January 03, 2010 GMT
Ayampe to Guaranda,Ecuador

We spent a relaxing evening in the hostel, perched up in the mountain, surrounded by jungle, overlooking the beach below, and then decided one more night wouldn’t hurt!
breakfastayampe.jpg
The view from the Finca in Ayampe

The road was beckoning once again, and after breakfast on the balcony, with a beautiful view over the bay, we were on our way again, this time in glorious sunshine. Everything looked, well, better, in the sunshine, and each time we passed a beach town, I felt the urge to stop and look for a hostel, but we had dilly-dallied a lot over the last week, and both felt we should be pushing on, or we’d never get anywhere.
beahcrdayampe.jpg
At last, sunshine on the ruta del Sol

We rode along the beach road all morning, and then turned inland and started heading up the mountains, once again, the scenery was stunning, the roads clear, and the only thing that slowed our progress was my the spectacular mountain scenery that forced us to pull over for photos several times.
P1070766.jpg
P1070774.jpg
P1070781.jpg
Some of the stunning scenery approaching Riobamba

As the sun was setting, we pulled into Riobamaba. We had been helped through Guayaquil by a cop we’d met at a gas station on the outskirts of the city. When we asked him directions, who yelled at us “ follow me” and then proceeded to turn on his lights and sirens and race through the city at 80 mph. Through red lights, straight across intersections and screeching round corners, we stormed through the city. Jacquie screamed at me, “This is the weirdest Police chase I have ever been in, we are chasing them” I was thinking exactly the same thing, but the cops easily saved us an hour! Enabling us to climb the windy mountain roads to Riobamba in the last moments of daylight.
We found ourselves a place to stay, ate a quick meal of Caldo de Pollo in the street and crashed out for the night, it had been a long day of riding and we were both exhausted


.P1070785.jpg
P1070796.jpg
P1070800.jpg
Some of the sights in Riobamba, Colonial architecture, Traditionally dressed highlanders, and a proper Chopper!

We walked around the city the next morning, before heading up higher into the hills and on to Chimborazo, a volcano over 5,000m high, its peak covered in snow. As we climbed, the temperature dropped and dropped, and we piled on the clothing, it was the first time I had worn warm clothes since Bogota.
P1070820.jpg
Well I never, a Push-Me-Pull-You !

P1070841.jpg
Chimborazo

P1070859.jpg
Jacquie does "The Sound of Music"

The Volcano was stunning, we looped all the way around it, visited the Swiss influenced mountain town of Salinas, where we toured the chocolate factory and drank the tastiest hot chocolate ever, before moving on to Guarunda, the capital of the region to stop for the night.
P1070880.jpg
the chocolate factory in Salinas

P1070882.jpg
P1070883.jpg
kids in Salinas

We stopped in the main plaza to ask some cops fro directions, and they quickly came up with the same solution, “follow us”. Oh no, we thought, not another high speed chase, but in this case the cops on their 125cc Honda, lead us slowly through he city, showed us three different hostels, dropping us off at the last one, before wishing us well and cruising back to the police station.
P1070887.jpg
One of the friendly cops in Guaranda


We got talking to the hostel staff, who told us that the following day was a big fiesta in the town to mark its anniversary, and we simply had to stay for the party.
That night, in anticipation for the anniversary, there were bands at every Plaza in the town, and a huge fireworks display in the main plaza.
P1070898.jpg
The Military band kicking things off with the fireworks tower in the background

We caught a couple of the bands, and then waited for the pyrotechnic show.
The square was full of people, there was a band playing on the stage at one end of the Plaza, and a huge wooden tower, heavily laden with fireworks in the centre.
P1070923.jpg
The 24th of May 'Banda"

P1070904.jpg
Preparing Canelazo, a tasty heartwarming punch

The locals were busy getting slowly drunk on Canelazo, a hot punch made with Cinnamon, Mandarin, and lots of Aguardiente. At 9,000ft, it was cold, and we were bored of waiting, so we decided to join in on the drinking, which certainly helped pass the time. Eventually, on of the pyrotechnicians got bored too, and without warning, lit up the tower’s main fuse.
P1070945.jpg
P1070947.jpg

The fireworks began shooting out of the tower, and the crowds of people started inching back. We noticed there were no security or safety teams anywhere near, nor was there any sort of firefighting or ambulance personnel anywhere to be seen, it was refreshing to see this ‘look after yourself’ approach after all the restrictions we have back home, but as the ashes started raining down on the clouds below, and a couple of fireworks backfired, the crowd backed off even further, and Jacquie was seriously worried. But, no one got hurt, and everyone enjoyed the show.
We staggered back to our hostel, and quickly fell asleep, even with the Latin music from one of the bands thumping through the walls of our room, and shaking our bed.
We were woken the next morning by the military bands marching up and down outside the hostel; so we went down to check it out.
P1070963.jpg
P1070965.jpg
P1070973.jpg

There were parades everywhere, we sat and watched for a while, then decided to make a break for it and get out of town, before the marchers blocked us in.

Posted by Dan Shell at 02:57 AM GMT
January 04, 2010 GMT
Bikers weekend in Ambato

Our mates in Cali were all heading down to Ambato for a big bike meeting, as was our pal Ricardo from Quito, so we had decided to ride back up to meet them all before heading out of Ecuador. We rode back the way we came, and into Ambato, a fairly ugly modern town, and to the hotel where the vent was based, and then we got out first shock. The rooms were $70-per person!That’s what we’d normally pay for a weeks’ accommodation. We looked around for an alternative, but we were left with the choice of a couple of dodgy places that rented rooms by the hour, the original hotel, or bugging out completely. We returned the the expensive hotel and were deliberating what to do when Ricardo the gentle giant pulled up outside. Seeing our stressed expressions, he asked what was going on. We explained our dilemma and he smiled, patted us on our backs, and told us we could double up in one of the rooms he had booked for his Russian friends, and we could split the cost of the room four ways, making it much more affordable. He assured us that it would be no problem, and he would forewarn the Russians of the new arrangements. We thanked him and went up to the room for a shower and to change for dinner. I went back downstairs to the bar to see who was about, and the place was empty. The receptionist told me that everyone had gone to some club to sign in, so I told Jacquie I was popping out and got on the bike to find this club.
As I was approaching the address I had been given, the familiar rumble of a pack of Harleys grew louder and louder, I rounded a corner and saw a pack of about 50 bikes heading in the opposite direction, I spotted our loony French pal, Alain, Jorge and Sory from the Asturias bike shop in Cali, and a bunch of the Cali riders I had ridden with whilst in their neck of the woods.
I span the bike around, passed a bunch of bikers, and pulled up next to Jorge, whose face lit up when he saw me.
A police escort was leading us along the city streets, and Jorge shouted to me over the roar of his engine that they were on a parade through the city and I should stick with them.
I joined the pack as we rolled through the city centre, stopping traffic and turning heads, until we pulled up back at the hotel.
Jacquie came down to the parking lot when she heard the bikes arrived and we greeted our Cali friends with big “moto hugs” as Ricardo liked to call them. The wine came out, followed by the band, followed by the food, and we all enjoyed a really good catch up.
P1080015.jpg
Our crazy French mate Alain greets Jacquie "his Queen" in his own inimitable style

