tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-38495877279307425572024-03-14T11:10:57.958+01:00Pat Around the Americas"...a journey in search of direction..."Pathttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11711082943425823382noreply@blogger.comBlogger61125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3849587727930742557.post-48165993765403891922013-02-11T23:01:00.000+01:002013-02-11T23:01:47.554+01:00The Epilogue<br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">I´ve noted that many tales from the road seem
to end abruptly when the physical journey is done...</span><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"> </span><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">and that makes a lot of sense, but I am often
left wondering about the aftermath.</span><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"> </span><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">What
happened to that particular character?</span><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"> </span><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">How
did the protagonist feel about their achievements some months down the road of
life?</span><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"> </span><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">How did they get back into the day
to day swing of things, or did they simply turn around and head off somewhere
new?</span><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"> </span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">And, indeed, I don´t necessarily feel that my
own “...<i>journey in search of direction...”
</i> ground to a halt with my arrival
back home in sunny Barcelona. I have
been thinking about what I have done, why I did it... <span style="text-transform: uppercase;">why
did I do it?</span> ... and what effect
it has had on me, and how I will take that with me through the rest of my life. Before I headed off, I was told by some who
have been and done that the journey would change my life... I must confess I scoffed a little (inside) at
such statements. I am reminded now, as I
reflect, how right they were. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Perhaps I have been thinking too much. Perhaps I should simply park the memories in
that corner of my mind, for revisiting on cold and damp days. Perhaps I should be setting my sights forward
for further adventures. But, I´m sorry to
report, that is not necessarily me. I
am, therefore, driven to wrap up this section of my trip tales with an
epilogue, where I explore the impact of such a mammoth journey and how I have
managed to return to earth without too much of a bump. I hope you will stay with me through this
final leg.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">So where do I start? So many thoughts running around my mind on
return home, the first of which fuelled by a small degree of fear, as reported
in the final trip episode. Why on earth
I felt that way was a mystery. Mrs Pat had
done nothing but pour love and support in my direction from the outset of this
project. But it was nevertheless there,
and I should acknowledge that. Despite
the wonders of Skype and mobile technology, it remains the case that we both
spent quite some time out of contact, and out of the habit of sharing our daily
woes. When you decide to spend a life
together, not spending it together becomes alien, and I think it was that which
tossed tinder into the flames of my unsettled emotions. Each traveller on return will undoubtedly
feel different – we are all different people after all – but I am pleased to
report that my worries were well and truly unfounded.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">They say that absence makes the heart grow
fonder... don´t you just hate such clichés? Even more so perhaps when they prove to be
true. My time away made me realise with
crystal blue clarity what I have at home, and I record that lesson here lest it
be lost. After close to 20 years
together it is easy enough to accept your life partner, for better and for
worse, but perhaps also without much real thought. This trip has given me the opportunity to
revisit who we are and why we (usually) work well together, and what I value
most. It has also given me the time and
perspective I was looking for to put my own head in order. I feel I have done that, and I feel a greater
closeness and understanding at home...
something I value more than the chance to see more of this wild and
wonderful world... but only just!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">I also find myself being more reflective and
thoughtful of late, and measuring my life and opportunities I have seized, and
wasted, against those available (or not) to the people I met on that long
journey north. I often say I am a lucky
guy, but perhaps it is only when you open yourself up to others can you really
sense the truth in that. Travelling
alone across continents for months on end forced that process in me, and I very
much hope I do not lose that perspective as life and the daily grind takes hold
again. What we have far outweighs what
we have lost. A message I plan to keep
close to my heart. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">And, equally, what we do does not necessarily
have to revolve around our own needs and desires. The generous giving I experienced from people
with comparatively little has, since my return, impacted on my being more
greatly than I had envisaged. If they,
without so much as a thought, can readily offer their time, energy and
resources – then surely I can do more.
People, on seeing that I was alone (and at times I was feeling it
strongly) readily shared their time with no desire other than to lift spirits
and help me feel more at ease in their world.
Powerful stuff indeed. </span><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">I can now see that the feeling I felt when in
receipt of selfless acts can be imparted to others, and that I personally
should do more...</span><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"> </span><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">and that I will do
more.</span><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"> </span><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">We are already discussing how we
can make a difference and translate these reflections into more concrete
measures, if only on a small scale.</span><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"> </span><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">A
new journey in life awaits.</span><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"> </span><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">A man once
said, “do the little things”, wise words indeed.</span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Talking about journeys, Idris had a much
longer one than I, though it did indeed arrive back in the UK safe and sound. My thanks to James Cargo for their support
and service. Though having to wait some
2 months for the return of the bike was more of a struggle for me than I had
anticipated. I missed the two wheeled
freedom within weeks of my return to Europe.
This was eased somewhat with spending many weeks in the UK catching up
with family, friends and (yep) work. I
wasn´t going to miss, for example, the Adventure Bike Rider Midlands Rally
weekend, even if I had to hitchhike.
Though, despite the very generous offer of some wheels for the weekend,
it did seem rather odd chatting to old friends and new about the trip when the
trusty steed in question was still in a box heading around the world... the
wrong way!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Needless to say that on Idris´ arrival back
in the UK, I took the opportunity to ride out to see friends again, before
heading down through France and home, where Idris will remain until warmer
weather returns to the north of the continent.
There are, after all, many roads in Spain left to travel – and I hope to
be doing as many as I can over the months to come. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">The committed few who have followed these
ramblings over the last year or so will recall that I had a few falls, most
notably one in Argentina that left me in pain for some time. I´m happy to report that I am relatively
pain-free now, though I felt the need to get checked out properly on arrival
back in the land of the paella. In case
you are wondering, my clicking knee is nothing more than that, and with a bit
of regular exercise should hold its own for many years to come. My back, which was more of a worry, is now
displaying a herniated disk – which looked a lot worse on the MRI than it
feels. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">I am reliably informed by competent
specialists that the physiotherapy that I am undertaking will be sufficient to
strengthen the muscles in the area and take the load off the spine. In short, a few minor worries that may limit
my trail riding in the short term but, overall, a small price to pay for the
experiences and wonder I drunk in through this amazing journey. Idris also requires a bit of TLC, which it is
now getting in readiness for more adventures to come.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Ride safe, and may sun always shine on your
bike (it does on mine!).<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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Pathttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11711082943425823382noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3849587727930742557.post-80992083140030920962012-12-30T16:55:00.000+01:002012-12-30T17:03:49.489+01:00Day 128 to 131 – to home! <br />
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">27 to 30 July</span><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"> Kms
travelled – 32,414</span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">Rolling into
Bellingham on a misty early morning, rested and refreshed from a wonderful 4
days on the Alaska Marine Highway, really did feel like the end of a long
journey. Idris and I only had the
relatively short run down to Seattle together before I handed it over to the
transport agents. Seattle was the end of
the road, but first there was Bellingham, and the promise of a farewell
breakfast with Michael. </span><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">The lack of phone and
WiFi connections on the boat meant that we needed to hook up with the world
again at our earliest convenience... not least to check that the arrangements
put in place before I left Haines to get Idris and myself home had not fallen
apart in the intervening days.</span><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"> </span><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">This also
meant that once disembarked Michael and I were looking for a local fast food
joint that would offer an early breakfast and a ready supply of free internet.</span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">Before ending up
under the golden arches of the big M, we managed to get a nice little tour of
the town, which I have to say looked the sort of place I should have spent more
time in. But as so often was the case on
this journey, I was soon saying goodbye to Bellingham, and Michael for that
matter, and hitting the motorway south for the final stretch of road.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">The landscape was
hilly, very green and quite charming... at least what you could gather from the
multi-lane freeway and increasing levels of traffic that were reaching out to
greet us each mile south we covered. A
while before hitting the outskirts of Seattle, the road ground to a halt. Sheer weight of traffic was the only cause...
a mix of grid-lock and slow moving three lane madness. I hadn´t experienced this level of gas
burning asphalt since Buenos Aires oh so long ago. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">It felt alien, it
felt wrong. Perhaps it was me. Had I spent too much of the trip avoiding
populated areas, favouring the countryside and missing the countries
themselves? I was struck by the sheer
volume of vehicles alongside, in front, and behind that were being employed
transporting just a single person. OK, I
recognise the irony in that. Idris was
doing the same. But Idris had returned
an impressive average 72 mpg on this journey, and I couldn’t help but think
there was unlikely to be any other vehicle on this road this day that could
match Idris´ incredible economy and low emissions.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">But the traffic did
flow, eventually, and before I knew it, or at least before midday, I was
rolling my trusty steed into the transport agent´s compound. Idris was due to be collected from here the
following week, taken by road down to LA, and then popped on a boat back to the
UK. KGM made the farewells easy, and
before I knew it I was jumping into a taxi and heading for an airport hotel with
my roll-bag full of the gear I needed to stick on the plane with me.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">My flight to
Barcelona, via Philadelphia, was leaving the next day, so I had an afternoon to
kill. Seattle beckoned, and the easy
airport light rail link facilitated the run into the city centre. Years of watching episodes of Frasier had
prepared me for what I was likely to expect in terms of the fixed sights to
see, but it in no way prepared me for how I would feel walking again in a busy,
bustling city. Indeed, if it wasn´t for
the people I might well have enjoyed wandering around the waterfront area, with
its regenerated markets and craft shops – even sight of the original Starbucks
– it seemed a bit like Sydney harbour! <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">But there were
people, and lots of them. It was a
Saturday afternoon and there was some sort of festival taking place that
evening. It wasn´t long before I started
feeling uncomfortable. This was
strange. Was I going to feel so alien in
all situations I found myself from now on?
Had I been affected so much during this trip? But with questions unanswered, the fact
remained that I was experiencing a touch of anxiety – I needed to get off the
street and find space to relax. Not
knowing my surrounds, I opted for the cinema.
The Dark Knight was an inviting option, though due to the recent
shootings in Montana, having to pass through security to watch a film was, yet
another, odd experience.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">However, the American
Airlines flights the next day were fine.
The service good, the food passable, and schedule maintained... what
more do you want from a long-haul airline.
Even the short layover in Philadelphia was pain free. And the following morning I was landing in a
sunny Barcelona airport. My physical
journey was over... but somehow I felt
that my mental one still had some way to go.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<b><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">Thoughts for the day<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">Time on the Alaska
Marine Highway and on the flight home gave the opportunity to ponder what I had
seen and experienced on the journey... and what that meant to me. It also allowed me time to think about life
at home, and those doubts about how I would be received after 131 days away
could not help but creep into my consciousness.
I had already been unsettled by big city life, how easily would I be
able to adjust to domestic life again. I
was secure in my feelings for my wife and family, but was that enough – and
would they be so secure in theirs in return.
It is curious how these questions linger on a long journey, and build
space in your mind as that journey nears its end, no matter how well or unfounded.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">My return home was to
an empty house – but that was expected.
People have to work, and not all can get the sort of time off necessary
to do a trip like this. But walking
through my front door to the sight of a welcome home and congratulatory signs
lifted a weight of worry off my shoulders that I hadn’t realised had settled
there until that moment. I literally
breathed a sigh of relief and all was well with the world. Conversations with Mrs Pat that day, and the
reunion later was wonderful, and not for recording here. Other thoughts from the journey are, however.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">The trip had changed
me... I really did feel different. I was
calmer for one thing, more relaxed and at ease with people and the world in
general. I seemed to have shrugged off,
to a degree, that fear (or is it suspicion) that many of us in western society
harbour about strangers. Time on the
road alone has resulted in me often seeking out company, being the first to
initiate contact, putting myself in positions of vulnerability. It was often an exercise born out of
necessity... we are social animals after
all, and crave company. But that process
was an education in itself, and an education it would be remiss to not openly
recognise. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">Most people are not
out to cause us harm, most people don´t have a hidden agenda, most people are
actually pretty decent and only willing to help, or just chat. I didn´t meet a single idiot on the whole
trip. 131 days on the road and not one
person caused me grief or cause for concern.
Why is it then that the western media keeps telling me that all these
people I met should have been out to do me harm? Why is it that they say that I should be
afraid to travel through the countries I visited? Perhaps I was just lucky, my wife does say I
am the luckiest guy around, but I prefer to think it is something more than
that.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">Media is business –
and fear and violence sells. It is
nothing more than that; simple economics.
If you want to learn about the world, you need to go beyond the
headlines on a global news channel. The
world is a glorious mix of people and places – with each having its own story
to tell. And there really are stories
out there worthy of being read or experienced first-hand. But these are not often covered by the
business of mass media. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">The stories I heard
were about pride and love. They were
about countries and peoples striving for betterment, when they were limited in real
resources to help them achieve such goals.
The stories from Pat Around the Americas were about generosity and
desires to do the right thing at the individual level, even though there was
little to offer. And when there was
little to offer, people gave their time; a commodity so difficult to come by in
our daily lives.</span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">On my boat and plane
journey home, I decided to report my experiences so that others might be
inspired to look beyond the headline and reach out to a world interested in
receiving their embrace. I decided to
dedicate some of my time to putting my full story into words, building on the
headlines recorded in this blog. And I
decided to seek further public support through those words for Unicef´s work
with children around the globe. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-y1ZlA22QcOM/T09msln5akI/AAAAAAAAAQ8/EK15IWGisiY/s1600/CRESTED+-+inaidlongUNICEFcyan.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="62" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-y1ZlA22QcOM/T09msln5akI/AAAAAAAAAQ8/EK15IWGisiY/s400/CRESTED+-+inaidlongUNICEFcyan.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">So in addition to the
fundraising through this blog, I´ll be writing a book about the trip with all
my proceeds going to Unicef. I have
already been enriched beyond measure from the journey; I am not making any money from this experience. But I
do want to do more to help the children I saw along the way. They are the futures of these countries – and
futures that can only be fully realised through greater health and education
services. Unicef can help with that. And we can help Unicef. </span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">If you have enjoyed following my travels in these postings, please feel free to become part of the journey yourself. The links on the top right of this page will take you to more information on Unicef´s excellent work - and my just giving page, where you can send a contribution direct to Unicef. Go on - start 2013 by helping kids who are not getting the life chances we had.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">On the trip, I also resolved to
give more of my time to do (as St David said) the little things – I can´t think
of a better legacy from Pat Around the Americas. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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Pathttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11711082943425823382noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3849587727930742557.post-86706458993107369412012-12-10T20:05:00.000+01:002012-12-18T16:03:35.071+01:00Day 124 to 127 – to Bellingham, USA <div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">23 to 26 July</span><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"> Kms
travelled – 32,106</span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">Having dined royally
the night before on one of the finest rib-eye steaks I have ever eaten, I
decided on an equally royal lay-in and leisurely breakfast at my hotel in
Haines, Alaska. There was no longer any
need for the tenseness and clockwatching that I had been (generally) carrying
with me since handing over hundreds of dollars for my ferry south and flight
home. I had arrived at the ferry port in
Haines with time to spend much of the day enjoying the town and local area.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">So having feasted
well again at a sumptuous breakfast (a rare treat for me on this journey), I
had Idris packed and ready to go by a somewhat tardy midday! Still, the sky was clear(ish) and the scenes
impressive from this little American outpost.
Haines had been largely ruled by the US army training post which now
forms part of the town, having been decommissioned and sold off following the
Second World War. In fact, my hotel was
located within the old barracks, overlooking the old parade ground (now a
lovely village-type green), and alongside other impressive old buildings on
‘officers row’. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">Having picked up some
hand crafted gifts for the lovely Mrs Pat – and there is a very good selection
in the town - I spent some time chatting to locals about life in the high
north. It seems that the fiord-like vistas,
nature and impressive cleanliness has encouraged an influx of semi-residents
from more southerly states. I can
certainly see the attraction here, and also understand the rationale behind
heading a little further south when the harsh winter sets in. But I did note a degree of tension from those
who have to try and scratch out a living in the Haines area on a more permanent
basis.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">The income from
tourism in the summer months is a vital source of revenue for those not able or
unwilling to maintain homes in the south.
And I sensed a degree of frustration with the lobbying against cruise
ships visiting the small port (the number having already dropped in recent
times). The town once served the
military post; without a replacement in the form of tourists it is hard to see
how the locals can continue to maintain homes here. But I hope they do. Haines has an old-world charm wrapped in a
veil of outstanding natural beauty that deserves to be admired. Finding that balance that delivers a
sustainable future for the port, and its residents, is a must.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">But I digress, the
fact is that while I was chatting to the locals I also heard about the lakes a
little further up the estuary where salmon run by the thousands, where bear
roam and feed, and where eagles soar.
With a ‘trailer’ such as this I could hardly sit around town drinking
coffee all afternoon – despite the good company. The short run out of town would also enable
me to check out the ferry terminal for later in the day (this had recently
moved some 5 miles out of town!).<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">If you are ever in
the area and have time before your boat, take a while to ride this run. Not only was I experiencing more of those
wonderfully curvy roads that hug both the rocky / tree-lined fiords and the
mirroring water, but the treat that awaits you at the end of the road will have
your camera snapping away in all directions.
Unless there are bears that is! <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">A couple of miles
beyond the ferry terminal the estuarial waters that take the boats out to sea
run out where a small but picturesque river begins. But only a short dirt track further on that
little river also disappears into a wondrous lake. I had hoped to spend some time there. There are spots (apparently) where you can
look down on the migrating salmon so numerous that no human eye could keep
count. But on my arrival on the track I
saw my route ahead blocked by big furry beasties. Deciding to adopt the pythonesque ‘run away’
form of valour, I turned Idris while I still could do so easily and scooted
away from the bears without so much as a glance back. Beautiful to see, but there is a wildness
about them that unnerves me, particularly when you come across them unexpectedly
in this vast landscape! Brave, brave Sir
Robin... sorry!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">I did have a great
ride back though, and stopped off at the terminal to check everything was on
course and to chat to the numerous bikers that were now starting to gather
(albeit some only for the short ferry hop over to Skagway). And what a diverse bunch we are... a mix of Harleys, of course, but also
Goldwings, father and son on KLRs, various GSs and a fantastic Ural Combo
transporting midlife newlyweds - nice!
There was also a somewhat grubby red XT660Z which sparked much comment
from the waiting two-wheelers, and much fun was had chatting away the hours,
while also admiring the odd eagle fly overhead (I failed to capture one on camera,
despite many attempts).<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">Loading, when it was
eventually time, was a simple but drawn out affair. But on arrival up on the open deck I was well
pleased to note that Michael (see previous episode) had already secured me a
spot where I would be spending the next four days and nights. A small boat, but it had most of what was
needed, and having pitched camp on the deck and sorted my gear, we settled in
for an evening of coffee and chatting with neighbours.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-kQduulnkWjU/UMJkS6DSbcI/AAAAAAAAE8A/n7NLjm2W_4o/s1600/SAM_2289.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="150" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-kQduulnkWjU/UMJkS6DSbcI/AAAAAAAAE8A/n7NLjm2W_4o/s200/SAM_2289.JPG" width="200" /></a></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">For those that are
wondering, there are cabins on board but not as many as you would think - also
at $850 one way just for bike and passenger, the cost was already more than
sufficient for this ABR. But, unusually,
you can actually pitch your tent on the open area of the deck (it does get a
bit windy though) or, like us, sleep on the plastic ‘deck chairs’ that fully
recline in the covered solarium area – which also sports ceiling heaters at
night. With sleeping mat and bag laid
out, I had 4 excellent sleeps and fantastic views.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">You do wake early
each day though. You can´t really help
it, with the sun rising and shining through the roof. But you would not want to miss those sunrise
scenes; they really are part of the whole experience on Alaska´s Marine Highway
to Bellingham, Washington. The boat
stops a number of times on the way south, and at some of them you are allowed
to get off and wander the local towns for a while. I didn´t.
Having everything I needed, including a ready supply of books from the
onboard shop and book exchange scheme (opposite the purser´s desk), I settled
in for some of the laziest 4 days I have experienced. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">And what an
experience! Firstly to be blessed by
being surrounded by interesting people...
and let´s face it, four days on a small boat with no phone signal or
WiFi, you are going to end up speaking to lots of people whether you like it or
not! I am grateful to Michael, Tom,
Erica, Larry and the two Johns for your company. It seems that most people who venture up to
Alaska are possessed with an adventurous spirit. So it was great to be able to swap stories
or, when you felt the need, simply to kick back and enjoy the views.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">And that brings me
neatly to my second point. This area of
the world is simply breathtaking. The
ferry route finds its way through often narrow gaps between mainland and the
mess of islands that simply litter the coastline. There was only one moment I recall from the
whole journey when we were able to see open sea. Consequently the water was as calm and clear
as an alpine lake. And in those early
hours, or late ones for that matter, especially when the mists rolled through,
it was simply magical.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">Not wishing to sum up
the journey with just two main points, I would be seriously remiss if I did not
add the third; that being the wildlife.
OK, we couldn´t see bears or moose, nor was there that much flying
around above. But what appeared from the
watery depths from time to time will stay with me for years... whales, orca, and sea otters. I´ve seen TV programmes where people have
come over all emotional on sighting whales in the wild. I was a little more reserved... cough, cough... but it is true, these animals really do
strike a chord when you see them in their natural environment, doing what comes
naturally. The lovely Erica was able to
capture some truly impressive shots – I wasn´t, so you´ll have to suffer my
feeble efforts I´m afraid. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB; mso-bidi-language: HE; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-language: EN-US; mso-fareast-theme-font: minor-latin;">And, unless you have
already experienced this journey for yourself, take my word... travelling Alaska´s
Marine Highway is one of the must do trips.</span><br />
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB; mso-bidi-language: HE; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-language: EN-US; mso-fareast-theme-font: minor-latin;"><br /></span>
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB; mso-bidi-language: HE; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-language: EN-US; mso-fareast-theme-font: minor-latin;"><br /></span>Pathttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11711082943425823382noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3849587727930742557.post-11431758035338525712012-12-03T23:11:00.003+01:002012-12-03T23:35:30.545+01:00Day 120 to 123 – to Haines, Alaska, USA <br />
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">19 to 22 July</span><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"> Kms
travelled – 32,106</span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">I welcomed in my 120<sup>th</sup>
day on the road with a leisurely stroll out of the bar in McCarthy, Alaska,
across the river footbridge and down to my chosen hostel for the night. I had really enjoyed my evening at the bar;
good food, good drink, and good company is always the best recipe. Surprisingly lively given the size of the
town, the bar sported a mix of locals, seasonal workers (who seemed the most up
for a relaxed party), and tourists. I
guess I fell into the latter category but I did, in fact, feel rather at
home. A strange place McCarthy, but one
that was capable of very quickly getting under your skin; I could spend some
real time here</span><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">.</span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">And it was also a
strange walk back to my bed too.
Although in the wee hours, there was still plenty of light to see the
way, and even try to take a few artistic photos (such are the effects of a good
drink – I suddenly found myself thinking I knew what I was doing with a camera
– oh how I laughed the following morning).
