In bed with a face full of Brazilian

The reports of possible problems in getting a motorcycle onto a boat bound for Manaus proved unfounded as after a little jiggling our three bikes were onboard. The only problem encountered was due to a low tide meaning a pretty big drop down from the pier into a tight fit below deck. As for the Amazon River itself it’s very brown, quite busy and big. Also news to us was that the smaller cheaper boat that we’d opted for over the Amazon Star was in fact a day slower due to having to have to change boats in Santarém. A quick visit to Santarém’s famous Amazon beach island was already planned so no drama there then. The Ciudad de Santarém 1 was pretty much as expected, basic, fairly busy and loaded below deck with fruit and veg. Myself and Lenny took the first class option and shared an air conditioned cabin whilst BJ unsurprisingly opted for steerage and hung his hammock up with both the local rat and human travellers. A relaxing few days followed with me using the time to catch up on my long list of films that I’ve missed over the years that I’d downloaded in Belém. I also managed to remember Dr Samatha Hill’s words of warning about sunbathing whilst taking the anti malaria drug Malerone. Er, well after just like last year in the Gambia I once again managed to get sun burnt – ouch! It seems that as good as this drug is any natural sun protection disappears once you start taking it. Fellow travellers...you’ve been warned! Once in Santarem and suitably dressed in my ‘pyjamas’ and all bikes and luggage swapped over onto the slightly smaller Ciudad de Santarém 2 I too opted for hammock class as the cabin was pretty dark, damp and dingey. Yet another piece of bad timing meant that the wonderful beach island (click here for the pictures that I couldn't take) was 95% underwater due to the tide! Hey ho, but after Lenny had zoomed in with his camera it appeared that a small section was open after all and so we managed to get a boat ride there for a couple of beers and hours. Our boats aren’t exactly the express service either with many stops en route to the small towns dropping off only fruit and veg, beer and motorcycles. Essential items only then! Also, sometimes when the river narrows the odd boat manages to hook up to this one with father and children able to jump aboard to sell their wares. The days (now that I’m not being air conditioned) are humid with bugs aplenty once the sun has set over the horizon, with the good old mozzies still having a field day with me around but in truth I was expecting much worse. As for hammock class, this second boat is much more er...cosy. Men one side, women the other with each hammock spaced exactly 18 inches apart it’s more Pappionesque rather than my Palinesque Caspian sea crossing during RTW09. I'm sure that those of you who’ve read the book/seen the film will know what I mean.

Expedicionários do Pará

06:15 Sunday 22nd May 2011. Despite yet more late night hospitality from Alex and friends, getting up today was easy as a full days adventure and fun lay ahead. The following played a big part in shaping my decision not to ride flat out north west into the unknown...
I’ve never been a member of a motorcycle club and I’ve never ridden with one. “How terrible must that be?” I’ve often thought considering I’m most happy riding solo, free as a bird. Well, on this occasion quite fun actually. The twenty five Expedicionários do Pará with their fifteen motorcycles and a pick up (including me and Des) were all met, fuelled, fed and detailed at 08:00 just outside of Belem. Paired off with another rider we rode the first 62km in a tight formation with me having to quickly learn the various hand signals that travelled from front to rear of the formation for various given circumstances. As we all rode as one with the colour, noise and huge flags I couldn’t help but feel part of the club. I even had a pillion join me, Beth, who was able to help out with pictures as we went. The final 3km was all off road through mostly dry mud but the frequent heavy downpours meant for some seriously deep puddles where the mud was of course far from dry. Still, the final location dictated that this was entirely necessary and so two up big Des didn’t flinch as he thundered us through and over every obstacle like Sherman tank. The final destination of the ride was a small Amazonian village where the inhabitants were to receive some charitable donations and social work from Alex’s Expedicionários do Pará. Alex being the club’s president saw that the operation went along smoothly as the clothing, stationery and cosmetics that we’d all brought along had been distributed to the cut off community. A big lunch for all then was cooked up by the club’s chefs and once the children had had a practical lesson on teeth cleaning it was playtime as various games were played with prizes issued. It felt like such a privilege to be part of this mission and before I knew it we bid our goodbyes to the villagers and rode back through the mud and onto a nearby beach. A couple of hours were then had generally messing about in the Pará river (not quite on the Amazon River yet) before we all saddled up and headed back to Belem. Over the last couple of years I’ve been lucky enough to experience some of the world’s best riding destinations and places but this day out has to rank right up there with the best of them. Fantastic.