P1080038.jpg
The Bikes and the set up for dinner at the Ambato Bike meet

We ate, drank, danced and partied, and it was really good to see familiar faces, something that doesn’t really happen a lot when you are on the move as much as we had been for the previous year. We arranged to meet up the following day for a group ride up to Chimborazo, and shuffled off to bed, leaving the band playing “Born to be Wild” for the third time, and a hundred or so bikers getting drunker.
We waited for Jorge and the Cali posse to turn up, and even though I had terrible stomach problems, I was determined to go with the group to Chimborazo. The guys finally turned up an hour or so late, and I told Jorge that I had a really bad turn in the night, but just had to grab my bags and we’d be ready, I went back to the room, picked up my stuff, but when I got back downstairs, the guys had left.
Jacquie and I saddled up and tried to catch them up, but in our rush, we took a wrong turn and it was half an hour before we realized what we had done, we doubled back and rode like maniacs to try to find the Cali bikers.
After an hour of riding, we had abandoned hope of finding them , but carried on anyway towards Chimborazo. Just as we were approaching the Volcano, we saw a bunch of bikes parked up by the side of the road, taking photos, and there was Jorge! There had been a confusion with my bad Spanish, and he thought I had said I was too ill to go.
P1080101.jpg
Chimborazo...again! This timw in the sunshine and with mates!


P1080117.jpg
Me and Garth posing at the Base Camp, over 5,000m.

P1080122.jpg
Time for a quick snowball fight

P1080130.jpg
Jacquie trying to recover from a bout of altitude sickness


We hugged, and all made our way to Chimborazo. We rode up the dirt road to the base camp at 5,000m, and played in the snow as close to the top as we could get on the bikes. A few of the riders, including Jacquie, felt ill with the effects of the altitude, so we slowly rode back down, regrouped, and continued riding around the base of the volcano, stopping here and there for more pictures.
P1080135.jpg
The Zig Zagging gravel descent from Chimborazo


P1080078.jpg
We rode with the group for a few hours, before saying our farewells and splitting off and heading on towards Alasui.

Posted by Dan Shell at 10:14 PM GMT
Bikers weekend in Ambato

Our mates in Cali were all heading down to Ambato for a big bike meeting, as was our pal Ricardo from Quito, so we had decided to ride back up to meet them all before heading out of Ecuador. We rode back the way we came, and into Ambato, a fairly ugly modern town, and to the hotel where the vent was based, and then we got out first shock. The rooms were $70-per person!That’s what we’d normally pay for a weeks’ accommodation. We looked around for an alternative, but we were left with the choice of a couple of dodgy places that rented rooms by the hour, the original hotel, or bugging out completely. We returned the the expensive hotel and were deliberating what to do when Ricardo the gentle giant pulled up outside. Seeing our stressed expressions, he asked what was going on. We explained our dilemma and he smiled, patted us on our backs, and told us we could double up in one of the rooms he had booked for his Russian friends, and we could split the cost of the room four ways, making it much more affordable. He assured us that it would be no problem, and he would forewarn the Russians of the new arrangements. We thanked him and went up to the room for a shower and to change for dinner. I went back downstairs to the bar to see who was about, and the place was empty. The receptionist told me that everyone had gone to some club to sign in, so I told Jacquie I was popping out and got on the bike to find this club.
As I was approaching the address I had been given, the familiar rumble of a pack of Harleys grew louder and louder, I rounded a corner and saw a pack of about 50 bikes heading in the opposite direction, I spotted our loony French pal, Alain, Jorge and Sory from the Asturias bike shop in Cali, and a bunch of the Cali riders I had ridden with whilst in their neck of the woods.
I span the bike around, passed a bunch of bikers, and pulled up next to Jorge, whose face lit up when he saw me.
A police escort was leading us along the city streets, and Jorge shouted to me over the roar of his engine that they were on a parade through the city and I should stick with them.
I joined the pack as we rolled through the city centre, stopping traffic and turning heads, until we pulled up back at the hotel.
Jacquie came down to the parking lot when she heard the bikes arrived and we greeted our Cali friends with big “moto hugs” as Ricardo liked to call them. The wine came out, followed by the band, followed by the food, and we all enjoyed a really good catch up.
P1080015.jpg
Our crazy French mate Alain greets Jacquie "his Queen" in his own inimitable style

P1080038.jpg
The Bikes and the set up for dinner at the Ambato Bike meet

We ate, drank, danced and partied, and it was really good to see familiar faces, something that doesn’t really happen a lot when you are on the move as much as we had been for the previous year. We arranged to meet up the following day for a group ride up to Chimborazo, and shuffled off to bed, leaving the band playing “Born to be Wild” for the third time, and a hundred or so bikers getting drunker.
We waited for Jorge and the Cali posse to turn up, and even though I had terrible stomach problems, I was determined to go with the group to Chimborazo. The guys finally turned up an hour or so late, and I told Jorge that I had a really bad turn in the night, but just had to grab my bags and we’d be ready, I went back to the room, picked up my stuff, but when I got back downstairs, the guys had left.
Jacquie and I saddled up and tried to catch them up, but in our rush, we took a wrong turn and it was half an hour before we realized what we had done, we doubled back and rode like maniacs to try to find the Cali bikers.
After an hour of riding, we had abandoned hope of finding them , but carried on anyway towards Chimborazo. Just as we were approaching the Volcano, we saw a bunch of bikes parked up by the side of the road, taking photos, and there was Jorge! There had been a confusion with my bad Spanish, and he thought I had said I was too ill to go.
P1080101.jpg
Chimborazo...again! This timw in the sunshine and with mates!


P1080117.jpg
Me and Garth posing at the Base Camp, over 5,000m.

