Motorcycle Travellers' News Report - July/Aug 2013, 98th Edition

"Suddenly I'm at a junction with six exits to choose from and not a single sign. Miraculously there is someone building a house at this junction and I go through the trees into the shade, to the house but there is no-one there. Damn, now what? But then after a moment, from out of the darkness comes a man with a bulging cheek of coca and the familiar faint delirium. When I ask which way to go he points with his chin and then with a spit of coca slime says, 'the carreterra,' to which I reply, 'but which one is that!' I pull him out by the elbow to the 6-ways junction. He obviously thinks I'm stupid and he tiresomely points the way, across the broad riverbed, chopping the air with his hand as he says 'sssiiiigue, siiigue, sigue,' meaning the road is easy to follow, just stay straight...

The 6-ways junction

And upright, I think as I cross the deep sand again to the other side. There's hardly a tire mark here now and plants and trees grow freely and hang into the road. The farther I go, the more and more of the hard-packed sand road I find has been consumed at some time by the river, and so more and more often I'm riding along the tricky riverbed itself. At one point, I try to slip narrowly between a tree leaning half-uprooted, bent forwards in the sand from an ancient flood, and an area of softer sand cut by the few tyres that have passed this way. I catch one of the tree's tough branches on my body and tumble off, stopping with a jolt. Before I even hit the soft sand I'm thinking to myself, 'turn back... this is crazy, if it's like this now, what will it be like in 100km!'

I wiggle out painfully from under the bike sunk heavily in the sand, burning my leg on the engine case and hurting my ankle as I rush to tug it free from the heavy heat. I go to heave the bike up and as I do a spurt of blood surges out from somewhere on to the sand. 'Bloody hell... that's a lot of blood!' I picture a syringe full of blood being squeezed hard without a needle. My hand is cut and I wipe it on my trousers ineffectively but can see that whilst it's quite nasty, it's quite a small cut in my finger, maybe the brake lever or a branch stabbed it. But no time for that, vital fuel is leaking out from the tank; I have to get the bike up. I plunge my bloody hand amongst the soft sand and fix it around the grip and heave the bike a second time. This time my reddened hand slips from the now wet grip and I fall backwards and tangle in the tough tree branches which I fight angrily against. I manage better the third time and push and run the bike along the riverbed and across to the far side.

A slow awkward fall and a small but bloody cut to my finger.

The injury and fall have really brought things to the fore, I want out. This isn't a very wise place to be alone, or maybe I'm just not good enough or tough enough, it's the same feeling I get when I'm climbing far above the last protection, a fall would be big, and my first thoughts here are to turn back. The road isn't that tough (though I say this in hindsight), but it is long and isolated and the difficulties reside not in the depth of sand, or lack of people but in my head.

Then I start to think - as is usual - not about turning back but instead, 'just a little more, just a little more effort, you can always turn back, just see what it's looks like...'"

"...From the border I made my way to Sikasso, from here my GPS had information on routes again. The first thing that hit me upon entering Mali is how quiet it is here! There's this tangible calmness in the air. In stark contrast to the North! There aren't as many people on the road as I've become used to in Central and the rest of Western Africa. On the contrary I noticed that mostly people are working in fields all along the roadside. You don't hear anything. People just go about their daily lives, working in the fields. Whenever I stopped for a break next to the road maybe one or two people would walk past me. I would greet them and they'd shyly smile and move along. It's like I've entered a completely different Africa now.

That's until I reached Bamako! I underestimated just how big Bamako is and only arrived around 20:00. From about 10 kilometers outside of the actual city I could see long files of traffic snaking through the countryside, making their way in and out of town. I followed my GPS into town and then I got lost! Crazy traffic everywhere!

Tour de Afrique statue

I was trying to find a good landmark to phone my contact, Valerie, from so they could then meet up with me. But it became impossible and as soon as I found a gap to pull off to the side of the road I phoned Valerie and we agreed that I should make my way back to the 'Tour de l'Afrique' statue you see as you enter Bamako. I would estimate the statue/ memorial to be about 12 meters tall, so it's not like you can miss it! It's situated in the middle of a big 'rond-point'. (Roundabout) I found myself a spot within the roundabout and parked off to the side, waiting for Valerie and her friend to meet up with me.

