Paris to Sydney, 2005-2006

You don't want to sneeze funny in Turkmenistan because you'll probably be fined $582 and prohibited from returning to the country for thirty-five years. With this mindset hovering over the day, 5 year ban stamps blazing in passports, we tiptoe the bike towards Uzbekistan. Funny how hanging out in countries with repressive governments makes you feel simultaneously rebellious and just a little bit well-behaved.

Border crossing? WHAT border crossing? According to our map, three purport to cross from Uzbekistan into Tajikistan. However not a soul, from travel agents to police, seems to have the slightest knowledge as to whether any are in fact open. So what can you do but pick the one that appears closest to your destination and head for it. Then what can you do when told at the guard post that this one is inaccessible but head for the NEXT border crossing.

Between exiting Tajikistan and entering Kyrgyzstan one encounters a barren sweeping mystical no-man's-land where trucks crouch sadly in abandoned resignation and nature snickers mockingly over the generally accepted definition of the word "road".

Two failed Torugart Pass-crossing attempts later and two expiring-today visas in hand, we have resignedly bitten the pricey bullet. This means hiring a vehicle both to carry us and the bike over the icy snow to the China border as well as hiring another to meet us at the top to take us down the other side into China itself. Dave's stomach relaxes as we get the bike safely off the Kyrgyz van, bidding farewell to that gonzo Kyrgyz driver.

It's all downhill from the top of the 4733 meter Khunjerab Pass. We're happy to stop for a breath of rarified air near the post confirming our arrival in Pakistan.

For just another snowy ridge looking down onto yet more snowy ridges, there's a fair amount of reading material up here. First and foremost, one must be sure to head to the other side of the road (and apparently straight on over the ridge.)

Uncertainty about road conditions after the massive October earthquake has sent us detouring outside the Karakoram Highway to the Swat Valley. This is said to be one of the prettiest areas in Pakistan, a popular retreat for tourists and Pakistanis alike. The sun is out again; but after the rains, the small local road is an even more thickly muddied potholed pea-soup of a mess than the KKH. That means we're going along even slower than our previous hotrod average of, say, 30 kilometers an hour.

The Golden Temple is a pretty mind-blowing introduction to India. This holy Sikh sanctuary in Amritsar is our first stop over the border from Pakistan. Visitors can stay in cavernous lodges on a donation basis and dine for free on the temple grounds. (Gotta get used to a beerless vegetarian diet, as India's holy cities don't allow alcohol or meat of any kind, including eggs.) The simple room cramped with three beds becomes a simple room cramped with us, three beds, and a very large motorcycle.

You notice three interesting things about Nepal shortly after crossing the border from India.

1) The road is good.

2) Fog shrouded tree-cloaked hillsides curving round terraced triangles of dormant and sprouting fields o' something make it suddenly all quite scenic.

3) Shaka Laka Boom Noodle advertisements.

The advantage of an airplane is that it saves you a bunch of time and gets you across Nepal to Thailand when you are not allowed to take your big bike into Myanmar. The advantage of a motorcycle is that you don't have to check your lighter and manicure scissors as potential weapons of mass destruction before boarding. There are actually a few other advantages to motorcycle travel as well.

Right side, left side, right side again. Side of the road one drives on, that is. Cruising over the Mekong River via the Thailand-Laos Friendship Bridge, you're on the left. But as soon as you touch Lao soil, it's over to the right. This should make driving a familiar breeze since that's the way we do it at home. But we've been driving on the left for so long now that it takes a minute to get used to switching back. We'll find out later that ours is one of the last motorcycles allowed across the bridge at this time due to some mysterious bureaucratic reaction to who-knows-what.

The Lao doctor told Dave to stay off the bike for a month so his fractured collarbone (incurred during The Pakse Bovine Encounter) can heal properly. Dave's been bearing up like a trooper; but unable to do much of anything for the last week, he's starting to go bonkers. His second favorite thing after feeling wind on his neck from the seat of a motorcycle is feeling breeze of the air conditioning from the heart of a shopping mall. So after a week's rest in Pakse, Laos we're heading via bus and plane back to Bangkok.

We're making one last foray into Laos to pick up the bike after Dave's collarbone's three week recovery in Thailand. Back on the plane to Ubon Ratchathani, back on the bus through customs into Laos, back on the bus some more into Pakse. Jerome at the Pakse Hotel has generously allowed us to store the motorcycle even though we never actually stayed there. In appreciation and self-indulgence we treat ourselves to a decadent couple nights' lodging at the Pakse. As if reuniting with the motorcycle wasn't heaven enough for Dave.

It's a short ferry rideacross the river from Thailand into Malaysia. Since it is Friday afternoon, most everyone in this Muslim country is praying. If they're not praying, they're certainly not hanging out at the customs office. We're anticipating a long wait for someone to return but somehow manage to locate an official who runs through all the usual border-crossing routines.