The BEST last mail: Ever!

Arrived at London’s Heathrow Airport last night: The weather: rain, rain, fog.... AND nobody to meet me (AHH), nobody at home (AHHHHHHHH).... went for a pint down the pub - on my own (AHHHHHHHHHHHHHH) - in the rain (I AM SO SAD, CHRISSIE, MY HEART BLEEDS FOR YOU, AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH)…

As Bob Dylan, helped by Peter Jacob and Michael O’Sullivan sang to/at me last Friday night in Milano’s on Houston St. in Manhattan, NY.... 'Chris Bright, how does it feel?’ Anyway, before you run out the house and jump in front of a bus, I better stop this b****cks :-)

So, there we are. 2 and a half years, a few borders, 65000 miles on 2 bikes, 1800 U.S. gallons of fuel, 5 front tyres, 11 back tyres, 5 shock absorbers, 1 bike expired (in Brazil: but now reincarnated), the other one nearly so, hit/kicked 6 dogs (killed 1), 1 sheep (killed it: that was the big African crash), 1 chicken (stunned), a half eaten cheese sandwich, 2 big bangs (in both of which I was very very luck), lots of grey hair, ohhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh so many broken hearts (yeh right, my a*se), many new friends made, more fun than I could have imagined, a life lived… and now it’s all over....

Chris Bright, how does it feel? For the answer you'll have to buy me a beer.
Don’t you feel sorry for me? I wouldn’t for you, if roles were reversed.

The future is unclear: In the very short term: 'Enlighten young minds (Oh Great Teacher, teach us all you know) and then... I have a few cleverly crafted cunning stunts to conjured up.

The tour to Patagonia and Tierra del Fuego was fun (http://www.panchovilla.com). I managed to banish a few demons from last time round. Enjoyed riding the KLR650 so much, on a whim, I bought one and parked it in Argentina! Yet another excuse to return to my favourite continent.

If you visit here you can read what I and others thought of certain events concerning Goaty. You really will have to buy me many beers if you want me to talk about this again.

If you visit here, there are even a couple of shots including me. Also visit Chaps. 1 to 81 and Chap.83pp for Chris and Erin Ratay's full story.

I think I'll leave it there. My phone numbers in Windsor/England are below and if you're in the UK or where ever, maybe you can give me a call.

I am busy getting my thoughts together, so if you're expecting a call from me, maybe you'll be waiting a while. I'm sure it isn't far from you to your phone... DO I EVEN HAVE YOUR CURRENT PHONE NUMBER?

The email address is still more than valid, so please write.

If you're helped me on my trip: Thanks!
If you've written to me: Thanks!
If you've met me: Hope you enjoyed my company!
If you've enjoyed reading my emails: Great!

Later,
Chris Bright and Norman, how does it feel?
PS. Found a pic of me in Argentina. Just as well you can't see my face :-)
PPS. For full lyrics of Bob Dylan’s song referred to above, visit:
http://www.bobdylan.com/songs/rolling.html

FORMERLY Alrededor del Mundo en Motocicleta:
http://www.horizonsunlimited.com/chrisbright/

Patagonia

All is good in windyyy Patagonia and am enjoying riding a KLR650. Much better for the gravel of careterra austral and ruta 40 than goaty: very responsive, light and it has brakes that work. The customers are keeping me busy, but most are fun to be with, so it is good to work for/with them. Finally met Chris and Erin Ratay a few days ago too, which was good. Jason and me did our best to sabotage their photo shoot ;-)

The alternative of being in a classroom with class A poo-types in the middle of winter makes it all the better. We will be in Ushuaia at the end of January. Maybe a first: twice to Ushuaia within 12 months and on 2 different bikes and with the same Norman... Am off to (again) see the Perito Moreno glacier tomorrow. Am still flying to NY on 20 Feb. and to GB on 25th. Hasta la vista later cb y normo

Peru and Brazil

The route led across the mountains via Ayacucho to Huancayo. A total of about 2 weeks with only mountains, Berge, montagnes and Sierra. Totally super-duperly marvellous. A couple of bits were paved, but most was dirt, gravel and mud. Great views, friendly people and the chance to wrestle a Llama, or rather help a shepherd boy (or should that be 'Llama boy') herd in his flock after they had legged it. All in a day's work for the seasoned biker dude like me...

The drive to Huaraz was long and on an incredibly bad road ('what road?'). At one point I smelt burning plastic. Do a check: Mud guard on exhaust: No, Something fallen onto the engine: Can't see anything; Stuffed if I know. Later on the bike was bouncing up and down like an old Cadillac. Ahhah, that old chestnut: The shock had pretty much blown all its dampener oil in one go and various plastic bits on it had melted: hence the smell. Oh joy!!
My parents know nearly as much about my bike as I do: For me it is 'in the field study' and for them it's more of a 'correspondence course', although my dad understands a great deal of practical BMW stuff too and already has a PhD. in BMW bike shocks: The system works very well indeed and now being old and wise myself, I source everything on the internet, my parents do the leg work and we use normal snail mail (rather than those w***ers at DH Hell) and hey presto: in 7 days there is a Ohlins shock waiting at Lima Post Office. THANKS YET AGAIN MUM AND DAD!!! The wonderful Mr Motoguzzi Guzman (as well as showing great hospitality) offers splendid assistance and the new toy is mine... Since Lima it has already held nearly 1000km. Yippie!
… Am now in Cajamarca, behind schedule (what's new there?) and last time I checked, over budget (definitely nothing new there....). Being behind schedule might mean delaying my return back to Europe: If you had the choice of a British Winter and being insulted by a bunch of teenage s**ts (also known as 'Supply/Substitute Teaching') and heading into a Brazilian summer, which would you choose? Difficult choice, I know...
… A v quick sign of life. Arrived in Manaus, Brazil and am having a jolly (not) messing with the f***whits know as Brazilian customs. Many thanks again to Vince brown, the British consul in Manaus, who helped me through my trial and tribulation with Brazil customs. It is far too humid here. I suppose it has something to do with being in the jungle.
… Arrived in Belem, where the amazon flows into the Atlantic. It's great to be off the boat(s). Nothing like bobbing up and down for 2 weeks to make you appreciate riding a bike on terra firma.

Back to South America

"...the journey has begun... arrived in Uyuni, Bolivia today after 3 days of the worst 'road' I've been on. How do I know: snapped rear subframe, 2 broken hand-protectors, 1 fallen off indicator, 1 smashed spotlight, the biggest dent in my engine-bashplate I have ever seen, 1 shock absorber p***ing dampener oil, but NO smashed mirrors (I took them off before I left San Pedro de Atacama :-)). I already knew what burning rubber smells like; now I know the smell of burning asbestos: namely the clutch trying to get up the 4 metre bank of a dried out river.

However, the views and the experiences have been superb. The most vivid breathtaking (literally - most of the way over 4000m - and figuratively) sharp peaks, deserts, sand, rocks, sand, rocks, rocks, river crossings, a green lake, a red lake, ice covered lakes, minus 20 degrees Celsius at night, flamingos, llamas, other furry looking things, white rabbits... the ultimate un-chemically or un-wine induced-high ever. Also, hour upon hour of grind in first and second gear (although I got into third twice today!).

Several times I met the people doing the photo shoot for the 2002 BMW R1150gs brochure. Maybe I'll be in it too. Kind of like 'old meets new'. Somehow I doubt it :-(

15-8-01 arrived in Sucre, the nominal capital of Bolivia, but actually internet noddy village of the universe. Never before have machines been sooooooooooooo slow. But at 50 cents an hour, what do you expect?

