South American Facts and Figures

Before I set off across Canada, I thought there might be some people out there who would like to know some of the stats from South America. I’m certainly curious myself, having never yet got around to sitting down and doing the sums, so now seems as good a time as any. It’s going to be a bit listy, but I’m sure you’ll be able to manage. To add a bit of comic relief - or perhaps, preferably, some awe and wonder - the photo is of my biggest 'offsie'. Rich is standing where I began to lose control of the bike, and the bike is where it finished cart-wheeling. Cool, huh? (Mother, close your eyes!) So, here goes with some Crazy Roads accounting:

Total distance covered	30,810 km or 19,145 miles
Greatest distance covered in a day (best guess)	660 km or 410 miles (Foz do Iguaçu – Curitiba, Brazil)
Shortest distance covered in a day by choice	158 km or 98 miles (Azul to General la Madrid, Argentina)
(Actual) Longest day in the saddle for the shortest distance traveled:	105 km or 65 miles (Mendoza to Uspallata, Argentina) over 10 hours, in the snow and sunshine.
(Perceived) Longest day in the saddle for shortest distance traveled:	137km (Huanuco – La Union, Peru) over 6 1/2 hours, in the rain and mud.
Top speed (by me)	140km/h (Route 26 between Villa Unión and Villa San Agustin de Vallé Fertil, Argentina – throttle fully open, level ground, straight road, no wind)
Highest altitude ridden (by me – Rich went higher when his girlfriend came to visit in March)	4748m Paso de San Francisco, between Argentina and Chile)
Largest number of ‘offsies’ in a day	Impossible to count, but certainly over 30 (Mendoza to Uspallata, Argentina)
Total number of ‘offsies’ for the trip	You’re kidding, right? How the hell can I remember that? Well over 100, and thankfully ever fewer towards the end of the trip. I think Rich came off about 5 times in total. Git.
Most destructive ‘offsie”	The 60km/h cartwheel I did between Viedma and San Antonio Oeste (photo)
Total number of days on the road	278
Different places stayed at night en route	116
Number of nights camped out	27 (24 different locations)
Most nights stayed in one place	Cusco, Peru (2 months - volunteering)
Least nights stayed in one place	Rafael, Argentina (3 hours)
Number of windscreens broken	2 (3 if you count breaking the repaired one a second time)
Number of times handle bars bent and replaced	3 times bent, 1 time straightened and finally 1 replacement
Number of panniers damaged	2 – both the left and right were held on to the racks by straps by about the 5th week. They remained 100% waterproof throughout, however. I was impressed!
Number of times of chain/sprockets replaced	1
Number of times tyres replaced	2
Number of punctures	4
Number of breakdowns	1 (in Punta Arenas, Chile)
Number of Injuries	Not many. Coupla cuts and bruises, mostly my own fault!
Number of times food poisoned	2 (Fiambalá, Argentina; Lake Titikaka, Bolivia)
Run ins with the cops/customs	0
Number of tantrums	Too many, all ‘offsie’ or stress related
Approximate cost of whole trip, including shipping and flights	NZ$30,000
Number of unforgettable memories	Countles

There were times during the trip when all I wanted to do was go home. By the end, however, I was left with the certain knowledge that I want to do another motorbike trip some time. “So why not take a bike across Canada, instead of a car?” I hear you ask.

Well, during my time in Cusco and the Bolivian jungle, I was suffering some fairly severe back and sciatic leg pain. I got some treatment in Cusco and, by the time I got back to the UK in May, it seemed to have calmed down. About 3 months after returning to NZ, however, in October 2009 (and probably as a result of visiting chiropractors and massage therapists to ease the pain and tension I was again feeling) the locked muscles that had been doing their best to protect my lower back, were released sufficiently so that I burst a disc in my spine (the L5S1 in the lower back, for those with experience of these things) which inpinged on the sciatic nerve in my right leg. I have never felt pain like it, and suffered a week with only about 6 hours sleep before I was given a cortisone injection to kill the pain. I was off work for 5 ½ months, and have since been advised that long days of riding would be a bad idea at this stage in my recovery. The fact that my baby bro suffered a similar (but surely less severe ;-p) injury to mine several years ago, and is now planning a big bike trip of his own, suggests I just need to be patient and keep doing my exercises, and one day I will be up to another bike trip. That will be the time that I look at riding from Anchorage to Cusco, or some such. Until then, it will be 4 wheels on my wagon, and I’ll keep rolling along. And that's it for today. Thanks for tuning in, and see you next time &:-)

Once more unto the breach, dear friends...

'Ning.

Well, I'm back after a somewhat extended hiatus. It's as though we've been at a work Christmas party and conversation dried up. We've been standing in awkward silence, swirling our drinks, looking at our shoes and rocking on our heels, desperately trying to think of something interesting to say or, better yet, an excuse to go and talk to someone else ("How about those Hurricanes / Maple Leafs / Harlequins (insert sporting team of choice here)?").

Luckily for you (you be the judge), I have come up with a new topic on which to wax lyrical: I am poised to embark upon an epic road trip across North America. OK, I agree, its not quite as interesting as South America - unwittingly, I set the bar rather high on that one. Very little I ever do again will compare to that, unless I am able to return to finish what I started (Mexico to Peru anyone? Now there's a thought!) but, for now, I have engineered a spare 3 months this year, and this is what I have decided to do.