P1080122.jpg
Time for a quick snowball fight

P1080130.jpg
Jacquie trying to recover from a bout of altitude sickness


We hugged, and all made our way to Chimborazo. We rode up the dirt road to the base camp at 5,000m, and played in the snow as close to the top as we could get on the bikes. A few of the riders, including Jacquie, felt ill with the effects of the altitude, so we slowly rode back down, regrouped, and continued riding around the base of the volcano, stopping here and there for more pictures.
P1080135.jpg
The Zig Zagging gravel descent from Chimborazo


P1080078.jpg
We rode with the group for a few hours, before saying our farewells and splitting off and heading on towards Alasui.

Posted by Dan Shell at 10:15 PM GMT
to Alausi

We stopped on route to allow a heard of sheep to cross the road, and stopped and talked to the young woman and her kids who were herding the animals, before riding the last few kilometers to the town. She was only just in her twenties, but her weathered face belied her age. Her oldest daughter was 9 years old and her son was three, both of the children were out helping her with the animals. There were other flocks around in the hills, and other families tending to them.

.
P1080155.jpg
The family were interested in our trip and wanted to know about England

P1080169.jpg

P1080153.jpg

P1080184.jpg

P1080207.jpg
Alausi

We descended into the town and liked the place immediately. We checked into to a colonial style hotel, and walked down to the train station to inquire about the train that we were hoping to take down one of the famous routes that switched back and forth down to the bottom of the valley, but were told that since a Japanese tourist was decapitated whilst riding on the roof of the train, that there was no more service, only a weird bus type thing that rode along the tracks, but there was no more roof riding allowed.
P1080201.jpg
The new, improved, safer train ...no roof riding!!

P1080200.jpg
The train station at Alausi

We walked around the town, ate some dinner, and retired to our room, and made ready for our departure to Cuenca, our last town in Ecuador.

When we woke the next morning, the sleepy town was a hive of activity. Bus loads of villagers from other hill towns were arriving, and the occupants disembarked with goods ready to set up in the market.
P1080215.jpg
Strange Cargo-heading for the market at Alausi
P1080217.jpg
P1080227.jpg
P1080236.jpg
Alausi became a busy market town at weekends, and we couldn't resist a walk around to see what was on offer before leaving.

P1080259.jpg
Riding through the mountains again, the road cut into the side like an incision.

P1080285.jpg
Spit roast Guinea pig, a local speciality

The ride out was blissful, the road switched back and forth , descending and rising again, passing through valleys and over mountains, and we were sad when the road finished and we arrived in Cuenca, but the city softened the blow of the end of the road by its sheer beauty.
P1080297.jpg

P1080324.jpg

P1080331.jpg

P1080323.jpg
Arriving in Cuenca


Beautiful colonial buildings surrounded huge, leafy Plazas and gorgeous churches were on every corner. We Parked up and walked around in search of a hostel. We checked into the last one we came across, housed in another beautiful converted colonial building, and went back to pick up the bike.
We were just getting back on the bike when another biker, from the states came over and started chatting to us. He was riding with a couple of other guys, and said we should come out and meet them for dinner. We agreed, took the bike back to the hostel and went out to meet the guys.
We dined in a cheap and cheerful chicken joint, and halfway through he meal, another one of their friend, Carlo, walked into the restaurant.
Carlo and I hit it off immediately, we sat around chatting, and he invited us to go round to his hostel for breakfast in the morning.
Jacquie and I turned up at their place around 9am and met his girlfriend, Toni, and we all got along really well.
We were munching on our brekkie when I heard the bike's alarm go off. I ran outside to find another cop sat on my bike, checking it out for comfort!
P1080354.jpg

Jacquie and I , and Toni and Carlo spent the day wondering the city streets, and planned to ride together when we left in a day or so.
Unfortunately, Toni fell ill the next day, so Jacquie, Carlo and I went without her to see a movie, while Toni stayed in bedresting and hopefully recovering, ready for the ride.
Alas it was not meant to be, and with Toni still ill, Jacquie and I left Cuenca alone the next day, hoping to see them a bit further down the road.
We rode towards the border, riding high up on the mountain passes, looking down at the clouds below. Just as Ricardo had told us it would be, it felt like we were in a plane, not a motorcycle, looking down at the tiny villages thousands of feet below us.
P1080356.jpg

Slowly the green mountain scenery gave way to the brown, rocky landscapes of the desert, and then dotted here and there we would come across small oasis’s of green, and then be back to the dusty, rocky landscapes of the desert.
P1080364.jpg
P1080371.jpg
P1080381.jpg

As we descended once more, we came across huge banana plantations, and then , after negotiating our way through a busy market, we hit the border with Peru.
P1080384.jpg

Posted by Dan Shell at 10:41 PM GMT
January 19, 2010 GMT
Into Peru

PERU
P1080385.jpg

perubrder.jpg

We had decided to head straight for the surfer town of Mancora, and agreed we hade made the right decision when we arrived at the first town we came, to, Tumbes. We rolled straight through, not wanting to stop in this unappealing town until we came to a queue of cars and trucks. We pulled up to the front and parked up when we saw a policeman turning traffic around.
I walked over to ask him what was going on. Apparently, the local fishermen were protesting about plans for the Gas companies to drill in the bays where they fished. Their livelihoods were at stake and they were taking matters very seriously, and had blockaded the roads all along the coast, there was no way forward. I asked if we could go ahead and see if we could find our own way through, but the cop told us that it was dangerous. He said if we liked, we could wait around for a while and se if anything changed, but advised us to go back to Tumbes, the nasty looking border town we had just ridden through and wait it out.
We moved the bike off the road, parking next to the police car , and waited to see what transpired. We had been hanging around for about half an hour, when all of a sudden there was a commotion. People were running towards us from the direction of the blockade, the cops included, the policeman who we had been speaking to shouted at us to get on the bike and move back. Then he in turn ran to his car, and screeched off. We followed the cop car, but the passenger motioned at us to overtake him, putting his car between us, and the riotous fishermen.
We rode up the way towards Tumbes for a couple of miles, and then pulled over again. The cops pulled up to tell us they had lost control of the mob, and that we really should return to Tumbes and wait to see if things calmed down for the next day.
It seemed we had little choice. We rode back to Tumbes, and started looking for a place to spend the night.
P1080404.jpg

tuimtaxi.jpg

Our first impressions of Tumbes were absolutely right. The town was a complete dump. Moto taxis filled the streets, constantly tooting their horns, mosquitoes were everywhere, and the brick buildings were ugly and characterless.
We found a clean, reasonably priced hotel after an extensive search, parked the bike in the reception, and skulked up the stairs to our room, to hide for the night.
We didn’t emerge from our room until the next morning, when we ventured out to find a policeman and some breakfast.
We came across breakfast first, which unfortunately did nothing to lift our mood, and alas nor did the news we gleaned from the first copper we came across.
We walked through the town, just to make sure there wasn’t a nice part hidden somewhere, and when we had confirmed that the whole town was in fact a complete shit-hole, we went back to our room to watch TV.
We regularly checked the road situation with the receptionist, and went out a couple of times in the day to find a policeman to re-check the situation with the fisherman. As the day drew to an end, we reluctantly agreed to stay another night, and try again in the morning. We were meeting more and more tourists who were stuck in the same situation as us, so at least we were no longer the only gringos in town.
P1080392.jpg

