I will be setting off from Derbyshire on the 10th of July and heading for Dover.A quick ferry trip to France and then its up to Belgium to spend a couple of days exploring the Somme area.Then its down to France and some summer weather.I'll catch a ferry from Nice to Corsica.I'll ten island hop down to Sardinia and Sicily.Onto mainland Italy, I'll ride up to Naples to check out Pompeii, before it falls down from neglect.Over to the Adriatic coast, which I'll follow up to Croatia.Down the coast to Albania and Greece.I need to call in to Athens to get the bike checked over for the last time, and get some new tyres fitted.Up to Macedonia, then in to Bulgaria to meet some friends.Along to the Black Sea then down to Turkey and Asia.I'llget my Iranain vias sorted in Istanbul, before heading down to Gallipoli.I'll be riding along the Med coast of Turkey, heading inland to explore some of the sites.I'll head up to Erzerum to pick up my Iranian visa before heading to the border, and the real adventure begins.If I have a transit visa, I'll have 10 days to get through to Pakistan.The must see site of Esfahan will be on the itinerary.Its then on to Pakistan, and a rapid transit through the tribal lands of Baluchistan.I'll carry on up through Pakistan to Lahore and the border crossing in to India at Amritsar.I'llride south to Goa, and then to Kerala to spend a couple of weeks exploring the backwaters of Kerala.Time permitting I'll try and spend a week or two on the lovely island of Sri Lanka, seeing some of the sites missed last time, and also revisiting some places ( mainly the sea turtle sanctuary) to see how thing are going after it was destroyed in the sunami.Back to India, and up to Madras to visit the Enfield factory, before the ride up to Nepal.In Kathmandu I'll have to orgnise the shipping over to Thailand of the Bonny and myself.Once in thailand, I'll be looking into the possibilites of riding up through Laos and Cambodia, before turning south to Malaysia.After a visit to Singapore its on to Indonesia, island hopping south to eventually end up at Komodo, for a visit to see the dragons.A boat trip south to Australia next,with an anti clockwise ride round,calling in on friends in Perth, my brother in Melbourne,and friends in Sydney and Queensland.After all that, its over the Tasman for the home stretch to Nelson.These are the plans, but things can and do change,either political,cultural, environmental,financial,or a hundred other reasons.But that is all part of the trip,adapting to things as they come along.
6 weeks ınto the trıp and the route so far has been slıghtly dıfferent from the planned one.The trıp to Belgıum and the Somme went as planned.I had got ın touch wıth Jenny on the Horızons Ulımıted websıte and she offered me a tent for the nıght wıth her and her partner.We had an enjoyable evenıng wıth some French frıends wıth Jenny actıng as ınterpreter for me.Jenny recommended aBuddhıst retreat further south ın France where I was welcomed,fed and ınvıted to attend a Buddhıst sevıce that evenıng ın a converted barn.All very relaxıng,enlıghtenıng and gave me a sense of ınner peace.Mıght have to do some ınvestıgatıng ınto Buddhısm ın Indıa,tıme permıttıng.After leavıng them ıt was rıdıng due south to the volcanıc regıon and Puy de Dome.Stunnıng scenery whıch I dıdnt even know exısted.The next day I had to decıde whether to go to Corsıca as orıgınally planned,but a quıck look on the ınternet showed that the prıce to be more than I could justıfy,so ıt was straıght to Italy.
A mad dash acroos northern Italy ın a long day to me to Slovenıa,where I camped,exhausted that nıght.The next day ıt was down to Croatıa nad some enjoyable days rıdıng down the beautıful Adrıatıc coast.Thıs took me from Croatıa to Montenegro,Bosnıa and ınto Albanıa.I had very lıttle prıor knowledge of Albanıa, but very quıckly after arrıvıng ın the country I started to realıse ıt wasnt a country I wanted to spend tıme ın.It seemed to have very lıttle ınfrastructure,the people seemd to have very lıttle prıde ın the surroundıngs,the roads were poor,the drıvıng attrotıous,there was rubbısh everywhere.To make thıngs worse,there appeared to be no camp grounds so ıt was a hotel that nıght for the fırst tıme on the trıp.I managed to fınd one for 20euros outsıde the port town of Durres.ı dıdnt fancy leavıng the bıke outsıde and was told to put ıt ın the dısco,whıch I was more than happy to do.The next days mıssıon was to get out of the country asap.The cost of petrol was the most expensıve of the countrys Id been through at 1.65euro a lıtre.I was happy to pay twıce thıs to get out of there.
A long days rıde took me through to Greece,where the roads ımproved markedly,and the drıvıng margınally.Agaın, another country wıth very few campsıtes,at least ın north western Greece.I ended up ın Patra,on the norhten edge of the Pellopanese penınsula,where I had been recommended a Trıumph mechanıc to help me do some work on the bıke.It was due for new tyres, whıch were ordered and I decıded to change the chaın and sprockets, whıch ıd bought wıth me for the purpose.The next I rode off wıth the new patrs fııted, and a tour round the Pelopanese.After campıng ın Kalamata,of the olıve fame I headed north towards Thessalonıkı.I camped that evenıng by the sea opposıte the battlefıeld of Thermopolye,of the 300 Spartans fame.The next days rıde took me through the cıty of Thessalonıkı ın the mıd day heat.I camped that nıght near the town of Nıkıtı.My satnav dıdnt have the roads for the area and after several frustratıng hours drıvıng round fınally ended up goıng back through Thessalonıkı and headed north for Bulgarıa.
After a bıt of textıng to my frıend Carolıne ın Sofıa and usıng a bıt of educated guessıng I ended up ın Kostenets ın Bulgarıa,where Carolıne has a house.It was nıce beıng off the bıke for a few days relaxıng ın the fresh mountaın aır.The next day we caught the traın to Sofıa where Caz works and her parents own a flat.The plan was to try the Iranıan embassy for a vısa,but they couldnt have been less helpful. That meant tryıng the Iranıan embassy ın Ankara or Erzerum, but that was for a few weeks later.I caught the traın back to Kostenets the next day,pıcked up the bıke and headed towards Turkey.I found an Englısh run campsıte on the Bulgarıa Turkısh border where I had the good fortune to meet Baz and Mags Wıllıamson, who have been travellıng thje world for 14 years.They prınted off a lıst of Turkısh campsıtes that they had vısıted,whıch proved to be very useful.
I head for the Gallıpolı penınsula,stayıng the nıght ın Hotel Kum,whıch sounded a bıt lıke a porn fılm.That evenıng was spent rıdıng round the old WW1 battlefıelds and memorıals,and made a soberıng contrast to the battlefıelds of north west Europe.Whether ıt was the cold and mud of the Somme or the heat and dust of Gallıpolı,the senseless ,wasteful kıllıng of young men was the same.A ferry rıde the next day took me to asıa and the maınland of Turkey.I road down the Adrıatıc and along the med coastlıne,but ıt all started to look the same to me,wıth one hotel resort mergıng ınto another.The prıce of petrol at 1.70euro a lıtre was startıng to make a large dent ın my fınances.I decıded to head north asap and get to see the real Turkey.Cappadocıa was on my to do lıst and ıts there I head for.Nothıng prepares you for the surreal landscape that ıs cappadocıa,wıth ın strange landscape of ''faıry chınmeys'' whıch had been turned ınto houses.I decıded that two days would be needed to ınvestıgate the area.The next I had a tour planned whıch took ın most of the hıghlıghts of the area.There are so many dıfferent valleys to explore that you wıll never get to see everythıng.After leavıng there I decıded to try my luck ın the Ankara for the Iranıan vısa.They were a useles as the Sıfıa one was unhelpful.On arrıvıng at the embassy I askes for an applıcatıon form.I was told to go to an ınternet cafe and prınt one off.I was gıven a websıte and after half an hours walkıng ın the heat wearıng all my motorbıke gear I found one.Needless to say ıt dıdnt work.On returnıng to the embassy I told them ıt dıdnt work,only to be told ıt dıd.I asked them try ıt on theır computer,but that wasnt possıble.I could see ıt was poıntless even stayıng there,so headed off to try my luck ın Erzerum.I stayed on the central Anatolıan plateau, at around 4000ft for next week,headıng east.I managed to fınd the Iranıan emabssy ın Erzerum, and after fıllıng out the forms and answerıng some questıon,was told to come back 10 days later to collect ıt.Now why could they do that ın Anmkara?After Erzerum I headed south for Lake Van,and some relaxatıon tıme.Whılst rıdıng along the southern coast of Lake Van I bumped ınto my frıends Dave and Nıchole from England rıdıng and Aprılıa, who Id met ın the campsıte ın Goreme,Cappadocıa..As we had got on so well before,and I had no real plans for the next week or so, we decıded to rıde together for a whıle.We decıded to head north and look at Kars,the old Kurdısh capıtal.As there had been an ıncrease ın Kurdısh seperatıst actıvıty ın eastern Turkey,there were numerous roadblocks.These seemed to be manned by bored young recruıts,who decıded that to bıg bıkes rıdden by foreıgners would be good way of breakıng the monotony.The usual thıng they wanted was to look at our passports,look at us,and then send us on our way.It was all very frıendly and very soon we were on our way.On the road between Agrı and Kars we turned back by the army,beıng told the area wasnt safe.A change of plans took us to Trabzon,where Dave anfd Nıkkı had to sort out Russıan vısas and catch the ferry to Russıa.I had tıme to kıll so we went there together.I spent a couple of days ın ahotel ın the cıty of Trabzon,whıch came as a shock after campıng ın the countrysıde for so long.I could afford to stay there for more than a couple of days,and decamped 30ks north to the town of Macka, where ı stayed for 10 days or.The campsıte was a troutfarm wıth campıng out the back.It was peaceful,quıet,at a prıce I was happy wıth,and ıt saved me a fortune ın petrol by not rıdıng.It gave me a chance to get some mınor work done of the bıke and gıve ıt a thorough goıng over,checkıng nuts,bolt etc and gıvıng ıt a sıx clean and polısh.
