A few days previously, Simon looked at the junk and dust still remaining in his house and realised that we weren't going to make the Saturday ferry.........ROUTE: Manchester to Bursa

COUNTRIES VISITED: England, Netherlands, Germany, Switzerland, Italy, Greece and Turkey.

DISTANCE DRIVEN: 2812 miles/ 4500 km

DISTANCE FROM HOME: 1727 miles/2779 km

WEEKS COMPLETED: 4/74

WEATHER: Too hot. Ever since Italy it's been mid 20s to low 30s (tan on face, hands and feet doing nicely)

OBJECTS BROKEN: 2 x water carriers, petrol stove fuel generator, light fitting for tent, tyre pump, air gauge, mobile phone charger.

MINOR MIRACLES: Simon eats fresh tomatoes, fish, yoghurt, honey, and enjoys them all.

FOOD TREATS: The tenderest calamari, lamb chops cooked over fire with freshly picked rosemary.

Welcome to Georgie's first rant and rave newsletter from the SoreBums duo. Sorry it's taken so long to go to press but since we left Ol' Blighty some 26 days ago (not that I'm counting) life on the road is taking a little getting used to and to some extent I'm feeling a tad guilty relaxing in an internet cafe in Bursa, Turkey when I ought to be outside admiring the architecture of the first capital city of the Ottoman Empire.

Anyway, here goes my epistle. When reading this, please take into consideration that as well as it keeping you informed of what we're up to in far flung countries, it is also serving as a permanent journal for us to refer back to in the future. Therefore, I'm sure not everything within will interest you but I hope at least some of it will inspire you - that's assuming it doesn't end in disaster. This log is also based on my memories of events and do not necessarily tie in with Simon's, however that's my perogative as the author!

By means of internet interest groups this will probably end up going around the world and we may be talking about your country. When recounting our stories or making comments about what we experience, it is not our intention to disrespect your culture, if it sounds like we are, then I'm afraid it is purely due to the short amount of time we are spending with you and our probable ignorance.

If you were able to read all of Simon's original notes, you may remember his reasons for undertaking this trip. As for me, well I recall the first ever conversation that I had with Simon, I revealed to him that my dream was to go round the world on the back of a motorbike. And here I am ...

In the begining......

So we eventually left Manchester a day later than planned in the early hours of Sunday 14 April 2002. A few days previously, Simon looked at the junk and dust still remaining in his house and realised that we weren't going to make the Saturday ferry if he wanted to leave his home in a decent enough state to rent out. The first trial packing was completed about 6 hours before we left and miraculously it all fitted! I can't believe that all I have gone away with for 18 months is just 2 trousers, 3 T-shirts, 1 blouse, 1 sarong, 1 jumper, 1 rugby shirt, 1 ski polo neck, 1 shorts, 3 socks, 5 knickers, 1 bikini, 1 sandals and the biking trousers, jacket and boots - thank God for Rohan and packing cubes!

Clothes for 18 months

RULE NUMBER 1: Don't forget to take a copy of your itinerary with you. As a result of the last few day's mayhem Simon managed to pack away his PC without printing the plan, so a last minute plea to family got one sent out to us. It has also got left in hotels along the way.

Driving down to Harwich was probably the coldest stage so far, the heated gloves and socks were a godsend and kept me conscious on the back of the bike. Arriving at the ferry port it suddenly dawned on both of us what we might be letting ourselves in for. Although Simon and I had been organising this trip for the previous 8 months - arranging visas, closing down 2 homes, planning routes, getting vaccinations etc I could never really imagine what the feeling would be like actually leaving. I have to say there were butterflies in stomachs and tears in eyes, corny but true.

Butterflies at Harwich

The ferry ride allowed us to write our first entries in the private journals and for Simon to read his final publication of Trailbike Magazine. Opening it for the first time, he stumbles across a review for the new BMW GS Adventure (for the non-bikers amongst you our bike is a MUCH earlier model than this one and designed for off-road) along with a picture of it stuck in some mud. The caption reads 'Thank God it's Surrey and not Outer Mongolia ...', now this is an omen, but good or bad, Simon ponders!

Docking in Hook of Holland, after a few more hour's ride, our first night sees us already camping in Germany having successfully avoided any passage through Belgium - this of course would only have made me slightly edgy having worked there for 3 years.

RULE NUMBER 2: Always carry a spare generator for your stove. Since we intend to do a lot of camping, one of the most important pieces of equipment we carry is a Coleman stove. At a recent GS rally in Belgium, Simon proudly showed the range of spare parts we are carrying, one of which is the fuel generator for the stove - 'Of course it's the first thing that goes, mind you I've haven't had a problem in 4 years'. Famous last words. The first time he tries to brew up he discovers it's bust and has to use the spare. And ever since day 2 of the trip we've been trying to source a new spare just in case. However I'm sure it doesn't help Simon's pride to be told by a polite Swiss shop assistant, 'But sir, your stove is VERY old'. I have to admit to the layman it does rather look like a family heirloom, nonetheless the culinary delights we have concocted so far on it would belie that fact.