Spilt liquids...

With the pressure of time now removed from my shoulders and with me being welcomed with open arms by Alex and his motorcycle club I sensed that many good experiences were just around the corner. How right I was. As it turned out Alex’s wife had just left for a month to visit her family in RjD and so he was free to show me around as the weekend approached... First up of some cracking nights out to all the right places was a local nightclub with Alex’s friend Jonathon onboard too. Now all cleaned up and with my mohican fully returned, once in I couldn’t have stood out any more if I tried. As for the club it was like nothing that I’ve experienced before by way of the music and dancing. This club was at the lower end of the scale apparently but my initial observation was that looks (or indeed language) were not of importance as the number one skill required to get the best from the night was dancing. And virtually everybody was doing just that. Over the fairly recent years I’ve given both Salsa and Ceroc a course or two of lessons but I quickly discovered that a weekly night in the Uxbridge Civic Centre is much like building and flying a paper aeroplane and then being sat in the cockpit of a 747. To say that I was out of my depth was a massive understatement and after a dropped beer can and several squashed toes I felt just like the 40 year old uncle embarrassing himself at the wedding reception. On second thoughts though with my 38th birthday now only a matter of days away and thanks to little Imogen I guess that it was a somewhat closer assessment of myself than I initially realised. Scary.
My last night of what turned out to be a week in Belem was another chance to impress the locals but this time joining me and Alex were...BJ and Lenny! I’d left BJ a couple of weeks ago with him heading along the coast and Lenny we met in Dakar Motors way back in Buenos Aires. Lenny is an alright American from New Jersey onboard a Kawasaki KLR and is always up for a beer and a laugh. And with the boat leg ahead of us the three solo riders have agreed to ride (onboard the boat at least) as one for the sake of cost and the loading/unloading of the bikes. Back to Belem then and with the four of us into another of the hot, live local music and dancing clubs I was more than happy to lead the way having acclimatised somewhat(!?) Fortunately for me this place was a little less about the individuals dancing skills with much congaing along with many other various big group dancing which was pretty easy to get involved with. Another bonus was the brilliant Flexa Junior and his band that finished the night with some more popular stuff at home that brought on much jumping around and singing to amongst other things Lady Gaga's 'Bad Romance.' Sounds odd I know but what a great laugh... Finally after all this larking about I slept with a smile after what has been a superb week here in Belem. Can anything on this trip better this week..?
As for the town Belem itself, there’s not too much to report really. Of course it has the odd pretty building or two but mostly it’s a run down place that you don’t need to explore too much to find a dead rat. Also, even the blind don’t get off lightly as there’s one odour that’s seemingly inescapable here...

Decision time...Belém

My fifth and final days ride to Belém was much like the four that preceded it, except for...rain! The final 200km was like standing six feet away from someone constantly blasting a pressure washer at me. The lorry traffic (as it has been throughout Brazil) didn’t let up and so as I've also experienced in hot and dusty places elsewhere on my travels overtaking became a leap of faith as the visibility around the side of the lorries and the view of oncoming traffic was well, let’s just say not ideal...
Belém was made just as darkness was about to fall and with no GPS coordinates for another of Carlos’ contacts – Alex at Moto Mania, a friendly taxi driver was happy to lead me there free of charge. Yes you did read that correct! After a brief chat with Alex it became clear that I’d be looked after with contacts for the boat, promises of food, beer and help with accommodation. This is what these trips are all about not blasting across the continents and being too tired to even leave your room at the end of the day. So then, after the usual introductions off we went to his motorcycle club’s meeting. Despite only a couple of English speakers (my Portuguese is still little more than ‘obrigado’) I was welcomed with open arms. As I sat wearily on the dock looking down the Amazon while they discussed items on their agenda the time had come to make the biggest decision on the trip yet. Do I take the next boat in two days time and try to make NY or do I finish in Columbia and save the NY stretch until next time? Could I make it even if I tried? Does it mean that I would’ve failed and have to refund the FOUR people who have been kind enough to sponsor this year's charity? Well, the answers that I came to were No/Yes, Unlikely and I hope not – I’m not refunding myself. With 8-10,000km still ahead, three lots of shipping (two boats and a plane), eight or nine borders to get through, little support by way of donations and no help in getting my much needed shift swaps from the ever so helpful chaps at work, it would simply be going into a blind alley. Plus I’ve a friend at home who needs my support right now.
So what next then? Well, BJ is still somewhere on the east coast but on his way, Alex’s motorcycle club have something interesting planned for Sunday (more later) and there’s still plenty to see properly here in Brazil, then Venezuela and Columbia which is precisely what I intend to do...

