the biggest party that sleepy Shimla has seen for some time...

Next morning we set off for the Spiti Valley. We knew that we couldn't complete the loop from Shimla to Manali because an 18km stretch between the Kunzum and Rohtung Passes was still and would not be open for another month. But we planned to do about 90% of the loop and turn back at Losar. On the first day, we covered about 150km to Sangkla. We stopped for lunch in Nagarta, where we ran into Drew, who had travelled up from Delhi alone and was a regular rider in the area. It was really nice to meet an Indian that showed a genuine enthusiasm for our trip - just like in Nepal, the locals normally skip any kind of welcome or introduction, and launch straight into the Three Questions ("How much does your bike cost?", "What mileage can it do?", "How many cc?"). Drew and I agreed to ride to Leh in a couple of years on Royal Enfields, and it's a commitment I intend to keep!

On the final stretch, we got our first taste of some of the terrain we would encounter... dirt road carved into a vertical cliff face... with no barriers... and blind hairpins... with the occasional oncoming truck to add a bit more excitement. That night, we stayed at the Hotel Kinner Kailash, where the staff were excellent, the dal baht was delicious, and we were given plenty of blankets because we were already at 2,800 metres.

View from the Hotel Kinner Kailash, Sangkla

You can just make out the road near the top of the picture... and the river 500 metres below

Next day we continued to the end of the road at Chitkul, where the mountain views were stunning. We then turned around and headed to Nako, hacking our way through some massive construction sites where new hydro-electric plants were being built. Half of India's entire electricity consumption is generated in this area, so there's a lot of activity. But past Pooh, the dams end and the landscape is beautiful.

Nako at dawn

After Nako, we rode on to Kaza. We arrived mid-afternoon, and decided to try one of the loops in the Raid de Himalaya that goes up to Kibber, the world's highest motorable village, and to the monasteries at Kibber and Komik.

The Spiti Valley - no further comment required!

The road was pretty treacherous - it hadn't been cleared of landslides so we were bouncing over 6-inch rocks on precarious tracks with some pretty hairly drop-offs. If that wasn't challenging enough, we were now above the snowline and meltwater made the track extremely muddy - I was starting to regret having switched to road tyres in Shimla. At Komik, the GPS showed that we were at almost 4,500 metres. The thin air didn't really bother me, but the Transalp was struggling, even in first gear. At the monastery in Komik, we were invited in for chai by the friendly monks. 200 metres later, the road was completely blocked by snow - end of the ride, and we backtracked to Kaza.

All-conquering heroes...

We'd heard that the road was blocked with snow about 10km past Losar, and if we couldn't make it all the way to Manali, we were determined at least to ride to the very end. Past Losar, the track got very bad - we were hacking through 10ft snow cuttings, and snow and meltwater was making for very slippery conditions.

Fine line between bravery and stupidity...

Better than skiing

Where we came from...

... and where we'd like to go

Eventually we reached the end of the line, just as promised. The road crew got quite a surprise when four bikes slithered around the final bend, but we received a warm welcome and chai all round.

End of the line - with the road clearing crew

It was 3pm and we were exhausted by the time we got back to Kaza, so we decided to stay another night . I didn't mind the fact that we were retracing our steps, because the scenery was so beautiful and it was worth enjoying the views from the other direction. At Sumdo, Claus decided he wanted to see the Tibet border, so we headed off along a side road. Just past the village of Gua, a concerned looking Indian soldier came running over, and we were invited to join him in his bunker for a chat.

Are you sure that you're not Chinese spies?

The conversation went something like this:

Concerned Indian Soldier: "What are you doing here? Don't you know this is a restricted area?"

Overland Biker: "Er, we wanted to have a look at Tibet"

CIS: "You must leave this area immediately. Would you like a cup of chai?"

OB: "Yes please!"

CIS: "Would you like to have a look at a 500-year old mummy?"

OB: "Why not!"

And that's how we found a 500-year old Tibetan mummy...

We finished our Spiti Valley tour with a night at the Golden Apple in Kalpa, which is a beautiful town just north of Rekong Peo. We then cut up the Tirthan valley and over the Jalori Pass. Already the countryside looked very different - much greener and more fertile. We camped by a reservoir in Largi, and pressed on to McLeod Ganj, just north of Dharamsala, a Tibetan community where the Dalai Lama lives in exile (and a very well-developed tourist spot). I'd been here 12 years ago - it's a fabulous part of India and it was fun to retrace my steps. A rest day gave me the opportunity to change the oil (lightening the German's load by a further 3kg - didn't they realise you can buy oil in India???!!!) and clean the air filter. Next stop is Amritsar, and then on to... Pakistan!

Mustang by moped! (don't tell the rental company)

2009-04-17T06:48:00.000-07:00

It was Guido that cracked the Annapurna problem - how could I ride to Muktinath without detroying my Transalp? Simple - rent a moped and destroy that instead! In fact, it seemed like such a good idea that the Germans followed suit, and we duly set off on the Jomson trail with a mixed bag of three Bajaj Pulsars, a Hartford VR and a Yamaha FZ (OK, not technically mopeds, but collectively about the same engine capacity as an Africa Twin...)

Past Beni, the going was tough, and it took us 5 hours to reach Ghasa from Pokhara. By mid-afternoon, I had recorded the first spill of the trip as I fired my Pulsar up a rocky slope a little too vigorously, and pogoed my way into a stone wall. One wing mirror down. We stayed at the excellent National Hotel in Upper Ghasa, where we enjoyed some well-deserved momos, dal baat, and a few beers.

Next morning, we had our first casualty proper. Claus's Pulsar refused to start, and after an hour of bump-starting, kick-starting, and anything else we could think of, a local mechanic confirmed our worst fears - seized engine. Arrangements were made to take the bike back to Pokhara by truck, and we continued. After Ghasa, the road actually improved. We were in Jomsom within 2 hours, and we reached Muktinath at 4:30pm - about half way round the Annapurna Circuit, and at 3,800m, the highest point that can be reached by vehicle. Not much of a view that late in the day, but a real sense of achievement.

All hail the moped mountaineers!

We had just turned around and hoped to be back in Tukuche by nightfall, when I got a puncture. Not the best time and place to remove the rear wheel on a shonky old Indian motorbike, but with the help of two German mechanical engineers, we had it fixed in about an hour and made it back to Jomsom and treated ourselves to Yak steaks (and beer).

There was a bit of rain overnight, so when we got up the next morning, the air was clear and we were rewarded with some near-perfect views of the Annapurnas.

The big white mountains all look a bit the same,

but I think this is Annapurna I and Annapurna South...

We spent a few hours taking a lot of photos, but eventually we had our quota of big white mountains and started back for Pokhara. At that point, the elements turned against us and we endured a pretty heavy thunderstorm, which made the already tough conditions even more treacherous. When we returned the mopeds, the final tally was: one seized engine, one broken subframe, one bent handlebar, one broken mirror, one scratched exhaust cover, one bent engine bar, and various other cuts and grazes. The rental company stung us for about 28 quid in damages - I hate to think what I would have done to my Transalp on that route...

So long, Himalayas (for now...)

Heading for the hills...

2009-04-11T05:03:00.000-07:00

I've been in Pokhara, Nepal, for the last four days, getting a really good fix of the internet, good food and good company. Sure, people will complain that Pokhara is too touristy these days, but I was definitely ready for a shower and a steak..

After Kathmandu, I headed east with the Germans. They were committed to reaching a hill town called Taplejung - I'm still not sure how this plan originated, but I was happy to travel with them on their odyssey for a few days.

We hacked our way out of Kathmandu along some horrific roads that were little more than a series of potholes (henceforth referred to as NRBs, or Nepalese Rim Benders), joined together by a small amount of tarmac. The first rule of Nepalese roads is: largest vehicle has right of way. The second rule of Nepalese roads is: LARGEST VEHICLE has right of way. The third rule is: liberal honking of horn is encouraged, but it won't really make a difference.

The worst thing about the road is the buses and trucks. They are painted in garish colours. They have ear piercing, multi-tone airhorns that are used every few seconds. They give way for nobody. And they belch dense black smoke, which is stings your eyes, coats your skin and clothes, and the effect it has on your lungs does not bear thinking about. And you have to overtake one every 30 seconds or so. While avoiding NRBs.

We made it out of Kathmandu, and after Dhulikhel we enjoyed about 20km of smooth, quality tarmac that meandered across a range of hills with plenty of blind corners. Unfortunately it was only 1.5 lanes wide, which is fine for a motorbike and a truck to pass, but doesn't leave much margin for error.

Further on, the road followed the Sun Kosi river along a deep valley. First the tarmac gave way to hard dirt, then sand... quite a surprise since this was marked on the map as a major highway, but we still had a lot to learn about Nepalese roads...

Every few kilometres the valley narrowed and the track snaked its way up hundreds of feet in a series of switchbacks, and then descended just as quickly again.

This bit's a little steep...

The track ran along ledges with sheer drop-offs for hundreds of metres, which certainly focused the mind on keeping the bike upright. This was tough riding, and there were a few fallers...

Oops, I did it again...

At one stage, we found a pedestrian footbridge across the Sun Kosi that was a couple of hundred metres long. No sooner had I mentioned that it would be amusing to ride over the bridge, Rainer was half way across, the the great amusement of the local kids. It wasn't until he was at the other side that he found the flaw in his plan - there was a set of steps, and the bridge was too narrow for him to turn around. 15 seconds to cross going forwards, 15 minutes in reverse...

Rainer, GET DOWN from there...

By 5:30pm, we were still at least an hour's ride from Bimeswar and it was starting to get dark. We bought some instant noodles and bottled water in a small village, and soon found a large grassy floodplain - a perfect spot to camp. As if by magic, a dozen or so local kids appeared, so we circled the wagons and issued stern rebukes to anyone who entered the compound. We were soon tucking into noodles and Marian's delicious homemade pesto, followed by a cheeky schnapps (I was doing my best to lighten the German's luggage by consuming all their provisions...).

The perfect campground?

Next day it wasn't long before we were back on tarmac again, and what a piece of tarmac! For sheer twistiness, this surpassed anything I'd seen in Thailand!

Doesn't get much better than this...

Another one for the bikers

We pressed on, and decided to spend the night in Janakpur, which turned out to be a bit of a dive. We checked in at the Rama Hotel, which was pretty unfriendly, but the Chief of Police was staying there with his retinue, so at least the bikes were safe.

A quick survey of the damage from the previous day's ride showed that the Transalp fared significantly better than the Africa Twins, which suffered a ruptured rear brake pipe, some sheared bolts, and a few missing mirrors. Hopefully it's just teething troubles for my travelling companions, but it makes me realise that I've been extremely lucky to have had no mechanical issues so far, in spite of some spirited riding and a few spills. A local mechanic was found, and it turned out that the brake pipe from Hero Honda fits the Africa Twin just fine, as do the mirrors...

Back on the road, we had an uneventful ride along the Mahendra Highway except for a few public protests, and we stayed at the Kamakshya Hotel in Damak, where Mohan provided claen rooms, great food, and secure parking for the bikes.

Bad day at the office? Burn a tyre...

Having travelled east almost to the Indian border along the Nepali plains, we turned north at Charali. The road rose steeply to almost 2,500m, and I needed my jacket for the first time in 3 months. At 5pm we reached Phidim, end of the sealed road. We were offered accommodation at a basic guesthouse, and we could leave the bikes at the police station. When we saw how tidy the police compound was, we asked if it would be possible to camp there, and we were given a fantastic pavillion to sleep in! The District Chief of Police, Hom Jung Chauhan, was a fantastic host. He explained that he had served in the UN Peacekeeping Force in Croatia and the Sudan.

Next day, we set off for the final push to Taplejung - 85km along a dirt track. We ditched all the luggage and planned to go there and back in a day. But after 20km, I pulled up. The road wasn't too difficult, but we were riding on uneven bedrock and 6" boulders, and my bike was taking a hell of a beating. If I'd been out for a weekend ride on a lightweight dirt bike, it would have been a lot of fun, but my Transalp has to get me back to the UK, so I'm trying to avoid giving it any more unnecessary punishment. There was immediate agreement among the others - I think they'd been waiting to see who cracked first - so we turned round and headed back towards Kathmandu.

Around lunchtime, we noticed a roadside festival with some interesting looking food on display. Rainer and I pulled over, and were treated to a slap-up feed. The quid pro quo was that we then had to visit temple for a quick prayer session, where we were mobbed by some crazy sadhus...

Please God, no more punctures...

"I have to ask, didn't you think it was a trifle unnecessary
to see the crack in the Indian's bottom?"

I then parted company with the Germans and headed back to Kathmandu to pick up my passport from the Pakistan embassy. I'd been hoping to make it back to the city in one day, but the last 120km on the Tribhuvan Highway wound its way up to to 2,500m, and by nightfall I was still 60km short of Kathmandu, so I stopped at the Everest Guest House in Daman.

The Avril Lavigne room at the Everest Guest House

I'd expected to see some spectacular views on the way to Taplejung, but so far I'd only seen the brown mountains, and I was really hoping to see some white ones. When I woke up the next day in Daman, I was finally rewarded...

