Back in Europe

Location:

Beziers, France

Getting back to Europe was tortuous. Due to financial constraints, we picked flights that took us from Santiago - Buenos Aires - Sao Paulo - London - Madrid.

"Why on earth Madrid after getting to London??" I hear you say. A few reasons. Firstly, it is much cheaper to fly the bike back from Chile to Spain than to London. Secondly, Kevin was determined to ride into the UK. Thirdly, we have flown into Madrid previously with a bike and we knew exactly what the process was (so less grief!).

It took us barely three hours and only ten euros to get the bike out of the warehouse and onto Spanish roads. But our problem was petrol. Lan Chile were the strictest airline we have flown with and monitored the draining of the tank so that it was empty. We pushed the bike out of the security gates, but the nearest gas station was a couple of miles away.

"Lets try the bike anyway" I said, the thought of pushing the bike for two miles on some busy airport roads was not appealing. Somehow, there must have been some drops still left, because true to form and never letting us down the bike fired up and got us to juice.

The next day, we did a gentle 500 mile ride across to the Southern French coast to stay with friends who had just relocated to the north of Beziers. We chatted in English, drank single malt whisky and then delighted in smelly French cheese. It was our first real hangover in a very long time!!

The bike has gone

Location:

Santiago, Chile

We arrived in Santiago, back tyre in tact and are staying with our friends. It is a weird feeling knowing that there are no more miles now to ride here.

Yesterday, we took the bike to Lan Chile Carga. They are flying the bike to Madrid for us. It took the afternoon to get the bike crated and sort out all the paperwork, but it is now sitting in their warehouse, all cling flimed and palleted, waiting for its flight on Saturday.

Often the paperwork surrounding flying a bike can put off riders from even attempting this, but providing you are patient and have the right documents, it is normally quite straight forward. Regulations are different with each airline, but primarily, draining the fuel and disconnecting and taping up the battery terminals is all that is needed. We had a service company to then crate the bike who work in conjunction with Lan Chile.

The bike, with pallet, came in at 294 kilos and Lan Chile only charged us US$695 for the flight, which is miraculously cheap (we normally work on US$1,000 to US$1,500). Lan Chile only required from us our Customs form for the bike (provided by the Chilean authorities whe you enter Chile) and Kevin´s passport. Not even the registration document for the bike.

We left the Cargo Airport with our airway bill and two days to relax before flying out ourselves. Next report will be from Europe!

The final South American Country!

Location:

Pucon, Chile

The crossing from Bariloche over the Andes and back to Chile should not be missed. It is mainly a paved road, except in the no mans land between Chile and Argentina, where right at the top of the pass the road gives way to "ripio" once again. It also snowed again! We have ridden through more snow storms in the past two weeks than in any other ride!

The road passes by lakes and winds through amazingly tropical looking forest, especially given how cold it was. It seemed bizarre to be passing huge ferns and lush green trees when we were freezing our butts off. Crossing from the Chilean border, the road descends quite rapidly and gets much warmer. There are steep cliffs around us and even from across the huge lakes, we can see massive white water falls crashing out of the vegetation, along all the cliffs. It looks more like the "Lost World" than Southern Chile!

We ride from here to Osorno and then upto Pucon, in the heart of the Chilean Lake District. Even though it is the second time we have ridden in this area, the sight of the volcanoes always leaves us amazed. Coming from England, such sights are rare and to have some many of them, at this time of the year, looking magnificent, still covered in snow and perfect conical shapes towering ahead, almost as if they are growing out of the road is awesome scenery.

But we are lucky, it is a sunny day and our views are faultless. For the next three days in Pucon, the Villarica Volcanoe hides from view behind dense heavy rain clouds. We are now on the last leg of the ride and in just a few days it will be Santiago, where we have to sort out the bike for flying back to Europe.

The bike is still running well, although a little tired (who can blame him!?). We got the bike new at the BMF in May. In only five months he has 31,000 miles on the clock. Our back tyre is perilously low, but we have our old tyres waiting for us at Williamson Balfour in Santiago and we are not going to put a new one on for the last 500 miles or so. We stick to the main Ruta 5 tarmac. Besides, as our friend Francisco told us when looking at the back tyre, "in Chile, it is no problem!"

Off Ruta 40!

Location:

Bariloche

After the mega ride of 70 kms in three hours by Kevin yesterday, and the words of warning from the Argentinian business man about Ruta 40 to Rio Mayo (deep snow and lots of water), we decided to cut our losses and come off Ruta 40, sticking to the tarmac.

More than anything, the need to get the bike back home safely and in one piece drove this decision. We were now running on what would be an illegal back tyre back home (no tread!) and this alone increases risks of punctures and problems. Being stuck in Patagonia miles from any where in snow, with a flat and no camping gear was not our idea of fun and we had ahd enough adventure in the past two months to last a while!

We took the road back out to the coast and found ourselves back in Comodoro Rividavia for a couple of nights of R&R, before then heading back inland (but this time on a paved road) to Bariloche. It was about 400 miles on falt pampas again until we reached the small town called Esquel, set at the foothills of the mountains. Then from here only 180 miles on to Bariloche the following day. The change in ladnscape is stark. One day flat straight road with nothing; the next we are heading into the mountains on good road, gentle bends, magnificent pine forests and snow capped peaks.

Bariloche is set on the banks of Lake Napuelhuapi and we enjoyed three days of superb sunshine here, twinkling lakes and walks through the woods. The wind down from the ride is really starting to happen. No longer is the focus on miles and miles. At last we have the chance to relax between stops and have more chance to explore the places we are in. In Bariloche we celebrate our second wedding anniversary and Kev´s 39th birthday.

Waiting

Location:

Perito Moreno

The road became almost impassable. Through deep ruts of slush, we slipped back and forth across the road barely managing 40 kms per hour. At one point, we ended up almost facing backwards and half way down the edge of the road into the ever whitening pampas. It was a white knuckle ride in every sense. Crawling to the top of the next hill, I could only groan when I could just make out ahead the road disappearing into barely two tiny slivers of muddy black strips and heading into the blur of white.

It can´t get any worse. Surely. Around the next hill, I could only shake my head in disbelief again. The road seemed to widen out, but there was truly no road in any conventional sense of the word. It was wave after wave of deep rutted soft mud. The bottom of the 4x4 ground into it, spinning around. I began to wonder whether even we would make it. I could not even begin to think of what Kevin was going to have to do to get the bike through. I wasn´t even sure it could be done. How good was the bike, with an almost bald back tyre? I knew Kevin had not tackled road this bad before. And then there was the weather. There was no easing up in the snow and so it was only going to get wetter and worse.

I slumped myself into a large armchair in the hotel cafe, which overlooked the only road into town from Ruta 40. There was a tight knot in my chest. The snow was swirling across the road even here, where we were lower - the only consolation was it was not settling. I could not bring myself to think about how bad it was getting up there.

Half of me wanted to just get a truck out now, bugger the ride, just go and rescue Kev and the bike. The other half knew what Kev was like. He would relish the challenge and would want the opportunity to make it through without an over wraught wife sending out the cavelery. Even Marcio had said to me, don't worry he will get through - which in a way I read as don't insult his masculinity by going to fetch him!

Still I was sat there, with two hours of waiting before our time limit was reached and two hours is alot of time to worry about what could happen and whether Kev and the bike would succumb to some freak incident, beaten by the atrocious conditions. I would waiver between almost tears and then a confident determination that Kev and the bike were invincible. Minutes crawled by. I could not move from my seat, glued to the road. Every light, movement had me sat bolt upright. I am not a religious person in a conventional sense, but I was drawing on every ounce of spirituality and positive energy to will them both safely down the road.

As the clock crawled to five, I was there but not there. Keeping the what if question at bay was becoming harder and harder. I dragged myself back to the room collecting my jacket and fleece to prepare to head back out into the cold. Back in the cafe, I looked around for the hotel owner who had promised to take me out in his truck. He had disappeared, and I edgily paced back and forth.

I saw a bright headlight appear down the road. It wasn´t just a mirage. A huge black bike followed the light. They were there! I let out a bit of a girlie shreek and raced out out of the door and into the road, flagging him down to me. I was smiling the biggest smile and leaping around like a mad person. As Kev drew up, his face bright red and covered in melting snow, I flung my arms around him with almost enough force to knock the bike sideways. "I'm so happy to see you" I managed to get out.