I was sharing a bunkroom with Tomas, a Czech chap who was in town for
the wondrous wandering that an Alaskan summer can offer – doing his own thing
but on two feet, not two wheels. I hope
I didn´t disturb him.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">Indeed it was on two
feet that I spent much of the next day exploring the town, its history, and its
people (past and present). One of the
tiniest of places, having shrunk back into near nothingness following the
closure of the copper mines so many years back, it was curiously difficult to
wander down the dirt covered main street; I think it took me over an hour in
all to make that walk. I have rarely
been in a place that was so friendly, open and where people seemed to have such
a genuine interest in your story. I
can´t recall how many times I was stopped and engaged in conversation, most
definitely more often than I am in my home town. Was the word out that there was another
McCarthy in town, and that he was humbly following the footsteps of the late,
great writer Pete McCarthy? I don´t
think so... I´d like to think that
everyone encounters the same experience on arrival here. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">But time eventually
ran out, and I had to make the walk back out of town, over the footbridge (bikes
and quads can cross it – but not cars) to the car park at the end of the
McCarthy road, ready to be collected and transported back to Idris in
Chitina. I was sad to say goodbye to
McCarthy – and realistically it was truly a goodbye. I was unlikely to journey this way
again. While I was already planning a
return to Alaska and the Yukon – I was simply having to leave too many things
undone here – but that would likely be a couple of weeks on a hire bike
focussed on places yet to see, rather than things already done. But who knows... never say never I guess. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">The journey along the
McCarthy Road by minibus took around 3 hours, and it was well into the evening
by the time my cramped legs stretched down onto Idris´ all too familiar
footpegs. It was nice to be reunited,
even for the short run to find a bed for the night. But the journey along the McCarthy Road was
not without its highlights. There were
still some parts of the original rail bridges available to view, and a
reasonable dash of impressive wildlife too, including a most grand lady moose.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-PHslI-s_rBg/UBozTe88UnI/AAAAAAAAEuU/0kb53NItQYI/s1600/SAM_2196.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-PHslI-s_rBg/UBozTe88UnI/AAAAAAAAEuU/0kb53NItQYI/s400/SAM_2196.JPG" width="400" /></a></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">My views on the road
itself mirrored those of my KLR friend of a few days before. A whole lot of loose gravel, huge amounts of
dust, and lots of road works – plus punctures galore. We passed a few 4 wheelers doing the required
tyre changes, plus our own vehicle had had a puncture earlier that day on its
way out. While the driver insisted this
was nevertheless the best condition he had seen the road for years (as now the
potholes and washouts had been more or less filled), I would imagine that next
year (2013) would be a far better time to tackle the road on two wheels – once
a summer´s worth of traffic and a winter´s worth of snow and ice had compacted down
this relative gravel pit.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">The next morning saw me
rise and on the road in good time for the trouble free and pleasant ride back
up to Tok. Which we simply rode past
this time as we headed east down a stretch of the Alaskan Highway that was both
new to us, having arrived in Alaska via a more northerly route, and in fact new
to everyone in places. There were quite
a lot of long patches of road works right through to the border with Canada and
beyond, leaving a real mix (again) of road surfaces to navigate. I guess they only get a short window each
year to make the necessary repairs. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">Pitching up at a
roadside motel just before the border, I decided to stop for the day. I had made pretty good time, and the place
looked clean and well run. It also
turned out to be reasonably priced (for Alaska) and friendly too. Having settled in and had my meal for the
day, I spent the late afternoon and evening sat on the porch chatting with
travellers as they made their way through (it was also a fuel stop). It was here I met Michael from Ireland (originally)
and for the second half of his life, from Sydney. He was on his own round the world experience
(GS800) starting the Americas section at the top and heading down. Hopefully this blog will prove of some use to
him as he heads south. We also found that
we were booked on the same ferry to Bellingham, Seattle in a few days, so
plenty of time to catch up then. We also
spent a while chatting to Ignacio from the Canary Islands in Spain (Fazer), who
seemed quite buzzed to be able to chew the fat with someone in Spanish for a
while. Happy to oblige and buen viaje
tio!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">The Alaskan Highway
on the Canadian side got a bit bumpy. It
was not so much pot holes that were causing the issue, but the regular and
often deep undulations that had my heart racing and wheels airborne at
times. I resigned myself to a slower and
more steady pace, not least as the compressive effect of bouncing up and down
on Idris´ well worked suspension was causing my long forgotten South American
back issue to flare up. Better get that
checked out when I get home... just in case.
The wind was also starting to pick up...
curious that this becomes more of a factor at the more extreme ends of
the earth.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">This slower speed,
coupled with one stupid driver who insisted in driving right on my tail for
miles irrespective of the poor and changing road surface and local wildlife
which seemed to prefer the tarmac, meant that I started leaving all waiting
traffic pass me by at each enforced stop for road works. This happily left me with more time to chat
away to the people working the road stop signs.
It was at one of these signs, before a 2 km stretch of dirt road, that
the young chap shared a story of a bear and a bike. </span><br />
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<br />
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<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-I4CBceCp0uM/UBo1szIbgfI/AAAAAAAAEw0/hS4IJVFV2Pc/s1600/SAM_2218.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="267" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-I4CBceCp0uM/UBo1szIbgfI/AAAAAAAAEw0/hS4IJVFV2Pc/s400/SAM_2218.JPG" width="400" /></a></div>
<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">Some two weeks earlier, during the wet
weather that had been plaguing the area throughout June, a solo rider on a
GS1200 had passed through the road works riding relatively slowly due to the
poor (dirt) road conditions, when a large grizzly leaped from the roadside and
paw-swiped him from his machine. Rider
and bike went down pretty hard. The bear
went down even harder, as the construction crew on seeing the incident drew
their weapons and killed the freaked animal lest it go for the injured
ABR. It was reported that the bike was a
wreck, but the rider survived with a few bumps and bruises only. I was waved on with a warning to watch the
roadsides, just in case. And this
thought gave rise to another as the question came to mind: Do bears, you know, do their business in the
woods? It seems, from my Alaskan Highway
experience, that they don´t – but in fact undertake the majority of their
ablutions at the side of the road! This
did nothing more than reinforce my view that I should not stay long in the land
of the bear... well, at least not
without a rapid means of escape. I must
confess, they still scare me.</span><br />
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">But as thoughts
wandered in and out of my busy mind, miles rolled by, and it wasn´t long before
I was struggling to a halt around Destination Bay (which seemed more like a
lake to me, but what do I know). That
northerly wind had continued to rise in strength, and after crossing the plains
of a wide river valley a few times, my muscles were starting to feel the
strain. As I pulled into the fuel stop,
filled up and rolled on to a more sheltered parking spot, I noted that I was
not the only two wheeler feeling the same.
Bikes were rolling in and parking up every few minutes, including a
lovely German couple (GS800s) on their round the world epic, who spent much
time complaining about the quality of BMW dealership mechanics. It seems that after over 18 months on the
road so far, the only mechanical issues they had encountered were the result of
sloppy workmanship by BMW. Needless to
say, they were now doing all their own maintenance. And then Michael rolled in too – so much coffee
was drunk and chatting undertaken, before we decided that the wind had eased
sufficiently to move on.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">I left Michael find
his own pace, and settled back into my mile munching rhythm. It was not long
before Haines Junction came into sight, and after consulting a local about
alternative overnight stops, I decided to pitch up at a friendly motel with a
Chinese restaurant. Sat outside supping
a local beer it was curious to see the sky showing the hazy reddish signs of
the wildfire raging in Siberia! <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">I awoke and packed
really early for the run down to Haines – along the famed Haines Highway – a
National Scenic Highway (I wasn´t exactly sure what that meant, but it sounded
impressive). </span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">A number of ABRs I had met along
my travels from as far south as Argentina had highlighted this road as
something to be done. But I was
strangely nervous as I headed out of town for the first 10 miles or so of dirt
road (roadworks again). This would be
the last ´real´ road I would be riding as part of this adventure. I was getting those end of the journey jitters,
worrying about doing something silly and missing the boat, then missing my
flight, then missing my wedding anniversary – something I promised both my long
suffering wife, and myself, that I would not do no matter what.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">But as the road
rolled by, and the scenery opened up, I lost track of all my worries. This road had started with dirt, but was now
paved with the most wonderful of blackstuff.
Quick and rolling bends brought us each time to new vistas that took the
breath away. Each turn of the head, as
we rose steadily towards the mountain pass, what like a photo shot. You could spend days here capturing the
wonder of snow capped mountains, green grass and tree filled valleys, bubbling
mountain streams bursting over polished rock, with herds of horses prancing
behind. Amazing. </span><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">Then glaciers.</span><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"> </span><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">Then jagged, ragged rocks jutting in to the
sky.</span><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"> </span><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">Then more open plains setting out
the winding road before us.</span><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"> </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">And then a
grizzly bear...</span><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"> </span><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">what!</span><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"> </span><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">Yep, a grizzly with two young...</span><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"> </span><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">right by the side of the road.</span><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"> </span><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">I rode on.</span><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">
</span><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">I stopped.</span><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"> </span><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">With one hand I
pointed the camera behind and started snapping away, trying to get a good shot,
while covering the bikes controls ready for a speedy departure.</span><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"> </span><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">A wonderful sight, and I am so grateful to
Canada for permitting me to experience that before I left its shores.</span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">Then the ride pushed
downwards, through narrowing tree-lined valleys. Through the border once more into Alaska, and
then we were rolling left and right along a wonderful road which matched the
wide river bed´s track through the fiord-like mountains. I must confess I turned around and re-sampled
this 10 mile stretch a second (and third) time. </span><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">It was a perfect day, no traffic, wonderful road and incredible
scenery. Even Idris´ dodgy front tyre
didn´t hold back the fun as we came again to the side of the eagle reserve
where, in autumn, thousands of these incredible creatures compete with the
bears in feeding on the last salmon runs of the year. Ah, I thought, that´s what a National Scenic
Highway is – and what an understatement! </span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">And then it was
Haines and, as I rolled into town, I reflected on how good I felt. I noted I was sporting the widest of grins; a
smile that I probably couldn´t shake even if I tried (which I didn´t). My aches, pains, worries and woes had all
been blasted away on the Haines Highway.
It was probably one of the best roads I have ever ridden, certainly one
of the best riding experiences of my life.
It is hard to get across to non-bikers how something like this
feels. Petrol therapy – to the max!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<b><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">Thought for the day<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">It was during the evening
that I stayed in the motel near the Alaskan / Canadian border that the news of
the multiple shooting at the Dark Knight film premier in Aurora, Montana, came
through. Some crazy had gone... just
that! And after stockpiling munitions
for months, had unleashed his anger on an unsuspecting movie crowd of young and
old alike. The young student couple who
were working at the motel for the summer were from Montana, and the horrific
events became the topic of discussion for the evening. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-lIdaUs4hZGU/UBo4_p_0lFI/AAAAAAAAE0M/e1umG2DLoBM/s1600/SAM_2242.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="205" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-lIdaUs4hZGU/UBo4_p_0lFI/AAAAAAAAE0M/e1umG2DLoBM/s320/SAM_2242.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">Not surprisingly the
subject came back around to rights verses regulation. I can see both sides, and I´ve noted our
friends in the US are generally more protective of their civil liberties than
people I have encountered in Europe. And
generally they don´t respond well to big government telling them what they can
and can´t do. That said, just because
you have the right to carry arms, does that mean that you should? Is it true that a vast majority of weapons
used in criminal activity in the USA are, in fact, stolen from legitimate gun
owners? If there were less legitimate
guns sitting around, would less people be able to use them for criminal purposes? <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-7nARYw-x4Kw/UBo5E7TIpVI/AAAAAAAAE0U/Hu09adjUiR0/s1600/SAM_2243.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="220" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-7nARYw-x4Kw/UBo5E7TIpVI/AAAAAAAAE0U/Hu09adjUiR0/s320/SAM_2243.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">Also, I subscribe to
the view that government, and in many respects society in general, is there to
protect the weak. It is this capacity to
look after those who are less able clearly separates us from most other animals
(which, on the whole, tend to discard their weak). I am supporting UNICEF´s work because they do
just that – they protect and support kids around the world who are under
threat. Taking the point a step further,
if government/organised society is there to protect, then consequently laws and
cultural dictates should principally focus on protection of those who may be at
risk. If there is no risk to others,
then no law should be imposed – leaving instead personal choice. Violent aggression within society is considered
illegal. It is illegal to protect and
prevent violence against those less able to defend themselves. If, however, everyone is armed then you could
argue that everyone is able to defend themselves to a reasonable degree and,
therefore, societal interventions are unnecessary. Sounds a bit like the wild-west, doesn´t it?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-HHPlznw91VQ/UBo5oFMWQTI/AAAAAAAAE04/5cKQjI2Z6_0/s1600/SAM_2247.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-HHPlznw91VQ/UBo5oFMWQTI/AAAAAAAAE04/5cKQjI2Z6_0/s200/SAM_2247.JPG" width="150" /></a></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">The still hotly
contested question remains in the US about the balance between what you can do
and what you should. I pondered this
question as I rode the miles – and could only come to the conclusion that
greater regulation was necessary. More
detailed checks, linked databases, and waiting periods would not remove the
right to own guns (well, not for law abiding citizens), but it could only help
flag up when a possible nutter was stockpiling fully automatic munitions! Curious what you think about when you have
time with yourself. </span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">These were my
thoughts.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
Pathttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11711082943425823382noreply@blogger.com13tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3849587727930742557.post-31037502082498219142012-11-14T19:39:00.000+01:002012-11-14T19:39:36.262+01:00Day 117 to 119 – to Alaska, USA <br />
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">16 to 18 July</span><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"> Kms
travelled – 31,021</span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">I made it! I really did it! As my skin was tingling with the icy wind, my
body was infused with a genuinely warming glow as I mentally punched the sky
and silently whooped and hollered – not that there was anyone around to frown
or tut even if I had vented my feelings externally. For I
had just crossed the mightily chilly and most northerly of border crossing in
the whole of the Americas, and quickly caught sight of the most fantastic of
signs. A sign of appropriate proportion
to help celebrate and bring home to me that I had successfully completed my sixth
and final ´must do´ of Pat Around the Americas.
<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-9v9UfpVNAY0/TrLUncAWdVI/AAAAAAAAAOE/83brzuZ01Rs/s1600/PATA+Globe.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="212" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-9v9UfpVNAY0/TrLUncAWdVI/AAAAAAAAAOE/83brzuZ01Rs/s320/PATA+Globe.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">I had traversed the
Top of the World Highway and was feeling on top of the world myself as the
camera clicked away to evidence the achievement. I was in Alaska... after 117 days of travel and crossing some
20,000 miles of hard worn road... I was
here. I had taken Idris (or had Idris
taken me?) from pretty much the bottom of the world, right up to pretty much
the top. I had a tear in my eye as relief
stripped from me in waves, leaving me somewhat numbed but happy... oh so happy.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-SoCwntV_pf8/UBl-BrN8hGI/AAAAAAAAEOw/y8eR8awl-ow/s1600/SAM_2064.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-SoCwntV_pf8/UBl-BrN8hGI/AAAAAAAAEOw/y8eR8awl-ow/s400/SAM_2064.JPG" width="400" /></a></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">But I am getting
ahead of myself here. When we left the last
episode I was fretting about pretty much everything that crossed my mind as I
counted down to my departure from Dawson City. That departure came early the next morning as I was
unable to sleep through the whole of the light night. 7 am and I was sat on Indris´ back waiting
for the non-stop free ferry to work its way across the fast flowing Yukon river. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">A smile and a wave from the ferry staff, and
we were away with engines running full tilt and nose pointing upstream as the
boat slid sideways across the watery gap.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">The off-load was
uneventful, as was the climb up the mountainside (past one of the local
campsites) towards the Top of the World Highway. An interesting name for a road, and one which
I was given to believe not only stemmed from the fact that we were now in the
extreme north of the country, but also from the fact that the road had been
built right along the top ridges of the surrounding hills. A fact that was confirmed as soon as we had
arrived at the top of the mountain and started heading west.</span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">I had also been told
that the road had been built this way to keep costs down and increase the speed
of construction, as it had been put in place by the US army (yep, we were still
in Canada) who were concerned about alternative supply routes should Alaska be
attacked by the Japanese during the Second World War. Unfortunately while the road was originally
sealed, it has not been maintained for many years (aside from the run uphill from
the river) and now was rapidly reverting back into dirt and stone. In fact the patches of road that had already
succumbed to time and weather were easier to ride than the ad-hoc patches of
crumbling pot-holed tarmac. If it wasn´t
for the cold wind, low cloud and rain, you could have placed this run somewhere
between Ecuador and Guatemala. What a
shame I was unable to sample the sights offered by riding a road along mountain
tops, but I was pretty much alone on this ride and I was determined not to go
crazy and blow the project at the final hurdle.
<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-dqTfIo0Igbo/UBl-_Xx3RtI/AAAAAAAAEPk/rXTAiNKfPBc/s1600/SAM_2071.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-dqTfIo0Igbo/UBl-_Xx3RtI/AAAAAAAAEPk/rXTAiNKfPBc/s400/SAM_2071.JPG" width="400" /></a></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">Needless to say that
the weather got worse, colder, wetter, cloudier, as the ride progressed... and when I finally (and somewhat suddenly)
arrived at the simple US border post I really was ready for a break and a
chance to have a warm. But nope! Perhaps being stuck out in the middle of
nowhere with a cold wind and no view is some sort of punishment for the customs
officials – and this chap was taking it personally! This grumpy sort insisted I stand next to the
bike in full blast of the mountain top wind (rather than 3 feet to the left in
the shade of the building) while I
handed him my paperwork – and then wait there while he went inside
to take 20 minutes processing it! He
even came back out to move me back into the cold, as I had inched into a bit of
shelter while waiting! Sorry fella, but
there might be a reason you were posted to one of the most remote borders
around!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-oSnG_OS4dvw/UBohqID4O7I/AAAAAAAAEd0/bhqrvjkQNXc/s1600/SAM_2072.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="150" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-oSnG_OS4dvw/UBohqID4O7I/AAAAAAAAEd0/bhqrvjkQNXc/s200/SAM_2072.JPG" width="200" /></a></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">But as you will have
noted earlier, I did cross over after confirmation that I was not carrying any
guns... or firewood! Perhaps it is something about my personality,
but a distinct chill seems to rapidly sap away any charitable feelings I may
usually have. On being asked whether I
was carrying any firewood, I quipped about how cold it was waiting outside, and
agreed how nice it would be to get a good fire going. </span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">My comments were met with a blank stare,
then a wave on my way (plus a warning about the quality of the road ahead, in
fairness). Hey ho!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-FtpVNj9cbgw/UBoh081Tq5I/AAAAAAAAEeE/hocsl1H2ySQ/s1600/SAM_2077.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="180" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-FtpVNj9cbgw/UBoh081Tq5I/AAAAAAAAEeE/hocsl1H2ySQ/s320/SAM_2077.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">And while the cloudy
mountainside harboured no change, the fact we were now in a different country was
immediately noticeable through the road surface. The road to Chicken (yep, Chicken) was
maintained, but unsealed. In the dry
this would be a fantastic surface to ride.
Some light dust, but generally smooth hard packed dirt and stones. But it wasn´t dry, and Idris and I resigned
ourselves to picking through a road surfaced with an inch or two of orange
gravel porridge, with a poorly tread front tyre! Though as we descended through rolling hills
the weather improved a bit, the road dried a bit, and we relaxed into the ride
a bit satisfied that despite a couple of front wheel slides we had held it
together and were still going.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-uJip2eIzvTA/UBoiK_hcgMI/AAAAAAAAEeg/ZZsMkJv8OY4/s1600/SAM_2080.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="210" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-uJip2eIzvTA/UBoiK_hcgMI/AAAAAAAAEeg/ZZsMkJv8OY4/s400/SAM_2080.JPG" width="400" /></a></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">Imagine my surprise,
given that we had ridden pretty much out of sight of anyone else for the first
half of the morning, when arriving in Chicken to a great crowd of ABRs rolling
up within minutes. In fact, within half
an hour (during which the BMW boys from the last episode had also rolled up)
there must have been around 40 bikes and bikers chewing the fat and swigging
the free coffee. And the good news was, from
the Harley riders who had come east, we were back to tarmac again in less than
2 miles! </span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"> <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">I took my time in
Chicken, and enjoyed chatting to many like minded folk, but I was not going to
stop here the night. I was heading for
Tok, where I planned to stop at Youngs Motel, next to Fast Eddy´s restaurant –
a famed must stop place for bikers. This
would not have amounted to a great total distance this day but, as I had found in South America, poor weather
and emotional moments seemed to impact on how much I could comfortably move in
one day. And I had heard the weather was
closing in again, so we rolled out of Chicken to the sight of many waves and
congrats on the achievement from a great, though diverse bunch of people. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">The road to Tok would
have been a great rolling ride on a calm day, but that bad weather had indeed
closed in and the surrounding hills were channelling the capricious wind into
storm-force gusts. Arrival at Fast
Eddy´s couldn´t have come soon enough, and after settling in to my room, I
found myself sharing a beer and later dinner with those great (BMW) guys from
Edelweiss / Motoquest Tours. They were
doing a 2 week tour starting in Anchorage, riding out into the Yukon, around
the pan-handle, through Whitehorse (where I had first seen them), up to Dawson,
across the Top of the World, through to Fairbanks, then up the Dawson Highway
into the arctic circle and Prudhoe Bay, before finishing back at Alaska´s
capital. And what a capital tour that
sounded.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">Me, I treated myself
to a lay-in and a rest day in Tok. I had
to make a decision. I had completed my
last ´must do´ but I had enough time remaining to do only one of my ´would
really like to do´ tasks in Alaska. Ride
the Dawson Highway into the Arctic Circle, or take the Road to McCarthy. Hmmm, I needed to think more on this. I could not afford to return the bike from
Alaska, so that meant either a ride to Seattle or the 4 day ferry down. The latter was a little more costly, but
saved time, and as that was now also at a premium, I needed to book myself a place
on the boat – which leaves the Alaskan pan-handle towns of Haines and Skagway
only once a week. Having made that
booking, and also sorting my own flight home, I then counted back how many days
I had left. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">3 days only to ride
around Alaska! How part of me envied the BMW guys, and how part of me was so
glad to be going home! Was it to be the arctic
circle or McCarthy? I only had the time
for one, and I couldn´t decide... so I
tossed a coin. No, I really did... threw it up in the air and everything. Left to the lap of the
gods, I found myself sitting in Fast Eddy´s ordering dinner and planning the
Road to McCarthy. And just then an anniversary edition BMW GS1200 Adventure pulled up
outside, right next to my window seat. I
know that bike, I thought, and as the rider pulled off his helmet and waved, I
know that guy too I thought. Back in the
midst of northern Chile´s desert, I met Guiermo from Argentina at a shady
watering hole. We had different travel
plans and differing timetables, but here he was rolling into Tok the same time as me months and
continents later! Needless to say much
catching up was done over dinner – what a lovely chap... what a great encounter! If you are interested in what he´s been upto, take a look at the link on the right to his website: la respuesta esta en el camino (the answer´s in the journey). Wise words. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">An unremarkable start
the following morning led to an unremarkable ride out from Tok. I had some distance to do today, Alaska being
pretty big and all that, with not that many roads crossing it, I just had to
dig in a go. But it I was not going
long, before I was stopping again. An
hour or two out of Tok and I was standing by the side of the road enjoying the
most wonderful sight of a male moose having his morning feed – what an incredible
animal – the sight of which set my mood up for the day. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-ZSh7-LRLS3M/UBojbBPnyGI/AAAAAAAAEgA/ZN3v3WgbImc/s1600/SAM_2092.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="201" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-ZSh7-LRLS3M/UBojbBPnyGI/AAAAAAAAEgA/ZN3v3WgbImc/s400/SAM_2092.JPG" width="400" /></a></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">A couple of hours
later I was stopping at a general store, where I was instructed to help myself
to coffee, take a seat, and join in with the local banter. Alaskan folk certainly enjoy a good joke, and
seem generally well humoured – but there again, perhaps you have to be of a
positive disposition when it drops to some minus 60 outside? The roads were, well, of mixed quality. Nowhere near the sort of standards you see in
the lower 48 states, but there they don´t have the extremes of weather and low population
density. But they were OK, and providing
you were not in too much of a hurry, you can eat into the miles at a steady
pace once you get into the zone! <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">It was, therefore,
somewhat a bit of a jolt from my ´riding zone´ to come across a loaded KLR 650
on the side of the road, with an ABR wielding tools. We were not far from the start of
the famed McCarthy Road – built with dirt and gravel atop an old copper mine
rail line. A lovely Alaskan chap,
retired and veteran ABR, was simply doing a routine chain adjustment having
completed the run to McCarthy. But his
advice and description of the road ahead gave me pause. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-gKj82PSlbQ0/UBopKoHwV8I/AAAAAAAAElI/lK7G6asiaDs/s1600/SAM_2127.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-gKj82PSlbQ0/UBopKoHwV8I/AAAAAAAAElI/lK7G6asiaDs/s400/SAM_2127.JPG" width="400" /></a></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">It seemed the entire road was
in the process of being graded - where road workers dump fresh dirt and gravel
onto the surface in a bid to even out pot holes and bumps. A good thing you might think, but when you only
have 2 wheels the freely moving new surface provides for more excitement on a long
ride than this ABR was looking for this day.
Indeed, it had taken Mr KLR over 3 hours to do the 65 mile stretch, with
all the roadworks etc involved. And he
was not that impressed with the sights along the way either (seemed that much
of the road was closed in by trees on both sides, so few moments to enjoy the
views). If you are only going to
McCarthy the once, he suggested, then you should fly and take in the glaciers
on the way... so I did! </span></div>
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<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-XVoq4zWGdE8/UBoq7tpGz6I/AAAAAAAAEmw/g9CyU-ghczQ/s1600/SAM_2139.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="388" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-XVoq4zWGdE8/UBoq7tpGz6I/AAAAAAAAEmw/g9CyU-ghczQ/s640/SAM_2139.JPG" width="640" /></a></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">Recommendations from
the flight company saw me getting a cheap place to stay in McCarthy. And with Idris parked up safe and sound at
the airport, and $130 lighter, I was in the air for the most spectacular 30
minutes of air travel I have ever encountered... really!
