Tag: featured

Heading far east

Here we go again.  Walking the tarmac tightrope and heading for the horizon.  Ditching the desk and running for the hills.  Ten weeks, two wheels, 10000 miles.  A few months ago I opened the door, looked in the stable and thought about what I should throw my saddle over.  KTM 990 SMT with a hooligan kit and a very bad temper.  R1100S with 170k and looking like a victim of a chainsaw massacre, split into big component parts and sitting on shelves.  R1150GSA with 110k and a passport full of stamps.  “I need a new bike” I think to myself.  As if reading my mind, I hear some soft sobbing from behind me.  Turn around and see a small puddle of metal tears under my old GSA.  “All right old girl.  One more time”.  Decision made.

It’s simple plan.  Distance: Far.  Direction: East.  UK to Bangkok.   If you’re a fan of turgid, dry, humorless, self indulgent shit then you’ve come to the rigfht place, please enjoy:)  Might keep your eyes busy for 30 minutes at least and if you can get through to the end I’ll send you a congratulatory ‘boredom endurance’ certificate for your efforts and to in some way compensate you for wasting your life:)

I do realize what a very very lucky bastard I am to be able to do these kinds of trips.  I really do.  I’m a very lucky bastard indeed, in fact I’m thinking of changing my name to Mr V V V L Bastard.  I hope the following doesn’t appear blasé or dismissive.  It’s not intended to be.  I live on the edge of fantasy as I find reality hard to deal with in life so the lines between fact and fiction aren’t always obvious.
6:30 Sunday morning up and at ’em.  Southampton to Soest.  Out to Dover in the grey.  Front of the queue with a couple of other bikers.  “Where you off to?”, “Luxemborg, you?” “Bangkok”. Silence, of the ‘you taking the piss?’ variety.  It’s strange how your mind rationalises things like this.  Leave the house, turn left, follow black stuff till Bangkok.  Forget about the scary places enroute.  It will all be fine, just treat every day as it comes.  I’m just happy to be moving, I really don’t care where, just as long as I’m moving.

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The end of the earth

Buenos Aires, down to Ushuaia then up to Alaska, all in 9 weeks, March to May 2010. Bonkers. This is the story of the trip. It’s more ‘bog’ than ‘blog’ I’m afraid but I hope it can give an idea of the trip. This one was quite difficult for many reasons. I’m sure you’ll see so I won’t pre-empt your thought patterns by telling you yet. A long way to go and not enought time to do it in really. Did we make it? Ready? Here we go….

Tick, tock, tick, tock.. Self destruct, armed, ready, steady, go.I bought a little cheap laptop out with me on this trip that I was going to use.  I was going to stick my hand into the velvet bag of words in my skull and lay them in order on the screen.  Turns out my thoughts are happier to run at the speed of ink so I’ll let the words fall from my head, down my arm and onto the page instead.  Putting words to paper is dangerous though.  An open book is…well..an open book.  One of my two faces will write this account while the other outward facing one will filter my thoughts and present only those deemed acceptable by the audience at the time.

Back to the front.  It’s quite a big group of riders – 20 bikes and a few pillions and crew.  There is bound to be a complete cross section of people amongst them, there always is.  [Hang on a minute, I just have to get something off my chest.  I’m in a hostel in Buenos Aires.  I’m sitting at a big table in the kitchen.  It’s lunchtime and the freaks are out.  Travellers.  Fucking big stupid dreadlocks but never been anywhere near Jamaica.  Speaking with Australian voice inflection,  assaulting my ears as he tries to chat up a sleepy blonde. Jesus. “Do me a favour mate” I ask him.  “Here is a big scary knife, jump onto it will you please”.  One less oxygen thief in the world.  Face 2 wipes the blade of blood and I’m back in the game.]

So we all turn up at the airport and the willy waving begins.  The 11th commandment dictates that motorcyclists take part in this ritual whenever they meet for the first time.  I’m never going to win one of those.  Perhaps if there were a weener waving contest I might stand a chance.  Whos going to be fastest/first/biggest/best?  Who’s got the newest shiniest gadgets?  Face 1 plays the game while face 2 starts the categorization process.  I’m bad. I know it.  I’m the current ‘quickest to judge’ world champion.  No second chances. No reviews. No shit.    It’s the same with everything I encounter.  Sometimes a touch is enough.  Drag a finger along a button in a shop and its like reading a barcode.  Bleep, crap, move on.  Cars, bikes, holidays, cutlery, food, TV, audio all assessed and categorized immediately.  I look at people and I like to think I can read their characteristics like words in a stock ticker running through their veins.  I try not to look at mine.  I’m not sure I’d like what I see.