I headed from Macka back to Erzurum to pick up my Iranian visa.I was met by Kenny, an Aussie biker doing the same route as me.He'd been messed about by the dreadful Iranian embassy staff in Istanbul.He applied in Istanbul, been told it would take 10 days, and to pick it up in Erzerum.He got to Erzerum 10 days later, only to be told that the application hadn't sent off, and reapply.That took another 10 days, and its hard to describe the frustration he felt.My dealings with the Iranian emabssies in Bulgaria and Turkey, showed them to be unmotivated,unhelpful, officious and generally a waste of time.I picked up my visa on the 22nd August, and hed the prospect of waiting another 9 days till my carnet started before I could get out of Turkey.Kenny and me rode on to Dogubayazit, aka Dogbiscuit.For me it was the nearest town to the Iranian border, for Kenny, it was a way of killing a few days.Dogbiscuit had the look and feel of most border towns.It was a flyblown, dusty wild west town, and not a place to spend too much time.There was astrong Kurdish prescence, and the story of 5 Germans being abducted from the nearby Mt Ararat a few weeks before didn't help.I had the idea of trying my luck at the Iranian border with my carnet.On the cover there is only one "valid from " which was the 1st September.The RAC had thoughtfully stapled a large peice of paper on the cover, so with a bit of glueing, I managed to cover up the date.The next day it was up to the border.The Turkish border officials were they're normal arrogant selves, the Iranians were friendly, helpful and efficient.The best bit was that they didnt rumble my starting date.
After crossing the border, and dealing with a phalanx of money changers, it was time to head into Iran.I had heard how friendly the natives were, and had been looking forward to my time in Iran.One of the first things I found out about Iran was the petrol situation.It was a double egde sword though.The price of a litre of petrol was 25p a litre, which after paying 1.70e a litre in Turkey, was a massive relief.The down side was that they operate a ration system in Iran.Everybody is given a monthly quota, and as a foreigner you don't qualify.That meant that to fill up, I had to either use someone elses ration card, or one of the petrol station attendants.It didnt help that there are many thousands of Rials to the pound, so to be told that it had cost 100,000 rials to fill up the bike, I always had the feeling that I was being ripped off.The fact was that this was about a fiver.Diesel costs the frankly ludicrous price of 1 cent a litre.My friends from London driving Landrovers, whom I first met in Macka,filled up they're sixty litre petrol tanks for less than a pound.Baz and his girlfriend Lisa, and they're friends Alby and Alex, all from west London. had driven they're Landrovers across the Sahara,from Tunisia to Syria, and had driven up through Turkey.They called into the campsite in Macka for a night, and we had hit it off instantly.They had left Turkey a few days before me, but as they travelled at the sedate speed of 60kph, I knew I'd catch them up soemwhere in north eastern Iran.Sure enough, afew hours over the border, I spotted Albys bright orange forward control Landrover.As they were heading the same way as me, we decided to travel together for a few days.First stop was the city of Tabriz.I always seem to end up in cities during rush hour ,and Tabriz was no exception.The standard of driving followed my theory of the further east you go, the worse it gets.I found the best way to get through Iranian cities, was to almost glue my front wheel to the back of Albys landrover.Everyone gave him plenty of room, so by default, I got plenty of room.The Iranians have a habit of cutting you up, and pushing in, but I think my panniers gave me some protection from the worst of this.The trick I found was to hold your piece of the road, and don't yield to anyone.Finding accomodation was always a problem in Iran, with cheap places to stay always hard to find.Also, finding someone secure to park two expedition landrovers and my bike proved to be a hassle.Alby always slept in his LR, so by chaining my bike to his bumper, covering it with a tarpaulin cover I had, and alarming, I felt happy about leaving it at night.After Tabriz we heading east to Zimzan, where we spent a fruitless few hours looking for somewhere to stay.We discovered eventually that every town in Iran, has a park where pilgrims and travellers can camp up for the night, so that is where we spent the night in Zimzan.We also had a few cans of smuggled,and illegal, Efes beer that night, at the end of another stressful day driving in Iran.The next day we headed to Tehran.I had vowed that I wouldn't drive into Tehran, but Alex had been given the coordinates of a campsite there, and also the Landrover crew had to get their Pakistan and Indian visas in Tehran.What followed was four hours of driving from one side of Tehran to the other ,in the rush hour, on a wild goose chase for a campsite that did'nt exist.About 10 o'clock that night we ended up in a park in the north of Tehran, that overlooks the city.It was actually well layed out, with walks, waterfalls, restuarants and cafes, and was a popular meeting place for Tehranians.We slept on a dirt road to the north of the park up a hillside.The reward for all the grief of the day ,was sleeping with the city of Tehran below us, all lit up.We awoke to a sunrise over Tehran, and a vow to find somewhere decent to stay that night.We ended up in a backpackers hostel in the middle of town.As I had my Indian and Pakistan visas, I had no reason to stay any longer in Tehran, so braved the morning rush hour and got out .I rode the 350k south, through the first bit of real desert, to Esfahan.On the way, I rode past the infamous nuclear establishment.The desert surrounding it is covered with anti aircraft guns and tanks.If you are in doubt where the place is, the Iranians thoughfully provide you with a map of it on one of their banknotes.The city of Esfahan is one of the wonders of the Islamic world, and one of the most beautiful cities I've ever been in.The centre is a marvel of blue tiled mosques, fountains, elaborate and spectacular bridges,labyrinthine markets, ancient Zaroastrian temples, and bizarre rocking minerets.I suggest anyone curious about Esfahan,look it up on the internet, and hopefully there is a demostration of the wobbly mineret.The spectacle takes place once an hour, where before a large and expectant crowd, a man, who must be unique in the world, climbs up 15 metres to the top of one of a pair of minerets, and literally rocks it from side to side.It sways about a metre either way, and looks like it could topple at any minute.It has been going on for hundreds of years, and still shows no sign of falling over, so I guess his job is safe for a little while longer.After Esfahan, I decided to break for the Pakistan border, some 1300ks away.After the wonders of Esfahan, there was very little else that appealed to me in Iran, and as the roads were good, and the gas cheap as chips, I decided to go for it.I managed to average around 600ks a day, and got to the border a few days later.Things actually got a bit interesting near the Pakistan border, with the on going political situation there.As it was the meeting place of Iran, Pakistan and Afghanistan, there was a heightened security presence.It was also proper desert, with sanddunes and camels etc.I made the mistake of leaving the earthquake ravaged city of Bam without filling up, and paid the price by running out of petrol in the middle of the day, in the middle of the desert.Just as I was thinking about my sunbleached bones being discovered many months later, and with my bike coasting with the engine off, my petrol guardian angel saved my skin, not for the first time.I rolled to a halt outside an army outpost.The soldiers were true to Iranian form, and generously gave me half a jerry can of petrol.They refused any money, but decided that riding a motorbike through the desert towards Pakistan and Afghanistan by myself, was just too dangerous.I was given an armed escort from there to the border, some 50-60 kilometres away.It was actually quite exciting riding through the barren hills, with a Toyota pickup in front , with balaclava'd soldiers holding onto a large machinegun on the back.The escorts were in a relay, with one peeling off as another pulled out in front.It was'nt quite as effecient as it could have been, and there were a couple of times where I found myself alone, riding through the hills, looking anxiously up at them seeing if I could see any insurgents.I made it to the border without being shot at or taken hostage.