It is not often that Kev and I travel separately, but Kev certainly had an amazing experience riding on his own. "I knew you´d be worried" he said, "but I just had to stop when I saw a herd of guanaco in the snow. They look so different in the snow. I had to stop for ten minutes, switch of the engine, so I didn´t spook them and watch".

Part of our ride back north was to take roads we had never been on before. To explore more of the remote roads for our tours next year. Part of this experience is knowing which roads NOT to bring people down!

We settled down to a well earned Quilmes beer that night and re-adjusted the route we were riding the next day. We had talked to an Argentinian business man, who had come south on Ruta 40. It is terrible he said, not paved and deep with snow . . . . .

Ruta 40 - Off the bike . . .

Location:

Perito Moreno (the town not the glacier!)

For those who have looked closely at a map of Southern Argentina, it will be apparent that to ride south (or for that matter to ride from the south back north), there are primarily only two roads.

You take Ruta 3, down the Atlantic Coast. All nicely paved and quite fast (hence why it was chosen for the Trans Am record route) or you go for Ruta 40. The inner route that runs the foothills of the Andes and is, well, not paved. To describe this road as a dirt road, does not do it justice. It is a bit like describing a person as nice. It covers a multitude of sins.

Ruta 40 is a nice dirt road.

From Calafate on the western section of Argentina and close to the Chile border, we headed off to ride 400 miles of no mans land. No man (virtually) seems to live there. You either do this, or you have to head all the way back to the coast, hit Ruta 3, and then head back in to cross to Chile. Hundreds of miles that are not necessary . . . . if you can survive Ruta 40.

The Handbook, describes the small places that we go through on Ruta 40 along the lines of "an expensive forlorn pitstop" or a "village (**!!!) with police station and water", because in fact there is nothing else. There is so little out there that even a hotel, is marked on the map as if it is a town. The hotel is described as "basic". (It didnt matter because although we planned to stay there, we could not find it!)

It also says that it is impossible to hitch on Ruta 40. The reason for this becomes clear when you ride it. We must have met five other vehicles in the whole day of riding.

Having covered over 200 miles of the nice dirt road in 8 hours, we arrived at the forlorn pitstop at 9pm. The last hour had been freezing and pitch black making avoiding rocks and holes a minor piece of miracle work. Our forlorn pitstop provides us with a bed, gas fires and very hot vegetable soup. We are just pleased to have arrived in one piece and congratulate ourselves. At least tomorrow, we have only 80 miles to ride to Perito Mereno and this gives us plenty of time to visit Cuevas de los Manos, ancient caves, with rock art from thousands of years past.

When we left, a very lazy start of 11am, the sky looked very black and heavy and the road off to the caves, was a very dodgy nice dirt road, heading to what was snow covered moors and what seemed to be snow flake flurries. After a few miles, heading further into snow and mushy road, we decide that today is not the day to be heroes and turn back to take the "main" road straight to Perito.

We manage to "blat" out twenty miles or so at more than 40 mph. The next ten, slowed down to about 25 mph. But with fifty miles still left to go, the nice dirt road disappeared into snow and we were left with a muddy, sludgey quagmire of the worst motocross track to get through. It started with a few huge slides, with the bike ending up sideways, Kev swearing and me being turfed off the bike to walk through this "section". This section turned out to be miles and miles and miles. I kept hoisting myself back on the bike, we would do a few hundred yards, then I had to get off the bike again.

The snow was getting heavier and had settled along the short tufty plants on the side of the road. The pampas all around was becoming increasingly white and pretty. It did not take long for visibility to reduce to negligible. Snow flakes and turned into a full blown white drifting sheet. By the time you had wiped a finger across your visor and flicked the snow into the stodge below, the visor was white again.

We stopped and the conversation basically concluded that it was going to be impossible to get to Perito two up. Our choices were that Kev rode on to get help and came back for me in a 4x4 or that we stuck together and hoped that a vehicle would pass by. We knew that on average that would be at least a couple of hours, unless the snow had put people off the journey . . .

With teeth chattering and as I squelched my way through the mud, watching Kev and the bike edge away, only to stop and wait for me, I started praying for a 4x4, because our options were dire. As I drew close, Kevin shouted to move faster before, inching the bike onwards and through the next hole on muddy slush.

I wondered how we had got to this - completing a world record and now dogged by the worst snow and road conditions that we had ever encountered. This made the Paso de Garibaldi coming from Ushuaia like childs play.

I got back on the bike and we slithered a few more yards on the bike, when Kevin says, "theres a car behind". Our guardian angel was driving up behind. It was utterely unbelievable. Two Argentina lads (Jonatan and Mario) in a 4x4 on holiday. They were delightful. The bike panniers were loaded up and I jumped in the back. No problem they would get me to Perito Moreno. But Kev still had the bike to ride. A very precious bike that BMW wanted back on their stand at the NEC!

The plan was to give Kevin three hours to make Perito and if he did not arrive, I would hire a 4x4 truck to come and get him and the bike. We synchronised watches. I felt sick leaving him but we both knew we had no choice and besides, Kev said, they bike was always too heavy with me so now he could see what he could do on a bike with no luggage and no Julia.

When the lads left me at Hotel Belgrano in Perito Moreno, I sat glued to the window, watching the road. The owner was already primed. If my husband had not arrived by 5pm, then he would get the truck out. I now knew exactly what Kevin had to get through and I could not bare to think about it.

Rough Ride

Location:

El Calafate

It´s been a roller coaster of a ride from Punta Arenas north wards through Puerto Natales, Torres del Paine and onward to El Calafate.

The wind! It is the first time I have sat on the back of the bike, with the bike being at 45 degrees and we are still going in a straight line. One way to get rid of chicken lines without cornering! The myths of Patagonian winds are not myths! It is incessant, sweeping off the Andes and rushing with great force at the bike. Hard to handle in any situation, almost impossible on some of the roads we´ve been riding.

There are so many dirt roads here that are short cuts to places, that you can´t and don´t want to avoid them. Well, you can avoid them by riding two sides of a triangle on sealed roads, but that wouldn´t be cricket! Besides, these dirt roads are some of the most remote and really put you in the middle of the wilderness and give you a challenging ride at the same time.

The same road goes from perfect hard smooth dirt, to the tiniest strip of hard rocks, edged high with great piles of pebbles, so that one inch of wobble and it could be all over. That´s where the wind comes back into play. . . . our only consolation was it was dry. It is hard for Kev to take charge when he carries so much weight (me!) on the bike. The front is so light that the wind plays with it like a feather in the wind and more than once we are pushed to the brink, the bike dances into huge ridges of dirt, wanging it left, right, left, but coming out of it upright and still moving forward.

How we come through some of these rides without yet hitting the deck is a bit of a myth in itself. In both of world record rides, not once has Kevin let the bike hit the deck. I try not to think too much about this statistic, because given the amount of miles we have ridden, in the type of countries we have ridden, on the types of roads we have ridden, in the weather conditions we have ridden, we must be on borrowed time or else Kevin was a cat in his last life . . . .

Suffice to say that we survive the rides to pleasure at gawping at the massifs of Torres del Paine for a second time, still as wondrous as the first, and stand speechless at the Perito Moreno Glacier as thunderous groans echo from its great insides and huge jagged chunks of flouresent blue ice slide into the lake below.

Riding here is truly a once in a lifetime experience and yet we are here for a second time and, when our motorcycle tours start to Patagonia, we will be back again. . . . .

Almost snowed in!

Location:

Punta Arenas

There is one thing that Ushuaia and England have in common - the weather is very unpreditable. When we set off to go back north, it had taken a turn for the worst and we realised that we had been very lucky with the weather when we had arrived back on 22 Sept. "Suerte" (Lucky) the guy at the Tourist Info had said and he was not wrong.

Leaving was under threatening black clouds and as we rode out, snow flakes started to fall. As the road climbed higher fresh falls of snow from the night before lay on the raods and the further we went the bigger snow flakes became.

On the tarmac, they melted quickly but when we reached the dirt and the Garibaldi Pass, the road became two slushy ruts of dirt and snow, treacherous riding conditions, meaning that for sections, I had to get off the bike as Kevin slithered his way higher. The snow did not let up and by the top we were riding in near blizzard conditions. On the assumption of once we were over the top, it would ease up, we crawled the last couple of kilometers and sure enough, as we turned towards the Lago Escondido, the clouds were breaking and weak sunshine came through.

We were not quite out of the woods, as the next stretch of road was narrow, wet, and clung to the side of a cliff and as usual had none of the benefits of barriers. It occurred to us indeed what "suerte" we must have had on the ride in, because now these were truly the worst combined weather and road conditions we had had to deal with. It also occurred to us that it would be just our luck to get through the world record only to end up slithering off the edge of a cliff on the way back!