There was no change the next day, except that Jacquie had started to feel a bit under the weather. I left her in bed and went for a little wonder round town just to get out of the room. I walked down to the market at the bottom end of town, and chatted with a few of the stallholders and shoppers. The people were friendly and I started to feel bad about writing the town off so haphazardly. It warmed me that at even is such a nasty place, the people were friendly and welcoming. Then I got robbed, and I changed my mind back again! I really wanted to get out of this place!
P1080426.jpg

P1080434.jpg


P1080435.jpg
Friendly locals at the market, moments before my watch was robbed off my wrist..

When I got back to the hotel, minus my watch, the receptionist told me that the blockade would be lifted in the morning. Best news I had had in ages! I rushed upstairs and told Jacquie the good news (we can leave here tomorrow) and the bad news (the watch you bought me got nicked).
We packed up and left early in the morning, and saw the best view of the town; in our rearview mirror! We rode through small fishing villages and saw signs of the roadblocks where rocks had been moved to the side of the road. It wasn’t just the small village south of Tumbes, as we had first thought, but a string of fishing towns all the way down the coast, almost as far as Mancora.

Posted by Dan Shell at 07:49 PM GMT
Northern Peru

We arrived in Mancora nice and early, found a lovely room in a hostel on the beach, unpacked, and spent a lovely afternoon chilling on the beach, drinking beer and making friends with other travelers, as well as bumping into some old faces from up the road, a couple of guys I had met back in Colombia.
P1080445.jpg
I took out a surfboard and sat on it for an hour, waiting for a wave, then gave up and went and sat back on the beach.
P1080456.jpg

P1080457.jpg


The view from our beachside bungalow

On our second day we moved to a bungalow on the beach with stunning views of the ocean, and made more friends there, and I arranged to DJ on their party night in return for another free night in the bungalow. The set went down well, and I played until well after Jacquie went off to bed!
Another day of chilling on the beach and we were ready to leave Mancora behind and head down the coast to the next beach, Huanchaco.
P1080492.jpg
The fishermen's surf boats on the beach in Huanchaco


We only stayed overnight in Huanchaco, even though we would have liked to stay more, Peru was a huge slice of land, and we wanted to make our way southwards. We saw some of the traditional boats that the fishermen use, a clever style of half boat half surfboard, which the paddle out and the surf back in with their catch. Cool.
And then we were on the coastal road, southward bound. The stretch of road from Huanchaco to Lima was just breathtaking.
P1080499.jpg
P1080513.jpg
P1080533.jpgP1080554.jpg
Untouched coastline to the west of us, and pure desert, to the east, with nothing man made to spoil the view for hundreds of miles. The Peruvians warned us that this stretch would be boring, but we both found it absolutely beautiful.
There were a few dodgy moments where the sand had been blown almost all the way across the road, making it a single lane highway, but thankfully there was next to no traffic on the road, and we continued on without incident.
P1080570.jpg
P1080576.jpg

Out of nowhere we came across an oasis here and there, and the brown desertscape briefly turned to lush green, before returning to the sand and ocean mix. The highway twisted and curved following the coastline, and I could have ridden that road all day long, in fact, I did. We arrived in Lima at around 7pm, just in time to catch the rush hour traffic. It was a huge contrast to riding through the desert for 400 miles and only seeing a handful of cars to having to fight our way through 7 lanes of traffic for 2 hours!
We stopped in Miraflores, and checked into the only hostel we could find, and crashed out for the night.
We had a few things to sort out while we were in the city, getting the camera cleaned was my top priority, and once we had that sorted, we got the hell out of there. More desert roads awaited on the way down to Nasca.

Posted by Dan Shell at 08:10 PM GMT
To Nasca

P1080598.jpg
The second day of the coastal road through Peru was the same as the first. We rode on, more of the brown stuff to our left, and the blue stuff to our right. The road occasionally left the coast and we wound up into the mountains, where we totally surrounded by sand, rocky mountains, and more sand. It felt as if we were totally isolated from the rest of civilization. Nothing living around for miles; we didn’t even get any insects splatting on our windscreen. There was just nothing...at all. It reminded me of Mad Max, post apocalypse, driving through the deserted desert.

buggysnasca.jpg
After a few hours riding the gorgeous coastal highway, we spotted a carport with a few sand buggies parked underneath, and decided to investigate further.
Sure enough, we had happened upon a sand-boarding outfit, and for $10 , the owners would drive us up through the dunes in one of their VW sand buggies and then we could sand board down a couple of dunes before being driven back.
We swoppped our sunglasses for goggles, dumped our jackets, and jumped into one of the buggies.
P1080612.jpg
Holding on tight in the buggy

We drove at breakneck speed over the dune sin the super light buggy, banking scarily on the sides of some dunes, and jumping right over others, Jacquie and I clinging on to the rails of the buggy for dear life, with ridiculous grins plastered on our faces, until we came to a stop at the top of a gently sloping dune.
P1080619.jpg

The driver unloaded the boards, gave us about 2 minutes of instruction, and then pushed us off the top of the dune. Jacquie took to the sand boarding like a duck to water, I was a little more hesitant, but after the 2nd run, started to find my groove too. We then drove another 10 minutes or so to a much longer, steeper dune.
P1080620.jpg
P1080625.jpg

Jacquie went first, and glided down the steep incline like a pro, I made it about halfway before wiping out in a spectacularly flurry of sand, tumbling the rest of the way down the dune. Once at the bottom, we trudged our way back up to the top for one more run, before an even faster return to the base.
P1080650.jpg
Re-invigorated from our adrenalin rush, we remounted our ride, and made our way back to the Pan American, to continue slicing our way through the spectacular desert route.
P1080660.jpg
P1080667.jpg