We managed to meet up with friends in Heidleberg, Lake Konstanz and Basel as planned then headed to Italy through the St Gotthard tunnel. It is now that we start to hit 'interesting' driving with Simon's biking prowess undermined by Italian scooters cutting him up. We could shrug that off quite easily, but it started to get a bit more tense when we experienced the motorway driving. I'm sure there's a tax on usage of brakes and indicators in Italy. Cars would scream up from behind and nestle in our 'slipstream' until Simon spotted them and quickly got out of their way with adrenalin pumping round his bloodstream.

We only spent 5 days in Italy stopping in Lecco, Siena, Cassino and Zamponeta - of course our aim here is to get from north to south as soon as possible in order to get the ferry from Bari to Greece. Cassino was a sleepy town, our interest in was the historic World War II Monte Cassino connection - almost utter destruction of the monastery. Simon's uncle was also involved in that area during the war. When we were there we stumbled across an open air underwear fashion show, unfortunately for the models it had been raining for most of the day so by the evening time it was pretty cold and they didn't look too pleased about it.

The Polish war cemetary at Cassino

Sign posts in Southern Italy left a little bit to be desired. At several places we ound that Foggia could be reached by any road and this proved a problem when we needed to get there to camp for the night. Choices, choices, and when we ventually got there we headed straight out again, I'm sorry to say that the place did not feel safe.

On our final day in Italy Simon decided it was time to undertake bike maintenance. I began to wonder what was checked before we left since this session revealed minimal water in the battery, barely any oil, and a broken tyre pump! 'Well I checked you were on the back before we left, wasn't that enough?' was his retort!

The overnight ferry took us from Bari to Patras and allows us a 'leisurely' ride into Athens. It was just those final 5km into the city that really got my nerves going for the first time. Rush hour London North Circular driving with attitude. So many motorbikes weaving their way through the traffic. We tried to keep up with them but the width of our panniers luckily (for me) forced us to give up. During this effort we had our first lesson on the use of the horn. Before you understand that the horn has various meanings - main one of which is 'get out of my way I coming through' you can be let of for believing you are continuously committing major road traffic offences. Jumping out of seats both of us kept looking from side to side and backwards as horns blared out. Miraculously we found our hotel for the first time of asking and with hugh sighs parked the bike up permanently for 4 nights (an old university Greek friend that we met up with during our stay confirmed our decision to walk everywhere when he announced that every weekend 200 people die in Greece as a result of road traffic accidents).

Tourists at last

Athens is biking and tat heaven for Simon. I have never seen his head turn so often at the sound of phutt phutt phutt. The city is full of big trail bikes and the Africa Twin is slowly seducing him, as are the back street shops. Whole streets are dedicated to objets d'art that he drools over - sheet metal, welding equipment, buckles, rivets, knives (he's bought a 'flick saw' for cutting down trees in Siberia!). Meanwhile I'm falling in love with the camomile scented Agora, tortoises roaming around Keramikos, learning the cheat's way to make souvlaki/kebaps and café frappé.

Always hold tortoises away from you - they pee!

Another ferry transports us from Piraeus to Xios which is only a stone's throw away from Turkey. Boarding the ferry introduces us to the Greek interpretation of 10 minutes. This is the time we had to wait until motorbikes could board. Two and a half hours later we are the last people to get the green light and then all hell breaks loose as a dozen bikes screech onto the deck. Ten minutes later the ferry leaves - on time. Rather wearily we are chucked off the boat at 01.30 at its first port of call. Realising there will be no pensiones or campsites open at this early hour we head up the coast and delight in our first beach camping. The tent gets erected and we snuggle down into our sleeping bags at around 03.30. Fifteen minutes later the cockerel warns us that dawn is approaching - how considerate.

A local luggage design

Xios is not a large island and attracts few tourists - those that do mainly use it to reach Turkey (only 30 minutes away) or to chew mastik! Mastik is a resin taken from a pine tree native to Xios and can be used to make a rather distinctive tasting icecream - eaten once and once only. We were advised that the north of the island was the prettiest so with local map at hand we headed for it. What a journey/adventure. Prefering to take the scenic routes meant that from time to time we battled across the 'white' roads which turned into dirt tracks - oh what I would have given for my Serow. Fully laden with almost 500kg it proves quite a challenge for Simon, however we safely arrive at our destination - a deserted beach - having successfully avoided the landslides and goat herds on the roads. However getting onto the beach was another matter and caused Simon's first drop. Sand is not a good idea with fully inflated tyres. With much blood, sweat and tears we haul the bike 50m along the coast and then deservedly partake in our first skinny dip in the Aegean, followed by the usual abortive fishing attempt. A fire is built on the shore to provide atmostphere and to cook calamari. The night sky is spectacular.

Beached whale

Wish you were there?

RULE NUMBER 3: You can't wash in sea water (but you can boil potatoes in it). Of course I didn't believe Simon when he warned me that soap doesn't wash off. I dare you to try it - it leaves you in a right mess.

