A gentle ride through the Americas

Most wives wouldn’t accept their husband going on an indefinite motorcycle trip to the other side of the world.  Lucky that I married Kirsten.  To part on a good note we shared a fortnight in Hawaii.

We don’t have volcanoes down under, so I was keen to visit the island of Hawai‘i, with its four active volcanoes.  I imagined seeing the gates of hell, firing molten lava into the sky.  Perhaps my research could have been a little more extensive.  While some are active, the last eruption was in September 2023.  Oh well.

We returned to Oʻahu, for simplicity to the same hotel.  The Waiki Central Hotel is central (!), straight forward & modestly priced (at least by Waikīkī standards).

This time we hired a car.  Though “theBus” service is great, we wanted a little more flexibility.  A Toyota Prius, so we could do fully sick burnouts.  Actually, it was a pretty decent car.

Thirty five years ago I worked briefly with a Yankee fella in Melbourne.  We got along well & caught up for beers on one of his later Aussie trips.  Recently we reconnected via LinkedIn after I informed the world I'd retired.  We got talking and it turns out that he's still into bikes & in particular dirt bikes.

My original plan had been to arrive in LA with helmet in hand, buy a bike - any bike - and start touring from there.  That would have been tricky, but possible.  

Six of us rafted down the Green River, a tributary that feeds into the mighty Colorado River: with friend John, his partner Susan, their friends Sarah and Gary plus Gary's son Kyle.  All of our crew were experienced rafters, bar the failed computer programmer who couldn't tell one end of an oar from the other.  Sarah in particular has been on rivers for 45 years, with all the skills to match.

The real trip is finally underway.

The first couple of days, John and I headed to Moab Utah via backroads.  "Backroads" meant a mix of tar mountain passes (11,000ft - never been so high), snow/mud covered tracks (challenging) and pretty rural landscapes.

With new rubber and chain the bike feels wonderful. Being a big single it still ain't smooth, but at least there's less snatch going on. Paradoxically it's highlighted a whine in third gear. This caused some anxiety as some DRs have been known to have third gear explode, wrecking the motor. The internet assured me "yeah, nah mate, they all whine like that". No worries then, I'll just turn the radio up.

So there I am, filling up in Sonora, when a bloke leaning over his ute notices the Aussie flag.

Friendly stranger: "Australian, hey?"

Gav: "Yep"

Friendly stranger, pointing to matching South African sticker on his ute, makes a crack about being a fellow colonial, then in the next breath asks where I'm staying. 

... and in this way I met Barbara and David, two of the best folk you could trip across. Despite Kirsten's fears, they turned out not be axe-wielding homicidal maniacs.

What a big week - bulk miles, countryside and sights.

I ended up spending around a week all told on Highway 1 up the Pacific coast. By the map each day, I'd hardly gone anywhere, yet every daylight hour was full. Highway 1 is magic. Given enough weeks it's easy to imagine going all the way to Canada .. or beyond.

A park ranger had suggested visiting Craters of the Moon NP in Idaho as she felt it was quite special. She was right. It has a range of volcanic features all within a small area: cinder cones, lava tubes (caves), lava fields and so on. I was reminded of our trip to Hawaii. An early start had breakfast down the hatch plus a five mile hike all before 9am.  Only one other hiker, so peaceful. 

The time had come to depart the Land of the Free. 

Grabbing a crayon, here's where roughly 8,000 miles of touring western USA went.

¡Hola familia y amigos!

What a week. The trick with writing this blog is squashing it all down. It feels like each day has a week's worth of new experiences. 

Before I start describing the Mexico I've seen so far, please understand where I'm coming from: born into a middle class Australian family in the 60s has given great opportunities in life. I aim to be objective and avoid being condescending; forgive me if I faĺl short.

Since this is a road trip, let's talk cars and bikes first. i.e life. 

The first week in Mexico had been full on, but wow the second had chunks of insanity. 

It started gently enough in Urique with breakfast at Restaurant Plaza, run by a lady who had been part of making Urique world famous via the book Born To Run.

Mazatlán reminded me of Honolulu - a flourishing seaside city that comes alive at night, has hot weather and is chockers with visitors. If one took Waikiki, added dusty backstreets and the odd police patrol with automatic weapons, turned the volume up to eleven and quartered the prices, it wouldn't be far off.

Things calmed down a bit in this last week, with only one inexplicable coincidence and the usual few unplanned joys.

Things have felt pretty quiet since the last communique, but looking back at the diary, again it'll be hard to squish another ten days down for you.

At the end of the last chapter, it was in the pissing rain leaving Toluca. Eventually the heavens closed up, time to get moving. Turn key, press button ... press button ... all quiet, try the IT solution ... press button ... did I hit the kill switch? nup ... ah bugger. 