For those out there who have been outside the cirlce of trust (its your own fault, the door has always been open to you) I was originally gearing up to use May - August as a precursor to working with the Toronto Fire Department for a year on the International Firefighter Exchange Program. I'd calculated that, with a little careful planning, I could spend the summer tripping around out west and then concentrate on the rest of the year out east. Unfortunately, my planning was a little sharper than my exchange partners, and while I was ready to sign contracts in November last year, he wasn't, and by the time he was, there was no longer time to organise the requisite visas without seriously altering my own plans, so the year of work was moved to the back burner. Disappointing, but when life gives you lemons, you say "Bugger the lemonade, I'm going to make a lovely big lemon meringue pie. Now, do I have any eggs?"

So, there it is. Arrival date in TO: 6th May. First order of business: secure a vehicle - at this stage I have been looking at either something my father would be proud of, or alternatively something fun...but ridiculously impractical and asking for trouble. I suspect the Volvo station wagon will prevail. As soon as I have it in my sweaty hands, I will change the front page photo. Thereafter, I will spend a fortnight or so catching up with a few friends around the area before heading west.

I have only a vague idea of what route I will take at this stage, but basically it will involve getting to Vancouver, exploring some of British Columbia and returning via the US of A through the northern states. I'll be aiming to get back to TO by 1st July, where I will collect a travel companion for a month or so of exploring Quebec, Nova Scotia and Newfoundland, and getting to North Bay, Ontario for a canoe trip in the first week of August. After that, I should just have time to chill out and do some more local exploring before finally hitting TO and flying back to NZ on August 18th. All these plans have been made, needless to say, with only a minimal understanding of just how large an area I am crossing, so it could turn out to be an altogether different trip. I have already re-jigged it once and dropped Alaska from the itinerary - it'll keep! Watch this space. If it all goes to plan, I will have driven across both Canada and the USA, and will feel very special.

I will begin up dating the blog again once I get underway, which is actually around April 21st, when I head back to the UK for a flying visit. I will be checking up on my niece (at 9 months old, I will be expecting an intelligent conversation from her about the situation in Libya...or at least some pretty solid raspberries), and bidding farewell to my little brother who is about to undertake one of the biggest sibling rivalry one-uppings in history, as he sets off on a motorbike trip of his own, from London to Beijing in a group, then on to Anchorage and down around South America (and maybe Africa after that) on his own. I am, needless to say, rather jealous (particularly about the second part of his trip) and very proud of him. I don't take any credit for inspring him, he was talking about big bike trips way before I even considered my own adventure. I have added a link to his own, far more professional-looking blog for those that are interested, and will be following it closely myself. I just wonder how professional he will be able to keep it when he realises his secretary is not there to do it all for him ;-p It is somewhat galling to find his writing style is very nearly as good as mine.

I have left the charity links in place for the same reasons as before, really: I wish there was some way of earning the amazing experiences I am anticipating on this trip. Maybe this is one way. If you feel inclined at any stage to make a donation on my behalf, as gesture of appreciaton for the blog updates or whyever, that would be fantastic. Helen House is such an incredible set up, and having spent a considerable amount of time working with Bruce Peru, I cannot say enough good things about it, nor stress how much they need help to stay afloat. Do what you can, and thank you.

As for the new look of the blog...well, it has a vaguely Canadian feel (Autumnal , slightly Maple leafish, the best I could do without a secretary or an Applemac). I quite like it. Oh, and I'd like to say thank you at this point to all the people who were kind enough to tell me that they enjoyed reading about my South American trip. Its nice to know I wasn't wasting my time. For those that are interested, since I got back I have been trying to write it all up into a kind of travel book. It is a very slow process and so far has consisted of committing to paper (OK, hard drive) as much detail as I can remember. I have only got as far as Rio, and its been two years. One day it may even be in a state worthy of being read, at which point you will all be welcome to take a look. Now, run along and tell your friends that Steve's blog is open for business again. TTFN.

And now, our main stories again...

I'm off to the airport in about 2 hours. I'm sitting here trying to think how to do this next bit, wondering if the slight sniffle I seem to have developed is the on-set of swine flu or just second hand germs from the pungent dutch teenagers that have been coughing and hacking around the hostal in their unwashed feet since yesterday afternoon, and whether the slight nausea I'm feeling is due to the reheated chinese noodles I've just eaten, or a physical response to the confused feelings I have about leaving.

Part of me is longing to get home (both to the UK and NZ) and back to some kind of normality, but equally I know that it will be most likely years before I get to do a trip like this again, if ever, and I'm not sure how I feel about that. I can't imagine never coming back to South America, that's for sure, but how and when are baffling me at the moment. I think I will probably shed a tear as the plane takes off. A tough, macho tear, obviously, but a tear nonetheless.