Once again I climbed off the bike as Kevin negotiated his way through the "It´s a Knock Out" Course of motorcycling skills on snow. And yet within only a few miles further, we were at the bottom, no snow and all three of us in tact. It had taken the same amount of time to ride the forty of so miles from Ushuaia to get out as it had done to ride the last 120 miles in on the world record. Suerte indeed.

We spent the night in Rio Grande and then spent our last day on Tierra del Fuego, riding the 150 miles or so to Porvenir. The only Chilean settlement on the island and over on the west coast. It was clear that the traffic on this side of the island was much lighter. For the whole of the ride we only saw five vehicles. The ripio road was significantly worse than the one coming in from the north of the island. Huge tracts of gravel piled high and a wind that was forever intent on pushing you over. Still this road ended up running the coast and was magnificent (at least for the pillion!)

At Porvenir, we took the Melinka ferry boat across to Punta Arenas. It was clear they did not have much experience of big bikes as there knowledge of strapping a bike down for the crossing was non-existent, nor did the boat have any lashing hooks. Luckily we carried our own straps and used our imagination with the piping and other vehicles on the boat!

From here, we will head upto Puerto Natales and spend time exploring the Torres del Paine National Park - I will even put some time aside to start writing "THE BOOK"! Last time we were here, we got a tour bus to the Park. This time, we will ride the bike as far as we can go.

R and R

Location:

Ushuaia

When you ride like we have ridden you have no time to think about being tired. You just get on with it. The moment it is over, everything seems to break down. Big plans for celebrations and champagne dissolve too nothing as after your first beer, you fall asleep in your food.
The past 4 days have been nothing but catch up time. Sleeping for 10 hours each night, eating to make up for all the irregular meals and days without eating, and sleeping some more. We can barely keep our eyes open past 9pm. The body slowly seizes up, bugs which seem to have been kept at bay appear from nowhere as throats are sore, sneezes are frequent. The brain remains as if stuffed with cotton wool and it is too hard to think.

If only someone could pluck us out of here and back home!! Still we have a route back to Santigo to ride and tomorrow we leave. In many ways this part of our journey is the most risky, with a lot of dirt to cover. Without the focus of the record, it could be too easy to make mistakes. You can track our ride home over the next month.

End of the Road

Location:	Ushuaia
Mileage:	16,974

We wake up knowing that this will be our final days riding. There are little niggles as we have about 80 miles of dirt to cover today, but really we know deep inside that we will make it.

It is a spectacular ride. The further south into Tierra del Fuego you go, the more valleys, rivers, mountains appear and the road winds back and forth. The wooded glens look like they are from Lord of the Rings. Grey twisted trees are drapped in light green hanging mosses and the ground looks buckled and covered with a blanket of mosses, with pockets of still water reflecting the blue sky.

The "FIN DE PAVIMIENTO" sign appears and we are back on dirt. We do not blast it. There is too much at stake and the scenery is too breathtaking.

Besides over the Paso de Garibaldi, there is no option but to take it slow as the road climbs higer, with snow deep on each side and the road narrows at the highest part, leaving huge drops to the right. The road has a top sheen of glassy mud and the bike skates across it. With my vertigo, I can't even breathe as we crawl over the narrowest bits. As we head down to the valley, we can pull across to the side and look back at the mountain peaks behind us. It is truly the most mesmirising view of the whole ride.

And then it is tarmac again. Signs for hotels appear and the final corner, shows the city of Ushuaia. Brightly coloured buildings nestling upto a deep blue sea, and set against sharp jagged snow capped mountain peaks. We snap ourselves back to the job to be done. Photos by the town sign, our witness book signed by the local police and also Tourist Info, right in the centre of town.

We are left there in the middle of the bustling street, people walking past, staring at the bike and it is done. 35 days and it is finished. We look at each other and feel a little lost. There is no big ceremony, nobody opening champagne. It is just another overland bike that has made it to Ushuaia and only we know what and how we have achieved it.

After the record

Location:

Lapatia

Finishing such a huge ride has left us drained and exhilerant at the same time. But once we were signed off in Ushuaia, there was still an unofficial task to do. The road south, "Ruta 3" still continues for a further 25 kms out of Ushuaia, into Tierra del Fuego National Park and to Bahia Lapatia.

It is here that the Overland Motorcycle Mecca exists - the sign which states "Aqui finalisa Ruta 3" and gives the kms (as the crow flies!) to Alaska. Anyone who has ridden there bike from the very top to the very bottom (and many more who have only done part of the journey but got here on their bikes), take a photo by this sign.

And it was the same for us. Just a couple of hours aftering finishing the record and after a hot cup of coffee, we are at the sign, for a second time in our lives. Both times two-up on a BMW GS. But the circumstances could not be different. Our first time was on a 10 year old R80GS, having ridden for 6 months from Miami; our second on a 6 month old R1150GS Adventure, having ridden 35 days from Prudhoe Bay!

For us, this was the true finish. Ahead the ocean, behind the mountains and nowhere further to ride the bike, except back the way we came.

And so as well, it is not over. Both us and the bike have to get back to England and that is no mean feat. It is another 3,000 miles ride for us back to Santiago, Chile. From here the bike is air freighted to Madrid and we ride it back through Spain, France, catch the ferry to Dover and ride home.

Our journey back north takes us back through the Caraterra Austral and the Chilean Lake District, awesome riding so watch our progress back home here!

So near and yet so far

Location:	Rio Grande
Mileage:	16,840

Today we crossed tow borders (Argentina to Chile and Chile back to Argentina) and arrived on Tierra del Fuego. It seems that we have found some luck again. The weather holds as a bright blue clear day. When we arrive at Punta Delgada for the short ferry crossing across the Magallen Straits, the sea is like glass and the sun has an early springtime warmth to it.

As we board the ferry, we have a sudden rush of excitement, almost hysterical. We had reached Tierra del Fuego!! The bike was running well. Kev had recovered and I was in high spirits. And we were ahead of schedule. We had recalculated final miles and times and it seemed that to come in at a 35 day + time was feasible.

We had this new aim - we took 12 1/2 days off the RTW Motorbike Record. Could we take 12 1/2 dys off the Trans Americas Motorbike Record too??

Low mileage day

Location:

San Julian

Kevin is stilll not back to 100%. We make some startegic decisions. Our timing against plan is better than expected. We have managed consistently since leaving Santiago to do more miles than plan each day (with the exception of yesterday) and we have some fat to play with. If we just do 300 miles today, we can still make Ushuaia, a day ahead of plan.

As the record gets closer and starts to focus into reality, we don't want to tke risks that are unnecessary and the struggle of the ride yesterday has left Kev drained.

We decide to do less miles and be totally prepared for the following days and the final cross to Tierra del Fuego. We know that the weather will only get colder and road conditions more difficult and we need to be back on form.

So we stop at Pto San Julian (apparently Drake landed here to behead one of his crew!), have an early night and prepare for the last stages.

Sick

Location:	Comodoro Rividavia
Mileage:	16,150

Kevin is sick and has been up most of the night with the s****. He cannot get up for our 6am start, is weak and white and shivery. I tell him to get another couple of hours rest and see how he feels. In the meantime, I stroll outside and on the beach to watch the sun rise.

We have been really lucky with our health, up until now and with only a few days left, it is looking dodgy as to how Kevin can ride today. I am very worried.

When we do leave around 8.30am, he looks grey and has no energy. Thw wind is freezing and for the first time on the back of the bike, I feel seriously concerned. Kev's hands are numb and the bike is wandering. I sit up alert and try to help him with talking about the road, but really I just feel helpless. This is his personal battle, him, the road, the bike and his mind.

We stop 100 miles down the road for coffee. His eyes are blank and his hands are like dead yellow wax. He can't speak. We spend an hour there to warm up and he has three hot coffees, before getting back on the bike.

Our ride becomes slow and faltering. Every so often Kev's hand falls from the throttle, the bike slows as he tries to stretch life back into his fingers. He knows no one else can get us to our destination and we have to carry on. Stopping in the middle of a freezing windy wasteland was not an option. We fight the wind all the way, it is persistent, unrelenting and the strongest we have had to deal with.

Without Kev being ill, this was a tough ride. With him zapped of energy, each minute felt like an hour. It was agony, watching the km markings to Comodor Rivadavia, dropping two by two. But we get there. Kev falls off the bike, his whole body going into spasms. He feels like ice. We make no apologies for finding the best place to stay in town. He starts to feel human again after a hot bath, plenty of pasta and orange juice.