All is good here, hope you are too. Since I last communicated, much has happened, but nothing of any relevance. read on the bbc web site that the IRA are training Colombian guerrillas. Now there's a funny story. what is less than subtly amusing is
1. paid a nice man 12 bucks for 5 hours of welding and tarting up the old goat. She weighs a few pounds more and her arse will never fall off again. Also affixed the spare shock. Let's see how long that holds. So far 4 days and 350 km, which ain't bad considering it's a BMW original.

2. took a landcruiser tour into the Salar de Uyuni. Just as well, because it's very salty and very damp. Superb views.

3. drove a bit of the way into the Salar on the goat: just for the pictures. Vanity and all that. Hopefully some nice mag publisher will give me some cash for them.

4. paid a fellow not much to wash all the salt off the bike.

5. drove to Potosi, the previously rich tin/silver city. On the way the bike started messing about, but after I had the fuel tank off and the air filter out and cleaned(ish), she drove like something resembling a motor vehicle.

6. bought a stick of dynamite, a primer, a fuse, some something-or-other-nitrate, all for a buck. Instead of sending it to lentil, I gave it to a miner who was busting his ass underground with a hammer and chisel, as did his forefathers 400 years ago. Life-expectancy down the mine is 7 years. He (and all his colleagues) earn about 2 dollars for 50 kg of rock! I hope it helped.

7. visited the mint, cleaned and re-oiled the airfilter and drove to sucre. am here and now.

8. intend to head towards cochabamba, then la paz, possibly the yungas, very likely to sorata and then to peru,within 2 or so weeks. am considering the iquitos/peru trans-amazon to manaus and belem/brazil boat(s),rather than ecuador/colombia/venezuela.

22-8-01 hello, it is I once more.
This time no witty comment in the subject line. Am all witted out at present. You find me in La Paz, Bolivia. Will drive to Coroico in the Yungas tomorrow. The road there is known as the 'road of death', so if I don't write again, you know what happened.

However, should I correspond again, I will head for Sorata in the Cordelliera Real, which is meant to be quite scenic and pleasant. Thence onwards to Tiahunaco, the pre-Inca ruins and onwards to Copacabana on Lago Titicaca, where hopefully the priest is again on hand to bless the goat.

Norman is fine, but says he does not enjoy driving through snowstorms. Neither do I, for that matter.

Want to be in darkest Paddington bear land within 2 weeks.

hasta lobotomiesos, el nevada-hombre bricht

Americas 10: 'Norman is Dead, Long Live Norman'

Yes, Norman lives again!!! It is actually NormanMarkII, but from now on the new wooden Malawian Togolosh ('good luck devil') that once again adorns the Ex's front mudguard shall be called 'Norman'. You might recall that the old Norman was forcibly removed in some crap Mexican hovel.

Well, an excellent bloke, Kevin van Blerk of Cape Town, South Africa, went way beyond the call of duty and using the internet and other convolutedly cunning means, organised me a new Tog (they are apparently not called 'Togoloshes', but something else, but who cares!) from Malawi. He then sent it to Poste Restante Ushuaia, where I picked him up. Norm even managed to get his pic taken at the 'end of the road'. Thanks Kevin, I really appreciate it!

So what happened between Santiago and Tierra del Fuego and here? ('Here' being a hostal in Villarica, about 800km south of Santiago). Brighty strutted his stuff in the Argentinian and Chilean Lake District, got washed out on the Carreterra Austral (also named 'Carreterra Augusto Pinochet U', after some peace loving chap, formerly residing at Her Majesty's Pleasure), got a major pain behind the eyes in the Patagonian Pampas, pretended he was riding a Harley Davidson Hardtail, spent 2 weeks as a Scottish buser and hitchhiker while avoiding mentioning the 'W' word, got to Tierra del Fuego and had his bike rammed by a truck on the ferry back from Puerto Montt.

Never a boring day....

I'll tell you something: The highlight of my time in Chile and Argentina has been the cheap and good red wine. Apart from a few scenic highlights and meeting some reliable Chilean-Germans, this whole part of the world is pricing itself out of the market. Here, not only do you have Third World service (not really that bad if you are expecting no better), but you have the pleasure of paying, at times (particularly in Argentina), higher than
1st World prices. I suppose, only a country that has tolerated military dictatorship so recently would be capable of looking you in the eye and charging the equivalent of 4 US$ for a cup of instant coffee or nearly 5 bucks a gallon of gasoline.

I can't say I will never return here (I will: to Chile to collect my bike, and to Argentina from where I might ship it home). It is nowhere near as bad as Egypt (a complete impossibility anyway) but there are lots more pleasant landscapes, cultures and PEOPLE north of here: in Peru, Bolivia, Ecuador, Colombia and Brazil. In the north they also speak something resembling Spanish (YES!!!!!! I KNOW Portugese is spoken in Brazil). Trying to communicate with the people here is like attempting to converse with a chimpanzee with a frontal lobotamy.

After changing the diode board on the Ex and manufacturing something to affix a car shockabsorber to the old leaking one, I finally head south out of Santiago. It was necessary to draw something more than a diagram to explain to one chap at a service station that I required a refund for services not rendered (I refuse to pay for a cold shower). We had a frank exchange of opinions, I reminded him of what it was like during the military dictatorship and he returned me my money. The event reminded me of a British TV series, set in a hotel owned by a gent named Basil, in Torquay, that employs a waiter from overseas.

There are many lakes in the 'Lake District'. This probably doesn't come as a great surprise to most of you. To me, neither. No I am not drunk! A pleasant 10 days was had driving around, grilling steak, drinking vino tinto and doing not much else. If you arrived on a spaceship in this part of the world and didn't know whether it was Chile or Argentina, all you would have to do is look at the women: short and chunky = Chilean, slim and beautiful Argentinian. However, remembering the chimp comparison above and knowing that you have to look like Che Guacamolevara and drive a BIG car, I was pretty much at a loss with both.

One afternoon, by complete fluke, while freecamping at a beautiful lake, two Swiss bikers, Roland and Walter, on XT600 and XTZ660, last seen in Peru, appear. We were in the middle of pretty much nowhere, a kilometer down a dirt track leading from a hardly used gravel road. A pleasant evening was had.

I spend 6 or 7 days heading south on the Carreterra Austral. It is meant to be beautiful. Wouldn't know myself. It chucked it down pretty much all the way. I have encountered more pleasant things than getting soaked to the skin and freezing my tits off while driving dirt and rocks and mountain passes on a motorbike. On one day I had to pass one stretch very early, because between 9 am and 3 pm the road was closed for dynamiting. Needs must.

On another day, at a small hamlet aptly named Puerto Tranquillo, I stop for lunch and a chap engages me in a conversation. I find out that Prince William was there a couple of months ago (on some sort of Op Ralley thing) and !!!!!! bought a choclate bar at the one and only shop! Well blow me away, Royalty shops were TheBrightStuff shops.

I was happy to head east over the next mountain range to Argentina. Choosing the little used Cochrane to Baja Caracoles route the Ex and I had some fun.

You should try it some time: Wet muddy limestone track on a fully loaded (read 'overloaded lardey') bike: Do a 180 degree pirouette and end up front end in a ditch. I wanted to give it up and take the long roundabout road instread, when I see the only vehicle all day. The trucker says the trouble is only this short up hill bit and suggests I drive through the field next to the road. Good advice. Much better traction here and he is right: It is much more solid over the rise.