If you find yourself in this area, take a trip with Wrangel Mountain Air;
you won´t be disappointed. Only seconds
into the sky in the small 6 seater craft, and I could see that Mr KLR knew what
he was talking about. And after coming
into land, finding my bed at ´Brad´s´ place, and walking into McCarthy´s Bar – I
finally felt I had come to the end of my journey. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<b><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">Thought for the day<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">It was curious that
despite my elation at reaching Alaska, I didn´t feel that sense of completion
until I had arrived in McCarthy. And it
was also curious that my final arrival in town was not on the back of Idris, but
through the wing of a plane. It made
sense though. The 20,000 mile solo run
on the bike from Tierra del Fuego to Alaska was very much a bike challenge –
but my arrival in McCarthy seemed more by way of completion of my mental journey. </span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">The late, great Pete McCarthy´s outstanding
book The Road to McCarthy was one of my key inspirations for reaching up from
South America towards Alaska – and I felt it was fitting that fate dictated I
make my stop and turn around here, in a town of my name, rather than at a
signpost by the side of the road. </span><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">It also helped that the town´s bar was jumping, stocked a most excellent McCarthy´s
whiskey, and the people there didn´t so much as bat an eyelid as I flamed up the
Cuban cigar I had been smuggling across borders since Colombia. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">My trip was complete...</span><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"> </span><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">I felt it in my bones, muscles, heart and
mind.</span><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"> </span><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">It was time to go home.</span></div>
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Pathttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11711082943425823382noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3849587727930742557.post-86824532989097802312012-10-26T21:35:00.000+02:002012-10-26T21:43:43.832+02:00Day 115 to 116 – to Dawson City, Canada<br />
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">14 to 15 July</span><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"> Kms
travelled – 30,708</span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">I must be getting old,
or perhaps I had become accustomed to the limited alcohol input over recent
months travelling, but I awoke at my usual early hour in Whitehorse, Canada,
with a distinct headache. I only had a couple, honest! This, however, meant I
simply rolled over and went back to sleep!
It was gone 9 when I finally did emerge, pack the bike and hit the
road. I felt somewhat better minutes
later when I passed a group of around a dozen BMW GSs gathering in the car park
of another motel on the outskirts of town.
At least I had beaten them to it, I thought, as I turned off the Alaskan
Highway onto the Klondike Highway (2) north towards Dawson City. There´s gold in them there hills! We just had to see whether Canada would serve
up another pan of golden riding.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">But it wasn´t long on
the road before the group of BMWs caught up and, with the appropriate waves, rolled
by one by one. I could see they were on
an organised ride, with much stickerage advertising Eidelwice Expeditions –
that well known name for global motorcycle adventure tours. It was also not long before the heavens
frowned and it became time to adopt the wet weather posture. I had been tallying up the amount of rainy days
I´d encountered to date, with only 4 in total out of my 115 (so far) being of
distinct dampness. So with that
perspective, I decided to make the most out of it and enjoy the run up into the
wilds of the northern Yukon.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">While much of the
scenery was of a similar vein, it was on the whole quite pretty and had a stark
beauty about the place, only enhanced by the scale of the countryside. Similar thoughts to those I had had in parts
of South America, but here we were able to feast on more hillsides and
trees. And, in fact, it wasn´t long
before the sun was peeping through again, only to leave patches of heavy
showers for the remainder of the morning.
<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">The road offered a
varying degree of rider enjoyment, from patches of tough slog, to wonderfully
curvy fun bits. From top notch tarmac to
rough patches of <i>chip sealed</i> road,
which is where the local authorities spray a sticky compound on the surface
then dust the road with a layer of chippings, which they then leave for the local traffic to
bed in. Fine if you have four wheels,
but it made life interesting for this two wheeled traveller. Each time I came to a patch of chip seal I
was unable to gauge whether the stones were already fixed, or whether I was
about to encounter something akin to a gravel road – with all the different
handling characteristics that entailed.
So I adopted the approach of slowing at all surface changes just in
case. As I said, some parts were a tough
slog but progress was being made. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">I was also playing
leapfrog with my BMW friends, as their differing pace and fuel/food/loo needs
resulted in us passing each other on a number of occasions. And each time with the appropriate courtesy
shown to fellow like minded Adventure Bike Riders, as nods and waves were
exchanged to speed each other on our respective ways. At a rest break I happened across another ABR
(KLR650) who had just descended the much praised dirt covered Dempster Highway from inside the Arctic Circle at Inuvik. A relatively local rider from Alaska, he was
able to regale me with tales of mudded out road, tricky river crossings (they
had had a whole month of rain in June which had only subsided the week before),
and wondrous sights as we mutually admired each other’s chosen steeds. A 5 day run for this experienced off road
rider, he had found the route particularly challenging this year... but nevertheless leaving me with the
sensation that I was again passing and leaving undone much that should be
done. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">He also warned of a 2
km patch of bad road ahead that had just been completely relayed after nature´s
destructive force had taken its toll.
The road was back in place, but a firm surface was not. A deep and extended trench of small loose
stones beckoned and threatened in equal measure. No turning back, I was already on the edge of
Klondike country and the call of Dawson City with all its colourful history
drove me on. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">Forewarned is
forearmed as they say, and I soon recognised the area he highlighted as
evidence of recent road workings was clearly visible – so were the loose
stones, which had already been driven into ruts and ridges to some extent by
heavier vehicles. Memories of Ruta 40 in
Argentina exploded into my mind, not least due to the remoteness and lack of
traffic on the road (it seemed I had finally left my BMW colleagues behind). I lowered my tyre pressures and braced myself
for an uncertain ride. No Patagonian
winds to blow me off course this time, thankfully. But in no time at all the road dived into a steep
curving decline which made it difficult for this (still) relatively inexperienced
off road rider to maintain traction through driving the rear wheel, while
running at a speed which didn´t take me over the edge on a bend. I almost lost it once, but on the whole came
through the stretch with a smile of relief and renewed sense of achievement.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">I was then rewarded
further after some distance with the sight of giant mounds of pebbles lining
the side of the road and the now widening river valley. At each turn the road improved and signs of
human presence started to crop up. I
later realised that I was, in fact, seeing signs of man´s impact on the local
landscape throughout this final stretch to Dawson. The pebbles had not been thrown up over the
years by some sort of flooding river, as I had thought, but by the gold machines
which floated in the shallow waters digging up the river bed and discarding this
goldless waste in impressive style. The
scale of the operations in its heyday must have been incredible.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">And then I was
rolling through a small industrial estate, over a bridge, through a narrow
gorge, and into a town that appeared to have been frozen in time for a hundred
years (or at least built by some sort of Hollywood operation then left to the
weather to age). The streets in Dawson
City are not paved with gold... in fact they are not paved at all! Aside from the main road which runs along the
side of the Yukon river, bypassing the town centre and linking with the river
ferry on the far side of this relatively small patch of flat land, the streets
are paved with mud. I immediately
pictured the mud fighting scene towards the end of that tongue in cheek western
movie, Paint Your Wagon, and rode into town with a smile.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-7qcRC6UO8ic/UBl6ahViCDI/AAAAAAAAELk/R76cY80m1Q4/s1600/SAM_2041.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-7qcRC6UO8ic/UBl6ahViCDI/AAAAAAAAELk/R76cY80m1Q4/s320/SAM_2041.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">It was, however, a
smelly and tired smile. In my bid to get
north while my time on the road remained, I had found myself without a single
piece of clean clothing remaining. My
bike suit, frankly, stank to the point that even I winced each morning when
getting dressed... so imagine what my
helmet liner was like! I felt the need
to reinvigorate myself and enjoy the delights that this almost fantasy place
offered – and when I was presented with a 2 night deal at the El Dorado hotel,
the decision was made. A rest / laundry
day was scheduled, with some strolls along the raised wooden boardwalks... howdy pardner!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">If you ever get to
Dawson, and I hope you do, you should stay a few nights. This is a real life town, not a tourist
resort, with an active year round community despite its far remote
location. It retains both the look and
feel of the frontier as old builds are maintained, and new builds are required
to fit with the gold rush decor. Stacks
of history too, as you wander round visiting the museums, bars and shops, most
of which actively seek to hang onto the past.
You can even visit a brothel, which was tolerated by the town´s
authorities until surprisingly recently (no, don´t worry, it is closed now!). <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-o0a3CE3potA/UBl8QD2UgFI/AAAAAAAAENU/d2LX-94_QI8/s1600/SAM_2053.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="215" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-o0a3CE3potA/UBl8QD2UgFI/AAAAAAAAENU/d2LX-94_QI8/s320/SAM_2053.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">She really did have a diamond tooth!</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">But a write-up on
Dawson would not be complete without a mention of Diamond Tooth Girtie´s
gambling saloon. There, for a $10 season
pass to gain entry, you can sup the local brew, grab a tasty bite, try your
hand at poker (or other such gambling temptations) while taking in the live
period show, three times nightly. Think
back on those old western movies again, and picture the saloon shows with
can-can dancers, variety singers and dashes of cheeky humour - yep, just like that, and done remarkably well. Then as you finally leave at 2 in the
morning, you can wonder at the land of the midnight sun with brightness akin to
a cloudy day back home.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">Lots of bikes came
and went during my all too short stay, the vast majority of which would now be
classed as Adventure Bikes, coupled with lots of conversations with their
respective riders. I was, however, heartily
impressed with a Harley Ultra rider who had followed me into town having ridden
that great lump of metal through the tricky stony patch a way back. His heart visibly sank when he learned that
the road leading away from town on the other side of the river was no longer
maintained – and comprised largely of dirt and stone. But he resolved to press on. The Top of the World Highway was the route to
Alaska... and that challenge loomed as
my head hit the pillow for the 116<sup>th</sup> time. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<b><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">Thought for the day</span></b><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">Nerves and perhaps
even a dose of fear were running through my mind these days to the extent that
they might have caused me to take pause in Dawson. I was becoming fearful of the road ahead and nervous
about the bike´s performance, particularly the front tyre which was no longer gripping
as it should (it had been on there since Peru).
I was worried about how I was holding up, as aches and pains were
surfacing with each passing day (including the return of my South American back
pain), along with a general profound tiredness.
I was worried about my remaining time...
would it be enough? I was getting
anxious about the logistics of my return, with my preferred option of finishing
in Anchorage no longer being economically viable, I would now have to get back
to Seattle (more time... more
miles). I realised 116 days away was too
long as I tried to manage a deep underlying homesickness unlike anything I had
previously encountered. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">The trip was nearing
its conclusion, but it was now also getting really hard. I was determined to press on, but I could not
stop these constant negative thoughts from invading my mind. I had come a long way in mind... and in body,
but could I finish this (what now seemed to me for the first time) massive solo
challenge? Was the Top of the World
Highway leading to the most northerly border crossing in the Americas... a road too far? </span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">Hand on heart; I was really afraid that it
was...<o:p></o:p></span><br />
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Pathttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11711082943425823382noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3849587727930742557.post-40165181962315914252012-10-20T18:14:00.001+02:002012-10-20T18:17:41.711+02:00Day 112 to 114 – to Whitehorse, Canada <br />
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">11 to 13 July</span><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"> Kms
travelled – 30,058</span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">Leaving Prince George
was a low key affair, much like the very many departures I had had to suffer on
the journey so far. I say “suffer” for a
reason. In terms of the architecture
there was little to commend the town, particularly in comparison to the sights
that mother nature serves up in the surrounding areas. But there was a warmth and comfort extended
by the people I met that made it, yet again, difficult to leave. Some places just click, and you are left (or
you leave) with a feeling that you could and should spend more time. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-GKfahe7UG5Y/UBlw-gtComI/AAAAAAAAECg/yGWez50mrKA/s1600/SAM_1975.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="208" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-GKfahe7UG5Y/UBlw-gtComI/AAAAAAAAECg/yGWez50mrKA/s400/SAM_1975.JPG" width="400" /></a></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">I was, however,
heading west (16) with a view to kicking north up the now famous Stuart Cassiar
Highway. The road was good (mostly), and
kind (mostly), to this road (weary) warrior. Tree
lined open valleys stretched out before us and helped lead the way between snow
peaked mountains. If it sounds pretty,
then I´m doing my job right in typing these words. It was lovely... not as spectacular as some of the scenes I
had seen on the trip, but some real fine country. And to top it off, we were soon running from greeny blue
lake to the next; like riding the string of a gigantic sapphire necklace. It was a good morning.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-xplswb09f9E/UBlx6CZeSWI/AAAAAAAAEDY/n2vMGV4CYpE/s1600/SAM_1981.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="250" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-xplswb09f9E/UBlx6CZeSWI/AAAAAAAAEDY/n2vMGV4CYpE/s400/SAM_1981.JPG" width="400" /></a></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">Come around midday,
however, and come Burns Lake and I needed to stop. The trip north from South America was in
reality a trip north west. The Americas
have got a bit of a lean going on, which meant that with every key stage of the
trip I was moving into earlier and earlier timezones in comparison with
home. I hadn´t spoken to the lovely Mrs
Pat for a while, and the much needed reminder of what home felt like provided by
Eric in Prince George, simply topped up the need to feast on her visage. It was time for Skype so, as I was saying, it
was time to stop... and Burns Lake
seemed a good place.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-iXsA0UUUtGA/UBlyC5GyuDI/AAAAAAAAEDo/gWPJhaPx5JY/s1600/SAM_1984.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="150" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-iXsA0UUUtGA/UBlyC5GyuDI/AAAAAAAAEDo/gWPJhaPx5JY/s200/SAM_1984.JPG" width="200" /></a></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">The local tourist
information office provided free wifi, free coffee, free information and free chat, as I
whiled away a few hours nattering with folks back home, and folks in town. We also got sorted with some accommodation
for the night, as I decided not to bother making further progress this day. Word from tourist information was that there
were more lakes over the nearby hill, with a ferry link on the road, and some
pretty sights. Sounded like a short
detour was on for the afternoon, followed by a highly recommended (and massive)
steak dinner. Nice!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-ynZeCMv7ZIo/UBly8856DWI/AAAAAAAAEEU/-CmpHGA6oCw/s1600/SAM_1988.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="273" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-ynZeCMv7ZIo/UBly8856DWI/AAAAAAAAEEU/-CmpHGA6oCw/s400/SAM_1988.JPG" width="400" /></a></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">Recharged, the
following day we were up and out early and leading the way through a crisp misty
morning. Heated grips were back on, and
the run through to my breakfast coffee break at the start of the 37 was a great
warm up for what was to come. People
have stated that the Stuart Cassiar Highway is one of the must do roads heading
north, and to many is the preferred route.
I could see why. Almost
instantly, the scenery became more dramatic, more unspoilt and more in touch
with the elements. There was also a more
notable increase in local wildlife proportionate to the decrease in traffic, with a number of people I spoke to along
the way citing bear sightings! I saw many foxes, loads of deer, a number of
unnamed birds... but no bear. </span></div>
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<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-dQ7fAd7DrK8/UBlzjsRRVlI/AAAAAAAAEE4/56IZfsqLDSc/s1600/SAM_1992.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="150" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-dQ7fAd7DrK8/UBlzjsRRVlI/AAAAAAAAEE4/56IZfsqLDSc/s200/SAM_1992.JPG" width="200" /></a></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">And
then... what was that? A dark shadow flew past my peripheral vision
as we were enjoying this (comparatively) twistier and quieter road. Idris kindly grumbled to a speedy halt, and
there it was... a black bear feeding at
the side of the road. Idris´ notable
engine thump, no doubt along with our abrupt halt, seemed to be unsettling the
beast, so we quickly moved on... with me
grinning widely at the sight, only to realise later that I hadn´t taken a
single photo.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-0iNJt90XHvg/UBlz6kLgp9I/AAAAAAAAEFQ/-5uaPbI9WK4/s1600/SAM_1996.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="290" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-0iNJt90XHvg/UBlz6kLgp9I/AAAAAAAAEFQ/-5uaPbI9WK4/s400/SAM_1996.JPG" width="400" /></a></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">More was to come,
however, three in fact. Each at
different points along the road, each sat at the side feeding, and each becoming
uncomfortably inquisitive each time we slowed down or stopped for a better
look. Call me a coward... no, seriously, call me one.. for I discovered that is exactly what I am when
I comes to these impressive animals. I
had read too many stories about the injuries inflicted by bears on us bipeds. They are much faster than even the speediest
of us – think Usain Bolt sporting a fur coat and two fists full of hunting
knives – and without his good humour! I
had also heard these stories reinforced by people on the road, and the locals hereabouts. They can´t all be exaggerating? OK, I´m being a bit long-winded here. The upshot is... I didn´t get any shots. I bottled out of one camera moment after the next,
and much as I revelled in the sights of these wonderful creatures, I have
nothing but my words to share with you.
But you know what a bear looks like... don´t you? You know...
Usain Bolt... coat... knives!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-WHa8VFDiCss/UBl1RIGbh3I/AAAAAAAAEGk/EBasAqC8RkM/s1600/SAM_2004.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="256" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-WHa8VFDiCss/UBl1RIGbh3I/AAAAAAAAEGk/EBasAqC8RkM/s400/SAM_2004.JPG" width="400" /></a></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">Heading on up, and
the temperature was heading on down. Neck
buff and heated waistcoat (not plugged in) had come back into play. But this hadn´t affected the ride. I wrote in my day book this day “lovely weather... lovely scenery... lovely ride”, so all was
clearly well with the world. I should
note that there is not much by way of human impact along the way on up. There are fuel stops and places to stay, but as
we headed further into the northern wilderness, we were again back to having to
plan ahead for such things. It was a
welcome additional task. It meant we
were nearing our final destination. But
the destination this day was an overnight in a basic “construction workers”
motel, but the price was manageable and the company and food excellent (as it
invariably was throughout Canada). Just as well really... there was no way I was going to lay out my tent for the night!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-ldNAN7kSKUY/UBl1WKkUyHI/AAAAAAAAEGs/woRKXfW7kXM/s1600/SAM_2005.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-ldNAN7kSKUY/UBl1WKkUyHI/AAAAAAAAEGs/woRKXfW7kXM/s320/SAM_2005.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">The next day´s early start
and good riding saw Idris and I leapfrogging positions with a trio of Harleys who
were also heading north, but which had differing caffeine and loo needs. We did eventually meet up though, and it
turned out that despite the US plates, two of the guys were Kiwis. Nice bunch. </span><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">Then the rain closed
in, and the waterproofs dusted off for (I think) perhaps the first time since
Mexico!</span><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"> </span><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">I was wishing I´d stayed
indoors as the cloud settled lower towards the increasingly bumpy road, no
doubt the local wildlife felt the same.</span><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">
</span><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">I didn´t see a thing aside from a few bikes, a few RVs, and a few cars
for the whole day.</span><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"> </span></div>
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<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-jWviGEO_g7Y/UBl1mb1tSwI/AAAAAAAAEHA/pny6t4cjz2c/s1600/SAM_2007.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="182" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-jWviGEO_g7Y/UBl1mb1tSwI/AAAAAAAAEHA/pny6t4cjz2c/s320/SAM_2007.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">Oh! I did also manage a quick
stop at a jade mine, which was set on the side of the road opposite from a gold
mine, near the Cassiar Mountain. An interesting
spot with free coffee, but the lovely coloured stones seemed a bit pricey to
me. I´m not sure whether this was a
consequence of the increasing prices I had noted for pretty much everything as
we headed further on up, or whether it was a comparison with the jade prezzies
I had bought my wife back in Guatemala? Either
way, we headed into the mountains with pockets empty of green stone, but
with stomach full of coffee. And some
mountains worthy of note they were too, with the ride only being tainted slightly by the
quality of the surface which (from time to time) suffered overly from the
severe winter exposure. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-XtFbwuAj2Fs/UBl2GpACxkI/AAAAAAAAEHY/Xb-NDWDyhqc/s1600/SAM_2011.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-XtFbwuAj2Fs/UBl2GpACxkI/AAAAAAAAEHY/Xb-NDWDyhqc/s320/SAM_2011.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">With the ongoing
bumps and rumbles of the mountain road running into bumps and rumbles of
rolling forestland (some of which had been scarred by various forest fires over
the last 20 years providing for some fab photo ops), we hit the Yukon and a moment to reflect on distance travelled. For the first time since riding into
Patagonia on the way down to Tierra del Fuego, I felt that I was entering the
end of the world. But now it was the other end I was looking at... and we were closing on 30,000 kilometres
travelled! We had not yet reached our
final ´must do´ - Alaska – but the Yukon conjured up in my mind so many images of
gold rush towns and extreme frontiers I could not help feeling we were now just
a short step away.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-ojhyuTt2cB4/UBl28F5rf1I/AAAAAAAAEIE/9pnV-noQgag/s1600/SAM_2016.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="150" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-ojhyuTt2cB4/UBl28F5rf1I/AAAAAAAAEIE/9pnV-noQgag/s200/SAM_2016.JPG" width="200" /></a></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">But even though we
had travelled some 800 kms this day already, we were to learn that a short step
in Canadian terms is a trans-continental ride for us Europeans. I was at Junction 37 and the Alaskan Highway (a generally better quality but less interesting road) lay before us. A quick refuel and chat to some of the
increasing number of bike riders (also a lot more GSs, DRs, KLRs and KTMs now
joining the stream of Harleys), and it was a “left turn Clyde” for a heady run
into Whitehorse.</span></div>
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<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-FR-Tz8L4i1w/UBl3XTWmzUI/AAAAAAAAEIk/g8KPWs5wBZM/s1600/SAM_2020.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="384" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-FR-Tz8L4i1w/UBl3XTWmzUI/AAAAAAAAEIk/g8KPWs5wBZM/s640/SAM_2020.JPG" width="640" /></a></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">Now, I hear you ask, why
is he saying the run to Whitehorse was a heady affair. Nothing more than a troublesome headwind leading to a stiff neck and painful temples,
would be my answer. Hard work after a
great but tiring long riding day. Some
great shots though. The Alaskan Highway
might not be quite as pretty as some of the road ridden over the last couple of
days, but it does have its moments (and its share of wildlife). It also has its share of bridges surfaced
with metal grids (and some wooden ones) no doubt designed to allow melting snow
to fall through in to the rivers below.
There are signs to warn the approaching motorcyclist, but no matter, I
grew to hate the things with a passion as I struggled to make progress in the
northern wind while keeping Idris upright on this challenging surface. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-qBVr4C4imfc/UBl3vvoPfPI/AAAAAAAAEI8/GgfwVLRB2cs/s1600/SAM_2022.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="201" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-qBVr4C4imfc/UBl3vvoPfPI/AAAAAAAAEI8/GgfwVLRB2cs/s320/SAM_2022.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">The last 200 kms
before Whitehorse earned us a good bed for the night and a couple of beers
too. I´ve not been drinking much on the
trip, saving money and my morning head in the process, but I have allowed
myself a few at weekends. The motel was
attached to a typical Canadian local bar with live country music that
evening. Fixing my spot on a comfy bar
stool, I settled in for a few Alaskan beers and some equally relaxing light-hearted
chat. I wonder if the folks here are related to those in Montana?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-6iFC66lnq3Q/UBl2_lHN3eI/AAAAAAAAEIM/RDN6bEDFXJU/s1600/SAM_2017.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="196" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-6iFC66lnq3Q/UBl2_lHN3eI/AAAAAAAAEIM/RDN6bEDFXJU/s320/SAM_2017.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
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<b><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">Thought for the day<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">I can´t say that today’s
thought is particularly meaningful in the grand scheme of things but... since
the increase in two wheel traffic and the opportunity to ride in groups and/or
with other riders is now presenting itself, I have been thinking about the
whole riding alone thing. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">Throughout the whole
trip to date, I have only spent one day riding with anyone else – and that was
with Clark on the last leg of getting to Ushuaia.
Since turning round at the bottom of the world I could not recall having
ridden a single revolution of Idris´ wheel with anyone. On the whole this was not out of a particular
desire to ride alone (even though I generally prefer it). I had, in reality, expected to meet up with people along the way and ride along with them from time to time. It just never worked out that way. And now, as we were nearing the end of an
epic adventure, I was increasingly of the view that I should finish it alone. A point of pride? A point of pig-headedness? Or simply a pointless point? Who can say.
I was certainly enjoying the increasing frequency of chats with like
minded folk on the road... I would just avoid riding the same speed as them...
I decided.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-itwjF4xylWM/UBl2oaOzIfI/AAAAAAAAEH0/NQl0tmE6Q30/s1600/SAM_2014.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="480" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-itwjF4xylWM/UBl2oaOzIfI/AAAAAAAAEH0/NQl0tmE6Q30/s640/SAM_2014.JPG" width="640" /></a></div>
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Pathttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11711082943425823382noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3849587727930742557.post-73157015192000200992012-10-12T20:56:00.000+02:002012-10-12T20:58:35.243+02:00Day 110 to 111 – to Prince George, Canada <br />
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">9 to 10 July</span><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"> Kms
travelled – 28,085</span></div>
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<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-4ov3ejPF4Yk/UBlkWnvv6oI/AAAAAAAAD3E/tDKWFjOfiSk/s1600/SAM_1893.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="396" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-4ov3ejPF4Yk/UBlkWnvv6oI/AAAAAAAAD3E/tDKWFjOfiSk/s640/SAM_1893.JPG" width="640" /></a></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">Was it the weariness
felt from months on the road, or was that bed really that comfortable? I thought as Idris and I sped up the 93
towards Radium Hot Springs with a bustle more associated with being late for
work, than the final stages of a mammoth bike ride. I slept late.
