tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-303520202024-03-14T08:21:03.136+00:00Argentina-AlaskaMike Skinnerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00831666098089781043noreply@blogger.comBlogger102125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-30352020.post-3972696552597028162007-10-14T17:02:00.000+00:002007-10-14T18:25:15.846+00:00<div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-weight: bold;">Home.....!</span><br /><br />The rest of the ferry ride back to the UK was fairy uneventful other than speaking to a guy who used to supply meat to McDonalds et al, he was assuring me that the greasy fast food giant actually had the highest standards of meat anywhere and that it really was the best burger in the world. I prefer Burger King myself.<br /><br />Coming down the ramp and hitting UK soil again, I spied Mark waiting patiently on the other side of the port fence with his Africa Twin and after a brief visit to passport control, we met up again for the first time since we all met in Equador, many months ago. I had figured that Mark would be the best person to meet up with first because I could get my bike slightly more 'road legal' and get all that beurocracy that I hadn't dealt with for so long sorted, ie insurance, tax and MOT. I was slightly nervous about HB's MOT inspection but I needn't have worried. Mark had been good enough to book HB into the local garage and the following morning, I was the proud owner of a shiny new MOT certificate. Straight through first time and not one issue after 37,000 miles! The inspector did have 9930 miles on the certificate until I pointed out that it was actually 99,300 miles.<br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjWaTHHwUcqFMVyVe8YmD7mbp4lbq6WxoUFOGsBvb82ZHio6PMa6hDGhFjJHIuKrrB3IFidAPVj9Tnr0FanAG4hHMln1558XyVvDimQh0LS4nQrJFhXYLpAfEQ3-GbANegSLRQcyw/s1600-h/IMG_0265.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjWaTHHwUcqFMVyVe8YmD7mbp4lbq6WxoUFOGsBvb82ZHio6PMa6hDGhFjJHIuKrrB3IFidAPVj9Tnr0FanAG4hHMln1558XyVvDimQh0LS4nQrJFhXYLpAfEQ3-GbANegSLRQcyw/s320/IMG_0265.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5121241770759160706" border="0" /></a>HB passed 1st time!!!!<br /></div><br /><br />While Mark was at work, I got to work on HB and soon had all the oils changed, the air filter cleaned and even a wash in preparation for the ride home the next day. Their house really was nice though as it was built around 1520, however the door lintols aren't exactly suited for big lumbering oafs like me- mind your head! It was really nice to catch up with Mark again, though unfortunatelly Daisy was away on her new course that she's taken up since getting back a few months ago. It was great just to talk about the last few months with someone who knew exactly what I'd been through, and of course to get a decent pint of beer!<br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjCSvI5utFM2WV2qS3XGZ_cy_Gr_aM7IuMjQRZQeHGG9B1FTn2-xNru6yDJMPfXSndS724ZUao4EXF2yC7tF_irhjdWbE_341d8jCQrJQNq8gFRFZHzSyblfkX29AL179lOZSkV7Q/s1600-h/IMG_0269.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjCSvI5utFM2WV2qS3XGZ_cy_Gr_aM7IuMjQRZQeHGG9B1FTn2-xNru6yDJMPfXSndS724ZUao4EXF2yC7tF_irhjdWbE_341d8jCQrJQNq8gFRFZHzSyblfkX29AL179lOZSkV7Q/s320/IMG_0269.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5121241766464193394" border="0" /></a>Mark and proper beer!<br /></div><br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiYHqo45V_QcDZC8py4D639NDiRfQNn31k3Zs49Z767xVn3JutRGIb_HYDu0K2tmd07aEw5zn1DQ3R6K-R9qTCW1o60nZHEOr-BjhZEmoCF-i0_qC5pO3pTD4tFHsihKeay5esH8A/s1600-h/IMG_0270.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiYHqo45V_QcDZC8py4D639NDiRfQNn31k3Zs49Z767xVn3JutRGIb_HYDu0K2tmd07aEw5zn1DQ3R6K-R9qTCW1o60nZHEOr-BjhZEmoCF-i0_qC5pO3pTD4tFHsihKeay5esH8A/s320/IMG_0270.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5121241766464193378" border="0" /></a>Thor, the biggest dog in the world next<br />to the lowest door lintol in the world- ouch!