By the time I crossed the border into Pakistan, it was late afternoon, so decided to spend the night at a government guest house in the desolate border town of Taftan.If ever there was a prize awarded for the bleakest town in the world, I think Taftan would have to be in serious contention.It was similar to Dogbiscuit in being, flyblown, dusty, poor, rubbishstrewn and lacking any charm.There was a conspicuous absent of any women in the town, a feature it shared with all of rural Pakistan.I'd heard that the 650ks from Taftan to Quetta was the most dangerous of the whole trip, so it came as a suprise when I asked the customs official on the Pakistan side of the border if I needed an escort, and he told me its a free country(!), and I could ride where I liked.The ride north from Taftan was a ride of two halves.The first 300k was sublime, and one of the most enjoyable of the whole trip.I joined up with a retired Swiss couple who were travelling the world in a Mercedes camper.We decided at the border the night before to travel together, so off we set at around 500am to enable us to do the whole 650ks before it got dark.We travelled through the desert as the sun came up,and were afforded a glorious sunrise.We were stopped at what was to become the first of very many road blocks.The police wanted us to register our names, passport numbers and number plates.It was all very friendly, but after a while it just slowed us down.We saw our first camels. ambling along by a railwayline that ran parallel to the highway.The tarmac was immaculate, and this made for some fast riding.The halfway point is a sandy outpost in the middle of the desert.You have to decide then whether to stay there for the night, or press on for Quetta.As it was only 10.30am , we decided to press on.About 5ks out of town. the road had a nasty suprise.It turned off and headed acoss what looked like an old lake bed.The road became single track, and the tarmac was cracked, rutted, broken or non existent.This set the scene for what was without doubt the worst single motorbiking experience in thirty years of riding.Just when I didnt think it could get any worse, it started raining, then a sandstorm started up, covering us in red dust and sand.Add in crazy Pakistan bus and truck drivers, villages full of children begging for paper and pens.fatigue, stress and hunger, and the result was a day I never want to experience again.We finally got to Quetta in time for rush hour.We finally found the hotel we were looking for.I stopped the bike to turn right, and hit a patch of sand.The front wheel slide out from me, and I dropped the bike for the very first time.I was too tired to even get stressed about it.We got to the hotel, and met up with Bou and Sue, a Dutch couple driving their Landcruiser to S E Asia, who the Swiss couple had met the previous day in Iran.Bou and Sue were to become my travelling companions all the way to Kathmandu, and have become very good friends.One of the things that sustained me through that days ride was the prospect of a cold beer.Although being a strict Moslem country, there is actually a Pakistan brewery.The beer is only palatable when its ice cold.Anything less than that and you can taste the chemicals.Needless to say, the hotel had beer, but it was warm.To add insult to injury it cost 3 pounds a bottle.When I explained this to Bou, he told me to stop moaning.Quite rightly so, but the mood I was in, I thought I'd earned the right to whine a bit.We managed to get to Pakistan on the first day of Ramadan, so we were treated to the rather haunting chanting that marks the start of Ramadan.It was all very atmospheric.We left Quetta a few days later in convoy, with Bou and Sue, the Swiss couple and myself heading off south on our way to Multan.We had to take a 300k detour south to get north, as the direct road went through the mountains, and is only passable for 4x4s and dirt bikes.The road was poor, the truck and bus drivers woefull, but the scenery was breathtaking.Rocky gorges, desert,mountain roads. It had it all.We also had our first of many police escorts.The police decided it was too dangerous for five foreigners to be travelling through the Baluchistan and Punjab country without protection, so we had a Toyota pickup with several soldiers sitting in the back cradling machine guns.We argued it was all unnecessary, but they obviously had an order from above, so an escort we had all the way to the Indian border.It was handy going through towns, as they put their sirens on and cleared path, which made us all feel a bit special, but on the open road, they could only manage around 60-70kph.It took on the level of farce, when I finally got bored of riding along behind clapped out, smokey Toyota pickups, and took off ahead of them.It was amusing to see them giving chase, and playing cat and mouse through the countryside of Pakistan.Every 20ks or so when it was time for a change of escorts, they had obviously been radioed and told of some idiot foreigners who had raced ahead of them ,and so they formed a road block to stop us.They didn't really see the funny side, and to be fair to them, they had our interests at heart and were only doing their job.Another feature of driving in Pakistan is truck crashes.These occur on the a fairly regular basis, and tend to be the result of the local cutom of highly modifying their vehicles.They take a standard flatbed truck, festoon it with several tons of pointless decorations, cover the window with stickers so that there is a patch about 10cm high to see through, build the sides of the truck up thus raising the centre of gravity to dangerous levels, grossly overloading the trucks, there driving as fast and recklessly as they can.I understand that the more they can carry on each load, the more money they make, but this all tends to fall down (literally) when they end up with the trucks in a ditch, tipped on its side from cornering too fast or overtaking at an inappropriate time.Thats if they are lucky, and the truck can be towed out or righted, when they aren't so lucky, is when it ends up 20 metres down a ravine on its roof, and I saw plenty like that.With the truck written off, I should imagine thats the end of their livelihoods, or even lives.The trucks do look spectacular, being highly stylised and "pimped up" in gaudy colours, decorations and with paintings of birds, sports stars, political figures, landscapes, slogans or just humorous lines.A favourite was " no girlfriend, no stress", painted across the back.But as practical vehicles, they definately fall short of the mark.To see some examples, check out the slide show.We were making our way up through Pakistan ,with a routine of check points,police escorts and finding somewhere safe for the night, not so easy in a country with not too many tourist htels with safe parking for the vehicles.One night we ended up in a god forsaken town called Shikapur, or as it became known,shitandpoor.This was another rubbishstrewn, open sewered flyblown town, that we ended up in towards the end of another long hot day.There was nowhere to stay, so were taken to a police camp.This was basically an enclosed village for police and their families.Everywhere we stopped in Pakistan, we became instant attractions, which is okay when you are stopping for 5-10 minutes to buy food or fill up with petrol, but when we were there for the evening, we were surrounded by 30-40 curious children, constantly edging forward, staring,touching things on the bike or cars, and eventually becoming a nuisance.I should imagine we were the first foreigners that most of them had seen, and so to come right into the middle of their village was just too good an opportunity to miss.We were surrounded basically from around 5.00pm when we arrived, till gone midnight when we were trying unsuccessfully to get to sleep.The kids decided it would be great fun to kick my tent and shout at me, they were trying to climb into the open sunroof of the camper, and were throwing stones at the Landcruiser.I'm sure it was a cultural thing, but to us Europeans it was a long, stressful night after a long stressful day.All these things added up to make riding through Pakistan one of these least enjoyable parts of the whole journey for me.I think the others fekt the same, as after that we decided to get to the Indian border ASAP.As we were reaching the city of Multan, we ended up at a road block.It seems that one of the Presidents relatives was opening a bridge up ahead, and so the road was closed for several hours while he cut the ribbon. Our police escort decided it was too dangerous too stay out in the open, so we were whisked away to a nearby hotel and kept there for our "safety" till the bridge was reopened a few hours later.This resulted in traffic chaos, and we managed about 10ks in the next 2 hours.As it was starting to get dark, we were taken into the city of Multan and eneded up staying at what was to us an expensive hotel.The next morning we decided we could actually get to the Indian border at Lahore if we got our skates on.This was all well and good, but the police escort, which met us at 7.00am the next morning at the hotel, could only manage 60, or possibly 70kph at a push.We needed to be doing around 90-100kph if we were to make it too the border before it shut at 4.00pm.
After a while the message got through to the police escorts, and they started to put their feet down.The Toyota pickups were defiantely driving at their maximum at a 100kph, and I think some of the drivers were enjoying going for it.We finally made it to Lahore, with about an hour to go, but Lahore is a big city with a lot of traffic.The escorts came into their own again, clearing a path through the city traffic for us.
We finally got to the Pakistan India border crossing, and it was a case of hurry up and wait.Not a lot seemed to be happening, so we just sat down and waited our turn.A constant at border crossings is money changers.There seems to be a very casual arrangement with the money changers and border officials, probably helped by regular contributions to the Customs officers office party fund.I had a torn 50euro note that I hadn't be able to get rid ssince Europe.The money changer took it without batting an eye lid.He was happy because hed changed it at a rate with gave him a decent profit, I was happy just to get shot of it.We finally finished at the Pakistan side,and rode the 100 metres of so to the Indian side.The Lahore/Amritsar borders hosts one of the worlds most extraordinary nightly ceremonies.Every evening after the borders are shut, grandstands fill up with tourists on either side.The Pakistani and Indian soldiers on either side the indulge in some patriotic flag waving, saluting , lowering of flags, handshakes, shouting and and finally closing the border gate.Anyone interested in seeing should have a look at youtube, as Im sure its on there somewhere.Needless to say, we didnt see it, as by the time we got to the Indian side, the sky had blackened, and 4.00pm looked like 8.oopm.Just as we were getting the last of our paperwork filled out in triplicate for the umpteenth time, the heavens opened and it was a downpour of biblical proportions.The carpark became a lake in a matter of minutes, with accompanying thunder and lightening.Also the power went of, meaning that the last of the paperwork was done by torchlight.We were let out of the gate just as the rained stopped, and made our way around fallen trees and flooded roads to Amritsar. If you ever go to Amritsar, make sure you stay at Mrs Boudharis.It is an old Raj era house that was turned into a classy guest house when Mr Boudhari died in the fiftys.Mrs Boudhari herself died last year at the ripe old age of 102.It was the place of choice to stay for celebraties and visiting officials.The best bit is you can camp on the tennis court if you dont want to stay in one of the rooms.It was a good base to explore the amazing Golden Temple in Amritsar.Its the most holy site for Sihks, and a very impressive place it is.After taking you shoes off and leaving them in a hut outside the temple, you walk around a marble lined square around a pool.In the middle of the pool is the golden temple itself.The very heart of the Sihk faith.Unlike Mecca, which is only open to Muslims, anyone can go into the temple.There is also a canteen with free food for everyone, and also a dormitary for everyone.You dont have to but after eating some of the delicious food, you want to leave a donation.After Amritsar it was time to brave the Indian roads and the infamous Indian drivers.Their reputation is fully deserved.The mantra of" might is right" certainly rings true.As a motorcylist you come way down the list, along with pedestrians, cyclists and livestock ( but not cows, which have right of way over everything).We headed our way north to the Tibetan government in exiles base at McCleod Ganj.Its around 2000 metres above sea level, so basically the whole day you are climbing.This involved a lot of travelling behind trucks driving very slowly, belching out thick black clouds of diesel fumes.The result was 200ks usually took around 12 hours.McCleod Ganj itself is an interesting place, with a mixture of western tourists, buddhists, Tibetan refugees,people doing yoga and cooking classes, and local Indians.The town is built along the ridge of a mountain, so veryhting is up or down.We manged to find somewhere to camp in the grounds of a hotel.We were moved over the next day as where we were parked was to become the site of a wrestling tournament.This was astrange spectacle, with the wrestling taking place in a large square sandpit.Around the square a brass band constantly marched blaring out some local tunes.The contestants wore what looked like tight underpants to wrestle in.It seemed to be open to all comers, and they wrestlers were paired up according to size.The heavyweights looked like they had been doing it for years, as with rugby players, they all seemed to have cauliflower ears.McCled Ganj is also the residence of the Dalai Lama, but when we were there, he was in Bombay getting medical treatment.After a few days in little Tibet, it was time to head bak to the reality of India.The net destination was Shimla, where the Raj era government deamped for the summer to esape the jeat of Delhi.Again its 2000 metres up with all the old administrative buildings built along the ridge.One of the beauties of Shimla is the fact that the centre of town is closed to traffic, so there isnt the constant blaring of horns of the stink of diesel.Most of the town cnetre is made up of Raj era buildings,in various states of renovation or decay.Above the town is the monkey temple, dedicated to Hanaman, the monkey god.Its a steep 20 minute limb to the top,and there are plenty of warnings to take off your glasses and hide anything loose, as the monkeys grab it, then hold it to ransom till they get some food.You can hire monkey sticks for the walk, basically walking sticks for threatening any monkey that has designs on your gear.I had my piece of broom handle I had brought with me from England to keep them at bay.From Shimla we decided to head for the Nepal border, and cross into Nepal at the most westerly border.This was still two days long driving away, but once we had decided to get out of India, we were on a mission.This met very early starts to avoid the worst of the morning traffic and also before the day got too hot.The state of the roads never improved, and it was impossible to get a rythmn going for making any time up.As soon as you thought you were on a half decent stretch of road, you be stopped in tracks by roadworks, pot holes,no road at all, accidents, traffic jams,rallys and demostrations, or any of the many reasons driving in Indai has to be some of the most stressful in the world.As already mentioned, thestandard of driving is abysmal,with a combiantion of the India sense of fatalism and karma, badly maitained vehicles, no sense of anticipation or road sense, no courtesy shown to any other road users,poor or no driving skills and the general sense of selfishness and the road result is almost anarchy sometimes.A prime example of the how poor India drivers are is demonstrated by the many railway crossings you have to negotiate each day.The barriers come down across the road, and the traffic starts to mbuild up eaither side.But after a while drivers block both lanes, both sides of the barriers, so that when the barriers are raised, nothing can move because you have two lines of traffic facing each other, and it takes 10 minutes for anything to start moving.If they had any common sense and a bit of patience, everything would flow smoothly and there would be no hold ups.They never seem to realise this though.The other onstant is the all pervasive use of horns.They blow there horn at every instance, and really on other people blowing their horns to warn of there presence on the road.This had the result that most motorbikes had no rear vision mirrors, and would pull out blindly into the road, and expect anything to sound their horn to warn them they were near by.After a while I ignored all horns, and if anyone following me wanted to pass, and kept their hand permanantley on the horn, I would hold my part of the road and make them drive round me.Its only when you get back into real world driving that you realise how chaotic, shambolic and totally insane driving in India is.Seeing trucks and buses overtaking on blind orners is the norm, and after a while nothing shocks you.Everyday Id read of buses and trucks crashing into each other and ibto shops, tents, wedding partys,rivers etc, killing 15 here, 20 there.It only makes a few lines of news near the back pages.It needs around 50 killed to make it near the front of the paper.I ouldnt wait to get out of India and it lunatic roads and drivers.