Room with a view

Next day, I ploughed through the traffic into Kathmandu, picked up my passport with no dramas, and headed for Pokhara along the Prithvi highway. It was a really pleasant ride along the bank of the Trisuli River. Just before Bandipur, all the traffic came to a halt. "Traffic jam", someone explained with a big smile on their face, which seemed surprising given the relatively small number of vehicles on the road. Now my normal reaction to a traffic jam is to use Bikers' Privilege to ride around all the cars, buses and trucks, but in Nepal everyone applies that principle, so both sides of the road were blocked with vehicles heading in my direction. I slowly picked my way through, and at some points the locals helped with a bit of manhandling of the bike to get through some narrow gaps. After about two kilometres, I reached the epicentre of the traffic jam - but there was no cause to be found. All that happened was the vehicles were pointing in the other direction. Apparently what had started as a stand-off between a couple of trucks resulted in total gridlock, which was going to require a lot of coordinated reversing.

"Traffic jam, Sir!"

Having made my way past the traffic jam, the road was quiet for a while as expected, but I started to get an odd feeling that the road was too quiet... About 20km from Pokhara, I came to a police roadblock. The next district was having a bye-election, and the ensure security, the road would be closed until the election ended at 5pm. Apparently everyone else knew this except me... but at least it was 4:30. By 5pm, about a hundred motorbikes were lined up behind me - only problem was that the police would not open the road until they received a call from the top brass. Next thing, I was in the middle of a full scale protest, with lots of shouting, hornblowing, engine revving and edging towards the roadblock (which I was quite happy about, since it meant I was no longer on the frontline). The police were very goodnatured about the whole thing, kept smiling and showed a lot of restraint for guys armed with 4ft batons and the odd machine gun (although it's quite hard to take a protestor on a 150cc chicken-chaser too seriously). At 8pm, the police obviously got their phone call and reopened the road, although the crowd were happy to claim a jubilant victory for people power...

In Pokhara, I was happy to chill out for a while, and it wasn't long before I spotted a familiar sight - Guido's red and black KLR650. Marian was there too, and she had some very bad news - on the way from the Chitwan National Park, Thomas had hit a pedestrian, who had ended up in hospital with a head injury and a broken foot. Given the state of his bike, which was ridable but considerably bent, he must have hit the pedestrian quite hard (one of his panniers was ripped completely off). Thomas was invited to sleep at a police station again, although this time not voluntarily. Fortunately, the man appeared to be OK, and after some negotiation with his son, Thomas paid the hospital bill (about 600 euros), and was allowed to leave. Obviously, not a pleasant experience for anyone, although the Nepalis have terrible traffic sense and people frequently walk out into busy roads without looking. Definitely in need of a visit from the Green Cross Code Man...

I'm now faced with a bit of a dilemma. Guido just came back from a gruelling 370km ride up to Muktinath and back - the Jomsom Trek - in one day. It sounds like an incredible ride, and I'm sorely tempted. But I'm reluctant to do non-essential rides that will hammer the bike (most of the trek is off-road). I rode round the Phewa Tal lake yesterday, and nearly destroyed the bike hacking over a mountain just to get back to Pokhara (Lesson 1: get a map. Lesson 2: don't start these adventures two hours before sunset). My tyres are now down to about 15%, and I have a bad feeling that the rear shock absorber is leaking oil (OK, no need for denial - it IS leaking oil...). Rainer and Claus are considering doing the Jomson Trek, which is starting to fire up my competitive streak...

Caravan enters a new (sub-) continent...

2009-04-11T00:57:00.000-07:00

Since the last blog I wiled away a week in Bangkok waiting for the paperwork to export my bike to Nepal. The shipping agent that the bikers generally use was probably the gloomiest Thai person I met in six weeks. I think she's tired of the same old questions - why does it take so long? - why does it cost so much? But at over $1,000 per bike, they're making good money from shipping motorcycles, and some of the riders are starting to look elsewhere. I'm still scarred from being without my trusty Transalp for over a month when I shipped from Brisbane to Singapore, so I played it safe, paid my money, and drowned my sorrows on the Khao San Road.

Bjorn and Elmar, the Germans that I met in Laos, caught up with me in Bangkok. Being the master networkers that they are, they had got in touch with all the other overland bikers nearby. Bangkok is a bit of a hub because almost everyone riding from Australia to Europe (or vice versa) flies in or out to avoid Myanmar, and each evening there was usually a gang of ten or more.

Hey, who wants to hear about my bike trip???

Now Bangkok is a pretty cool place to hang out for a week, but it was great to jump on a plane bound for Nepal. Guido and Esther, a couple of Swiss overlanders, were on the same plane. They'd heard that a group of German riders would be staying at the Yellow House in Kathmandu, so we headed there from the airport.

Kathmandu was quite a shock after Bangkok. Given that my knowledge of the city to this point was based largely on the Green Eye of the Yellow God, I was expecting something quite exotic, but Mad Carew has long since departed. At first glance modern day Kathmandu looks like it has been bombed extensively. And it doesn't really improve with a second glance, either. Nepal has always been poor, but it has had a particularly hard time recently with royal assassinations and a Maoist revolution. Since the dam for the hydroelectric plant collapsed last year in the floods, the country only gets a few hours of electricity each day... Very friendly and helpful people though (although after a hard day in the saddle, sometimes a little too friendly and keen to help...).

The Yellow House was a great find. It's basic, but it's very clean, well located, the staff are great, the food is tremendous, and all for 300 rupees per night (less than 3 quid). Later in the evening, the Germans turned up - Claus, Rainer, Thomas and Marian. They'd flown their Africa Twins in from Germany and were planning to spend 2-3 months riding back.

Apart from collecting the bike, the other priority in Kathmandu was to get a visa for Pakistan. For some reason, you first need to get a 'letter of no objection' from your home embassy, which meant a trip to the British Consulate. At this point, I discovered that when it comes to baksheesh, the British really are world leaders. Up to this point, the most I have had to shell out was $5 to get a customs stamp when entering Cambodia from Laos. But to get a simple pro-forma letter from the British Consulate, they wanted 35 quid! Obviously it's done extremely professionally, with a nice smile and a helpful leaflet that explains exactly how much you have to pay, and why it's necessary...

Letter of no objection in hand, I headed over to the Pakistan Embassy. I don't know much about Pakistan, but with the current troubles they're having, I did feel a certain uneasiness as I went into the building. But in fact, the folks in the visa department couldn't have been nicer as they processed my paperwork and chatted about England and Pakistan. I thought we were done, but this was only the first stage, and I was then ushered into another room for 'the interview'. The guy behind the desk was the spitting image of Colonel Gadaffi, and had a very serious look on his face. What was my reason for entering Pakistan? Where was a planning to go? How long was I planning to stay there? I answered all the questions with a straight bat - riding from Melbourne to London, Islamabad and the Karakoram highway, two weeks. He gave me a pained look, and told me that my travel plans were unacceptable. Two weeks was not nearly enough for Pakistan, and he reeled off a long list of cities and historic sites that I absolutely had to visit while I was there... I nodded politely and promised to extend my stay. He told me the visa would be ready on Monday. Mission accomplished, I headed quickly for the exit...

Next stop was the cargo warehouse at the airport to collect the bike. I'd heard that it was necessary to get a 'fixer' to help with the paperwork, since it's all in Nepali. At the gate I was met by the usual gaggle of opportunists, who were quickly shooed away by a guy who looked like he had slightly more idea what was going on, so I followed him into the warehouse. We sat down at a large table with about half a dozen other Nepalis. The conversation then went something like this:

Overland traveller: What is your fee?

'Fixer': 4,000 rupees (about 35 quid)

Overland traveller: Forget it! (stands up to leave)

'Fixer': OK! 2,000 rupees

Overland traveller: Do I look stupid? (heads to the door)

'Fixer': 1,000 rupees? (Overland traveller continues to the door). OK, no charge

No obviously, that doesn't really mean no charge, but it means that I decide how much he gets at the end of the process, and I'd heard that a good fixer gets 500 rupees for a job well done. The fixer then led me from room to room in the customs office. It quickly became apparent that he had no idea what the process was and had to ask the other fixers what to do. Furthermore, he didn't speak a word of English, and to make matters worse, he was extremely irritating. With remarkably little assistance, I got my carnet stamped by customs. My fixer then changed tack completely, tried to hug me and repeated the word 'friend' many times, at which point I reminded him that he'd just tried to fleece me for 4,000 rupees. My crate was then moved from the warehouse to a concourse out front, and unpacking began.

Now in my haste to complete the day's chores as quickly as possible, I had left two essential items at the hotel - firstly, the bike keys, and secondly two litres of petrol (I had to drain the tank in Bangkok). There was a spare set of keys on the bike, but it was a classic Catch 22 since I needed a 5mm allen key to get at the bike keys, and the bike keys to get to the 5mm allen key... Earlier, I had asked my fixer to find me an allen key and some petrol, but this level of resourcefulness was completely beyond him. Before you ask what I was planning to do if I really lost the keys, the allen key is usually taped to the outside of the bike (I am assuming that any would-be Transalp thieves will not be reading this blog).

Fortunately, at this point Guido and Esther came to the rescue. Being Swiss, Guido was carrying a good multi-functional pocketknife, and Esther offered to share her petrol with me. Having done the public motorcycle dismantling / reassembling in Asian countries a few times now, I knew that this would attract a formidable crowd, which can be harnessed for various tasks such as taking the crate apart. However, when it comes to the more delicate part of the process like putting the front wheel back on, the crowd can be quite a distraction, especially when you are trying to keep an eye on your tools, your luggage and a bag containing your passport and a thousand dollars in cash. Additionally, you are being bombarded with the same Three Questions:

Q1: Sir, which country are you coming from?

Q2: Sir, how many ccs?

Q3: Sir, what does this motorcycle cost in your country?

As I subsequently discovered, these same three questions are parroted at every opportunity across the entire country - do they teach them at school? Occasionally an innovative member of the crowd will throw in Q4: Sir, how far can you travel on one litre of petrol? But there is no Q5.

I was part-way through the job when Guido and Esther's crate arrived, and Guido's experience began to shown. He arranged the panels from his crate in a magic circle, and anyone who dared to cross the threshold received a polite but firm rebuke and were escorted out of the inner sanctum.

Guys, haven't you finished yet?

Bikes reassembled, I gave my fixer 250 rupees, which I thought was fair enough given his overall contribution (Guido and Esther paid 500 rupees, but their fixer was a lot more helpful). Additionally, we were hit up for 1 rupee per kg storage fee. The fixers then insisted that we pay another 2.5 rupees per kg 'labour charge'. I'd heard that this could be avoided, so I told them that I wasn't going to pay, at which point I got long-winded explanation about how fixers didn't get paid by the warehouse, etc. etc.. By this stage I was definitely smelling a rat. We were told that we would not be allowed through the main exit without a stamp showing that we'd paid the labour charge, but we decided to chance it and roared away from the warehouse. When we got to the main exit, there was no security guard, so no problem. The Nepalis could definitely use a lesson from the British on baksheesh...

The day's drama was far from over, however. Half way back to the hotel, my bike sputtered to a halt - out of petrol. We were just debating who would ride back to the hotel to get my two litres when an Anglo-German couple, Sue and Rafael, pulled up on an Enfield and offered me a litre. We got a few more kilometres down the road, and then Guido's fuel ran out. This time there was no alternative, so Esther and I headed back to the hotel for the extra petrol while a crowd assembled around Guido and subjected him to the Three Questions.

Next day, the priority was to find some petrol, since Kathmandu is in the midst of a strike by the drivers of petrol tankers, who are outraged that the Nepal Oil Company wants to phase out the use of tankers that are more than 25 years old (and some of them look a lot more than 25 years old). The Germans knew a local who made a few phone calls and found us 120 litres on the black market for 170 rupees a litre (regular price is 77 rupees, but overland bike trips don't go very far on an empty tank). We were then escorted around Kathmandu, first to one destination, then another, before ending up in a secluded yard. Our supplier turned up in a tatty old car with three drums of fuel, and explained he could only get 60 litres. Since we brought five bikes, we started measuring the fuel out in a five-litre jerry can, which was working OK until we had dished out 45 litres... and there was no more fuel. A heated debate then ensued, with our supplier insisting that we had taken 60 litres. We ended up paying an extra 1,000 rupees - personally I was ready to fire the bike up and head for the exit, but there were about a dozen guys in the yard and I don't think Guido fancied being the last biker to leave...

Hmm, I smell a rat...

That evening, Guido ordered a bottle of wine, and at midnight cracked it open to celebrate the fact that he had been on the road for five years - bloody good achievement, particularly when you consider that he has remained completely sane, relatively social, and somewhat clean...

Meanwhile, the Germans were about to embark on the first part of their journey - cross country from Kathmandu to Taplejung, which is in the north east corner of Nepal - and they kindly asked if I wanted to come along. I still had a few days to wait for my Pakistan visa, and I was enjoying their company. Furthermore, you will have noticed from the blog that it's very difficult to get pictures of myself when I'm travelling solo, so I thought I might get a few snapshots along the way. Finally, I must confess to having a little bit of bike envy, since their Africa Twins are more expensive and powerful than my Transalp. Although, as we were later to discover, not quite so reliable... Additionally, I think they ceded most of their power advantage by packing a significant amount of extra luggage. Spare tyres. A hammer. A coffee percolator??? So, next morning, I joined forces with the Germans, said my farewell to Guido and Esther, and we set off.

