Searching for answers and change...

So what is this possible life changing moment then? Well...read on. BJ is my friend, always will be. He's a bit like the big brother that I never had. He is though, confused. Confused about exactly what he wants from life. I see this and it's not pleasant to watch. It's also extremely worrying as we are similar in many ways. For RTW10 he couldn't make up his mind if he wanted to travel through Africa with me and eventually I had to set sail without him, only for him to leave three weeks later and finally catch me on my last day in Cape Town. This year was no different but with me injuring my ankle ligaments in mid Febuary (they're still not quite right) it gave him a six more weeks to dither. Truth is I wasn't expecting him to come and when he did make it out with me I was pleasantly surprised. It was good news all round really as we ride well together and have a laugh as we go. However, since before we even boarded our flight away from the UK it was clear that he wasn't fully happy. Since then we've spoken for hours about how the shipping delay has ruined our original route down south to Ushuaia, his choice of bike, the lack of time, cost of the trip, where to finish and what to do with his bike when done. I'm flexible with problems and don't tend to beat myself up over things that are out of my hands and try to see the positives. I don't like regrets, live for the moment..."Get busy living or get busy dying." Andy Defresne, 1967.
It took us an age to agree on what to do about our two week delay and even after we agreed on the new Brazillian northern route he just seemed lost. I knew it and since we finally left Buenos Aires I've known it. On the road his mind just wasn't right for 'our trip.' It's easy to read when riding behind someone who isn't happy. It was only a matter of time before he finally pulled over to give me the news. I'd been expecting it and to be fair it was starting to get to me as like any relationship if someone's not fully into it, it won't work. So a firm handshake later and we parted. I have no idea where he is or where he's going. For me however, the enormity of what lies ahead of me hasn't even began to sink in yet. Typically me, I'm not fully prepared for such a mammoth solo trip. I have little tools, even less know how, no maps, no language skills (not even a phrase book) and no real idea of a route up. You see that despite my pretty map now showing lots of red that seems to impress people the truth is that apart from a 3000 mile blast across the Sahara to a waiting Mick I've always had some sort of support, be it a 4x4 support truck a few hours behind or a fellow rider who's always been far more mechanically skilled than I'll ever be. Many people that I speak to about my travels mention Charlie & Euan as being my possible role models. This is wrong. In this respect my role models are the true heros out there...Ben Owen, Mick Høy and Daniel Good, all young men that I've met on the road in far flung places that do this properly solo. It's these guys that I'm in awe of. And so, here I am then. Maybe I'll see another rider en route or maybe not. But for now here I am in Curuzú Cuatiá - tired, a little scared and alone. I am though...about to sleep, brave and with 'Des.' Grandad...I hope you're proud of me.

Two friends head north...

I am a bit of a loner, an individual. I don’t really have much time for most people that I know and meet and I seem to have a problem in committing to anyone. Why? I really don’t know. What I do know is that I want this to change. Of all the people that I’ve met that travel like this...the individuals, in my eyes, seem to have all missed the boat somewhat. It’s always the same story...”met a beautiful girl, got itchy feet, travelled, still travelling (fifteen years later) and still in touch as friends but life’s moved on for her.” I recognise that I’m in danger of becoming one of them (if I’m not already) and so something needs to happen in my life. This moment could well be right now actually...(see next entry).
Myself and BJ left Dave behind in Buenos Aires as he caught up with an Argentinean lady that he knew (yes you’ve guessed it) fifteen years ago. The first day’s ride up to Concordia was pretty uneventful except for a road side lunch stop. It was one of those moments that only seem to happen on trips like these. The family treated BJ and I like long lost relatives while their adorable little four year old girl ‘Bianca’ chatted away to us as we tucked into our lunch seemingly oblivious to our lack of understanding of Spanish. After a game of ‘how many stones can you get in a bottle top’ and the old ‘catch the stone from your elbow’ trick Bianca was left all smiles and maybe thinking that I wasn’t just a bit thick after all. Maybe.
The end of the riding day took us into a beautiful town named Concordia. Clean, chilled out, spacious and pretty it was just about as perfect a town as you could wish to find. The only thing not quite right was one of its temporary inhabitants...