The views are pretty special and the weather holds up, although the WIND has arrived. 'Velkom to ze real Patagonia'. The border is in the major middle of nowhere. Taking switch back corners in deep gravel in a howling gale is not fun, but I manage not to fall off.

The 'ripio' (gravel) has started. Unfortunately I run over an armadillo, a dinasour looking like rodent. I am sorry, but on a sweeping corner you do drift and I'm stuffed if I'm going to swerve and fall off for a little animal. Poor fella though.... The only vehicle all day; -and only 2 relatively narrow wheels- and he ends up under them. Maybe this caused what happened the next day...

In Patagonia the wind blows all the time. That is 24 hours a day, 365 days a year. It never stops. The Pampas is flat. Although I didn't realise it at the time, this must have been the start of the 'pain behind the eyes' land.

The region has nothing. So desolate. Nothing but scrub (sharp stuff too, that pierces the bottom of your tent and wants to puncture your inflatable sleeping mat), dirt and wind, as far as the eye can see: No traffic. The main 'highway', the 'Ruta Cuarenta' has about 3 cars on it all day. Why?

Because nobody lives here. Every 150-odd km there is somewhere to get fuel, otherwise diddly squat. Aparently there is less than 1 person per square km in this area of thousands of km². How the few people who survive here ever arrived is totally beyond me.

When riding in a straight line the wind seems to be ok, but there are a few wobbles and swerves on the deeper gravel, but I never fell off.... Probably concentrating pretty hard. After leaving Baja Caracoles, it was getting a little cold, so I stopped to put on my electric vest. Imagine to my surprise: The rear shock had snapped. That is 'Bigggo Kaputtto' and causing me to utter such jems as 'Oh shit...' and 'Now what?' Even being on the main Route 40 meant nothing. There was no traffic. I lashed the whole thing together and limped on. At the junction where the road went off 72km to the left to Gobernador Gregores, I decided to head there. Nowhere else to go. I saw no vehicles all the way. By the time I arrived, the car shock had lost all its oil too.

Gob Greg is a seriously crap no horse town. Why do people want to 'live' here? I doubt I would last a week. It is 'shocking', to coin a pun. Desolate, like the surroundings. Another pun was the street sign 'Malvinas Argentinas'. I became Scottish, met a dufus type mechanic, paid a lot of money and about
5 hours later had a shock construction of sorts.

The following day, I barely drove 35 km, before everything broke. The old shock had snapped into 3 pieces, the car shock holder sheared and I am in seriously deep trouble. Und jetzt? Jetzt ist die Kacke wirklich am dampfen!

No car is going to come. I lash my big tyre lever to the whole assembly, so the back end is supported a little at least, and head back, very very slowly, 1st gear all the way, for 5 hours, back to Gob Greg. My mechanic seems bemused to see me.

An executive decision is made to park the bike in mateyboy's mate's shed, leave and hope that a friend who is arriving in 16 days, 1200km away in Punta Arenas, can bring a new shock absorber from Europe. I really could not face staying, waiting in Gob Greg or dealing with DH Hell or whoever as well Argy-bargy customs.

For 2 weeks TBS learnt how the other half lives. He became a hitchhiker. He had to hitch. There are no buses into or out of Gob Greg. Why should there be? I was in good spirits until I meet friends from Quito and Cusco, Tilo and Catherine, on their XT600 heading north up the the Atlantic coast road.

I have been waiting 3 hours for a lift and they, having been to Ushuaia are again heading north. A few hours later I think I also spot Volkmar, the German biker with whom I drove through Central America. Also north bound.

My luck does change and I meet a very pleasant couple from Wyoming, where it an advantage that none of us can really speak chimp-lobotomy-Spanish.
2 days after parking the bike I am at the 6km wide, 50 meter high, 30+km deep Perito Moreno Glacier. The thunder and roar of tons of ice falling off the front is impressive, even for my cynical opinionation.

A bus ride leads to Mt Fitz Roy and the cathedral-like Cerro Torres. For much of the year these peaks are shrouded in cloud. I am blessed with a cloudless sky. One morning I rise at 5 in order to walk to get a view if the whole iceless face of Fitz Roy at sunrise. The postcards show it 'sort of' glowing and shrouded in slightly fluffy cloud. I had it in ruby red, no cloud and with a full moon setting above it.... Yeh mannnnn, yuh know, not bad really....

The weather in Torres del Paine Park was less kind at first. 48 hours were spent camping in a rain and snow storm. I had already given it up, when I decided to spend just one extra night in the park. At dawn the precipitation stopped, the clouds began to lift and by midday I could see the huge granite pillars after which the park is named, in their full majesty.

Within 36 hours after meeting Dan at Punta Arenas Airport and picking up the new shock (THANKS DAN!!!! - as well as my air ticket back to England and a choclate Harley Davidson...), I travel by bus and hitched the 1200km back to Gog Greg and am affixing the offending article and repairing the damage caused by riding with snapped shock.

A day and a half later, on 24 March (A year and a week since arrving in Cape Town) at 7pm after 2 borders, 1 ferry and 1100km, half of it, nasty ripio, a sign at the Argentinian border that says 'les Malvinas son Argentinas', I drive into Ushuaia. (Since NY NY the bike had done 46464km and about 75000km in total since London.) It was a bit of an anticlimax. I was alone. All the other bike travellers had been and long gone.

The setting of Ushuaia is actually quite pleasant with its tree covered hills, mountains and fiords, particularly in comparison to the barren nothing that is the Pampas. After a day of chilling and drinking a bottle vino tinto costing less than a $$$, I visit the National Park and take the obligatory pictures in a multitude of poses at the Fin del Mundo/ 17 something thousand km to Alaska sign.

I cannot face the drive all the way back north and decide to 'treat' myself to a ferry ride along with the truck loads of stinking cattle and sheep from Puerto Natales to Puerto Montt. I will forever remember the journey because of (a.) the kitchen staff who served up food while dressed like characters from the Muppet Show's operating theatre sketch, (b.) 4 men running into the port engine room, each carrying a fire extinguisher and the ship arriving
18 hours late, with only the starboard chimney stack generating smoke (when enquiring about this, we were fobbed off with some BS that not even a retarded donkey would believe), (c.) further BS trying to get my bike pannier repaired after a highly talented Chilean trucker reversed into my bike and (d.) trying to pursuade striking (why they should stop work is beyond me; this act assumes that they were previously gainfully occupied) fishermen in Puerto Montt that I should be permitted to cross their picket line.

You have guessed it: I was more than pleased to leave Puerto Montt. Not having driven all the way north and hence not witnessing the gradual change in scenery made the contrast between the Pampas and the pleasant rolling hills of Chiloe Island all the more stark. I am again back in the land of the living.

Now it is time to hang out, wait for the flight, get the bike sorted and dread returning home. It should only be for a few months as I only have a 6 month Chilean 'Temporary Import Permit' on the bike and the 'bike-rumour-tree' recons that if you overstay, the pleasant, reasonable authorities arrest you. Now that would be a laugh. I think not.

Will be in touch as and when, Hang loose, CB, Norman and the Ex-Missus PS. Two questions have been asked recently

1. What next?

Answer: see above.

2. How has your journey changed you?

Answer: Don't know. I won't spout any self gratifying psychobabble about how I've become a better person. (I always was wonderful, kind and loved fluffy kittens. Every man I meet thinks I am the Messiah and all women want me to father them a multitude of babies...:-) ). It is probably easier to ask people who knew me before and have taken the trouble to stay in touch during my absence. They will know.