I've finally left North America. Woo hoo.

Oaxaca is in the Sierra Madre - the line of mountains that run down the western side of Mexico. For the third time, I crossed this spine to reach the Pacific. Just as it was getting to Oaxaca, the next stint of Highway 175 was a motorcyclist's dream. It constantly wound left and right, up and down through lush tropical forest. 

I promise there will be less moaning and groaning in this installment. Since last, I've found more joy in a mix of ways. 

Casa Elena in Antigua had been recommended. It's run by USA expats Harvey and Diane (caretaker Kirk on left holding pooch Chichi).

Travelling toys with the mind.  The last few weeks have been a bit of a grind and I haven't been inclined to write up another blog chapter, yet re-reading my diary notes just now, there have been a heap of interesting experiences.

The miserable bugger.

I've been faithful, started every morning, carried all his crap for miles and never complained when covered in dust or rain.

Now he's left me here with these other bikes in San Jose, Costa Rica's capital.  Reckons he needs a break, returned to Australia. Promises he'll be back, but dunno if I can trust him.

Miserable bugger. 

- Gav's lonely Suzuki

Back on the horse.

The four week holiday-from-the-holiday at home was a joy. It was ace to be with family and friends again.

Before crossing over into the last Central American country, I made a couple of fixes post the highway crash of the day before. 

"The Andes"

This name has been in my dreams for years. Now the grand mountain range is my daily reality. Look how it forms the continent's spine. Stay tuned.

Q. Why fly from Panama to Colombia, why not just ride?

A. The Darién Gap 

Climbing up out of Soatá was fun. 

The ears popped with the rapid ascent.

The main road heading west is a small dirt affair, devoid of traffic. In two hours I saw just three motorcycles coming the other way. There were more cows being walked along than motorised vehicles. 

Jardín ("Garden") is also Colombia's most beautiful town, according to tourism guides.

Crossing into Ecuador was straightforward. It's fascinating how the different countries have different requirements. Some have had vehicle fumigation (a bloke with a garden spray), fees for tourism, fees for temporary vehicle import, bond for the bike, fees for this + that.  

Colombia to Ecuador was the easiest yet, with $zero cost. Woo hoo!

The last morning in Ecuador started with a pleasant surprise: four Colombian riders had stayed in the same hotel. Handshakes and hugs all round before the six of us readied our machines for the day.

The final run from Zumba to the border was a great little blast.  Unlike the day before there were few wet spots; the hard packed dirt road was a delight to zoom along.

The bike got a birthday before being handed over to the mechanic. It's had a few paid pressure washes along the way, but none by hand since Durango. I must do this more often - it's always a good chance to see what's broken, missing, bent or loose.

Albert's workshop was typical of these parts - right beside a main road, so lots of dust, busy with folk coming and going, discarded bikes and tyres. 

Sneak preview: My favourite thing in South America so far - "The Llamas".

The hike to Inca city Choquequirao was a slog but so worth it. It started at Capuylioc, a small ride in early morning mist from Cachora. With most luggage left at the hotel, the bike felt beautifully responsive - oh for it to always be so light!

A joy of travelling is meeting like minded folk. Germans Andrea and Gerhard (Gavin: "That's easy to remember - just like Gerhard Burger") are avid travellers. They've been getting around South American by bus, boat and mototaxi for many months and just happened to be at the same hostal.

Ever since Colombia, I'd been tracking just how bloody far away the bottom of South America was. The goal had always been Ushaia, southernmost city in the world. Below 54 degrees south, timing is important - best to arrive in February to avoid freezing. So each evening I'd ask Google how many km from that night's stop, divide by the days left and ponder a rising daily average.

Hanging around doing multi day hikes and waiting on parts was not helpful. It became pretty darn obvious that some serious mile munching would be needed.

With Chile not immediately possible, the obvious path was Argentina - keep running south and when a Chilean visa was in hand, criss-cross over all those mountain passes in the photos. This meant retracing steps north east to Uyuni before taking highway 21 south-south-east. 

I was all packed and ready to leave San Cristóbal, but saw there was a market that morning spread along the main streets. Every retail category you could imagine was there - from the usual fresh produce and clothes through kitchenware to tools and consumer electronics. 

The old wheels spun around a heap of times heading south on Route 40.

For the most part the scenery was gently interesting rather than mind blowing.

Riding into Chile was immediately fun, swoopy tar running into the “adventure” town of Futaleufú. It’s best known for white water rafting on its namesake river.

Arriving in a new country requires housekeeping: get local money, buy new phone SIM and grab a coffee.

The first stop back on RN40 in Argentina was the roadhouse at Bajo de Caracoles. Inside was just like one in Australia - fast food, sweets and drinks, knick knacks.