He has no luxury to rest up. We still have Ushuaia to reach.

The Atlantic Coast

Location:

Las Grutas

This stretch of the ride is going to be really hard. With miles and miles of straight road running through flat low Pampas, there is nothing to occupy the mind. Each miles looks the same. There is little traffic, plenty of endless landscpe of low vegetation and increasing wind. It is so open here we can see the weather ahead and we ride straight towards black stormy clouds . We are on the edge of it. To the left blackness and sheets of rain. To the right, white puffy clouds and sun. We are in the middle and get the tail end of winds and rain.
We reach the Atlantic today. It is the first time on this ride and it another signal that the end is closer. On the edge of San Antonio we are picked up by a local couple riding a Virago, who insist that we should come to Las Grutas with them. It is another town down the coast, much nicer than San Antonio and has better hotels and a bike meeting!

No reason to pass up local knowledge! But little did we know that Kev would eat something that made him sick that night. He was up all night and it would make for a severe test of riding the next day.

Bike Service

Location:	Santiago, Chile
Mileage:	15,500

We have just over 400 or so miles to get to Santiago and a service for the bike. We were frustrated over the other broken spoke in Vallenar last night and want to get the bike thoroughly checked over before our final 2,500 miles to Ushuaia.

We should arrive in Santiago ahead of schedule - the service was due for the following day, but the more time they have the bike the better. We continue on the coastal road. It is the wrong time of year for the best riding and cold damp mist swirls in across the ocean and we have to wrap up with heated vests and a multitude of layers.

When we reach the Tunnel El Melon, for the final 60 miles to Santiago, it is only a short ride to pop out from the coast into the valley and another world, where the air is dry and warm, bright flowers dot the road side and palm trees and pines grow together. The view is magnificent of the Andes, clear blue skies and snow topped mountains, warm sun make for an instant lifting of spirits as we make the last hour into the city.

It is a relief to roll upto Williamson Balfour and we roll off the bike, having completed the run from the border, some 1400 miles or so in the past 36 hours.

We now have a scheduled day of rest as the bike is overhauled and we stay with our good amigo, Francisco and his family in Santiago. It is strange having some time off the bike, but we have to make sure it is A1 for the last leg of this ride - as we get closer to our goal, they more we feel tense and nervous as any hiccup at this stage would be devastating.

We have now ridden the bike, barring the air freight Panama to Caracus, for 28 straight days. Sometimes covering over 1,000 miles a day, other times as little as 300 miles (although spending the same time on the bike!). We have a moment to try a recoup energies adn give the last section everthing we have. In just one week, we should be in Tierra del Fuego.

Desert, desert, desert

Location:	Vallenar
Mileage:	15,050

It feels like the whole world is one big desert! Since we entered Peru, we have ridden nothing but desert roads. Some that run the coast, vast sandy deserts of huge curved dunes of creamy yellow fine sands, sharp ridges peppering you with tiny granules as your ride. Others are barren, grey, hard, with huge craggy outcrops, no life and shrouded in heavy mists. Yet again the landscape will change to bright reds and oranges set aginst deep blue skies. All different and yet all desert.

As the road turns towards Copiapo, finally, finally, life seems to take hold again. The valley is green and we see trees again. Although our plan was to stop in Copiapo that night, the need to get the bike to Santiago sooner rather than later, pushes us onto the next big town of Vallenar.

We arrive under a pitch black sky, with thousands of stars lighting the sky in a way we never see at home. We come down to earth with a bump when we do our nightly check of the bike - another back spoke has broken. When we think back on the days riding, we figure that it could have only happened when we were forced to ride on a diversion that made for 10 miles of so of dirt of the PanAm and it was corrugated iron dirt that banged us so much that we felt our teeth would drop out!

Ever since our pothole of Costa Rica, our back wheel has dogged us. We pull the broken one out and both silently keep our fingers crossed that the spokes sent from England have arrived in Santiago and will be ready for us.

Tumbleweed town

Location:	Pozo Almonte, Chile
Mileage:	14,200

Our decision to atop earlier last night was vindicated. The road out of Chala would have been treacherous in the dark. We leave the small fishing village of Chala as the sun rises. The road is cut into the side of huge cliffs and dunes, with nothing but the ocean on our right hand side. The drops are huge, with nothing but jagged rocks and white foam below. Frequent crosses mark the spots of ill made judgements that have ended in tragedy.

The coast line would be would be even more magnificent, but for the mist that still dogs us. As the road heads inland to Arequipa, we leave the cloud behind and turn into bright skies and deep orange deserts.

Our main problem along this stretch of road has been ensuring a supply of fuel. Towns marked on bold letters on the map turn out to be nothing more than ghost towns, with crumbling adobe buildings, covered in faded political slogans and a petrol station boasting concrete slabs where pumps once stood. We fill up at one stop where there is a single pump carrying 84 octane only, taking a couple of gallons to get us to Arequipa where we know we can buy a better grade.

When we arrive in the final Peruvian town of Tacna, it is mid afternoon and we have not yet eaten today. It sometimes is too hard to find quick food in Peru and we have no stomach for a standard almuerzo, comprising rice and meat.

At the border, we are charged 10 soles for a form needed to exit the country and enter Chile. It is a scam, as the police officer does not want to be paid in public, but ushers me into a little office and pockets the money, without issuing a receipt. I have not the energy or the language skills to argue and I have spare coins to pay.

Oh the difference when we reach Chile! Smart buildings, clean offices, computerised records to issue a temporary permit for the bike - and no charges for anything! The exit from the border shows us a sign for Santiago - 2,091 kms and we have two days to get there - less another hour as the clocks change!

We take the ring road around Arica and head for a small mining town called Pozo Almonte, population 5,000. The road there is even more isolated than anything we rode on in Peru. After we cross two huge valleys, and a second Aduana checkpoint, the road then runs straight for miles and miles, with no habitation at all.

I try not to think what we would do if anything went wrong out here. Especially as we are riding into the night and the light is fading rapidly. We are totally dependent on the bike. At least here we do not face the erratic driving of other Latino countries. The traffic is infrequent and few on this road and the drivers indicate and use lights.

We roll into Pozo around eight thirty. I realise that we have no Chilean peso on us. There were no money changers at the border! The Pan American runs straight through the middle, past the plaza where everyone is hanging out (it is Saturday night). The buildings are wooden and haphazard, with lights swinging in the wind and dust swirling around the road gives the feeling of a cowboy frontier town.

I need not have worried about money. It is now Chile and we may be in a small ming town in the middle of nowhere, but the Esso garage not only has 97 octane fuel (the first time we have been able to buy such good fuel in the whole of the journey), but clean banos, hot coffee and a ATM that accepts a VISA card! Armed with plenty of pesos, we stay at a small hosteleria at the edge of town and eat our first meal of the day.

Mid Peru

Location:	Chala
Mileage:	13,650

Today we fight the battle of Lima rush hour. Although the Pan American acts as a ring road around the centre, the traffic, like any capital city around the world, clogs the main thorough fare. It is utterly filthy, all manner of vehicles jostle, making five lanes from three, a screeching of bleeping horns and revving engines as buses cut in and smaller cars weave slowly in and out of every tiny gap. Lima traffic takes no prisoners.

Kevin is pumped with adrenalin, taking his space and somehow holding the monsters at bay as we edge around the city. It is not the traffic in front that casues us the most grief but what is behind, as more than once blind drivers almost smackinto the back of us before swerving at the last minute into an invisible space. I am glad I cannot see the wing mirrors as I hold on, nostrils clogging with black smoke, as we creep further forward.

The bike is not happy. The temperature starts to rise, little by little. There is no air cooling here and there is not relief from the jam. As each ten minutes rolls by, another bar clicks upwards. The race between the red zone and moving roads is on. It is painful towatch each notch appearing on the bike. Until, sitting there amidst the clouds of muck, we hit red. We cannot even pull over here to give the bike relief - not only is there no way out of the metal maze, this is not the part of town that you want to rest up in.

It is nothing more than pure luck which sees us crawl past the main artery leading off the Pan American and into the city and then suddenly leave the traffic behind. As the bike leaps forward, with speed almost instantaneously, the temperature drops. We breathe a huge sigh of relief. Within ten minutes all is normal and it is a clear road that will take us down to Nasca.