Something I don´t often do, even when work is on the cards back home. So I quickly settled on the fact that that
bed really was that comfortable, and the Village Inn in Windermere really was
that peaceful and quiet. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-jJQ3SKyKMZQ/UBllaXUHU7I/AAAAAAAAD38/qhgUQrKNxxo/s1600/SAM_1899.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="268" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-jJQ3SKyKMZQ/UBllaXUHU7I/AAAAAAAAD38/qhgUQrKNxxo/s400/SAM_1899.JPG" width="400" /></a></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">And we were back
enjoying the road, and what a road! But
I´ll let the pictures and your respective imaginations capture that. I couldn´t help thinking that perhaps I should
have stayed at Radium Hot Springs when we rolled through town, as it was
littered with accommodation, most of which with parked two wheelers outside –
and most of which of the American iron variety.
But perhaps not. Perhaps I had
needed that moment of peace last night to set me up for the day´s wonders. Perhaps I was secretly worried about the name
of this town?
I was OK with the hot springs bit, but <i>Radium</i>? Just how exactly was
this spring water heated anyway!!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-0514zg-SJDc/UBlmARwqrrI/AAAAAAAAD4o/vXdknRcyBDE/s1600/SAM_1903.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="255" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-0514zg-SJDc/UBlmARwqrrI/AAAAAAAAD4o/vXdknRcyBDE/s400/SAM_1903.JPG" width="400" /></a></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">Aside from providing
food for thought, and food for my late morning stomach, Radium did also
provide the right turn (still on 93) and gateway to the Kootenay National
Park. $9.80 for a day pass (hang on to
it, you´ll need it for more parks later) and we were waved in with the warmest of smiles, only
to have the broadest of smiles spread across my face as I realised that my
pre-trip reading had once again paid off.
This was well and truly a place to be, and especially on a bike. Steep-sided gorges with curves in the road
that would have been at home on a 40´s pin up model! Then up over a broad pass and alongside wide
open valleys lined with snow topped mountains.
A whole series of sights that begged us to stop for photos at almost
every turn of my head, but which also pulled us onwards with a promise of more
of nature´s wonder. On the whole, really
not a rubbish place at all! <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-NwDOz6QfK2Q/UBlmzNz0HYI/AAAAAAAAD5M/_KLWMKX88rg/s1600/SAM_1909.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-NwDOz6QfK2Q/UBlmzNz0HYI/AAAAAAAAD5M/_KLWMKX88rg/s320/SAM_1909.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">Then, after a short detour
along a dirt road (nope I didn´t get lost, but a chap I spoke to at a photo
stop mentioned I might spy and eagle that way) and a relatively easy stretch
along highway 1, I was back on the 93 again heading towards Banff. Hang on, rewind a little. A couple of points I should make about that
stretch. Not only was the scenery
continuing to do its thing to the utmost as we trundled along – and it would be
remiss of me to give the impression that we had just blasted through a boring
bit to get to the next great stretch of road – but also there were some rather
odd bridges and tunnels being built along the highway worthy of a mention. These were quite large constructions which
result in you feeling you are riding through a tunnel rather than under a
bridge – though they are wholly man made.
Designed to allow the wildlife to cross safely under or over the main
highway, they must have been costing the Canadian taxpayer a notable sum, not
least at they were covered in plant life too, including trees! But well done Canada! Much as I welcome the construction of great
roads which open up access to this wondrous landscape, it is still nice to see
that the locals can still get about without hitching an unwelcome ride on the
front of an articulated truck!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-mLulsaMqzzM/UBlpYJjB6DI/AAAAAAAAD7c/1ME3HtgOgXE/s1600/SAM_1924.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="277" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-mLulsaMqzzM/UBlpYJjB6DI/AAAAAAAAD7c/1ME3HtgOgXE/s400/SAM_1924.JPG" width="400" /></a></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">But I was talking
about Banff, and it was now in that National Park where I stopped and wrote “wow”
in my day book! Miles and miles of
better and better views as we progressed north west along the 93. Past Lake Louise and the icefields the roads
had now straightened out a little – so not noteworthy from a biking experience point
of view - but that was just fine. The last thing I wanted to be doing right now was
focussing 100% on the road, when the land through which we were travelling
demanded so much attention instead. If
my eyes were feasting on the landscape, then they were gorging themselves to
such an extent that they would likely bulge out of my head at any moment. Then high passes, deer and eagles – who could want for more? Well, me really... no
bear yet, despite lots of warning signs.
<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">Moving onward into
Jasper National Park we did encounter some peculiar weather when approaching
one of the highest passes of the day, which allowed me to relearn an important
lesson. Weather in the mountains is an incredibly
changeable thing, and not to be underestimated.
And, as it happens, in this instant I was not caught out by this fact, but rather
it worked in my favour. A little way
before the Columbia icefeilds and one of the highest passes of the day
we were hit with storm strength side winds and rapidly moving dark clouds on
the road ahead. The road had run up
through a clearly visible winding pass on the side of the mountain, but now the
whole vision has disappeared in the murk of low cloud and heavy rain. I stopped at the first sign of water droplets
on the front screen, and headed back down the relatively straight road, where I
pulled over for a ponder. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">Thunder and lightning
were now hitting the heights ahead, and the head shaking of a few bikers which
were passing on the way down had me thinking about a place to stay for the
night. I had not long passed a national
park lodge, but a word of warning... everything is very very expensive in the
parks (including fuel) so best to bring what you need with you. It was mid afternoon, so I decided to wait a
bit longer and take some photos before deciding on what to do. 30 minutes later I was riding up the side of
the mountain in clear blue sunshine, with no notable winds, and with the road
already pretty much dried out. What
would have been a very dangerous ride less than an hour before, was now a
hugely enjoyable one. The heated grips switched
on, and there was the ice!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">As you cross from
Banff into Jasper National Park it is well worth making the stop to see the ice
fields. Even in the midst of summer
these glaciers are still most impressive.
I would have loved to have spent more time in these parks and walking
the mountains, but it was not that sort of trip. The clock now continually ticking in the back
of my mind, I rode down to Jasper town to find a bed for the night. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">A B&B secured
(hotels here were a bit much for my budget) and a walk around this pretty touristic
mountain town saw me stopping by a most impressive GS1150 with worldwide stickerage
and the life scars to match. It was not
long before I was engaged in a great chat with fellow ABR Dylan Samarawickrama
who was on his round the world experience, and heading south whence I
came. So much to discuss, stories to swap, and we were nicely interrupted by passers by interested in the conversation. We were also well into mozzie country again! <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">Was it the light
nights (10:45pm before the sun went down last night), or was it simply a bad night’s
sleep, but the next day after packing the bike and heading off, I dumped
it. No, that´s not true. I never even got to the <i>heading off</i> bit. I dumped the bike straight away as I hadn´t
taken off my disk lock! In all my years
of motorcycling, I can´t remember a time when I had made such a basic
mistake. No damage to Idris, and a quick
pick up, removal of said lock, and we were on our way. My spirits were, however, harder to pick up
and I rode off with a heavy heart – not angry with myself, just a bit down. Funny the things that affect your emotions when you are travelling alone.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">The ride this day was
around 400kms of tree lined forest and river valleys and views, often lined with
hills of snow. Not the great mountains
of the national parks, but not exactly boring either. I noted a few good sights where I stopped off
for a few shots and/or a chat with a local biker or two, but on the whole this
was a business day for the journey as the landscape was more or
less the same throughout the route.
Still no bear or moose, despite being told of sightings that same day.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">I rolled into Prince
George and on the advice of the nice lady in the tourist information office,
found myself booking a bed at Eric´s place (see places to stay link on the
right). A top bloke, lifelong biker, and
great hostel host. Chatting with him
that evening was just the tonic to put my head right in preparation for the next day. And with Idris tucked up safely inside his shop, a good night´s sleep was also had. While this day we had been heading more west
than north, that was soon to change, with the famous Stuart Cassiar Highway calling
our names!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<b><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">Thought for the day<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">As we rode into the Lake
Louise area of Banff, one of the reportedly most beautiful lakes around, I
couldn´t help balking at the level of tourism to be seen at the main entrance. I was struck by a similar feeling when I arrived at the Old Faithful Geyser in Yellowstone, only now I
realised it wasn´t a reaction to over commercialisation of natural beauty spots
as I had previously thought, but rather an aversion
that had grown inside me to crowds of people.
My journey north had sought out national parks and generally avoided
populated areas. Even my stay in Phoenix
was on the outskirts, so I had not encountered the levels of people and hustle
and bustle associated with urban areas. It now felt alien to me.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">How easy it was to
have gotton away from familiarity with being in such situations when you are
surrounded by volumes of bodies, and how easy it is to live your life with a
focus on small scale human interaction instead.
And I must say I preferred it that way.
It seems that the only times I could recall being particularly lonely on
the journey were in the more populated areas, surrounded by people but feeling alone. As I was approaching the end of my time on
the road, I did start to wonder how well I would readjust to life back in a
relatively densely populated Europe. I
can´t answer that, only time will tell, but it did tell on my thoughts this day.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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Pathttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11711082943425823382noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3849587727930742557.post-11097741024934891382012-09-28T17:16:00.001+02:002012-09-28T17:16:11.283+02:00Day 108 to 109 – to Windermere, Canada <br />
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">7 to 8 July</span><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"> Kms
travelled – 27,349</span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">It was good to get
back on the road following the enforced stop-over in Bozeman, even though I was
now carrying a weariness with me regarding the time spent travelling. 108 days away from home, closing on 4 months,
I realised was pretty much my limit in terms of time away from the most
excellent Mrs Pat. My time was running
out, as were my finances, so the decision was made to skip Calgary and its world
famous stampede, but to ride a more direct heading towards Alaska. Rodeo and the stampede had been one of my
´would really like to dos´ for this trip – but they were competing against my
last remaining ´must do´ - and that was get to Alaska! So the game was on, sights were set firmly
north, and we rolled out of Bozeman early on a clear and fresh Saturday
morning.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">The freshness
remained with us for a while, but the clear skies seemed to disappear almost as
soon as we left the town limits! Taking
my usual option of avoiding the interstate, we rode alongside the 90 through
some small villages as the weather darkened and rain set in. Turning north on the 287 the road was in a
pretty bad state. They called it ´chip
sealed´ which I took to mean a scattering of loose chippings were bedded into
the road surface by some sort of tar-based sealant. However it looked just like loose stones on
the road, and often it was just that. Progress was slow, and I was getting
increasingly unhappy about Idris´ handling... again! I first put it down to the new rear tyre
being scrubbed in on a wet day... then I
thought it might be that coupled with the patches of loose stones on the road
(they were very hard to spot in advance, but easy to feel once on top of them
as the bike squirmed under load).</span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"> <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">But as I pulled away
from a traffic light near Helena and slipped three teeth on the rear sprocket I
realised there was something more fundamental adrift. Rolling to the side of the road evidenced an
extremely loose chain. Ah, thought I,
poor chain adjustment when refitting the wheel after the rear tyre change. 200 meters easy riding and I was into the
small car park of a convenience store, you know... the type that sells fresh
coffee all day long. So a quick chat to
the attendant and I was furnished with my breakfast (hot coffee and cereal bar)
and readily given permission to turn his car park into a makeshift
workshop. Even at moments like this, I
still had the feeling of the good luck on my side... the rain had stopped and the sun was now
shining. Convenient that!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">Straight to it, and
on getting out my tools I quickly realised that something was amiss with the
rear spindle nut – it was not showing any thread, but sitting right at the end
of the bar getting ready to fall off with a few more turns! Pulling Idris up onto its centre stand
confirmed the fact that the rear wheel was well and truly loose, as it wobbled on
the less than finger tight spindle. It
had also vibrated against the chain tensioners and caused them to slacken off,
hence the slipping chain and sprocket.
An easy fix... and thankfully I had not lost the nut on the road
somewhere – as I was not carrying anything near that size in spares (for me or the bike!). Failing to properly tighten the rear spindle
nut on replacing the rear wheel was a basic workshop error which could have
gone badly wrong. But in my heart I
couldn´t feel any anger at the guys in Bozeman who bust a gut during a holiday
week to get me rolling again. I checked
off the other nuts and bolts that might have been looked at during the service,
and all were fine, and the adjustment of the rear wheel was also completed in
time to sip from my still hot cup of coffee. </span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">And then some locals rolled up for supplies, so the opportunity to chat
to some real characters was not to be missed.
I had a lovely sincere blessing to see me on my way from a rare old chap
after an interesting conversation about Celtic music. I´m not sure I even got his name, but he
sported a most impressive beard and added something to the morning´s
events... and consequently added to the
whole experience of this fab land.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">And then Idris was
back!! Well, perhaps not at 100% of its
previous handling, but more than enough to return some much needed
confidence in its abilities to see me through to the finish line. It is a curious way of looking at this part
of the journey, when I start to talk about the finish line, but it is those
exact words that I noted in my day book that day. I was counting down the days, and on a race
to the finish.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">The race did,
however, take us through some pretty rolling plains with grass and cereal crops
abound. This coupled with the very low
levels of traffic was sufficient to take my mind away from the worries of the
last few days, and to enjoy the ride as miles were racked up.</span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"> <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">Rolling into the
pretty town of Augusta the warmth of the day was now demanding a stop to take
on fluids, and I pulled up outside a pretty wooden shop front (which was
not tricky as a lot of the shops were of an oldy-worldy nature here). And it was not long before I was invited to
sit on the rocking chairs set on the front porch and shoot the breeze
with its owner. We didn´t literally
shoot any breeze in Augusta, the wind of late not having given me cause to be aggravated,
but if we wanted to this was the right place to be... I had pitched up at the town´s gun shop. A very memorable chat ensued and the time just
flew by. Nice people in Montana. I was left with the growing conclusion that
if I was ever faced with the situation that I might have to live in the US, I
think Montana would be towards the top of the list (accepting that I had not
seen the place mid-winter!).<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">Back on the road, and
the day´s events had conspired to take the wind out of my sails. It was only mid afternoon, and I had not
covered my planned distance (but nothing new there!). I was thinking about calling it a day and as
I rolled through another small town and spied a campsite sign, I thought it a
good moment to try and save a bit of cash and sleep under canvass before
hitting bear country. The Choteau campsite
looked good, so was the price, and the long roll of thunder that sounded my
arrival was all that was needed to convince me to call it a day.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">I should be honest and
complete though, there were a couple of other things that occurred that day
before my head it the pillow. With the
storm still being a way off I headed into town and bagged myself one of the
best steaks to date... followed by a damn fine black and blue pie (blackberry
and blueberry). If you are in Choteau in
northern Montana check out their local grill restaurant! Also if you are in Choteau don’t park your
bike on the right side of the road on chippings with the camber running away
from you... and then try and get off the
bike the wrong side because a truck was coming down the road. You´ll probably, like me, clip the tank with
your left boot and pull the bike over on top of you as you fall over. Much to the amusement of Mr T Driver who,
to his credit, did have the decency to check that I was OK before he burst out
laughing. This was the forth time Idris
had been dropped on this trip, and to do so from such a basic rider error
brought home to me that I was indeed in need of a well earned rest! So I went to sleep with a smile and to the sound of rain
drops, which was nice.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">Even nicer was the
clear deep blue sky that greeted us in the morning. A quick pack and the road saw us again gliding
swiftly through pretty rolling plains and the Blackfeet Indian reservation as
we headed towards Glacier National Park, and the sight of snow for the first
time in many many days. The ride up
through the park and the ´To the Sun Highway´ was well worth the slight detour
west, and I would recommend its majestic peaks and stunning tree lined valleys to
any biker. I didn´t see any bears
though, which I took as a mixed blessing.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">Columbia Falls came
and went in a bit of a tourist haze, but it seemed pretty enough, and I was
then shooting up the 93 for the border. Canada was calling, and I was about to
answer. And what an easy conversation it
was at the small crossing at Roosville, a 20 minute wait in the short
line of traffic, a quick </span><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 16px; line-height: 18px;">passport</span><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 16px; line-height: 18px;"> </span><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">show to the nice lady in the booth
(whom I had to ask to stamp the thing) and there I was
riding Idris into my last country on the list.</span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">The scenery around
Glacier National Park was wonderful and it only got better as I got a secure wheel-hold
on Canadian soil. The 93 quickly
switched into the 3 and then back into the 93 as we rolled through tree lined
mountainous valleys with the roads taking us on rollercoaster style dips and
turns. You could do this run really
quickly, and we weren´t hanging around, but why would you not want to see all
that you could see when the place offered so much. Mountains, snow, forest, rivers and
lakes. Almost every turn of the head was
an excuse to stop and fire the camera yet again.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">One of the many photo
stops that afternoon saw me having a great chat with a few Harley bikers from
Calgary, a 60 year old chap (who could have passed for 45!) and a couple of ladies,
who were very generous with their time and advice about places to see and where
to stop. Seems I´m finding that there are
nice people not only in Montana, but throughout the whole of the Americas.
I moved on, and settled on a quiet motel on the side of lake Windermere in
the small town of the same name. A
pretty spot and one which I welcomed for the night. I was chasing Alaska, but now determined to absorb
as much of Canada as I could along the way.<b><o:p></o:p></b></span></div>
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<b><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">Thought for the day<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">My thoughts these
days saw me running from concern over the bike through to wonder (again) at the
people and places that I encounter in this journey. I meet many people as I travel through and
our lives touch, and I´ve been thinking on how deeply such encounters affect
us. </span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">I know that the memory of moments meeting
people outside a gun shop, or in a shop car park, will remain with me for a
long time. But will I be changed by such
encounters? I do feel changed by some of
the scenes I have seen regarding children in poverty, and I know that my
actions will be different as my life progresses as a result of those. The impact of that is more immediate and more
noticeably felt. But what about encounters
we have as adults with people from different background, different belief
systems, different viewpoints and different conclusions to the same issues... do we simply take those experiences and park
them in our memories like holiday snapshots, to be pulled out from time to time
as mementos of a wonderful time in days past.
Or do they seep into our consciousness and help mould us in new ways,
perhaps into someone more tolerant and wise?
<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">These were my
thoughts as I tucked into a most excellent oriental dinner in the quiet town of
Windermere... a town comprised of different backgrounds and cultures... yet
appears to succeed in harmonious beauty.
<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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Pathttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11711082943425823382noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3849587727930742557.post-91894165971778331502012-09-18T21:49:00.002+02:002012-09-18T21:49:46.735+02:00Day 105 to 107 – to Bozeman, USA <br />
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">4 to 6 July</span><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"> Kms
travelled – 26,270</span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">Waking up in Bozeman
with the knowledge that I was going to be here for a few days (at least) was a
bit of a treat. A long morning pottering
around the hotel and helping myself to the unlimited supply of fresh pancakes
was an unfamiliar but not necessarily unpleasant experience. The sun was shining too, so it was not long
before I was out walking the streets.
Well, OK, I can´t tell a lie. It
was a while before I ventured forth – mid afternoon in fact – and still pretty
well stocked with the super-sized breakfast.
Eating in at hotels has not been a notable feature of this journey, so
why not indulge? It was a holiday after
all – it was the Fourth of July – Independence Day. I just hoped the locals wouldn´t view me as
the bad guy in this movie, me being a Brit and all that!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">Small town America is
ace. And having also had the chance to
have visited a few of their larger cities, I have to say that I prefer for
former. The pace of life is more akin to
that I have become accustomed to in my adopted home on the Mediterranean. And while I enjoyed the distinct architecture
and layout of such small US towns, which contrast completely with that of the Welsh
valleys of my youth, or my current home in Barcelona, it is the people that live in these often
bypassed places that provide the greatest attractor.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">When considering the
people of Montana, for example, the first thing you tend to notice is that they
are generally in good shape. More
outdoorsy by nature, and not generally carrying around the surplus energy
reserves that I saw much of further south (you know... fat!).
Once engaged in conversation, they also seem to have more time to listen
and, then, respond with a high degree of courtesy and relevance. I have no doubt that I have been lucky in the
people I have met on the road, but it strikes me that there is less luck
involved in the US when travelling through the lesser populated areas. People genuinely seem friendlier. Or should I say less inclined to try and
impose views, and more inclined to give of their time. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">Nice people in
Montana, and I noted an example of that in the service gained from the local
Yamaha dealer in my last posting on this blog.
But another is on the way. After
spending the afternoon having a wander round the town taking photos and
chatting to various people in various shops (and having had a little siesta –
hard work this talking lark!) I headed to a local bar with an Irish theme in
the evening. The plan was to sample some
of the local beers while killing the few hours that remained before the
evenings fireworks display kicked off.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">Bar 317 was the local
of choice (called 317 as that was its address on Main Street), where I quickly fell
into conversation with Shelby (and later Matt from Seattle) who were off duty firefighters. You know, the ones that tackle those
incredible wildfires out in the sticks – not of the town variety, all of which
would be on duty given the nights planned pyrotechnics. Fascinating work and great company, along
with the lovely Ashley behind the bar (the place was surprisingly quiet), the
hours simply flew by. Ah, and the beers
also flew down! Montana probably hosts
some of the best breweries I had encountered on the whole of the trip, and it
was not long before I had settled into the challenge of sampling the whole
selection supplied at the 317. Ashley
also persuaded me to engage in testing a particular cocktail comprising of Guinness,
Baileys and Jameson whiskey – a surprisingly smooth (but lethal) combination...
as I later discovered when my foot refused to rise sufficiently to walk up a step!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">Fireworks completely forgotten,
and long passed, and the firefighting lads having already retired for the
evening, I asked to settle my tab (the bill for the
evening´s drinks), only to discover that Shelby had already paid it in full
prior to his departure. Wonderful
hospitality and without even sticking around for the opportunity to be
thanked. So I´ll take this opportunity,
thank you Shelby - a great evening. Then Ashley, seeing a
man somewhat stunned by the generosity (and not the booze) kindly poured me a
shot of Jameson´s on the house. One for
the road. Thank you Ashley. Like I said, nice people in Montana.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">Needless to say the
joys of my hotel were well and truly taken advantage of the next morning
too. And when I finally managed to
breach the threshold sometime in the afternoon it was only for a short walk,
before returning to a few hours of writing.
Luke at the bike dealers rang with the news that they felt they could
refurbish the shock sufficiently to get me back on the road, and all was right
with the world. Just as well, a
replacement would have had to be shipped from Europe and would have cost a bit
in both time and cash, both of which I realised were starting to be in short
supply as I planned my route north. An
early night!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">Another sunny day in
Bozeman saw me packing up and moving to a motel on the other side of town. And for those that were thinking that I was
being kicked out for guzzling all the pancakes, the move came about as they
were already fully booked for the impending weekend. So aside from the move, which took me all
morning, and a few hours writing, this day was not particularly productive until... Luke rang with the news that Idris was
ready! Yey!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">A lovely stroll and
an hour later and Idris and I were reunited.
Shiny clean (for the first time in weeks), serviced, sporting a new rear
tyre, and not bouncing up and down like some sort of demented Zebedee (ref
Magic Roundabout). It seemed that the
shock´s old oil, what was left of it, was well and truly gunked up. It was felt that fine dust had opened up the
seals and that was pretty much that.
Monument Valley, I thought, but now all was well with the world. And after Luke had un-united me from some hard
cash, we were on our way back to the motel (without a helmet, which is legal
there, as I had forgotten to carry mine over!).
Appropriate, I thought, to have at least one wind in the hair, freedom
on the bike type experience while in the US.
Though in reality riding even in such a quiet town without my lid felt a
little uncomfortable. Strange what you
get used to.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">On arrival back at
the motel, now properly on two wheels, I pulled up outside my room only to spy
a couple of lovely Harleys. I had some
new neighbours. Needless to say Idris´
arrival sporting its stickers, odd number plate and battle scars sparked
interest. It wasn´t long before I was
chatting to Bob, Starr, Ann and Doug a lovely couple of couples who were
heading back home after their summer bike holidays. And before I knew it, I was being handed a
large pizza for dinner, gratis! Nice
people in ..... well you know the rest by
now!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<b><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">Thought for the day<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">Time off the bike and
off the road provided much space for thinking, but of a different tack to that
that usually filled my helmeted head. I
found my night out at Bar 317 had left me missing home and the lovely Mrs Pat
all the more (I don´t think Ashley´s suitably filled Daisy Dukes helped
matters!). It was getting on for four
months away, and I was starting to feel the pain. I was also getting road weary and was
thinking that I had enough of bike travel for a while. Don´t get me wrong, I was still motivated to
complete the trip. I had one more ´must
do´ to complete – and that was get to Alaska.