...Within about ten minutes I was standing on the other side of the gates in the holding area where everyone waited to board the ferry to Mauritania. The ferry arrived before long. Though I could not board, as there were no less than 100 camels waiting to be loaded first. A crowd had gathered around me and we stood watching as the men in their white and light blue robes rounded up the camels in small groups to get them onto the ferry. It was a slow and 'not-all-that-fun-to-watch' procedure. I hated how they kept hitting the camels with their big sticks!

On the second round I boarded the ferry with the rest of the camels. It only takes a ten-minute ride over the Senegal river to get to the other side. Though it was a Friday and Ramadan, so by the time we reached the other side I would have to wait for about two hours as everyone was off to pray. In the meantime a couple arrived on a red BMW f800gs. They were from Spain, riding down to Dakar. The man started chatting to me and complained about how bad this border is. I smiled at him and said: 'Well brace yourself, the other side is worse"! Which is true, in my opinion. I found the Mauritania side to be much more relaxed.

By the time I had my passport stamped and all the paperwork filled out, it was too late to try and gun it for Nouakchott. I would certainly only reach it by night and Mauritania is not really a country where I felt comfortable riding around at night. Just after you cross the border there is a hotel on your right. Clean and cool, I thought it a good idea to rather spend the night and get an early start the next morning. In retrospect, I should've pushed through to Nouakchott..."

"Hey folks. We just spent some time out in the Galapagos, one of the 'musts' of Ecuador in my mind now. I know that there is not much 'ride' in this 'ride report' but I thought to share my experiences.

1,000 kms west off the South American coastline lies a small archipelago of rocky, arguably barren, collection of motley islands. Their name, quietly and reverently heard in places likely to subscribe to National Geographic, is the Galapagos.

By some stroke of luck they were visited by a young 27 year old naturalist whose thoughts and ideas were both quite revolutionary and inflammatory. But in 1832, some 28 years before his famous book, a young Charles Darwin was quite taken by the place, and so were we!

Skip forward to today and even though his grizzled yet thoughtful likeness graces the front of tacky t-shirts and cheesy coffee-mugs, there is little doubt his influence has saved many a playful sea lion or grumpy iguana. All this and he only mentioned the islands a mere 26 times in his 200 plus page publication.

By another stroke of luck these ramshackle volcanoes in the ocean have also been claimed by the country of Ecuador. I very much doubt the future tourist windfall was in the forefront of the sovereignty all those years ago. But it is now. The cash bonanza that is eco-tourism economics is laying golden tortoise eggs. With up to 125,000 camera toting nature tourists visiting each year, the recipe is perfect for ecological destruction; putting Darwin's ideas of Natural Selection to a real life test.

What chance does a graceful pink flamingo delicately feeding on nearly microscopic prawns have against the almost boundless resources of the tourist, hungry for that perfect bragging photo or the local industry that has risen to serve them?

The answer lies in the best example of sustainable tourism I have ever witnessed. Gone is the dynamite fishing of the Philippines or the Japanese tourist doing a Kabuki dance on fragile coral in Australia. Here the unobtrusive signage is strictly adhered to, nature not merely respected but almost reverent and a highly trained guide to hold your hand, or slap it, as navigator.

For our journey his name was Ivan. Just as quick with facts as with his own brand of questionable humour. In the Galapagos nature is the star, but to fully appreciate her beauty, you need to know her story and Ivan is her biographer. You know he is pimping his knowledge and that there have been many more before you but it still feels special.

From the 'chicky-chicky' mating dance of the Blue-Footed Booby, through the colour changes of the Marine Iguana of Isla Espanola up to the dubious excuses for the national football team's failure, his insight was invaluable.

...The animals themselves display an arrogance bordering on annoyance at us bipeds. Their genus blissfully unaware of the destruction capable by us so-called top-of-the-food-chain dwellers. Our mastery of nature to do such things as build cities in the desert and create antibiotics is no more than a bit of historical flatulence to a 200 year old tortoise. It's when a 7 week old sea-lion pup can scatter a highly paid executive out of his way that you know nature has a chance."

"Almaty Or (And) Bust (Again). It took us 3 days to get out of Semey. One day was for my recovery and the 3rd to register our visas. They have a strange system in some places like Kazakhstan. Yes you have a visa to get in, but then you have to visit the migration police in 5 days to register. Day 1 is the day you enter. That was Saturday, and they only open Monday, Tuesday, Thursday and Friday. But not if Monday is after a weekend holiday.