I have met some superb people (in addition to good friends I had before I left) who have helped keep the show on the road. My parents Rene and Inge have been amazingly supportive. Without them none of this could ever have happened. I have regained my faith in humankind and learnt that falling off motorcycles really does hurt a lot. I can also definitely say that riding a bike around splendid parts of the world beats working for a living.

Chris Bright, in England What next? Originally my plan was to fly the bike back to the UK and later this year drive London-Kathmandu. However, the old goat is now staying in Chile. Why? I will spare you the full story, but basically the nice people from Swissair Cargo have suddenly (ie. Last week!!!!) decided to join the embargo on 'Dangerous Goods' (uhuhuh m/cs are daaaaangeroussssss...) out of Santiago. Time/ patience/ money is now in very short supply to arrange other shipping possibilities. It is not such a big deal however. I will return in a few months and see some more of this beautiful continent. Bolivia and the rest of the northern Andes, which were too wet when I passed by last time, Colombia, which was allegedly too dangerous and Brazil, because everybody has told me such super things about the place. Between mid April and my return to South America (Late July?), I will do some temporary Teaching and try to conjure some sort of plan as to where life is going in the future. I have met some superb people (in addition to good friends I had before I left) who have helped keep the show on the road. My parents Rene and Inge have been amazingly supportive. Without them none of this could ever have happened. I have regained my faith in humankind and learnt that falling off motorcycles really does hurt a lot. I can also definitely say that riding a bike around splendid parts of the world beats working for a living.

Americas 9 - 'When in Chile'

Hi (big smile), I'm Chris (another smile), Chrissssssss Brrrrrright, Special Corrrrrrrrrrespondent for motorcycle journal punto net (all said with a slight effeminate fake Sean Connery accent). Errr sorry....

....More gibberish from the Bright One. Don't recall precisely -disculpe, mucho vino tinto, mi hermanas y hermanos- but I believe the last time I insulted your Inbox was from Cusco, Peru. Since then the Bright-Bandwagon has travelled far and wide, spreading the gospel of Saint Chrissie. His trusty steed, the 'ex' has a new diode board and amortigador.

Not just any amortigador, but a 'Gabriel Super Ryder, Made in USA'. The old shock (Amortigador is the espagnol for shock absorber), made it -not very far- from Guatemala to somewhere in Bolivia, but was finally redone at Freddy Vallderamma's in Santiago de Chile (with modifications at Edgardo's in Temuco). It is for a CAR, because as per usual, even in Chile, you can't get any spares for a BMW bike and especially not my model. After this little cunning stunt, I have finally graduated with a First Class Honours Degree in 'Bush-Mechanics, Specialism 1988-94 BMW r100gs paralever'. Professor AJP Lickorish, the examining moderator was exultant with his praise: 'Oh goodie, mine's a Pims, me old mucker!' I hope it holds!

Anyway - get a map out if you like - the route went from Cusco to Lago Titcaca to La Paz, Bolivia to Arica, Chile to Iquique to San Pedro de Atacama (with a quick side trip to Laguna Verde in Bolivia) to Santiago and then 10 days in the Chilean and Argentinian Lake District to my present location, Puerto Varas, near the start of the Careterra Austral for the final push (or hopefully 'drive') to Tierra del Fuego, where I hope to find myself by the end of March.

Cusco was naff. So incredibly touristy, with all the hangers on and pain in the bum beggars and RAIN and of course I was shackled there because of the thoroughly efficient and helpful experts of Dingleweed Had Lice. After stringing together a shocking line of abuse (even for my tender ears!) and threatening them with the police for harassment, I finally received my little box after it had already been in Peru for
8 days.

Before leaving the capital of Incaland, I got hold of a secondhand pair of motocross boots. Don't tell anyone, but they are pink and white with luminous green buckles! My new shiney (and warm!) M/C pants (thanks again Neale!!!!) go over the top of them, thankfully. Where do you find a (real) beggar when you want one? Seriously, I had a humbling experience. While trying to find somebody to give my old paratrooper boots to, I spot my prey A beggar with no shoes on.... .....He was also blind and deaf/mute. How do you explain that not only do you want to give him a stale tasting Nutri-grain-type bar, but also these boots. He understood. I had for the first time in my life given something to a beggar. That day I felt really fortunate.

The ride to Copacabana and the Bolivian border on the southern tip of Lake Titicaca was wet and cold and passed through flooded Julianca and Puno, where I had to instill a little 'master-servant-doctrin' with another motorist who insisted on pressing his horn constantly while I tried to do a U-turn in front of him with my overloaded bike on a wet cobblestone road going up a hill. I am sure he understood the jist of what as saying and waving my fist within an inch of his nose may not have confused him. The amusing thing was, a Peruvian policeman who watched the whole incident then proceeded to give him a bollocking also! I did like Peru. On the whole gracious and friendly people, great mountains and funny coppers.

After an easy as you like border crossing and a half hearted attempt at a bribe by the border police -'yo no speaka spanglish senor!'- the sun shone for the first time in days. Just as well as the bike was blessed by the local Catholic priest. (A day or so ago I was thinking that I hadn't dropped the bike since then and guess what? While trying to park it at a campsite in Argentina, it fell over!!) I also got a shower. He chucked a little too much holy water on my head.

The ride to La Paz, a city at about 4000m above sea level was great. Sun, views, mountains, breathless altiplano. Bolivian drivers are totally insane traffic lights, stop signs and suchlike are purely decorations on the roadside, but there seemed to be a method to the madness. I will definitely return to Bolivia. Due to the weather and 95% dirt roads, the weight of the ex and the lack of time to get to Tierra del Fuego before the snows start, I only spent a total of 5 days in this beautiful, hospitable country. Another time and on a luggageless Honda XR or similar.

I ran a few errands, bought some souveniers , sending them straight home, as well as doing a full service at Walter -Chuck Norris- Nosiglia's, the local Honda dealer. What friendly people they are. The road led and west through rain from La Paz to the border at 4600m down through fog and snow to the prohibitive heat and sea level of Arica. Here my fleece and heated vest were definitely not required. At the friendly Chilean border there were missing persons posters. It occured to me to ask whether a certain Chilean national (formerly residing at Her Majesty's pleasure), known as Generallisimo Maximo Augusto Pinochet Ugarte might know the fate of these poor people, but my Spanish did not feel up to the task.

Northern Chile and Bolivia could not be more different: 4000m Altiplano and sea-level, cold harsh conditions and tropical heat, understandable Spanish and some total abortion of a dialect, mad drivers and the most sanitised, homogenous boring driving ever experienced.

People stop at railway level crossings (yes, I realise there are stop signs...) even in the middle of flat nowhere where the last train passed a week ago. At some hicksville hamlet where I had my first puncture in the Americas fixed (on the front, after hitting a big pothole hard coming over the crest of a hill, my 50000km tube finally gave up the ghost), Commandant Senor Sergio van de Boerwors of the Chilean Constanbulary saw me commit a cardinal act !!?!

Bright sees railway line, slows a little, ignores stop sign, swerves a bit so as to hit the railway line perpendicular to the tracks....

S v d B sees this and comes rushing out of his little Bus and Truck Inspection Hut and signals 'el Gringo Criminalo' to ALTO!

Bright does just that and using all the deft cunning developed on this trip, switches off the engine, removes helmet and sunglasses and most importantly, shakes the man's hand.