Maybe I should start by remembering the things I won't miss. For example, buttock cramps caused by 11 hours in the saddle; wind so cold in my face that my eyeballs stop working properly and seeing things clearly becomes nigh impossible; the smell of pee in the streets, thanks to the locals' indifference to public urination at any time of the day or night: when you gotta go, you gotta go is their philosophy; suicidal / kamikaze bus drivers - it amounts to the same thing; the moment of complete certainty that I am about to fall off again, and the accompanying knowledge that it is really going to hurt, but the uncertainty of just how much; the anxiousness I always felt in the days leading up to a "new country" and the unknown (although discovering the anxiousness was unfounded was always a plus); and now I'm struggling to think of more. Which is surely a good thing.

On a more positive note, I have so many good memories, many of which I have already shared, and trying to re-cap them all here, whether for my benefit or yours, would be impossible. I guess they fall in to different categories (not sure how many yet), including places, people, activities, and so on. So, in an effort to get things moving and in roughly the order they occured, but certainly not in any order of preference, some of the most memorable moments would have to include the following:

The first crossing of the Andes, in the snow; running out of road and in to the construction crew trying to get to San Agustín; meeting Juan Manuel and his family in Chepes on account of my bent handle bars; Camping at Capilla del Montt; the ride into and then the walk across the river to Salta de Moconá; the waterfalls at Iguacú; the mountain top in Parque Naçional Marumbí; a surreal night out on our way up the coast in Brasil; Rio; Sandro and Ximena in Buenos Aires; Jorje in Azul; General la Madrid and the motorbike rally; Peninsula Valdez and the whales; crossing in to Ushuaia with Rich, and reaching the southern most point of our trip; setting off up Ruta 40 for my first solo mission; the ride from Puerto Ibañez to Coihaique and then on to Puerto Chacabucco; El Bolsón; the ride north from Bariloche to Mendoza; crossing our first high altitude pass; camping on the volcano on the Salar de Uyuni; the mines in Potosi; 2 weeks in the jungle, even with the mozzies; Cusco and Bruce Peru and the kids I got to know there; the solo mission through the Cordillera Blancas; the Galapagos Islands.

What this woefully incomplete list fails to mention, apart from a couple of notable exceptions, are the people I met on the way, tourists and locals alike. Despite my own misgivings, coupled with numerous warnings (largely from people who had never been here, it has to be said), all my fears about the dishonest, dangerous folk who roam the countries of South America robbing and beating foreigners have been proved to be false. Of course, we didn't get into every nook and cranny, but we did pretty well, and in all that time never met a corrupt cop or dicey customs official, were welcomed with smiles and help wherever we went, and I for one have been left with the idea that South America has a reputation it does not deserve. I suspect the victims of all this alledged crime and violence would, in another place, be up for a Darwin award. Common sense keeps you safe, and without that you will fall foul of criminal mindermasts in any place on earth. I have felt far more unsafe in parts of NZ than I did in the vast majority of South America, and that includes Rio!

So, coming back on task a little, a huge thank you to everyone I met here who helped us in some way, with with directions, mechanical assistance, food, beer or fun. If we never meet again, it will be a shame, but if (when) I come back, I will be in touch. And, of course, there is a standing invitation to you, should you make it to NZ at any point.

2 days later...

I'm back in the UK now, and have just re-read the above. I think I'll publish this one now to keep the poor folks happy, and pick up the thread later when I have adjusted back into the real world a bit. In the mean time, I may try and add a few photos to some of the blogs, so feel free to take a look at the back-catalogue. And just in case we don't talk again, its been a pleasure, and thanks for keeping me company along the way.

Getting my Just Deserts, or The End of the Road

Its nearly all over. Of course, I still have to pack things up and get back to the UK, but the biking part is at an end. I won't have a lot more of much interest to write about (I realise its quite presumptuous of me to suggest its been interesting so far), but I have been considering doing a "nothing but the truth" edition to wrap up with, where those stories considered too traumatic to let the poor parents in on are revealed in all their anticlimactic glory. I may also fill in some of the shady blanks of earlier entries. Or I may forget and not bother. Oh, I can sense the excitment of the unknown building already!

Right now though, I am on day 14 in Lima, and cabin fever is setting in, with still 3 days to go until I fly out. Getting in to Lima was a bit of a trial - there is a major through road that keeps you out of the city centre - but having just lept blindly from it hoping to discover my whereabouts on my feeble Lonely Planet map, I discovered I was lost in the dodgy part of town, so adopted the new strategy (and what a great time for new strategies, I might add) of paying a taxi driver to lead me to where I wanted to go. Not just a hat rack, my friends, not just a hat rack.

The hostal I was hoping to use was full, as were most of the others I approached (it was a holiday weekend after all), but one had spaces for the next night and a garden out back, so the parking was sorted, and I suffered through one night in a private hotel room before setting up camp in a dormitory in one of the 4 Flying Dog Hostals around El Óvalo in Miraflores. Perfick.

I have spent the last 2 weeks mostly avoiding spending money where possible, as I knew that at some point I would be cutting off an arm and a leg to get the bike back to NZ. Therefore, other than the obligatory souvenir shopping that I have now been able to do, on account of not having to transport said goodies around the continent, I have hidden in the TV room or the sun lounge, dismantled and cleaned my bike thoroughly, or walked the streets of Miraflores to fill my days. There are tours I could sign up on, obviously, but having already seen pretty much everything they could hope to show me somewhere else on my travels, I figured there was little point. Also, being on the home straight as it were, I have lost motivation almost completely to sit on buses and be a tourist. If I still had months ahead of me to travel, then I'd be right up for it, don't get me wrong, but I have accepted that its all over for this trip, and am just keen to get home.