All forms need filling in Russian. We paid a taxi driver to help ease us through the system. This involved returning to the hotel to get a hotel stamp on the forms before the policeman would continue the process. At one point we had a total stranger filling our forms in for us.

Fun and games over, we wound our way out of the city. Missed the advised detour (200kms) that would avoid the road works on the main Almaty road and put the bikes back to the test again. If a Lada Samara can do the 50-60kms of mud, gravel, pot holes, humps and sand, so could we.

We were now in the boonies. Nowhere to stay, except pull off the side of the road and camp.

It took us a couple of days, but then as we approached Almaty the Himalayas appeared in the distance. Their white peaks sandwiched between the clouds and the smog. Then, as if this is to be a new ritual upon entry to a city, just as we parked the bikes by the central station to look for an hotel, mine lived up to its name once more. The 'bastard' died.

I've researched these too well, once I had ascertained the fuses and battery were all OK it was straight to the ignition wires. A slight push and a connection was made, and then lost. Outside our chosen hotel we peeled away the layers to get at the culprit.

That green wire should be attached.

All we needed now was a soldering iron. Something neither of us had packed. Or maybe a mechanic. Here is one, Daniel, who just happened to be passing on his bike, with a soldering iron. I think he was soldering Mike to my ignition at this point.

I noticed a bulge at his hip. Yes, an armed mechanic.

The manager at the hotel was also very helpful, being a biker he loved what we were doing and offered us a discount, but we had already paid. So he insisted on giving us 6 litres of water and a large bag of fruit for the road. Then in the evening a complimentary supper. This turned out to be steak and chips. Nice chaps these Kazaks. And not a man-kini in sight.

We even had time to wander around the city. Soviet and Arabic styles, clashing and mingling in wide tree lined streets."

"For the first time since we arrived in Santiago 9 months ago we have pre-booked our accommodation in Ollantaytambo at the lovely Hotel Munay Tika. The hotel is gorgeous, we have the most amazing views from our room and the staff are so helpful. The only problem is getting the bike through the garden door. It is more than a tight fit but Skill manages it.

Skill got the bike through that door

We love this little village, it is just so beautiful, the ruins are visible from everywhere. On one of our days in the village we walk up to the Incan granaries on the opposite side of the main ruins. The views are outstanding.

The train ride to Aguas Calientes is absolutely stunning, our necks are on swivels, in every direction the views are breath taking. Unfortunately the train is packed, not a seat to be had, and we are packed in like sardines, poor Skill cannot fit his legs under the table.

Aguas Calientes would have to be the most touristed place we have been to in South America, it is sustained solely by tourists, to and from Machu Picchu. We arrive in this little town just after dark and are met by a girl from the hostel who has our name on a little board (Johan and Ellena), we follow her blindly through the maze of streets to arrive at our hostel. A quick shower, a dodgy pizza dinner and then it is off to meet our guide Peter, who gives us a run down for our MP visit tomorrow, we are to meet him at 8.00 am. We quickly buy snacks from the shop across the road for tomorrow's visit and that is all we see of Aguas Calientes as we are in bed by 9.00pm.

The alarm sounds at 4.30 am, up and at 'em, dodgy breakfast then it is down to join the queue for the bus to Machu Picchu, we have a half hour wait but are soon on a bus enjoying the 30 minute ride up the switchbacks to Machu Picchu and enter the gates by 6.45 am.

People are swarming in like ants and I begin to question our visit. After dreaming of coming here for 30 years and all the amazing ruins we have seen in our travels am I going to be disappointed?

As we climb the path to the lookout at the Caretaker's Hut and finally arrive for our first glimpse, we cannot help but be overwhelmed by the absolute beauty of this ruin and its location. It is everything we have imagined and more. Simply stunning. The sun does not rise over the mountains and hit the ruins until around 7.30 am. We secure our view point and soak it all in, it is all a bit much to take in, almost like I am in someone else's movie."

"Finally time to move on and head to the north of the South Island. But not without a proper motorcycle send off by attending the famous Brass Monkey Rally.

As mentioned before, Bill Veitch from McIver & Veitch KTM, who also happens to be one of the founding members of the BMR 33 years ago, invited me to what is usually the coldest place on the south island to ride your motorcycle, camp, drink and be merry around the largest bonfire in the world. Anyone who has attended has told me their stories of surviving the snow and cold at the Brass. Now to see if I have what it takes! ;-)

The road takes me into Central Otago, where there are cute little outback towns and scenery to boot!

