Wrong Way Round The World

The Wrong Way Round (13th February 2009)

Two Weeks To Go
I have put the house with an estate agent to find tenants whilst I’m away and finally completed all the work to the house. Strangely there doesn’t appear much to do as far as organising the trip goes. The bike and a separate box containing packed panniers, motorcycle clothing and the screen and mirrors removed from the bike for shipping are on there way to Miami by ship. They are scheduled to arrive on 22nd March 2009 and I have my flight booked for 30th March 2009.

I only intended to spend a couple of days in Miami to get the bike from customs but my bike literally ‘missed the boat‘. It was rejected at the docks because the case it was in wasn’t strong enough. The shipper had to remake the box and put it on the next ship a fortnight later. This wouldn’t have been so bad if they had told me early enough to change my flight but I only found out a couple of days before I was due to leave. Instead of arriving eight days after the bike (to allow for any possible delays) I arrived six days before the second ship was due to dock.

I was looking forward to seeing Savannah and Charleston, two of the centres of the deep south. The weather has been hot a dry except for a couple of hours whilst walking around St. Augustine when there was a thunder storm.

I had spent hours studying maps looking for a good route avoiding the larger towns from Front Royal the northern end of Skyline Drive to Princeton New Jersey. My Mother’s birthday was coming up and my brother Keith was flying from Australia to England for the celebrations. I could hardly not ‘nip across the pond’ if Keith was travelling all the way from Australia. Foolishly I booked a flight from JFK, New York. In hindsight a smaller airport would have been easier. I had met Hank Farber at the Iron Horse Motorcycle Lodge and Campground in North Carolina.

Continuing north on the Blue Ridge Parkway the rear sprocket died. I had needed to tighten the chain regularly and noticed some wear on the sprocket but hoped it would last until the next service in 3000 miles time. 60 miles later the teeth had half worn away. My guess is that the case hardened outer skin had worn then the sprocket failed rapidly. The bike only has 8800 miles on it, a bit early for the sprocket to fail I would have thought. If I had been in Europe the repair would be covered under extended warranty but the warranty isn’t valid or transferable to the USA.

Having had a three week holiday in the UK for my mothers birthday, it’s back to the ‘day job’ of riding my BMW F650GS towards Canada. Life is tough at times!

East Fortune, Scotland

Town Moor, Newcastle Upon Tyne, England

I had the whole of Mashamoque campsite to myself in Connecticut on the way to Cape Cod.

Mashamoque State Park Camp Swimming Pool - Connecticut

It’s good to be in a county that has money with the Queen’s face on it again!

Canada is HUGE. Lying in my tent playing with the GPS as you do, I discovered my house in Newcastle, England was 2611 miles away. The Alaskan border was 3162 miles away in a straight line and 4849 miles by the shortest road route.

From Nova Scotia I finally started heading west stopping at the C’mon Hostel in Moncton again then on to Campbellton, New Brunswick. Cambellton is a starting point for the Gaspesie scenic route 132. A circular route following the coast around the Gaspesie peninsular then back through the mountains. I was planning to do the coastal part of the route then continue west for points unknown.

Daily mileage has increased now that I’m in semi wilderness. The aim is to cross Canada keeping to the most northerly roads available. The activities on offer are primarily, fishing, hunting and boating. Messing about in boats would be nice if the opportunity arose but I’m not keen on fishing and wouldn’t know one end of a gun from the other if it hadn’t been for Hollywood. The scenery, varied roads and virtually no traffic make for good biking though.

I crossed the border into Saskatchewan at Flin Flon. This mining town was established by the Hudson Bay Company who asked the residents what they wanted the town to be called. When no reply came a message was sent to the residents stating that unless they responded and chose a name it would be called after the fictional character Flin Flon. This was probably said in jest but when the residents failed to come up with a name the Hudson Bay Company registered the town as Flin Flon.

