| Location: | Machala |
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.