..I noticed early on that the road had a very slippery brown 'layer' on my side sometimes. It looks like diluted manure. Well I found out that is exactly what it was! I passed an animal hauler that was spraying the lovely mixture of poo and urine and hoped that was the end of it, but there was plenty ahead of him so he wasn't the only problem truck. As you can see the road is nice, smooth with plenty of twists and turns and on one of my turns, I was going uphill in the curve when around the corner came another animal hauler coming down hill. I had seen enough for the last 2 hours and knew to keep as left as I could. Never mind! He totally sprayed me with the disgusting mix. Both me and the bike were covered head to toe in shit!

I was so ticked off. I kept riding and wiped my visor clear with my gloves. Thank goodness the visor was right down! The more I thought about it, and smelled it, the more ticked off I got. At the first fuel station I came to in Ranfurly, one very pathetic looking Sherri Jo went inside and asked if they had a hose I could use. The super nice lady did. You could see in her eyes how sorry she felt for me, and I went to spraying down everything I own. I was so mad, I didn't think to take a picture until now, after everything was clean again.

I arrived the Brass Monkey camp soaking wet, a bit late, but happy to be here."

"The beauty and the comfort (at Loch Ness) came with a high price for us low budget travellers. It was clear to us that the following days we would need to go camping.

As we learned earlier, the strange thing about camping is that our dogs might cost extra and in the end the difference to a motel or to a B&B compared to camping with three dogs might be marginal.

Anyway, camping it was and the camping places we tried out were fully booked, and the many other sites were only for caravans. At some point we got enough and decided to go into the wild. We found a resting place besides a river with a decent spot. There was a table and a trash bin on which we could find the 'rules' for camping in the wild."

"We were both feeling pretty good and happy to be on the road again. Our first adventure was only two kilometres away at the crossing of the Mekong. We could have backtracked to Pakse and used a bridge to cross the Mekong but what fun would that be? Instead we rode our bikes down a sandy shore onto tiny wooden rafts lashed together and balanced on top of a couple of pontoons. One of the pontoons had an outboard motor attached for propulsion.

Getting on the rafts was quite interesting as the rafts were docked next to each other. It was necessary to ride across one raft in order to get on the one furthest out. As the F650 was much lighter than the 1200 we loaded that first and it was quite easy. But when I pushed the 1200 up the ramp and onto the raft the boat operators both gasped as the boat sank more than they were used to. It still seemed to be floating so it was deemed safe enough to cross the Mekong.

Off we went, carefully watching the water levels in relation to the pontoons. At the far side there were already two rafts tied up and Audrey's raft pulled up to the outer one to tie up. My raft was then the fourth boat out from shore. I rode the F650 across the first raft and down the gangplank to the shore without too much trouble. But when I went to bring the Adventure ashore it was a bit more challenging. My raft was about 30 centimetres lower than the next raft so I had to use the engine to climb up onto it and then it sank 30 centimetres so the process could be repeated for the next raft in.

Click the picture to see the video!

At the final raft a scooter coming the other way decided that this was the perfect time for him to board. This made it a bit more challenging getting the heavy bike balanced on the bobbing boat so I could get on it to ride down the ramp. Audrey filmed the whole event at both ends but just as I was getting on the Adventure to ride down the ramp (i.e. the most exciting part) the camera battery died. And I wasn't going back for a re-take!"

Simon Gandolfi rides over Rohtang Pass in the Himalayas. Click on the picture to play the video.

"Travel writer and biker, Simon Gandolfi sets a record as the oldest man to have ridden a motorcycle over the Rohtang Pass in India's Himalayan State of Himachal Pradesh - his bike a 125 cc TVS Phoenix. 'Most bikers would consider riding a 125 unwise. For an 80-year old, who has suffered two heart attacks, totally insane.'"

Simon resting after the ordeal!

"We fuelled up on our way out of town and made our way north-east to take the 'Summer' route into the Pamirs. We didn't know at the time that everyone was using the more southerly route avoiding the mountain pass. It was a few hundred kilometres longer so we overlooked it. As the day went on the asphalt finished quite early. We were on the M41, a National Highway but still the surface was gravel. We passed a few police checkpoints then had to register our GBAO permit (where we caught up with Adam) before being allowed into the Pamir Region. The sky darkened, the road turned to mud, it started to rain and afternoon became evening. We crossed a few rivers where the road had been washed away but couldn't find anywhere to camp. It was a well-populated area with nomads camped up between villages.