On top of all that, there has been the arrangements for the bike to make. In fairness to Pacific Anchor Line, in whom I am entrusting my noble steed, despite the foot dragging that went on at the start of the process, they have been pretty good. Not very on the ball with setting me up with an agent that spoke English, mind you, so struggling through all new shipping vocabulary was rather tricky, but generally efficient in all other respects. I hope. It remains to be seen exactly where / when my bike arrives, and whether I have the appropriate documentation to claim it, but that will be fun and games for when I get back to NZ. Trying to decipher emails that were written in Spanish then translated with Babelfish, or some other inadequate website tool, in to English has been interesting to say the least. It pretty much arrives in my in-box as Gibberish, and an obscure dialect of Gibberish at that, so in the end I asked them to re-send everything in Spanish and got the staff at the hostal to translate it for me.

The up-shot of it all is that I took the bike to the port in the back of a truck (didn't want to get it dirty again, and besides, I had to drain the fuel tank and remove the battery) on Tuesday, got it crated up (well, put inside a wooden frame and wrapped in clingfilm), said a little prayer to the gods of motorcycle transportation, and left it for the Peruvian dock workers to put on the right ship. I was marginally concerned that they didn't feel it was necessary for me to put my name or address anywhere on the finished article, but I insisted, so with a bit of luck....

I also had to hand over my passport for the customs clearance amid assurances that it would be returned to me by Thursday afternoon at the latest. It is now Friday morning, and still no sign, but the latest Enigma code from PAL promises it will be with me this afternoon at 3pm. Lets hope so, its the weekend tomorrow so they won't do anything then, and I fly out on Monday, which would be cutting it a bit fine. But hey, they're professionals, right? Right? Hmmmm.

Richard would no doubt be amused to hear that I actually miss having my bike parked up nearby. Yes, Rich, I have grown, if not to love my bike exactly, then certainly to be very fond of it. Not fond of the rack, mind you, I hate the rack with its fragile breakiness and constant need for repairs and attention, but I can't really fault the bike, with its powers of bounce that were tested to the full, and its ability to run in a virtual vacuum at the top of the mountains.

I think I will call a halt for today, but before I leave Lima I will have a crack at a Golden Moments edition. Another one more for me than for you, but please feel free to look over my e-shoulder as I commit my thoughts to the interweb. And now I'm off to go surfing. Not in the quite-possibly-polluted-and-certainly-very-cold waters off the coast in Lima, but in the lounge with the TV remote. Don't judge me til you've ridden 30,000km in South America. Toodle pip.

Galapa-gosh!

Oops. Dropped the ball a bit there, sorry. Its now been 3 weeks since my last confession, and I apologise to Ed who has been stuck in his office prison cell waiting (a little impatiently, it has to be said) for me to write some more. He did get a phone call though, so he can blummin' well button his lip..

You know when you are looking forward to something and it gets built up to be this really, really good thing, and you get more and more excited about it, and then it happens, and its all a little disappointing after all that? (you know what I'm talking about, girls). The Galapagos is nothing like that. I have been watching documentaries and nature shows and reading books about the Galapagos Islands for as long as I can remember, and have always wanted to visit but never thought I would, even on this trip. Lets face it after all, had I still been travelling with Rich, we would have driven straight past and up to Colombia, thus missing the best chance yet to go.

However, making the decision to go, and for 12 days at that, was one of the best choices for me in the last 10 months. The Islands lived up to the hype, they were everything that nice Mr Attenborough said they would be, and even though I almost had to mug other tourists to pay for everything due to the rather over inflated costs, it was worth every penny. Almost. But I'll explain that a bit more later.

So, there I was at the airport, having just paid $100 cash for my National Park entry ticket, waiting for my bags to be delivered to baggage claim on a trolley à la Nelson airport, when a girl comes over and asks me for $100 to pay her Nat Park fee as she didn't have enough cash, they didn't take visa and there was no cash machine in the airport.

"Oh ho", I thought. "The rip-off artists are getting bolder by the minute, I must have "sucker" tattooed on my forehead or something. Like I'd fall for that!" But hey, she was cute, and if she was ripping me off, at least she asked first, rather than just stealing, so I handed it over, and that's how I met Polly. We shared a cab to Puerto Ayuro where she paid me back from a cash machine (eventually - but not her fault), and we started making plans for the next week. Polly had a heap of info she'd been given by a guy she'd met and was sort of dating in Ecuador, so knew all the best places to eat, visit, drink at, and get internet access etc, so was very handy to hang out with.

I had booked a boat trip for the following Friday, so that gave me a week to explore. Day 1 involved a walk to Bahia Tortuga (Turtle Bay for the un-Spanish out there) for a bit of a snorkel, and as luck would have it, my "waterproof to 10m" digital camera decided to go on the fritz the first time I took it in the water. It still took pictures, but the screen on the back stopped working, so I had to guess a bit as to what it was I was actually taking pictures of. Perfect for a week on the Galapagos, obviously. Fortunately my wee video camera also took stills, though of a much poorer quality, so most of the photos on flicker are from that.