Intrepid adventurers about to set off into the unknown

Tomb raiding

2009-03-24T09:31:00.000-07:00

Before I bring you the latest update, a quick apology for the fruity language that crept into the last blog (and was very quickly picked up by my mum) - I'll try to keep it PG from now on... I've also made progress with the videos - they're a bit grainier, but they can now be uploaded in minutes rather than hours, which is good news when you're sitting in an internet games room with a dozen screaming Thai kids playing a networked game of football around you.

Since last time, I spent five nights in Cambodia checking out Phnom Penh and the Angkor temples at Siem Ream. I'm now in Bangkok waiting for a freight forwarder to complete the paperwork on my bike. Then I'll be able to put it on a plane to Kathmandu, because I can't ride it through Myanmar or China.

Phnom Penh has incredible energy. It's is pretty edgy - there's more poverty than I saw anywhere else in SE Asia, with street children and people sleeping on the pavements. But there's also more affluence - a lot of Land Cruisers and new Mercedes cars. And it has some cool restaurants and bars, not to mention crazy traffic.. I stayed at the Indochine Hotel, which had nice rooms for $12 and let me park my bike in the lobby, although they didn't mention when I checked in that they would be waking me at 7am each morning to park it outside...

The big tourist draws are the Toul Sleng Genocide Museum, which is a former school that was turned into a 'security prison', and the Killing Fields which are about 15km outside town. Both are a sobering reminder Cambodia's recent past.

Choeung Ek - The Killing Fields

After a couple of days in Phnom Penh, I moved on to Siem Reap and the Angkor temples. The road is flat, straight and smooth, but hardly boring - after all, you're riding through the heart of Cambodia - beats working for a living... Siem Reap is Cambodia's answer to Louang Prabang - very tourist-friendly with good hotels and restaurants. I stayed at the excellent Angkor Park Hotel for $8 a night.

I heard that other overland riders had not been allowed to take their motorbikes into the temple area, but I took the 'ask for forgiveness later' approach and on this occasion it paid off. The temples of Angkor are spectacular enough, but being able to ride around them was the icing on the cake. There are plenty of dirt tracks between the temples that get you off the beaten track, so you get access to some pretty exclusive spots.

The temples of Angkor - stunning!

The plan was to spend a couple of nights in Siem Reap and then to move on to Bangkok, which would be my last big ride in SE Asia. But I woke on Friday morning to the unfamiliar rattle of rain on a tin roof and claps of thunder. Until this point, I'd been lucky enough to spend over a month without seeing a single drop of rain. So I decided to have another 'rest day' in Siem Reap, do my laundry, get a haircut and a massage - one of the many benefits of having no schedule or deadlines...

The trip from Siem Reap to Bangkok was another straight, flat ride, although it's a right slog as far as Sisophon because they're doing highway maintenance the Asian way (i.e., you just have to drive through the roadworks and dodge the bulldozers, graders and steamrollers). Not much fun on an overloaded bike with an impatient tar truck up your chuff... I was just relieved that I didn't attempt this section in the rain the previous day, because I'm sure I would have ended up on my backside.

The border crossing at Poipet was fairly straightforward, although I did have to wait for an hour to get my carnet stamped by Cambodian customs because they all take a nap from 12-2pm. After my previous encounter with them, I was glad to get through without any backsheesh. Given the collection of nearly-new Land Cruisers and Lexi in the car park of the Customs House, I think they have been frying bigger fish... As much fun as Cambodia and Laos have been, it was nice to be back in Thailand again - it's so nice to be able to dive into a 7-11 for a strawberry Fanta when things get a little warm.

So now I'm holed up at the Peachy Guest House in Bangkok waiting for Kittima at Trans Air Cargo to sort out the paperwork so that I can fly the bike to Nepal. Current estimate is about a week, and while I'm keen to move on to the Himalayan chapter of the trip, I can think of worse places to be stuck than Bangkok...

Last night I went to the Muay Thai boxing at Rajdamnoen Stadium. The ticket was a bit pricey at 1,500 Baht - about 30 quid - although it was close to the ring - but for sheer entertainment value, it was a bargain. It's all action from the start, the band whips the crowd into a frenzy, thousands of baht changing hands among the crowd - fantastic.

Another must-see in Bangkok is Jim Thompson's house. He was an ex-CIA operative that launched the Thai silk export trade in the 1960s, made a lot of money, built a fantastic house in the centre of Bangkok comprising 6 traditional teak houses that he shipped in from the countryside, built a fantastic Thai art collection, and then mysteriously disappeared in the Cameron Highlands.

Jim Thompson - cool guy, cool house...

On the way back from Jim Thompson's house, I discovered possibly the world's most adrenaline-filled form of public transport - longtail boats. The first one arrived at such speed that I was still standing on the pier in awe when it took off without me. Once on board, the fun really begins - the sidescreens come up to keep the spray out and you're off on a white-knuckle ride through Bangkok's narrow canals. Every 30 seconds or so you pass another boat, which churns up the water and things really kick off. Just when I thought it couldn't get any better, the guards on each side of the boat dropped the roof by 18 inches to get under a low bridge... magic. I really do think this could be the answer to London's transport problems - boats tearing up the Regent's Canal at 50mph. I'm going for another ride tomorrow...

The bike continues to run well, although I gave the old girl a bit of stick in SE Asia on some very rough roads, which was probably not the smartest thing to do since I still have quite a few kms to cover in some fairly hostile territory. I noticed a bit of clunking from the front-end, so I consulted Pete at Everything Two Wheels, who's providing 24/7 virtual mechanical support for the trip. His advice was fairly unambiguous (editted to comply with new 'potty talk' restrictions):

"For [heavens] sake, don't let some [local mechanic] near the forks. If he takes them apart he'll never get them back together. You need 37mm fork seal drivers to reassemble them. The clunking is the oil getting thin with it getting a workout on the bumpy roads. Buy some ear plugs. That will stop the clunking noise right away."

I decided to replace the chain in Bangkok. In spite of (or maybe because of) regular treatment with the finest sewing machine oil, the chain had started to sound like a sewing machine, and I reasoned that it would be easier to find a replacement at a decent bike shop in Bangkok than at the side of the road in Pakistan. So I headed to Bangkok's finest big bike mechanic, the Red Baron, where they fitted a new chain, cleaned the air filter, and sorted out the clunking (it was the head bearings, not the forks) for 11 quid in labour. At these prices, I can barely afford to leave Thailand...

Indochine

2009-03-17T22:58:00.000-07:00

Two weeks since the last update, and so much to write about - there are a few internet cafes in Laos and Cambodia, but not a lot of bandwidth unfortunately...

You may notice that the interactive map is no longer on the right hand side of the blog. It's still alive and well and can be accessed here, but Rich Conroy complained that it was crashing his computer, so I've taken it off. Now Rich is known for having deep pockets and short arms, so he's probably trying to view the blog on a BBC B. If anyone else had problems with the map, let me know. Otherwise the map will go back up, and Rich will have to upgrade or try to find an internet cafe in Hudderfield.

My route has obviously created confusion for a few readers (Larissa - I ate the frog in Malaysia - they do have Chinese restaurants outside China...). So to supplement the map, here's a quick recap since collecting the bike in Singapore: up through Malaysia and Thailand, a week in the Chiang Mai area for the excellent roads, then across into Laos and down into Cambodia. I plan to be back in Thailand in a few days to fly the bike to Kathmandu - hopefully this will be a quicker process than shipping from Brisbane...

So what's been going on over the past 2 weeks? After Chiang Mai, I headed east again to do the Doi Phukka loop before crossing the Mekong into Laos. I know I've been banging on about great biking roads, which is probably of little interest to 98% of the people reading this blog, but as a final remark, the 1148 is without doubt the very, very best road in Northern Thailand. There's a stretch of perfect tarmac north of Pua where they basically forgot to put the straights in - just corner after corner for about 100km across the mountaintops - sheer perfection...

Now I'm usually fairly careful with my toys, but one accessory that I've never had much luck with is cameras. I developed the bad habit of tucking my camera behind the handlebars, and sure enough, it slipped down behind the headstock when I wasn't looking. A touch of full lock and the camera screen was smashed... And when you can get a night's accommodation, a slap-up dinner and full tank of petrol and still have change from twenty quid, shelling out for a new camera really hurts.

But on the bright side, this gave me an excuse to do something I'd meant to try for a while - bikecam... technically, the old camera still works, so I taped it onto the bars to see what happened. Now the results aren't quite motogp standard (more like Blair Witch Project), but it should give a flavour of some of the roads I've been riding.

1148 - THE best road in Thailand (courtesy of shakycam)

Entering Laos was a laugh. I was slightly wary of the People's Democratic Republic after being subjected to their karaoke until 3 in the morning from the other side of the riverbank the previous night. About an hour later, the monks start with the drums and the gongs - some kind of psychological warfare from the Party? Next morning, I decided to skip the classic "motorbike on canoe" photo, since (i) I didn't fancy trying to fish a fully loaded Transalp out of the Mekong, and (ii) there is a significantly more robust barge available. Of course, I hadn't reckoned on sharing the barge with a 50ft truck, by which stage the canoe didn't look like such a bad option.

Are you sure this thing floats?

I rolled off the barge, and there was no immigration or customs office to be seen in Houay Xai. Furthermore, I wasn't entirely sure which side of the road they drive on, and it wasn't immediately obvious from watching the locals, either. Being a responsible world citizen, I finally located the immigration office with the help of an Australian backpacker, and got my first dose of communist service - 30 minutes waiting for someone to take my $35 payment for the visa (no explanation offered). I then spent another half hour looking for the customs office to get the carnet stamped, but this time to no avail. I even stopped at the police station twice, but all I got was grunts and shrugs. So no carnet stamp in Laos - I'm sure the seasoned bikers on Horizons Unlimited will be grumbling into their beards about the trouble this can cause, but it strikes me that the carnet's for their benefit, and if they don't want to see it...

The ride down from Houay Xai to Louang Prabang took about a day and a half, and it's an absolute blinder on a dual sport. The road winds its way through some beautiful mountain scenery, but contains some monster potholes and plenty of unmade sections.

The 13 north of Louang Prabang - brilliant!

It passes through dozens of hill tribe villages, which are typically very tidy but definitely close to nature... I must have passed about a dozen broken down trucks - the roads are seriously steep, and when they expire, they can't be towed and can only be fixed on the spot. Some of them appear to have the entire engine laid out on the road, and may be there for some time...

Not a good place to break down

Louang Prabang is a revelation. The last thing I expected to find in the middle of a poor, rural, communist country is a perfectly preserved / restored French colonial town. It's like riding into a film set, with beautiful old buildings in mint condition, fantastic hotels, and incredible food. I had dinner at the Villa Santi, an old royal mansion, where they offer a banquet served to the Lao royal family, for the princely sum of $13. The royal family died in exile a while back, but I can safely say it wasn't through poor diet. For the foodies reading this blog (Ryan, Michael...) I'll prepare a proper list at some point of all the cool stuff I've eaten.

Indochine is alive and well

I had my first run in with the law in Louang Prabang, where I (foolishly) took a ride round the town 'local-style' (i.e., without helmet). Of course, the local army took this as an open invitation to pull me over and ask for 100,000 Kip, or they would take me to the police station. After some terse words and long stares, this came down to 50,000 Kip, and finally they lost interest, gave me my licence back, and sent me on my way. A couple of lessons learned that I'm sure will come in handy later on - don't ride without a helmet, use a copy of the licence next time... I didn't get out of LP completely scot-free, however - the annoying 'shoes off' rule at the hotel led to an unfortunate packing oversight, and I am now down to flip-flops and motocross boots...

After Louang Prabang, Vientiane was a bit of a disappointment - not much was left standing after the Indochine wars, and there's very little to see or do, so I didn't stick around. Heading south from Vientiane, I had another little moment - I discovered a little too late that a road crew had left a liberal sprinkling of gravel on the outside of a tight corner, so my beautiful Touratech pannier now has a couple of neat armco grooves down the side - didn't think I'd be riding away from that one quite so easily...

Locals celebrating cover-yourself-in-charcoal-and-get-loaded-on-rice-wine day...

After such excitement, I pulled over at the side of the road to contemplate taking a little nap when - shock, horror - a couple of other overland bikers appeared. Being good Germans, Elmar "shaft drive" Juenger and Bjorn "don't call me falang" Holland were quite shocked that I should attempt my such a long trip on anything other than a BMW. However, we soon resolved our differences and had a night out in nearby Savannakhet. I was soon reminded of the benefits of riding solo - it took us almost an hour to find a restaurant that met the following conditions:

Rob: plenty of locals; no mouldy food on display
Elmar: traditional Lao cuisine
Bjorn: must be inside; no soup

We ended up eating overpriced Western food in a deserted restaurant, but at least the beer was free flowing and the conversation quickly turned to football and world wars.

Sourain Guest House becomes RTW HQ

On my way to the Cambodian border, I elected to spend the night on Khong Island, which was a good decision because I found some great hotels. It was quite a challenge finding the ferry, and after picking my way down a dirt track for a few kilometres (surely not a good sign that you're on the right road for a ferry...), I came across what was undoubtedly the sketchiest bridge yet. After some considerable encouragement from the local rubberneckers, I dismounted and walked the bike across - much as I love my Transalp, there was no need for both of us to plunge into a 20-foot ravine if the rotten planks gave way.

Admit it - you just want to see me fall...

On Khong Island, I stayed at the excellent Mekong Guest House with an incredible view of the river from my balcony. I also learned the secret of why Laos has so many good guesthouses - a lot of Lao folks who emigrated to the US, Australia and Canada during the war in the 1970s are returning in their 50s to reclaim property that was appropriated by the communists from their parents, and turning these properties into boutique hotels that meet the expectations of western guests (e.g., flushing toilets).