Through the gap, M41, Tajikistan

We got to a large river crossing where the whole village had turned out to see a Kamaz truck pull another truck through and watch the general saga that unfolds at these kind of places. Then we spotted Adam making his way out the other side of the muddy torrent, all eyes were now fixed on us. Nerves kicked in as this crossing was deeper than the others with a steep drop in and a steep climb out. Luckily for us it was short in length so the whole rig wouldn't be subjected to the full flow of muddy water at once. We dropped in, crawled out, no drama. Had we been there a little earlier we would have seen Adam cross. He hit a submerged boulder which stopped him dead and being short in the legs promptly fell over in the river! I saw the video on a local man's 2MP Nokia phone, I'm sure it was Adam. We had all had enough that day so camped up on the edge of a lake as the storms rolled in."

"I arrived at the Adventurers Inn in Dushanbe just as another storm broke and walked into the garden to find Griff & Lisa's (UK) Landrover parked there.

After a few days of blog writing, photo editing, laundry and buying supplies we set off (at different times) for Khorog – 500km away over the mountains. The threat of a storm loomed large as I rode east and I wondered what the weather had in store for me. I was soon out of the city and into a wide, green river valley. The river was red and raging thanks to the recent storms.

Fancy carrying your shopping back across there after going to market?

On the map the M41 through Tavildara looks like a major road but in reality it's a single carriageway road with little traffic that often turns to dirt.

East of Tavildara I turned south and just at the entrance to the GBAO (Gorno-Badakhshan Autonomous Province) region I found the road and bridge completely washed away. There was a 3-axle Kamaz truck stuck exiting the river crossing and an attempt was being made to haul it out with a tractor. That proved fruitless and so an army Kamaz was used. It pulled the truck out like you'd grab a small child by the wrist – impressive? The Kamaz driver offered to give me a ride across but he wanted SOM100 ($20) and wouldn't budge on the price. I declined.

After watching a Freelander and a Lada Niva make the crossing it was my turn. It wasn't far across but It was rocky and fast flowing. I entered the water hit a boulder and suddenly found myself stopped and unable to touch the floor. I promptly fell over. I ended up pushing/driving the bike across but hit another large submerged boulder that bounced me away from the exit ramp and I struggled to get Daisy up the bank. Just as I did so Griff & Lisa arrived. I don't think the Landrover even noticed the crossing. Feckers!"

"With a long day on the road ahead of us, Nita and I want to get an early start and it's not hard to get out of bed. All night my dreams have been invaded by a plague of six and eight legged critters running across various body parts and, when I awake, I find that I'm not alone in those unsettling images. While I can definitely say that getting a room here was a mistake, the grounds with their colorful mosaics and ample gardens are a lovely place to wake up to. Next time – and we hope there is – we'll camp and make our own larvae-free food.

Even with a full day in mind, we're up early enough to enjoy the cool air, bright sun and a walk to the breakfast area where a simple spread offers clear view of anything that could be hiding on our plates. The food goes down fairly easily and, after a walk around the quiet paths of Al Hassan, we load up the bikes and make our way back towards the streets of Gafsa.

In town we're unprepared for the gauntlet of traffic that meets us, but our sleepy bodies soon adapt to the weaving and heaving that's Tunisian riding. Even in its chaos there's a flow – a rhythm to riding here; though this morning it seems a little more messy than normal. Rather than fight it, we settle into frequent stops, fleeting bursts of speed to pass and, always, patience. In my helmet the mantra 'We're guests. Do as the locals do.' plays over and over – not like a skipping CD but rather a slow, meditative groove.

A car stops for no reason. Pass. Forward – don't hit the pedestrian who's just stepped into traffic without looking. Gap! Speed up – in! Bus is blocking the intersection. Stop. This guy isn't really trying to sell me a camel head right now is he? Oh, he is. Is that a Citroen driving on the sidewalk to pass?! Yes. Okay. Into the traffic circle. Avoid the pedestrian who is looking but thinks his hand in my face will magically stop the bike before it hits him. No, I don't need bread right now even if it is a great deal. Is that a different Citroen going the wrong way? Yes. Okay."