RULE NUMBER 4: A deserted beach is never a deserted beach when you're swimming naked in the sea. The following morning we again took advantage of our apparent situation only to suddenly hear the sound of a car engine and the arrival of a pick-up. I'll leave the rest to your imagination, suffice it to say that Simon was extremely chivalrous.

From Xios we take the expensive 30 min sailing to Çemse (and Asia) and are fortunate that we are not asked to produce our green card - Simon left it rather late applying for the document having thought that Turkey was in the EU and that he could rely on our UK insurance. So we've been relying on a faxed photocopy ever since the original got delayed in the post between Leeds and Athens! (Mental note to G and S - don't mess with the feds).

From Çesme to Izmir we take the toll road. We're rather hoping that all the roads in Turkey are like this. The ticket machine isn't working so we reverse out of the lane and I walk across all the traffic lanes to find someone - now of course I couldn't dream of doing this anywhere else but there is literally NO traffic - on the other side of the toll booth a dog is asleep on the road, we wait for the tumble weed to appear! We are given a tatty old piece of paper apparently to indicate where we have joined the motorway. The road to Izmir quickly changes from 2 lanes to 3 - we're not sure when they're expecting to use them all, during the 80 km stretch I count that we have overtaken 1 tractor and 1 car, whilst 9 vehicles overtake us!

Some of you may think that we are mad doing what we are doing, however let me introduce you to Sally, a Cambridge lady who we met in Bergama. She is currently cycling her way back from Sudan where she was teaching English. Now that's madness.

The Gallipoli Peninsula is our next destination to view the World War I cemetries. I had been there before and been quite moved by the beauty of the landscape, finding it hard to believe how many casualties and deaths resulted from the disastrous Anzac attempt to gain control of the territory. I can't comment on the rights and wrongs of the campaign, but one of the ways that I saw it was the Turks were just trying to defend their country, as would any nation. Turkey's national hero, Atatürk, who played a significant role in the campaign, had a memorial built to honour the fallen Anzacs and wrote the following words (just wanted to share them with you):

'Those heroes that shed their blood and lost their lives ... you are now lying in the soil of a friendly country. Therefore rest in peace. There is no difference between the Johnnies (Anzacs) and the Mehmets (Turks) to us where they lie side by side here in this country of ours ... you the mothers who sent their sons from far away countries, wipe away your tears; your sons are now lying in our bosom and are in peace. After having lost their lives on this land, they have become our sons as well.'

ANZAC Cemetary

On a lighter note we also visited the museum which contained a very poetical letter written by a young Turk soldier to his mother. His last sentence though spoilt it all by requesting that she didn't send him any underwear! Boys, they're all the same.

Onwards to Istanbul via a coastal road described on internet as turning into a rally drive. They weren't wrong. For kilomtres we were driving along dirt tracks with a sheer drop to the sea below. It was worth it though, especially as we finally reach the village at the end and get the usual friendly waves and smiles from the locals.

The coast road

We stay on a campsite near the airport, 30m from a 24hr main road. Surprisingly we sleep relatively well for 5 nights since the relentless noise is so constant you eventually forget it's there. We wander around the city trying to avoid carpet sellers and kids shooting at balloons with ball barings - wouldn't you? We take in the major museums, including Topkapi which houses Moses' wooden staff (looked brand new to us).

There's Asia!

Just like Athens, Istanbul has a fantastic array of shops. We ventured into one that ONLY sold shoe laces. We picked up a bundle of thick lace and asked for 8 metres so that we could make 2 pairs. 'Sorry you can only buy the bundle, it is 93 metres long. Yours for 2 million lire - 2 GBP'. So if anyone has any ideas what we can do with the remaining 85 metres we would be very interested.

And finally we arrived in Bursa, the final port of call for this newsletter. This is a fantastic laid back town with a cracking vegetable market and street full of ironmongers and welders. Simon delights in getting our rear rack welded up - the weight of all our luggage is putting an immense strain on it. We weren't surprised to discover that this bodge was done free of charge and included a free glass of tea.

This is a classic example of the friendliness of the Turks. They really are a hospitable nation but also one that appears to have a massive divide between the rich/developed and poor. The fields are majorly cultivated by hand and donkey. Daily we drive past hundreds of men and women working the fields using ploughs and scythes, shepherds tending to their goats, sheep or cows following them wherever they go.

And really finally, I promise, onto our health. Many of you have been asking how sore our bums are. Surprisingly they are bearing up rather well, it's our backs, heads and Simon's sciatica that cause us most bother. Each morning I help him into his trousers and watch him crawl around the tent apparently trying to get his socks on (now that's one place I won't go near - his feet).

In our next episode you can hear about our first visit to a Turkish police station, the chief inspector really did have a lovely gun and how we in the middle of Turkey we meet up by chance with 2 groups of people that Simon knows.

And by then we might have made it through Georgia, Azerbaijan, Turkmenistan and Uzbekistan ...