We crossed into Nepal at its westernmost point, and the difference between India and Nepal was obvious within minutes of rossing the border.The paperwork on the Indian side took about an hour, with every single bit of imformation cafrefully logged in various registers.On the Nepalese side it was all done in a matter of minutes.As it was late by the time we made it across the border, we headed for the nearest town and found a hotel for the night.Bright and early the next morning we head off east along was the best road surface since Iran.As Nepal is a poor ountry,there is very little ownership of private cars, coupled with the fat that the west of the country is quite sparsly populated, and the result was we had the road virtually to our selves, save for the odd bus or truck.The original plan was to head south through India to Kerala and then to Sri Lanka, but this plan went out of the window after seeing the state of Indian roads, so it was full steam ahead through Nepal then on to Thailand.The first place of interest in Nepal was Bardia National Park, home of some rarleey seen tigers and Asian Rhinos.It was a 13kilometre drive to the park headquarters from the highway.It had rained heavily the day before, so was muddy, and there was the small matter of a river to cross.Luckily the river was wide and shallow, so it was a matter of keeping the power on and not stopping.I followed the Landcruisers tracks , as I new there werent any hidden rocks out of view.The river safely negotiated it was then a matter of choosing a lodge.There were 15 different camps in the park, and as we were the only people there, choosing one wasnt a problem.I cant imagine the place ever gets really full, as its off the main tourist route od Nepalganj,Pokkara and Kathmandu.The main park visited is Chitwan, which is hundreds of ks further east.The attraction of Bardia is the fact that its less touristy and developed, and you maybe have a better chance of seeing some of the rarer animals.We organised a wildlife viewing day for the next day.It was a good hours walk to get to the first viewing platform.It was then a matter of sitting down and patiently waiting.The thing to remember when going game viewing is that your are never guaranteed to see anything,and so it was for the first few hours.We did get a sighting of the odd small deer and a few birds, but nothing spectacular.After 3- 4 hours at this viewing platform, it was time to see if there was anything else where.We settled down at the next platform for another long wait.We were joined by the elephant handlers who work in the park taking tourists for elephant rides.As there were no tourists(other than us) the elephants were brought into the park to feed and get their daily wash.We had a great view from the platform and took loads of great photods of the elephants frolicking in the water, getting washed, and generally having a great time.As a bonus, one of the handlers spotted a couple of ultra rare rhinos in the distant.Our time up it was time to head back to the camp.This involved a hot trek back through the bush,and a very refreshing dip in the river after.The next day it was back on the road to Pokkara.As it hadnt rained for a day or so, the water in the river had dropped, so crossing back wasnt half as stressful as getting over in the first place.Back on the highway,we continued to make good time.The roads were still devoid of almost all private cars, and just the occasional truck or bus.One hazard to watch out for was livestock on the road.This took the form of chickens,dogs,goats,sheep, and cattle.The worst is always dogs, as they have a habit of just running straight into the road without looking.Dead dogs are a feature of all the roads once outside of Europe, and I came to the conclusion there are only two sorts of dog, quick ones and dead ones.Other livestock tend to be more predictable though, although there were the occasional dead goat or sheep.Nothing could prepare me for what we saw later that day though.Climbing a mountain road I noticed what looked like two brown sticks under some orange rags.It was only when I came up along side it, I realise it was a dead human.The sticks were two very thin legs, and the rags were his clothing.In India and Nepal there are wandering Hindu holymen who roam from town to town living on handouts.This man was dressed in the orange, and judging by his co9ndition, he might have starved to death miles from anywhere.His stomach was bloated, so I guess hed been there a few days.His eyes were wide open, which made it even more of a shock.Im sure many people had driven by him over the course of the previous day or two, and nobody had done anything about it.I looked for some police to report it to for the next 20 -30 ks, but didnt see any. so he stayed there decomposing a bit more.It brought it home to me how cheap life is in some parts of the world.The day had another nasty surprise.As we went further east, the roads became busier as we approached the big towns and cities.This had the result that state of the roads degraded.The worst Nepalese roads were still better than the best Indian roads though.As I said before we arrived at the end of the rainy season, with the result that there were plenty of landslips across roads that ran alomg gorges and and rivers.We came to once such slip that had obviously happened in the last day or so.The mud had completely covered the road and there were two ruts across it where trucks had gone through.I followed the right hand rut, as the left one was too close to the edge of the road, where 10 or so metres below was a fast flowing river which I didnt fancy falling into.Flllowing the right had rut, I proceeded at no more than about 10kph.I hadnt judged the width properly, and the next thing I know, i had caught the right hand pannier with a rock that was sticking out just enough to catch it.The result was that the pannier was ripped off the bike. and the bike was thrown to the left where I ended up sprawled in the mud.I picked the bike up and took it the side of the road, and went back and retrieved the pannier before it was run over by a following truck.The top and bottom pannier mounting blocks had been straightened by the impact, but the side ones were okay.The was a crease down the middle of the back of the pannier.Luckily the pannier rack itself didnt snap, as that would have meant a trip to a welders.I managed with the help of some cable ties ( is there anything you cant fix with these wonderful things) I secured the pannier back to the bike.The rest of the day I rode gingerley, till we found somewhere to stay for the night and I could get in touch with Metal Mule and get some new ones sent out.My girlfriend was meeting me in Bangkok in a few days time, and Metal Mule got them to her house in time for them to be brought to Thailand.I think most cheaper panniers wouldnt have lasted the punishment that these ones have had.They were extremely expensive, but it was money well spent looking back.I left Bou and Sue in Pokara for a few days and headed off to Katmandhu to get my bike sorted out for flying to Bangkok.I always had the impression that Kathmandhu was some magical city nestled in the foothills of the Himalayas, something like Shangra La.I guess its a bit like Timbuktu, the reality is very different.It was a dusty, dirty, run down city, a bit like an Indian or Pakistani city.I managed to navigate the narrow, crowded, twisty lanes to find the relative sanctuary of the guest house I had the satnav coordinates for.It had a small courtyard out front where I could store the bike till it was ready to take to the airport.I had a few hours left of the day, so decided to head down to Durbar Square and Freak Street. The lanes in the centre were quite magical really.Narrow lanes with medieval looking buildings crowding the space above.It was like walking back into history.There was the usual exotic smells and sounds, plus crowds of people, rickshaws, bicycles, taxis, motorbikes, and animals all in a hurry to get where they were going.Every hundred metres or so was a Buddhist shrine or Hindu temple on the side of the lane, all covered in offerings, flowers, food and incense.These were'nt for mere decoration. but were everyday neighbourhood shrines for the local worshipers.I finally made it to Durbar Square, and I was awestruck by the place.The square is surrounded by the same medieval buildings that lined the lanes, but in the middle of the square were what seemed like dozens of temples, shrines, statues and stupas, all covered in people sitting round people watching, chatting or just relaxing.It was a manic, frantic scene and I loved it.I sat for a while and contemplated the scene, and wondered how many hippies over the years had sat there also, in various states of drug induced intoxication and surveyed the same scene.Talking of hippies, I decided to check out Freak Street, the end of the road of the "hippy trail"of the 60s and 70s.It was a pretty nondescript street now, with its heyday long behind it.The street is refered to now by its Nepalese name, but on all the maps its called Freak Street still.I was looking out for any old hippies, and there were a few crusty Europeans hanging around.There were also a few who looked like they'd gone "native",walking barefoot, goaty beard and dreadlocks.