S v d B puffs out his chest and begins to blather some garbage, something along the lines of 'When in Chile...'.

Bright nods understandingly not really knowing what 'le jefe' is mumbling, is totally scared (yeh right) and tries to gauge whether he might have to pay a fine.

S v d B lets off Bright, because deep down he think the law is a load of horse---- too.

After more hand shaking Bright leaves the scene, only to drive past the check point again in search of the tyre-wallah. Confusion caused.... :-)

In San Pedro de Atacama I again team up with the German couple, Lars and Tini, on their Africa Twin and we drive back into Bolivia to Laguna Verde.

Was this side trip worth it? Most definitely! I would have loved to drive the whole way from Uyuni across the Salar de Uyuni salt lake to Laguna Verde, but the entire region being flooded, made it a bit difficult, even for me. Another time... We camped at a hot spring and were greeted to a great sunrise with flamingos and steam rising off the thermal water overlooking the shimmering green water nestling against snow topped peaks.

Five meters from this 30°C H2O there was ice on the bikes!

The looooong run down the Panam to Santiago was loooooooong! And hot and boring. For the first time in now 70000km I had to stop the bike because it was going to overheat. A 1000m rise over 80km, 40°C in the shade, a 100km/h tailwind (it was, I could ride at 100 with my visor open.... the bike's windscreen is purely cosmetic) and as the oil temp needle began to creep over 150°C, it was time to stop. Lars and Tini needed to smoke a fag ('cigarette' for my American readers) anyway.

Santiago is BIG. Mucho cars and silly one-way streets. Normally not a hinderance for Bright goes where he wants, but now again being a law abiding citizen....

I'll tell you about everything south of Chile's capital next time... hopefully with news of my arrival in Ushuaia. Wish me luck...

Adios y hasta luego, Chrissssssimo PS: How do you spot a Chilean hitchhiker? He/She LOOKS TOTALLY COOOOOOOOL, needs a haircut and even wears shades at midnight and is carrying a guitar and droning 'Amor/Corazon/Amor' in no particular tuneless order.

El Bright Stuff Alrededor del Mundo en Motocicleta

Americas 8: 'Bring Mir Werkzeug' and 'DH Hell'

Many adventures have befallen me in the past 5 or so weeks, quite a few of which I would not wish on anybody.
But first a quick mention for http://www.motorcyclejournal.net for whom I am now a travel correspondent.

Heaven help them! :-) The site has lots of interesting up-to-the-minute articles and other good stuff. Give it a visit!

Hola mi amigos!

You are the chosen ones! My weeding out of the non believers has been done and the chose 350 disciples of the 'Bright-One' is complete. (Sorry, as yet no promised land though!). As you recall, I had nothing better to do during my injury- (you already know about this) and broken down bike- (yes folks... another major Beh Emme Doble Veh component failure: More of that later...) induced lay-off, than to send lots of silly mails to people, inquiring as to whether my ramblings are read.

Since I last enthralled you with my life shattering utterances, 'The Bright Stuff' has made it from Vilcabamba, the 'town of eternal life' in south Ecuador to Cusco, centre of Inca-land, in southern Peru. In between, I had a broken driveshaft on the bike (note the description of my vehicle: it is no longer the 'wife'), fun and games care of Ecuadorian Customs trying to leave their country, paranoia as to whether the beast would make it another 100 klicks down the road or not, checked out the sights around Huanchaco and Trujillo, thundered up and around the beautiful Cordillera Blanca, had some 'interesting' experiences in Lima, drank Pisco in Pisco, flew over the Nazca Lines, managed to cover myself and the bike from top to bottom in mud on the road to Cusco (without falling off!!), visited Machu Picchu, met up with lots of great bikers and had to deal with DH Hell. So, where shall I begin? Wherever...

The other day, there were eleven overland bikes in the yard of the hotel here in Cusco. My old GS, a R1100GS from Austria, a r75/5 from the UK, a Honda Dominator from Ecuador, a Honda XR400 and a XR600 from the USA, an Africa Twin from Germany and 4 more Africa Twins from Argentina. A really great bunch of people, including 'mi hermano' Ricardo Rocco. The Argentineans are still here, but the rest have gone Bolivia-wards. Why did I not drive with them, you ask. The bike, since the divorce (it is now the 'ex-wife': we have a rider/ridee relationship: so far the deal - I am not allowed to fall off, it is not allowed to break down) - is holding up just fine. I really would have loved to travel a few miles with these great people.... Well I await a parcel from DH Hell.

Before I abuse DHL I should tell you, I have already received another parcel sent normal airmail from the USA.
It took 5 days and the customs clearance (inspection, forms filled out, fees paid) took a grand total of 10 minutes!

A further parcel, via DH Hell took 3 days from Germany and arrived in Lima a week ago. I won't bore you with the complete saga, but the executive summary goes something like this The muppets at DH Hell cannot persuade Peru Customs to release it, because the address is wrong. It was sent to (as was the USA-Airmail Parcel!!!!)

'The South American Explorers Club, Attention: Chris Bright'.... Sound OK so far. NO you just don't get it do you!!!! As there is no such person as the 'South American Explorers Club', it cannot be processed/ delivered!!
By this rational, a parcel sent to 'General Motors, Attention Joe Blöggs' will require a chap in military uniform to collect it and something sent to 'The United Nations, Attention Kofi Anann' also cannot reach its recipient, because, of course, there are no employees called 'The United Nations' at this address in New York. I will not even discuss what I am paying DHL for postage. I appeal to you to use somebody else other than DH Hell to transport your important packages/paperwork around the world.

I was told by motorcycle website editor that I should not criticize companies because potential sponsors don't like to see criticism, even if they themselves are not affected. Well, it is precisely this homogenous, yeh hah, gee ain't it all wonderful bull that I am annoyed at. Only when their balance sheet suffers, will shareholders force these plonkers to change their ways.

A few people write to me saying that I am doing what they always wanted to do. I am really glad that I inspire them. You could possibly describe it as 'living their dreams'. Maybe they would like to live my nightmares in exchange.
Trust me folks, I realise I am very lucky (others might call it irresponsible) to be doing what am doing. It is not all glory, glory you know. Think a little of the loneliness, particularly when you can't walk because your leg is badly burnt and infected, the cold, the umpteenth time you bike does not work because of a major component failure, the paranoia that you think there is a problem with the bike even when there isn't, the totally insane drivers trying to run you off the road for fun, the rain etc. Of course, the stuff I usually write and the pictures and words you see in magazines make it all sound wonderful. Trust me, it is much easier to vegetate in comfy western civilisation and watch the 'Discovery Channel'.

Ok, I will stop whinging now and get on with it.

On the other hand, thundering along a dirt piste, standing on the footpegs through nearly a meter deep puddles, surrounded by snow capped mountains and having children cheerfully wave to you could be described as 'living life'.

Anyway, after 3 weeks stuck in the town where people grow to be 100 years old, Vilcabamba, the then 'still-wife' make it 30 miles up the road before violent shaking from the chassis causes me to stop. In a car garage in Loja, against the judgment of the mechanic we dismantle the back end of the bike.

I was right.... there was a problem. The U-joint, closest to the transmission, on the driveshaft was about to break. So, using my skills and locally available materials, I took a medium cooked (it must be medium cooked, otherwise it won't self lubricate) thigh joint of a chicken ('pollo' in Spanish), affixed it to the shaft and reassembled everything again. It has been working fine since.

