 "I was really surprised by the good roads in Iran and above all of the kindness and friendliness of its population. The mosques of Esfahan were the most beautiful of the trip and Persepolis sent me back to the ancient Persian times. The bazaars in Baluchistan Quetta were a real human zoo, full of Pashtuns, Afghans, and Baluchies with their daring glances and turbans. The Karakoram Highway in north Pakistan gave the best glimpses of some of the highest snowy mountains of the Himalayas. I finally reached India after five months and 20000 kms of roads. The highlight of my journey has been the unbelievable Leh-Manali road in Ladakh. No doubt, the most beautiful road in the world riding a motorbike. The astonishing almost moon landscape, at more than 4000 m altitude, of the Himalayan chain with the highest pass of the world at 5600 m. The craziness of Delhi's traffic and the Rajput palaces of Rajasthan and some elephants and holy cows to be avoided all the way on the messy roads of India."
Pablo Alvarez, Spain, in Iran, Pakistan and India
 "We finally found the real Africa. The journey from Wadi Halfa to Dongola, our favorite, through some of the toughest riding we had done, 420km of washboard gravel roads to sand and more sand. The scenery makes up for all the exhausting hours of standing up and trying not to crash in the sand. Every so often one gets a glimpse of the Nile. Each village unique, the Sudanese people very welcoming and all smiles. Camping under the stars by the Nile, having the local farmer come for a visit with his wife and child in the middle of the night, is something that we will never forget ."
Ruby and Mike, Canada, in Sudan
 "We hadn't planned to cross the border that evening, and indeed at one point we pulled over hoping to bush camp for the night, but as everywhere was either fields of crops or near to villages, we were a bit dubious. So we pressed on, assuming that we could find somewhere to sleep at the border town of Gallabat. No such luck. Not that it mattered! The border was still open, even at 5:30pm. So, with some help from a fixer whose assistance we didn't need or want, we got through the Sudanese customs, crossed a bridge (no barriers, sign posts or anything), and arrived in Ethiopia! It was the least difficult border crossing I've ever experienced. The customs official sat outside on his plastic chair, waved various papers about at his minions, who ran about sorting them out, while we drank cold pepsi and made small talk with him about our bikes. It couldn't have been further from our experiences elsewhere in Sudan, and set a nice tone for our departure."
Cathy and Glyn Riley, UK, Bristol to Cape Town, in Sudan
 "Vwaza has a big elephant population, but the rangers at the gate were happy for us to ride the 1km to the campsite, so because they were relaxed, so were we and we rode into the camp and chose our spot next to some bushes. Still sitting on the bikes, a little boy crept over to us and whispered 'be careful', then shot back to hide behind his Dad's 4x4. Following his wide eyed gaze we saw a herd of elephants munching on the bushes about 2 metres away from us! Paul got off his bike and backed away behind a tree, but I just sat there staring. It wasn't until he said in a low, stern voice 'Zoe, get off your bike you idiot', that I followed suit! When a bull came out of nowhere from behind us, I chose to sit on a picnic bench for protection, while Stanford, the campsite manager, crawled underneath trying to hide and this time Paul just hauled me out of the way!"
Paul and Zoe Jenkins, South Africa, in Malawi
 "Motoring into the darkness, I also realise that my rear suspension is too hard. Set up for a load or two people, my weight doesn't load the spring enough and I bounce over every bump while I lose traction every time I accelerate. The constant vibration passes through to my kidneys feeling a lot like a 'stitch' when you exercise harder than your body can handle. After 10 minutes the pain subsides and I start to climb, sliding and bouncing over the washboard of the gravel switchbacks torn up by previous trucks. I climb, I climb, and I climb further. The oncoming trucks are ruthless, blinding me with their high-beam and forcing me to the edge of an invisible precipice. The buses are worse, not even slowing. Every time I meet another vehicle, dust blinds me and I must hold my breath and look for any opportunity to pass..."