View from the balcony at sunset

On the way back from Khong Island the next morning, the ferry had just left when I arrived at the dock, so I reluctantly decided to get that "motorbike on canoe" photo...

Admit it - you just want to see me fall (#2)...

Now it seems that every waterfall in SE Asia is signposted, and thus far I not felt the need to check any of them out, but Khone Papheng on the Mekong is billed as the largest in SE Asia, so I took a small detour on my way to the Cambodian border, and I was not disappointed.

Khone Papheng - about as much of it as you can capture in a little camera...

At the border, leaving Laos was fairly straightforward (especially since there was no carnet to stamp out, which was a blessing since there sure as hell wasn't a customs office...). Entering Cambodia was a different matter altogether... The customs guy was asleep in his hammock when I arrived at his hut, and after filling in the form, he informed me that there was a $5 charge. Now of course I don't know for sure, but I was fairly certain that this was going straight into his back pocket, so I refused to pay, and the waiting game began. Obviously, he had the advantage of a hammock here, so I wandered across to the immigration hut to see if I could get things moving. We had a similar conversation there ($21 for the visa - where's the rate sheet? - OK sir, we know that you know that it should only be $20 (I didn't - must be getting good at this) but life here is difficult, and you don't have to pay the extra dollar if you don't want to - we don't know what the customs charge should be...). Bottom line - the border guard wouldn't let me cross without the customs form, so the customs guy had me by the short and curlies, and I was hoping to get to Phnom Penh by nightfall. He got his money and an almighty spray, which he'd obviously heard many times before.

Back on the road, and Northern Cambodia is very hot and very flat and the road's not bad, so I pushed on. I met Simon and Florina, a German/Swiss couple, at a filling station. They were heading up to Laos on a couple of Yamaha 150s that they bought in Bangkok, which they were beginning to regret because in Cambodia these are considered to be 'big bikes' so the local mechanics won't touch them. Which just goes to show that you can't go wrong with a Honda Super Cub - I don't think I've been more than 10 yards from one over the past couple of months. Bloody marvellous machines - providing transport to an entire planet. There are dozens of market stalls selling every conceivable new and used component in each city I've been to.

Simon and Florina - good effort!

Anyway, Simon and Florina seemed like a nice couple, so we wished each other luck, did the customary exchange (Laos map for Cambodia Lonely Planet), and went our separate ways. But not before Simon used my two favourite terms - "short cut" and "dirt road" - in a single sentence. He reckoned I could take 80km off the journey to Phnom Penh by riding along the riverbank at Kratie and cutting out a large bend in the R7. Which was absolutely right, and made the journey a lot more interesting by taking me past some traditional Cambodian villages.

It only takes one idiot to ruin a photo...

Now one of the rules that I'd set before I started the trip was no riding after dusk unless absolutely necessary, and it's one that I've bent on a number of occasions. But on the day I rode into Phnom Penh, I did almost 600km in a day which including some off-road, a ferry trip and a less-than-smooth border crossing. By the time I reached Kompong Cham, it was getting dark and I still had about 120km to go. Riding after dark in Thailand and Laos had been hairy, but it was nothing compared to Cambodia. The road was full of vehicles - bicycles, mopeds, ox-carts, juggernauts, you name it... The rule of big things operates here, i.e., small vehicles always give way to big things, so I frequently found myself blinded by an oncoming Land Cruiser doing about 120kph on my side of the road. To compound matters, there are no road markings, which makes it virtually impossible to see the edge of the road... After about 30 minutes of this, I decided I could significantly increase my life expectancy by following a large petrol tanker, which unfortunately had a maximum speed of about 40kph. Entering Phnom Penh, things got even crazier - mopeds everywhere, traffic lights completely ignored, city centre dirt roads, flashing neon lights - this place is mental!

Dilligaf

2009-03-05T03:46:00.001-08:00

My trip to Mae Sai was primarily to do a visa run, i.e., nip across the Myanmar border into Tachilek, then return to Thailand for a new two-week visa. Because those annoying folks in Myanmar won't allow the temporary import of vehicles, I will have to fly the bike from Bangkok to Kathmandu later in the month. But I was curious to see what Myanmar was like. It had a distinct Indian flavour to it - a lot of curry stands, and plenty of red spit flying around. I know that border towns are seldom the most appealing places, but after less than an hour I was in the queue to return back to Thailand... enough said I think.

Crossing the bridge into Myanmar

From Mae Sai I took the 1290 to the Golden Triangle where Thailand, Myanmar and Laos meet at the confluence of the Mekong and Ruak rivers. The road is relatively flat and boring, and there's not much to do there, other than go to the Opium Museum, where I learned that the best position to smoke opium is called 'heels in buttocks'. I thought it might be like a brewery tour, but free samples at the end were not forthcoming. It was interesting to see the Mekong, although I think I will be seeing plenty more of it in Laos.

Don't worry mum - I'm wearing a money belt under my shirt...

At the end of the day, I headed to Chiang Rai along the 4004 and the 1209, which run along a flood plain, so not much sport there. I stayed at the excellent Kung Thong hotel on Sanambin (well, clean sheets, hot water and friendly staff is excellent in my book for 270 Baht).

The next day, I headed back to the west. After such great riding around Doi Ang Thang and Mae Salong, I was wondering if it was worthwhile to go back and do the 'Mae Hong Son loop', but it turned out to be one of the highlights of North Thailand. From Chiang Rai, the 118 to Wiang Pa Pao isn't too exciting, but the 1150 to the 107 is an absolute blinder - with lots of elevation changes and tight corners, it's a great road for sportsbikes. Just outside Phrao, I had a quick reality check - bits of moped and vegetables scattered across the road eventually led to the aftermath of a head-on crash between a step-thru and a pick-up. Not a pretty sight. Rather than pick my way through the crowd and the paramedics, I decided that a U-turn was the best course of action and stopped in Phrao for some lunch.

After some great mountain roads, I decided to finish the day with a bit of dirt. There's a 50km 'forestry trail' on the map from Kong Lom to Pai that's accessible from the 1322. The 1322 is a brilliant ride - more twisty mountain roads - but it dead-ends at the Myanmar border. At the checkpoint in Kong Lom, they reckoned it was a 4 hour ride to Pai, but it was already 3:30pm and it gets dark here at around 6:30, so I knew I had to push on. The first part really got the adrenaline going - incredibly steep climbs and descents, thick with bull dust, with hairpin corners and steep drop-offs. Past Muang Noi, it was a bit flatter so I could make much better progress, and I rolled into Pai at about 6pm.

Track into Pai from the north

I think I'll take my chances with the ford

As soon as I entered Pai, I could tell it was a bit different. Sure, it's predominantly another tourist town for people who want to trek in the nearby mountains, but it has a very distinct vibe. It's clean. It's genuinely 'arty' - real creative stuff, rather than the generic 'face of buddha' art you usually see in Thailand. They even close the road to cars for the night market. In a word, it's 'boutique'. In fact, it's so unique that the locals call it Pailand. Having bagged the San Franciscans for their Tolstoy-reading in Mae Salong, I have to give one back to the English - there are a lot of public schoolboys cruising around Pai on mopeds discussing their hangovers and which waterfall to visit today. But it's a cool place nevertheless.

The highlight for me in Pai was Dilligaf, a biker bar on Thanon Rungsiyanon run by Jan and his wife Gaew. Jan expained that Dilligaf stands for 'Do I Look Like I Give A Fuck', which after working in Holland for many years is his guiding principle. Since one of the motivations for this trip is to get a bit more Dilligaf in my life, I thought it made a good motto for the trip. Plus I liked the sticker, which now sits proudly on the screen under the Union Jack.

After a few Changs at Dilligaf, we finished the evening at the Bamboo Bar, where we sat on a bamboo terrace around a clay firepit - it can get a bit chilly up in the mountains. Unfortunately, the next day began with a bit of a hangover - four large (i.e., 660ml) Changs in one evening is a bit much, especially at 6.4%. However, after a hot day in the saddle, the first couple do tend to disappear fairly quickly, and they're only about one pound fifty. Hmm - one night in Pai and now I'm discussing my hangovers...

Accommodation at Charlie's Guest House was very good. The next day, I hit the legendary 1095 - much loved by bikers, and much feared by those travelling by bus. In fact, they say that some tour companies give certificates to people who finish the journey without puking. I rode the 100 or so kilometres to Mae Hong Son, and I must say that it's one of the very, very best roads I've ever seen - smooth as a ribbon and winding its way up to about 1,500 metres. Some of the corners are so long that you can forget which way is up... On a sportsbike it would be sublime, but other than a couple of old CB750s, I didn't see a single big bike.

No pukers please

At Mae Hong Son, I took a detour to see a Paduang village up in the mountains at Huai Sua Tao. They're famous for having long necks - which they do...

Longneck woman

Instead of doing the whole Mae Hong Son loop, which is about 520km, I turned off the 108 at Khun Yuam and took the 1263 to Mae Chaem, another pearler of a ride. It's a bit rougher and tighter, but that suits me fine on a dual sport. Mae Chaem was fairly unremarkable as a stop-over, but served as a good base for a trip up Doi Inthanon, the highest mountain in Thailand, which conveniently has a road leading right to the top. Once again, the 1192 and 1009 on either side of Doi Ithanon are stunning roads.

Doi Inthanon

By this stage, I was incredibly glad to have cut back from the Golden Triangle to ride a part of the Mae Hong Son loop. The roads to the north east and north west of Chiang Mai are a biker's dream, and to make the most of the area, you need to experience both. Jan had invited me back to Pai to ride with him and his mates, and I would have quite happily spent another couple of weeks exploring the area, but I'm conscious that the days are ticking by, so I decided to head back to Chiang Mai. Additionally, I've given the bike a lot of abuse over the past week, and I need to be mindful that there's a lot of ground yet to cover on this trip, and some of it will not be as amenable as Thailand.

I was planning to spend one night in Chiang Mai to collect my panniers, which I had left at the hotel, and prepare for the two day ride to Laos. Unfortunately I had my first 'Heston Blumenthal' moment of the trip that evening, and it really came on strong. Just as I thought things couldn't get worse, the lights went out - not a pleasant experience given the utter devastation I'd just wreaked on the bathroom - and I could hear a lot of sirens outside. It did briefly crossed my mind that the hotel might be burning down, and then the lights came back on and I was able to clean things up. But when I opened the curtains and looked out of the window, there was an almighty fire down the street. Tomorrow will be a recovery day, I think...

If you never binned it, you weren't trying hard enough...

2009-02-27T08:56:00.000-08:00

I finally christened the crash bars and barkbusters in earnest on the way down from Doi Ang Khang. In my defence, it's the only stretch of road marked on the GT Riders map as 'extremely steep' - which was a bit of a red rag to a bull... I'd left Chiang Mai at lunchtime and headed North up the 107, which is a bit of a snooze. But after peeling off onto the 1178, the road got much more interesting - fast sweeping bends for about 50km to Arunothai, and then onto the 1340 for the really steep mountain stuff. You literally ride along the top of a mountain range, with Burma on the other side of the valley. Views would be fantastic, but there's a lot of controlled burning going on, so things are a bit hazy.

Anyway, the surface is pretty much 'once was asphalt' north of Doi Ang Khang - broken bits of tarmac, ruts, sand, you name it - and just as I was starting to feel like a real Crusty Demon of Dirt, I hit the aforementioned 'extremely steep' downhill section, the front wheel dropped into a big rut, and I exitted front centre, feet first over the bars. Fortunately all the crash gear did it's job and the bike is still fully functioning, but it looks a bit more like the part now (before the spill, the Hepco and Becker crash bars looked so pristine that I saw a Swedish tourist stroke them as he walked past in Phuket). Rider protection worked fine as well, apart from the jacket which was safely stowed away due to the heat, so I now have a very fetching Ko Samui Tattoo on my left arm.

Scene of the crime

So backtracking a little, at the end of my last post I was contemplating a random punt from Kanchanaburi to Umphang along the Burmese border. In the end I decided not to because there were no roads on the map, plus there was about 400km between known fuel stops, so I would not have been able to turn round in the last stretch if I had got stuck. The deciding factor was that I slept through my alarm and didn't hit the road until 10am, so 500km mostly off road would have been a struggle... probably the right call, especially for a lone rider.

Instead, I rode up the 3086 to Dan Chang, and then took the 333 through Lan Sak. It's flat farmland, so there's no real sport except dodging the overloaded sugar cane trucks. I was hoping to access Umphang from the east, because my map shows the 1117 running from Pang Wai through the Mae Wong National Park, but when I got to the park entrance at about 5pm, they told me the road didn't go right the way through. After trying to persuade the warden that I'd like to have a look anyway, she said the road terminated 40km further along at a campsite. Since I still have my tent, 120 baht changed hands and I was on my way to the campsite.

Caning it

The 1117 up to the campsite at Chong Yen is like Jurassic Park - a steep, overgrown single track. The campsite is a nicely manicured piece of grass at 1,300 metres with stunning views over the park, and there were a couple of rangers staying at the station there. Wonderful fresh air, crystal clear sky, cooking on the camp stove again - marvellous!

Jurassic Park

The next morning, I checked out the road ahead and sure enough, it completely dead-ended - not even a dirt track. I decided that rather than spend the next night in Mae Sot, I'd head straight for Chiang Mai, since that's where the real riding is supposed to begin.