The beach was stunning , the water warm, and the marine iguanas and sally light-foot crabs there to be tripped over. Unfortunately, what I didn't know was that the smaller, murkier bay was actually a nursery area for sharks and visited by turtles (hence the name, Einstein), but I didn't actually snorkel there, and very possibly missed out on seeing hammerheads and other things, but there you go. Oh, and I got sunburned a bit. Still, Englishman abroad in a hot country, goes without saying really.

In the pip emma, visited the tortoise farm where they are breeding the giant tortoises for re-introduction programmes. Met Lonesome George, the only one of his kind left, and a few others, so that was cool. Apparently the tortoises have different shaped shells depending on their particular species, as well as long or short necks etc. All very interesting and part of what influenced the evolution of most of the endemic plant species on the islands with regard to height above ground and whether they have spikes or not. All very clever.

Sunday dawned hot and sweaty as was the norm, but I was up with Darwin's finches and off to the island Santa Maria (aka Floreanna) for some diving. An hour and a half each way got us there, we collected a couple of other divers at the island, and had a couple of dives (although neither, rather disappointingly at the Devil's Crown - a partly submerged volcano mouth appaerently very good for sharks). The diving was good, but very different to the other diving I'd done in the Phillipines. Less colour, less coral, fewer flashy fish, but far more in the way of bizarre underwater structures caused by the lava flow, and more big fish. If I'm honest, I was a little disappointed with the diving, but that soon changed.

Next morning I had a wee stroll to Las Grietas, a short, narrow canyon about 10m down to the water, and 12m to the botton of that. The water was crystal clear and a mix of fresh and salty, and given the humidity and heat was the nicest place to swim on the island. In the afternoon, I was off to Isabela Island.

Now, the clever buggers in head office have worked this out very well. In order to share the tourist dollar about a bit, the boats to Isabela leave daily at 2pm and arrive at 4pm, thus meaning you have to stay at least one night. Added to this, the return boat leaves Isabela daily at 6am, meaning you pretty much have to stay a second night if you want to do anything at all while you are there.

I opted for the tour of Sierra Negro (the biggest live volcanic crater in the world, and the 2nd biggest if you include extinct volcanoes) and Volcan Chico (smaller but relatively recently erupted) by horse of all things, followed by some snorkelling at Las Tintoneras (sp?), a group of small islands in the bay. The volcanoes were impressive, as was the amount of discomfort I felt at sitting on a horse for so long. Can somebody please explain to me what you are supposed to do to make trotting comfortable? I feel like I've tried everything and still look like a rag doll on a bucking bronco! Its one of the curuellest things a boy can do to hismarble pouch.

The snorkelling was cool, with sealions to play with, and rays and sharks to look at - something I was getting used to after much of the same experienced from diving.

Next morning was bright and early back to Santa Cruz, where I was able to stow away on another boat off diving to North Seymour Island and Bartolome. Bit further this time, up to 3 hours away, so by the time I got back that night at about half 7, I'd spend about 8 hours of the day riding about on boats, and a couple swimming about under them.

The First dive at North Seymour was very poor, with visibility down to 2m or so thanks to lots of green gunk in the water. Currents or something stirring everything up. The second dive at Bartolome (not much more than a big rock in the sea) was spectacular. A series of volcanic terraces under the sea took us down, then we followed the wall round the rock, which was pretty much like an underwater skyscraper, inhabited by all sorts of critters. Sealions came to investigate and play, and with scuba gear I was able to play back, rather than hurry to the surface gasping for breath, as I tend to do with a snorkel.

Next day was....diving again! I was really getting into it again by now, having got used to what I could expect to see, and learned to appreciate it for what it was rather than comparing it to a tropical coral reef, which it wasn't even trying to be (could that be a thinly veiled life-lesson? hmmm.....) Today was 3 dives, but while I had hoped to go to Gordon's Rocks where the Hammerheads hang out in numbers, we were going back to North Seymour - the site of yesterday's disappointing dive. This was due to the divers, unfortunately. Originally, we were all going to be realtively experienced and up to the challenge of the strong currents at Gordon's that attract the sharks. But the others (person's unknown) cancelled, and the replacements were all rookies, so the dive company took us somewhere safer. As it turned out, this was better than I could have hoped for. The poor visibility from the day before had cleared up, and we had 3 fantastic dives at 3 different locations around North Seymour, including seeing a group of 5 manta rays that drifted past like ghosts. No hammerheads though, despite the guides claim that he saw one within seconds of descending. All lies to keep the punters enthusiastic, if you ask me.

Finally Friday rolled round, and it was time for the tour on the boat. Four days and 3 nights of high seas adventure. Or so I thought...

Ok, so the boat was fine, the crew friendly and good at their jobs (we didn't sink anyway), and the guide seemed to know his stuff, but for $750 I was expecting 4 days and 3 nights. I can't really dispute the 3 nights, I definitely spent 3 nights on the boat, but the days were less clear cut, with day 1 starting at about half 12, and day 4 being all over by 9.15 am.