Josh Forde, New Zealand, in Bolivia
 "Route finding was proving problematic; there were few road signs, and what had survived had mostly been shot to bits. Late one dark, rainy afternoon, I was riding along what had once been a tarmac road, and came upon an unexpected fork in the route. The left fork showed the broken remains of the tarmac leading off into a forest; the right fork appeared to be a bumpy, potholed dirt track, but was currently under a foot of fast-flowing water. I paused and deliberated, unsure which option to choose. There was no-one around to ask, but I could see tyre tracks coming out from the river. On the other hand the remains of the tarmac suggested the route of the old road, and this fork was also marked with official-looking red and white painted concrete posts. This looked the most promising, so I set off hopefully, bumping over the smashed-up blacktop. But after a few hundred yards, I don't know why, but I just had a hunch I had chosen the wrong way. I decided to turn round and go back to the junction and think again. I swung a wide U-turn through the trees and around one of the concrete posts. Out of the corner of my eye I saw there was some faded writing on the post, and more ominously, a skull and cross bones. I stopped to take a closer look. I gulped as I read the words, DANGER! MINES. My hunch had been right - I had just ridden into a minefield..."
Lois Pryce, UK, in Angola
"At one point we go to overtake two trucks and get pushed off the road into the soft sand, the bike is out of control (tank slapping), all I can think is 'this is going to hurt'. Skill powers on and somehow we remain upright. His remarkably cool comment is, 'I don't think I'll do that again'. There was only one section near Nushki where we thought things were a bit dodgy with the kids throwing rocks and a couple of cars swerving towards us to frighten us, and people screaming at us. We also passed a motorcycle, where the pillion was carrying a shotgun. Around the next corner we come across three army trucks and about 100 soldiers who seemed to be scouring the area, guns at the ready. It was at this point I was really looking forward to getting to Quetta. We have since learned that most other travellers had an armed escort through this area."
John and Alanna Skillington, UK, in Pakistan
"I am so proud of my dad. This trip is certainly not for the faint of heart. His friends think he's crazy. He's absolutely killing it. I have seen him maneuver his bike up and down steep grades of washboard gravel and sand and even through washed out river crossings. I've seen him weave in and around potholes the size of craters on the moon. I've watched him negotiate heavy crosswinds and rain while cornering sharp turns. Part Ricky Carmichael and part Valentino Rossi. I always have a watchful eye on him through my little side mirrors and he's always right there every step of the way with that headlight brightly beaming, right on my ass. I admire his spirit of adventure and hope that I will carry that through when I'm in my 60's and beyond."
Ryan Martin, Canada, in Mexico
"...Leh to Manali is 500km, it took us 3 days to do this - the road is THAT bad, the bike battled everything from flash flooded rivers to desert roads to very hairy and narrow mountain roads with not much room to move when passing suicide mission trucks and coaches. Its a long way down with no barriers to protect you. They call it a road, but its really just big rocks and stones punctuated with the occasional bit of tarmac..."
Brian Coles and Anne-Sofie Hennings, UK, in the Himalayas
"...The sand is tough, tough, tough when you and your machine weigh over 400kg... did I mention that? Most of the drops are harmless and don't hurt - I don't think we got the bikes over 45km/h today - 3rd gear? maybe once or twice. Off course just when I do get a flat run, the ground leaves me - literally a cleft about 50cm across and the same down, concentration lapse and I hit it - hard. I'm thrown over and clear, but I land on my fist against my chest and I know I've hurt myself (a few days later in Novosibirsk I have it x-rayed - fractured ribs). I'm sore but more concerned about the bike... Literally not a mark, I was worried about damaging the forks, but she's fine.Also my boots have saved my legs twice today as they got caught under the panniers when I fall, panniers are suffering, bit lopsided but replaceable - legs aren't!"
Kevin Maher, Ireland, in Mongolia
"...Hame and I managed to roll gently off Bertha as we hit a bit of soft sand leaving the campsite and as we rode up to the ferry... Hame turned to me and said, "Erm, do you think this is such a good idea?" I'm usually the cautious one but with a bit of bravado I didn't really feel I said "Nah, no worries mate, she'll be right" (or something like that). And so off we went, and yes, the sand was soft. Hame managed to get half a tonne of big red machine onto the ferry while I watched. It's hard enough to walk on sand, let alone ride a heavy bike so we spent the ten minute ferry ride wondering what we were letting ourselves in for - Fraser Island is the biggest sand island in the world!"