Camping bliss

The ride up to Chiang Mai is fairly unremarkable - I stayed off the main 1 highway, but the 106 from Thoen is straight and flat, just like an English A-road. Chiang Mai is a fun town - there are lots of bars and restaurants, and there's a clear distinction between the expat / backpacker / package tourist parts of town. I stayed at the Sripoon Hotel just off Moon Muang Road - great location with off-street parking, and spotless rooms with A/C and TV for 400 baht. After a heavy couple of days of riding, it was nice to be able to relax and take care of some maintenance. The bike got an oil change at G3, and I got a haircut. The shaved head is a big hit with the girls at the filling stations - as soon as the helmet comes off, I now get 'Beckham', which is a big improvement on 'Rooney', which was the usual response to my widow's peak...

At Chiang Mai, I met up with David Unkovich, who under the name of GT Rider has published some great maps of Northern Thailand and Laos. There are a few multi-days loops that I want to do, and I decided to hit the Golden Triangle first because it takes me up to Mae Sae and the Myanmar border, where I needed to get my Thai visa renewed. To make the most of the great riding conditions, I'm doing the multi-day trips with just the top box - the panniers are staying at the Sripoon Hotel - which makes the bike a lot lighter.

After riding up (and falling down) Doi Ang Khang, I followed the 1089 through the unappealingly-named Fang and the polite-sounding Mae Ai (yes, please do) before stopping at the charming town of Tha Ton on the amusingly-named River Kok. Clean, secure accommodation at Naam Waan cost 200 Baht, just round the corner from the Sunshine Cafe, where I had a wonderful red curry. I finished off the evening at the You and I, where the barman explained to me how difficult it was being a muslim in his profession (well, perhaps you should shave your beard off and change your name from Ali...). The clientele comprised Sylvie, Ali's French girlfriend, and her two Swiss ex-husbands - an interesting mix...

Next morning the riding really got interesting - fast sweeping bends and tight switchbacks on the 1234 up to Mae Salong, which is a beautiful hill town with an incredible history - it was given by the Thai government to the 93rd Division of the Chinese Army who refused to surrender to the communists after the Chinese civil war, who then grew opium to fund their anti-communist crusade... the whole story is on wikipedia, and will make a great 15 minute break when you're bored at work... What with opium not being quite so popular with the Thai government these days (they have completely eradicated cultivation in Thailand), those clever Chinese have switched to growing flowers, and have built some really nice lodges where trekkers from San Francisco can drink the locally grown Oolong tea and discuss Anna Karenina..

Mae Salong

Tea picking - Chinese style

Having failed to have my riding spirits dampened by the previous day's tumble, I left Mae Salong in search of some serious dirt roads, and I found them on the hack up to Hua Mae Kham, which is on a little spit of Thailand which sticks out into Myanmar. After about 20km of dirt, the road leads straight up the side of the mountain to a hill tribe, and the last kilometer is a steep gradient covered with ruts with bull dust about 4 inches deep. Bull dust is strange stuff - it's a bit like talcum powder and has a consistency like water - and at the top of the hill, I was covered from head to foot in the stuff.

Bull dust

Sport!

After hacking up and down that slope, I was pretty exhausted and decided to head for Mae Sai, which would give me good access to the border the next day. I had time for a couple more great stretches of road - the 1334, which an absolute pearler and has some of the tightest hairpins I've ever seen coming out of Pha Bur, and the 1149 which leads up to the temple at Doi Tung. The ride back down to the 1 highway is incredible - the road is close to perfection (which may have something to do with the Royal Villa half way up...) and you can smell the perfume from the nurseries all the way up the hill.

Doi Tung - but what does it all mean???

I finished the day in Mae Sai, which is definitely not one of the more appealing spots in Thailand, and I won't recommend any accommodation because I'm sure the Bamboo House where I stayed is not the best.

Bridge on the River Kwai...

2009-02-21T06:59:00.000-08:00

The next morning I hit the 41 again for Kanchanaburi - to see the bridge on the River Kwai. I bypassed Bangkok since I need to go there later to fly the bike to India (I'm now convinced that a land route through Burma or China is not possible / feasible). I was passed on the highway by some guys on sportsbikes doing about 140kph (the Transalp runs out of steam at about 130kph). Further up the road, I caught up with them at a petrol station - they're the 96 Superbike club from Nakhon Si Thammarat, and had managed to accumulate a Hayabusa, a Fireblade, a Blackbird and an '82 Katana (on its 4th engine) - quite a turnout for Thailand! In due course they left me behind again, but not after I'd collected a club sticker for my bike...

96 Superbike club

I seem to be making a habit of ending each day by arriving at my destination after dark, on a dirt road, with the petrol gauge past the 'E', and this was no exception. Having spent most of the day on the highway, I left the 41 at Ratchaburi and cut across country for the final 100kms or so to Kanchanaburi via Chom Bung. It was approaching dusk and there was a distinct Saturday night feel to the place - everyone heading home, the smell of woodfires hung in the air, the local party spots lit by neon lights... The countryside was very flat and criss-crossed by roads, so it was fairly easy to keep zig-zagging north east (although one stage, the 'road' was a 4ft wide concrete bike track on a ridge between paddy fields).

Temple at dusk

As usual, I took my role as ambassador for international motorcycle travellers very seriously by shattering the peace in every village with my loud exhaust, although one group of locals got a laugh when I encountered a ~6ft snake writhing in the middle of the road - my feet were round my ears faster than you could say "perhaps a snakebite to the foot is preferable to one in the arse".

Probably the most annoying thing about riding at dusk is the fog of insects that manage to find their way into my crash helmet. By and large I've been fairly pleased with my swanky Arai XD3 lid, but it does have a large number of vents which scoop up bugs and propel them directly into my scalp and ears, which necessitates frequent stops to remove the helmet and scratch frantically (and even if there wasn't a bug, the feeling that there might be is just as motivating). After trying in vain to figure out how to close the vents, I just got out the insulating tape - haven't those clever folks at Arai figured out that when a biker wants a breeze, they just open the visor???

I finally popped out on the River Kwai, and I could see Kanchanaburi on the other side. After mild concern as to how I was going to get the bike across a rail bridge, I was relieved to find that there are numerous road bridges these days. In fact, the 'Bridge' is not at all like in the film (which was fictional), and is located in the centre of a busy town.

Bridge on the River Kwai? Just past Tesco...

However, Kanchanaburi does mark the start of the infamous Thailand-Burma death railway, and there is a very large (and exceptionally well-maintained) allied cemetary in the town. Even more incredible is Hellfire Pass about 60km away, which was carved by hand in 12 weeks. I walked along the railway for about 8km, and it was bloody hard work, even with the embankments and cuttings in place. It wasn't helped by the fact that it's about 35 degrees in Thailand at the moment, which means I can sweat my way through my entire wardrobe in about 48 hours...

Allied cemetary in Kanchanaburi

Hellfire Pass

I've been staying at the Rainbow Lodge, which has clean, air conditioned rooms on the riverbank for 450 Baht. The two old ladies were kind enough to let me park the bike in their lobby / living room, and were polite enough not to laugh too loudly as I dropped the bike as I wheeled it in...

There was so much to see in Kanchanaburi that I stayed for a couple of days, but the sound of 'Colonel Bogey' has started getting on my nerves, so it's time to head up-country. I'm hoping to ride up to Umphang along the Burmese border. According to the maps, it can't be done, but nothing ventured, nothing gained...

A quick update on the score - 27 days on the road (plus 30 while the bike was in transit), and over 8,500km covered...

Onwards and upwards into Thailand

2009-02-20T08:12:00.000-08:00

I ended up staying in Penang for three nights - the couchsurfers there took great care of me (thanks to Kendra and Mun in particular), as did the staff at the Blue Diamond hotel. George Town has a real, whacked out travellers feel and is an easy place to lose yourself for a few days. I did a quick tour of the island as well - the war museum and the tropical fruit farm were very interesting, and the national park in the NW corner has great roads and scenery.

With fellow couchsurfers in Penang - Happy Lee, Mei Mei, Kendra and yours truly

Malaysian cuisine is as varied as the various groups that make up the country, but Penang is mainly Chinese, so that's largely what was on the menu. Now the Chinese don't hold back on the ingredients, and I'll try anything once - boiled frog was surprisingly good (yes, it does taste like chicken...)

Ribbet

But all good things come to an end, and the caravan rolled out of George Town bound for the Thai border at Betong, and on to Hat Yai. This route looked more interesting than the highway which leads directly north from Penang, but it's not that remarkable on the Malaysian side. But as soon as you cross into Thailand, it's like entering a war zone. There has been a lot of insurgency on that side of the border, and there is a military checkpoint at the entry and exit to every village between Betong and Hat Yai. I passed about half a dozen Hummers (and not the soccer-mom version - these bad boys have machine guns on the roof). I'll leave that image to your imagination - since the soldiers were wearing bandanas to conceal their identity, I decided that pulling out the SureShot would not be a good move.

Thai border - hippies not allowed

I chugged on through Yala and arrived in Hat Yai after dark. It was a bigger city than I expected, and although I had the name of a hotel that had been recommended by another biker, I had not bothered to mark in on my GPS. When I stopped to ask a group of locals if they knew where the Yong Dee was, one of them was immediately enlisted to escort me there on his moped - service indeed! The Yong Dee was fairly sumptuous by my current standards, and at 500 Baht (10 quid) with secure off-street parking, definitely gets a thumbs up. The food in Hat Yai is fairly good too. Not much to do there (the best compliment that the Rough Guide can find is "Malaysians go there to get laid"), but a reasonable stop-over.

The next day, I decided to head for Phuket, which is a 450km slog along the 4 highway. Not very remarkable - a bit like the A1 - although I did run into Eddie, a mechanic with a bike shop in Krabi who was coming back from a parts run to Singapore on his Yamaha Drag Star. We rode together as far as Krabi, where he bade me farewell. In Phuket, I headed down to Karon Beach where I checked into the Little Mermaid. Another clean, air conditioned hotel room, although the price reflects their top billing in the Rough Guide (1,400 Baht). I got a complementary 240 volts from the shower as well.

Eddie and his Yamaha Drag Star

Phuket is quite an experience - I don't think I've ever seen such a big holiday destination in my life - miles and miles of neon, restaurants, and... hookers. Now obviously, Thailand has a bit of reputation that department, but I was still astounded. Even the US Navy sailors seemed somewhat taken aback. Apart from the hookers, the other dominant group were Swedish tourists - old couples, newlyweds, families - from every demographic, the Swedes were out in force. Not sure it would be my first choice for a honeymoon - a bit like celebrating your anniversary in a brothel - but there you go. Fun spot though... great food, bars, live music... so I stuck around for an extra night, this time at the Nine Ten in Patong Beach, which was better located than the Little Mermaid, just as nice, and half the price...

Obviously, the centre of Thailand is renowned for islands, beaches and scuba diving, but this is a motorcycle trip, so I decided to press on. Kanchaburi is the next 'destination' but that's a couple of days ride from Phuket so I overnighted at Chumphon (sounds like Trumpton...). There's really no alternative to the 4 highway, which runs up the Andaman Coast, an area that was decimated by the tsunami in 2004.

A monument to the tsumani - now sitting 2km from the coast...

Towards the end of the day, I'd reached the Isthmus of Kra (which sounds to me like something from the Lord of the Rings, but Paul reckons it's named after a restaurant in South Melbourne). The 4 highway crosses from the west to east coast, but I was ready for a little more excitement after a long day in the saddle. On the map, there appeared to be a shortcut running through La Un, which was variously named the 4091 / 4139 / 4014, but it didn't appear on the GPS. As soon as I peeled off the highway, things got interesting - steep climbs and incredible views. There's a maze of winding roads and only one of them makes it over the top of the mountains and across to Khao Khai on the Gulf side of the range, but it's worth finding. Eventually you climb out of the villages and the road turns to dirt for about 5km, but the views are incredible - on the Gulf Coast side, there are stunning limestone crags.

On the Andaman side...

On the Gulf side...

Limestone crags...

A quick word here about GPS. I bought a $400 Garmin 60CSX GPSMAP for the trip. It's a 'rugged' model designed for hikers and bikers (i.e., it has the ergonomics of a late 80s cellphone), with a handlebar mount and a USB connection to the bike electrics. Now this isn't like the Tomtom in your car - there is no commercial GPS software for places like Thailand, and at best you can download maps created by enthusiasts, which are not very detailed and not complete. But here's where the GPS is truly invaluable: if you're trying to hack across country on a road that's not shown on a map, it shows you (i) exactly where you are, (ii) exactly where you're trying to get to, and (iii) which direction you're travelling in. Perhaps most importantly of all, it provides a 'breadcrumb' feature showing exactly where you've been, so that if the worst comes to the worst, you can easily retrace your steps. Some adventure bikers say that you can't do without a map, which is true. But if you really want to go off the beaten track, the GPS is a lifesaver. I'm a fan.

Er, I think it's left...

The last 60km to Chumphon involved weaving through heavy trucks on an unlit 41 highway after dark, although I must say that while the Thai driving style is 'pragmatic' (lane markings, road signals etc. are treated as 'advisory'), they are also very attentive and courteous. I had already plugged into my GPS the co-ordinates of the street with the hotels, and the Sureya proved to be a good clean option at 190 Baht (4 quid), plus I could park the bike in the lobby and chain it to their metal bannister. Just down the road is a backpackers hang-out called Fame, which does a really excellent Mussaman curry for 120 Baht - sometimes these backpackers hostels can be the best-run establishments in town (and no doubt the most profitable...)