Another hour or so of winding our way through the desert and we reached the outskirts of Nasca.
We pulled over when we came to the observation tower, where , after a short climb to the top of the tower, we could see a couple of the world famous Nasca lines.
P1080673.jpg
No one really knows when, why or how these amazing drawings were made, but they were quite spectacular. The view from the tower only showed us a glimpse of the lines, but it was enough to encourage us to ride into town and take a plane ride to see more.
20 minutes later, we pulled up in the town centre and were immediately surrounded my locals offering us rooms and plane tours. We took up one of the locals’ offers, and went to check in to his recommended hostel. We had just enough time to check in, park up, and then we were whisked off to the small airport to wait for our plane.
After a short wait the pilot came to get us, 6 in total, and we were directed as to where to sit in the plane. And after a quick instruments check, we powered up , rolled over the runway, and were rolling along at take off speed. The planes reached take off velocity and the pilot pulled back on the joystick, and the tiny plane left the runway and climbed steeply.
P1080734.jpg

The little plane was buffeted furiously by the winds, and we all looked at each other rather nervously. The pilot explained how these little planes moved around a lot more than larger jets, and pointed out the sick bags to us; nice.
After only a few minutes in the air, the first of the shapes was visible, the pilot banked sharply so we could look down the wing to the drawing in the desert, circled around, and then banked again in the opposite direction to give the passengers on the other side of the plane a view. We flew over the whale, the hummingbird, the spider, the dog, the monkey the condor, the hands ,and most unexpectedly a carving of an astronaut, etched into the side of a volcano before flying over some of the huge geometric lines.
P1080693.jpg
The Whale and a section of the geometric lines at Nasca

P1080727.jpg
The Hands

The carvings were awesome from the sky, but begged the question, why would anyone go to such trouble to create these incredible drawings, only visible from the air, hundreds or even thousands of years before anyone could fly, I personally go for the alien theory!
We bounced around in the so-small-its-almost-a-toy plane for 45 minutes before turning round and landing back in Nasca, where the 6 of us disembarked, happy to be back safe and sound on the land.
We returned to our hotel, which, thanks to an electrical fault was plunged into darkness. Not being able to do much in the pitch black, we went out for some local nosh and got ourselves a fairly early night.
Bright and early the next morning, we left the dull and dismal town of Nasca behind and made our way southwards once more towards Arequipa.

Posted by Dan Shell at 08:48 PM GMT
January 26, 2010 GMT
Peru-The last bit

As we left Nasca behind, we also left the sunshine. Approaching the coast, we rode into a grey fog, which I was hoping might just be some early morning sea mist, but the weather worsened as the day went on, and at around lunchtime, the deluge began.
P1080742.jpg
It was like Big Sur all over again. The rocky cliffs to our left were crumbling as we rode past, dropping loads of rock all over the road. Our pace once again slowed dramatically as we negotiated the wet, slippery road, trucks came hurtling past us, often on the wrong side of the road, the rain began to seep into our waterproofs, and the visibility dropped so much due to the rain clouds that we were riding through, that I could barely see more than a couple of meters in front of me. Still, Jacquie and I rode on, in high spirits, looking forward to a break in the weather, which we knew would come sooner or later. Unfortunately, it was later, but that just made it all the more welcome when it did finally come.
P1080747.jpg
Jacquie dancing for joy at the end of our 7 hour rain ride


After 7 hours of riding, the sun came out and we pulled over to strip off our waterproofs, and had a celebratory jig by the side of the road, courtesy of Mr. George Michael on the radio of the Harley.
We rolled into Arequipa just as the sun was setting, found ourselves a cheap room, and went for a walk around the city.
P1080760.jpg
Arequipa was the first beautiful city we had seen since leaving Ecuador; we had started to think that all of Peru’s cities were ugly and characterless. Brick buildings lining dirty streets made up most of the towns, and Arequipa was a very welcome change.
P1080768.jpg

P1080772.jpg
We spent only one night in Arequipa, we had a walk around the city in the morning, and decided we had seen enough colonial cities, and pretty as it was, decided to leave Arequipa behind and head on to our next stop on the way to Cusco, the lakeside town of Puno.

PUNO
We had a glorious ride through the mountains passing beautiful lakes, with wild Flamingos picking their way along the shores, until we arrived at Puno, on the shore of Lake Titicaca, the highest navigable lake in the world.
P1080788.jpg
One of the lakes on the way to Puno
P1080796.jpg
Flamingos and ducks share the lake

P1080814.jpg
The Peruvian Under Age Army

P1080832.jpg
We were treated to a military parade in Puno

P1080841.jpg
How do you like YOUR chicken? "Chicken to the Iron" or "Jumped" ?

P1080845.jpg
Every living room should have a Garth

Puno itself was another unattractive city, but the attraction was the lake, and it was gorgeous. We booked an excursion with our hostel, and were picked up at 5am by a minibus to take us to the boat that would take us to the floating islands and on to Taquila.

P1080848.jpg
Boats ready to take busloads of tourists out on Lake Titicaca

After driving around for what felt like eternity picking up other tourists from their hotels, we arrived at the port and were ushered onto a waiting boat, where our over enthusiastic guide gave us her well rehearsed spiel on the upcoming trip, and told us the correct way to pronounce “Titicaca”-not Titicaca, but Titicaca…we couldn’t hear the difference, no matter how many times she repeated herself!
We set off from the dock and were again bombarded with non stop useless and uninteresting facts about the lake, its islands, and its inhabitants. We were on the world’s highest lake, 284 m deep at its deepest point, and has a surface area of over 3,800kms.
The inhabitants of the floating islands make the islands from reeds, and live for free, and there is no land tax on home made islands.
P1080939.jpg
One of the many floating islands on lake Titicaca

P1080866.jpg

The islanders waved us over to their island when they saw our boat approaching, and greeted us with songs when we landed . It was all very touristy, but also a very different experience. The islanders used no money, but instead used a barter system for trading with each other, but the cash brought in by tourists help them buy other essentials, like mobile phones!
P1080903.jpg
Inside one of the islanders' houses

P1080916.jpg
Being serenaded off the island

We had a wonder around the tiny but interesting island, and then were sent on our way with more with local songs, and renditions of “Row, row, row your boat” and “Vamos a la playa” in a cringingly well-choreographed way.
We hadn’t realized how far away the next island was, and when we were told it was over two hours away, we settled in for a kip.