I lied about the chicken thing. In reality I had to get a new u-j from Germany. My first encounters with the 'service' of the above to be boycotted company. Hence Christmas was spent in Vilcabamba at Shanta's Bar. The last rum and coke must have been off. Diced carrots were not mentioned the following morning.

At the border with Peru at Macara, Gary (Austria, R1100GS) and Richard and Christine (r75/5 UK) again encountered the total numbskullishness that is Ecuador customs. They needed convincing that we should be let out of their country without a carnet de passage. We never had one on the way in, so why should I require one on exit. They just could not get it. My Minister of Tourism Letter again helped these hopeless fruitcakes get their acts together. Peru arrival could not have been more different. Friendly, professional, helpful, efficient, un-Ecuadorian are adjectives that spring to mind.

After my paranoia caused bike dis- and re-assembly in Piura in northern Peru (followed by the divorce) the 3 bikes head for the coast and Huanchaco and the great ruins of Chan Chan. Strange to think that every time an Inca King died, hundred were sacrificed and for one dude, 400 virgins felt obliged to commit ritual suicide. Now, I would like that kind of power. I obviously haven't quite got the line of chat and poise in public. Maybe in a few years?

The drive up from Santa to Caraz in the Cordillera Blanca was superb. Mucho dirt/gravel, very little rain, 40 or so tunnels in the hill side to drive through. This route was made for a railway, but the line was never laid.

Thoroughly A1 theory with the motorcycling fraternity, you know.

New Year in Caraz was pleasant and mellow. Richard, Christine and I enjoyed the lack of tourists. Only jolly locals and Guy Fawkes-like figures being burnt at midnight. A pleasant contrast to last New Year in Nairobbery, Kenya.

The weather in the Cordillera Blancas was not on our side. It is of course the rainy season, but by getting up Bright and early and having a bit of luck as to which end of the valley to explore on which day we achieve 2 wicked day rides up tracks that lead to wonderful emerald lakes, dramatic views and a 4850 meter pass.

The drive to Lima could not have been more full of contrasts. From 3500 meters, very cold rain, electric vests, mountains etc to sea level, heat, a desert. Lima is very much like many other large cities: Forgettable, dirty, hot, loud. I did learn four things though

1. Peruvians, although great people, drive like 'piss poor wankers', to mis-quote a North American correspondent of mine, who, upon reading an earlier report, hoped I did not think all his compatriots were P--- P---driving W------.

2. Somebody clouting a hammer and a rusty bent mail is not necessarily a 'mechanic', even if he swears on his mother's grave he is one.

3. Never, when you have the chance to go on a date with a 4 foot 11 Peruvian waitress who 'wants to teach you Spanish' (the shape of her head will remain undisclosed!), should you take a fellow biker's advice that changing BMW head bearings (without the correct tools) only takes 2 hours. 2 days later....

4. Never, when looking for parts for your bike, tell the shop keeper that the required parts (for example bearings)
are for a bike, or even worse a BMW bike. Motorbike means 'no hai' (no have). It is easier to refuse to tell them what it is for and they might have the part!

Like I said above, I have met many warm, friendly and helpful Peruvians.

One, Migs 'Moto Guzzi' Guzman requires a special mention. He and his wife were great hosts and guides in Lima.
I met him through a contact from the internet, a South African GS rider working in Prague, whom I have never met.
Three cheers for the internet!!!

Pisco was hot and foggy and hence I missed my boat trip to the 'Poor Mans Galapagos', the Islas del Paracas.
I did manage to to drive a little around the peninsula though, before the fog again engulfed me, then endured the
200 boring kilometers to Nazca, site of the famous Nazca Lines.

Here I finally managed to meet Eric and Gail Haws after having passed within 200 miles of their house when I drove through Oregon, many months ago. I took a flight over the Lines which was pretty good. The flying in a 4 seater Cessna was most fun. The chappies who drew all these lines, figures and symbols definitely had a few aces up their sleeves. I also met 4 Colombian blokes. 3 on R1100GS's and one on Africa Twin driving Colombia to Tierra del Fuego and back in 5 weeks!

The drive from Nazca to wet wet wet Cusco was 2 days of fun. The first was 340km of great twisty pavement that led to Chaluanca, probably the nastiest town in the whole of Peru. After a full night of rain the next 150 km of dirt became 150 km of mud, puddles, rivers and nasty dogs. I drove this stretch with a Japanese chappie called 'Dai' on a DR650. One rabid canine came sprinting out at me, missed me, lost his balance and orientation and Dai who was following ran over his head. Dai even went back to try to apologise to the 'owners'. I managed to persuade Dai to leave the scene before any alleged owners had a chance to appear and demand cash for the flea ridden thing.

I have mentioned a few word about Cusco already, but I will fill you in with more next time.

Here I leave you with news that I have had my second article (this time 5 sides) on the Middle East part of my trip published in the November 2000 edition of Britain's 'Motorcycle Sport and Leisure.' I would send you a scan of it, but I would supposedly be breaking copyright law if I did.

Furthermore, there follow some other comments on me by media publications and other opinion leaders

*Bright is a fascist. (Socialist Worker)

*Too whitty for our lot, you know. (Train Spotters' Weekly)

*Great Testosterone; That man Bright has it all. (Hello Magazine)

*I wouldn't buy a BMW either. (A Baghdad taxi driver)

*Chris Bright likes latex because it's sweatier than a glass blowers arse. (www.comequickly.cum)

*(Bright's)..... prose is exquisitely balanced and fulfils all the hopes I ever had for him. (Warder at Wormwood Scrubs)

*Well actually (Pause, flapping hand jestures) that man Bright is wart on the buttock of the ozone layer; Camilla, pass me that bottle of Pims.... (Charlie Windsor)

Hasta Luego Babies, CB PS. Ted Simon, author of 'Jupiter's Travels', a book that very much helped to inspire my journey will very soon (age 69) be off on his second round the world motorcycle trip. I wish him all the very best. He is riding a certain marque from Germany.

Americas 7 - On the 9th Day of Christmas

Hello, While I sit here in this tiny internet cafe in Loja, southern Ecuador it concerns/ bemuses me to observe the sort of stuff my neighbours spent their $1.20 an hour on. The bloke on my left is flicking between a porn site and a chat-line (do your children use chat lines??!!) and the two women to my right have just visited a site on breast-enlargement. I don't know how to say this, but....they might like to consider plastic surgery a little closer to their hairline. Easier and cheaper might be a plastic bag over the...

Testing a new model...... a 1947 Indian Motocycle, belonging to Greg Frazier, Yellowtail, Montana, USA

..Anyway, I digress. I am sure many of you recalled the question I asked in 'Americas 6'. I got more than I was bargaining for: Within 24 hours of me enquiring, I had 80 new mails. It slowed down a little after that. Only about 25 a day for the next week or so. 300 mails in 10 days...

On the move, somewhere in Utah, USA

Owwwwww.....

Just as well that within 2 hours of sending the fateful message I had fallen off the wife and burnt my leg on the exhaust, leading to me being laid up for the past three weeks. It is healing nicely now and I hope to be in Peru very soon. C'est la vie.....

My French is still better than my Spanish. Why didn't Les Roastbeefs or the berry/stripy shirt/garlic brigade from across the Channel (a third force -whose language I speak fluently- will never be successful worldwide, because they fail to realise that no Empire was ever built by occupying the deck chairs with beach towels alone) invade/ colonise Central and South America? It would have made things so much easier.....