The Nasca Lines are one of the few ancient monuments, we are able to see in Peru from the Pan American. A third visit here and a quick climb to the top of the look out tower so we can remind ourselves of some of these weird and wonderful pictures in the sand.

From Nasca, the roads are long and straight and we keep good steady speed, but as the road heads back to the coast, the wind really builds up. It is the first time we have had to contend with really strong winds here. With the wind and the sands comes a new hazards as small dunes drift across the roads and sand snakes before our eyes. In places it is deep and the huge trucks wind across the road back and forth to avoid the worst. We come into Chala early evening, but take a strategic decision not to continue under the conditions we have to ride in. Better to be there to ride another day.

Hampered!

Location:	Barranca, Peru
Mileage:	13,250

It is a frustrating day and we only manage 400 miles. We are hampered by the fact that we need to ensure each night we can find a place to stay. We dont carry camping equipment or food and so we have no choice but to find a small hotel or hospadaje. It is times like this when having a support vehicle would make your choices so much easier.

Although we can ride further, the next stop after Barranca is Lima and we do not want to arrive there in the dark, without a map and looking for a place to stay. We decide to get an early night here and be ready for a big day tomorrow.

This ride is so different to the Around the World Record. Steady pace is critical and the maxim of "stop to go further" is one that we hold by. It would be too easy to burn out too quickly or just ride and ride without thinking where to stop. In the Central and South American countries, where facilities can be few, you have to plan. If you dont, then you could end up somewhere shitty, with a bad nights rest and wipe out the next day.

You get to a point that you have come so far that the strategy becomes ensuring that you do not make errors and get too tired - especially when we are well on target to take ten days off the record.

Cusqueña Country

Location:

Chiclayo

After such a hard day yesterday, we left later than normal to ride to Peru. The border was only some 50 miles or so down the road. It is the third time we have crossed this border and each time, it´s chaotic and colourful nature typify South America. To get to the border, we ride the bike through a market selling from the exotic friuts to mundane T-shirts, live animals, local crafts and clothes. It is loud, busy and latino. There are 30 or so Ecuadorian police lining the road upto the border on either side with riot gear. There does not seem to be problems, maybe they are a deterrent, who knows?

We have plenty of people wanting to help and as Kev does the paperwork, I am left guarding the bike and drawing an ever increasing crowd of blokes, asking questions, pointing and pushing. I have also two policemen who stand close by, who smile and seem to keep the crowd at bay a little.

Crossing to Peru is a simple case of crossing the bridge and under a huge blue sign saying "Bienvenidos al Peru". We cross quickly and easily and ride off down the Pan American and into our twelth country. It is a huge boost.

We have left the mountains long behing until we need to cross them again in Santiago and after some miles of coast road with a clear blue sea, we head inland. From now on we run more or less the Pacific Coast (though not always on the coast), through mostly desert terrains. It never ceases to amaze me how people live insome of the places we see, with no facilities, makeshift shelters of sticks and black plastic, with desert and scrubland stretching as far as you can see.

It is a cloudy day and the whole place is grey. Dark grey skies, grey desert with dead grey grasses, cut by a black road running straight straight as far as they eye can see for miles. The ride is tedious, broken up by the odd goat or dog wandering at the side of the road, shanty towns and a few traffic police who seem to be sleeping at the side of the road.

The positive is that we make good progress and so far we have no more problems with the back wheel. However the bike feels tired. It clocked over 22,000 miles yesterday on the mileometer (some 12,000 miles of which are the wolrd record ride). We have decided that in Santiago the bike needs a good overhaul. Kevin is half minded to fly Steve out from Balderstons - the only person he trusts with the bike!

We have four days to get to Santiago for the service. We have to make it - the next three days are a public holiday in Chile to celebrate Independence and BMW is closed.

Lots problems in such a small country!

Location:

Machala

We left Otovalo early as the market was setting up and headed for the Equator and then Quito. You wouldn´t think that finding the equator should cause so many problems. We have been there before, but on the road into Quito it became elusive. Before we knew it we were at BMW in Quito having not seen where the equator was!

We managed to get a new visor for Kevin´s helmet, which had snapped the day previously, do some publicity shots and get a good map of Quito and the surrounding area. We did a quick about turn for 15kms to find the equator line so we could get proof photos for Guiness before heading back south.

The plan was to get as close to the Peru border as possible with the town of Machala the intended stop point. In such a small country the task seemed quite easy but Ecuador has a knack of presenting you with major junctions, no signs and helpful characters who contradict each other as to the way to go. The roads here vary from excellent to non-existent. The other traffic on the road varies from dirty to filthy black fume belching machines. I think we must have smoked the equivalent of 500 cigarettes in this country. Ecuador takes the prize for the dirtiest smelliest most poisonous trucks, easily.

The city of Ambato seemed to having all its roads dug up at the same time and the bike took a real beating. Some miles out, the bike started to wobble as if we had a flat. We pulled up on the side of the road in the middle of nowhere and we found that a bolt from the back wheel had totally shaken loose, leaving the wheel running out of sync. Worse was to come as tightening the bolts did not seem to help. A test ride by Kev showed that the wheel was still not running true and there was resistance.

By this time we had attracted a crowd of locals who had been jammed packed into two lorries and had pulled up next to us on the side of the road. With the help of one, we took the back wheel off completely, checked out the whole of the back setting and then re-set it back on. With only a couple of hours of daylight left, I was quickly checking the nearest places to limp into and a contingency plan for how to solve the problem.

It was with visible relief that when Kev tested the bike for the second time, it seemed we had corrected the problem. We can tell that the back wheel is still not running quite true but it is back to being rideable.

The next problem was having lost hours here, we could not make Machala until late, meaning night riding in the mountains or we had to hole up too early when we still had daylight. World records are not made by taking the easy option, we both decided to carry on. As daylight started to disappear and with a huge storm brewing ahead, our next piece of bad luck was to take a wrong turning.

We did not know this until two hours down the road and over a foggy mountain tops at an altitude so high as to cause a few headaches, and arriving in a town called Bucay (not on either of the two maps we had), where the only road that locals pointed to was one that was signed to a town on the west coast and not south. Somehow we had ended up riding two sides of a triangle and adding another 100 miles to the ride.

It is by now pitch black, we are two hours from Machala and have the demoralising prospect of having to ride until after eleven on roads where we continually faced head on buses and lorries. In the black of night with lights dazzling off the visor, it was like playing Russian Roulette. With truckers not used to bikes riding at the speed we were, we were forced over to the edge of the road on numerous ocassions.

The final miles into Machala lasted an age, in which I am sure that we visibley aged too. At our hotel, we fell off the bike shaking, eyes sore from fumes and dazzled by oncoming beams, legs numb and arses aching.

Demonstrations

Location:

Otovalo, Ecuador

Today was to be our final day in Colombia. For the first hundred miles or so after Popoyan, the military presence was pretty high. Even at our hotel in Popoyan, we had three soldiers at the entrance. This area is still under heavy surveillance - the archaelogical area of San Augustin, some 50 miles or so into the mountains from here, and where we both spent Xmas five years ago, is still a no-go area.

It was hard not to do the last bit of this Colombian ride with an edge of tension. But as we approached the border, the military seemed to disappear and we sailed through the last few towns easily, with no checks.

As we checked out of Colombia, it was with relief and sadness. Relief that despite FCO advice not to travel overland that we had and we had not had any problems, sadness that such a beautiful country seems to be held to ransom. Also special memories of the Colombian riders who had ridden with us for two days and showing us such great hospitality.

Our elation at getting to Ecuador unscathed was short lived. This has been our third visit to Ecuador and every time now there has been protests and demonstrations. Last time there was even a coup and they ousted the then President. This time at the first town we came to there was a blockade across the road, some seven or eight trucks all staggered across. Luckily the bike could squeeze through. And then at the next town the same again, on entry and exit, trucks blocking the Pan American.

At some places it was taking us twenty minutes or more to find a way through the maze of vehicles. The funny thing was that the drivers who were demonstrating were the ones guiding us through the block! At one point, five of them stood around the bike guiding it through the narrowest of strips of roads and holding it upright so it did not topple sideways into a steep ditch next to the road.

Our arrival at Otovalo was delayed by a couple of hours but other than that, we are through OK. We remain about 100 miles ahead of plan, in excellent spirits, if not quite weary.

The bike running well but feels a little tired. There is no doubt that the demands on the bike for this ride are significantly more than the around the world record. On this ride, the liberty to pick the route is limited and you cannot avoid hundreds of miles of mountain roads, severe bends and poor road conditions. It´s a lot of punishment for a bike that is at maximum load capacity and seems more and more to grind out on the curves.