The fun begins!

2009-02-14T19:56:00.000-08:00

Unsurprisingly, the delays continued and I had to wait a couple more days for the bike to arrive in Singapore. But the day finally came, and on an exciting Wednesday morning I caught the bus to the port and endured my final hour of Singaporean bureaucracy queuing for a port entry pass.

Finally I walked truimphantly into the warehouse where my bike was waiting for me. All the boxes were present, and everything was in perfect condition - joy! My arrival was apparently the most exciting event of the day at the port, because a small army of helpers emerged to help me. In less than an hour, we had taken the crate apart, lifted the bike with a forklift so that I could put the front wheel on, and I was on my way.

She lives again!

The rest of the day was fairly uneventful - inbound carnet stamp at the customs post, 30 minute bike ride to the border, outbound carnet stamped, inbound Malaysian carnet stamped... you get the picture. By the time I hit the road in Malaysia, it was 4pm, and after a thorough soaking, I scrapped any ambition of reaching Kuala Lumpur that day and peeled off for Melaka (again). The Travellers Lodge in Taman Melaka Raya that I enjoyed on my last visit was not available, so I opted for Sunny's Inn just down the street. At 2am I woke up to the now familiar feeling of bedbugs - so no recommendation for Sunny's Inn...

From Melaka, Kuala Lumpur is a two hour dash along the E2, which is an efficient (but boring) highway. The Malaysians are great engineers and have a fantastic network of toll roads which are free to motorbikes. At each toll station, there is a small sliproad about 3ft wide that peels off to the left for motorbikes - just need to remember to slow down a little for the 90 degree kinks...

KL was hard work - the GPS (which is proving to be invaluable) showed me exactly where the Travellers Lodge in Jalan Tun HS Lee was, but getting there was another matter due to the web of overpasses, one way streets and no right turns that is KL. To make matters worse, the traffic was appalling and it was over 30 degrees. At least the GPS shows me exactly where I have been with a 'breadcrumb' feature, so it was just a case of slowly zeroing in on the hotel. The Travellers Lodge offered the usual "prison-style" accommodation - concrete floor, bed and mosquitos - but after the previous night's misery, I upgraded to an A/C room to ensure a good night's sleep. There didn't appear to be many sights to see in KL, so I headed over to the Petronas Towers, which are pretty spectacular by night, and met up with Shy, a fellow couchsurfer, for dinner. I had to park the bike on the street overnight in KL, so I figured that the best form of security (in addition to the chain) was to make it as conspicuous as possible. I had been in two minds about putting the Union Jacks on the bike, but it immediately attracted a lot of (friendly) attention here which can only be a good thing - I'll worry about the Taliban later.

Petronas Towers in KL

Next day, I was ready for some "proper" bike riding. Most overland riders take in Fraser's Hill, which is about 100km from KL. I stopped for the ubiquitous breakfast of chicken broth with noodles at the roadside in Kuala Kubu Baru at what turned out to be the local police headquarters - no need to lock the bike then - and took off along the 55. At once, I was into some decent riding - open twisties up a gradual ascent, ribbon-smooth surface, very little traffic, and beautiful scenery. Some corners even had a few monkey spectators waiting for someone to overcook things, a bit like the Isle of Man... For a dual sport bike that (apparently) weighed in at around 250kg with luggage, the Transalp handles like a dream, especially with the new Conti Attacks that I put on in Brisbane.

Fraser's Hill was a trip - at 1,700m, it's nice and cool with great views. It's obviously where the great and good of KL hang out at the weekend, because there are some beautiful old colonial-era bungalows and a very tidy golf course. I had the first of a few lucky breaks on the way there, because the last 8km is one-way, with traffic going up hill on the odd hours and downhill on the even hours, and I arrived at 10:58am...

Here's one for all the bikers...

I then had a bit of a dilemma. I wanted to get to Tanah Rata in the Cameron Highlands by the end of the day, and there appeared to be three routes - retrace my steps to the E1 and take the highway, ride all the way to Gua Musang (which was a long way round), or look for a short-cut. Tanah Rata is only about 50km from Raub, and map showed a road that appeared to go part way, but then it just stopped... Consultation with the locals produced the usual range of 'impossible', 'impassable', and 'under construction', so I decided to try the short cut. But first of all, the road to Raub (55) was an absolute joy - about 25 miles of perfect blacktop winding its way through the jungle, shared with just a few logging trucks. As I was later reminded by Nash, this ain't no Australian style 'rainforest' covering a few miles, but proper jungle containing tigers, king cobras, anacondas and natives with blow-pipes - obviously I didn't actually see any of this, but I did see a 4ft lizard on the road which was not inclined to stick around for a photo.

Welcome to the jungle

Having prepared myself for a jungle track from Raub to Tanah Rata, I was pleasantly surprised to find the C156 was actually a major highway with a number of major viaducts, and once again almost completely deserted. I was enjoying the ride, when it suddenly came to a stop - turns out the 'under construction' prognosis was correct. The last 20-30km involved riding through a jungle highway construction site, dodging dump trucks and excavators.

End of the road

After feeling slightly hard done by with the highway, I enjoyed some great dirt riding - gravel, mud, sand... At one point, I made a wrong turn and took off up the steepest dirt track I have ever ridden on, which ended up after a few kms at a locked gate and some very concerned locals. Now uphill was tough, but downhill was one of the scariest riding moments I've ever - it was so steep that the back brake wouldn't hold the bike, so it was engine off, first gear, both feet down, and gently on the front brake and clutch... I finally made it to Tanah Rata feeling quite accomplished - this area is fairly well populated, so even if I got the bike stuck, there would have been plenty of people to help out. Again, the Transalp showed what a fantastic machine it is - scratching at 100+kmh one minute, and chugging up steep dirt tracks the next.

How the hell did I get up here in the first place???

There's only one word for the Cameron Highlands - fantastic! It's a hill station in the middle of Malaysia with stunning scenery, especially the tea plantations that cover most of the hillsides. It's a local base for a lot of trekking, and with hindsight it would have been fun to stop a few more days and join one of the trips. The Cameronian Inn provides excellent accommodation - A/C isn't necessary because it's about 10 degrees cooler that the rest of Malaysia, and the rooms were spotless with great linen and running hot water... There was a BMW F650 with UK plates in the car park there, but I didn't get to meet the owner unfortunately. I left him a can of WD40 and some tie-downs - part of my effort to gradually shed a bit more weight from the bike. If I haven't used it for a couple of weeks and it's not critical to my survival, there's no space for it on the caravan... I met up with Nash from CS in the evening - he's a local guide and was able to tell me a lot about the area.

Cameron Highlands - officially the highest concentration of Land Rovers in the world

On 14 February I wished the bike a happy valentines day, and took off to explore the Highlands. The highest point is Batur Brinchang, which can be reached by motorbike, although there's not much view from the top because at 2,077m, it's still covered with thick jungle. I stopped at the Boh tea factory at Sungai Palas which was very interesting - very colonial, and still using the 1930s machinery. After that, another 50 miles or so of perfect biking roads - first the C7 to Blue Valley, and then the A181 to Ipoh. Again, the A181 on the map is unfinished, but this one is perfect tarmac all the way.

Boh Tea - puts the Ummph! in life, apparently...

From Ipoh, I took the highway (E1) to Penang because it was already 5pm, and I crossed the causeway to George Town at dusk. Other bikers had recommended the Blue Diamond on Chulia Street - it's an incredible old building that used to be the headquarters of the British Administration (although the decor's a little faded now). When I asked if they had a secure place for me to park the bike, they insisted that I park it in the lobby. I got a few surprised glances as I rode through the bar and reception and parked up in front of the shrine...

The Transalp takes its rightful place...

George Town is a bustling city with a ton of history and a really thriving backpacker scene. It's a far cry from the 18 year olds in Brisbane, and a lot of the backpackers here are in their 50s or 60s. Once again, I found a friendly local through CS, and Kindra introduced me to the local cuisine and the bar scene down at Batu Feringgi. Plan is to stay a couple of nights here - after such a long lay-up without the bike, I was keen to push on through Malaysia, but I'm starting to realise it's a fantastic country and there's a lot to experience here.

Note: for anyone importing a motorcycle into Singapore, here's the definitive process:

1. Get 3rd party insurance for Singapore. This is available for S$135 from the AA in Singapore, but is much cheaper if purchased in Malaysia. I got mine from UniAsia in Johor Bahru for 68RM (about S$35), but they only accept cash...

2. Take your passport, registration, carnet and insurance certificate to Rosie Chan at the AA at 336 River Valley Road. She will issue an ICP (S$10) and stamp the back of your carnet. But you must know the exact date the bike will be collected from the port

3. Take all the documents to the LTA at 10 Sin Ming Drive to collect an Autopass card (S$10)

4. Go to the office of your shipping company to pay various charges (S$170) and collect a delivery order

5. Take the delivery order to the Auxilliary Police Station at the port to obtain a port entry pass (S$4 - must pay by Singaporean CashCard, but someone in the queue should be able to lend one to you)

6. Go to the warehouse, hand over more money for further random charges (S$65 for forklifting???), and collect bike

7. Jump the queue of lorries at the customs post, get the carnet stamped, and hit the road

Please, please, please can I have my bike back?

2009-02-04T01:01:00.000-08:00

4 weeks without the bike has been a bit frustrating, but on the bright side, it gave me a chance to explore Bali which I would not otherwise have had. It's a very cool place and far exceeded my expectations. With hindsight, I wish I had shipped the bike to Timor and ridden the length of Indonesia, but it was hard to research because very few people have done it. Turns out the sea crossings between islands are short and frequent, so it would be very doable (although Indonesian ferries don't have the best safety record).

My Bali wheels - economical

I managed to cover most of Bali on my trusty Yamaha Mio with my backpack between my knees. Very nippy and practical, although I think the Transalp just edges it in terms of power, speed, carrying capacity, off-road ability... My borrowed helmet had the structural integrity of a margarine tub, although it was good for keeping the rain off (and when rains here, it really rains). Overall, the quality of driving in Bali isn't bad - there's plenty of mad overtaking, especially by the cars, but the roads are relatively quiet, the speeds are low, and people are very courteous. On the crazy scale, I'd give them a 4 (for calibration - the English score a 2 and the Australians a 1, which is just plain boring).

Traditional dancer in Candidasa (where child labour laws are clearly fairly relaxed)

I finally submitted to my tourist curiosity and went to a restaurant offering a display of local dancing. At 10pm, out came a dancer that couldn't have been more than 11 years old, which smacked a little of child exploitation. But on reflection, when I was that age I was out at 6am doing a paper round in the filthy English weather (thanks mum).

Alex in Sanur

But all good things come to an end - the $4 massages were losing their novelty, as were the endless plates of Nasi Goreng. I got back into Singapore on Thursday (thanks once again to Shri for putting me up), only to discover that the ship carrying my bike to Singapore be a couple of days late and not arrive until Sunday 8th - I felt like a kid who'd been told that Christmas was being postponed by a couple of days. So I took myself off to Melaka for the weekend - it's only a couple of hours from Singapore. On the way, I was able to get 15 quid bike insurance, instead of the 60 quid that they wanted on the Singapore side of the border, which pleased me no end.

Melaka is a lot of fun - I'm staying at the Travellers Lodge which is a clean and trendy backpackers hostel. Some of the tourist attractions are a bit lame - the "sound and light" show consisted of a couple of spotlights and a voice-over that is cheesy even by SE Asian standards. However, the bar scene is good, and at Pure Bar the locals soon took me under their wing and plied me with brandy. People in Malaysia seem to be completely obsessed with the English Premier League, to the extent that practically every bar and restaurant shows a constant stream of games, which provides a very easy icebreaker... I ended up at a peculiar karaoke bar where the girls were given sashes after each song with '$100' or '$300' - the 'hooker' alert was sounding, but it was all very surreal, and I'm still not sure exactly what was going on (although the brandy probably has something to do with that).

Pimp my ride - Malaysia style

The food in Malaysia is a bit more challenging than Bali - in the spirit of adventure, and also to toughen the old system up, I ordered the chicken livers for breakfast yesterday, which was a mistake... on the plus side, the traditional cuisine in Melaka is called Nonya, which is excellent - can't beat a bit of shrimp paste and chilli!

So... fingers crossed that the bike (and all the accessories) are waiting for me in Singapore tomorrow. First of all I've got to tackle the ridiculous Singaporean bureaucracy - I think I've outsmarted them with the Malaysian insurance, but I still need to get the carnet stamped by customs, pick up an International Circulation Permit from the AA and an Autopass card from the Land Transit Authority - just to ride for about 20km to get the hell out of Singapore.

Still no bike

2009-01-25T01:36:00.000-08:00

I'll keep it brief, since a motorbike trip without a motorbike ain't really much of a trip in my book. The aforementioned bike was last seen on 13 January at the quayside in Brisbane, and is due to arrive (fingers and toes crossed) in Singapore on 6 February. I've been combatting the separation anxiety by chilling out in Bali, running on the beach in a vain attempt to get fit, playing football with the locals, and taking advantage of $5 massages and $1 Bintangs. I've also done a bit of research the next month or so of the journey through Malaysia and Thailand.