P1080970.jpg
The view from the top of Taquila

We arrived at the island and hiked up to the centre of the town, at the crest of the island’s tallest hill. We were in for a treat, we had arrived on “election day” when the islanders elect their leaders for the coming year. There was a huge turnout in the main plaza, all the islanders in their Sunday best, and after the speeches and voting, the beer came out and the drinking began.

P1080981.jpg
The islands' elders at the annual election, with crates of beer ready for after the speeches

P1080997.jpg

P1090001.jpg

P1090007.jpg

The elders were very welcoming and interested to meet us and hear our stories, and share their beer. We hung around chatting and gesticulating until we were called away by our guide for lunch. I was so happy we didn’t do these sorts of excursions often.
P1090020.jpg
Some inquisitive local kids....for once they didn't want money for the photo!

We ate in a small restaurant, perched on the side of the hill, with breathtaking views over the lake, and then made our way back down to the boat for our return journey.

Posted by Dan Shell at 02:31 AM GMT
January 28, 2010 GMT
Maccu Pichu

MACHU PICCHU
From Puno, we rode to Ollyantambo, an ancient Inca town in the heart of the sacred valley, from where we would take our trip up to Machu Picchu. Needless to say, the ride was glorious again; we stopped en route in another Inca town in the sacred valley, before heading on to Ollyantanbo, where we would take a train, then a bus up to Machu Picchu.
P1090080.jpg
The whole trip was going to cost us a fortune, even doing it the cheaper way by taking our train from here instead of from Cusco, but everyone had raved about the site, and we felt we couldn’t miss it.
We left Olly, as we had began calling it, at 5 in the morning, and after a short and rather beautiful train ride, we arrived in Aguas Calientes, from where we took the bus up the mountain to the entrance of Machu Picchu.

P1090110.jpg

As we entered the site, the mist clung to the mountains and obscured most of the city, revealing only small patches at a time, we climbed to the guard’s house, and sat on the grass, catching what glimpses we could as the clouds rolled over the site.
The location of the 600-year-old city was amazing. Perched atop of a huge mountain, surrounded by peaks, looking down at valleys, and it surely was a feat that the Incas could build such a city in this remote mountaintop.
We wondered around, in and out of the roofless structures, up and down the steps used for agriculture, and checked out the temples. As awesome as it was, we both agreed that we had been more impressed with the sites we had seen in Mexico; Palenque, Tonin and Chitchen Itza, and Tikal in Guatemala.

P1090298.jpg

We spent the best part of the day walking around the site, listening to snippets of other people’s guides, and gathering tidbits of information, before returning to the train station and back to Olly.

Posted by Dan Shell at 02:30 PM GMT
Cusco

Another day, another dollar, and we were off once more, more riding through the sacred valley, past more Inca sites, and to the former Inca capital, Cusco.

P1090326.jpg
Christmas Shopping in the Scared Valley

P1090341.jpg

P1090533.jpg
Cusco


The Spanish conquistadores had used the city as their Capital, and the architecture was delightful. Huge colonial buildings surrounded the huge main plaza, and evidence of the Pre Hispanic times were everywhere, in the tiny cobbled streets around the plaza, the remains of the old city wall still running through the centre of the “new” city, and there were three sets of ruins overlooking the city.
P1090402.jpg
Remains of the old Inca wall running through the city.


Cusco was a bustling city, where tourists rummaged for bargains and touts plied their wares, mainly massages and trips to Macho Picchu.
P1090392.jpg
Click-that'll be $1 , thank you


Traditionally dressed women walked around with Lamas, while their daughters carried lambs, ready for a tourist to point their camera at them so they could then demand $1.

P1090467.jpg

P1090469.jpg

P1090488.jpg

P1090529.jpg
Parades through the city on National Police day

P1090562.jpg
The outer walls of Saxaywaman
We happened to be in Cusco for National Police day, and watched the parades through the city before talking a long walk up to one of the ruins, Saxaywaman, an impressive site, built from huge rocks overlooking Cusco in the valley below. That night we made another pilgrimage, to Norton Rats.

It was one of those places that was talked about on the internet, a recommended stop for bikers on their way to Ushuaia, and we signed the gust book, drew an obligatory picture of our bike, played a few games of darts, and ate a mighty burger, bought the T-shirt and then we were ready to leave Cusco!

It was time for another split. Jacquie wanted to go home for Christmas, while I wanted to save my money and go on to Bolivia. We went out for another last supper, where I treated myself to the “World’s Biggest Burger”, and Jacquie treated herself to a big glass of Vino Tinto, before returning to our hotel for an early night.
During the night, my stomach, which had been fragile since Machu Piccho, finally went to stage 3.
I was cramping and running to the toilet all night, and neither of us got much sleep. Jacquie was due to be at the airport at 8am, her taxi was coming for her at 7, and at 6am, I was really in pain. She didn’t want to leave me curled up in a ball in the bed, white faced and red eyed. We called a doctor who turned up at the same time as Jacquie’s cab.
It was a flustered goodbye, but as usual, I knew she’d be back, so I put my brave face on, told her I was fine and kissed her goodbye. She went to her cab and the doctor came to my bedside. Not much of a swap.
After a quick examination and a few questions, I was diagnosed as having parasites, prescribed some drugs, and given a bill. I gulped, and then reached for my wallet, already knowing I didn’t have anything like enough money to pay him. I explained my situation to the doc, who said he could drive me to a cash machine, and then to a pharmacy.
I thanked him, struggled out of bed, put on some trousers and my fleece jacket, and followed him to his car.
We drove through the city to a cash machine, which handily had a pharmacy right next door; I withdrew the money and went back to the doctor’s car. I handed over the cash, and asked if I could possibly get a ride back to the hotel, but to my surprise, the doc told me he was going in the opposite direction, and drove off, leaving me by the side of the road, clenching. I bought my drugs in the pharmacy and made my way back to the hotel, a 5-minute drive or a 15-minute walk, I must admit, I felt a little hard done by, and was surprised that the doc refused my ride back.
I made it back to the hotel just in time for a last minute sprint to the toilet, took my drugs and went back to bed.