Why am I doing this..?

...Some of you may well think as you read my story between sipping your Châteauneuf-du-Pape while I sit here partially dehydrated, shattered and alone in a strange town (mustn’t think that as I’m the strange outsider here). Why indeed..? Well it may just be that the onset has already begun for you but if not then just a gentle reminder this trip is being attempted in aid of Dementia UK. So far despite covering half of the target figure myself, the lack of many further donations is nothing short of embarrassing. I really hoped that I wouldn’t have to beg like this but again, please if you can support this very worthwhile charity by clicking here or on my link on the right to donate. Don’t forget, with my clever little ‘Revolver Map’ I can now see exactly where you are...
Right then back to business...Days for me are up and down, though mostly down on this trip if truth be told. Two recent major blows have been lost earphones (custom ACS ones, not cheap) and my phone. So no more listening to Major Watts’ superb GTRadio on the go, which is particularly annoying as after 50,000 odd miles onboard Des I’ve finally sorted out the wind noise/turbulence issue! This was my only complaint about him and just as the three of us split way down south I gave BJ back my standard screen which he had been using and then over the following days I took two large chunks off my Givi touring screen. The result...almost perfection! It’s transformed the ride and although I now have to ride visor down my ears are saved. Or they are until I’m back in the Ministry for one of their wonderful ‘Gallery’ nights anyway. Days three and four of the five day blast north have been long, tiring, dry, hot and not exactly safe. Not too much to report really other than as I race to the equator it’s become noticeable how the sun is now almost passing directly over me, which is much easier for my helmet peak (now correctly fitted) to deal with.
Two forgettable stops in Gurupi and Goverador Edison Lobão were just places to clean up, eat and sleep. Seems like there’ll be many more like this...

Man On The Run

“Your days of finger banging, Mary Jane Rottencrotch through her pretty pink panties...ARE OVER!” Some of you will I’m sure know Full Metal Jacket's Drill Sergeant Hartman’s words well but even if you don’t I’m sure that you get his drift. Well, not that I’ve been doing any “finger banging” you understand of course but just like those fresh army recruits it appears that my easy days are well and truly over. Despite the pretty pictures that get posted on here this is bloody hard work and far from a jolly. The hardships that need to be endured as I progress are plentiful. In order to give myself even a chance of finishing in North America extreme measures are needed. The ride to Belem from Buzios is only twenty seven words in this sentence but is actually over 3,200kms coast to coast across the world’s fifth largest country. Now 2/5’s of the way there this is just the beginning of my problems. A chance meeting with a Brazilian couple Carlos and Ella revealed that the boat trip with Des up the Amazon may not be quite so straight forward as originally thought as due to a rule change the bike can only be kept on deck. Which is apparently illegal and so a bent Captain will need to be sourced. I have though gained some useful information on the road ahead and some contacts that could prove invaluable in the coming weeks. My two day ride took me to firstly Ouro Preto which is an old colonial town. A quaint, old and cobbled street town in the hills, it’s a nice place but every one of those 63km’s out of the way seemed like rain on a drowning man. Next up was a long ride up to Cristalina where the first of Carlos’ contacts was available. “Who?” is what the man in the tyre place seemed to ask when I asked for him as instructed...oh dear.