Slumming it in Bali

On the whole, Bali has been a pleasant surprise. I was expecting a cross between an Islamic police state and the Walkabout in Shepherd's Bush, but in fact everyone seems very laid back (turns out Bali is a Hindu island) and there are very few Australians to be found. Unfortunately, in the hotspots like Kuta, this means that the hawkers outnumber the tourists about 10-to-1, although a curt "piss off, I'm English" usually stops their "aussie aussie aussie" sales pitch mid-sentence.

Bali filling station

Bali has also provided some gentle acclimatisation for what's to come. A couple of days on a rented scooter helped me to get the hang of traffic conventions Asia-style - seems like the key is never to come to a complete standstill, but instead to merge (even if this means temporarily using the wrong side of the road). When in Rome...

Who says scooters can't be bad-ass?

After a few days by the beach in Kuta and a few days in the hills at Ubud, I decided to venture into the hinterland and made my way to Kintamani to do some trekking. I discovered that you don't have to stay far from the tourist trail before you start sharing your room with the local wildlife (and on one occassion, a rather large maggot waving cheerfully from my fried chicken).

It's currently the rainy season which is not the best time for climbing mountains, but I picked a good day, set off at 3am, and by sunrise had a great view of active volcanoes rising from long-dead calderas, steam coming out of cracks in the ground, a patchwork of paddies and lava fields.

View from the top - Mount Agung from Mount Batur

After a few days in Bali, it seemed like half the people I met (men and women) were called Wayan. Turns out there are only four names in Bali, Wayan (#1), Made (#2), Nyoman (#3) and Ketut (#4). Kids are always named in order, and if you make it to #5, you just go back to Wayan again.

With my mountain guide, Nyoman (#3)

Overall, Bali has been great - a very comfortable, cheap place to while away a couple of weeks until the bike arrives in Singapore. Hopefully by the next blog entry, I will be reunited with the Transalp and One Man Caravan will be on the road again.

Going international - the Caravan hits Singapore

2009-01-21T19:07:00.000-08:00

I ended up staying in Brisbane for 5 nights - it's not a bad city to mooch around in, I'd found great accommodation at Bunk Backpackers, and made some new friends. It was good to have a day off from riding, but I got over that fairly quickly and I'm now experiencing separation anxiety from the trusty Transalp. With hindsight, I should have put the bike on a plane in Brisbane and saved myself 3.5 weeks of backpacking, but I had to make a snap decision if I was going to make the 13 January cut off for the Brisbane-Singapore container ship. The situation was not helped by some particularly clueless freight forwarders - Qantas referred me to Dangerous Goods Management, who referred me to Schenkers, who then took a week to provide me with a completely unintelligible quote for airfreight to Singapore (problem 1 - no total and no way of adding it up, problem 2 - the bike had been on the ship for 4 days by the time the quote came through). I've since discovered that bikes have been airfreighted with Qantas and DGM with relatively little fuss - I think the lesson here (since I'm no longer a consultant I won't call it a key takeaway) is that with an unusual situation like this, if you ask 3 different people at the same company, you get 3 different answers (and hopefully one of them is the answer you want).

New friends in Brisbane - Emma, Onnie, Erik and Nagore

A day at the movies - Brisbane style (yes, that's Alvin and the Chipmunks)

On 18 January, the One Man Caravan went international (the rider at least - the bike's still stuck at the port) and I arrived in Singapore. My old friend Shri and his lovely wife Deepa very kindly offered to host me - hopefully his parents were consulted, since Shri still lives with them (temporarily, he tells me...). Anyway, the Jayakumar family were wonderful hosts, and they have a fabulous house in a great part of town. I was really enjoying a life of luxury, but I needed to find a couple of weeks to kick back and plan the next part of the trip while waiting for the bike. I eventually opted for Bali because it seems like there's a lot to do there, and I can always hop over to Lombok if I get bored. Plus 3 days in Singapore were starting to hurt the bank balance (even with free accommodation), and it appears there's more trouble on the horizon there...

Shri and Deepa - fantastic hosts

Now in most countries I'll be travelling through, a visa plus a carnet for the bike should be enough to get by. Insurance is either optional or can be blagged. But in Singapore, before I can clear the bike through customs, I need to show an ICP ($10) and an autopass card ($10), and before I can get either, I need 3rd party insurance. It seems like the only organisation that will insure me is the AA, and they want $150... which is a bit steep for about 15km of riding in Singapore. Even Horizons Unlimited, the font of all adventure motorcycling knowledge, has failed to come up with an alternative. Now $150 would buy me five nights of luxury accommodation in Bali, so it really grates, but as they say, Singapore is a fine city... Looks like I'll end up sucking it up - I can't wait to get back in the saddle again.

One Man Caravan - back on track

2009-01-14T18:56:00.000-08:00

After a day to ponder options in Charleville (and 24 hours in Charleville is a long time...), I decided that I didn't much fancy another 5,000 outback kilometres to get to Darwin via Port Augusta. Nor did I want to hang out in the bush to find out when they might get the highway from Mount Isa fixed (information flows much less abundantly than floodwater in these parts). So I called ATS, a shipping company in Brisbane. The MD was good enough to answer his phone on a Sunday, and he told me that if I got the bike to his warehouse by Tuesday 3pm, it would be on a ship to Singapore by the weekend. This should get me on the road in SE Asia by the end of January. Slight challenge - it's Sunday afternoon, I'm 800km from Brisbane, and I need to get the bike crated...

Buy your next motorbike from Pro Honda Rocklea!

I put in a quick 600km on Sunday, camped in Dalby, and the next morning I started phoning bike shops in Brisbane to see if anyone could help me with a crate. The guys at Pro Honda in Rocklea came up trumps, and very kindly found me an old crate from a VFR. I even had time on Monday afternoon to fit a couple of new Continental Escape tyres in their back yard - good practice for that puncture in the North West Frontier...

Farewell old friend

A massive thanks to Matt and Dan for all their help in making it happen, and especially to Trevor for helping me with the tyres and the crate. Transport to the Port of Brisbane courtesy of Garry's Motorcycle Movers and a very natty 6-wheel ute, and fingers crossed the bike will arrive in Singapore in a few weeks.

Bike transport - Aussie style

I decided to ship the camping gear with the bike and try the backpackers hostels in Brisbane - sleeping under canvas has been a lot of fun, and saves a lot of cash in Oz, but carrying a tent, sleeping bag, airbed and cooking gear on your back in 35+ degrees is not much fun. I think I'll send the camping gear back to the UK from Singapore, because I don't think I'll need it in Asia, and it will lighten the bike a lot.

I checked into Bunk Backpackers in Brisbane, which is a pretty snazzy hostel in the CBD with a lively bar, where I met Onnie, Emma and Najore who are travelling around Australia. Thought I might be a bit old for the backpacking scene, but I'm pleased to report I can still cut it with the younguns (although I had to draw the line at a dorm, and checked into a single room).

Vegas, baby... Brizvegas!

I have spent a couple of days amusing myself in Brisbane, which has been a lot of fun - Gallery of Modern Art is really good and I spent 5 hours yesterday overdosing on Arkanoid, Outrun and Tron at a video game exhibition (which I can do since I'm officially on holiday).

Next step is to jump on a plane to Singapore where my old mate Shri has kindly offered to put me up for a few days, and then head somewhere that I won't be able to visit with the bike - Sumatra is looking promising.

So it will shortly be farewell to Australia, but I'm sure not for ever. Riding in the outback has been a lot of fun, but the distances are huge and the towns are very similar to each other! One thing I won't miss is the experience of passing a Road Train at a combined speed of over 200kph on a narrow road - something like being hit with a cricket bat.

Bike vs. Road Train

Thanks, but I think I'll look for alternative accommodation

On a final note, I have received quite a few emails from bikers as far afield as India, Italy, Denmark and Germany who have offered to provide accommodation, show me some great local rides, or introduce me to local guides. These are very much appreciated, so keep them coming!

Kink in the road

2009-01-09T02:57:00.001-08:00

Just settling down at a very mellow campground in Charleville - I've concluded that camping is far preferable to the traditional outback hotel. Last night was spent in a hotel in Longreach - I don't mind tatty, but I woke up in the night with that unmistakeable itching/burning feeling - bedbugs! To avoid libel, I won't mention the name of the hotel - but I doubt the proprieters of the Lyceum will ever see this blog...

Total independence!

On to the kink in the road... It turns out that Queensland is experiencing its biggest floods in 25 years, which have swept away one of only two sealed roads that lead to Darwin from the East. Here's a link... Having covered over 4,000km already and got to within 2,000km, it looks like I may have to make a 2,500km detour via Adelaide, which will certainly mean missing the 16 Jan ship to Singapore.

Now the first rule of outback travel is to always check the road conditions ahead. But I had been tipped off at the start of the week that there was some fairly major flooding in Queensland, so I stopped in at every Tourist Misinformation office over the past few days to ask if the road from Mount Isa to Darwin was open, and every time I was told "She'll be right. Check in at the next town". Eventually I saw a 3 day old newspaper headline announcing that the road has been completely washed away. What's frustrating is that I'm sure that most people in Melbourne and Sydney are aware of this - but news travels slow in the outback...

To add insult to injury, the old boy in the Tourist Misinformation office in Emerald spent 15 minutes telling me a story that was clearly not true about how as a lad he had crashed his mate's BSA into a chicken coop at 100mph. After paying for the damage - here's the punchline - he had to compensate the farmer because the chickens stopped laying! Boom boom. Nice one old fellow, but the Thunderbird was actually a Triumph, I very much doubt you would have walked away from a spill like that, and I'm sure you stole the plot from a Norman Wisdom film... Now, about that bloody highway...

The smug policewoman in Longreach told me the highway would be closed for 3 weeks, so I have started making my way back to Adelaide. But I heard today it may only be a week, so the best course of action may be to stay put and amuse myself for a day or two in Charleville (pop. 3,000) to find out what's really going on.

Greetings from Banana Shire

2009-01-06T15:21:00.000-08:00

Firstly a few administrative announcements. I've got rid of the interactive map - although I thought it was cool to show a map of my route, it was causing a few computer issues to download a file showing every movement I have made at 30 second intervals... So there should now be a link on the side if you want to take a look at the map. Secondly, I've discovered how to email out my blog, so if you'd like to receive updates by email, let me know and I'll add you to the distribution list.

I'm currently in a town called Beloela in Banana Shire (yes, really), and I've got over 3,000km under my belt (but still less than 1/2 way to Darwin). After slogging my way up the coast as far as Noosa on the Pacific Highway, I got tired of endless dual carriageways and holiday towns packed with smug English tourists. A week of lounging by the beach in Byron Bay may be fun, but walking round in full riding gear (or spending 20 mins taking it off and securing it just to get a coffee) is not, and camping on the beach in Noosa was fun, but 100% humidity - no thanks.

So I left the coast and headed into the interior, ignoring all the warnings about deadly snakes, deadly spiders, paralysing ticks... at least the psychotic killers are well signposted.

The first road that I picked quickly turned to dirt, but thanks to Stookie's off road training, I was able to maintain a steady 80-90kph (OK - it was the smoothest gravel road I've ever experienced). Slowed down a bit when I saw the fresh skid marks on the road and a very broken looking car...

I camped for the night in Beloela - it's much easier and cheaper to find camp sites inland, plus you can get a counter dinner at the local RSL. No point getting the petrol stove out where it's not necessary - I'm sure there'll be plenty of opportunity for that later.

Plan is to push ahead for Emerald, Longreach, Mount Isa and Darwin. First I need to find out which roads are open - I've not been getting any news recently, so I was not aware that Queensland has had it's biggest rains in 5 years, which has led to some of the big highways being closed. I had assumed that the flooding would be worse further north (rivers flow towards the sea, right?), but it turns out that there's a big dry lake in South Australia that all these rivers flow into, so I may yet need to head further north before cutting inland.

Going solo

2009-01-04T02:30:00.001-08:00

Finally left Manly on the afternoon of 3 Jan after the hangover subsided and the admin was completed. Arrived at Tea Gardens just before dusk and made camp. I am getting remarkably efficient at pitching my tent and have now figured out how to utilise the bike to make a natty awning. Didn't quite manage to leave the campground before the man came around for the money, but he was so impressed with my itinerary that he didn't charge me.

Sunday was my first 500km day, and I finished up 100km short of Byron Bay at Yamba, which is a really nice spot at the mouth of the Clarence River.

Managed to stop at the National Motorcycle Museum in Nabiac (not to be confused with the Australian Motorcycle Museum or other imposters). Very impressive private collection with over 800 bikes. And I got my first sticker for the panniers! The locals showed me all the best biking roads, but none of them led in the right direction, so I politely explained to them that my destination is already far enough away.

Bando was very upset this afternoon when he found out I was paying 40 dollars to pitch my tent in Yamba, but it's the least bogan site yet. I am taking a break from camp food with a Chinese takeaway, and finishing the last of my birthday pinot from a sports drink bottle. There's even some live entertainment from the local prog rock band. They're actually very good, but they're starting to wake the kids up in the campsite. Fortunately for their sake (and mine), they're on the other side of the river...

Sent from my BlackBerry® from Optus

Made it to Sydney!

2009-01-02T00:25:00.000-08:00

I arrived triumphantly into Sydney after 1,300km on some beautiful coastal roads. Victoria may be better than NSW for most things, but have to say that the road from the state border up to Sydney is absolutely fantastic - great scenery, good surface, lots of ups and downs and corners. And with the Transalp having the aerodynamics of a housebrick, I'm unlikely to be getting any more points on my battered Aussie licence (famous last words...).