Posted by Dan Shell at 03:05 PM GMT
Bye Jacquie Hi Bolivia

I felt much better the next day, so I packed up and headed out of the city, aiming for Bolivia. I had a huge ride ahead of me if I wanted to get across the border in a day, but I was in the right frame of mind for a new country and a new chapter.
P1090589.jpg

Garth and I thundered back out through the sacred valley, and didn’t stop until I came across a procession in a town along the way, about 5 hours down the road. It was another festival, and as I rode on towards Puno I came across more and more of them. I was just on the outskirts of Puno when a cop stopped me for another procession to cross the road in front of me. I pulled over, parked the bike, and went for a closer look.
P1090592.jpg


P1090597.jpg

The women were wearing in brightly colored dresses with bowler hats perched high on the top of their heads, while the men wore even more brightly colored flamboyant costumes that could have come out of Liberace’s closet. I asked some of the women if I could take a photo, and they happily agreed.

P1090602.jpg

P1090605.jpg

One of the women went into a small house and came out with a huge mask and insisted I put it on a have my photo taken with it on. Then I gave her my sunglasses for another photo of her as a biker, then the fun really started. A group of young men who were in a band wanted their picture taken by my bike, then a group of girls in majorette type outfits wanted me to take their picture, then a couple of the elders wanted their picture taken with me, and with the bike.
P1090615.jpg

P1090618.jpg
There was a real party atmosphere in the air as everyone prepared to join in the procession. I wished I could have stayed longer, but Bolivia beckoned, so reluctantly, I got back on Garth, and waving, I pulled off down the road towards Lake Titicaca and the border beyond to Bolivia.

P1090626.jpg
I rode through Puno and followed the road round the lake towards Copacabana, the first town in Bolivia after the border.

P1090646.jpg
The road worsens approaching Bolivia

As I approached the frontier, the road became more and more pot holed. Some of the holes were right the way across the road, and some were really deep, big enough to swallow a scooter wheel in its entirety. I had a couple of nasty jolts when the bike bottomed out on a few of them, but I managed to avoid most of them while still keeping up a good speed, I kind of enjoyed this slalom section of the road. I filled up in the last gas station before the border, thinking it be the last time I would be able to feed Garth with some high octane petroleum, only to be told that this gas came from Bolivia, and the highest octane they had was a measly 85. I filled up anyway, and rode the last few kilometers to the border.
P1090655.jpg
Approaching the tiny Peru/Bolivia border crossing


border.jpg

I knew that this crossing was a small one, but had no idea exactly how small.
I didn’t even have to get off the bike on the Peru side, the customs officer, and then the immigration guys came out to check out the bike, stamped my passport, took a photo, and exported the bike for me in minutes, then I rode up the road, through an arch , and to the Bolivian frontier. My papers were all signed and sealed in a matter of minutes, and half an hour after I pulled up to the Peruvian border control, I was well and truly in Bolivia and on my way to Copacabana.
I arrived in the town,which was really little more than a jumping off point for tourists and travelers to pick up boats to see the Islands in Lake Titicaca, and soon found a room in a cheap and nasty hotel, unloaded and went for a wander. I bumped into a couple of guys I had met in Mancora, and together, we booked ourselves on a boat trip to another island in lake Titicaca, Isla del Sol, an island that our French pal in Cali had told us was a “must see”.
Well I guess one person’s idea of a must see and another’s differ wildly, as in this instance. The Island was not unattractive, but was no different to the island we had already seen from the Peru side.
We hit dry land, and set off on foot along a beautiful white sand beach, currently being occupied by a couple of pigs, that had dug themselves a small pit in the sand to keep themselves cool, and a bunch of young boys, completely naked, running in and out of the sea and throwing themselves on the sand.

beachbumsbolivia.jpg
We left the beach and started the climb up to the ruins, on the way chatting to some beautiful local girls, dressed in incredibly bright clothes, selling flowers to passing tourists.
boliviaflowergirl.jpg

flowergirlislasol.jpg
We were passing more donkeys than people on the path to the top, I hoped the girls found some customers for their flowers.

After a quick and rather disappointing view of the ruins, I was pretty much ruined out by this stage, so it would take a lot more than a collection of stones to impress me now, we turned around a made our way back down to the boat.
ruinsislasol.jpg

The boat left the dock a few minutes after we arrived, the last of the passenegers to get on board, and we started motoring back towards Copacabana under a cloudless blue sky.
The captain steered his boat to a floating island for us tourists to explore, but on closer inspection, the “island” showed its true form.It was made up of a bunch of oil drums covered in reeds. Only in Bolivia would you be able to find a fake island.

fakeisland.jpg
The Fake Floating Island-only in Bolivia!
THE FOLLOWING IS AN ABRIDGED VERSION OF THE BOLIVIA EXPERIENCE, AFTER IT ALL GOT ERASED MYSTERIOULSY FROM THE COMPUTER…


There wasn’t really much to keep me on Copacabana, so the day after my tour around the lake, I woke up ready to get on the bike and leave. The Gods, it seemed, thought otherwise. The rain outside my window was falling hard, and the roads could barely manage to drain away the deluge of water, threatening to flood the roads at any time.
I went downstairs and tucked into the complimentary breakfast, hoping that the rain would soon give up, but if anything the rain began to fall even harder than before.
Well, I still had to pack, maybe the rain would stop by then, I thought to myself, so I went back upstairs to pack up my bags and bring them downstairs. The rain showed no sign of letting up, but I really wanted to get out of Copacabana, and into La Paz. The thought of spending the day wandering aimlessly around Copacabana in the rain was even less appealing than spending the day getting wet on the bike.
I slowly packed up my bike and stepped into my waterproofs, and headed out of Copacabana.
There was always a chance that I would ride straight through the rain and would be in the dry on the other side of the mountain that overlooked Copacabana.
I made my way slowly up the twisting, slippery roads to the top of the mountain, and then even more slowly descended the other side, where, unbelievably, the rain was falling even harder. It wasn’t raindrops that where falling on my head, but bucket loads of ice cold water.
The water stung my face, and once again, I cursed myself for not having tried harder to find a visor for my open face helmet, even though I knew in truth that I had searched high and low throughout Central America. Then I remembered, Jacquie’s helmet, complete with visor and chin protector was strapped to the back of the bike. I pulled over, and for the first time on the trip, donned a full-face helmet.
Excited about the possibility of a dry face, I pulled down the visor and set off.
About 100 yards further along the road I pulled over. The visor had steamed up and I couldn’t see a thing. On top of that, the visor was tinted, so even when it wasn’t steamed up, my view was limited. But the fact was, every time I pulled down that visor, it steamed up in seconds, and I had to try sticking a wet finger of my glove inside to try to wipe away the moisture. When this technique proved to be about as useful as , well, wiping wet glass with wet leather, I tried riding with the visor half way open, which meant that the rainwater was directed straight to my cheeks, and the cold, wet air went straight into my eyes.
I soldiered on, alternating between wiggling my wet fingered glove along the inside of my visor, and changing the angle and width of the opening of the visor. The rain continued to fall, my “waterproof ‘ gloves showed their true colour, rainwater dripped down the back of the helmet, down the gap in the neck of my jacket, to the seat of my pants, where it pooled around my arse, giving me that same feeling that I had in my boots, of flesh soaking in puddles of cold water. I sloshed around like this until I reached the lake that I would have to cross to be able to reach La Paz.
I pulled up to the shore and was waved towards a collection of wooden planks with a motor attached at the far end that was to be my passage across the lake.
ferrytolapaz.jpg
The "Ferry" across the lake