We visited a bunch of islands and saw all sorts of land iguanas, wild giant tortoises (easy to track - you follow the flattened grass until you meet a big slow moving rock. Not too good at escaping, those tortoises), frigate birds and boobies (stop it. You're better than that), but I felt slightly conned I have to say. I'd have preferred to have visited the places myself on day trips and spent the difference on a couple more dives. Would have been cheaper, but they don't tell you how easy it is to do your own thing when you ask them. Funny that...

Feeling a little let down after the first fantastic week, I stumbled about on San Cristóbal until I bumped into Sanghita from Belgium, who'd been on SC for a while and knew the best beaches to go to, and places to eat at, so for my final 18 hours on the Islands at least I wsa entertained and full.

So, aside from the "mid-range cruise", the Galapagos lived up to the hype, and I feel fairly sure I will get back there one day, if only to dive Gordon's Rocks and see the hammerheads.

So now, I'm back in Trujillo in Peru and about to head to Lima to pack the bike. Wish me luck, this could be the biggest challenge of the trip so far!

This is Getting Beyond a Joke

Remember that tyre man I was supposed to remember to visit? Well, I forgot. Or at least I based my decision not to visit one on the way out of Huancayo on the fact that the last repair lasted 5000km, more than enough to get to Trujillo and do it there. So I passed all the llanterias and vulcanizadoras by with barely a glance, as I motored the totally tarmac route to Hunaco. Until, that is that my rear end started feeling squishy again. Its no laughing matter, let me tell you, when your rear end starts to feel squishy! I pulled over, peered backwards at my tyre and, lo and behold, it was flat again.

Luckily, a mere 1km at walking-pace-on-a-flat-tyre up the road, was a vulcanizadora who sorted me right out for S/.5 , including fixing the bodged patch on my spare tube as well. Crisis averted, and in only an hour too. Great what you can do quickly when you spend your life doing it, eh?

The rest of the day passed relatively uneventfully, just racking up the miles and getting to Huanaco by evening no worries. Next morning at 0805 I set off again, on what was looking to be a long day of 350km, the first bit all off road. As it turned out it was persisting down, but despite this I decided to give it a go, not least because Hunaco is not a very inspiring place.

The road out of town was bad, the river running alongside was in full flood, and as the road got steeper, it also got pot-holier, muddier and lumpier. The temptation to turn back and sod it was great, but on I soldiered at the remarkably swift rate of 20km/h for the next 6 1/2 hours. Yes, it took me that long to get to La Union, the almost-but-not-quite half-way point, and the only other place to stop for the night before Huaraz. And so I stopped, given that it was at least 4 more hours at best, in the rain, and no guarantee of getting there anyway. Reckon I'll finish it off tomorrow. And this too.

I'm mildly aware, incidentally, that I don't want this to turn into a dull and repetitive day by day acount of me driving places (I hope it hasn't so far). I'll work on it. In the meantime, back straight, shoulders back, head up, take a deep breath and hold iiiitt.......

....Aaaaand relax! Bloody lying hostal owner. It was far closer and nearly all on tarmac from La Union to Huaraz, not gravel and stuff like he said. Still, he probably just needed someone, anyone, to stay in his hostal. It still took about 4 hours as well, so not something I'd have wanted to do yeseterday afternoon in the rain. Huaraz strikes me as a very Quessnstown-y place as far as scenery goes (big mountians with snow on, pine trees and rivers etc), but the town is once again typically run down. It is, however, aware of its potential as a tourist honeypot, and is working on its image. Well done Huaraz! Stayed one night, during which it rained almost continually, and delayed the decision as to whether I go on to Trujillo tomorrow until the morning.

Wow. I've said that before about other things, but wow. Double wow, in fact. Almost a triple wow, come to think about it. Its only not a triple wow because the off road section was only 70km or so, otherwise it would be triple wow for sure. Given that I'm drawing to an end of the motorbiking section of the trip, this was one hell of a way to go out.

Out of Huaraz there is a road. Its a road that begins with tarmac, albeit tarmac with surprise pot-holes around cormers and sections of mud where the cliff collapsed across it one evening having been unable to withstand the rain just a little bit longer. It was raining last night as it happens, so some of these slips were still in the "little man with a spade trying to move several tonnes of mud and tapir-sized rocks off the road" stage (apologies for the similie there, I've worked with a tapir, you see, so I know for a fact the rocks were the same size as one. Go to the zoo if you want a better mental picture). This less-than-pristine tarmac continues for about 100km, maybe a little less, then becomes a gravel-and-other-substances road for 70-odd km, before returning to actually very good tarmac indeed. Its the 70-odd km that deserve a mention here. That's 70-odd km that go by the name of......Duck Canyon (Dah dah daaaahh!!!!).

Ok, its a crap name. Its name is actually Canyon del Pato, and pato in Spanish translates to duck, so I guessed it meant Canyon of the Duck, or Duck Canyon, if you will. I'm hoping, none too secretly as it happens, that "pato" in Quechuan, the local Indian dialect, translates as something like "road that all but the bravest warriors fear to tread" or somesuch, but "pato" just seems a little too short of a word to mean all that.