Hamish Oag and Emma Myatt, UK, in Australia
"...The next day after filling up with petrol and water plus reserves of both we attempted the Tan Tan to Assa piste across the desert, we got 35km outside Tan Tan on the road to M'sied and a horrendous sandstorm was blowing. We were down to 40kph on the road in 3rd gear. It got so bad that I could only see 2 metres in front and there was an extremely powerful headwind. We battled on for another 15km's hoping to get through this before turning back but there was no way we could ride off road in this. There was zero visibility, so we decided to head back up the road to Guelmim ready for the next day’s piste - Ait Herbil to Tafraoute in the Anti Atlas. Ourselves and all our gear is covered in fine dust... even inside my dry bag and that is designed for canoeing!"
Andrew Newton, UK, in Moroccan Sahara
"... By the time I reached the Chinese border, there were very few people to be seen outside in the freezing temperatures. The temperature drops to minus nineteen degrees in this part of the country. I was sliding around like someone learning how to ice skate on the road - which was now packed with ice. I was moving at a ‘furious’ speed of 15 km/ph. I had to take it very slowly because not only was the wind chill too harsh to be going fast, but the back wheel was not keeping traction and if I placed my feet on the ground for balancing they would just slide along with the icy road. I had ridden nearly 8 hours in this freezing cold to get to the Chinese border. I had to stay the night there after riding through the dark on dangerous icy roads. I suffered minor frostbite on my fingers. As a result, I could hardly move my hands to pull the brake and clutch. At one point I looked at my thermometer and it read -25 degrees..."
Chris Smith, Australia, on the Karakoram Highway in Pakistan
"I saw it coming, a shear rock-face with a track climbing up it...
at a 45-degree angle. That in itself was a pretty adventure, all sand and dust, but while turning onto it and opening the throttle
in first gear I saw what I was really up for.... The trail was exactly one (small) car wide. The surface was bull-dust and big
rocks scattered around everywhere.... and the side was, well at first only a few meters deep... but the further I drove upwards,
the deeper it became (kind of logical) and halfway I did not dare to look to the side again since it was now at least a hundred
meters deep. Hanging backwards on the handlebar, standing on the pegs I just 'went for it.' Avoiding the rocks was no option.
Any course-correction would take me close to the edge, and I did not want to be close to the edge (I was close enough on the
other side). Big rocks and small slides forced me more and more to the middle of the track... but I concentrated on the top,
which was coming closer now and I prayed there would not be any down-traffic..."
Maarten Munnik, Netherlands, in Utah, USA
"Traveling the countryside, I love to spread my disease. While surrounded outside marketplaces, I select the shyest child, beckoning him near. Coaxing him closer to press his index finger on the starter button ignites his spirit as quickly as the Blue Beast fires alive. A few blips of the throttle and he is infected—a thrilled, little brown face with wide eyes ablaze now burns with motorcycle fever..."
Glen Heggstad, USA, in India
"Dragons surrounded the camp, sleeping under buildings and trees. Rangers
find them in the kitchen, toilet and offices if doors are left open. We were
shown our room, led by a ranger carrying a long stick, forked at one end,
which you are supposed to use to pin over the neck of any attacking dragon.
They are so fast and so strong I doubted my ability to be able to defend
myself but soon adopted the stick carrying approach for my own peace of
mind. We made sure we drank less than usual in the afternoon so we didn't
have to get up in the night, and kept our room door closed, as they can
climb stairs..."
Richard Parkinson and Lisa Godfery, NZ, in Indonesia
"As we entered the 180 degree corner the motor chugged slowly, straining to
pull us up the steep grade. Just then a huge bus swept into the corner at
impossibly high speed. The driver’s eyes widened as he saw us dead center in
the road.
My brain seized. Because of the reversed foot controls on this ancient
British design, I had managed to shift up into a higher gear, bring us to a
near halt and drag down the engine to the edge of stalling. As the engine
wheezed and made one last revolution, I realized my error and looked up.
The driver and I locked eyes. We both knew the physics.
He had five tons of fully loaded bus headed our way, complete with bags,
packages and people clinging to the top. It was a tiny one lane road in the
mountains. There were no shoulders. He could drive it off the cliff and kill
every one of his passengers to save us, but that didn’t make much sense
considering the number of people he had aboard. The math wasn’t in our
favor. His eyes said, ‘Sorry, but I have no choice.’