Sightseeing over, it was time to get the bike sorted out.I had been in touch with the shippers for a month or so before, and arranged a meeting the following morning for measuring up the bike for its crate, discussing prices etc.!0 oçlock the next morning Isfohar and his team turned up, and got the ball rolling.It was all done in a matter of minutes, and a time arranged the next day for going to the cargo hangar at Kathmandhu airport.With the rest of the day free for some more sightseeing, I decided to go out with my camera and gets some snaps.I headed to Durbar square again, but took the long way round.I was walking up one of the main roads into the centre of Kathmandhu, and was instantly caught up in hundreds of people running towards me.I thought they were running for a football of some such things, so i carried on walking up the road.It was only when the crowds had all ran past me, that i saw what they were running from.The road was lined from side to side by hundreds of baton wielding riot police charging down the street towards me.My first instinct was to run, but then i thought, its not me they're after, so I stood then and decided to get some photos, news photographer style.They ran past me, thankfully ignoring me, and carried on chasing the young men who had just ran past me.I carried on into the centre, and was confronted by scenes of piles of burning logs, barricades, the road strewn with rocks and bits of brick.This was next to Freak Street, where the day before it was a scene of hustle and bustle, but no hint of the chaos that ensued that day.Walking round into Durbar Square, it was clear that that was the main battle ground, with groups of balaclavaed young men throwing stones at a group of riot police, who on a command charged at them.I joined the many hundreds of onlookers on the steps of the temples where i had sat peacefully the previous day.There was no panic or fear anywhere, and i got the impression it was a regular occurrence.Still for a riot newbie like me, it was exciting.I waited for about half an hour or so to see if it would get anymore exciting, but I think the worst ( or best ) of it was over, so I wandered off to get some more photos.I was casually walking along a back street when I thought I heard by name called out.Thinking it was flashback from my wilder younger days I ignored it, but then again someone called my name.Turning around this time, I saw where it had come from.It was my Dutch friends Bou and Sue, who had managed to find themselves in the middle of Kathmandu in the middle of a riot.I hopped in the Landcruiser to direct them to the guest house, only to be confronted by a mass of charging riot police running towards us.Turning around we saw a group of stone throwing rioters also running towards us.Panic was starting to set in, and I think Bou had visions of his beloved Landcruiser being set on fire and used as a barricade.We managed to turn down a non rioting street and eventually got to the guest house in one piece.
The next day it was off to the airport to break the bike down and crate it out.While I was taking off the fairing,mudguard and front wheel,the crate it was going in was been constructed.We manhandled it onto the base, and spent the next 45 minutes trying to get the panniers,spare parts and assorted bits of luggage into the crate.It was built miilmetre perfect, andwen it was allin, the crate was closed.It was dragged to the scales for the moment of truth, the weighing.Eight blokes lifted it onto the scales, and there was me thinking it would be around then 50kg mark.Shock horror,the bike,lugggage and 60kg crate tipped the scales at an eye and wallet watering 390kg!As i was paying for weight.this added another $200US to the price, bringing to $1200US, including my airfare from Kathmandu tobangkok.Ihad budgeted around $1000, so this a bit more than I had bargained for.This made the bike,with empty fuel tank and me not on it,tip the scales at 330kg.Thats about the same as a Harley Davidson Electraglide, or Triumph 2300cc behemoth the Rocket 3.Thank god Ive only had to pick it up twice.Add 25kg of fuel and 75kg of me,and it not far off half a tonne of man and machinery.When I think of the crappy, muddy, sanding,gravelly,dusty roads Ive ridden it over, mainly standing on the peg motorcross style, with all that weight below me.After seeing the bike put through a giant xray machine and deposited safelyinto the bonded warehouse, it was time to get the paperwork sorted.After that back to Isfohars office near the guest house in Thamel.After paying the money owed, it was out with some rather nice Sikkar whiskey from north east india to close the business.3 hours and several large whiskeys and a few bottles of Everest (with a picture of Sherpa Tensing conquering MT Everest on the label)lager later I staggered back to the guest house, happy in the knowledge that a thoroughly professional job had been down on shipping my bike to Bangkok.The flight left the next day, so after saying godbye to my friends Bou and Sue, and promising to meet up with them again in Thailand, it was time to head to the airport, a flight to Bangkok, and the start of a new chapter in my journey.
I met my girlfriend Julie at Bangkok airport, as her flight from the UK had landed a few hours before mine from Kathmandu.It was off to Thai Airways cargo the next morning to do the neccessary paperwork and put the bike together.At the cargo area you have to fight off the "helpers"who insist on taking you through the process but want money at the end of it.I had read on the Horizons Unlimited forum that you dont need their help and can do it all yourself, although it might take a little longer.After getting the necessary security clearance we went through to the cargo area to inspect the bike.It was still crated up, so with the help of a hammer the wood was stripped away and the process of putting the bike back together again could start.The biggest job was putting the front wheel back in.I managed the positiion the bike on its centre stand so the back wheel was over the end of the crate, allowing the bike to be pivoted up.I got Julie to sit on the back of the bike,lift the front forks up and manged to wangle the front wheel into place.That done it was asimple matter of putting the fairing back on,the front mudguard back on and checking for any loose nuts and bolts.I felyt good being back on the Bonny, but it was in serious need of some servicing.I had got in touch with the Bangkok Triumph dealers Britbike, and told them what was need to be done.I took the bike over next morning with a long list of things to do, mainly a mojor service, new tyres and chain.They seemed excited by the bike, saying its the first overland bike they'd had in.They were happy to look after the bike.along with all my luggage for three weeks while julie and me went backpacking.After a day looking round Bangkok.we decided to head north.We decided to splash out on a first class overnight train ride to the northern city of Chaing Mai.From there it was up to the border with Laos.After crossing over the Mekong river the next morning, and completing border formalities in Laos, you're given the choice of three ways to get to the next major town down the Mekong, Luang Prebang.The options were 11 hour minibus ride over some pretty rubbish roads,a two day slow boat ride , stopping off at a riverside village for the night, or a six hour whiteknuckle speed boat ride.We opted for the latter, although we had that accidents can and do happen when these boats, built of nothing but wood, hit logs in the water at high speeds and disintergrate.We were joined by 3 young Canadian guys and an Amrican.It was very squashed on the boat, and we all had to sit with our chins resting on our knees.Things livened up with the purchase of 24 cans of the local beer, beerLao, and at 10.30am the drinking started.Nothing goes together like water and alcohol.If we were to die in a horrific boat crash, at least our final few hours were spent happy.After a shaky start with a boat that kept breaking down, we finally transfered to a goer, and with a new driver at the helm, made our rapid progress down the mighty Mekong.The ride was punctuated with frequent stops to but more beer, and relieve ourselves,midriver of the beer we had already drunk.I dont think Julie was amused by six blokes standing up in a narrow motorised canoe, all weeing in different directions.We eventually made it to luang Prabang in the dark, and after a short taxi ride into town ,found some albeit expensive accomadation for the night.The next morning we explored Luang Prebang, and found that everything we had read about it was true.It was an old French colonial town in the middle of the jungle, beautifully preserved.We spent a very relaxing 3 days wandering around, trying the local food, checking out some Buddhist temples, and wandering up and down the night market, which sold a variety of local handicrafts,T shirts ( beerLao and "Same,Same but different" appeared to be best sellers.),tat,snakes in bottles of alcohol, and general touristy stuff.We headed south by minibus to the white water rafting,tubing and general party town of Vang Vieng next.& hours on bad, but not Indian bad, roads brought us into town.With a bus load of packpackers hitting town, it was a mad dash to find accomodation before anyone else.It was a case of throwing the bags into a tuktuk(local motorcycle driven taxi affair) and hit the guest houses before anyone else.After being quoted silly money at the first one we went to, we eventually found one that suited our budget and general requirements,mainly own toilet and fan.Neither of us fancied spending too much time in Vang Vieng so the next morning after taking a trip out to a local organic farm, and sampling some of the excellent home grown food and drink there, we caught the next minibus,to the capital of Laos,Vientienne.Again we arrived early evening, and had the task of competeing with the other backpackers for somewhere to sleep for the night.All the cheaper places were full, so we had to bite the bullet and fork out $20US for a night.Vientianne has to be one of the worlds most laid back capitals, mainly because the Laos people are so relaxed.Its a nice compact, former French colonial town, with a lively little heart to it with plenty of restuarants, bars,cafes and bakerys to eat in.There arent too many things for the tourist to see, but we did walk along their version of the Champs Elysee to their version of the Arc d'Triumph.It was similar in shape and size to the original, but with lots of Laos additions.It was shoddily built, and theres even a sign on it saying words to the effect of "its looks bad from a distant, and even worse close up"I couldnt disagree with those sentiments.It was built in the 60s using concrete donated from the US to build a new runway with.The government at the time thought some pointless ugly concrete monstrosity was a better use of the concrete.We had decided the next port of call would be Siam Reap (Khmer for Siam defeated,Siam being the old name for Thailand, and ther Khmers traditional enemy.).Not very tactful or diplamtic, but I guess no different front the English having Waterloo or Trafalgar Square, or the French having Austerlitz Place.We didint facy the two day bus ride down to Cambodia, so bit the bullet and decided to fly.
The next morning we flew into Sian Reap and found a guest house.We spent the day looking round Sian Reap and sussing out tours round Ankor Wat.Sian Reap is basically a town solely for the nearby Ankor Wat, and is geared up for the tourists.The bigger chain hotels and resorts for the well healed are on the outskirts of town,while the backpaper and budget traveller accomodation is in the town itself.You can work out the market the town is after when you see a street called Pub Street right in the centre.In the evening it was very lively with endless drinking and eating opportunities.The reality of Cambodias recent past is brought home by the numerous groups of musicians busking on the street.They play traditional instruments and songs, and are all united by the fact that they are all victims of landmines.Most are amputees and some are blind.In a country with no state welfare system, this is the only way to make a living for themselves and sometimes the families they have to feed.I dont normally give to beggars, but I couldnt go past one of these groups of musicians and not drop a $US1 in their tin.The US dollar is the most used currency, and all the ATMs give you dollars instead of the local Rial.All prices and shopping transactions are in dollars, but small amounts of change are given in Rials.We managed to find a Tuk Tuk driver who would drive us around the vast Ankor Wat complex for the next three days.We got up at 4.30am the next morning to make it for sunrise at the largest temple, along with many hundreds of others visitors.We all waited, cameras ready as the sun slowly rose and the the silhouette and finally the temple itself came in to view.The wait was worth it, and as the sun rose up and colour appeared in the sky above the temple,thousands of digital cameras were clicking away.Once it was bright enough to see where we were going, it was time to start exploring.There are dozens of different temples scattered around the sight, but we relied on the tuk tuk drivers knowledge to set a logical schedule for us to see them all in three days.As the sun climbed, so to didi the heat, so it was lucky that our driver had an ice box filled will water for us to drink during the day.We spent around an hour at each temple, some of which were pyramid shaped and required climbing, others we just raised platforms, but they were all different.A feature of all the temples, and tourist sites in general, is the profusion of hawkers, mostly children, selling everything from books to handicarafts to drinks and general tourist tat.As the prefered currency is the dollar, all day there was a chorus of "you give me one dollar".It does get on your nerves after a while, but you have to stop and remind yourself what a poor country it still, and the children selling things to tourists are major breadwinners in the family.We book a book on Ankor Wat for what we thought was the bargain price of $5, only to see the same book a little while later for $1.By mid afternoon each day of temple exploring, temple fatigue started to set in.It was a case of "just one more to look at".Every so often we came to a temple that blew you away.I cant remember the name of it, but its the most famous at the site, having featured in several films.Its the one with the roots growing through the ruins, and it really is like walking on a film set.The trees were sacred and so were allowd to grow through the temples.The result is a very photogenic site, and possibly everyones favourite temple.If you google Anko Wat, there is bound to be a photo of it come up.After three days of Ankor Wat, it was time to go back to Bangkok, and the 12 hour bus ride there.