Since I last clogged up your inbox I have ridden a grand total of 350km and spent an average of 3 hours per day in the internet cafe -processing my inbox, reading newspapers, motorcycle website etc. (There are so many linked to http://www.horizonsunlimited.com....) I feel quite humble. Thought I was doing something special.... It seems that every man and their dog (yes, some do take their canine friend!!!) is wandering around the planet on a motorcycle.

Wife and Bright slumming it, El Salvador-Honduras border

Talking of websites, I can be found on the following

http://www.motorcyclejournal.net

http://www.bmweb.co.za

http://www.adventure-motorcycling.com

http://www.rio.com/~tynda/

http://homepages.nildram.co.uk/~rider/

as well as the world famous:

http://www.horizonsunlimited.com/chrisbright/

Last picture of a living NORMAN, near Moab, Utah, USA

Bit of a legend in my own handbag really. I was wondering if any of the owners of these sites make money out of them. If so, I haven't seen any spondoolies....

By the way, I lied: Of the alleged 450, there were actually only +/- 400 on the list. Here is a snapshot of the responses to my last mail

*I got nearly 300 replies. A few just said 'I read you'. Lots of you took the time to write a few pleasant words.
THANKS! Some said they wished they were doing what I was and seemed bored of their mundane work routine. It may appear strange, but even though I'm laid up (as opposed to getting laid...)

I haven't got round to dreaming of being back in wet England (has it stopped raining yet?) doing the job I quit to undertake this little viaje. I have to remind myself as to how lucky I am to be swanning around the world with a huge dust cloud in my wake (that is what it is like sometimes at least).

As Leonard Cohen said: 'Probably the best picture of me; or the worst....depending on your politics'. Admiring the sunset, San Juan del Sur, Nicaragua.

*All this does mean about 100 dud/still no response addresses, which when I get round to it, will be given a final meal (of frijoles) and taken out at dawn...

*One good friend questioned whether I had 450 friends... I don't. I just collect every semi-iliterate halfwhit's email address and shove it on my list. - now we will see who REALLY reads my missives....

Old World meets New World. An Amazonian 'Shamen' (Medicine Man) in front of pictures in his hut. Cuyabeno Wildlife Reserve, The Amazon jungle, Eastern Ecuador

*Another friend, a RTW-motorcyclist and published author, wondered how I could get 450 addresses when he had only 90...

A -normal- participant and his friend at Sturgis 2000, Sturgis, South Dakota, USA

*One or two were concerned that they were one of so many getting the same mail. As this is the time of the year where postmen get backache delivering all your Christmas scribblings, how many of you can honestly say you write something different on each card? My ramblings do take a fair bit of time and effort to compose. It is my best work (....good night!). This, by the way, is MY Christmas greeting... No cards from me this year. Can't afford the postage.

*3 said 'delete me'.

Is it a sheep?... No.... is it a camel?..... No......... Is it a Llama.... Yehhhhhhhh. Other road users, Near Laguna Quilatoa, Central Ecuador.

*One whinger - who didn't like my sarcasm and claimed there was a definite corellation between my hitting that drunk in Quito and me mentioning that US foreign policy had scuppered my travel plans twice too often- has already been executed.

So folks, I wish you all lots of fun during the Festive Period and The Very Best for 2001. Hope to see some of you then too.... My American readers might also soon be freed of the joke that is your Presidential Erection.

Bright and Wife striking a pose in front of Mt. Cotapaxi, Central Ecuador

Shiney side up and all that, Yours, No Mates Bright RIP 'Norman' Born Malawi February 2000, MIA Mexico August 2000

PS ....my true love gave to me 9 jpegs

Americas 6 - from Central America to Ecuador

Here's the latest news from El Bright Stuff Alrededor del Mundo en Motocicleta. My last message was from Utila on the Caribbean coast of Honduras. Between there and here (Baños, a very pleasant spa town about 200 klicks south of Ecuador's Capital Quito), much has happened. Most of it not worth mentioning. The wife and I travelled through the rest of Honduras, Nicaragua, Costa Rica and Panama, before making a flying visit (sans femme) to Colombia and meeting up again in the Ecuadorian coastal port of Guayaquil.

In case we have never met, I'm the gent in the pic at the top of this message. The chunky Germanic looking bird is the wife.... The pile of rubbish in the right of the picture adds artistic integrity. Note the new BMW stickers (S. Am is the 'sticker' continent) on the petrol tank and the new engine protector bars. Suits you, sir!

Chris and 'the wife'

A few more thousand clicks driven, many pleasant people met and one or two gun pointing policemen and a rabid crowd fled from. All in a day's work.

It rains a lot in Honduras. A bit like Blighty really, except here it is hot and sweaty. The sort of place you visit and have no desire to return to. If I have the choice between the humidity of the jungle or the chilled sharp air of the mountains, a committee is not required to make the decision Mountains and motorbikes and Brightskin are made for each other.

A few laughs were had leaving Honduras. If you recall from the last report, we (Volkmar and I) entered the country across a little used border point and received no vehicle-importation papers. The customs lady upon our departure (into Nicaragua) became positively pale as she wooshed us out. We could easily have sold our bikes in Honduras and not paid the 200-odd % import tax. A normal border crossing involves dealing with immigration, customs and police (amongst others). The polices occifer had gone AWOL, so our little 10 year old 'tramitador' (helper) climbed over the counter of the police station, took the 2 stamps required and completed the formalities himself!

I really liked Nicaragua. As such, the place doesn't have any particularly eye-catching landmarks. The people are just so friendly and 'uncommercialisedly' (sic) laid back. I do fear that in 10 or 15 years it will be like Guatemala. Glad I visited it now. The Spanish colonial town of Grenada was great and I got my bike boots re-soled by the most dodgy Diego Maradona drug taker looking geezer. You wouldn't want to meet him in a dark alley... Not much chance, mind. He's most likely to be comatosed drunk come sunset.

Central America in general and Nicaragua in particular is full of pool halls and Volkmar was a great opponent. A worse player than me and if there was the chance of him winning, he'd oblige by fouling on the black! Keep it up chief! As the 7 year round the world biker, Sam Manicom said, the sunsets at San Juan del Sur on the Pacific coast are 'ahhhhhhh superbbbbbb'. Thanks for the tip. Nicaraguan postage stamps are great too. They cover virtually the whole side of a postcard and hence you don't have to write a more than a few words.

In the past I may have criticised certain peoples' lack of geographical knowledge. Former Communist countries (El Salvador, Nicaragua) seem to suffer less than most from this 'I don't know, I flew' phenomenon. One gas-station attendant pointed at the map on my pannier and informed me where Moscow (Russia, not Idaho) was situated. I asked him how he knew. He had been a 'student' there for 2 years. Fortunately or unfortunately -depending on your politics - I didn't know the Spanish for 'what did you study?'. He was a very pleasant fellow.

Costa Rica was like the US. In fact it is the US. They boast of not having an army. Why not? Well, if Nicaragua or Panama (unlikely as they are the US too) fancied invading, a group of gentlemen sporting 'US-Army' badges might appear and ask the uninvited guests to leave forthwith. The people from the BMW Club of Costa Rica showed us wonderful hospitality, despite the 'wife' looking like a beaten up old tramp compared to their shiny steeds (of the 8 bikes that came to meet us in Fortuna, 2 were less than a month old!) and Volki being on a Yamaha. The dealer in San Jose even tuned my carbs for free aided by a laptop-computer!!!