Anyhow, back to the road, and don't let the name lull you into a false sense of security. Its lucky, I think its fair to say, that I had taken the road less travelled in the preceeding few days, because it was, as it turns out, great training for Duck Canyon. Because of where I had been recently, I had seen nearly everything Duck Canyon had to offer.There was less deep mud in the canyon, and it didn't climb as high as I had expected it to, but that was all that was missing. But its not what was missing that was the significant part; its what it had extra that's important.

Imagine, if you will, a raging torrent, fuelled by heavy rains and a catchment area the size of NZ (OK, that might be an exageration a bit, but it was big and raging, for sure, and it had been raining). Now alongside the river, 'pon a high path barely wide enough for a truck with ne'er a protective barrier to be seen, throw in a cocktail of big rocks, potholes, landslips, loose shale, streams, tunnels chipped from the very rock faces themsleves, a drop to near certain death should even a slight mistake be made...but no, I better stop there, lest you have nightmares for a week, and Mother has kittens.

It was not the best surfaced road in Peru, I'll give it that, and the drop-off was genuine, as were the tunnels and other stuff, and speed was once again limited by these factors to a still fairly hairy feeling 30km/h. I tried, I really did, to take video footage as I went along, and I hope it comes out well enough to make Richard even more sorry he stuffed up his bike visa (sorry mate, but you would have loved this road!).

It was a fine parting shot for the Crazy Roads Tour. Utterly appropriate and, combined with the previous few days, a suitable tribute and swansong for the whole journey. During the days ride, I notched up kilometre number 30,000, dropped the bike a number of times, almost entirely due to overbalancing on the treacherous surface while at a standstill (an old favourite of mine, that), bent the handle bars a little picking the bike up, the chain started to stretch like a rubber band that only stretches one way, probably due to my neglecting it over the last week when it got dusty and wet and muddy many, many times. Serves me right. Oh, and the luggage rack appears to have broken again, in an altogether new and more serious place than ever before. Givi have a lot to answer for, let me tell you.

So, on my arrival in Trujillo where I had a couple of days to gather my wits, a monumental decsion was made. I would leave the bike in Trujillo (where Bruce Peru can keep half an eye on it and my ramaining luggage) and I would take a small bag and a...I can barely bring myself to say it....a bus...to Ecuador and sort out a trip over to the Galapagos Islands for the last couple of weeks left to me before I have to get to Lima for the rather tedious, and no doubt highly complicated, process of crating and shipping the bike back to NZ.

It makes sense really. Why drive an extra 2 - 3000km up long, straight, dusty, tedious desert roads, seeing nothing that I haven't seen before, just to turn around and come back pretty much the same way, with no real certainty of having a safe place to leave my stuff, of getting a flight to the islands or even a tour when I got there? This way, I can save time and money travelling, get longer on the islands, and get back to Trujillo in time for tea and scones, hurrah! Although I won't get to Columbia, which sucks a bit but probably eases the olds' minds a bit. They've had a lot to put up with over the last 10 months or so, bless them.

And that's exactly what has happened. I sit here before you (well, before this computer screen writing to you) in the city of Guayaquil, Ecuador, having just visited a small town park crawling with iguanas that try to steal packed lunches, awaiting my flight in the morning to the island of Santa Cruz, from whence I shall book some scuba diving and day trips as I await my vessel to set sail in Darwin's footprints (oh, you know what I mean) on a 4 day voyage of re-discovery, before docking on the island of San Cristobal in order to return to Guayquil and thence Trujillo, where I shall collect my bike and luggage and delicately, so as not to further damage the rack, proceed to Lima and the last stop on the Crazy Roads Tour. I fully expect to be able to write a little more from the Islands (they have all sorts of modern contraptions you know, including, I believe, a horseless cart that moves under its own power!! Amazing!) so fear ye not (can someone please explain why this entry seems to have gone all medievel in its language?), I shall be in touch before too long. Now, go and powder you codpieces ready for tomorrows jousting, you blaggards.

Flying without my Rear-gunner. So to Speak.

Blimey. I can tell already that I have lots of long days with short distances ahead of me. I figured I might, but its looking worse than I thought. Or better, come to think of it.

Yesterday was Cusco - Andahuaylas (a name I had enormous trouble remembering for some reason, every time I stopped to ask if this was the road to A...), and I knew before I started that the bit to Abancay would take 3 hours minimum, followed by a second 130km odd stretch that took about 3 1/2 hours.

The first bit was as good as I knew it would be, having ridden it the other way just a week or so before. The second bit was almost entirely gravel, and just as steep and curving as the first bit. Some amazing scenery that left me thinking how much Rich would be enjoying it, and feeling that for almost the first time I was seeing the Peru that I had imagined. Huge, sharp-edged mountains, erupting out of lush, cultivated valleys, in the middle of nowhere. Fantastic.