Not quite so Long Way Up...

Miracles do happen it seems! Des has arrived, fresh from his little holiday in Miami. Chose to go it alone with the whole customs/shipping/merry go round rather than take up Dakarmotors’ expensive offer of help. As it happens it only took six hours and the officials were most helpful. A fairly short ride back to my prison cell at Dakarmotos and a day of final bike preparations mean that finally we’re all set the off. So now with two weeks of my ten already gone before I’ve even got going and my request for assistance with some shift swaps at work seemingly going down like diarrhoea in a swimming pool it leaves no option but to re route. With weather reports coming in of snow across Patagonia and a lack of time the planned new route is now to head north to and through Brazil (via Rio de Janeiro) to Belem, take a four day boat up the Amazon river and somehow try to get into and through Venezuela, Columbia and Panama to rejoin our original route from there. How possible this is I have no idea, neither I suspect, do I have enough Malarone pills for the jungle ahead but I’ll just have to work it out. This is what we do...

San Telmo's on Fire...

Day ten of my stretch saw the arrival of John from Colorado aboard a KTM 950 Super Enduro. John had lived in Argentina amongst other places within South America and what he must have thought of us three chasing cockroaches around as he unpacked his bag god only knows. It was thanks to him that we finally saw sense and decided to clear off to Uruguay for the Easter break. Unfortunately upon arriving at the shipping terminal it seemed that so had everyone else as the boats were all full. So with our belongings on our shoulders BJ and I wandered the streets in search of accommodation within the city. Feeling a bit like Joseph we were at the point of no hope as darkness fell. Yet another inn had no room but they were able to offer us a stable. This particular stable was next door where a family had a couple of rooms that they occasionally let out. And what a little oasis it was. No sharing a dorm with some Swiss cheese eaters or passively smoking ganja from the Brazilian hippies here. Spot on. Also spot on was discovering that despite seemingly walking every square foot of the city centre we ended up in San Telmo. Wow. Full of little cafés, restaurants, bars and antique shops, the cobbled streets and old shutter windowed buildings were very Parisian. With Dave occupied catching up with an old friend BJ and I were left to explore this beautiful district, watch an Argentine tango show, drink coffee, shop and take photos. As well as this was the highlight of the trip so far...taking in a football match between River Plate and Goody Cruz. With River designated our local team to where we settled in Argentina we made our way to the stadium ticketless as we ignored the tourist package that most take and followed the crowd. After a quick roast pork roll and with kick off approaching it appeared that my estimate of a 35,000 crowd was way off the mark as it looked like we may struggle to get in. A tout eventually sold us a valid ticket after trying to knock out used tickets to last week’s match and we were in. Our £20 tickets were in a seating area with no seat but no matter as we stood amongst the locals in the exit stairs with the stadium presumably over its 80,000 capacity. It was like nothing I’ve witnessed before with the noise, colour and passion hugely impressive, rendering us speechless. In every way it bettered football in the UK and from now on it just won’t be the same for me. River eventually lost the second v third match 2-1 but just as full time approached a Queens Park Rangers tracksuit top made its way through the spectator’s right past me!! John, (another one!) from India, living in Costa Rica and on vacation chatted with me over all things QPR and numbers were exchanged and a possible hook up in Costa Rica was arranged. I had such a great time during these four days with so many more wonderful experiences that could run into pages and pages on here but I’ll just say that in the end it actually felt difficult to leave. I fully understand why my old friend Mick is rooted in Santiago and in his position I would stay here indefinitely. Still, maybe one day...