My girlfriend Julie flew back to the UK for three weeks for work commitments, but would be meeting me back in Bangkok to carry on travelling.This left me free to explore Thailand in depth on the Bonny.The first stop on my clockwise circuit of norhtern Thailand was Kanchananburi, and the world famous bridge of the River Kwai.It was only a few hours bike ride west to the town, and I managed to check into a guest house with wooden bungalows right next to the river.My cottage was the nearest to the river , and I had a view of the bridge itself from my verandah.The bridge itsewlf was about 500 metres upstream, but doesnt look anything like the one in the film.A ten minute walk up the road took me to the bridge itself.There is the usual stalls selling souvenirs to tourists, and a few restuarants nearby.Its possible to ride the train up country to see where Allied prisoners of war died in their thousands building the railway.It was built for the Japanese who wanted a railway to connect Bangkok with Burma, enabling them to send troops into India and open up another front in the war.There were anti British factions in India who were looking to oust the British, an d the Japanese wanted to explore them for their own ends.The death toll was horrific, with the local POWs bearing the brunt with nearly a 100, 000 dying.Of the allied soldiers the British formed the largest nation, wiith Dutch,Indian and Anzac also being employed.There is a Commonwealth Cemetery in the town itself, with an excellent museum next door.There is a strong anti Japanese feeling to a lot of the displays, but the museum Thai managed, and reflects their feeling towards the invaders.One thing I learnt was that the Thais collaberated with the Japanese, rather than oppose them and suffer the same fate as some of the surrounding countries.It was sobering yet again to witness the horror of a world war , this time is far flung S E Asia.
The next stop on my tour was to head up the west of the coun try and the border with Burma.The first major town I stopped for the night was Mae Sot.It is a border town, and has a large Burmese refugee population.The guest house I stayed at was a favourite haunt of the large number of foreign volunteer workers who work in the town.Most come to teacxh and pass on their skills for a few months.There was a steady stream of people coming to sign up for volunteer work, but there is actually a waiting list and vetting procedure.As I was doing anything other than riding my bike, I decided to head north the next day for Mae Hong Son.The road was the most westerly road in northern Thailand, adn kept pretty close to the border.The ride for the next three days and thousand odd kilometres has to rate as the best motorcycling I have experienced in thirty years.With the exception of maybe 20ks, the road was a series of twists and turns follow a range of jungle clad hills.The road surface was excellent, there was very little traffic and the scenery was excellent.It passed though villages of some of the local tribes, who all had their own individual look and dress style.In a bus or car the trip would have been miserable, but on a motorbike where every corner is a thrill, it was pure motorcycle heaven.Even on a fully loaded Bonny, I could still live out my GP racer fantasy, and get my knee out and bank it into the corners.One day I will return to ride it again, this time on a Triumph Daytona or Ducati.A light brilliant handling sports bike that could do real justice to the road.All good things come to an end, and the road straightened out and headed into Chang Rai, a small town several hundered ks north of it big neighbour Chang Mai.My visa and bike docs needed updating so it was run up to the Burmese border to renew them.After dealing with beaurocracy for several hours it was time to head east and follow the mighty Mekong.I ended up passing through the village we were at a few weeks before on our way to Laos.The road follow the Mekong for several hundred ks, passing through the famous Golden Triangle.You can celebrate this fact by getting your photo taken at a sign that say "welcome to the Golden triangle".I abstained from this pleasure and headed south along the river.I stayed at a series of border towns, eventually ended up opposite Vientianne, the capital of Laos, where we had stayed earlier.It was strange being on the Thai side looking at Laos, where as earlier we had sat on the Laos side looking at the Thai town.A large pecentage of the tourists in these border towns are on the "visa run".When you travel to thailand, you only get a visa fvor one month.This means that to stay in thailand, you have to get you visa renewed at the end of the month.The snag is you can on ly renew it three times then you have to get out of thailand for a month before returning.You can do this infinitum.I had already been out of the country twice, meaning I could only renew my visa one more time.I decided to follow the border east and cross into Laos, around 400 ks south of Vientiane.The roads in northern Laos had been pretty poor, but from what I could gather from fellow travellrs who had been there, the roads in the south were m uch better.There are sveral crossing points, and the one I chose involved a trip on a ferry.When I say ferry, it was more a floating platform with a barge roped up to it.I when to the front of the queue and waited for it to dock.The road down to the the river ended in a large mound of wet mud, churned up by the trucks driving through it getting on and off the barge.This was combined with Mekong river water and finally docking platform where the vehicles drove on and off.I gingerly made my way through the mud and slide on to the barge.I rode to the end and watched as three articulated lorries slid and plowed through the mud onto the barge.It sat only a few feet above the river, and the boarding ramps were kept down for the crossing.I had heard tales of these things flipping over and capsizing in tghe river, but luckily we made it across in one piece.If I thougvht getting on was tricking, it was nothing to the ordeal of getting off.The platform didnt quite make it to the concrete ramp leading up from the river to the road above.I watched in horror as the three trucks drove very slowly off the end of the barge, and their wheels rising deeper in the river before they met the road.Finally it was my turn to get off.I inched the bike to the edge and very slowly lowered my front wheel into the Mekong River.The water ended up about halfway up my front wheel before i made contact with anything solid.I was worried about the bike slipping over in the mud and everything getting wet.I continued to inch forward till my back wheel was at the edge.There was nothing to do after that but open the throttle and hope for the best.To my and the crowd that had gathered to watches amazement, I remained upright, and gunned the bike through nthe water, up the ramp, and in to Laos.
After paying the required fees, both genuine and for "administration" it was time to head out on to Laotian roads.First thing to remember was that THEY DRIVE ON THE RIGHT.This was the first time I had driven on the right since leaving Iran.All of Indochina drive on the right, whereas Thailand,Malaysia, Singapore and surprisingly Indonesia all drive on the left.The next thing I noticed was how the state of the roads deteriorated after leaving Thailand.The plus side was the lack of traffic, mainly due to not many people being able to afford private cars, very similar to rural Nepal.There is only one main road heading south, and this was the main Vientianne, Savanakhet, Pakse road.My first stop was the city of Savanakhet.This is a pleasant old French colonial town, but without the tourists of Luang Prebang and the money they generate.It is an easy town to walk round, though apart from the old French quarter there isn't much to see.From there I headed through the border town of Pakse and inland to the highlands.As ther road climbs the climate becomes cooler and damper, allowing a wide variety of tropical fruits to be grown.The area is famed for its highland coffee, although not being a coffee drinker, I never got to sample any.After a couple of days staying at some wonderful falls in the jungle, it was time to head back to the first world and Thailand, with its busy roads and heavier traffic.Thailand is a big country, with a great road network, which allows large distances to be covered.I made my way back towards Ayuthaya, a town 70ks north of Bangkok.About 20ks out of town I was beeped repeatedly.Turning around, I saw it was two fellow overland motorcyclists.We pulled over and introduced ourselves.The riders were Ruth from Austria and Carlo from Switzerland.I had heard about them from Pete, the motorcyclist I had spent a few days with when i was in Ayuithaya before.They had ridden up from Australia, through Timor, the S E islandsof Indonesia,then over to Malaysia and up to Thailand.It was pretty much the route would be taking south, so I was keen to pick their brains for tips and info.They happened to be going to Ayuthaya as well so we all headed off to find somewhere to stay.We ended up at Pauls Place, a busy city centre packpacking place, and there was somewhere to park the bikes off road.Carlo was a mine of useful information, as well as a wiz on the computer.He checked out this site, and gave it a thorough overhaul.The map on the introduction page is his work.We were giving the bikes a once over, when he noticed my right rear shock had blown a seal.There was nothing for it but to buy a new one.It was expense I could do with out, but without a new shock, I wouldn't be doing too much more riding.Luckily for me, there is a Thai company that makes world class shocks.I got in touch with YSS shocks in Bangkok, and made an appointment to see them for a fitting.I planned to go down the next day, and left really early for the 60km journey.My appointment was for 9.ooam, so I though if I left at 6.00am I should be there in plenty of time.How wrong I was.The trouble with Bangkok roads is that most of the big , fast ones are tolls, where motorbikes are banned from.My GPS kept trying to take me onto these roads, and art one stage I accidently ended up on one, only to be hauled into a police station an d told I was to be fined.I was there for around twenty minutes, when for for some unexplained reason, I was told to go, without paying the fine.I didn't stop to ask why, and was gone before they changed their mind.I finally got wise and turned off the programme on my GPS that sent me onto toll roads.This was after about four hours of driving round central bangkok, going from one traffic jam to another, getting progressively hotter and more stressed in the heat.At one stage a taxi nudged one of my panniers, trying to get into a space that wasn't there.I managed to get on to the road I thought the factory was on, only to realise it was 25 kms long.They have a very bizarre ( to me) system of addressing buildings in Thailand, and after another 2 hours of trying to find the place, I finally went into a motorbike shop, where the owner kindly phoned the factory up, and even escorted me there.I got there at 12.30 having left Ayuthaya at 6 that morning.It was without doubt one of ,if not the, worst days riding of the whole trip.Upon arrival at the factory, things swung into action, and while I sat in the staff canteen eating with the factory girls, my bikes shocks were removed, and new customised ones were installed.This involved lots of measuring and weighing and discussions about bike weight, my weight, weight of my luggage and possible pillions.After around 4 more hours my bike was ready to go.There was some publ,icity photos, lots of hand shaking and giving of gifts to each other.I manged to set of for the journey back to Ayuthaya in the dark and in the middle of the evening rush hour.I finally got back to the guest house thoroughly exhausted, and 17000 baht poorer (around 300 pounds).The shocks are lovely bits of kit though, and should give many years of great service.After a few refreshing beers, it was to bed and a well deserved rest.