I gingerly rode Garth down to “ferry” and onto the planks, and stopped as directed at the end of the boat. After me came a couple of local taxis, and with out further ado, the young man that had waved us onto his boat, started up the motor with a couple of pulls on the starting rope, and we were off.
Coming in the other direction we passed another ferry, no more than just a wooden platform with a motor at one end, barely large enough o fit a coach on the planks. From where I was looking, it appeared that the coach was floating along on the water unaided.
coach ferrylapaz.jpg

A short while later I reached the other side of the lake, and after a not inconsiderable amount of effort, I managed to wiggle the bike round and ride off onto the shore, barely keeping it from falling when the platform lurched back towards the water while I was half on land and half still on the boat.

Posted by Dan Shell at 03:25 PM GMT
 
 

NEW! HU 2015 Motorcycle Adventure Travel Calendar is now available! Get your copy now for some terrific travel inspiration!

HUGE, 11.5 x 16.5 inches, beautifully printed in Germany on top quality stock! Photos are the winning images from over 600 entries in the 9th Annual HU Photo Contest!

Horizons Unlimited 2015 Motorcycle Adventure Travel Calendar.

"The calendar is magnificent!"

"I just wanted to say how much I'm loving the new, larger calendar!"

We share the profit with the winning photographers. YOU could be in the HU Calendar too - enter here!


HU DVD Autumn Special!

Take 40% off Road Heroes Part 1 until October 31 only!

Road Heroes features tales of adventure, joy and sheer terror by veteran travellers Peter and Kay Forwood (193 countries two-up on a Harley); Dr. Greg Frazier (5 times RTW); Tiffany Coates (RTW solo female); and Rene Cormier (University of Gravel Roads).

The first in an exciting new series, Road Heroes features tales of adventure, joy and sheer terror by veteran travellers."Inspiring and hilarious!"

"I loved watching this DVD!"

"Lots of amazing stories and even more amazing photographs, it's great fun and very inspirational."

"Wonderful entertainment!"

Check it out at the HU Store! Remember to use Coupon Code 'HEROES' on your order when you checkout.


Renedian Adventures


Renedian Adventures

What others say about HU...

"I just wanted to say thanks for doing this and sharing so much with the rest of us." Dave, USA

"Your website is a mecca of valuable information and the DVD series is informative, entertaining, and inspiring! The new look of the website is very impressive, updated and catchy. Thank you so very much!" Jennifer, Canada

"...Great site. Keep up the good work." Murray and Carmen, Australia

"We just finished a 7 month 22,000+ mile scouting trip from Alaska to the bottom of Chile and I can't tell you how many times we referred to your site for help. From how to adjust your valves, to where to stay in the back country of Peru. Horizons Unlimited was a key player in our success. Motorcycle enthusiasts from around the world are in debt to your services." Alaska Riders

contest pic

10th Annual HU Travellers Photo Contest is on now! This is an opportunity for YOU to show us your best photos and win prizes!

NEW! HU 2014 Adventure Travel T-shirts! are now available in several colors! Be the first kid on your block to have them! New lower prices on synths!

HU 2014 T-shirts now in!

Check out the new Gildan Performance cotton-feel t-shirt - 100% poly, feels like soft cotton!


What turns you on to motorcycle travel?


Global Rescue, WORLDwide evacuation services for EVERYONE

Global Rescue is the premier provider of medical, security and evacuation services worldwide and is the only company that will come to you, wherever you are, and evacuate you to your home hospital of choice. Additionally, Global Rescue places no restrictions on country of citizenship - all nationalities are eligible to sign-up!


New to Horizons Unlimited?

New to motorcycle travelling? New to the HU site? Confused? Too many options? It's really very simple - just 4 easy steps!

Horizons Unlimited was founded in 1997 by Grant and Susan Johnson following their journey around the world on a BMW R80 G/S motorcycle.

Susan and Grant Johnson Read more about Grant & Susan's story

Membership - help keep us going!

Horizons Unlimited is not a big multi-national company, just two people who love motorcycle travel and have grown what started as a hobby in 1997 into a full time job (usually 8-10 hours per day and 7 days a week) and a labour of love. To keep it going and a roof over our heads, we run events (22 this year!); we sell inspirational and informative DVDs; we have a few selected advertisers; and we make a small amount from memberships.

You don't have to be a Member to come to an HU meeting, access the website, the HUBB or to receive the e-zine. What you get for your membership contribution is our sincere gratitude, good karma and knowing that you're helping to keep the motorcycle travel dream alive. Contributing Members and Gold Members do get additional features on the HUBB. Here's a list of all the Member benefits on the HUBB.


Books & DVDs

amazon

All the best travel books and videos listed and often reviewed on HU's famous Books page. Check it out and get great travel books from all over the world.


Motorcycle Express for shipping and insurance!

Motorcycle Express

MC Air Shipping, (uncrated) USA / Canada / Europe and other areas. Be sure to say "Horizons Unlimited" to get your $25 discount on Shipping!
Insurance - see: For foreigners traveling in US and Canada and for Americans and Canadians traveling in other countries, then mail it to MC Express and get your HU $15 discount!

Story and photos copyright ©

Sorry, you need a Javascript enabled browser to get the email address and dates. You can contact Horizons Unlimited at the link below. Please be sure to tell us WHICH blog writer you wish to contact.

All Rights Reserved.

Contact the author:

Editors note: We accept no responsibility for any of the above information in any way whatsoever. You are reminded to do your own research. Any commentary is strictly a personal opinion of the person supplying the information and is not to be construed as an endorsement of any kind.

Hosted by: Horizons Unlimited, the motorcycle travellers' website!
You can have your story here too - click for details!