Not a buenos start in Good Aires

From the viewpoint on my top bunk is an impossibly heavy looking piece of dirty cobweb which is hanging from a tiny thread. Situated behind the barred window, it’s constantly being blown around by the draught that it’s caught in. I noticed this on day one here in Dakarmotos, Florida – BA and thought that a) physics have to mean that gravity will improve my view out of the window some time very soon and b) along with the barred window inside the white walled room and all the evidence of other travellers here before me here made it me feel like a ‘fresh fish’ serving my first days of prison. Now much later I can conclude that a) was wrong and b) was as good as right. Big bad Des was all crated up and ready to be sent by air at a bloody expensive price a week and a half ago but with that expense does come rapid freight and peace of mind. Except on this occasion it seems. #572 in an ever expanding list of reasons not to like Americans is the knowledge that the reason for us ending up on different ends of the continent is due to those muppets deciding to open my crate to have a poke around him and my luggage. Fair enough if I’m coming in but he’s in transit FFS! As a result of all this he missed the flight down, spent a week in Miami and finally arrived an hour before the end of the final day before a four day national holiday, meaning an additional $200 for ‘storage.’ Great.

Long Way Up

…The man in the picture will be about 300 days older to be precise! Although it can wait until my next blog entry as due to the usual preparations for my trips I don’t really have much to take a picture of. Unless anyone’s interested in seeing my kit organised in only a way that I know all over the floor, or my super (meaning very, not great) short haircut. So here we go again then…
RTW11 had to be on really, ever since BJ and I rode the long, cold, partly lunar, desolate road up to the very top of Alaska. The map (If I could get it to work) would show like something on ‘The Crystal Maze’ where Peter, 25, accounts assistant, from Milton Keynes has the task of joining the red electrical circuit from points A to B to release the crystal. Or it does to me anyway. This time though, unlike Peter, I have a little more than 2 minutes 30 seconds. Two and a half months actually…
But before I get too far into this time that’s about to tick, what’s the deal? Well, motorcycle wise big bad ‘Des’ did indeed have a serious engine problem after all. All repaired under warranty (with thanks to Kiran and Sam at West London Yamaha) it turned out that it was a damaged crank shaft that he sustained somewhere in Gabon. Some amazement was shown at how he managed to soldier on the 8,000 miles it took to finally get him to the bike hospital for life saving surgery. This trip should (he says…) be a little easier on rider and bike as the off roading promises to be minimal. Riding Des on nice tarmac is a bit like Brian Blessed donning a tutu and performing Swan Lake and so during the latter months of 2010 a suitable replacement was located and purchased. It was an old school BMW K100RS which is far nicer to ride up the Pan American Highway. Think John Travolta in Saturday Night Fever, retro, super smooth and dressed immaculately in white too. However, as the days went by and the departure day neared I couldn’t help but look at the pair of them and think that perhaps my K bike was a bit too tidy for the trip. So for that reason simple reason, it’s me and Des again. The only change to him is that I’ve reinstalled his exhaust baffles, as despite him killing a few people by heart attack in some of the far flung places where we’ve ridden with his monstrous flamed backfire, he really does give me ear ache truth be told.
As for the route well…basically it’s Buenos Aires, down to Tierra del Fuego (woolly hat packed), locate fellow African survivor ‘Danish Mick’ in Santiago (beers), and then head up to New York as time allows. With good old BJ again doing the hokey cokey for the months leading up to the big off I’d been in touch with Dave Allen (no not him, shame) who was planning to copy my African trip but had strangely decided against it after I’d given him an idea of what to expect(!?) Having turned right at San Fransisco and ridden to Buenos Aires after we met in Russia during my RTW09 he’s already ridden my third leg (erm) Still, keen to explore he’ll be at the starting point with me but heading north and may well see me further up the road in South America’s poorest country Bolivia’s capital, La Paz. He said it’s not so bad there, but then he is a South Londoner… STOP PRESS…STOP PRESS…Like a wasted alcoholic that’s somehow found his way home from a very late night BJ has (it seems finally) found not only his house on the estate but the right key for his door. Miraculous!!! So it looks like I’d better pack my swimming shorts then…