It was going to be up to me..."
Douglas and Stephanie Hackney, USA, in Bhutan and India
"I spent two weeks riding along
the Chinese border on dirt tracks through many villages that had no electricity
or running water. Chickens were constantly bouncing off the side of my
bike and on one occasion, I even hit a large pig! Some areas were so rugged
that I often underestimated the time needed to make it to my destination,
and found myself bouncing over rocky roads at night with very limited
vision, run off the road by trucks that used up the entire road and kicked
up a thick cloud of dust in the process. Most of the guest houses looked
like horse stalls with an outhouse 25 meters away and no shower even if
you were brave enough. This was usually the only option, but at one dollar
a night, who would complain?"
Daniel Todd, USA/Puerto Rico, RTW, in Thailand and Laos
"I asked him, 'Well, what's up
here in the north? ' He said, 'Thick jungle, red mud, hill tribes, remote
villages where no one speaks French or English, the Ho Chi Minh Trail,
Laos, China, mountains, and Cat Ba Island. It might be a bit risky, being
out there alone and not knowing the bike, language or customs.' He hooked
me with one word, risky. I slammed down the map, said 'Gimme one of those
Minsks and point me west, out of town. I'm up to the challenge, I just
want to know if the Minsk is?' Digby smiled at me like I was a newbie
to the motorcycle adventure game, then said, 'Trust me mate, it'll do
you right...'"
Greg Frazier, USA, in Vietnam
"As the wind spun my bike around,
the front wheel drove slap bang into Rachel's back wheel. I crashed. She
looked around to see what had happened. She crashed. We crawled across
the gravel, yelling enquiries as to each other's well being, the sound
of the wind rendering our voices almost inaudible. With the bikes uprighted
again, we attempted to decant the contents of my fuel can into our tanks,
but to no avail. The wind sprayed the petrol into our faces, on to our
clothes and all over the bikes. And then once again, straight off the
Pacific Ocean, a howling beast of a gust slammed Rachel's bike to the
dirt. Exhausted and aching, we lifted her bike from the ground for the
second time and sure enough, another vicious blast howled across the plain,
this time sending Rachel herself flying to the ground. 'We've got six
hundred bleeding miles of this!' we shouted at each other above the roaring
in our ears, laughing with adrenalin-fuelled hysteria."
Lois Pryce, UK, in Tierra del Fuego
"Police in Argentinian Chaco,
a massive flat dry expanse covering much of northern Argentina, Paraguay
and Bolivia, presented the most blatant attempts at corruption that I
have witnessed on my journey. The first tried to issue a 'multa' (fine)
because I had no fire extinguisher. The second, not an hour later, demanded
money because I had no white sheet. The sheet is used to cover you up
after a fatal accident and is compulsory for motorcyclists! The third
Argentine policeman gave up all pretense of a fine and resorted to outright
begging after he saw that I was no easy target. I should have given him
something for his straightforwardness."
Simon Milward, UK, around the world, in Argentina
"...Now the road got really interesting,
the hard earth sank deeper and deeper under the sand and we were ploughing
our way through soft deep stuff in the ruts left by the trucks. ...For
the fourth, or was it the fifth time, I ended up in the sand, my bike
complaining loudly beside me. 'The truckies didn't tell us there was sand'
I muttered for the hundredth time. 'We didn't ask' came the reply as Arno
helped me get the bike upright."
Sian Mackenzie, UK, and Arno Backes, Germany, in Bolivia
"...My last 300 kilometers across
the desert before I reach the Pakistan/Iran border. The morning starts
out good but soon the wind picks up. It's blowing so hard that my jaw
hurts from the pressure of my helmet. Sand stings my neck and wrist where
my skin is exposed. After another stop for roadside fuel my bike again
starts to act up. This time it is really bad. I stop and check the oil
- the level is still good. When I start out again I only get a few meters
and it dies! Here I am in the middle of the desert, temperatures close
to 50°, 100 kilometers from the border and my last fuel stop, and
my bike dies! Now what to do??"