Panama was a non-event and David, the first town after the border is a contestant for 'Crappiest town in Central America'. The Hotel Central in the San Filipe suburb of Panama City was, 100 years ago, THE place to stop. Not a great deal has been done since and it showed. One floor had collapsed a while ago and instead of 4 storeys, it now has 3. Normally hotel lobbies are a bit of a squeeze to get bikes in (I always park off the street), but here you could have driven a car in the front door! Great view of the cathedral opposite from the balcony.

A great deal (probably too much) thought went into deciding whether or not to go to Colombia. The Clash's 'Shall I go Colombia or shall I go to straight to Ecuador; If I go to the former, there will be trouble and if I choose the later, there will be double', in hindsight, might have proved correct. The reasons why I chose to ship straight to Ecuador was

a.) We met Bernie, a German/American who was shipping his Landcruiser to Ecuador and had space in his container.
b.) Ricardo, my Ecuadorian biker friend WAS kidnapped - not while wandering around a coca plantation wearing a pink T-shirt saying 'I blew Bill'- but in fact, driving his motorcycle at 9.30 in the morning on the Pan-American Highway south of Cali.
c.) Since Bill appeared in Cartagena on Colombia's northern coast at the end of August detailing his 'Plan Colombia' (basically a 1.6 billion buck cash injection into the American arms industry) the local pooh has majorly hit the fan.

I really do wish Bill would briskly go back to where he came from and stop messing up my travel plans (remember Sudan last year?).

After checking the airfreight options to both Bogota, Colombia and Quito, Ecuador we bump into Bernie at the passenger terminal. The 100 bucks Volki and I each ended up saving by sea freighting to Guayaquil was not really worth the hassle and bull****. I live and learn.

While the wife was in transit a quick visit was made to the Panama Canal and then it was off to Cartagena in DAAAAAAAANGEROUS Colombia. Considering the rave reviews the place gets, I was a tad disappointed. Santa Marta, a short hop eastwards along the coast was much more pleasant. We stayed with a Swiss friend of Bernie's called Christian. Never a dull moment. I even got in a couple of scuba dives. The last time I did a wallowing walrus impression was 13 years ago in Oz. The first couple of minutes were underpants-browning, but after that it was great. Some pretty coral and a fair few fish.

You all know that Colombia is a net-exporter of 'Beechams'. The local newspaper reported that a plan to use an old Russian submarine to ship 'el snowy powder' north was scuppered! In secluded Santa Marta the power occasionally fails at night and when it comes on again, there are a lot less ships in the harbour..... Gone fishing? Of course, officer!

I feel I have a great friend in Ricardo Rocco. He has already ridden around South America promoting world peace (make love, not war...:-)) ) and preaching his anti-drug message. If you would like to be on his mailing list, write to him at aroundforpeace@hotmail.com. He was a great help in many ways, not just getting the container unloaded in double quick time (i.e. one day rather than 3 or 4), sorting the aftermath of my police experience or getting the wife tarted up. Thank you, friend!

I won't bore you with the details of the saga of Guayaquil Container harbour, except to put forward a few titbits:
the agent in Panama had to be phoned 8 times in order for him to get the paperwork in order; a letter from the Ecuadorian Minister for Tourism - personally - was organised by Ricardo, REQUIRING Customs to stop messing around and do their job; Ecuadorian customs are as piss-poor as their counterparts in Egypt. I wonder if India can be worse? Probably! We even had to leave a deposit for the container and pay a trucker to drive the full container half a mile out of the dockyard gates in order to unload it!

Before I tell you about the following experience, you might like to learn of the distinction between traffic incidents in the 'First World' (North America, Europe etc) and the 'Third(ish) World' (Africa, Asia, Latin America etc).

In the First World, if a motorcyclist, driving carefully and not under the influence of drugs or alcohol collides with a drunk pedestrian, staggering across the road, bystanders tend to check on the wellbeing of all concerned parties. Medical services are dispensed as required and the police behave in a respectful manner.

Now, on the other hand, if in Quito's Old Town some stupid suicidal drunk does a Superman impression and lurches into a motorcycle driven by a 'Gringo', things happen a little differently. The crowd gathers and becomes very very agressive. They demand huge amounts of money (after all, the theory is that Gringos are rich and if they weren't in the country, the incident would never have happened...). There is absolutely no concern for the well being of the biker or his vehicle.

As you may have guessed, I hit a drunk. It might seem that once (a sheep in Kenya) is accidental, but twice is becoming a proven track record... :-(. I was driving at about 40kmh down an empty street. This moron staggers into the road from the right, I press my horn (112 decibles) and swerve left. He has 3 choices: stop, back off, or dive forward. In the first 2 scenarios there would have been no collision. He decided upon the latter. I exit stage left, but my riding gear saves the day again. He is ok too.

Ricardo keeps the crowd at bay and we leave the scene. I didn't fancy getting beaten up by the mob and/or spending a few days/weeks/months in an Ecuadorian gaol. 2 police give chase in a taxi. There is nothing like having a car whose inhabitants are pointing guns at you and trying to run you off the road to promote ones creative driving techniques. The evening rush hour enables our escape..... or so we thought. The police caught Ricardo's girlfriend (who was in a car) and held her as an accessory to the 'crime'.

Ricardo will confirm that his fastest talking ever and $20 'compensation' for the drunk prevented any of us spending time at the 'Ecuadorian President's pleasure'.

You may be unimpressed by my actions, but I faced that situation and acted according to my judgement. In a 'civilised' country where people don't become an hysterical mob when confronted with a road traffic accident and where the rule of law is upheld, I would not, repeat NOT, have 'done a runner'.

The Quilotoa Circuit, a 200km dirt road through some incredibly beautiful snow-capped-peak lined countryside was most enjoyable. The day started with a visit to Saquisili market. Not a tourist to be seen and many people in their traditional costumes going about their business. During the course of the day I took 2 ½ rolls of film, although the best image I captured, was a cow's head in the meat market. The coldest blue eyes ever and a moist, but inquisitive nose. Shame there was no torso or scalp! Upon my return to Quito, Ricardo seemed most impressed that I had driven a fully loaded Beemer with a bald back tyre around a route he would normally take a light weight dirt bike. I obviously did learn one or two things in Africa and at the Belgian GS Meet in the mud of Flanders this past Easter.

Riding off road (this time without luggage and with a new back tyre) to the Saturday Indian market at Otavalo with Ric's friend Antonio on his Yamaha WR400 was excellent too. The only similarity between his and my bike is that both have 2 wheels! Some 'bikers' residing north of the Rio Grande claim that 'loud pipes save lives'. Well boys, you want to fit the silencer that Antionio has on his bike. It is louder that anything you have to offer.

I spent a week wifeless in the Amazonian jungle in the Cuyabeno Wildlife Reserve. It wasn't bad - not much wildlife- but being a fair skinned soul, any plan I may have had of crossing the Amazon on a bike (or any other mode of transport, for that matter) has been permanently shelved. The highlight was doing Crocodile-eyes-at-night impressions with 2 Maglite torches and 2 coke bottle caps. An excessive amount of rum may have been involved in conjuring up this little cunning stunt.

So folks, I'll be in Peru in a couple of days to check out where Paddington Bear (or was it Basil Brush?) spent his formative years. Any news from your end is always gladly received. If you write to me, you will even receive a personal reply!

Hasta bananas, Brightsalat und Frau Norm RIP +++The pic was taken a couple of days ago by a pleasant Japanese fellow called Kazu (riding South America on a Suzuki DR800) near Baño, Ecuador.+++

El Bright Stuff Alrededor del Mundo en Motocicleta