3-2=Me

It was definitely coming and should really have been earlier. Maybe the not so boozy night in Buzios or even the chocolate pizza finally did it but in the end I could take no more. Trying to merge three separate needs into one simply didn’t work. From the outset what with our two week delay I’ve been worried about the time and dubious about the feasibility of us three riding in harmony. Despite the re-route through Brazil we seem to have made very little progress at all. There are many reasons for the slowness and ultimately the proposed coastal route was simply unachievable and no fun anyway. Yet another route option (#73) was to “cut off the nipple” and head to Fortaleza from Salvador if time became an issue. Well, barely past Rio de Janerio and due to too much faffing around it already is and so now my solo route option (#2) has become a mastectomy with me pointing Des straight through the heart of Brazil and trying desperately to regain some time by making Belem asap. Now back on my own the daily routines are back including an early start (seriously). On the road for 07:30 is the only way and allows time to see the destination amongst many other pluses. Also now changed is my relaxed attitude to Des’ maintenance with oil, chain and tyre checks now a daily thing. These are just the simple things though, others are about to become a whole lot harder…

Rio de Janeiro

Mick Høy. My friend, my fellow African survivor, my brother. Thick as thieves, last year we somehow made it through and down the west coast of Africa with him aboard his totally inappropriate bike and dodgy music and my constant questioning of where and when we'll be able to eat some steaks and drink strawberry milkshakes? At the time no question it was tough but even we realised that it was probably the adventure of a lifetime. Much more so than my RTW09 and probably even this year’s effort. It’s only when reading my old blog entries or speaking with friends and family about some of the scrapes that we got ourselves in and out of that it becomes apparent. Avoiding arrest in Togo, illegally entering and subsequently trying to get out of Senegal, nearly seriously crippling ourselves on a volcano in Cameroon, damaging and repairing a bruised Tenere after losing out to a cow in Burkina Faso, being questioned and accused of being spies/terrorists in Nigeria by ‘officials,’ bribery, illness, robbery, virtual kidnap and alcohol poisoning in Johannesburg by some far right Afrikaans the list goes on and on... So then my biggest disappointment at not being able to share beers and stories with a now seemingly settled Mick in Santiago was gone as a holiday with his new girlfriend Lillian to Rio de Janeio gave us the chance of just that. He knew that I was coming of course but his face when he spotted me staring at him in the hostel reception was priceless. Much hugging and smiles later the five of us headed out to a local bar for beers and some. R$445 (£170) was the bill after a mammoth session that left me shattered for the next day’s tourist activities. Only a night and breakfast was spent with Mick and Lillian as they headed off to Isla Grande to recover. Mick I’ll be seeing you again my friend...somewhere.
The second day’s tourist activities allowed me to up my photo count which has been falling recently and consisted of a recommended old rickety tram ride up through the hills which was fun and of course a visit to see the big JC statue overlooking the city. Er, not quite overlooking the city on this day though as like my first visit to Table Mountain me and the main attraction were buried within the clouds. Oh well, I guess complaining about it would just be similar to spending the night with Kelly Brook only for her to leave her top on. You know what it looks like but it would be nice to see for yourself...