But I couldn´t help feel that I was ready to finish, ready to go home,
and I wanted the remainder of the journey to come and go as quickly as possible. Which was fine, as I now only had a limited
amount of riding days left anyway. I
just needed to make the most of what I had left.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
Pathttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11711082943425823382noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3849587727930742557.post-16592000300639620282012-09-13T21:57:00.000+02:002012-09-13T21:57:19.088+02:00Day 103 to 104 – to Bozeman, USA <br />
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">2 to 3 July</span><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"> Kms
travelled – 26,270</span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">I was packed up and
on the road (191) out of Rock Springs by 5, and boy was I glad I hit the black stuff early. The road north was taking us up through the
Wind River Valley, and with a name like that and with a landscape that was
predominantly flat open scrubland, I had no doubt that this would be an
uncomfortable ride once the heat of the day had stirred up the wind. Also it was so great to feel a nip in the
air, and actually to have to put on the heated grips after so long. As we rode along at a good pace I, again,
couldn´t help thinking how similar this route was to the Ruta 3 on Argentina´s
Atlantic seaboard – only this stretch of the 191 did bend from time to
time! Oh, and there were wild horse
herds. I have no doubt that someone
owned them, but so fantastic to see horses just doing what comes naturally in a
space large enough to allow that.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">Then we were closing
on small town Bondurant (189) with the landscape growing greener,
literally. And then there was an elk...
right in the middle of town... stood between a couple of cars in the car
park! Doing a double take, and Idris´
grumble growing closer, we gave the beast a start and off it trotted further
into the residential area. A great
sight, but so bizarre... it was like a scene from Northern Lights (for those
who remember that series about life in Alaska).<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">We were heading
towards Yellowstone and as soon as we had put the town behind us the road
started winding through forest countryside.
Beautiful, and with it still being pretty early, we were able to really
enjoy the open road. Dropping a gear,
picking our line through the bend, leaning in, power on, and out the other side,
only to repeat seconds later. Bike
riding as it should be, and despite Idris feeling a bit twitchy on the bends, I
was soon into the groove... so much so that it was only after the fact did my
near miss fully register. On a blind
right hand bend with a beautiful river to my right we leaned in only to have
the handlebars narrowly miss a deer´s backside as it stood on the side of the
road feeding on the steep grassy bank.
Idris had its usual impact, and the startled animal leaped majestically up the
steep slope in my rear view mirror. Boy that
was close, and a healthy reminder of all the tales I had read about the
wildlife on the road as you got further up in the world.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">Jackson (89) was
lovely and a great place to stop for my morning coffee... it was still only
breakfast time! The only problem was
that joining the 89 meant that we had also linked up with all the tourist
traffic heading to Yellowstone from the south.
But first we had to ride through the most excellent Teton National Park
($20 entry to both from the lovely lady in the booth), so that was
exactly what we did.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">Arriving in
Yellowstone you could still see some of the fire damaged areas from this year
and previous wildfires the park has had to deal with, so my initial impressions
left me a little disappointed. This was
my fifth and penultimate ´must do´ for my trip, and I was hoping for more. And, thankfully, it was more that I got. Much, much more. This park is spectacular, and aside from the
Old Faithful Geyser feeling more like a Disney show than a natural wonder
given the crowds and commercialism around that spot, it has so much to
offer. I spent a little while watching
some of the other geysers in the area along the faultline, with less people and
being so spread out there were some wondrous sights.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">And as the heat of
the afternoon sun started to seep through my bike suit, we headed on up towards
the Madison camp site ($23 for the night) to kick back and relax. The relatively short ride was through lovely hills,
but by now I had stopped enjoying handling the bike. Something was wrong. The landscape was such that wind off the
mountains was channelled through and across some valleys and the wind was
causing havoc with Idris. We´d been through
worse... a lot worse. What was the
problem here?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">Bison deciding to
cross the road just before the campsite destracted me from my worries, and I was
soon thinking more about pitching the tent as quickly as possible and wandering
over to the nearby river to get some shots of the herd. It is hard to imagine the scale of the herds
that once roamed this land, but easy to understand why earlier peoples depended
so heavily on that resource. The
campsite was not cheap, but fab. Having
had our compulsory ´bear briefing´ we were visited almost immediately by some
of the smaller inhabitants keen to see what was going on. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">Ground squirrels I later learned, which
hibernate so (much like the bears) have to eat as much as possible in the short
summer season. There must have been
thousands of the beggars in the area.
Much time was spent that evening watching the lumbering bison from the
safety of the other side of the small river... what a place!</span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">The next morning I
awoke to a distinct chill... yes! At long last it seems we had put the
unseasonable heat behind us. The early
morning start saw us rolling out of the campsite with misty hills, wonderful
fast flowing rivers and hot springs, but again I was not enjoying the ride. There really was something wrong. When loading the bike at the crack of dawn
that morning I had noticed how easily Idris´ suspension was moving. One hand was all that was needed to push the
bike right down on the rear shock absorber.
And when I got on the loaded bike and the suspension grounded I knew I
had lost all damping on the back. It was
not going to be a fun day, but perhaps we would make it to Calgary in Canada to
get that sorted. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">The ride north out of
the park (89) was relatively easy, but at every imperfection on the road the
bike seemed to skit and bounce.</span><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"> </span><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">Progress
was slow as we headed into Paradise Valley and were hit by scenes on this wide
green river valley that fitted exactly what I had hoped Montana would look
like.</span><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"> </span><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">I couldn´t help stopping a few
times for coffee and just take in the views.</span><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">
</span><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">Well, OK, not just to take in the views, but also to look the bike
over... as if staring at the shock was going to convince it to give me back my
much needed handling!</span><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"> </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">I limped into
Livingston and quickly found the local Yamaha dealer who, sucking his teeth,
suggested it was better of I took the bike somewhere else. Somewhere 35 miles away from him in
fact. Somewhere in Bozeman to be exact,
which had a more bike oriented Yamaha dealer and a bigger workshop. A couple of hours in the internet at a local
diner, and chatting to a great bunch of old guys, I came to the same
conclusion. They furnished me with
a route that would get me there without the need to ride the interstate (I was
not able to get the thing up beyond 40mph without it scaring me to death). Nice people in Montana. And a nice ride too, which would have been
well worth doing even if the bike was in good health.</span><br />
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">Bozeman was upon us
in early afternoon and I headed direct to the dealers to discuss options. The
next day was the forth of July – so it looked like this was where I would be
spending the holiday. First class
service from Luke saw the bike checked in and agreement on what to do (oil and
filter change, plus new rear tyre, in addition to the work on the shock). Much research from Luke confirmed that no
parts would be available from Yamaha in north America, so the first option was
to see if it could be rebuilt. That had
to wait until after the hols, so he rang around local hotels and got me a good
deal for a few days. And then drove me over there and made sure I was checked
in safe and sound. Nice people in
Montana.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">I liked Bozeman right
away. It looked just like I expected a
small Montana town to look. You had
great views of nearby hills, and plenty of bars including a local brewery! But you´ll have to wait until next time to hear
about my drunken exploits in the land of the horse whisperer! <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<b><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">Thought for the day<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">Riding from Rock
Springs I wasn´t able to shrug a thought from my mind, despite the growing
worries over Idris´ state. While
checking out the forecast I picked up the news report of a mother who had
beaten her child to death with a hammer.
What the *$%&.!! Beat her own
child... with a hammer... to death!! I had seen some sights in the developing
nations where children were deprived of their childhood through cultural (in)difference
and/or economic necessity. But here in
the wealthiest country in the world, children are still at risk. This child had been deprived of its childhood...
permanently! I was reminded of statements issued by Unicef
noting that violence against children was not the sole province of poor
countries. I also recalled reports that one fifth of children in the US are living below the poverty line. Tough facts to take in. And tough measures are needed to address
them. </span></div>
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<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-EscMdiUElQQ/UAunffMAd8I/AAAAAAAADwk/BMEuxXjY59k/s1600/SAM_1847.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-EscMdiUElQQ/UAunffMAd8I/AAAAAAAADwk/BMEuxXjY59k/s320/SAM_1847.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">When Unicef talks about the rights
of the child, I don´t see that as overly empowering children to be able to
dictate to parents what they should and should not do, but more about
developing our societies across the whole of this marvellous globe in such a
way that protects the basics of that childhood.
Children have the right to an upbringing that provides a safe, healthy
and loving environment – where all of them have the opportunity to develop,
gain an education, and reach their life potential. A mother beating her own child to death with
a hammer really hit home to me that the job is far from over, that more needs
to be done, and that more needs to be done in every country of the world. Unicef does this, so please help me help them
help all of those that need it... and
think seriously about giving a small (or large) donation to take that
forward. See the links on the top right
of this website for more information and how to donate. The price of a beer or two can change a
life. Think about it... then act!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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Pathttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11711082943425823382noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3849587727930742557.post-32124298539877049372012-09-04T23:23:00.000+02:002012-09-04T23:23:50.215+02:00Day 100 to 102 – to Rock Springs, USA <br />
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">29 June to 1 July</span><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"> Kms
travelled – 25,909</span></div>
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<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-93U0bAMqbUw/UAt_3zi925I/AAAAAAAADgI/tUqSQLR8xHM/s1600/SAM_1721.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="150" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-93U0bAMqbUw/UAt_3zi925I/AAAAAAAADgI/tUqSQLR8xHM/s200/SAM_1721.JPG" width="200" /></a></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">It was a real
struggle to drag myself away from that great hole in the ground that is the
Grand Canyon. But it was not long before
I realised that there were many more sights to see along the Colorado Plateau,
as Idris and I enjoyed the early morning emptiness and cooler
temperatures. Heading further east along
the 64 we were soon blessed with a view of the Little Colorado River Canyon and
a quick chat to local Navajos as they set up their craft stands in anticipation
of the day´s tourist trade. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-MaNCB2lSEr0/UAuAf-bASzI/AAAAAAAADgc/vmpZWvASmnI/s1600/SAM_1726.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="138" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-MaNCB2lSEr0/UAuAf-bASzI/AAAAAAAADgc/vmpZWvASmnI/s200/SAM_1726.JPG" width="200" /></a></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">As the 64 turned into
the 89 north, and a quick refuel, we were well and truly back in desert country,
and desert temperatures to boot! A
junction and a decision ahead, saw us turning north east along the 180 towards
Monument Valley. But it was still a way
off yet, with the road and countryside passing Tuba City and the Hopi Indian
Reservation not offering any particular inspiration to burst into song... or not even a quick hum of some long forgotten
cowboy ditty. But no matter, sometimes
on this trip you just need to do the miles...
so it was miles that we did, with another nice interlude chatting to
some local Navajos as we headed into their lands. Sometimes difficult to understand (perhaps
they thought the same about me) these fascinating people are quick to approach
and engage in conversation (and bum a smoke if you have any)! I was reliably advised that I was about to
head into some the prettiest country in the US... well they would say that wouldn´t they!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">There is no doubting
that some desert landscape can hold a wondrous attraction and, indeed, be
breathtakingly beautiful in a way that contrasts completely with snow capped
mountains. And this was just some of
that type of desert. Those friendly
first nation chaps don´t lie. By the
time I had turned into the 163 at Kayenta my eyes had feasted on the sights,
and I rode with increasing anticipation of what was to come. In no time at all I was stopping and snapping
my camera at those distinctive sandstone formations so loved by the Hollywood
directors of yesteryear. But I had not
yet arrived at Monument Valley. The
sights improved as the colour of the sand darkened and the temperatures
increased. And then there it was!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">Riding up the short
side road into the Monument Valley Park ($5 entry) visitor centre and
dismounting Idris I couldn’t help feeling a bit of a John Wayne swagger fall
into my step as I strode towards the purchase of some much needed cold
water. This feeling was only further
exaggerated when you saw the famous promo poster of John Ford´s blockbuster <i>Stagecoach</i> and looked behind it to see
those monuments to mother nature´s design in the flesh. If it wasn´t for the heat and the fact that
the desert breeze was flinging the finest sand I had encountered to date into
my face, I could have stood and gazed for hours. This was a similar moment to that I experienced at the
Perito Moreno glacier in Argentina, and one that convinced me that the 17 mile
sand and dirt road out into the park should be attempted. I was there after all...<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-K9S5qsK2y7M/UAuEeE7BmjI/AAAAAAAADio/xB-7IF-zY8g/s1600/SAM_1741.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="271" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-K9S5qsK2y7M/UAuEeE7BmjI/AAAAAAAADio/xB-7IF-zY8g/s400/SAM_1741.JPG" width="400" /></a></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">But my enthusiasm and
lack of skill in riding soft sand (and some patches were really soft, like
talcum powder) caused me to wobble to a halt after only about 500 metres. I was riding a fully loaded bike in the heat
of the early afternoon with swirling winds pushing the fine grit into every uncovered
orifice. I was also losing fluids
rapidly (not only as I was figuratively peeing myself) and gasping for breath. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">Riding soft sand is
hard work. Riding soft sand takes great
skill. And riding soft sand was clearly
beyond my capacity in handling this fantastic machine, as I had almost fallen
on at least 5 occasions and dug in twice on this short stretch alone. The Adventure Bike was clearly greater than
this Rider. I admitted defeat, took some shots, and wobbled my way back to the safety of the black-top visitors
car park, where I had to replace the fluids I had only recently taken on! <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">But was I
disappointed? Well, yes of course I
was. Just looking at that run out
amongst those red hills is enough to get any ABR salivating. But it did motivate me to take time out on my
return to develop my off road riding further...
perhaps in time for a run to Morocco?
On the positive side, I did ride in a desert, but not on a horse with no
name, but a bike called Idris!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">Adopting a philosophical
mindset, and with a quick look at Idris´ lower half (which had now taken
on a good dusting of red red sand, making it look like all the metal bits had
suddenly turned to rust) we hit the road north.
Mexican Hat was the next town we rode through, and I couldn´t help
wondering how this remote town could have gained such a curious name when we turned
a bend to be met with a bizarre rock formation on the right, which looked just
like a Mexican wide brimmed Sombrero. That
would be it then!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">Having sweated enough
for the day, we rolled into Bluff for an early stop and some much needed air
con and a shower. It was now 45 degrees
and with sand blowing everywhere my skin had taken on such a reddish tinge that
it would have been a great match for my hair, if the grey had not already
started to set in. I rested.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">I think the next
morning I was struggling to understand exactly what the time was having crossed
a number of time zones. I said goodbye
to the land of the canyons and headed towards Moab. Each traveller is different, but for me these
excessive temperatures each day were not only sucking the fluids and energy
from me, but also my patience. I had had
enough of being hot and I wanted to see green again. I needed to make progress this day. I needed to get north. So the 191 beckoned, and Idris responded as
we ran through some wonderful rock formations, and an even deeper red in the
hills around Moab. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">And more hills
started to appear on the horizons as we headed towards Price... but their
appearance didn´t look quite right. They
were lined with a red haze and cloud formations that looked more and more like
smoke as we closed in. Wildfires! Much had been reported about the unseasonably
dry, hot and windy weather which had resulted in some of the most serious fires
across the whole of the Midwest for years.
I was avoiding western Utah just for that reason, but it seemed I would
be heading into fire country anyway as the level of surrounding vegetation started
to increase providing a greater source of fuel for the fires.</span><br />
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">The 191 to Duchese
took us over a high mountain on the side of the Roan Plateau, which provided the
necessary altitude to offer a welcome respite from the searing heat of the day. And also provided some more interesting road
riding as Idris was allowed to clear the dust off the edges of its tyres. Around a bend, now taking it easy as I had
seen a sign about fire-fighters working in the area, and we were into a narrow
V-shaped valley, with the road running along about half way up on the one side,
and the other being a complete blanket of smoke and flame! <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">Flagging down one of
the nearby crews as soon as I could, I enquired whether it was indeed safe to
continue down the valley. I got a thumbs
up, with further some hand signals indicating that the wind was blowing the
flames away from my side of the road. I
also got a final shout before heading off that I shouldn´t hang around too
much... so I didn´t! Perhaps some intrepid photo journalist would
have taken the time to capture the sights of an up close raging wildfire, but I
must confess my only thoughts were echos of the fire fighter´s advice – and
that was to run away... and run away as quickly as I safely could.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">Fortunately the run
down the valley into Duchese was a nice run, and I had soon left the flames
behind with the road putting a smile back on my face. I did spot a few oil pumping stations along
the base of the valley, which was a curious sight, and one that led me to think
they were the reason why there were so many brave folk on the mountain trying to
control events. But that soon passed as
we headed down back into the more sweaty lowlands. The town was a pretty small affair, but they
were also acting as the local base for the fire fighters drawn in to tackle the
mountain blaze, and they did have a friendly hotel for the night and a local
diner with a great fish and chips! <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">The cooler evening
was also a good time to get in some routine bike maintenance, which was also
the first time I noticed an unusual feel to the rear damping on the bike´s
suspension. I needed to keep an eye on
that I thought as I hit the hay for the night.
The morning´s early sunrise also brought to light the grey dusting of
wildfire ash that had settled over Idris overnight, which countered the still
red dust clinging to its underside. It
was probably time to start thinking about giving it a clean.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">But that would
wait. We were on the road again, and
setting a good pace as I wanted to get into damper country. Before long we were climbing up through
valleys with improved greener vegetation.
Then we were in a forest with a full on mountain view, and I finally let
myself think we had escaped the freaky heat.
<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-wQZPFB8TkNA/UAuL7srpGwI/AAAAAAAADm0/bjCHhIC87pk/s1600/SAM_1775.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="258" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-wQZPFB8TkNA/UAuL7srpGwI/AAAAAAAADm0/bjCHhIC87pk/s400/SAM_1775.JPG" width="400" /></a></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">Nope! We were heading back down again, and the
degrees seemed to pile on as each metre of decent was clocked up. And then we were back into open flatlands
with a distinctly scrub desert type view.
Unlike some of the deep south of Argentina, however, this landscape was broken
up with the odd feature... a river, a
dam, the odd hills and twisty bits...
which was nice.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">Then we were sent by
the road up the side of a high escarpment, where the road ran along the length of its edge for miles ahead.
The wind was being channelled along the valley below, and roared its way
up the side of the hill to hit the traffic atop side on. They had built miles of wooden wind-breaks which had some limiting effect, but I couldn´t help wondering why they built the road in
such a place in the first instance. The
problem I found with riding in high side winds is not so much the slower speeds
that such weather demands, but the energy you expend controlling the bike over
long periods. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">So it was with aching
limbs and a sweaty brow that we rolled into Rock Springs to stop for the day, it was mid
afternoon. I did manage to have a little
look around this interesting town, which I couldn´t help calling Rock Ridge
(ref Blazing Saddles) which even came out a few times in my conversation with some
locals, sparking puzzled looks. I was
tired, OK! So after a wonderful steak (nope, not campfire beans!) I
went to bed early to the sight of one of the most spectacular wildfire boosted
sunsets I have ever seen.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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Pathttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11711082943425823382noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3849587727930742557.post-75411498030674038292012-08-21T20:23:00.001+02:002012-08-21T21:05:44.057+02:00Day 99 – to Grand Canyon, USA <br />
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">28 June</span><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"> Kms
travelled – 24,590</span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">I split the last
entry into two parts to allow sufficient space to post more shots of the Grand Canyon,
as it was to this iconic location that I was travelling this day. An eager start had me trundling through
Flagstaff and quickly into tree lined open roads. The trees seemed to stand taller knowing that
I was shortly to tick off yet another of my short list of ´must dos´ - my first
in North America. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">I had thought to ride
west along the interstate (what was Route 66, but now I40) to take in the town of
Williams... the place which inspired some of the animation in the movie
Cars. But I couldn´t bring myself to
deviate from the route north and spending more time at the Canyon. I was getting all excited inside... which was
nice. </span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">The lovely ride up the 180 and
through the Kaibab National Forest (which I christened the
kebab forest for no other reason than I was alone and thinking silly thoughts)
delivered against the promise of a scenic ride – as it had one of those green
borders against it on the map suggesting it was worth a look. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">Running quickly
through Valle (64) we were now in heavier traffic forewarning us of the likely level of tourism ahead. And indeed as the National Park grew closer,
so the level of shops, eateries and places to stay rose accordingly... particularly around Tusayan. A quick
hand over of 6$ to the lovely lady at the park entrance and I was in! Now where is that darn hole in the ground? I was heading for the main centre on the
South Rim, and that took me directly to the car park at Mather Point. A two minute walk later and I was staring
down in wonder.</span></div>
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<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-ogBduBSB6yI/UAtiAlqgmfI/AAAAAAAADT0/9TVXasjcrtM/s1600/SAM_1635.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="210" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-ogBduBSB6yI/UAtiAlqgmfI/AAAAAAAADT0/9TVXasjcrtM/s320/SAM_1635.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">I understand that
this is not the biggest Canyon in the world, nor is it the deepest, but you can
see immediately why it has been tagged with the title ´Grand´. The ride up to and across the plateau which
surrounds this Olympian scale groove in the earth only serves to enhance its
impact on first viewing (well, and on many other viewings too). But I quickly realised that to take in the
true splendour of the place I needed to get away from the madding crowds. I needed a place where I could just sit and be. I certainly didn´t need to have my
moment invaded by Shirley shouting at Chad (I kid you not) to move further to the left for the
photo. So I left. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">Well, in all honesty
I didn´t leave straight away. I took
some shots from the viewpoint and then treated myself to some time in
the air conditioned visitors centre. It
was pretty interesting too, with lots of Rangers available to answer with a
smile what I thought must be the same questions every day. Perhaps just to be different, when it was my
turn at the counter to ask my questions I came out with an enquiry about what
flavour fruit makes the best American Pie!
It seems it is black and blue (blackberry and blueberry), which also
accords with my own investigations on the matter. Having broken the ice and gained a laugh from
my appointed Ranger, I was advised that unless Mrs Pat had come into some serious
money in the last day or so, I was unlikely to be able to secure accommodation
in the area that night. </span></div>
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<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-2DdzmwFh3-o/UAtk5AZ1YSI/AAAAAAAADVE/aqNPIX3hDVc/s1600/SAM_1644.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-2DdzmwFh3-o/UAtk5AZ1YSI/AAAAAAAADVE/aqNPIX3hDVc/s400/SAM_1644.JPG" width="400" /></a></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">The camp site
was booked up and many of the more reasonably priced (read, very expensive)
lodgings were likewise catering for the summer masses. I might be lucky with the top end lodges (read,
ridiculous prices) with Canyon views – but I sensibly didn´t even bother to
enquire. She checked, and advised that
Desert View campsite some 30 miles east along the rim had pitches available,
and so I headed along the 64 stopping every few miles to take in the shifting
sights of the Canyon at each available viewpoint.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-PlXFi2WmX6o/UAtmY5LyFrI/AAAAAAAADV8/Z3lE87PMWIQ/s1600/SAM_1650.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="150" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-PlXFi2WmX6o/UAtmY5LyFrI/AAAAAAAADV8/Z3lE87PMWIQ/s200/SAM_1650.JPG" width="200" /></a></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">I didn´t take a note
of the Ranger´s name, but I am very grateful for her time in checking out and recommending
the Desert View area as it turned out to be exactly what I was looking
for. 12$ paid at an automated pay point
had me booked into a quiet managed pitch (there is no wild camping on this side of the hole) big
enough for 12. It was also a couple of
minutes walk from the rim, shop and cafe but far enough away from the day traffic. </span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">Perfect!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">So it was there that
I spent the bulk of the day and into the night.
Pitching early enabled me to take in the views from the impressive viewing
tower, have a bite to eat, then retreat along the rim to a patch of ground
where no people or traffic could be heard.
I spent a wonderful few hours simply watching the bird life enjoy the
Canyon winds, before strolling back to the visitors centre to take in the free evening talk by the local Ranger. This
was about the preservation of the National Park´s soundscape, a concept I struggled
with until the impact of excessive man-made sound on the local wildlife was
explained. It seems, for example, that the
noise of high flying jets interferes with the breeding habits of the local
frogs (I suppose it is a bit like the phone ringing at home and spoiling the moment?),
so they are trying to regulate the number of planes flying overhead. In any event it was well delivered and
interesting, with the most spectacular sunset as the finale. The pictures of this sunset speak louder than any words I can pen.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<b style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">Thought for the day</b></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">WOW! was pretty much the main theme running
through my mind this day. But thanks to
the stimulation of the local Rangers I did also spend some time pondering the impact
we have on our local environs. It would
seem the local Indians did a much better job of living in harmony with up to 6
different tribes considering the Canyon a sacred place. Was it just a matter of the density of people
visiting and living in particular places, or more a lack of interest in
ensuring that we live more sustainable lives?