I was due to meet Julie again in Bangkok when she flew back in from the UK for six weeks more of holiday.The plan was to meet in Bangkok, and then with Julie riding on the back, head south to Malaysia and Singapore.
I managed to get back in to the nice hotel we had stayed at a few weeks earlier.It was handy for town, and had clean sheets, a luxury considering some of the dumps I had stayed in over the trip.After Julie had arrived and got sorted it was time to head south.The bike was already loaded up before I managed to fing somewhere for her gear.Luckily she had arrived with the bare minimum, including my old helmet and some bike riding gear from a neighbour in England who had sold his bike.I was already happy that I had swapped the shocks as i estimated the weight of the bike, myself and Julie, plus luggage came in around 500kgs!I was to pay the price for this later, but for the meantime its full steam ahead to the beaches and islands of southern Thailand and Malaysia.The road south followed the Burmese border, which was at some stages only a few ks away.The coast near Bangkok was a series of resorts strung along the highway.I wasnt in any hurry so we stayed at a few.The first one was a slightly down at heel holiday town.We managed to find somewhere to stay on a pier that had been turned into a cheap hotel.The sea was underneath our room, and you could have fished out of the hotel window.Very odd.After a few days we made the ferry crossing to Koh Samui.I had been there 11 years before, so it would be interesting to see how much it had changed.The first problem was that by the time we had crossed over on the 2 hour crfossing, ikt was getting dark.It is never a good idea to look for accomodation in the evening as most cheap rooms usually go in the afternoon.That day was no exception.We tried four or five places till we managed to find somewhere reasonable.It was a bungalow by the sea and compared to some of the places we looked at, quite reasonable.Koh Samui had changed a ,lot in the intervening years, becoming very built up with almost the whole coastline developed.The only part that was undeveloped was the interior away from the sea, and some of the southern beaches which werent suitable for swimming.After Koh samui we head south and across the country to the island of Phuket.Phuket was a much bigger island than Koh Samui, and involver driving over a bridge and not catching a ferry.The southern part of the island, which is 60k long, is where the main towns are, so it was there that we headed.The old town still has most of its old colonial buildings still intact from the days of the British and french.The Chinese use them now as shop fronts and restuarants.While I was in Phuket, I took the opportunity to check out the localk triumph dealership which was in the process of being set up.The boys there gave my bike a quick once over, and once again refused to tkae any money for their work.I recently got an email from inviting me to the opening of the new dealership, 4 months after I visited them.After Phuket it was back on to the main land and a bit more island hopping.The next port of call was Koh Pi Pi.There are two islands here, reachable by boat. The main one is the b ig touristy one, which was washed out during the tsunami.A few years later, and it was cover in more ugly development.The smaller Koh Pi Pi is a marine reserve and part of a n ational park.Part of it was used to film both a James Bond film I( the Man with the Golden Gun) and The Beach.It was all very lovely, if busy.A lot of the reefs have been destroyed by the anchors of the long boats used to ferry tourists around.Its a double edged sword though, as without the tourist money com ing in Im sure a lot of the water around the parks would be over fished, so the tourism puts money into the local economy.Part of the day trip to Koh Pi Pi was a visit to a traditional floating fishing village.There were boat ,oads of tourists trekking round peoples houses and I got the impression we were only tolerated for the money we brought them.The next island was the small and less developed island of Koh Lant\a.It was here that disaster strcuk, which would change the rest of the trip.The ride over to the island involved riding the bike onto and off a small ferry.After we started riding into the island, I felt what I thought was a flat tyre.Looking down at the tyre everything seemed fine, so we carried on looking for somewhere to stay.The wobble got worse, so getting off the bike and inspecting the rear wheel, i saw to my horror that seven spokes had snapped.This was no doubt down to the extra weight the bike was having to carry.Luckily I had the forethought in England to pack three spare spokes for all the different size spokes on the bike.On the rear wheel there were two different sizes for both the disc side and chain side of the wheel.We found somewhere nearby to stay, and I borrowed a private tuktuk from a Swedish bar owner who happened to own the bar where the b ike finally ground to a halt.We unloaded the bike, ferried all the gear round and after I pushed the bike round.It was a matter of taking the wheel out and rebuilding it.Removing the rear wheel is bit of a fiddly job, as I found out in Turkey when I had to replace a broken spoke before.This time as before the bike was sitting on sand, so after removing the left side exhaust it was a matter of removing the axle, digging a small ditch under the wheel and dropping it down and out.One of the precautions I took before leaving England was to have 4 spare spokes for all the different spoke sizes on both wheels.Possibly a bit over cautious at the time, but I was mighty thankful for it now.After removing the wheel and inspecting it, the real horror became apparent.There were seven broken spokes in the rear wheel.After getting the new shocks put on with stronger springs, the next weakest link in the chain were the spokes, and with the extra weight of Julie and her albeit small amount of luggage, the spokes started to snap.As I rode with a few broken spokes, the strain on the others took its toll and by the time I had stopped, seven had gone.I settled down to the task of removing the broken ones and replacing them with the new ones.I have had plenty of experience repairing bicycle wheels, and motorbike wheels follow roughly the same principal, althought the spokes are a lot stiffer and can be bent round the existing spokes as on a bicycle.This necessitates the rather tedious job of removing four other spokes to get one in.With seven broken it was a case of virtually dismantling the wheel.I got myself a cold beer and settled down to the job in hand.The only fly in the ointment was that I ran out of the correct spokes and had to improvise with one that was slightly too long.The wheel was rebiult as best as I could manage, we went out for a meal and decided to head off the following morning,albeit very gingerly.The reason for the broken spokes was still there, namely an overloaded bike.We set off the next day with me riding like I was riding over eggshells.As the mornings ride went on I got a bit more confident and my speed rose as we were off the island and back on the mainland heading south.We had just passed through the small city of Trang, and pulled into a petrol station to fill up.I had a quick look at the rear wheel and to my horror saw that there was a broken spoke .I only had one more spoke left for the rear wheel, and we wouldnt have made it the several hundred kilometres to Penang in Malaysia where I was intending to ship the bike from.Decision time.We decided to head back the couple of kilometres to Trang, get somewhere to stay for the night and assess the situation.We managed to find a hotel that was ideal for our needs.It was central and the owner was happy for me to replace the last spoke at the back of the foyer.While I set about replacing the spoke, Julie looked into the bus situation from trang to Panang.S E Asia is well served by a fast , efficient and frequent bus service, so there was no problem catching a bus, and so the next day day, with my last spoke in the wheel, and all my heavy luggage travelling with Juie on the bus, we headed off to Panang over the border in Malaysia.With the bike a lot lighter I was able to make good time, and actually get to the Thai- Malaysian border about half an hour before Julie on the bus.I used the time to go through all the usual border criossing formalities with passport checks and carnet to get stamped.I was sent from one office to another as nobody seemed to know what to do with a carnet.I finally ended up in the correct office, and with carnet stamped I headed off towards Penang.As I was waiting for Julies bus to pass, I caught up with a fellow Englishman on a motorbike, Pete.He was staying in Penang and was just up at the border getting his visa renewed for another week.He was shipping his bike back to the UK, so we were both in the same position.After a couple of days of bad luck,things were looking up.I followed Pete on his Suzuki DR 650 along the motorway and onto the island of Penang.We went to the hotel he was staying at and waiting for Julie to arrive on the bus, which so happend to be stopping right outside the hotel.
Penang is an old British trading post, and the architecture was very similar to that in southern thailand, with lots of old colonial buildings in the towncentre.The hotel we found ourselves in was a bit grotty so the next day we found something lot more pleasant and with the advantage of being able to bring the bikes inside and park them right outside our rooms.The next task was to find a shippin g agent who could handle both Petes requirement to ship his bike to the UK, and mine to go to Melbourne, where my brother lives.Pete had already made contact with a shipping agent, and we arranged to meet up and discuss our shipping needs.As with the agent in Kathnmandu, the agent in Penang was efficient,helpful and sincere.Its a weight of your mind to know that a good job is being done on your behalf by people you entrust to yours and your properties well being.I managed to get my bike booked on the earliest sailing, which after stopping off at Singapore and Fremantle, would get my bike to Melbourne by the 28th December, 5 days after my arrival in Melbourne.The bike had to have a special wooden crate made up, and with strict Australian quarantine laws, this had to be fumigated also.Speaking of fumigation, I had heard all sorts of horror stories about the Australian Customs and Excise, and how thorough they could be on anything brought into the country.Its all completely understandable considering the devistating effect foreign pests can have on the local agricultural industry.With this I mind, I spend the best part of three days on and off giving the bike a thorough clean, until it was literally spotless.Every single surface had to be dirt free, and the liberal use of polish ensured it looked gleaming.I didnt want to spends hours on a dock in Melbourne stripping my bike down to the satisfaction of a customs agent, or pay the hundreds of dollars I had been toldwas required as payment for having the bike fumigated.The day of the bike packing came, and so Pete and myself rode our bikes the few streets to shipping agents crate maker, and we spent the morning crating the bikes up.The final lump of wood was driven acoss the crate to hold the bike steady.It was only upon unpacking the bike in Melbourne later did I discover that this piece of wood had put a large dent in the rear of the petrol tank.I had sorted out what clothes I needed for the next few weeks, and so anything that was surplus, and all my bike riding gear, tools etc were placed around the bike in the crate.I had my sturdy look still, so all the panniers were chained to the bike, and nothing left for sticky fingers to be able to pull through the slats of the crate. The truck arrived and both bikes were forklifted onto the back.Pete and myself hopped in the truck and drove over the bridge to the mainland docks, where we had to sort out customs paperwork and have out carnets signed.Redtape over, we caught the ferry back, and could fin ally relax, knowing it was all out of our hands and that the next time we would see our respective bikes would be in the UK and Australia.To celebrate the completion of a successful business the shipping agent took all of us out to dinner that night.As we had spent our free time over the previous week exploring Penang, we were happy to leave it the next day and see some more of Malaysia.The plan was to head inland to the Cameron Highlands, then down to Kuala Lumpur, then on to Malacca and fin ally Singapore where Julie wopuld fly home, and I would fly back to KL for the flight to Melbourne.After four months on the bike, and a few weeks in Thailand, Laos and Cambodia backpacking, it was back to buses again.