50,000 mile not so technical report

I’ve not done any of these in the past simply because I’m not all that technical. A kick of the rear tyre in the mornings and a weekly oil check is about my lot really. I prefer to have blind faith in Des rather than get my hands too dirty. So then for my fellow Tenere riders and followers after 50,000 miles and now on his third big trip how’s he holding up? Pretty well is the answer, with his crankshaft replaced by West London Yamaha under warranty just before I left he’s much smoother now than how he was for the bottom half of Africa. Mind you the big single cylinder engine isn’t exactly like a sewing machine and even with his exhaust baffles now in he still makes people stop and stare, which is a good thing in terms of safety. Cruising at 100-110kph he happily chugs along sipping fuel. The other day my reserve came on at 360km and with a proven 158.9km in reserve I was on course for a good 520km from the 25L maxed out tank capacity. Very impressive, with no jerry cans required at all which is a nice bonus. Compared to BJ’s Yamaha TT600R he does seem a bit more dramatic with the throttle being either on or off but on good days on nice roads when everything flows he seems absolutely fine and reliable as an axe. And comfortable too, my longest day of 1200km (18hrs) in Siberia was done with only tiredness. Suspension wise with the pre load wound up he still has his original rear shock when given the serious abuse he’s received before is also very impressive and surprising. Someone once told me that when riding off road you should stop every now and then to let the rear shock cool? Crap.
I managed to get hold of an original Yamaha chain and sprocket set before I left and totally thanks to Scott it was fitted and should be good for 16,000 miles as before with a cheap can of chain lube used. Tyres are the Dunlop K750’s that I bought in the US in 2009 very cheaply and although a bit soft are a bit off a mid road/off road tyre and may come in handy further north. Anticipate 7-8000 miles from the rear, much more from the front. The one complaint that I’ve always struggled to cope with is the wind turbulence. Almost immediately I changed to the Givi touring screen and even fitted the ‘turbulance stopper’ thing under the headlamp but I’ve never really been sure of whether it was an improvement over stock or not. Over the last 5,000 miles or so I’ve found it tiring and very irritating but have just accepted it as a design flaw. Even with ear plugs the noise is deafening and I’ve spent most of the time up on the back seat where it’s only slightly better. The main problem is that the turbulent air hits me at peak level causing it and the visor to vibrate through the helmet. However...the other day enough was enough and after some trial and error and a refit and tighten of my Uvex Carbon Enduro (yes the £550 one, although I only paid £280) the outcome is that my original screen (nicked back from BJ) is not all that far from fine really. I’m sure both my helmet and the Givi screen are OK but not as a combination. BJ’s Aria Tour X is no problem for example with the Givi screen. For the record I’m 6ft tall. The only ongoing fault Des has is a non operating fan. This is more than likely down to a temporary repair to its relay which my friend Mick made in Burkina Faso and I never bothered to make permanent on my return. This was probably caused by the Leo Vinici exhausts leaving a small gap under the seat area letting in water/mud from where the catalytic converter once sat. Nothing else much really, apart from the odd scratches mostly after my cow incident in Burkina Faso where me and the bike went down hard on our RHS and slid across the tarmac for 20 meters or so. Hardly the bikes fault though!

North at last and some Irish hospitality

Hung over and looking like chickenpox victims we gingerly left Florianópolis and finally pointed our bikes north with the aim of getting to Rio de Janeiro in a few days. First up was Antonina for no other reason than it being the name of BJ’s girlfriend’s mother. On the way there the road quickly turned jungle like as we rode over the smallish mountains in amongst the low clouds across the slippery part cobbled road. This plus Florianópolis was far more like what I had expected Brazil to be like, albeit slightly cooler. For now...
As the last of the dense jungle passed we spotted a large group of bikers stopped by the side of the road having a little get together. After stopping to try and say hi we learnt that they were all members of the Águias de Christo. The real clue to their twin interests was sewn amongst the various badges onto their leathers, passages from the bible i.e. John 3:16 etc. I wasn’t sure of the word for atheist in Portuguese so we quickly moved on to pictures, handshakes and handing out of business cards. As tempting as the offer was for lunch we really had to push on and so with a club sticker each we said our ciaos and continued Rio bound. After Antonina we made slow progress and became a three with Dave abandoned as his Argentine girlfriend couldn’t make Rio de Janeiro despite his blast up there through Uruguay to meet her. He’s now onboard also but for how long is anyone’s guess as he intends to abandon his plans for Central America and beyond, instead choosing to return to Buenos Aires to be with her during next month to give things a go...
So a threesome (the jury’s out, only just like riding with two) continued along until BJ did his usual trick of disappearing. After eventually finding him it turned out that he’d stopped to chat with Kenny, an Irish oil worker living and settled nearby in Caiguatatuba. Kenny with his son Adam invited us to spend the night at their home with the promise of a BBQ and beers. After a very quick chat we decided to take up Kenny on his kind offer and what a night it turned out to be. Kenny’s twenty years in the oil game have proved successful as was clear to see as we entered the private condominium and found our way to his impressive house. There we met his beautiful wife Christina and their cute daughter Sarah. We were made to feel so welcome as the BBQ was on the go and beers were sank. Not many years older than me Kenny has had a few motorcycles in his time and like all oil workers that I’ve met on my travels a common bond was found. Maybe it’s something to do with being away from home for months at a time or being prepared to take a risk? Hospitality like this is so special and rare. I really can’t imagine many people inviting three random smelly bikers into their family home in such a way at this. Meeting such people as these is another example of the highs to be found in these trips that make it so special. Kenny and family, thanks for your part in making us feel so welcome.