From behind to ahead

Location:

Popayan, Colombia

We have gone from being delayed and losing half a day due to Customs Venezuela to being in Popayan, Colombia, about 100 miles ahead of schedule. Don´t ask how we did it - let´s say it is all thanks to the Medellin GS riders. Do they know how to ride!

After all the hassle getting the bike into Venezuela no one asked for the documents when we were there and they didn´t even want to check one scrap of papaer for the bike when we left.

Colombian Immigracion managed to squeeze dollars out of us by insisting that we should have a return air ticket out of Colombia or else they could not stamp our passports in. Somehow leaving on a bike was just no good enough.

The ride on the Northern Coast was quick, the road long, straight and in good condition and other that torrential rain and the numerous police check points, nothing extraordinary. The police have been fabulous with us, always interested in the bike and most shaking our hand for visiting Colombia. We stayed the night on the Tyrona coast which is spectacular.

Our ride the next day got us to Caucasia where we met Camilo, Felipe and Diego, GS riders from Medellin. Caucasi to Medellin is the most extraordinary steep mountain road, bend after bend after bend and truck after truck. In places the road is just collapses into ridges and waves, grinding the underneath of the bike. It was a little hair raising, especially coming into Medellin in the dark - but we were riding with guys who knew the road like the back on their hand.

From here to past Cali we had Colombian riders stay with us and get us through the cities. We stayed with Camilo in Medellin and the following day, although our target ride was to Cali, actually got to Popayan about 100 miles further south. We had one check point where they tried to ring through on their mobile phone with our passport numbers to check us out, but gave up when they could not get a signal!

It is the first time that we actually have a little time in hand.

Tomorrow, all being well, we should cross to Ecuador and head for the Equator.

Keep Smiling

Location:

Caracus

I´d like to write and tell you about first day of riding in Caracus. Instead I can give you a wonderful description of Aduana Offices, Guardia Nacional and a puzzle of other places with no signs but people who want stamps and photocopies. We do not get the OK to go until mid-day.

We are back at the hotel here, packing up and ready to make some progress now. Maybe we will get to Valencia. It is a few hundred miles down the road and at least some progress.

It is 110 degrees here and even whilst loading the bike, we have sweated three gallons. We have now lost our day that we gained back and are back at one day behind. This messes up arrangements with the Colombian riders and I hope that we can still get to ride with them this week-end.

We are off in half an hour to get a bit of road under our belt. South America here we come!

Venezuelan Customs

Location:

Caracus

*******!! It has been a frustrating day. Armed with our carnet de passge for the bike and all our documents and copies present and correct we thought that we would be able to get the bike out in one day.

The Latino love of stamps and copies in triplicate, combined with a 4pm closing left us stranded at the Customs warehouse with no bike and a "mañana" ringing in our ears. We missed the slot by only twenty minutes and Kevin's offer to pay someone extra was frowned upon immemdiately. Come back Central America!

All our hard work to claw back our day in Central America is now draining away. The plan was to have the bike tonight and leave Caracus at first light. The reality will be back to the Customs warehouse at 8am and hope that it is no more than an hour to get the bike. If we can do this, we may be able to set off about 11am and have only lost 5 hours or so.

We still have our spoke problem with the back wheel. We find out that the quickest we can get spokes to South America even with DHL speediest service is 4 working days. We speak to Camilo Delgado, a Colombian rider from Medellin, who is meeting us on the ride in Caucasia with other riders and explain the problem. He will try his best to scrounge spokes and screws off other GS riders for us so at least we have some to strengthen the back wheel. Just cross your fingers that the wheel holds.

In the meantime we are having spokes sent to BMW in Quito, Ecuador for us to pick up as we should be there next Tuesday or Wednesday.

SOS, Panama

Location:

Panama City

We know that the bike has been air freighted and so now we are able to book our flights out of Panama to Caracus. We never leave a country until we know that the bike has gone first! We fly at 7.30pm in the evening and the day is taken up with lots of jobs to organise. Getting stocked up with dollars prior to going to South America as well as visiting the SOS Village and doing some press interviews.

Although our bike had already flown, Bavarian BMW Motors lent their new GS bike for photos and TV. AT the Village, lots of the children crowded around, tried on our helmets and gave us lots of hugs. It was really motivating for us to see the children look so happy and excited.

A special thanks to SOS in Panama, particuarly Norma, Enrique and Mirca who looked after us so well and spent ages waiting with us and to Julio who offered all the help possible from SOS in Panama.

Servicing

Location:

Panama City

We take the bike to BMW as to plan on Monday 1 Sept. We are back on target. Unfortunately we have to wait to 11am for the mechanic to arrive and start work on the bike. Not only that, they do not have the spokes to repair the wheel.

Our freight agent insists he must have the bike no later than 4pm or else it will not make the flight to Caracus. Everything hinges on the speed of the service. It is nailbiting stuff. Whilst we wait Julio (Director of SOS in Panama) and Norma from SOS come to see us and offer any help they can for us whilst we are here. But all we can do it wait. The mechanic tells us he will not finish until 4pm but this is too late.

In the end we leave at 3.30pm with the airport some 40 minutes away. With the SOS truck leading the way, we follow them through to the airport as fast as we can go. We arrive there 5 minutes after deadline, but they take the bike. They have already started to build a crate for us. With paperwork done and the SOS team waiting with us, we get back to the hotel by 7pm that night.

It has been a hugely tiring day. Our visit to the SOS Village is now lined up for the next day. Now that we know the bike has gone, the only thing for us to do is book our own flights!

End of the Road

Location:	Panama City
Mileage:	9,000

We leave San Isidro in Costa Rica very early as the aim is to get to Pamana by mid afternoon and then visit the SOS Village. It is dark when we leave.

The road seems good but it has pot holes to catch you out. In the dusky morning hours, we miss avoiding one big one and the bike takes a huge thud. A bang so big you can't belive that you can get away with it. Sure enough within a few miles and hearing a flapping sound, we get off the bike expecting to see the back tyre deflating.

In fact a closer inspection shows the tyres are fine but that we are missing six spokes in one section of the back wheel and have taken a small dent to the rim. We limp into a petrol station. As always it is a Sunday. It is ony 6.30am. The only thing we can do as dawn breaks is to make a temporary repair. We ave no spare spokes with us. We have to jiggle around the remaining spokes to evenly space out where the gaps are.

This is now going to be hairy. With me on the back and all the luggage, most of the weight rests over the back wheel. If it was Kev on his own, we would not worry. I don't want to get back on the bike but there is no choice. We edge slowly down the road and take is at an easy 40mph for the next 20 miles of so and inspect the wheel again. It appears to be holding but we know we have no contingency there. Every other pothole has to be avoided. Just how strong will it be when the bike is at maximum load capacity? How far can we push it?

It is 100 miles to the Panama border and in Panama the dealer is expecting us for a sevice the next day. We have to make it to cross the border.

The further we go the braver we get until, we are at the border. This final border is the cheapest, quickest and simplest yet. But we are now losing time because we have to go slow. Any hope of getting to Panama City to see SOS this afternoon is gone.

The norther section of the road is poor. Many cracks and potholes and we slalom around them. By Aguadulce, we are onto dual carriageway all the way in. But we are losing light again and within 10 miles of Panama City, it is dark. Traffic is heavy as everyone is coming back from the beach. They drive like maniacs when it is straight, inches behind the car in front but do not know how to drive through bends, and drift all over. Within less than one miles we see three accidents blocking the road, with police and ambulances there.

For us the City was easy to negotiate, even at night, and following signs for Ave Balbao, we find the InterContinental Hotel, recopmmended to us by the Food and Beverage Manager who we met at the Panama border. It looks out over the bay. It is sheer decadence. We have never stayed in such a luxury hotel like this, but we have two days before we hit South America.

Head On!

Location:

Nicargua to Costa Rica

The road when we cross to Nicaragua is unbelievably good and nothing like when we were here four years ago. Smooth clear tarmac leads the way. We leave Ocotal at 5am and arrive at the border at about 9.30am to leave Nicaragua and enter Costa Rica. We cannot belive how quick it has been done. We are now entering Costa Rica only a couple of hours behind plan.

Costa Rica had two major hurdles - another capital city to cross and the Cerro del Muerte (Mountain of Death). As we hit road works in San JOse and lost all signs, we reverted to the taxi trick again to get us through.