Beth writes to the HU Communities in Spain: "Hola, My husband and I are nearly 3 months into our journey from Ireland to South Africa. We are currently in the Basque region of Spain and are looking for tips on things like campgrounds, great roads, hikes, must see beaches/ small villages (we've found we don't much like big cities). We are finding that our lack of research before we left, leaves us ignorant sometimes as to where to go.

Our rough route takes us from Donostia-San-Sebastian along the north coast towards Santiago, down into Portugal, back in towards Gibraltar, before driving our way back up the country towards France. We have no set plans or route, only that we will be taking a ferry from Turkey into Egypt in October/November (and even that is up in the air). Thanks for any tips at all, Beth and Irish"

"The distances on Sumatra are easily underestimated, especially since many roads are in a terrible condition and full of dangerous potholes. We could travel only slowly, and spend some very long days riding.

Right in the middle of the massive island we crossed the equator. However, without the gigantic sign over the road and without our GPS devices we wouldn't actually have noticed it. But knowing where we were, it was a special moment. We had managed to ride all the way to the equator in Indonesia on our motorcycles – and now we would continue our trip on the southern hemisphere – crazy feeling!

Already in the southern part of Sumatra, we passed the highest peak of Indonesia, the mighty Mount Kerinchi, a 3805 metres high volcano, surrounded by huge tea plantations – fantastic scenery, with empty roads and fascinating plants and animals.

...Fuel: petrol stations are infrequent, and the quality ('Premium') is terrible (less than 90 Octane), 92 Octane can be found only in the cities. In the south it was difficult to find fuel, since it was often sold out, and when they had some we had to queue for it. But it's cheap – only about 0.40 EUR per litre (4500 Indonesian Rupee)."

Libya: This place... is just simply amazing. Yes we had the heebie jeebies put in us as it was during the time of the hostage takings in Algeria and also the week previous when the ambassadors were assassinated... but we loved it. Genuine people, AMAZING Roman Ruins, so much culture and a fascinating history. We simply cannot wait to return to explore the deserts in the South.

Lady praying in the Roman Ruins at Leptis Magna

Egypt: Having been held at the border at gun point for hope of sexual favours and due to not being able to speak Arabic, to riding out in the middle of nowhere for hundreds of miles in a stunning desert... we had a varied experience of Egypt. Granted, we will never ever go through again with our own vehicle... the expenses and pain to do so along with the abundance of corruption just far out weighed the enjoyment. But we did experience some seriously stupendous artefacts, history and culture as well as some great desert rides. A hard hard country to travel but having met some amazing people there, we did okay!

Wild camping in the desert

Sudan: This one took us by surprise. Loved it. Yes, we were boil in the bags (55 degrees Celsius) and yes, being a Muslim country I suffered a fair whack with having to stay covered up but the riding, camping, company and people just blew us away. More pyramids than Egypt there did you know? Plus, a national park with lions and an insane amount of wildlife! Hard for climate, awesome memories.

The Aswan to Wadi Halfa ferry... this was the cargo ferry which rocked up with both our bikes on and two big cars (a landrover and land cruiser). Can you spot them!?

"After almost a month on the island, our time in Cuba was coming to an end. From Vinales, we doubled back on the main Autopista past Havana towards Playa Giron on the south coast. There were some nice beaches that were a lot cheaper than the resorts at Varadero and Cayo Coco, but we were really here to see the Bahia de Cochinos - The Bay of Pigs.

We rode through the swamplands of Zapata, the largest wetlands in the world and home to crocodiles, lily pads and marshes. There, we found an all-inclusive resort (first one of this trip) right on the beaches of Playa Giron, and immediately gorged ourselves sick on several rounds of complimentary cocktails that were more sugar than alcohol.

The resorts was filled with locals and backpackers, and after we left the bikes parked outside our cabin, we were relatively unmolested and enjoyed sunsets and mojitos at the rustic, 2-star budget resort.

Just outside the resort is the Bay of Pigs museum, which housed military vehicles from the period of the invasion as well as a photographic history of the ill-fated attempt of US-backed Cuban exiles to wrest control away from Fidel Castro after La Revolucion.

Bay of Pigs Museum

...After a couple of days at Playa Giron, we took a short two hour ride to Cienfuegos, the port town where we would meet up with the Stahlratte again to take us back to the mainland.

Now we were on the opposite side of the dreaded 'schedule' - trying to find ways to pass the time and dodging the hustlers at every street corner, while waiting for the ship to take us off this island! Honestly, we did feel a bit trapped, not able to leave when we wanted to, and I understood now the plight of many on the island, not having the resources to leave the country. Never did we look so forward to throwing up our lunches overboard!"