Doris Maron, Canada, RTW in Pakistan
"...It seems every time I leave,
I return further away. The horizon is cluttered with mountains I have
climbed that no one knows the names of. Everyone always wants to know
why it is I do what I do and I respond with, why don't you? I am compelled
to keep moving on, each time further away. With every new land I experience,
an avalanche of fresh ideas comes tumbling down around me. I can hardly
think of a place that didn't grab me and demand more of my time. I can't
begin to predict where this all leads, I know the dangers and pitfalls,
probably better than most, yet still these distant lands and exotic cultures
lure me with a smoky magic I cannot define."
Glen Heggstad, USA
"... Pierre and I want to cross
600 miles of the Sahara on our bikes. Pierre and I have ridden a total
of 3 hours in sand. The idea is ludicrous, but today we go out with Lorenz
to learn a thing or two. Lorenz is an amazing desert rider and Pierre
and I have a newfound belief in angels. He keeps telling us 'Stand Up!!
GoFast!!!' Which of course for neophytes is the last thing your good senses
tell you that you should do. But eventually we give in and start getting
into riding in the sand. Lorenz is a 5th gear rider and it's obvious riding
100 mph in the sand is the ideal of fun to him. I am at my all time high
speed of around 40 mph when I hit deep sand, my wheel twists and I fly
over my handle-bars and smash my brains 10 feet from my bike..."
Merritt Grooms, USA and Pierre Saslawsky, France, in Algeria
"... And into the Friday night
Bangkok rush-hour. We felt like a fat bloke going pot-holing (caving).
As we entered Bangkok the roads got narrower, the traffic heavier and
the traffic lights more numerous. Three lanes became two and the gaps
we were squeezing the (fully laden) bike through got narrower. Then we'd
get stuck - too wide to weedle through the gaps, stuck down a cave until
we could lose some weight. Then eventually the lights would change and
the cars that surrounded us would unjam and we'd roar and weedle through
to the next choke point, where we'd get stuck again. The local bikes by
contrast were small, light and narrow, many with their handlebars turned
in and few with mirrors. We were a fat badger down a termite nest, awaiting
extinction..."
Simon McCarthy and Georgie Simmonds, UK, in Thailand
"I left El Goleid and it was 4
hours and 80 km of pure pain. Deep sand, with tracks of trucks and cars
making my front wheel climb out of the track all the time turning my bike
90 degrees around and so on. I fell 5 times but with low speed in soft
sand. I must thank my nice diving instructor Emy for teaching me Rescue
diving and EFR, in which you learn when something happens underwater to
Stop, Breath, Think and Act. When it is 32 degrees in deep sand, after
you fell with a heavy bike, you just change the line to: Stop, Drink,
Think, Act and its all going to be okay..."
Frank Schellenberg, Germany, in Sudan
"Close to Calafate, things
got nasty when I hit a rock (don't ask) and smashed two big holes
in my engine cover -ooops! A pick-up truck stopped to see what
was up; once they had ceased scanning the horizon for some errant
husband or boyfriend to appear on a bike and actually started
to believe me that I was on my own, they took things into their
own hands. There was only one option according to them, they would
tow me to the nearest house - two miles away. I was understandably
hesitant, and how right I was. Before I knew it, I found myself
being dragged at 20 mph on a woefully short piece of rope through
the gravel and sand, buffeted by the winds, while the driver spun
his steering wheel - occasionally remembering to look back and
see if I was still there and amazingly I was."
Tiffany Coates, UK, in Argentina
"Rich Kickbush and David Unkovich
decided to try some Hill Tribe booze I had given Sharon which had a large,
poison filled snake in the bottle. The snake head touched their lips and
the booze tasted (they said) like battery acid. Sharon would not be out
done by two Aussies, so licked the snake lips too. Dun Duvall, one of
my jungle riding buddies from the USA who is doing the world with a Honda
tied to the front of his sailboat, went a bit further and lipped the serpent
twice. I hate snakes (had to wrap the bottle in newspaper while I carried
it five days on the motorcycle so I could not see the ugly thing), so
passed on the challenge (the dead snake might have tried to kiss me back)..."
Greg Frazier, USA, in Thailand
|
INTRO to site 
Your Information
![[Valid RSS]](/graphics/valid-rss.png "Validate my RSS feed"){kind=small}
Top
Home Shop the Souk
Grant & Susan's RTW Trip
Subscribe to the
E-zine
HUBB
Community
Travellers' Stories