I had intended to skirt round the north of Winnipeg to camp on the west side of Lake Winnipeg but more rain was forecast so I headed for Winnipeg and stayed in a hostel. Winnipeg was the largest town I had ridden through since starting the trip. The Ice Hockey Arena takes pride of place in the centre of town.

Leaving Meadow Lake Provincial Park, Saskatchewan on a 70 mile stretch of dirt road I saw five deer, a common sight in these parts. The Moose, Elk and Bears are much harder to spot. It was a warm day but the tent and tarpaulin were damp from the morning dew so I stopped to dry them off on the grass by a side road after a couple of hours riding.

Having decided to head to Petrolia, California for the Horizons Unlimited gathering on 24th to 27th September 2009 and postpone winter accommodation hunting in Alberta I headed south from Waterton Lake National Park in Alberta for Montana.

I was lucky enough to get the position of caretaker of the summer pasture and cabins of a cattle ranch in Montana for the coming winter. This provides me with the base to experience the North American winter I wanted along with the interesting challenges of adapting to life on a western ranch for someone from the suburbs of Newcastle, England like me.

Montana Ranch Cabin - My Winter Home

November started snow free and a bit warmer than most of October although hardly an Indian summer. I spent a day at the main ranch watching the weaning. A bunch of cattle were rounded up with the aid of ATVs then the calves were separated. The calves were branded, vaccinated and if necessary de-horned. Finally, never to meet again, the calves were turned out into one pasture while their mothers were put into another. Not a good day for the calves!

The first seriously cold weather of the winter (unless your Canadian, they operate on a superhero scale of coldness) arrived with several days of -26C (-15F). I went for a two hour walk in bright sunshine at this temperature and stayed warm thanks to the multi layered clothing I had on. However on taking both pairs of gloves off my fingers went numb in seconds.

Snowy Montana Ranch

Early February saw me researching my options following the rejection of my USA visa extension application. Without knowing it I had already been an illegal alien for five weeks before receiving the rejection letter (See Montana Ranch January 2010 blog entry). I couldn’t find a number to speak to anyone at the USA Dept. of Homeland Security, the Dept. that had turned down my visa extension application. I could however book an appointment at their local office in Helena, Montana on the internet.

I’m in Costa Rica as I had to leave and re-enter the USA to renew my B2 visa having already had a visa extension application turned down. I left my bike and most of my possessions in Montana where I was waiting out the winter until it was warm enough to travel again.

The last few weeks on ‘my’ ranch in Montana were spent looking at weather forecasts waiting for a warm dry spell to make a dash south to Utah. The weather would be warmish for a while then it would snow and make motorcycle travel hazardous and chilly.

Just When You Think It Is Warm Enough To Leave (12th April 2010)....

I feel like a bit of a tourist dashing from one place to another in an ‘if it’s Thursday it must be Arches National Park’ kind of way. We’re all tourists really of course but some of us with illusions of grandeur prefer to think of ourselves as more worldly wise 'travellers'.

Following the sandstorm at Monument Valley I carefully checked the weather forecast before heading for the south rim of the Grand Canyon in Arizona. A cool 53F (12C) maximum with isolated thunderstorms was predicted.

I entered Zion from the east travelling through a mile long tunnel blasted through the rock in the 1930s. I couldn’t figure out why the GPS still worked with metres of solid rock on all sides when it refuses to work within normal house walls. The GPS correctly logged progress through the tunnel and showed each bend inside the tunnel.

I made my escape from Las Vegas on minor roads avoiding the interstate as usual. I had wanted to ride through Death Valley from south to north then continue to Yosemite and through the Great Divide at Tioga Pass on Hwy 120. At 9948 feet, Tioga Pass was still closed due to snow from four feet to six feet deep across the road. My second and third choices of Hwy 108 or Hwy 4, both to the north of Yosemite were also closed.

Having taking my fifth option of passes through the Sierra Nevada Mountains as the first four were closed due to snow I rode through Sequoia National Forest and Giant Sequoia National Monument climbing up into the snowline and dropping into warm valleys several times a day.