Riding through the cobblestone streets of Trinidad, Cuba

"We arrived in Canada 3rd May 2013 ready to begin our Americas leg. Our plan to travel up the Cassiar highway to Alaska and do a round trip taking in most of the sights before returning down the main highway to Dawson Creek and on through Jasper.

In the blogs we have finally waded through our Australian blogs to the end, have been home to the UK for a quick visit and flown out to Vancouver to be reunited with the bike.

...Releasing the bike from customs proved to be a more of a mission than we had hoped. Harri was a huge help, it took lots of phone calls and running around to sort things out complicated by the fact that we were dealing with people the other side of the country in different time zones.

This stuff is never easy and something as unusual as a 'temporary' personal motorcycle import (we run on English licence plates) always seems to cause some confusion simply because they don't deal with this sort of thing very often. We know the drill by now having done it many times but each country has its own rules, regulations and departments so it's never quite the same.

We got there in the end and picked up the bike from a customs bonded warehouse just outside of town. I was cross to discover that customs had torn open the side of the crate using a crowbar rather than just undoing six bolts and removing the end door but at least the bike was here and undamaged. A special thank you to Harri, Case and John for the use of their trailer and tools and help with unloading.

After ensuring the necessary bike insurances were in order for Canada and the USA and with new tyres now on, our very first ride out was fittingly to Grant and Susan's home for lunch. They are the founders of Horizons Unlimited.com a motorcycle travel website which is an absolute must for any motorcycle traveller.

Karen and Jeffrey Polnaja are holding their mascots.
Jeffrey is Indonesian and riding round the world for peace.

During our time in Vancouver we were contacted by David, a Kiwi and ex motorcycle traveller who has now made Vancouver his home. He wanted to meet us and see if there was anything he could do to help. He got some welding done for us and arranged this meet up with Grant and Susan which was a nice surprise. Grant, Susan and her sister treated us all to a lovely lunch at their home. Thanks to all involved it was a great afternoon."

Jeffrey Polnaja, Karen Browne, Dave Barrett, Grant and Kevin Browne

Now we were ready for the start of our Canadian and Alaskan adventure
- Horseshoe bay to Vancouver Island our first stop.

"With a full belly, at around 12:30PM Honduran time, I set off again, determined to get to Santa Rosa de Copán, a bit of an ambitious goal but I would cross into El Salvador from there. Just wondering how many hours I would have to ride to get there, I looked down to the GPS screen and when I looked up I realised that the Honduran police had put some cones on the road for people to slow down. On a curve! I'm not trying to blame them for this but, who puts cones in the middle of a fast bypass on a frickin' curve! I freaked out and instead of swerving or deciding that I would ride over (or in between) them, I pulled the brake, very hard.

The next thing I remember is skidding on the ground, with my right leg pressed down against the asphalt by the bike and my right hand rubbing the ground too, both in great pain. Somehow, I was separated from the bike and I stopped, the bike continued for a few more meters. I got up, checked the landscape and sat on the kerb while the police and some soldiers gathered the contents of my map pouch that were scattered on the road.

I seemed to be alright, I asked one of the cops to tell me if I was bleeding anywhere around my face and since he said no and I was conscious, I removed my helmet and started checking the rest of my body and bike. I had a big scratch on my leg and a smaller one on my arm, a blister was forming in my hand. I asked them to help me pick up the bike and where was the closest hospital.

I rode to the Hospital Militar a few blocks away and got my wounds cleaned, an antibiotic and some other stuff injected and was released with instructions on meds to take and things to wear. I followed most of it and stayed in Tegucigalpa for 2 nights to kick-start my recovery. Now I am in Antigua, Guatemala, resting and trying to fix the bike. I read somewhere that for a catastrophe to happen, there has to be concourse of 7 bad or unusual little accidents. Until today, I had only identified 6 of them:

1. I woke up tired
2. A bee stung me on my right wrist
3. I had lunch (I almost never do when I ride)
4. I was looking down at the GPS screen
5. The police put cones in a curve on the road
6. I pulled the brake while my front wheel was not straight

I suspected what the 7th cause was but I wasn't sure. Today I went to a Honda garage where a friend of my uncle Lucas works and had the bike looked at. After finding out that the right fork arm is bent, we ended up changing that front wheel bearings, they were due for a change, the axle being a bit loose and one of the bearings not turning properly. There you are:

7. The front wheel bearings needed changing. 7 little accidents that got together to cause the big one. 3, 4, and 6, can be considered pilot error. Maybe also 7, since the pilot is also the usual maintainer.