It seems to me that it is a bit of both.
While we are unlikely to be able to consciously reduce our population
levels – and I would not advocate such a thing even if we could as I believe in certain fundamental freedoms in this regard – we certainly
can do much to limit the scars we leave in our wake. I for one won´t be piloting any more airplanes
over frog pools! <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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Pathttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11711082943425823382noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3849587727930742557.post-1477509726324503182012-08-14T22:35:00.000+02:002012-08-14T22:35:53.052+02:00Day 97 to 98 – to Flagstaff, USA <br />
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">26 to 27 June</span><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"> Kms
travelled – 24,590</span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">Having been made to
feel at home in Phoenix I was refreshed and readied for the continued journey
north, which started with a pre-rush hour dash across - or what felt more like,
above - the city before quickly hitting desert landscape once again. So often had desert featured during this
journey. But as that aspect of the countryside
would soon come to an end (I only had a few more days of the dusty stuff
to go) this latest version of a desert vista again threw up something different
– this time in terms of the plant life. </span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">The
most impressive saguaro cacti soon littered the views on both sides of the road
and I started to feel as if we were entering some sort of giant movie theme
park. Then came the Joshua Tree forest –
both weird and wonderful in equal proportions.
Such views seemed so familiar from years of Hollywood productions, but
when seen in the flesh so to speak, you should not underestimate the wonder and
impact you feel. I am really here – and I
still feel like a kid watching Saturday morning cowboy flicks! </span><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">But enough of me
wittering on about the scenery, the roads were starting to offer a similar
measure of stimulation as I headed off the 93 and over the asphalt rollercoaster
that is the 97 around Millar Mountain to Bagdad.</span><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"> </span><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">I needed only about 100 metres of this
wonderfully (though relatively) slow riding route to realise why it is so loved by
the local two wheeled community.</span><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"> </span><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">And I
was heading to Bagdad – home to a famous old school American diner for a beast
of a late breakfast.</span><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"> </span><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">Cool!</span><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"> </span><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">And cool in both senses, as we were quickly
heading up into the hills with a considerably more comfortable ambient
temperature, the day looked good.</span><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"> </span><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">And it
only got better!</span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">Sitting down into the
red vinyl seats I ordered coffee and the breakfast special from the lovely
inked ladies keeping house at this spotless establishment. What came was the most wonderful feast of boiled
ham off the bone, eggs, hash browns, biscuit and country gravy (a white sauce
with black pepper) – with refill after refill of good fresh coffee. </span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">I was stuffed, but it was probably the best
first meal of the day I have ever eaten – at least in memory, and I won´t be
forgetting this one in a hurry. If you´re
ever in the area, get yourself to Bagdad – glory in the roads and refuel at the
diner – easy to find, you won´t miss it... until you leave!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">My map had indicated
that I needed to return back down towards Phoenix before turning off towards Prescott,
my destination for the day.</span><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"> </span><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">But that was
not the case.</span><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"> </span><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">On the ground I was happy
to find that there is another road (96) that cuts across the mountains, through
Skull Valley (what a great name) and towards Prescott.</span><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"> </span><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">And as “on the ground” was where I was, I
decided to take advantage of the short cut.</span><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">
</span><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">And away we rode stopping for a refresher at a roadside shop in Skull
Valley and chatting to a couple of local bikers – who confirmed my plans for
the next day would be an equally great ride.</span><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"> </span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">So it was only early afternoon
when we rolled into Prescott and parked up on Whisky Row. Being even higher up than Bagdad this was undoubtedly
the first afternoon where I had sat outside without bursting into sweat since
Panama! And what a beautiful town. Still retaining its old world charm, Prescott
was clearly geared up for tourism. But
that didn´t interfere with the relaxed look and feel of the place as I spent a
few hours wandering round the shops and bars that circle the court house square
which dominates the centre, and chatting to a number of local characters. </span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">Dennis (one of the locals) and I spent an interesting hour
swapping stories, and we also chatted to Jungle Jeff about the hard times he
had led from Vietnam and onto the streets of the US. Good people, and so was Clark White, the ABR
I first met on Tierra del Fuego in Argentina and who had kindly agreed to put
me up for the night now I was passing through his home town. We, his lovely lady, and a mate went out for dinner and took
in a beer at the Palace Hotel Saloon bar. It was there where I learnt the story of the fire
in days gone by which threatened to engulf the street, resulting in the Palace
Hotel´s drinkers picking up the wooden bar and carrying it out to the
steps of the courthouse – where they continued drinking until all had been
rebuilt - .following which they carried the bar back in again where it stands
to this day. All I can say is that must
have been some whiskey, as that is an impressive chunk of wood!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">Clark´s mate was Matt, who happened to be the online editor for the Overland Journal publication,
and I was invited the following morning to visit the Overland International offices. Saying farewells to Clark for his most
gracious hospitality, we rode out the short way the following morning to the
home of overland travel in the US – where Idris pretty much stole the show
having been talked into a photo shoot for the magazine (it is such a vain
machine!). It is a nice looking bike
though and difficult to find in the Americas as Yamaha have yet to import the
660 Tenere into North America. Thanks
for the hospitality guys, your time, your coffee, and your advice on routes up
through Canada and Alaska.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">The route north from
Prescott was turning into a must do, as quite a number of travellers and locals
had already highlighted the way we should go this day. Out of town and up into the hills was an
auspicious start, and as we passed through the curious town of Jerome we caught
a glimpse of how life must have been for the miners which worked the area in
the past. The views weren´t half bad
either as it was winding back down through Old Cottonwood and some flat plains
and towards an impressive red rock escarpment.
<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">The base of the rock
wall which dominated the skyline was home to Sedona, another striking location
with buildings constructed from the same red red rock which featured the local
landscape. So much so in fact you almost
had to stop and look hard to see some of them as they blended into land. But this small town was home to the start of
a beautifully tree filled river gorge which wound its way up and through the
escarpment, providing a great ride and even greater views. I had noted that a number of motorbike tour
companies include this area in their guided rides – and it is no wonder.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">Climbing up onto the
high plains, which were again littered with the greenery provided by forest
after forest, we soon found ourselves coming to a halt for the day at Flagstaff. The town was not quite as big as I was
expecting, but it did sport a lovely old world town centre and plenty of
accommodation, restaurants and bars.
That, combined with the seriously dark clouds now speeding their way
across this big sky, was enough to convince me to settle in for the night with
dreams of what the land of canyons would offer the next day.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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Pathttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11711082943425823382noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3849587727930742557.post-81252472979650798942012-08-07T16:27:00.003+02:002012-08-07T17:15:15.535+02:00Day 94 to 96 – to Phoenix, USA<br />
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">23 to 25 June</span><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"> Kms
travelled – 23,799</span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">I was really starting
to get confused with the changes in time zones.
We´d already been across a few zones getting to the US, but to date
the time changes had been resigned to international border crossings. Having to change zones within a single
country, somehow was causing more confusion to my electronic gear and my body
clock. Well, that was my excuse for the later
than planned departure from El Paso!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">It was still pretty
early, however. But as we left the city
on the interstate I was already sweating and being buffeted by the swirly
breeze that sought to squeeze through the city´s surrounding hills. And it was still 5:00am! </span><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">Then it was onto the
plains and calmer skies as we made some progress across New Mexico´s desert
landscape.</span><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"> </span><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">I recorded a number of
warning signs dotted along Interstate 10 highlighting the poor visibility in
the area due to dust storms, and prayed that the wind would stay down until we
had passed through the area.</span><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"> </span><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">Despite
Idris and my somewhat grubby state, I had no wish to be sand blasted clean by
the increasingly hot desert.</span><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"> </span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">I made a decision at
Lordsburg... well, that is not entirely
true... I made a decision about 10 kms
after Lordsburg when the Interstate took a 90 degree left turn and exposed our
side to the increasing wind. But it
wasn´t so much the side buffeting that caused me to pause (as we had been
through worse), but rather the sight of a car and trailer </span><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 16px; line-height: 18px;">around 300 meters ahead of me </span><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">being flipped over
twice by a gust that was channelled through a gap in
the small hills that accompanied the road.
Luckily the driver was OK and once that was settled and emergency
services on their way, I decided to retreat to Lordsburg and take the more
scenic, older, and somewhat slower western highway (70) through the Apache
reservation. An inspired choice as while
it added a couple of hours to my travels that day, it took me through some
lovely green valleys, rolling hillsides and out of the way country towns that would have been missed in the midst of head down interstate driving.</span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">As noted, the road also took us through the San Carlos Indian Reservation (a bizarre
name for the home of a people that were traditionally neither Spanish speaking
or Christian). And this was pretty
rough country. It wasn´t rough
on either Idris or I – we had good roads to travel after all. But I couldn´t help thinking back to how this
land would have been in the days when the reservations were imposed on the Apache. The landscape was undulating,
but seemingly without water or means of irrigation. Consequently, plant or animal life was not immediately
apparent. No doubt the Apache were able
to scratch out a life here, they did after all, but it must have been hard
without access to modern technology and resources. I couldn´t help thinking that they really did
get the rough end of the stick, and perhaps this was justified motivation for
some of the disquiet we have read about in US history. That aside, it was nice to see them still
here and I had an interesting chat with a couple of locals at a drinks stop
just before exiting their lands (near a first nation owned casino complex which
now provides much needed income and employment for the area). <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">The road (60) took us
onwards through Globe and some nice riding into the Tonto National Forest. Now I couldn´t help giggle at the
name. Sorry, I know it is an Indian name as you will recall from the Lone Ranger
TV series of years gone by. But tonto
also means <i>stupid </i>in Spanish – and I couldn´t help wondering if Hollywood knew
that fact when naming the masked stranger´s sidekick? hmmm. The main reasons for my giggles on entering
the Tonto National Forest were, however, the apparent lack of any meaningful
tree coverage! There was an interesting
display of medium sized shrubs and some nice rock formations – in fact the
whole area was very pretty in a stark sort of way – but where were the trees? A stupid forest indeed! (I later discovered that most of the trees
are further to the north).<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">The road down to the
desert plains was great, and if anyone is in the area and seeking a good place
for a road ride you could do a lot worse.
In fact, given the volume of bikes that passed it seemed to me that this was a favourite run for Phoenix based bike riders. Because it was towards that big
city we were now heading as the true heat of the Phoenix desert hit home. I have never ridden in anything like it. </span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">Perhaps the city is well named as some sort
of animal rising from the furnace-like desert in which it is placed. I have previously described riding in hot countries as something
like riding with a hairdryer blowing in your face – at least the Spanish lowlands
in mid-summer can seem that way. The
only way I can describe that last hours´ ride into the Phoenix city suburbs was like
riding with my entire body inside a fan oven!
I had to stop twice to take on fluids as I felt myself dehydrating by
the minute, and it was only with relief that the GPS led me straight to my cousins’ home.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">Catching up with
family is always a pleasure, but particularly so when they are family members
you haven´t seen for over 20 years. </span><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 16px; line-height: 18px;"> </span><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 16px; line-height: 18px;">It was also great to meet Maggie, Delany and Gracie for the first time (the latter having just celebrated her birthday – and who´s party I had crashed on my arrival). They were </span><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">cool enough to let me crash at their place for a few days much needed
rest and recuperation. Needless to say I
had a great time chilling by the pool and enjoying the benefits of lovely air-conditioning.
Access to a washing machine was also a blessing, as my whole set of gear
was starting to repel even my own somewhat numbed senses. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">Many long chats and talk of days gone by
ensued, as I was treated to some fine hospitality. And even Idris made a couple of new friends! </span><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">I was in much need of a rest day, not having
had one since Guatemala, and I couldn´t have asked for a better place to
recharge. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">I very much hope that Mrs Pat
and I will have the opportunity to return the kindness shown in the not too
distant future. Thanks all.</span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><b>Thought for the day</b></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">I was about to post
this entry a few days ago with a very different <i>thought for the day</i> about our roots, family and how they always
provide a much needed tie to who we really are... when I was struck into inaction by some
horrific and shocking news. A friend
fell while riding on his holidays in Texas, and died. This larger than life character was hugely
supportive of my journey and my cause. I
valued his friendship. His intelligence,
humour and genuine kindness will be truly missed. It is hard to find any meaning in such
events. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">Not surprisingly, this
tragic loss made me pause for thought.
It made me think more carefully about those ABRs who I had heard had lost
their lives during the course of this trip.
The couple who went down on Patagonia´s tricky Ruta 40 early in the year,
and the very experienced overlander hit by a wayward truck near the Bolivian
capital. Plus the rider who´s time only recently
ticked out on the Dawson Highway in Alaska.
You hear of these losses while on the road, but almost subconsciously put
the deaths to the back of your mind. My friend´s
death, however, reminded me that we could be called at any time, and that we
should seek to live each day in the best way we can. He did.
He was one of the best. He was
one of the good guys. He was not an
overlanding ABR tackling extreme conditions, but a loving father and husband on
holiday with his family. My heart goes
out to his wife and daughters. Rhinestone I salute you.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><br /></span></div>Pathttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11711082943425823382noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3849587727930742557.post-74025977740817726782012-08-03T13:05:00.003+02:002012-08-03T13:05:45.857+02:00Just Text GivingI've set up a JustTextGiving facility for my fundraising in the UK. <br />
<br />
You can now donate using your mobile phone. It is quick and easy and (aside from the donation) won't cost you, me or Unicef anything. Just text the message <b>PATA50 £5</b> including the amount you want to donate (£5 is shown as an example, but will work from £1) to <b>70070</b>, and you'll get a receipt and the option to link to Gift Aid (which I recommend if you are a UK tax payer). Simples. <br />
<br />
Please take a second to help Unicef give support to those kids. Thanks.<br />
<br />
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<br />Pathttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11711082943425823382noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3849587727930742557.post-40505683247780307162012-08-01T14:54:00.000+02:002012-08-01T14:54:05.913+02:00Day 91 to 93 – to El Paso, USA<br />
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">20 to 22 June</span><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"> Kms
travelled – 23,034</span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">The decision to stop
and lean on the hospitality of the Gonzalez Fernandez family the day before
paid off. I awoke to a clear sky and
calm weather, which resulted in the remaining 80 kms or so to the border town
of Matamoros passing speedily and without incident. I did note, however, that the remaining road
on the Mexican side (101) was particularly exposed, and would have resulted in my
having to stop in an area without shelter if I had been foolish enough to press
on the day before. In my notes that day,
I recorded that the ride would have been horrendous! As always on the journey it has been
important to listen to my gut feeling; if something doesn´t feel right it
probably isn´t– and vice versa. That was
the case regarding the increasing wind - but also in respect of the kind offer
of help.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">The quick skirt
through the town of Matamoros found us, yet again, at a border the cross. Not many to go though, and this was likely to
be the last tricky one of the trip. I
have to note that the Mexican officials and the process they have put in place was
remarkably efficient, and they soon had me cleared to leave with the return of
my $400 bond for the temporary importation of the bike being managed in no time
at all. Some 20 minutes later I was
rolling up to the US immigration officials, who on sight of my strange looking
number plate asked where I was from.
Great Britain I replied, finding it somewhat odd to be finally speaking
English to a border official. Ah, the
officer responded... Canadian! No, I
patiently explained, Great Britain – you know, from Europe? You had better pull to the side while we
process your paperwork, I was advised by the somewhat bemused guard. I was aware that US customs have the
reputation of being a little surly, so I did well to suppress the giggles that
were growing inside, turning my growing smile into the “I´m really pleased to
be here” line, “I´ve just ridden up from Argentina over the last couple of
months” – which only seemed to baffle the officer more. Perhaps I should just shut up and go with the
flow!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">After a quick luggage
check I was directed to the immigration office to arrange my Visa Waiver. I was rather rudely informed that the ESTA I
logged online before my departure (and paid a few dollars for) was only for air
travel and in my case a complete waste of time (would have been nice if the
website had made that clear). On arrival
in the well appointed (thankfully) air conditioned office, I was surprised to
note that none of the 6 windows were manned – though there were some 15 people
sitting around in the waiting area.
After about 5 minutes standing around like an idiot, through the glass
partition I managed to catch the eye of an officer busy packing out his waistline
with doughnuts and coffee (no, seriously, I´m not making this up). When asked what I wanted, to which I replied
my Visa Waiver, I was told rather brusquely that it would take at least 2 hours. OK, I thought, it looks like my objective for
crossing each border in less than 2 hours in total was going to fail at the
hand of US customs, and I settled in for a long wait. A short while later the officer with whom I
was speaking outside entered, saw me waiting, called me over, and processed my
Visa Waiver within minutes (having relived me of $6) and sent me on my way! I was in the good ol´ USA – and still within 2
hours at that!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">I´m not sure what the
Mexicans having to hang around in the waiting room thought of all that – but during my short wait I
did see one official put his head around a door and call one of the adults into
a separate side room. The guard was
wearing rubber gloves! Another
interesting observation was that while the US officials were all US
born (as best you can judge from the accents used), they all reverted to
Spanish when speaking between themselves.
Spanish appeared to be the default office language, and signs were also
posted with Spanish first. This
observation was to be reinforced over the coming days, where people in the
street generally also spoke Spanish first.
I was aware of the large number of Spanish speakers now in the USA, but
I hadn´t realised that this had translated so notably into use of Spanish as
the first language. Interesting, or should I say... interesante?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">Equally interesante was the immediate display of wealth as we crossed into the USA. This was visible in terms of road quality and
cleanliness, the state of the buildings and tended gardens, volume and nature of retail outlets, newness and
value of the vehicles on the road, clothes worn etc. Almost every visible aspect. The arrival of road signs that were clear,
numerous and accurate was also a noticeable difference – and a welcome one. We were heading for Arizona, so the 83 west along
the US border was selected, and we got out of Dodge (well, Brownsville actually,
but you know the phrase). <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">The roads and
landscape looked both familiar and yet strange.
I had never been in this area of the US before, yet each town passed
sounded like something from an old Western movie. In fact some of them were the names of old
Western movies (eg Rio Grande) so that´s probably why. Also the landscape was still very familiar to
what I had seen on the Mexican side (understandably, as it was only some 50
miles away), but at the same time it was strange as everything man made was in such good order and well
organised. The disjointed feeling wasn´t
helped by the fact that everyone continued to speak Spanish to each other – and
in only a short space of time I found myself defaulting back to Español myself!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">I mentioned that
everything was comparatively well organised, but that is not entirely true. Searching for a place to stay in Rio Grande
and (later that day) in Roma resulted in a frustrating quest to find a motel with an internet
connection. I gave up on the fourth or fifth
attempt, and landed in a reasonable place in Roma (sense WiFi), as the
temperature was now well into the 40s and too hot to comfortably continue this
day. Perhaps I was being a little
unfair, but I couldn´t help pointing out to the motel receptionist all the
countries I had travelled where I had been able to easily find good wifi over
recent months. She, somewhat embarrassed
by the facts, muttered that they were thinking about getting it installed. Texas is a BIG place, and clearly the twenty-first century has yet to arrive in all its parts.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">The arrival of some
pretty hot weather saw us up and out well before dawn, as we calmly made our
way up the 83 and onto the 90 west at Uvalde.
The roads were predictably good, but the landscape unremarkable and
generally flat. We didn´t spot Southfork
(the Dallas series has recently been regenerated in the USA – yep JR and Bobby are back –
and are getting good reviews) but we did pass numerous ranch gates, some of which were quite artistic. We also passed some curious road signs, such
as “Hitchhikers may be escaped convicts”. </span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">When the temperature got back into the 40s we, again, pulled in for the
day – this time in Del Rio at a Motel 6 (a network of cheap motels which we
were to use regularly throughout the lower 48). These places were also a great opportunity to
meet up with fellow motorcycle travellers, and this was no exception. Mike Marrion (Harley Ultra), the impressively
bearded former marine and police officer and I passed an enjoyable few hours
talking about our respective travels. Cool guy who, now well in to retirement, was on his last distance bike trip revisiting the various states on a coast to coast run. </span><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">The next day was
another attempt to beat the sun as we trundled west (90) through Bantry and
stopping in Sanderson for a refuel and some of the best coffee of the trip so
far (at the small town petrol station, and made fresh by the owner).</span><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"> </span><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">Chatting to the locals at the fuel stop, saw
us then continuing along the 90 through Alpine, a more scenic route, rather than
heading up to the Interstate.</span><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"> </span><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">I didn´t
enjoy riding the Interstates, which are faster and generally more exposed (they
seem to all be built up from ground level) to the high winds currently
battering the western half of the USA.</span><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"> </span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">It was a pleasant
ride, though I noted in my day log that it getting hot by 10 o´clock each day
was a bit odd, and having to stop by 2 was surprising. But I was not going to ride without my
armoured gear – and my armoured gear was not going to let me ride such high
temperatures in comfort, despite being vented etc. I also
concluded that if I was going to ride in such a climate again, I would not choose
to use a black crash helmet – which only seemed to magnify the searing
heat. So we stopped for the day in El
Paso, right on the New Mexico border, which sounded just like another western
movie – but didn´t look it – it being a modern and bustling border city. A chance to catch up on some writing and do a
bit of basic maintenance on Idris (as soon as that sun passed overhead and put
the car park in shadow that is). </span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">I noted
how tricky it was to unload Idris this day.
The two straps that hold the roll bag to the back of the bike have metal
clasps – which I had to douse with cold water as they had gotten too hot to
handle with my bare hands! Equally I
couldn´t hold the steel pannier lids for more than the couple of seconds needed
to release the locks. Crazy! South America was
relatively cold (well it was getting into their winter), and Central America was
humid and sweaty, but nothing had prepared me for the heat of the lower US.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<b><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">Thought for the day<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">Despite my research
which alerted me to the contrary, I couldn´t help arriving in North America with
the expectation or feeling that I had covered the hard ground in the first two
phases of the journey (South and Central America). I had to keep telling myself that this was
not necessarily the case. And if I had a
job keeping that in mind, then the weather only served as a regular
reminder. The hurricane in Mexico, had
been quickly followed by my arrival in unseasonably hot weather in the USA –
coupled with a notable dryness and particularly harsh winds – the “lower 48”
were suffering from a series of wildfires, drought, flash flooding, tornadoes,
and dangerous thunder storms, the likes of which are generally unheard of in
Europe. I had to think carefully on how
to proceed, and continue to pick my route and riding style to suit the
climate. My plan to use the US as a
place to make some real progress through long riding days seemed to have been
tossed out the window by mother nature. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><br /></span></div>Pathttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11711082943425823382noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3849587727930742557.post-54280752294187745012012-07-21T05:39:00.000+02:002012-07-21T05:39:24.983+02:00Day 88 to 90 – to somewhere near the Mexico - USA border<br />
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<span lang="EN-US" style="background-color: white; font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">17 to 19 June</span><span lang="EN-GB" style="background-color: white; font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"> Kms
travelled – 21,738</span></div>
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<span style="background-color: white; font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">Another day on the
road awaited as I woke to the unhappy sound of heavy rain beating the external
vent of the air conditioning unit.</span><span style="background-color: white; font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"> </span><span style="background-color: white; font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">A
sound that did little to motivate me as I crawled about of the sack and started
to pack the bike.</span><span style="background-color: white; font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"> </span><span style="background-color: white; font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">At least Idris was
parked under cover, so I was able to get ready in the dry, and then we rolled
slowly out of Acayucan in the direction of Veracruz.</span><span style="background-color: white; font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"> </span><span style="background-color: white; font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">I was half hoping that my tardiness would
allow the rain to move on, but no such luck.</span><span style="background-color: white; font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">
</span><span style="background-color: white; font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">It was coming down straight, and looked set for the day.</span><span style="background-color: white; font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"> </span><span style="background-color: white; font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">Perhaps the only option was to ride out of
it, so that is what we aimed to do.</span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">I don´t have much to
report from this section of the journey, the roads being both miserable and wet
– very wet. But what can you expect when
travelling at the edge of a hurricane.
Carlotta had now been categorised at level 2 (not sure exactly what that
meant, other than a lot of water was involved!). But we trundled on passed Veracruz and up the
Mexican Gulf coastline in the search of a clear sky. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">I did note the cost
of the tolls on the road, having paid some 450 pesos this day for a road that
was still very much scattered with potholes – which I can report as
particularly tricky to avoid in the rain.