From Penang we headed up to the Cameron Highlands.Although only 4 degrees above the equator, because of the altitiude (1600m above sea level) the climate was more temperate than tropical.It had a high rainfall, equatorial amounts of light and a constant temperature.This made it perfect for growing all sorts of fruit and vegetables.Tea was a major crop,and a big tourist attraction was visiting the working tea plantations.Another attraction was the tea houses, a hangover from the days of the British Empire.The biggest cliche about the place was "its just like being back in England", and sure enough it was .We were there a few weeks before Christmas, and what with the Christmas tree and decorations, and brasses and ornaments, I could imagine myself back in a country pub in England.The spell was short lived when we saw the price of cream tea for two, an eye watering $28.It was a treat though, but we did lick every single atom of jam and cream off our plates.After a few days exploring the Cameron Highlands it was time to head back down to the tropical plains and Kuala Lumpar.Malaysia is criss crossed by a road network that wouldn't look out of place in any western European country.The motorway system was fast, efficient and well maintained.The only downside to me was the depressing sight of travelling by mile upon mile of tropical rainforest having been cleared or in the process of being cleared to make way for yet more oil palm.It was like being back in Borneo a few years before and flying over thousands of square miles of oil palm plantations.The day will come when there will be hardly any rainforest left, and Malaysia and the world will be that much the poorer for it.I make a consciously avoid anything with palm oil in it, unless it states where it is from and that it is sustainably produced.
Kuala Lumpur is like Bangkok in that it is a modern, high tech large city in the tropics.It seemed a little less hectic than Bangkok and was more organised.Wehad a few days there to explore the city and its markets full of counterfeit clothes, watches, handbags etc.I found a nice Paul Smith Triumph Bonneville wallet knock off.Also some motorbike Tshirts with Norton, AJS and Triumph prints.Not bad for a Pound each.A must do in KL is the impressive Petronas Towers, once the biggest building in the world, and the KL tower.Central KL is small enough to be able to be walked around, and the tropic heat wasn't too oppressive. First up was the KL tower.Its similar to the CN tower or Sky city tower, with 360o views around KL.One of the beauties of digital cameras is that you can snap away with gay abandon, not worrying about the cost.With that in mind we snap a photo or two from every window of the tower to in theory give a 360o view when stitched together.It was possible to see how KL had spread over the years as its economy grew.There were still some of the colonial building left from the British, but most of the skyline was dominated by skyscrapers.The biggest of course was the twin Petronas Towers.Because its such a popular attraction you have to queue up at 8 in the morning for tickets for the afternoon.The tickets were free, but we couldn't be bothered getting up at 7 to get there for 8. So late in the afternoon we decided to chance our arm and see if we could blag a couple of tickets.Sure enough they had a standby system similar to airlines, where if someone hadn't turned up you could have their place.So 10 minutes after turning up we were given tickets and ushered into the cinema like waiting room to await our turn to go up to the walkway connecting the towers about half way up.It was all very slick and efficient.We were one of the last groups to go up and the sun set whilst we were there.It also started to rain but we still managed to get some views over the city.
One of the other attractions in KL was some caves around 20ks out of time.It is a hindu religious site, and the caves are guarded by a huge gold statue of one of the Hindu gods.To get to the caves involved a climb up 200 or so steps, past a troop of opportunist monkeys look for handouts or anything they could mug off the tourists and pilgrims.
Alas all these events took place a year ago, and in my slackness I haven't got around to updating this blog.I guess its as much a record for my own personal memories as for anyone else who bothers to read it.In years to come i will refer back to it when I want to reminisce about my trip of a life time.I am now writing this in my brothers dining room in his house in one of the suburbs of melbourne.The events are starting to fade into the mists of time already, and the small details and events and getting harder to remember.From KL we headed south to Malaca, a port in soth eastern Malaysia that seems to have been ran by every colonial power in Europe.It was a mix of the ld and new, with 16th Century fortifications from the Portuguese along side 21st Century shopping centres.From Malacca it was a short coach ride to the very 21st century city of Singapore, a city I ha last visited in 1984 on my way from NZ to the UK as a 22 year old.I had very few memories from my last visit so it was really like being there for the first tme.One thing I did remember was the cleaness and orderliness of the place, and that was still in order.It was 3 days spent doing all the touristy thing, a ride on the big wheel, a walk along the river, a visit to the various markets, and then the moment I had been dreading.It finally came time to say goodbye to my girlfriend of 11 years.We had said goodbye in England, but knew that we would be seeing each other in a 3 or so months, but this was a goodbye not knowing when we would ever see each other again.Even nearly a year later it fills me with sadness.Truely the love of my life.A day hardly goes by when I don't ask myself have I made the biggest mistake of my life by not being with her.I guess in the back of my mind I hope that one day she would come and join me in whatever new life I make for myself here in Australia.Only time will tell.
After Julie left I flew back to KL and the flight to Melbourne and the start of a new chapter in my travels and life.I had visited Melbourne a couple of times previously on my wa to NZ, and knew some of the feel of the city.It is a nice size, not too big or small, has a good transport infrastructure and there is always something to see or do.I arrived a couple of days before Christmas , and fitted in straight away with the low key festivities.I moved into a granny flat arrangement at the back of my brothers house.This suited both myself and my brother Nick and his partner Graeme.I felt very conscious about moving into their lives and home, and about how much disruption I would cause.It was a bit odd having Christmas dinner and wearing shorts, after 25 years of having it in themiddle of Winter.There is the image of barbies on the beach on Christmas day that seems to be common in the UK.In 14 years of living in this part of the world, I have never done it , or heard of anyone else doing it.If it did happen, I should imagine it would only be poms doing it so they could send some pics or a video back to folks back home to perpetuate the myth.New Years at 11.45 pm we hoped on our bicycles and headed to the dockland area for fireworks.12.05 we cycled home again.Lovely and warm and no thronging crowds.Festive season over it was time to get a job for the first time in 9 months.I had a NZ truck licence, and was pleased to learn that NZ is classed as out of state , and was a straight swap for a Victorian licence.This pleased me as my NZ trck licence was out of date and not valid, whereas with a valid Vic one, I could swap it bacl for a nZ one.Nice one.Word of mouth got me my first job, working as a bicycle mechanicin an eastern suburbs bike shop.It was good getting back into fixing bikes, and getting paid for it.The downside was the 20 k bike ride each way.Whilst there I applied to another cycle shop, on one of the main streets in central Melbourne.I was offered a job there, working Thursday to Tuesday.This was a wholly selling job, selling bicycles and accessories.16 years of dealing with the public as an air steward at BA had taught me communication skills, and so the main difficulty was learning all about the stock and the technical side of bikes and selling.I think it would take at least a year to be famliar with all the stock in the shop,and the latest gear that available.Whilst I was in Thailand several months before, I was looking up the local Triumph dealer in melbourne, for getting my bike serviced.On their website they have a section on jobs available.Scrolling down I noticed a job for a warehouseman/ truck driver in one of their warehouses in Kensington, the same suburb where I was now living with my brother.I applied for it in Thailand knowing I would be in Oz in a few months.I had put it to the back of my mind until late January when Peter Stevens, the motorcycle dealership, got in touch.Was I still interested in the job, they asked? Hell yes, I said.I went along and had an interview, said all the right things.Yes i had truck licence, yes I was used to handling big heavy bikes.Yes I had a fork lift licence, albeit it a British Airways one that was now sitting in a box in New Zealand.A few days later I was offered the job.It was 6 streets from where I was living, and took 3 minutes on a bicycle.You beauty.I told the boss at the bicycle shop I was leaving, and was offered the Sunday managers job there.It all worked out perfectly.Monday to Friday at the warehouse, Sundays doing 5 hours a week at the bicycle shop.
The warehouse job involved mainly forklift driving, loading and unloading trucks with new and used bikes, some truck driving delivering and collecting new and used bikes from around the variuos shops in the melbourne area, and some preperation of new bikes straight out of the crate ready for pre delivery preperation.Peter Stevens are the Australian importers of Triumph, so it was great working around lots of Trumpys, as well as Harleys, the 4 japanese companies, and the very occasional MV Augusta.I was in dream land.After 3 months i was eligible for staff discounts, which I took full advantage of.I got a new set of Triumph leathers, some top of the range Triumph Alpinestars gloves,a Triumph tank bag ( somehting I could have done with from the very beginning of my trip),a new helmet to replace the worn out Nolan one.It is a Shark, but its not as good as a Nolan.Unfortunatley my model of Nolan is not available in Oz.Also a new chain and sprocket set, and various other bits and pieces.It was always my intention to do a big trip around Oz in the winter, and so with that in mind I quit both jobs and prepared myself to get back on the Bonny after 8 months off.