And today (Sunday) was about the same. 260km in 8 1/2 hours form Andahuaylas to Ayacucho, over every type of off-road you could hope to get (keeping in mind there are some sorts - sand, mud, snow, deep gravel etc - you don't want to get). It started as normal, stoney gravel, became extremely pot-holed, all of which were filled with water, requiring much 1st and 2nd gear dodging in and out (I'm getting very good at potholes - I manage to hit nearly everyone!), immaculate smooth hard pack with light gravel, turning to light sand (bearable) and becoming extremely lumpy without being pothole-y, also requiring 1st and 2nd gear (I'm good at lumps, too). The apparently final stretch was immaculate hard-pack (got a little worried when it showered, as it could have become slippery), and then finished with a lumpy flourish. It was a fantastic day to ride, and perfect training for the road between Ayacucho and Huancayo, which has a reputation, and I'll say no more until afterwards. It was tiring though, and when I got to Ayacucho, I experienced the first major issue of journeying alone. Security.

Normally, one of us would stay with the bikes while the other arranged barracks. Today, even though I parked in sight of the reception desk and was gone barely 5 minutes, when I came out to collect my stuff, one of the front bags had been emptied. I think they only really got a bunch of long johns and shorts etc, but also my English-Spanish dictionary and my bendy tripod, thus making self-photos harder. And to think it was not only a Sunday, but the first day of their holy week Easter celebrations. Godless heathens.

Ok, we're 2 days later, and I'm in Huancayo. 280kmin 11 hours, door to door. All very exciting, and one of the most satisfying days yet. I left Ayacuchu as early as possible, about 0750, not wanting to stay in a town that robbed me, besides which it didn't seem like a welcoming place. every on seemed in a hurry, which is not typical of anywhere in South AMerica really, except some of the major cities.

A quick blat up some tarmac took me about 90km into the day in an hour and a half, and then the good stuff started (Rich maybe slightly surprised and hopefully a little proud to hear me refer to off-road as "good stuff"). Up the curvy roads I went, climbing all the while, checking my progress with nearly every bemused looking local I passed, as road signs wre non-existant, and despite the fact there was only one road marked on my map, there were many more out in the real world.

I was planning to take the high road to Huancayo, rather than the one that followed the river, and in Mayocc where the road split, I checked which was the right one with the local police. After firmly recommending the river road, he conceded and directed me to the mountain road, warning me of the altitude and cold and potholes (hah! he had no idea who he was talking to!) and off I went. It was shaping up to be as good as I'd hoped (video does exist - if the camera was set up OK), and when my back end went spongy, even a puncture didn't dampen my spirits. It ws 1125.

Hmmm. Edge of winding mountain road - outside edge, that is - flat tyre, no mate to help, just my raw wits and hard earned experience. Bike chocked up on side box+rock, wheel off no probs, but how to break the seal to take the tyre off, without a second bike with convenient side stand? Just then, as luck would have it, a massive construction truck came past (actually, as I was in the middle of an area of road construction, several came past, but this one stopped) and the driver kindly suggested that maybe if he drove over the tyre, it might break the seal. It didn't. Either time. But nice try. Only one thing for it, I'd need to use the stand on my own bike. So, with much struggling, lifting, balancing and shuffling with foot, I got the tyre under the stand, leaned on it and off she popped. Shuffled tyre out, lifted bike back on to box (harder than it sounds) and got on with the job. Time 1150-ish.

Tyre off rim very easily, tube out, offending nail removed from 3-day old, brand new tyre, patch applied in 2 places (second was precautionary - I might have damaged the tube taking off the tyre), tube stuffed back in and tyre re-fitted with remarkable ease (be proud, Rich, be proud!). Re-inflation underway, time 1220-ish. No holes (a first for me - replacing tyre without digging more holes in the tube, requiring second removal of tyre), pressure up (hand pump only), bead on one side popped out, but not on the other. Damn. Time 1240. Two choices: stick wheel on bike and hop it pops out as I ride along, or deflate and have another go. Option 2 it was, and given breaks for a snack and rest, by 1310-ish, still not right. Option 1 then. Wheel back on bike and boxes reloaded by 1330, and off I went, with about 5 hours of riding and 5 hours of daylight. It was going to be close if I wanted to get to Huancayo before dark. Which I did. The policeman in Mayocc had said there were bandidos in the hills at night!

Fortune favours the brave, though, and before long a check showed the tyre had popped its bead perfectly (Yes!!), and the riding was still superb. Until I got up in the clouds (about 4500m if the choking sound from my bike were to be believed) and it began to drizzle and rain. Road turned...not slippery exactly (thank god) but not totally trustworthy either, so speed much reduced, and time still ticking past rather quickly. Conditions improved though, as did visibility, and before long I was on the down hill side and moving well again. Made it to Pampas, my emergency-plan town by 5pm, and the police there reckoned it'd be easy to get to Huancayo before dark, showed me the road and waved me away. He was right. More up and curves, great surface, and before I knew it I was on the tarmac stetch in to town, and what a treat that was! For the first time in 3 days I was able to get above 70km/h, and hurtled into town just as it got dimpsey. Picked a hotel from my book and moved in, bugger the cost its on Visa, and decided to have a day off. I figure I'd deserved it. Should be in Trujillo by Friday, giving me Easter weekend at the beach. Fingers crossed, eh? Must remember to take the bike to a proper tyre repair man.....