Later into the afternoon we did eventually find a break in the weather,
but as we rolled into Pozo Rico for an overnight stop, we were met with the
most torrential downpour. Perhaps a last
fling from mother nature for the day, as following that the sky cleared in time
to let in the evening sun (just in time to dry out the streets and up the
humidity levels to almost unbearable).
Not the greatest riding day known to man, but we had made progress and
that was good.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">Safe parking was
found at the Hotel Iberica, but so were a multitude of bugs, no doubt excited
by the late evening warmth. So some bug
hunting and a local pizza later, I hit the hay for a fitful night of limited
rest. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">After probably the
worst night’s sleep to date, we headed out in the direction of Ciudad Victoria
on quite a nice road. I was enjoying the
green countryside and gently rolling hills for a while, but then things just
got flat and, to be honest, pretty boring.
What can I say... I suppose spectacular scenery all the time is just too
much to ask. I did the distance, and
found a nice hotel in Cuidad Victoria to crash for the night. I was pretty tired, and decided to have a
late morning the next day, it being now only some 290 kilometres from the USA
border. But another night of poor sleep
(unusual for me) ensued. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">My late morning was
later than I planned by the time I had helped myself to breakfast and did some
stuff online... big mistake. I awoke to some pretty breezy weather – dry but
blowing consistently. Away by 11, but
the weather seemed to crank up a notch every 30 minutes or so – both in terms
of the temperature and wind velocity. It
was later described to me like a fan being turned up from the lowest to highest
setting!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">I found myself having
to stop quite often to take on water and to rest my now aching limbs. We also had to stop a number of times at heavily
armed military checkpoints, as the locals tried to get to grips with the
increasing drug gang violence. The wind
was starting to strain my neck, shoulders, arms and hands. This ride was getting painful – but still,
not too far to go to the border at Matamoros.
<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">But by 2 in the
afternoon the wind had beaten me. I had
managed only 20 kms since my last rest stop, and my body was now so strained
that my arms and hands were shaking. The
wind just continued to increase, and I felt that perhaps this was the tail of
the hurricane whipping around the Gulf and back across this flat landscape. To make matters worse the line of trees that
had been shielding much of the route to date just petered out. It was now a full on sidewind that forced me
to stop. And stop I did as we wobbled
into the forecourt of a small roadside restaurant in the tiniest of villages
south of Santa Teresa. We were some 80
kms from the border at Matamoros, and right in the heart of gang territory. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The Gonzalez Fernandez family - my saviours!</td></tr>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">I threw myself on the
mercy of the local family that ran the restaurant, as we explored possible
options for transporting me and the bike to the border or a local hotel. But there were no local hotels, and the
nearest (some 20kms away) was in any event fully occupied by the extra police drafted
in to work in the area. Equally there
were no vehicles available to transport the bike... and the wind continued to increase to gale
force. The Gonzalez Fernandez family
agreed that I could stay at their home.
Indeed they noted that I should stay, citing the dangers not only from
the wind, but from the hoods that frequented the area. They proceeded to feed and water me, finding
a safe haven for Idris for the night, while I was regaled with horrendous tales
of life in the Mexican border lands.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">These were good
people, seeking to scratch out a life in an already difficult economic situation,
but the violence that had been steadily increasing in the area over recent
years had impacted badly on the volume of passing trade. This was also notable when I passed through the
beautiful Costa Esmeralda a couple of days earlier, where hotels which once
serviced a steady flow of US tourists were sitting idle and falling to
ruin. I was told that no one should
travel the road between 6 in the evening and 8 in the morning – and that locals
had been shot for not answering to the thugs.
The wind had died right down (almost as if someone had finally switched
off the fan), but as I didn´t fancy a death of my own I stayed put – with huge
gratitude to the family who had taken in this vulnerable stranger. As a measure of the hospitality I received I
had to insist that they take some money for the food, drink and accommodation
provided. But I had to insist hard, and
only then was such a small amount accepted that I doubt it even covered their
costs for what I was given. A really
humbling experience, and one that has enriched my journey the memories of which
will stay with me for a very long time. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<b><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">Thought for the day<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">A number of events
have already taken place during this adventure that have given pause for
thought as to whether there was a greater guiding hand nudging me in one
direction or the other as I make my way north.
Here was another. Wind so high
that afternoon that no motorcycle could have travelled along that road forced me
to stop at the door of such a generous family.
And, I discovered from the news later that evening, preventing me from getting
to a town where a gun fight had taken place in the street at a time which would
have coincided with my arrival. My wife
says I am a lucky guy and there can be no doubt that I am. But I cannot help thinking that some of that
luck comes from a guardian angel, or angels, seeking to ensure that I complete
my goal and return home safe and sound.
A thought that was mulling through my mind as I turned in that day, and
resulted in the first good night´s rest for days.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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Pathttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11711082943425823382noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3849587727930742557.post-88071443885201477712012-07-16T06:51:00.000+02:002012-07-16T06:55:17.502+02:00Why am I doing this?<br />
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">For those of you who
have not been following my travels to date, my name is Pat McCarthy (aka
Barcelona Pat), and I am travelling by motorcycle solo from Tierra del Fuego at
the southern tip of Argentina to Alaska.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">In my last web-posting
at <a href="http://www.patonabike.blogspot.com/">www.patonabike.blogspot.com</a>
I clocked up over 20,000 kms travelled in 87 days. However, as I head from the developing
countries into the more affluent world, I thought it timely to reflect on some
of what I have seen and how that relates to my fundraising efforts. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">Once I had taken the
decision to do the `Big Trip´ I quickly realised that it would be more meaningful
if I linked my efforts to some cause. I
had two thoughts: the organisation had
to be working in each of the countries through which I travel (for obvious
reasons); and they had to be helping kids (the reasoning for this is explained
in the Day 76 entry on my website).
There were not many organisations that met these criteria, and <a href="http://www.unicef.org.uk/">UNICEF</a> was the obvious choice.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">I was aware of their
work in a general sense through my job, but it was only when I looked more
closely into what UNICEF are achieving across the world in support of those
most in need did I fully realise how worthy an organisation they are. While a United Nations agency, they are only
funded through voluntary donations, but they are very efficient. For example Unicef UK is able to direct 76%
of all donations direct to programme work with children (2009 figure). That´s pretty impressive in my book. And, when you consider that (for UK tax
payers) the UK Government will match what you give with a further 20% through
the most excellent Gift Aid scheme, it would be true to say that almost all of
what you give goes to support kids directly.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">I have deliberately
not taken photos of young people as I have travelled,
emotive as they can be. But the images I
have seen will remain with me. Children
as young as 5 or 6 years old having to hawk their wares on street corners,
instead of having the opportunity to learn and enjoy a true childhood. Cheeky and often cute it is easy to forget as
a traveller passing through that they should not be there! I am alive to the economic pressures placed
on people in poorer countries - but depriving small children of their rights to
education, their rights to gain the tools to achieve their full potential,
their rights to better contribute to their own societies as they grow up – is false
economy in my book. Unicef works to
ensure that children´s rights are protected – as violence against kids is not
limited to the developing world. Just
have a look at the statistics for the number of children living in poverty in
the world´s richest countries – eye opening stuff!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">This is where Unicef
plays a real role. Because of who they
are they are able to affect change at the Governmental level in over 190 countries
around the world, ensuring that policies and programmes are put in train that
protect these kids, and their right to be children. But they are also able to work at the ground
level directly funding projects that changes real lives every day. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">In the education field,
an area close to my heart, they help build schools, train teachers and buy
books so that those without access can learn.
But interestingly they view the development of the child in a holistic
way. A child´s wellbeing is not simply
served through access to classes.
Unicef´s rights work is essential, so are their health programmes. An estimated 4,000 children die every day
from diarrhoea caused by poor sanitation and a lack of safe water. A preventable disease that claims so many is outrageous
in the 21st century. Any world traveller
who has experienced the `travellers trotts´ (as I did in Peru) will have some
insight into the problems experienced by these kids on a daily basis.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">Unicef´s work in
seeking to tackle these problems is truly amazing stuff by anyone´s standards –
and that is why I chose to link my journey to their work.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">And you too can be
part of this journey. For those of you
who have already donated you have my sincerest thanks. For those of you who are planning to support
these kids – now is the time to act. Don´t
put it off until later. Do it now. Click <a href="http://www.justgiving.com/patrickmccarthy">here</a> and donate direct to Unicef
through the secure Just Giving website. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">I have been amazed
and honoured by the (at the time of writing) 15,000 plus hits I have had on my
website - but I also have a favour to ask as I think quite a number of you are
repeat visitors. If I am going to reach my
targets for this endeavour, I need to expand awareness of what I am doing and
why. If you could spare a few minutes of
your time – here are some examples of how you can really help me out, and become
part of Pat Around the Americas – and help Unicef´s work:<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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</div>
<ul>
<li><span style="background-color: white; font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">e-mail the website
link and just giving page details to all your friends, family and work contacts...</span><span style="background-color: white; font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"> </span><span style="background-color: white; font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">saying something like: </span><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="background-color: white; font-family: Arial, sans-serif;">You might be interested in the trip that this guy I
know is doing, riding his motorbike solo from Argentina to Alaska and raising
money for Unicef.</span><span style="background-color: white; font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"> </span><span style="background-color: white; font-family: Arial, sans-serif;">Have a look at his
website (you can also subscribe direct for further updates), and perhaps donate
something to his cause.</span><span style="background-color: white; font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"> </span><span style="background-color: white; font-family: Arial, sans-serif;">It is really
interesting stuff – and some great photos.</span><span style="background-color: white; font-family: Arial, sans-serif;">
</span><span style="background-color: white; font-family: Arial, sans-serif;">The links are:</span><span style="background-color: white; font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"> </span><a href="http://www.patonabike.blogspot.com/" style="background-color: white; font-family: Arial, sans-serif;">www.patonabike.blogspot.com</a><span style="background-color: white; font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"> </span><span style="background-color: white; font-family: Arial, sans-serif;">and </span><span class="MsoHyperlink" style="background-color: white; font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"><a href="http://www.justgiving.com/patrickmccarthy">http://www.justgiving.com/patrickmccarthy</a></span></span></li>
</ul>
<ul>
<li><span style="background-color: white; font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">Share the website links
with all your contacts on facebook, twitter etc.</span><span style="background-color: white; font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"> </span><span style="background-color: white; font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">Feel free to `friend me´ - Pat McCarthy is
the name.</span></li>
</ul>
<ul>
<li><span style="background-color: white; font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">Have a quick
whip-round for spare change from colleagues in your workplace, family, club or
other social grouping (you can print a copy of this to show them what it is all
about).</span><span style="background-color: white; font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"> </span><span style="background-color: white; font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">After collecting you can donate the
sum online through the Just Giving link, so you´ll also get a record of that
donation.</span><span style="background-color: white; font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"> </span><span style="background-color: white; font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">Remember to note the fact on
Just Giving if all people contributing are UK tax payers, so Unicef can get the
20% Gift Aid contribution.</span></li>
</ul>
<br />
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">I am funding every
penny of this trip myself, but I want to eventually match those costs with donations
to Unicef. This whole project will last
a couple of years – but please help me meet my first major milestone on the
fundraising road, while Idris and I are still battling our way northwards.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">Many thanks<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">Pat<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-y1ZlA22QcOM/T09msln5akI/AAAAAAAAAQ8/EK15IWGisiY/s1600/CRESTED+-+inaidlongUNICEFcyan.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="100" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-y1ZlA22QcOM/T09msln5akI/AAAAAAAAAQ8/EK15IWGisiY/s640/CRESTED+-+inaidlongUNICEFcyan.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>Pathttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11711082943425823382noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3849587727930742557.post-1914915889984017492012-07-09T05:45:00.000+02:002012-07-09T05:45:04.945+02:00Day 86 to 87 – to Acayucan, Mexico<br />
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<span lang="EN-US" style="background-color: white; font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">15 to 16 June</span><span lang="EN-GB" style="background-color: white; font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"> Kms
travelled – 20,626</span></div>
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<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-wfLnwV82RlE/T-OfjvU5k5I/AAAAAAAACu8/GLWRdW2aJAM/s1600/SAM_1424.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="262" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-wfLnwV82RlE/T-OfjvU5k5I/AAAAAAAACu8/GLWRdW2aJAM/s400/SAM_1424.JPG" width="400" /></a></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">The short break in
Antigua, Guatemala, made a huge difference to our preparedness for the next
stage of the journey – Mexico. Arguably
at present the most dangerous country through which we are travelling – and it
just got worse. Time spent chilling in
Guatemala also enabled my lovely wide to alert me to a tropical storm brewing
out in the Pacific, which was heading at pace for Mexico. The day before we decided to leave Antigua,
it was upgraded to a class 1 hurricane.
Carlotta was due to hit the Mexican coast in 2 days, and winds of up to
160kph were being projected and schools were being closed etc as the locals prepared
themselves for the worst. I needed to
get into Mexico as soon as possible then high-tail it over to the east coast
and north to be safe. Given all the news
reports of gang violence and crime levels in various parts of the country, I
had been debating which route to take through Mexico to the USA. Carlotta had now pretty much decided that for
me.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-bvLz_M4GUy4/T-OgJgtFe_I/AAAAAAAACwA/C7rXn6vOnJQ/s1600/SAM_1433.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="318" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-bvLz_M4GUy4/T-OgJgtFe_I/AAAAAAAACwA/C7rXn6vOnJQ/s640/SAM_1433.JPG" width="640" /></a></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">So it was an early
6:30 start as we rolled out of Hotel Calle Ancha saying our goodbyes to my
sister. There was mist in the hills as
we weaved our way through the greenery and a series of small towns on the way
to Chichicastenango and lake Atitlan. In
fact it got really quite cold and I turned on the heated grips for the first
time in a while – I would have liked to dig out a fleece too, but it was well
packed inside my luggage. But the cool
temperature wasn´t to last, and normal tropical service resumed. In fact the ride to
the border was lovely, through green valleys and over scenic mountains, but it
took longer than I expected. Luckily
time was made up at the border, which was much quicker than I expected; well
within my 2 hour target time. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-c7FCleO5owA/T-OkYPiLTXI/AAAAAAAACzY/DCVVuG5AVpU/s1600/SAM_1458.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-c7FCleO5owA/T-OkYPiLTXI/AAAAAAAACzY/DCVVuG5AVpU/s320/SAM_1458.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">The ride on to
Comitán was also lovely, through and out of the mountain country and across
flatter plains, before running up and around rolling green hillsides. This was the sort of terrain that just called
out for you to turn around and ride again.
But Carlotta and the time of day was on my mind (I promised myself I
would be off the road by around 4:00 each day for security reasons). So it was onto Hotel San Francisco in the
centre of town, and an interesting evening of tacos and mariachis in the town
square. </span><span style="background-color: white; font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">Arriba, arriba! I was in Mexico, and so far all
was good.</span></div>
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<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-7YKIdQfyqp0/T-Okw6UDVDI/AAAAAAAAC0o/AX6tUxXZwSA/s1600/SAM_1468.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="187" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-7YKIdQfyqp0/T-Okw6UDVDI/AAAAAAAAC0o/AX6tUxXZwSA/s320/SAM_1468.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">The next day´s early
start greeted me with more cool mist as we wound our way through the lush
countryside and small Mexican towns. I
am sure I will get used to the mass of sleeping policemen (<i>topes</i>) that are found close to and through any built up area in
Mexico, but I hadn´t yet! They seemed to
come in all sizes and shapes – some with warning signs, others without. Some local people, often disabled, seemed to
paint them to warn oncoming traffic then sit in the middle of the road to
collect tips for their efforts. The
topes did, however, provide the ideal opportunity to pass large trucks easily
and safely, as Idris´ suspension was clearly more up to the task of leaping the
obstacles than the more weightier road users.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-HLLMsvdCK6I/T-Ok4IzC0VI/AAAAAAAAC1A/QfIYINkR2NQ/s1600/SAM_1471.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="245" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-HLLMsvdCK6I/T-Ok4IzC0VI/AAAAAAAAC1A/QfIYINkR2NQ/s400/SAM_1471.JPG" width="400" /></a></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">The road started to
climb and we soon found ourselves looking down on a carpet of snowy white cloud
cover in the valley below. I would have
loved to capture that in a photo, but was uncomfortable about stopping on this
fast mountain road (which didn´t seem to have any viewpoints for us
tourists). Fantastic sight though. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">As we were running
through Tuxtla I met a chap from Spain on a GS650 who was planning on heading
over to the 200 and the Pacific coast.
Having passed on the information about the hurricane, he duly changed plans,
also deciding that the Gulf of Mexico might well be nicer at this time of the
year! And the road over there wasn´t too bad
either. Perhaps not the greatest riding
road we have encountered, but nevertheless we did get to see some fantastic
scenery, lakes, green mountainsides, before hitting the more industrial areas
that lined the east coast. Idris and I were
heading for Veracruz, but the clock struck 5:00 and reminded me to get off the
road for the day. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-sVzoItimaPU/T-OlNMiJ-oI/AAAAAAAAC1s/vjLpEoDRq9o/s1600/SAM_1478.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="360" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-sVzoItimaPU/T-OlNMiJ-oI/AAAAAAAAC1s/vjLpEoDRq9o/s640/SAM_1478.JPG" width="640" /></a></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">The Hotel Los Angeles
in Acayucan had what I needed for a cheap and safe overnight stop, and the town
was also in the midst of its annual festival, which would have been great other
than the torrent of rain that hit at around 7 in the evening, and continued
right through to the next day, kind of wiped out the main parade.
Carlotta´s hands had reached out across the Mexican isthmus and were
intent on slapping this little town around for the rest of the night. I wonder what tomorrow will bring?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-KdOQNC-0DIo/T-OlAMgD8AI/AAAAAAAAC1Q/abCj-k9rvcY/s1600/SAM_1472.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-KdOQNC-0DIo/T-OlAMgD8AI/AAAAAAAAC1Q/abCj-k9rvcY/s320/SAM_1472.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
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<b><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">Thought for the day<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">Not a particularly
deep thought, but I have been struck by how green and fertile this area of
Mexico is and, if first appearances are anything to go by, largely
prosperous. Perhaps that shouldn´t come
as much of a surprise given the tropical nature of the area here in the south,
but I couldn´t seem to shift this clichéd view of Mexico being cactus in
desert, with tatty towns serving tequila to moustached cowboys carrying
shotguns while riding in the back of rusty old pickup trucks. The cowboys certainly do exist, but they
appear unarmed, well dressed and ride around in pretty new wheels. Perhaps Hollywood has a lot to answer for! We´ll see.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">Oh, and another
thought that I can´t seem to shift...
the food here is fantastic!
Interestingly, it mostly comes with the sauces on the side, so you can
eat your fill while choosing your own level of spiciness. <o:p></o:p></span></div>Pathttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11711082943425823382noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3849587727930742557.post-36407002914762581572012-07-06T01:43:00.000+02:002012-07-06T02:09:36.273+02:00Day 82 to 85 – to Antigua, Guatemala<span lang="EN-US" style="background-color: white; font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">11 to 14 June</span><span lang="EN-GB" style="background-color: white; font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"> Kms
travelled – 19,405</span><br />
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">An early start was
ensured for my first day in El Salvador as the auto-motel was paid for by the
hour, which ran out for me at 6:00 am.
No matter, the sky was clear and with the road before me I decided to
head towards Santa Ana before swinging round to follow the Route of the Flowers
(which was recommended by a guide book) – but which I found signposted on the
road as the Route of the Oranges. Either
that or I followed a different run. I
had the day to enjoy the countryside, and the road led me up and around a
series of old volcanoes with lovely scenery.
The route was also a little cooler due to some degree of altitude. </span><br />
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<span style="background-color: white; font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">I made a pit stop at
a roadside restaurant which was lined outside by a string of bikes. It was not long before I was chatting to Jorge,
who works for the local Yamaha dealers, and his mates about bikes, the trip,
his country – you know, all that sort of thing.
Nice! The downside was that I
discovered that I had already pretty much completed my planned route for the day,
and it was only 10:00 in the morning! El
Salvador is not a very big place. Seeing
this long line of gleaming metal did put me and Idris´ somewhat muddy
countenance to shame, though we were able to rib one of the guys who felt a
trip over a day long was probably a bit too far to ride! </span><br />
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">Trying to get the
most of the decent from the hills, I was soon heading out towards the coast in
the hot, sweaty weather to which I had become accustomed. One big plus was, however, the realisation
that I was no longer coughing and sneezing in my helmet, but that I actually
felt pretty good. Needless to say the
coastal area didn´t last long either, and I soon rolled into a border town called
Cara Sucia at around midday with a smile on my face.</span><br />
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<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-k8MB2Il6Ix4/T-6Cb0cwWGI/AAAAAAAADO0/qEwFM3yCGBs/s1600/SAM_1371.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="190" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-k8MB2Il6Ix4/T-6Cb0cwWGI/AAAAAAAADO0/qEwFM3yCGBs/s320/SAM_1371.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">I had a smile as Cara Sucia means <i>dirty face</i> and seemed a funny choice for the name of the first town
a visitor from the north might encounter.
Luckily the local hotel had safe parking and didn´t take the town´s name
to heart. The afternoon was spent
chilling out, wandering around the small town seeking some form of internet
connection, and wondering at the timeliness and the force of the late afternoon
thunderstorms.<o:p></o:p></span><br />
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">The border the next
day was pretty straightforward until it came to the Guatemalan customs (Aduana)
for the temporary importation of the bike.
That necessitated a bit of running around, paying fees direct to the
bank (to avoid any possibility of corruption – well done Guate!) and that sort
of thing. At least their offices had an
indoor waiting room with good air conditioning.
Both sides of the border had been completed well within my (now) 2 hour
time limit – which was becoming a bit of a target or challenge for me. We mustn´t take longer than 2 hours... just
don´t ask me why!</span><br />
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<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-8MiMLTnDhYc/T9oUQL5nE6I/AAAAAAAACng/Fom83X4XZbU/s1600/SAM_1372.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="263" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-8MiMLTnDhYc/T9oUQL5nE6I/AAAAAAAACng/Fom83X4XZbU/s400/SAM_1372.JPG" width="400" /></a></div>
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">My plan was to ride
up to Lake Atitlan then back to Antigua for an extended (for me) stay at the previously
recommended, and most welcoming, Hotel Calle Ancha. But despite the nice dirt road I was on, it just got too hot. By the time I was getting close to the turn
off for Antigua I had had enough, and headed directly up to the
town, cooler weather and a break. As soon as I was settled
in I was out and about exploring this fascinating town. I got Idris cleaned up and serviced – we were
rapidly approaching the 20,000 km mark.
And I also made the necessary arrangements to get to the airport the
next day to collect one of my sisters who was flying in for her summer hols. We were going to spend the next three days
hanging out in the town, before I headed off towards Mexico and left her to her
own devices.</span></div>
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<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-uWzMlEgky-w/T9oVCwoP3NI/AAAAAAAACpo/3sBvEYLFuFk/s1600/SAM_1388.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-uWzMlEgky-w/T9oVCwoP3NI/AAAAAAAACpo/3sBvEYLFuFk/s320/SAM_1388.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">And what a place to
hang out in. OK, I know that Antigua is
a bit on the touristy side, but there is certainly a good reason why tourists
head in this direction. You are faced
with a wide range of good quality eateries, reasonably (and unreasonably)
priced places to stay, lovely buildings separated by original cobblestone
streets, a wide array of crafts and gift shops – most of which seemed to be
owned and run by indigenous Guatemalans – all of which sits at the base of the
most spectacular Volcan de Agua (<i>volcano
of water</i>).</span></div>
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<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-QT4mKtt_hyA/T-Of0iWPXQI/AAAAAAAACvQ/bhEjlmwrb8o/s1600/SAM_1429.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="235" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-QT4mKtt_hyA/T-Of0iWPXQI/AAAAAAAACvQ/bhEjlmwrb8o/s400/SAM_1429.JPG" width="400" /></a></div>
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">Also one of the more noticeable
aspects of this country is the number of the wonderfully attractive and colourful
indigenous people you encounter when visiting.
Those we engaged with were charming, and the textiles they produce were
just begging to be bought. We lost track
of the hours spent wandering around the market area; a place so large that it
was also easy to lose track of where you were.
I hate to think what I would have come away with if I had had room on
the bike. Guatemala was seriously
challenging Nicaragua for the spot as my favourite Central American country.<o:p></o:p></span><br />
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<b><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">Thought for the day<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
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<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-aNY4hpbeMjI/T9oV4X7GNMI/AAAAAAAACss/8uPSz5NL3_Y/s1600/SAM_1410.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-aNY4hpbeMjI/T9oV4X7GNMI/AAAAAAAACss/8uPSz5NL3_Y/s200/SAM_1410.JPG" width="145" /></a></div>
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">It was great to hang
out with one of my sisters, even if it did seem a little odd that we were doing
so on the other side of the world (it was also a great opportunity to dump some
bits of kit that I was not using). </span><br />
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">As we
each plough through our respective daily grinds we often don’t get the chance
to spend a bit of quality time together.