In The Sequoia National Forest Snow

San Francisco was one of the few cities I wanted to visit on this trip as I am mainly travelling between national and state parks and keeping to the more rural areas. I was here once before a long time ago and wanted to revisit some old haunts and reacquaint myself with the city.

San Francisco Waterfront

Point Reyes is a peninsular just north of San Francisco, it covers a large area of green hills and valleys inland as well as coastal cliffs and beaches.

San Francisco Shrouded In Mist From Muir Beach

Another wet day with periods of heavy rain and gusts of strong wind saw me leaving California and enter Oregon along highway 101 with a wet tent strapped to the bike.

Gold Beach Oregon In The Rain

Fortunately I was heading for a friend of a friends house in Bandon. Oleh and Tina have a super cool 1952 school bus converted into a mobile home that is used for guest accommodation.

Crossing the bridge over the Columbia river from Oregon to Washington State I headed to Cape Disappointment State Park to camp for the night.

Cape Disappointment Lighthouse

Arriving in Victoria on Vancouver Island from Washington State by ferry was like entering a different sunnier world compared to the wet temperate rain forests of Washington State. First impressions are how green and English it all looks with its imposing ivy clad hotel, lawns and red double decker buses. The top portion of the British Columbian flag is taken up by the Union Jack.

Yukon Border

It's A Long Way From Almost Anywhere

As twenty miles of the Top Of The World Highway (From Tok, Alaska to Dawson, Yukon) had been washed away in heavy rain closing the road I missed out on returning south by a completely different route from my northbound ride. I returned on the same roads for about 700 miles from Tok, Alaska, through Whitehorse to the top of the Cassiar Highway. From the Cassiar junction I stayed on the Alaskan Highway (Hwy 97). The Alaskan Highway is a bit longer than the Cassiar but a similar road as far as traffic and scenery are concerned.

US customs confiscated an orange even though it had been grown in the USA when I re-entered from Canada. They then had to go into the back office to use a different computer to verify my British registered bike. An almost fruitless search was made of all my luggage before I gained entry into the land of the free by which time there was a long queue of traffic waiting their turn to be processed.

Montana Ranch

'My' Montana Ranch

I left ‘my’ Montana Ranch heading south to Lewis Lake in the southern part of Yellowstone National Park, Wyoming. I had been to the north of Yellowstone National Park twice but on both occasions the roads to the south of the park were blocked by snow. On the first occasion in the autumn of last year one road was blocked by snow and the other by a wild fire which made me think some greater power didn’t want me to get to the south of the park!

Arroyo Seco, New Mexico

A Backroad Into Texas

Texas is my thirtieth and final state of the USA on this trip. I entered Texas from New Mexico on a series of back roads to arrive at Dell City, a small quiet place built around a road junction which qualified it as a two street town. I bought some fruit and a cold drink at one of the two stores for lunch then headed on to Guadalupe Mountains National Park.

My first day in Mexico turned out to be a comedy of errors. In all the best western films the Mexican bandits get drunk on tequila in the cantina, sleep late, drink some more tequila and it’s close to lunchtime before they are ready for any serious banditry. Therefore my cunning plan was to cross the border early and be well away from the troubled border area before any self respecting bandido was awake.

Plaza De Armas, Durango

I arrived in the city of Durango with last weeks dual celebration lights and decorations still up. They celebrated their 200th Independence Day and the 100th anniversary of the Mexican revolution on the 16th September. The party continues in Durango with nightly free performances in the main Plaza De Armas whilst I was there.

Arriving in Zacatecas during the afternoon rush hour was complicated enough but the road Garmin wanted me to take was closed off by the police because of an accident causing us to continue in the wrong direction for a couple of miles. As I closed in on the city centre again the narrow, hilly cobbled streets were mainly one way. Garmin was either unaware of this or trying to kill me as on several occasions I was prompted to ride into the oncoming traffic.

Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year

I was planning on going to Xilitla to see Edward James’s garden and when I told Letty, the owner of my San Luis Potosi hostel it turned out she was going there for Christmas to stay with her sister who ran a hotel. I was invited to share their Christmas meal so travelled to Xilitla on Christmas Eve without realising that they were having their main meal that evening rather than on Christmas day as we do in England. I hadn't met most of the family until we sat down for the Christmas meal but we all got along with Letty translating when required.

Farwell, a well travelled friend I met in Montana told me his favourite place in Mexico was Oaxaca and as I have made my way south most people who had been really liked the place. At this time of year (January) it has an almost perfect climate with Canadians travelling to it to escape the cold and Argentineans to escape the midsummer heat.

A short distance from Oaxaca after joining highway 175 heading north the traffic eased and I found myself once again on a quiet road with great scenery of wooded mountains with dense fern undergrowth as I climbed up into the Sierra Madre de Oaxaca mountains then wound back down the other side. It was slow going because of the twists and turns, potholes and landslides that had either deposited a pile of rocks and dirt onto the road or left a gaping void where a slice of road had slid down the mountainside.

Modified Bike

Caribbean Coast, Belize

I aimed to get an early start from San Ignacio, Belize to get through the border formalities and on to Flores, Guatemala before the heat of the afternoon sun started to boil my brain inside the helmet but the person with the key to the gate securing the bike couldn‘t be found. After twenty minutes, just as the hotel manager was about to cut the padlock with a pair of bolt cutters the Chinese lady with the key appeared and I was on my way.

Heavy rain in Lanquin made the rough dirt road out impassable for me with a fully laden BMW F650GS. Sections of smooth bedrock with a thin covering of mud were difficult to walk on without slipping never mind riding the bike. After finding out that the forecast was predicting rain every day for a week I decided to tackle the dirt road section in the afternoon when it had dried out somewhat and stay in nearby Coban instead of riding to Antigua in one day.

I treated myself to breakfast at the Valhalla macadamia nut farm open air restaurant before setting off in the direction of Honduras. Valhalla was the third and final place I stayed in Antigua thanks to the Lent and Easter Festival filling all the available accommodation although living in a bamboo cabin amidst the rows of nut trees was worth the effort of moving. A very tranquil setting after the hustle, bustle and noise of central Antigua in festival time.

Arriving at Copan Ruinas I went searching for a phone to call a couple of contacts for camping outside of town. The first, a friend of Lorenzo, the owner of Valhalla macadamia nut farm where I had stayed near Antigua, Guatemala was out and I needed to get my accommodation sorted out quickly. The second contact was a Finca (farm) that advertised various tourist activities including camping but when I found their agent in town they said they didn’t offer camping after all. Fortunately I had passed a hostel during my searching for a phone so I stayed there as second best to camping.

I thought the Honduran / Nicaraguan border at Las Manos on the Pan Americana Highway would be busy but I was through in an efficient hour, the quickest border crossing yet. The main time saver was not having to find the photocopy office and get documents copied as none were required, wonderful.

“Nicaragua Invades Costa Rica” the news headline screamed. The last thing I wanted to read as I was researching my next border crossing. The story however wasn’t quite as dramatic as the headline suggested. The Nicaraguan army were on maneuvers close to the border and using a Google map discovered a Costa Rican flag flying inside Nicaragua, they advanced; took down the flag and replaced it with a Nicaraguan one only to find out later that the map was wrong and they had inadvertently invaded Costa Rica and stolen their flag!

Santa Maria de Dota is a small Tico (Costa Rican) village in a valley below the Talamanca Mountain Range fifty miles (80 Km) south of San Jose. I had booked a night in a bed and breakfast hotel in the cloud forest above the village and was to meet the owners in front of the church in the main plaza so that they could lead me to the B&B which they had said was difficult to find. I followed their four wheel drive out of town as we wound our way up the mountainside on rougher and rougher tracks.

Panama twists itself through 90° compared to its neighbours to the north and south so that if your travelling south through Central America you have to travel east in Panama and if your heading north then you have to travel west. Contrary to my expectations the well known shortcut between the Atlantic and Pacific oceans, the Panama Canal runs north and south rather than east and west.