The road out of San Jose climbs upwards for the best part of 60 miles to over 3,500 metres. It is late afternoon. We start to lose light and it gets cold. The higher we get the more mist swirls around and the thicker it gets. In parts visibility is down to only twenty metres of so. Our danger here is the cars without lights and the very slow trucks. Go round a sharp bend too fast and a truck crawling along may as well be a brick wall.

The most scarey thing is the impatience of the cars coming the other way. As we reached night with still 40 miles to go before our stop point that day, we faced a head on around a blind bend. Kev swerved to the right, inches from the edge of the road, braking and with the thinest of margins we stayed up right and on the road.

The final hour riding saw me turn to a shaking wreck, as every glare of lights and bend posed real danger.

Arriving in San Isidro, we have one more day of riding ahead to make Panama by deadline.

Onward!

Location:

Nicaragua

I race over to the Nicargua side of the border and ask in my broken Spanish if they will process the bike this evening and the Aduana nods his head to me. Running back to Honduras, we sign us and the bike out. We are now in no mans land.

Kevin deals with the Nicarguan Aduana for the bike. I take our passports to Immigracion for stamping. The officer looks at his watch and waggles his finger "No - manana a las ocho". It is ten past five. My heart sinks and he sits there smugly and repeats his phrase.

You know what comes next. We pay double for our Nicaraguan tourist immigracion card, but he then lets us in. The bus arrives at the border five minutes later to take all the border staff away and in the time it takes us to get oursleves sorted the border is deserted. We have made a double border crossing on one day by the skin of our teeth.

We then realise we have no Nicarguan cordobas and what´s more we are losing light rapidlay. There is a small comedor over the border and a one eyed old man called Raphael, shuffles out with a wad of notes in his hand. We get another fleecing on our rate, but change enough money to get fuel and lodging for the night.

We end up in Ocotal, now knowing that we have really taken a big chunk nack out of the lost day.

Nicaragua or bust!

Location:

Esquipalas to Ocotal

We are at the border when it opens at 6am. Leaving Guatemala is held up because we need photocopies of our Guatemala bike permit and the photocopy man is not there. We should not have worried because by the time we clear here and get to the Hondura crossing a couple of kilometres down the road, the Aduana is not there. We do immigration and then wait. Our guide tells us that the Aduana will arrive at 8am. We sit around until 8.30am before he arrives.

Then it is a little bit of corruption. If we want the permit done quickly we have to pay big dollars for him to push it up the queue. Otherwise he has two other vehicles to do first. (Probably from last night!)

No amount of arguing gets us anywhere and we are caught. We hate paying over the odds - it makes it worse for the next traveller - but we cannot wait here for the best part of the morning.

We pay the extra dollars and feel angry at being fleeced, but leave the border by 9am. We have to try and make a double border crossing today into Nicaragua if we are to catch up.

The day is tedious. We only stop a couple of times for fuel and water. We miss any food breaks. Our only saving is that unlike Guatemala City, Teguicigalpa signs the road straight through for us. We weave in and out of the trucks as the clock counts down. LP says the border closes at 5.30pm.

We arrive at five to five with a sigh of releif only to be have a rising tide of panic when they say the border closes at five. They will process us out of Honduras but will Nicaragua let us in??

Claw Back time?

Location:

Acapulco to Tapachula

We still have not caught up our lost day. We leave Acapulco at 4.30am. Just to tread water we have to get to the Tapachula and the Guatemalan Border. It is a 700 mile day, all still on our favourite Highway 200. I don´t see that we are going to claw back today.

Our start is crap. We follow the Airport signs, which is to the south of the city and where we need to go, but end up at the Departure Terminal (is someone trying to tell us something?) We are not going mad, once again, Mexican signing leaves a lot to be desired.

The road continues to give us glimpses of spectacular coast line, endless stretches of beach with huge crashing surf or craggy cliff faces with swirling masses of foam. Little hippy surf towns lie just out of reach. We plough on through curve after curve, slowing to snails pace behind huge lorries, risking quick overtakes to get some speed up. It is hard hard work in the midday sun. Our faces and hands are burning and our arses are really beginning to feel the effects of nine days in the saddle.

We have little relief along this stretch of road. Even getting something to eat is turning into a nightmare. Having not eaten for over 24 hours, we finally stop at a well signed restaurant, only to find it a back room of a house, with plenty of flies. Mama cleans the toilet for us and cooks our food - a huge plate of camerones, complete with all bits. It takes us more energy to eat it than we take in. Let´s hope we feel no after effects!

As for the bike, he is holding up well. Plenty of punishment, lots of weight, but as expected from the BMW, has not let us down.

Central America

Location:	Tapachula
Mileage:	Approx 6,000 in total

Our status on the record is still one day behind plan. Mexico has been much tougher than expected. We now have four days to cover five countries and still make our BMW service which is planned for Monday 1 September at 8am in Panama City. Not only that we have SOS to visit in Panama too!

Luckily we planned Central America on a much more cautious basis and provide the borders are good to us, we are confident we can get back our precious day.

Entering Guatemala

Location:

Talisman to Esquipalas

We arrived at the border crossing early but only to find that they would not process the bike documentation. They sent us back to a point 10 miles earlier where late last night, tired and weary, we had passed without seeing it. It causes us a delay of 1 1/2 hours. It is a bad start to the day.

We get a guide to help us crossing into Guatemala. For a few dollars they take all the paperwork and run around for you. It is painless and the costs of getting into Guatemala are low - the permit for the bike is only about $4.

Guatemala is hot steamy and very tropical. We run the CA1 and then head into Guatemala City. This route will take us direct to Honduras and miss El Salvador, avoiding a border crossing here.

The city is hell. The road dumps you in a myriad of narrow streets with no signs and bumper to bumper traffic. In desperation, we have to hire a taxi to follow out of the city. It is all eating into time. As we finaly hit the road from Guatemala, it runs a series of steep ridges, clogged by old trucks doing 10 mph and belching out fumes. Our time is ticking away today. If we want to claw back our day we have to try and cross into Honduras today as well.

The border closes at 6pm. We miss it by half an hour. The Aduana office is closed. We have to go back to Esquipalas and hole up there for the night. We are still one day behind our plan.

Going loco down in Acapulco

Location:

Not the Mayan Palace

Today was a crucial point of the ride. We had to stop the slippage and claw back if we could. We need to get to Acapulco, minimum, to remain one day behind. Ideally we need more than that.

Highway 200 had its own ideas. Bend after bend, village after village (not marked on the maps!) and topes after topes (for the uninitiated, the Mexican equivalent of humps in the road to slow you down). Topes are evil, more like going up and down steep kerbs. The bike has grounded out too many times, even though going at minus 2mph to get over them. Not only that, they are too easy to miss, especially when riding at night.

Night riding is never recommended, but we have no choice here. The main advantage is that the villages suddenly look very quaint and pretty, all lit up with fairy lights, the muck seems to disappear. Unfortunately, the pigs, turkeys, chickens, dogs, cyclists, children, goats don´t, and nor do the topes.

We end up in Acapulco around 10pm, at a T-junction, with no signs on how to go through or where to go. We decide to follow the general flow of traffic and some taxis in particular, and end up in a dead up street with a huge fruit market around us.

As we can´t get our bearings, we turn around and decide to take any round that heads down (it has to reach the beach and from there we can orientate). It works!

The problem with Acapulco was finding somewhere to get a bed that was not a 5 * deluxe palace. When we do there is no food. With a Coke, we get to bed for a few hours, ready for the next day.

Highway 200 - the Pacific Coast Route

Location:

Culiacan to Barra de Navidad

It was an early start from our "love nest", with toll roads headin south.

From Tepic, we were on Highway 200 to Puerto Vallarta. Maybe we missed signs, but we got dumped in the middle of the old town, with cobbled streets and lots of tourists. It all took up too much time.

Having found our way out of the maze, the coastal route then brought us its own challenges. A beautiful road if you had days to ride it, it´s twists, clinging to the edge of the coasts, uneven road surface and evil bends lowered our average speed even lower.

By that evening we hit Barra de Navidad, a lovely little coastal town and our planned stop for the day before. Mexico is turning into a mightmare. We have now lost a whole day.

The Pacific coastal route of Highway 200 could be a big mistake.

Another slow day

Location:

Nogales to Culiacan

Today was a wake up call to Mexico. With 250 miles down, we knew we could not make it up today because it had already been planned as a 850 mile day. The best we could do was to hold ground and ensure we did not lose more miles.

Toll roads through to Guaymas and onto Los Mochis were fast but not fast enough. Despite being "toll", they still passed through villages, had slow speeds and plenty of creatures wondering back and forth.