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Journey to the mythical city

This is a diary of my 2007 trip from Southampton down to the mythical city of Timbuktu in Mali. A few weeks of sweating in the madness that is Africa. I’m afraid it’s more effluent than eloquent, but it gives me something to think about during the long hours alone inside my crash helmet. In my opinion, this diary is a little to self conscious. Last time when I went round the world I didn’t know anyone would read it so my mind was free to roam but this time it might be a little different. I think it gets better towards the end anyway, but if it all seems like a long loud fart, just look at the pictures.

Thanks must go to Nick Sanders for providing me with the opportunity for such an adventure. I went round the world with Nick in 2002 and ever since have been doing trips with him acting as guide/dogsbody/shepherd and it’s been a lot of fun.Thanks also to my friend Paul Blezard who is a motorcycling journalist and all round good bloke. He’s a gifted rider who can, in 99% of cases, including mine, get on somebody’s bike and ride it as well if not better than they can instantly. Paul took on some off road training before I left and whatever it taught my brain was probably the most useful thing I needed on this trip.Apologies for the photos…. When you’re leading a group of riders or running late and playing catch-up you have no if any chance to spend time taking shots of the beautiful scenery I saw. Most the shots are ‘grab and go’ so please be gentle! And… one of my cameras got nicked so there are a lot missing. And I know a lot of people travel, far and wide, up hill and down dale. I don’t ever mean to sound condescending so please forgive anything that comes across that way. I’ve left it how I wrote it at the time, and that may be when I was spaced out with no food and having had my life flash before my eyes… for the 10th time that day….Sooooo…. if you have half an hour to spare some time, then take a look.

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The beginning..

OK we’re off! All met up at the airport and checked in. Some of the riders have more baggage than a small nation takes to the Olympic games, and some have more than a large nation takes. God only knows how they will carry it all. I’m sure some them have packed their double beds and favourite armchairs.

We’re on the plane. I’m sitting next to some bloke I don’t know. It’s 10.30 am but he smells like he’s spent the last few hours sampling every spirit on the rack. “Hi, who are you then” I ask. “Hello mate,” he replies, “I’m John and I’m an alcoholic… sorry, sorry… I’m your mechanic” Oh excellent I think. That’s good. I ask him about his breath problem and he says it’s medication from the doctor. Apparently he suffers from really bad ‘polo breath’ so the doctor prescribed some Jack Daniels flavour tablets to hide his embarrassing ‘minty halitosis’ problem.

We’re at 30000ft and it’s time to point Percy at some porcelain. Up to the back I go and wait behind a young girl with a bloke. He’s performing open tonsil surgery with his tongue and she’s bravely managing with only alcohol as aesthetic. Toilet becomes free. She goes in… and he goes in too. Eh up think I, that’s jolly neighborly…

We’re in New York. They seem to be rebuilding the airport unless some enterprising builder has just put a strip of concrete down and is charging airliners half price to land there. We head into town and it’s the same story, all the roads are being rebuilt and half the buildings. We go to catch the ferry the next day and the ferry terminal is being rebuilt too. Everything is being refurbished. I think they’re going to rename it New New York when they are finished.

We’re off to collect the bikes. TAXI! “Statton Island Ferry mate” “What you want to go?” “Statton Island ferry idiot” “What” “move over half wit, I’ll drive” I though I’d have problems speaking American, but I should have learnt Spanish instead it seems. “Could you open the boot” Bloke starts undoing his shoes… “er Trunk” Did the Americans used to drive elephants before they drove cars? Who knows. Over on the ferry you get a lovely view of NY waterfront but it looks weird now the towers have gone. Really bare. We’ve picked up the bike from the freighters and they all start ok thank god. Some are a bit damaged and mine has a bit missing that holds the tank bag on. BUGGER. First aid is administered with thick Velcro.

Continue reading The beginning..