Fabulous Florianópolis

This is more like it. Florianópolis. Wow. A Manhatton like island just off the coast where the rich and famous live/party, it ticks all the right boxes. I’ll totally skip the night before in Mongaguá which was nothing short of Brazil’s Blackpool. The same fat chavs as we get at home munching burgers and candy floss at a really shabby seaside resort, surprising. As for Florianópolis, we holed up in a backpackers place and even considered staying for a whole week. A very chilled out place and the view we had from our room has to rank right up there in amongst the very best. In the end it was only two nights as after a day on the beach failing to surf the big waves, a drunken night out and thirty mosquito bites each we felt the need to push on. The pictures say it all really. For anyone that’s looking further afield than Benidorm for a beach holiday come here, it’s simply beautiful.

The long road to the Atlantic coast

When you ride with BJ the one thing that you can take for certain is that adventure, delay or fun are never far away. In this case it was all three as we sided with the Brazilian map over the GPS and decided that a short cut away from the main roads was achievable. Three hours and a grand total of about 50km later the GPS seemed to know best as the road through a national park that we’d searched high and low for seemed to have disappeared many years ago. As a result we only made it as far as Ampère which was a bit of a grotty little town with the only surprise being that my friend Sean Doyle seems to have a twin named Marcus that owns and runs a Hotel in town(!?)
The following days ride was a little more successful in terms of distance as we made it to São Joaquim which apparently is Brazil’s highest city at an unimpressive 1353 meters. Again, a pretty unremarkable place but the reason for us taking this route in the total opposite direction to where we need to head to is because we’ve simply copied a route from a motorcycle tour company so we’d assumed that there must be something worth seeing right? Well...sort of. The following morning we hit the steep decent away from São Joaquim which proved both fun and picturesque but compared to the many mountain passes that we’ve ridden before it rated only six out of ten. The rest of the ride to Florianopolis rated much lower though.
At this point I guess I should give my early impressions of Brazil. Firstly, I just love seeing all the old VW’s everywhere you look, with plenty of type 1’s and 2’s (Beetles and Campers/Buses/Vans) and the odd type 4’s (erm, just ‘odd’) on and off the road. It always makes me laugh how in one country a car like these has cult status and is so expensive when in others (usually the country of production) they are just a car and so cheap. Well I do until I recall how much money I’ve spent over the years..! Secondly, the roads are very dangerous. The driving is fast and there are lorries everywhere on the busy roads. Not enjoyable at all especially given the lack of protection from the oncoming vehicles, with the aftermaths of vehicle collisions regularly on show at a variety of times in the very recent and not so recent past. What else? Well, a little strange but everybody here is mixed race. I can count on one hand the people that I wouldn’t count as such. Unlike the Spanish in Argentina, the Portuguese brought slaves into Brazil from Africa (Angola I would think) hundreds of years ago and since then the gene pool appears to have been turned into a Jacuzzi. The people seem friendly but again, what a language!! Very difficult to get to grips with and with only a few people that we’ve met speaking English things at times have been hard work.

Back with you know who at Iguazú...

The Iguazú falls. I’ve put the link here as as ever my photos won’t do them justice. Neither will my knowledge of them so good old Wikipedia should provide far more than I can. What it won’t mention on the site is that on the day that I was there a familiar face appeared from the crowd...BJ! It now transpires that he just “had a bit of a moment,” not really sure what to do about a multitude of options and problems and he thought it best to let me proceed on my chosen path. And so after a bit of soul searching he too headed up north albeit on a slightly different route. Truth be told I have really enjoyed my few days solo and when he asked if we could ride together again I was actually a little disappointed but all things considered he is my friend and I feel that the trade off between soloness and friendship is just about worth it. Also I have proved to myself that I can ride solo and be happy with it and I don’t feel that I have anything to prove. As for the whole “life changing” thing...maybe I was just feeling a bit something. It’s true that perhaps I am a bit lazy around people at times but then again I do have many great close friends so things can’t be that bad. Well, if you can call Australia and Chile close!? And besides...these trips are dynamic, everything and anything can and does change at any given time so who knows what will happen further up the road?
So after photos, a hug and a chat we said goodbye to Argentina and rode through the border into Brazil and hunted for a place to stay on the Brazilian side of the falls, Iguaçu to now use the correct name for where we are. We decided over beers and football in one of the many busy bars showing the big matches that we were all falled out and so in the morning ‘prompt’ (!?) we’d head off to the south east...