After night riding till 11pm, we decide to stop at Culiacan. As with all stops we do not want to be in the city itself but on the outskirts. We spot the ideal Paradise Motel just off the toll road. We know what this is and hire our room for the night (not just by the hour!)

We always advocate the benefits of these premises (and I am not talking what they show on the TV channels). They are cheap (ours was $18 for the night), vary clean, 24 hour room service and 100% safe, being patrolled by armed guards. It is ideal for us as we lose no time trawling through city streets loking for somewhere.

And as Kev always says, "minutes are miles"!

But the bad news is that we have lost more time and are running behind on plan. We´ll see if we can catch up over the next few days.

Saddlesore 2000 cont´d

Location:

Tucson

From when we left Lethbridge at 5am, the next 28 hours were hellish riding. Over the border, we made good if not boring progress through the flat plains of Montana. Miles and miles of straight interstate through dead pan countryside (this was why we did not want to go this way again!).

We approached Salt Lake City in a thunder storm. Black skies, horizontal rain and winds virtually blew us off the bike. It is supposed to be 100 degrees here! The we hit peak rush hour. Road works and heavy traffic held us up for hours. Getting fuel is becoming an increasing headache too - three petrol stations so far have had "OUT OF GAS" signs on them. What is happening!

We hit Cedar City around midnight and discuss whether to carry on with the Interstate around Las Vagas or to cut across through the Bryce, Zion and Grand Canyon National Parks. Our mind is made up for us when we are told that Las Vegas has suffered from flash floods and the Interstate may be closed.

This means heading off the Interstate, through some of the most impressive areas of Utah in pitch black. We pass by Powell Lake without seeing a thing, other than deer. The road is littered with hundreds of deer, their eyses flashing off the headlight. Fresh kill on the road reminds us to take the speed down, but at 45mph, we are not getting anywhere fast.

Around 4am, we stop at Cameron, so small I don´t even think it is on the map, and Kev takes a nap. I stay awake so that we don´t just sleep in the car park until sunrise. The next few hours riding are mind over matter, fighting to keep alert, eyes stinging, bones aching.

As sun rises we are boosted, but we are not there yet. At 8am and in over 90 degree heat, we are blasting around Pheonix and just after 9am, we arrive at Iron Horse Motorcycles in Tucson.

Iron Horse Motorcycles

Location:

Tucson

Just a big thank you to Marty and everyone at Iron Horse Motorcycles, who looked after us and the bike so well. It was great to chat to all the customers who turned up and signed our witness book for Guinness.

Thanks to Heidi and Bob who rode with us to the Mexican border, in searing heat! You will be pleased to know that despite your advice of not crossing the border to Mexico "Downtown", somehow, we ended up doing exactly that. Not sure how!

Anyway, the Mexcan crossing was quick and easy. Nogales was busy, hot and dirty. It was a shock to the system after Tucson, even thought we know what to expect. The short ride out of Nogales reverted Kevin into Latino mode of riding - massive use of horn, taking his space and plenty of swerving in and out of traffic.

However, the fact that we both had not slept the night before and had covered over 1,400 miles in a little over 24 hours, meant that we cut our ride short today. It means we are about 250 miles behind schedule.

The Saddlesore 2000 Ride

Location:

Lethbridge

The Iron Butt Saddlesore 2000 Ride (riding 2,000 miles in less than 48 hours) got off to a very slow start. We did not leave Prince George until 11am. Psychologically this is very bad as it guarantees a lot of night riding.


We were riding with Jeff Anspach, our American friend whom we last saw in Rio de Janiero over three years ago. He joined us from Portland, Oregon. The three of us rode through to Jasper and then onto Banff. It was good to have the company of another rider to keep spirits up.

The Jasper National Park along Icefields Parkway is a must ride for any biker, provided you get their a little out of season so that the RV traffic has disappeared. Our original plan of then riding Highway 39 to Missoula had to be ditched when news of the forest wildfires reached us. Sure enough at the junction we would have taken, the Highway was signed closed to all traffic.

This meant an impromtu diversion over to Calgary and into the USA on Interstate 15. We are familiar with this because it was part of the World Record route last year - and we did not want to ride it again, but we did not plan for fires!

That night after Jeff had left we rode onto midnight, but holed up in Lethbridge just short of the USA border. With barely 600 miles under our belt that day, it was going to be a tough 36 hours to follow.

Fourth Day

Location:	Prince George to ??
Mileage:	2,200

This morning is Prince George, we are changing tyres and going back to raod tyres. The knobblies were vibrating quite a bit as high speed yesterday and we are hoping for a much smoother ride from now on. we don't know where we will stop tonight. We have to ride at least 1,000 miles today and we have also had to change the route because of wild forest fires in Montana. We were supposed to route through Missoula, but we don't want to run the risk of being held up.

This means we will take Interstate instead. We wanted to avoid Interstate simply coz it gets boring, but it is safe for esuring we get to where we need to be. Today we ride through Banff National Park and then divert through to Calgery, cross the US border at Coutts and Sweetgrass and then take the Interstate as far as we can get. We will ride past midnight tonight.

The Stewart Cassiar re-visited

Location:	Watson Lake to Prince George
Mileage:	1,500

We leave a small motel just outside Watson Lake, with about 1,550 miles under our belt. We now travel the length of the Stewart Cassiar Highway. It is very different riding it now compared to when we spent three days riding it.

I shout out to Kev that I see a bear - he just tells me to concentrate on the ride! We are slow to start, the light is grey and hazy in the early morning, but as the day goes on, we have an empty open road to ride and can make great timing.

We pace the ride well. This time we cover slightly shorter distances and take slightly longer breaks to make sure we don't burn out too soon. There is still 34 days to go!

As we turn onto Highway 16 to Prince George, we suddenly meet traffic again. It is clear we are out of the "wilderness" now and back onto the main roads. RVs and trucks slow down our progress and there are many more communities to pass through where we have to brake right down. We cannot get a traffic ticket!!

At our stop for the night, one of our American friends, Jeff Anspach, has met us to ride with us for the next day or so. We have not seen him for four years and the last time was Rio in Brasil. Now the Beast (our bike) has a bright shiny VFR to ride with too. We think the company will boost our moral and keep us going.

The Second Day

Location:	Delta Junction to Watson Lake
Mileage:	650

We leave Delta Junction before sun rise. It is even colder than yesterday. With the heated vests on, we just about survive, but still shake as we stop for our first fuel and coffee. Today is about 800 miles and we have covered the first 100 miles with wind chill taking it below freezing. As the sun rises, the moose gather on the side of the road. It is a bit of a juggling act as to how fast we can go. These things are huge, solid beasts and we don't want to meet one head on!

The bike holds up well, even though we have only been able to put in 87 octane fuel, but Kev feels that it is holding back. That night we find out part of the reason. We check the air filter and it is clogged with all the shit from the dirt we had travelled on. Kev cleans it out and we put in the spare that we carry.

We are now travelling the Alaska Highway. It is familiar road as we covered much of this bit on the world record last year. It is every bit as awesome as we remember, little traffic, wide swooping bends, tall magnifient mountains lining the way and we have the luck of sun to keep us going.

The Start

Location:	East Security Checkpoint, Deadhorse
Mileage:	0

We left the security checkpoint at 8.00am as planned. Our two witnesses for the start were the local policeman, Don Grimes and the lady who runs the Post Office in Deadhorse, Les Dunbar. Don wishes us luck - he told us that he signed off the previous guys who did the record and says that they got about 50 miles south before crashing and hopes we do better than that!

It is a couple of degress above freezing as we set off on the long stretch of gravel road before us. It is wetter than we would like. Wet means the dirt becomes slimey and sludgy. We hit a number of sections where we are crawling at 25 mph. We know that we have a long way to go and we take it steady. We have plugged in the heated vests - it is so cold and at the top of Atigun Pass, icy rain starts to fall.

Past here the weather takes a real change and by the time we get to the Artic Circle it is almost balmy. The wet sludge turns to dry compact road, with plenty of dust, but riding upto 80mph on these bits. The huge trucks that do the Haul Road regularly, blast along us and leave us covered in shit and crunching dirt in our mouths.

We reach our stop point for the night, Delta Junction just after ten. Two motels are already closed and we finally find one that we get to just as they are locking the door. The alarm is set giving us five hours sleep and then we are off again.

The pace of the ride is very different this time - we have 37 days of long slog ahead and we have to pace ourselves so that we don't frazzle too early!