Unfortunately all the roads around the opera house were closed for the New Years Eve festivities, so I may have to sneak back tomorrow for the 'iconic' photo. And since the harbour bridge is effectively a 6-lane highway, I didn't fancy stopping there either.

So far, everything is going remarkably smoothly. The faulty GPS cable was fixed with a bit of insulating tape. I've kept it on all the time so that it logs the route, and as you can see I've found a neat application online that allows my to plot the route on a map and put it on the blog.

The bike felt a little heavy on the back end when I set off, so I have developed an innovative new approach to motorcycle luggage - the reverse topbox, which shifts the weight forward about 6 inches to improve the bike balance (and means you can access the contents on the move if you're brave enough). Revolutionary!

As you'd expect, lots of firsts have been achieved over the past few days. First rain - next time I'll stop to put the waterproofs on before my arse gets soggy. First near miss with fuel - aforementioned aerodynamics aren't helping petrol consumption. First flat battery - who'd have thought that charging a mobile phone from the bike battery would use up all the juice - followed by first bump-start from a stranger. First dropped bike - fortunately not with me on it - trying to get it off the centre stand in a campsite (don't worry Pete - I didn't scratch the crash bars).

I've spent the last couple of days in Manly - first day to recover from a vicious hangover (thanks to Bando and Gazza for a large New Year's Eve in Sydney), and a second day taking care of admin (mum - I've finally sorted the medical insurance, courtesy of the very helpful folks at navigatortravel.co.uk). Tomorrow I'll be setting off again, this time solo - it was great having Bando driving the support vehicle from Melbourne to Sydney and showing me the best campsites, but unlike Ewan and Charley, there's no entourage from now on.

Next stop will be Port Stephens where I'm hoping to catch up with Calvin and Liz, and then on into Northern NSW and Queensland... Finally a massive thanks to Bando for being a fantastic traveling companion, and for being extremely patient as I get to grips with all the new gear (not to mention hosting me at his apartment in Sydney) - it's made for a great start to the trip.

On the road!

2008-12-27T20:28:00.000-08:00

After a frantic last week of packing and planning, it was a relief to finally hit the road on 27 December! The day started with a knock on the door from the cleaners and a mild hangover from a night out with Michael, Ryan and Christian after the cricket in Melbourne. The first day was a modest 200km to Wilson's Prom, which is completely the wrong direction for Darwin, but makes for a very scenic ride.

The bike is running really well. Pete spent most of Christmas Eve on final preparation - the crash bars from Hepco and Becker took a while to bend into shape, and he put a new tyre on the back. Even with the extra weight, the bike is easy to ride, but I am a little worried about the strain on the subframe. The only thing that's playing up is the GPS power supply - the cable's a bit loose.

The weather is perfect for riding - sunny and mid 30s - but it's a bit warm when I'm off the bike in all the gear! Next stop is bastion point.

Sent from my BlackBerry® from Optus

Puddles

2008-12-21T22:29:00.000-08:00

Just 6 days to go, and the excitement is definitely starting to build! I think I'm through the paranoia stage that the Adventure Motorcycling Handbook refers to - I've been rushing around like an idiot for the past 3 weeks planning for the trip, and also an international move. So much for a month of rest and relaxation in the botanical gardens!

Since booking removalists and packing boxes does not make for rivetting reading, I've been holding off updating the blog. However, Saturday was a bit of a landmark because I finally put all the luggage on the bike and rode to Healesville to make sure there were no unforeseen complications (such as the subframe collapsing under the weight). Someone asked me the other day if I would be able to ride with all that extra weight on the bike. When I told her that I managed OK with her on the back, I got a very dirty look... (Kathryn - I was only suggesting that I travel light...)

Highlight of the last few weeks was certainly my second trip out to the Mystic Mountains with Stookie. Victoria got a month's worth of rain last weekend, so the trails were extremely wet which just added to the fun. The Transalp took everything in its stride, including steep muddy slopes and puddles that came above the wheels - and all that on an old set of road tyres. Unfortunately the waterproof boots are not quite so waterproof in anything that's deeper than the boot. So I'm now feeling much more confident and I have a better understanding of exactly what the bike can do (and I certainly won't tackle anything as hard-core when the bike's fully loaded!). Massive thanks to Stookie, who's a great guy and a great coach - he's thinking of setting up an off-road school next year. He takes awesome photographs too - you can find out more about the fantastic rides he does at http://web.me.com/stookieandlil. And I'm sure that Pete's relieved that the bike came back in one piece - I don't think he wanted to spend Christmas Day rebuilding a wrecked Transalp.

So what's left to do? The engine bars and centre stand that were ordered from Hepco & Becker on 11 November are still somewhere between Queensland and Melbourne. The bike still needs a final going over at Everything Two Wheels - locks on the panniers, a new set of tyres and an oil change. And the movers are coming on Wednesday and so I've still got a huge amount of packing. Then it's the Boxing Day Test, and 27 December will be the first day on the road!

Getting dirty

2008-12-08T03:53:00.000-08:00

I finished work on 30 November, so I've just completed my first week as a full-time adventure motorcyclist (or 'unemployed'). It feels good, but there's a lot of stuff still to do - prepping the bike, packing the flat up, and generally sorting out my life, not to mention saying good bye to the many people that have made the last 3 years in Melbourne so memorable.

Bike progress remains slow, although I did get the toolkit out and fit a set of barkbusters the other day - hardly rocket science, although it did require me to dismantle the throttle assembly (well - possibly not, but I did it anyway). A minor landmark since I don't usually touch the bits that make the bike go (i) faster, or (ii) slower. If there are any shortcomings in my mechanical talents, I'd prefer not to discover them at 60+ mph... but I guess there will be far greater challenges (and repairs) coming up.

On Sunday I finally got the Transalp dirty in the Mystic Mountains with Jason 'Stookie' Doonan, erstwhile music producer and now off-road guru. He's promised to turn me into a dirt bike legend - and he now has 3 short weeks to do it in, but he's a great guide and coach so I have every confidence he will succeed! We spent about 4 hours tearing through the forests around Narbethong which was a lot of fun. I've not done any dirtbiking since Morocco in 2001, so it was a bit unnerving at first to feel the front wheel sliding around again. However, it all came back pretty quickly, and it was not long before my confidence was probably running slightly above my ability... thankfully no spills though, and I'm pleased to report that the Transalp is as capable on the dirt as it is on the road - at least for what I need.

I also had (another) big shopping spree at the weekend to buy thermals, a first aid kit, a dual-fuel stove and a thermarest from Paddy Pallin. It's very annoying that stuff is so expensive - the same thermarest that costs US$70 in the States costs around twice as much here. But with 3 weeks to go I don't have time to mess around with mail order for the sake of a few dollars.

The route

2008-11-20T02:28:00.000-08:00

Probably the most common question that people have been asking about the trip (other than why) is what route I plan to take. Australians then typically snigger when I pronounce the word "root" instead of "rout" (ask an Australian why...).

The timing is still very vague because I have no idea how far I will want to ride each day, how long I will want to stop at each place, and what delays I will encounter (hopefully not too many). Perhaps more significantly, I don't know what I will feel like on the trip - eager to push on for home, or happy to move at my own pace. Maybe I'll keep going when I get to the UK and do a complete circuit (although I like the idea of saving that for another time!).

So... the rout is Melbourne, Sydney, Fraser Island, Darwin, Singapore (8 days by boat for the bike, 5 hours on a plane for me), Malaysia, Thailand, Cambodia, Laos, back to Thailand, Kathmandu (3 hours on a plane from Bangkok for man and bike because I can't ride through Burma or China), India, Pakistan, Iran, Turkey, Syria, Jordan, Lebanon, back to Turkey, Greece, Italy, Switzerland, Germany, France, and finally back to the UK. I may skip the loop in the Middle East if I'm tight on time or sick of riding, but I'd really like to see Petra.

In terms of timing, the plan is to be back in the UK for the end of June. If I time it really well, I'll be able to make it to Glastonbury, which will give the trip a certain symmetry because (i) I will have been on the road for exactly 6 months, and (ii) Glastonbury was the last big event that I attended before I moved from the UK to California 6 years ago.

In addition to the itinerary, I'm slowly building up a list of people that I hope to meet on the trip. So far, these include Paul Lanzillotti (flying out to Ko Samui), Mark Allenspach (riding to Switzerland, who I should catch up in Thailand), Trent Eddy (an ex-Bainie in Phnom Penh), Casey Reichel (hiking in Nepal), some friends of Dan Tu-Hoa that live in Islamabad, and a host of people in Europe ('host' being the operative word). Hopefully, others will be able to fly out to meet me on the road, or point me in the direction of a friendly local with a comfy couch.

Six weeks to go!

2008-11-17T01:31:00.000-08:00

Not much to report over the past week on the trip front . The KTM Superduke went to a very good home - a nice Finnish couple that have recently moved to Melbourne - although I must say that they negotiated a very good deal...

Sum total of the week's progress was the purchase of a 12v socket to install on the bike, and a USB adapter that should allow me to charge my GPS and iPod on the move - ingenious. I also heard from a chap called Mark who will be doing Sydney to Switzerland on a GS1150 with his wife at a similar time.

Given the lack of news, I thought I'd mention a few words about my inspiration for the trip. Surprisingly, it wasn't Ewan and Charlie, although they did boost my confidence because if that pair could make it across Asia (with the help of a camera crew and a couple of 4x4s), I figure I should be able to make it on my own no problem. The whinging thesps certainly weren't the first adventure motorcyclists - before them, the most famous motorcycle travelog was probably Jupiter's Travel by Ted Simon. My favourite is One Man Caravan by Robert Fulton, who did a similar journey to mine (in reverse) on a Douglas twin in 1932. The way he tells it, he concocted the trip at a dinner party to impress a girl and felt compelled to follow through with the idea. And he was packing heat on the bike.

Inspiration for my trip came from an Australian couple that I met at Mrs Bandari's Guest House in Amritsar in 1997. They were doing Australia to the UK two-up on an R80GS, and I thought it was the coolest thing I'd ever heard. If it's still there, I'm hoping to stop off at Mrs Bandari's for a cold beer and some nostalgia.

The world's most expensive metal boxes

2008-11-09T19:18:00.000-08:00

Anticipation for the big trip is mounting (as is the bill). On Sunday, I went over to Everything Two Wheels to get the panniers fitted. We didn't get finished until almost 11pm, which is service above and beyond the call of duty, but after a few hours everything fitted perfectly - nice job, Pete! The alu panniers were pristine and came in bubble wrap, so there was much nervousness as the holes were drilled to mount them to the frame. I initially thought that the towels on the floor were to stop the panniers from getting scratched (hardly necessary, given the punishment they're about to receive), but after a while it occurred to me that Pete may have been more concerned about his brand new workshop floor. Anyways... the bike is beginning to look worthy of intercontinental adventures now. Which is just as well, given what the Touratech panniers cost...

Route planning is coming along - I'm thinking of heading up the east coast of Australia as far as Fraser Island, and then cutting inland through Longreach and Mount Isa to Tennants Creek before heading north to Darwin. Just getting out of Australia is going to be a marathon ride - I don't think I'm going to see much change out of 6,000km. I'd like to ride along the beach at Fraser Island, but I'm still trying to find out if that's realistic, or if 300+ kg of bike, rider and assorted camping gear, spare parts and assorted paraphernalia will quickly disappear into the sand.

I am enjoying the new Arai Tour X - I had initially thought that a new helmet might be an unnecessary luxury, but after wearing it I realised that my 10 year old lid had some significant hygiene issues as well as safety issues. No excuse to wear my fancypants Dainese trouser suit as yet, but I do need to get it dirtied up in case any bikie gangs in the outback mistake me for a cissy.

Planning continues...

2008-10-26T03:56:00.000-07:00

Well, it's been an expensive week, but I now have a GPS device that I'm still trying to figure out how to operate, and a rather natty Dainese jacket and trouser set. New Arai Tour X should arrive mid-week, which should make me the best dressed rider in SE Asia... The panniers have been ordered from Touratech Australia and should be with me by the end of the week - thankfully they don't need to be shipped from Germany, which means I can see how much space I have for kit.

Other than that, the trip plan is really taking shape, with lots of checklists, maps and addresses contained in a (client-ready, zero-defect) powerpoint presentation. Still four weeks left at work, but I'm increasingly finding my attention in meetings wandering to critical issues such as how to carry an extra 10 litres of fuel across the Northern Territory...

Trip planning

2008-10-08T19:10:00.001-07:00

It's hard to say when the trip really begins, but I picked up the Transalp from Pete at Everything Two Wheels this afternoon, so it seems like an appropriate time to celebrate. We successfully navigated the bureaucrats at VicRoads in Carlton to get it registered - hopefully the paperwork for the rest of the trip will be as straightforward.

The bike currently looks a bit soft in commuter mode (but who knew that a top-box was so practical?). Next step is to order all the fun bits from Touratech to create a machine that will carry me across continents (or at least look the part...)

By the way, Everything Two Wheels can be found at http://www.everythingtwowheels.com.au/. If you own a bike in Melbourne, get them to service it for you! I'll be taking advantage of their 'Gold Service' support option on my trip - any issues with the bike and Pete will come out to fix it within 24 hours...