At their best, families are always there for us, blood being thicker and
all that, especially in times of need.
But it is still really nice to spend time with family when there is no particular
need. I felt I was leaving Antigua
rested and recharged, with my glass back to being half full. Both Idris and I were shiny again.<o:p></o:p></span><br />
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<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-GpiEtmen_f8/T9oUWEoR8sI/AAAAAAAACn4/gIrWg1F0TLw/s1600/SAM_1375.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="432" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-GpiEtmen_f8/T9oUWEoR8sI/AAAAAAAACn4/gIrWg1F0TLw/s640/SAM_1375.JPG" width="640" /></a></div>
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>Pathttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11711082943425823382noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3849587727930742557.post-39168937704564314572012-06-30T06:41:00.000+02:002012-06-30T06:41:03.842+02:00Day 80 to 81 – through Honduras to El Salvador<br />
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<span lang="EN-US" style="background-color: white; font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">9 to 10 June</span><span lang="EN-GB" style="background-color: white; font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"> Kms
travelled – 19,405</span></div>
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<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-Ct-A7O3hNSc/T-uUlH4hANI/AAAAAAAAC8k/1Icauq8ptGI/s1600/SAM_1346.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="322" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-Ct-A7O3hNSc/T-uUlH4hANI/AAAAAAAAC8k/1Icauq8ptGI/s640/SAM_1346.JPG" width="640" /></a></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">The easy exit from
Nicaragua was tinged with a bit of sadness.
Despite the junior Laurel and Hardy style police I encountered, I was
sorry to leave after such a brief encounter.
What a wonderful place, and what wonderful people. Perhaps not necessarily the greatest riding I
have enjoyed to date but the overall package left me</span><span style="background-color: white; font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"> wanting to return and
learn more about this previously troubled country.</span><span style="background-color: white; font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"> </span><span style="background-color: white; font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">Perhaps I will.</span></div>
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<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-XzNmTG4uN8U/T9oTvlo6GFI/AAAAAAAACmc/ShagNGVqiaA/s1600/SAM_1356.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="184" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-XzNmTG4uN8U/T9oTvlo6GFI/AAAAAAAACmc/ShagNGVqiaA/s320/SAM_1356.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">Getting into Honduras
was a different matter. All my
pre-flight checks had revealed that everyone gets ripped-off in Honduras, and
perhaps the resignation that I would have to put my hand in my pocket left me a
little unguarded. Or perhaps it was just
that I hit the border at 8:00, and was still a bit sleepy after the previous
night´s storms. As usual I will be
updating the border process on the dedicated page on this site in due course,
but I want to note one or two things here.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-T0r8UhHWQ70/T9oTlL0NHnI/AAAAAAAACl0/jFhwdUAJMJo/s1600/SAM_1349.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="180" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-T0r8UhHWQ70/T9oTlL0NHnI/AAAAAAAACl0/jFhwdUAJMJo/s320/SAM_1349.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">The first being that
the ´guides´ at this border were the sneakiest to date. The officials at many of the other crossings
have only just tolerated these ´helpers´ but here I was to encounter a very
different approach. I have relied on my
ability to converse in Spanish to fend off most of the touting so far, but this
time as I was crossing the international bridge I was flagged down by a woman
dressed in a black skirt, white top and sporting a police baseball cap. So I stopped, and handed over my documents on
request thinking that this was a checkpoint, such as I had encountered when
moving between a number of other countries.
As soon as she had taken hold of my documents, she set off at a run
towards Honduras, while tossing the baseball cap back to the laughing policemen
on the bridge! <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-WLw2eslqCnY/T9oTlqi6kcI/AAAAAAAACl8/UFONrOk9Zuw/s1600/SAM_1351.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-WLw2eslqCnY/T9oTlqi6kcI/AAAAAAAACl8/UFONrOk9Zuw/s320/SAM_1351.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">I´d been had. She was a guide, and already setting up the
immigration aspects of the crossing by the time I had parked up and reached
her. I was interested in how this would
play out, so went along with it. And in
a way I was glad I did. It cost me
around $25 in total more than if I had done it myself (15$ of which was
retained by the border officials), but those sly old foxes had hidden the unsigned
Aduana office in a shack on the other side of the road, through a truck park
and behind a number of trees, so it was virtually impossible to find if you
didn´t know where it was. Well I am sure
I would have got there eventually (the crossing was still very quiet at that
time in the morning), but it did save time.
Having Mrs Fakecop do the running around and photocopies etc for me was
also a blessing as I was still not feeling 100% - skinky cold was still with
me. Using one of these people was an
interesting experience, but I vowed not to pay anyone else for the rest of the
trip.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-Rb9yBzp9m8s/T9oTt5Ee1NI/AAAAAAAACmU/LlGMg2Ze7cE/s1600/SAM_1355.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="190" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-Rb9yBzp9m8s/T9oTt5Ee1NI/AAAAAAAACmU/LlGMg2Ze7cE/s320/SAM_1355.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">I was in two minds
when I entered the country as to what route to take; which included how long I
would stay. So I set off with no fixed
plan, and quickly came to the conclusion that Honduras would be a strong
contender in the “Game Over Pothole World Cup” competition. So I weaved further, dodging
oncoming traffic that seemed to think a head on with a bike preferable to
driving through potholes over their side or, heaven forbid, slowing down! After a time I got fed up and decided to take
a run to the coast to see what I could see.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-cegW02xcK8o/T9oTnPvKvvI/AAAAAAAACmE/lyfpys4nsJo/s1600/SAM_1352.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="222" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-cegW02xcK8o/T9oTnPvKvvI/AAAAAAAACmE/lyfpys4nsJo/s400/SAM_1352.JPG" width="400" /></a></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">On the way there I
rode through a police checkpoint, and waved to the 8 or so police as they
raised their hands. Little did I know
that this was a dead-end and, after a break, photos and a chat to some flirty
young ladies at the coastal town, I was heading back. And you guessed it, was met by a line of
police standing across the road. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">After apologising
sincerely for running their roadblock earlier, and making a joke of the fact
that I thought they were just waving like so many other police and military I
had seen along the way, I fell into my now well practiced routine of explaining
what I was doing, including the fundraising for Unicef, while ignoring their
demands for papers etc. They seemed
ready for a laugh, so I did what I could to make light of the situation, making
jokes when they half-heartedly suggested that I gave them my gloves and boots. In the end they let me on my way with the
promise that I would pop a wheelie as I went.
Which I didn´t... but who cares I was on my way again having dodged a
bunch of officials who were clearly out for what they could get. That decided it, I was not far from the
border, it was still morning, so I headed to El Salvador.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-7xrmm7lLJA8/T9oTxZDSaZI/AAAAAAAACmk/serqovCR-Vg/s1600/SAM_1357.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="348" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-7xrmm7lLJA8/T9oTxZDSaZI/AAAAAAAACmk/serqovCR-Vg/s640/SAM_1357.JPG" width="640" /></a></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">While probably the
sweatiest crossing to date (thanks to having to wait an hour at the Aduana offices
some 3 kms from the border), I soon found myself inside yet another country
without incident and still within my 2 hour maximum for a complete crossing. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-u9EBWvAII7s/T-5_P8oyBoI/AAAAAAAADN4/hfU4Hly3ZfI/s1600/SAM_1366.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="210" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-u9EBWvAII7s/T-5_P8oyBoI/AAAAAAAADN4/hfU4Hly3ZfI/s400/SAM_1366.JPG" width="400" /></a></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">The road took me
alongside a necklace of volcanoes through a series of towns and now familiar
greenery, before stopping for the day at an “auto-motel” some 40kms shy of San
Salvador. I could see the clouds quickly
gathering, and I managed to get me and the bike safe inside about 10 minutes
before the sky split and emptied its contents.
Another spectacular storm, and a surprisingly spectacular seafood dinner
ordered through room service. Odd places
these – but clean, safe and relatively cheap.
It did the job for another day. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<b><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">Thought for the day<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">What a shame about Honduras. My view of a country was tainted by a number
of bouts of corruption (and near corruption) within a few hours. I am sure there is more and better to be
found, and as I was riding through El Salvador I was thinking about possibly
heading north back into Honduras towards Copan Ruinas the next day, and heading
into Guatemala from there. But the idea of
having to tackle another Honduran border left me cold. Who knows what I would have to pay to get
back in, and what hoops would I have to jump through? I didn´t have the energy for more of that, so
decided to spend more time in El Salvador instead. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><br /></span></div>Pathttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11711082943425823382noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3849587727930742557.post-32575298904680790752012-06-28T01:27:00.000+02:002012-06-28T01:27:35.610+02:00Day 78 to 79 – to Somotillo, Nicaragua<br />
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<span lang="EN-US" style="background-color: white; font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">7 to 8 June</span><span lang="EN-GB" style="background-color: white; font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"> Kms
travelled – 18,649</span></div>
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<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-I0DsK-UYb_E/T9oSim7va7I/AAAAAAAACkw/Mh9pAKzBlY0/s1600/SAM_1309.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="260" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-I0DsK-UYb_E/T9oSim7va7I/AAAAAAAACkw/Mh9pAKzBlY0/s400/SAM_1309.JPG" width="400" /></a></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">I had to drag myself
out of bed and out of Alajuela, with nose still running and cold still dragging
my energy levels down. But I wanted to
move on. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">It doesn´t take very
long for the heat and humidity to cause some discomfort while wearing full
motorcycle gear, even with the suit vents wide open. But once you have passed the sensation of
everything being damp with sweat, the moisture really helps you cool down as
the breeze passes through your gear on the road. I guess that is why we sweat in the first
place, and why the locals here see sweating not as unsightly, but as a healthy
sign. One chap noted to me that I should
start worrying if I stopped sweating – and I guess he is right on that
point. I did start feeling a bit dizzy
after about 2 hours on the road, however, which was a clear sign that my drugs
needed topping up and more fluids were in order. That done, and feeling better, we were back
at it.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-ber4l1SAets/T9oSrr1FlOI/AAAAAAAAClI/jnAVUYuDoJg/s1600/SAM_1312.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="237" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-ber4l1SAets/T9oSrr1FlOI/AAAAAAAAClI/jnAVUYuDoJg/s400/SAM_1312.JPG" width="400" /></a></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">The roads heading on
up were pretty clear and it wasn´t long before I was closing on Liberia and,
given that it was still in the morning, I decided to press on to the border –
armed with a few bars of chocolate.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">The total time I
needed to get Idris and I out of Costa Rica and into Nicaragua was less than an
hour and a half, and was a generally enjoyable experience. People were helpful and friendly, and I
wasn´t hassled much by border ´guides´.
Indeed, once they realised that I could hold my own in Spanish we had
quite a nice chat about the trip and the respective countries. Interestingly, while these guys and gals
(though not so many gals) would happily charge a fee for their services, they
do in fact let slip most of what they know about the border process for free
while trying to tout for business. While
standing your ground and repeatedly noting that you don´t want any help, they
are busily pointing out where you need to go for immigration and customs services,
which is most useful if you are planning to do it all yourself!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">Nicaragua was a real
surprise. Moving in from the border I
was met with better quality roads (this wasn´t to last, but the first
impressions were good), clean countryside and a sense of a place in good order. It felt less developed – or perhaps it would
be more accurate to say it simply felt poorer – but that economic disparity did not
seem to cross over into lack of care or pride in what was theirs. You saw more flesh driven vehicles, as opposed
to oil driven ones, but that seemed to add to the charm of the place. It also seemed to make the place more
real. The ride up along Lake Nicaragua
with the impressive volcanoes settled within it was also a boost. A great sight, and one that stayed with us
most of the way into Granada.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-7sPCZU8PH44/T-uPSluI7DI/AAAAAAAAC5I/wf1pP-o1dDQ/s1600/SAM_1320.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-7sPCZU8PH44/T-uPSluI7DI/AAAAAAAAC5I/wf1pP-o1dDQ/s400/SAM_1320.JPG" width="400" /></a></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">By the time I hit
town it was mid afternoon, the heat was at its height, and so was the toll
demanded by my stinky cold. I made a
half hearted effort to find a budget place with secure parking – and then
headed straight to a nice hotel I had seen advertised on the road in (Hotel
Granada). Perhaps my most expensive stay
of the Central Americas, but a much needed place to crash and recover some
energy. They put together a lovely bit
of locally caught fish for dinner, Guapote, which I would heartily recommend to
any fish lover, and offered a level of service that would put a smile on any
North American. A short walk round the
hot and humid town revealed a lovely mix of tourist services nestled between
local homes, giving the impression of a town not wholly given over to the
gringo dollar (but which gains sufficient from that trade to maintain the
charming city centre and quite a number of local families). I loved the place, and would have stayed so
much longer if I had felt better and if the place was just a little cooler!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-rTrqPL_4bDU/T-uQeEIIlMI/AAAAAAAAC50/8O1bRTJhJAQ/s1600/SAM_1325.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-rTrqPL_4bDU/T-uQeEIIlMI/AAAAAAAAC50/8O1bRTJhJAQ/s320/SAM_1325.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">The slow start due to
my general weariness the next morning (and the fantastic fruit based breakfast
which was included in the price) meant that the bike was already toasty hot by the
time we were ready to hit the road. We
headed for Masaya with the plan of taking the CA1 up into the hills and
(possibly) cooler weather, but an error in navigation saw us rolling into busy
Managua – where a couple of local policemen tried to sting me for a $100
fine. Aside from the fact that they were
both about 12 years old, and clearly inventing the so called crime of changing
lanes (!), I think I would have played along a bit more just for the fun of it
if they had just been a bit better at the extortion.
But the game was played so badly that I just wanted to get under way
again – so my belligerence and pedantry came to the fore pointing out the error
in their own arguments and, without overtly saying so, leaving no uncertainty
to the fact that I was going to take the matter further. They let me off with a warning, and seemed
glad to see me go. I was a little angry
for a while – if you are going to take me for a fool then at least apply a
little intelligence yourself – but that soon wore off and I began to see the
funny side. In fact looking back the
whole episode was funny, particularly the look on their faces when I asked (in
all seriousness) where I would need to go and present my case and that I should
take photographs of the scene. One thing
I did not do was ask how much was the fine or whether it was payable on the
spot (I sensed at the outside that is exactly what they were looking for) - they offered this information after a time, but in a most uncomfortable way! Oh, and another thing, the driving licence
they had hold of was a colour photocopy laminated to look like an official
document. Worst case scenario is that I
would have taken the fine (but not paid it) and left them with a worthless
piece of paper.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/--fd77LR0bNE/T-uUryGZB5I/AAAAAAAAC80/5lTwH91ndAU/s1600/SAM_1347.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/--fd77LR0bNE/T-uUryGZB5I/AAAAAAAAC80/5lTwH91ndAU/s400/SAM_1347.JPG" width="400" /></a></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">Heading out of town,
now chuckling, I took another wrong turn and ended up on a road going in the
right direction, but which gradually turned into dirt. It was a nice ride however, and enabled me
to see much more of this fantastic countryside.
But before I knew it I was back on the black stuff and rolling past Chinandega and heading towards the
border. There was still plenty of time
before the clouds that were starting to build above would empty their load, so
we ran right up to the border town of Somotillo and settled into a very
friendly hotel outside of the urban area. </span></div>
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<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-Paj8wxNh3d0/T-uTdiW0jOI/AAAAAAAAC7w/1C0YyxpK4qM/s1600/SAM_1340.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="230" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-Paj8wxNh3d0/T-uTdiW0jOI/AAAAAAAAC7w/1C0YyxpK4qM/s320/SAM_1340.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">Then the heavens opened, but only after the most spectacular display of
wind, thunder and lightning. You can
really enjoy a good thunderstorm when you are secure in the feeling that you
are in a safe place. I loved this one,
and was joined by dogs, cats, lizards, the biggest toad I have ever seen and
parrots as we all sheltered under the large dining canopy in the front of the
hotel. Fantastic! <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<b><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">Thought for the day<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">Costa Rica was full
of great friendly people, but I struggle to offer more detailed comment as I
really didn´t give it much of a chance.
A couple of days seen through a snotty visor is hardly the best way to
gain an insight into a country´s culture.
But not being one short of opinions, I did form some and should
record those here. I felt that the place
had lost its way a little. </span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">On first
impressions it was difficult to see what Costa Rican culture might be, as it
had been veiled with one imported from the US.
Like most of Central America it has some impressive countryside, but you
could almost have been in parts of Florida at times. I´m not sure that I was expecting that from a Central American country, and the cultural change was much more
noticeable as you moved into Nicaragua where that northern influence was much less
marked and the local colour more inviting. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-B95SroPy9_g/T-uUE81kvGI/AAAAAAAAC8U/rHs2MI3SpF0/s1600/SAM_1345.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="289" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-B95SroPy9_g/T-uUE81kvGI/AAAAAAAAC8U/rHs2MI3SpF0/s640/SAM_1345.JPG" width="640" /></a></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><br /></span></div>Pathttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11711082943425823382noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3849587727930742557.post-73590447192345999892012-06-25T22:29:00.000+02:002012-06-25T22:29:09.759+02:00Day 77 – to Alajuela, Costa Rica<br />
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<span lang="EN-US" style="background-color: white; font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">6 June</span><span lang="EN-GB" style="background-color: white; font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"> Kms
travelled – 17,759</span></div>
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<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-gFiJMGQxUrE/T9oR8aJIcDI/AAAAAAAACiw/RhKh3LcTUAA/s1600/SAM_1296.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="360" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-gFiJMGQxUrE/T9oR8aJIcDI/AAAAAAAACiw/RhKh3LcTUAA/s640/SAM_1296.JPG" width="640" /></a></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">I was grateful for
the restful stop at the Purple House Hostel in David, and the time left alone
there to gather myself before heading on.
But the border with Costa Rica at Paso Canoas beckoned, and was only 40
minutes up the road. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-SUw5QXdV9x0/T9oSKXQ_V7I/AAAAAAAACjQ/SSULl1qW8Ww/s1600/SAM_1298.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-SUw5QXdV9x0/T9oSKXQ_V7I/AAAAAAAACjQ/SSULl1qW8Ww/s320/SAM_1298.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">As with other
crossings I will be updating the <i>Borders</i>
page of this website with detailed information in due course, but needless to
say that this crossing was also undertaken with relative ease. I´ve read quite a bit about crossing Central American
borders, and the various experiences one could expect, but to date they have
not materialised into anything that has caused difficulty. They do take a little longer than some in the
south, but so far not a single border has held me up more than 2 hours, and
usually then due to my own hanging around and soaking up life. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">Through the border I
was enjoying the ride. </span></div>
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<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-KfSqY2sy1uc/T9oSIqRjtyI/AAAAAAAACjI/VpbJNxQkiLU/s1600/SAM_1300.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="196" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-KfSqY2sy1uc/T9oSIqRjtyI/AAAAAAAACjI/VpbJNxQkiLU/s320/SAM_1300.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">Reports on road quality
in Costa Rica didn´t get my hopes up in that regard, but what I encountered was
better than anticipated – though there were still quite a few potholes and
landslides to negotiate. That said, I
also saw a number of road crews out working to repair the damage. Up over the mountains was cool in a number of
senses – both due to the vistas and the temperature, as the misty mountains
took on a romantic veil. A good ride,
and a much needed one.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">As we headed into San
Jose, however, the weather closed in.
This was after all the rainy season, and the rains in this part of the
world seem to hold off until the mid afternoon.
But then they hit with a vengeance.
My plan had been to find a place to stay before the clouds opened, but
my timing this day was off. Running out
of the city I hit (and it almost felt like that) the tropical downfall – which stayed
with me until I rolled into Alajuela and found my hotel for the night – and then
it stopped! Great, thanks for that! It did freshen up both myself and the ride
however, so that was something.
Surprising how much water can fall in such a short space of time – with the
roads quickly turning into small rivers.
A bit like my nose really – as I had picked up a stinky cold in the
north of Panama, and it was continuing to cause discomfort as I headed on up. Yuck!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<b><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">Thought for the day<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">The main theme
running through my mind this day was riding my bike. Weather permitting I just wanted to ride –
and that was the plan. Despite the heavy
cold and the afternoon rain, Idris was putting a smile back on face.<o:p></o:p></span></div>Pathttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11711082943425823382noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3849587727930742557.post-18943070091211992392012-06-21T23:42:00.000+02:002012-06-21T23:42:11.298+02:00Day 76 – to David, Panama<br />
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<span lang="EN-US" style="background-color: white; font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">5 June</span><span lang="EN-GB" style="background-color: white; font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"> Kms
travelled – 17,454</span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">I got up and rode
some 200 kms plus. Both my mind and sight were out of focus. This time of
the year is always difficult for me. Too
much was running through my head, I was reliving the past. Tears in my eyes, I was not in the right
state of mind to be riding a bike. But
ride I did, and it was hard and fast riding at that. Too fast, and it took the second
emergency stop of the morning for that to hit home. For the second time I had almost ridden into
the back of the vehicle in front. I needed
to stop. I needed to get off the
road. I needed time to gather my
thoughts. I needed time to grieve. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">Five years ago to the
day our twin sons Patrick and David were born.
It was also the day that they died.
Much could be written about that day... but not here. Those events have, however, impacted on this
venture... perhaps they are even the principle driving force behind making the
trip. I billed Pat Around the Americas
as “... <i>a journey in search of direction</i>...” In a physical sense the direction has been
pretty much to head north! Direction in
terms of my life plans and emotions is a much more complex
matter. But in keeping with my promise
to remain true to the journey in these utterings, more for myself than
anything, I will record my thoughts here.
My apologies if you were hoping for a ride report today – normal service
will resume shortly.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<b style="background-color: white;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">Thought(s) for the day</span></b></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">I have been very
lucky in a number of senses in my life, most notably in terms of family and
friends, but also on the work front. On
the death of the boys I threw myself into the job. It provided a valued anchor and was
sufficiently challenging and stimulating to keep my mind occupied for much
of the time. I have also been lucky in
having an employer that (collectively) has extended a high degree of
understanding, support and flexibility in working practice, which I am
convinced has helped me considerably over these intervening years.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">I have been taking
the time out the trip has afforded to reflect on these issues for a while now,
and I can´t say that looking back I handled the loss well. Who does?
While the job provided an anchor and a degree of escape, it is my wife
who is the sea in which I live (if you can permit the uncomfortable
stretched metaphor). It is she
who supports me and gives me direction.
I am now less certain that I have done as much for her. On this I continue to reflect.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">From the outset I
failed to recognise and accept my pain.
I wanted to put the matter behind me and get on with things as if death
had not occurred. Fool! Only since I recognised and accepted my own
suffering, was I able to start the process of coping with it. I am not sure we ever came close, but I can
well understand why some long standing relationships fall apart after such as
blow.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">I have come to
realise that, for me, the phrase <i>“time is
the greatest healer”</i> is utter tosh!
Time does not heal these wounds; I don´t believe it ever will. For me the pain is as real this day as it was
five years ago. It is both a physical
and emotional pain, fuelled by the fact that I have little or no happy memories
of my sons to cling to. This is a
thought that comes to me often. I saw
them, after they died, but I was never able to hold them... nor was my
wife. On this I continue to reflect.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">Self evaluation
techniques have thrown up some interesting points. I have, for example, been so reliant on my
“anchor” that I have routinely placed business priorities ahead of needs at
home. Even when the options have been
mine to determine. The work – life
balance is often a tricky one the judge, but it is curious that I have not recognised
the demands of both with more equal measure.
On this I continue to reflect.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">On a practical level
I had for some time been investing funds to support the provision of useful
things in the life of a future child (college, university, car, motorbike –
that sort of thing). In recent years the
presence of this slowly growing financial resource became more of a
burden; a cash-based reminder of the
loss we suffered. It sounds a bit silly,
but I wanted rid of it. And in such a
way as to provide me with something meaningful in terms of a life experience
and memories to cling to. Hence my “...<i>journey in search of direction</i>...” Being on the journey itself has, however,
thrown up surprising realisations as I spend day after day, week after week
with my own thoughts, stimulated as they are by the people I meet and the sights I
see. This trip is an incredibly selfish
indulgence, and yet another example of how I put my own issues ahead of what is
really important in my life. On this I
continue to reflect.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">I am around the half
way point in the trip, and the thoughts that have come to mind to date are, I
feel, the right ones. I now have the
rest of the trip to help figure out what I am going to do about them. Losing Patrick and David changed me. The pain of that loss will continue to be
part of me. How I respond to that in
moving forward with my life together with my wife has yet to be written. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>Pathttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11711082943425823382noreply@blogger.com12