Taking things for granted never works in the long run. I got a three month visa for Panama at the border and asked for three months insurance for the motorbike and as the woman in the insurance office didn’t say anything I assumed that’s what I was given. I then presented the insurance certificate to customs to get the temporary import licence for the motorbike and assumed the bike was valid for three months.

Thirteen bikes and eighteen passengers assembled in various hostels and hotels around Panama City waiting to board the Stahlratte (German for Steel Rat), a converted sailing cargo vessel built in 1903 that was going to carry us to Colombia.

The Walled City Of Cartagena

After extending my Colombian visa and bike permit in Medellin I returned to Guatapé to watch an international triathlon meeting which was a qualifying event for the 2012 London Olympics. The large Guatapé lake had risen two feet (600mm) in the nine days I had been away, a good indication of the amount of rain falling. There were three triathlon competitors staying in my hostel, a Colombian, Edwin in the amateur race on the Saturday and Zimbabwean, Chris Felgate and American, Brian Fliessman competing in the elite race on the Sunday.

Santa graciously granted my Christmas wish for the end of the wet season, at least for a while. I crossed the border from Colombia to Ecuador on the first dry day I had seen in weeks and saw virtually no rain over the Christmas and New Year period. I have ridden on dry dirt roads and walked on dry, mud free footpaths and trails, I had almost forgotten what a mud free existence was like. The occasional rain shower would fall once I reached Quito but at least the ground has time to dry out between the showers.

A Chilly 4422 Metres (14,508 Feet) In Chimborazo National Park

March brought in two personal notable landmarks. Three years ago, back in March 2009 I started this trip in Miami. Since then I have ridden 47,000 miles (75,000 km) around the Americas on my slow meander south (with a detour via Alaska). In addition; I somehow managed to reach the grand old age of sixty. To help me celebrate I met up with some friends of my brother in Cuenca, Ecuador, Australians Brian and Shirley are travelling from Ushuaia to Alaska on their BMW. We had been following each others progress and planning on meeting up wherever our routes crossed.

I left Huaraz early not knowing if I would make it to Lima in one day, the distance was 257 Miles (411 km), more than I usually do in a day on Latin American roads. It was cold and got colder as the road following the River Santa climbed to 4050 metres (13,160 feet) and Lake Conococha, the source of the river which lay just below the glacial snow line. Once passed the lake the road descended and the temperature gradually crept up until I was able to turn the heated handlebar grips off and finally once back on the desert terrain near the coast, remove my motorcycle jacket.

On the approach into Nazca heading south on the Pan Americana Highway I stopped at a viewing tower. From the top you could see two of the famous Nazca lines, geometric patterns etched into the desert floor. I’m afraid I didn’t find the lines overly impressive. They are made by moving a top layer of dark rocks and pebbles and scratching a shallow trench through to the very pale, sandy coloured sub layer.

Six weeks after taking my motorcycle to a Cusco workshop to have a broken piston ring changed I finally got it back. The estimated time to complete the job had been ‘four or five days’ although I never for a moment thought that was achievable; I hadn’t expected it to take six weeks. The phrase ‘Mañana, Mañana’ will always remind me of this time and the continuously moving completion date. Sacsayhuaman Inca Site Above Cusco.

The border crossing from Peru to Bolivia at Copacabana was the most relaxed and friendly experienced so far on this trip. There was no one else crossing into Bolivia so I got the undivided attention of the staff. The only downside was being charged $5 by the Bolivian policeman who had to check that the paperwork just issued by immigration and customs was in order. I’m 99% certain the payment was unnecessary and illegal but at least the policeman was cheerfully welcoming me into his country as he robbed me.

I hadn’t done much research into my route from Bolivia to Arica on the Chilean coast due to the lack of WiFi and not meeting any travellers coming in the opposite direction. I knew the route was paved which is why I chose it but beyond that I only had my maps to rely on and maps for this part of the world tend to have various inaccuracies for one reason or another. I was planning on heading north on the Pan Americana Highway from Oruro to Patacamaya then turning west onto highway 108 which becomes highway 11 at the Chilean border.