Of course, if I am writing this it's because I am alright, just a bit bruised so you needn't worry and ask me if I'm alright. I appreciate attention but not repetition. Oh, and the bike has no windscreen anymore."

"Liam's suggestion about arriving a tad early and leaving a bit late? Took him up on that. Amazing area! I was blessed to have the chance to ride with Paddy Tyson and Nich Brown from Overland Magazine and with Peter Francon. Paddy knows the area like the back of his hand and took us to some cracking spots along some brilliant roads. And the bike he was on? Watch that space!

So glad I'm an optimist and took hot weather gear as well as wet. Guess what I wore all the time. What did I think about the event itself? Wonderfully organised, terrific presentations, the venue is simply perfect, the camping and showers spot on and even the council get involved in a very positive way! A special mention is needed about the food! I wanted to take cookie home with me!

But the thing that topped my first visit to Ireland off wasn't any of the above or the fact that Guinness doesn't travel but is sublime on home shores. It's the atmosphere at the Meet - fantastic! Great bunch of people. Nice one everyone! Thanks to all the organisers and volunteers, and all the very best to Liam and Naomi as they hit the road."

"Leaving on or about 29 July for a slow meander through UK and continent hopefully to pick up Grimaldi freight boat on or about 7 August. Arriving Montevideo late August and thereafter continue meandering through South America making it up as we go along!"

"The first hundred or so kilometres on Peruvian soil follows the shores of Lago Titicaca. Though the lake is still pretty, the flat farmland that it borders, is less so.

Our first scheduled visit was the Inca tombs at Sillustani. The slight diversion off the main road proved most interesting for two reasons: firstly the houses are very different. They were no longer the rather boring, single-level adobe but stone-built complexes of little round buildings around a gated courtyard. Each and every one sporting a pair of ceramic bulls attached to the thatched roof.

We parked on the football field next to the museum as it was getting dark but within half an hour the security guy turned up to inform us that we would be 'safer" parked just by the museum and that he would gladly give us a night-time tour (for a small fee!) which we did.

The unusual tomb towers were the first of intricate Incan stonework that we would see, though there were some tombs that predated the Incan ones. The whole site is large and overlooks a lagoon in a lovely setting and it took us a couple of hours to ramble around the site.

A rough mountain road and a rather scary river crossing took us north from Arequipa to Chivay, the little town at the end of Colca Canyon.

Famous for its great profundity – they say it's deeper than the Grand Canyon and for its Condors, Colca Canyon is indeed impressive. Furthermore there were several excellent spots along the canyon where we could wild camp AND get great views of the mountains and the gorge itself. Apparently it was once possible to witness dozens of the great birds riding the thermals over the gorge but sadly numbers have dropped alarmingly. The most we saw at any one time was six or seven but they are truly impressive birds and when one landed on a precipice just a few metres away, we were very delighted.

As we drove back to the main road the following day we happened upon some village festivities which involved a whole lot of colourfully dressed ladies swirling their skirts, a group of children dressed as monkeys and quite a few inebriated guys. Oh the weird stuff we see!

And so to Cusco... which at a breathtaking 3700metres, is probably one of the world's highest cities. We camped above the city – adding further metres at the traveller-famed Quintalala alongside a French family and a German couple.

From the top, the city has a look of an Italian city with its earth coloured buildings and terracotta tiled roves. As you wander around the winding and very steep streets it's possible to encounter original Inca walls of carefully mortised stone. It's definitely a city of tourists and it's almost impossible to avoid the touts selling trips to Machu Picchu or massages but it's calm and safe and has plenty of good cafes to take a break from the sight-seeing."

Just wanted to call your attention to the wealth of information out there!

• Best local SIM cards for travellers
• Can you over plan and research a trip?
• Garmin's Montana
• How many 70+ RTW riders out there.
• Is there really any need for high end equipment?
• How to clean smelly bike gear

"We follow our path and reach the Romanian border sooner than we thought. We cross this line and we are home!

All of us getting home, getting to your own country from 'somewhere' have this feeling. No matter the cold, the exhaustion, nothing else matters, you are home!"