The previous Andes Pass that I had crossed, the Paso Chungara–Tambo Quemado between Bolivia and Chile had been very cold. I could have worn extra layers if I had realised that the road climbed up to 4660 metres but the lack of internet had prevented me from researching the route. In preparation for the Jama Pass from San Pedro de Atacama, Chile to Argentina I did plenty of research and was expecting a long, tough cold day.

Heading north from Resistencia in Argentina towards Iguazu Falls I was undecided whether to stop in the town of Formosa or continue to the Paraguayan border and then on to the capital city of Asunciòn. As I arrived in Formosa shortly before midday and didn’t see anything compelling enough to make me want to explore further (sorry Formosa) I rode northwards towards the border after a short stop for petrol and a coffee.

I hadn’t specifically included Brazil in my itinerary of South American countries for what I accept is a bizarre reason but it made sense to me. Having, after two years of travelling in Latin America finally gained a precarious grasp of Spanish; I figured that going to Portuguese speaking Brazil would confuse my Spanish rather than assist my Portuguese. However, as it was the easiest way of getting to Uruguay, I did ride through the small south eastern corner of Brazil, which is remarkably large, while Uruguay turned out to be remarkably small.

The town of Chui / Chuy lies in no mans land between the Brazilian customs and immigration offices to the north and the Uruguayan border controls to the south. One side of the main street is in Brazil (Chui); while the other side is in Uruguay (Chuy). You can freely cross from one side to the other, pay in shops and restaurants in Brazilian Reales or Uruguayan Pesos, although the banks are less flexible.

A young Argentinean Customs Officer at the Fray Bentos, Uruguay / Argentina border processed my motorbike into Argentina. He was very keen and doing everything by the book but was still unsure how to process a non South American registered vehicle on the computer system. I was almost pleased when he wanted to see my vehicle insurance which I had finally succeeded in buying the day before in Colonia, Uruguay.

The bike had never run properly since the engine was rebuilt to replace broken piston rings in Cusco, Peru. This rebuild included unnecessarily stripping and reassembling the bottom of the engine and the gearbox. The engine finally refused to go any further while travelling in the Cordilleras de Cordoba. First gear refused to engage then a short while later the engine stopped with what turned out to be coolant leaking into the cylinder. I took it by truck to the BMW dealer in Cordoba to discuss the options.

The inappropriately named Ninety Mile beach in Northlands near the northern tip of New Zealand is in fact ninety kilometres (fifty six miles) long. Vehicles are permitted and the sand is firm and smooth between the high and low tide lines although it was high tide when I was there; so I can’t vouch for the firmness or smoothness of the beach personally. I wasn’t particularly inclined to get my new (to me) motorbike covered in salt spray or risk an embarrassing off. The older I get the more and more I appreciate the qualities of paved roads!

I never got to see Wellington as there was torrential rain for the two days I was there prior to catching the ferry to the south island. The campsite, like many in New Zealand had a kitchen and lounge area so there was at least good shelter from the rain.

Arthur’s Pass is the main route over New Zealand’s Southern Alps between Christchurch on the east coast and Greymouth in the west. The road rises to an altitude of 920 metres (3000 feet) before dropping into Arthur’s Pass Village then back to sea level on the west coast. I left Christchurch having plotted a route that took in two gravel road detours and with no particular destination in mind for somewhere to stay that night headed for the hills. Accommodation is easily found, for me that means a campsite or occasionally a hostel.

I arrived from New Zealand into Melbourne to be greeted at the airport by my brother, Keith who has lived in Australia for more years than either of us cares to remember and my nephew, Reuben who is on his gap year between school and university. Reuben has travelled from his home in the UK via various European organic farms and is working in a gourmet cake kitchen in Melbourne. The free samples he brings home on a Friday makes him my current favourite nephew.