<br /></div><br />Next morning, I'm off up the road to Edinburgh, stopping briefly at lunchtime for something I haven't had in a long time- a real fish supper out of newspaper! I make decent time and soon all the familiar names on road signs start wizzing past and before you know it, I'm back. I'm greeted by my sister, where I'll be staying for the next few months as my flat is still let out and its great to see her again. Mum is still on holiday and we catch up the following day. It really does feel weird to be back again and from what I've read from others who've done similar trips, it will take me a long time to adjust.<br /><br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjcjbM0_4GY74qrWBgSNTK8lx84B2Adk7fwehtobDdmpdD6CFe6heY5EbzQ_2gX6K6CWOliqz_3qN8_5kRVED8OKxQQM0jus6q4c8Cl3I0Qe40_iaCi6H-bBaYvVZaDQbZ2nKX0yg/s1600-h/Home1.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjcjbM0_4GY74qrWBgSNTK8lx84B2Adk7fwehtobDdmpdD6CFe6heY5EbzQ_2gX6K6CWOliqz_3qN8_5kRVED8OKxQQM0jus6q4c8Cl3I0Qe40_iaCi6H-bBaYvVZaDQbZ2nKX0yg/s320/Home1.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5121259783852000146" border="0" /></a>Arriving in Edinburgh<br /></div><br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJiYRif5L2OhTPYdwPZtESg2GBJyGv-daqcho9dc-K6AUzfuJFmBax2XZOTxt1kcDhIuYoqDm658UJjqYWpqZIiNTxuGwwOpDD7fj6x5V2LGxYhyphenhyphenDp6xFKzidYSrS0Qyv-1I1_Pw/s1600-h/Home2.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJiYRif5L2OhTPYdwPZtESg2GBJyGv-daqcho9dc-K6AUzfuJFmBax2XZOTxt1kcDhIuYoqDm658UJjqYWpqZIiNTxuGwwOpDD7fj6x5V2LGxYhyphenhyphenDp6xFKzidYSrS0Qyv-1I1_Pw/s320/Home2.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5121259783852000162" border="0" /></a>Trying on my old trousers-<br />I think someone's lost some weight!<br /></div><br /></div>Mike Skinnerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00831666098089781043noreply@blogger.com11tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-30352020.post-69528359224967480452007-09-29T16:28:00.001+00:002007-09-30T22:33:56.577+00:00<span style="font-weight: bold;">The Long Road Home</span><br /><br /><div style="text-align: justify;"> It would have been easy to hang around a while as I was really enjoying this place but, alas I really had to move on and catch the ferry back to mainland Italy for the long ride to Holland. It was hard to believe that the next ferry I would be on would take me and HB from Hook of Holland to Harwich and to the end of my journey.<br /><br />The next few days were really a bit of a blur, stopping briefely at Levanto, Italy then over the beautiful Alps to Chur in Switzerland (where bizzarely, sightings of the baseball capped 'Ned' or 'Chav' made a sudden and unwelcome reappearance for the first time). I then sped on up through Germany, originally planning to stay with a friend in Mannheim but due to prior arrangements and bad timing, I just kept on going till I hit the Rheine.<br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgYWqvHU8iehAOROM5t-K2lDtVBi6oPIGLdeg8vIc3ogu8e_Z2cQuUWrbRod_gyWbF04Bw2fc0ee558vwtLtU5R_oEhN6QruY7flU1oGG73PDTByvwpgcH2v0Ea7pjdNB3BB19N5A/s1600-h/IMG_0149.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgYWqvHU8iehAOROM5t-K2lDtVBi6oPIGLdeg8vIc3ogu8e_Z2cQuUWrbRod_gyWbF04Bw2fc0ee558vwtLtU5R_oEhN6QruY7flU1oGG73PDTByvwpgcH2v0Ea7pjdNB3BB19N5A/s320/IMG_0149.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5116123363743236770" border="0" /></a><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjvnY_rcKHyTU6W0S2M1V7GztM7Cix7YBX9GZm4MvKHHiJLUVU36YkHFyijMZ18XR0k2mfFOEZBTylHDWhefX5Y8AUW57k2WaWPaXE7xEZYE_90WiAnhtzZTyIS4wG-eGqh2ElWvw/s1600-h/IMG_0156.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjvnY_rcKHyTU6W0S2M1V7GztM7Cix7YBX9GZm4MvKHHiJLUVU36YkHFyijMZ18XR0k2mfFOEZBTylHDWhefX5Y8AUW57k2WaWPaXE7xEZYE_90WiAnhtzZTyIS4wG-eGqh2ElWvw/s320/IMG_0156.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5116123363743236786" border="0" /></a>More dodgy parking<br /><br /><br /></div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhV0I22SUAjKAkvYvBsbX_vZZpi5XUFNtDPyqwQfbcpsAtmiObY0h0OakKTkCx7c3JHZX7fRvJI-gZTIQtT-NACWDB4S8lp3LMb5CNULJUiLlj-MN95rw6tHJPClRAiOAmKZUkNqg/s1600-h/IMG_0162.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhV0I22SUAjKAkvYvBsbX_vZZpi5XUFNtDPyqwQfbcpsAtmiObY0h0OakKTkCx7c3JHZX7fRvJI-gZTIQtT-NACWDB4S8lp3LMb5CNULJUiLlj-MN95rw6tHJPClRAiOAmKZUkNqg/s320/IMG_0162.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5116123368038204098" border="0" /></a><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhIW-YFvo0tD0_ZyEhBBAoh5hTeAeIZix62Q7RcZpTuQr0kQAZPcKMnG82Xdnyr7NFPJTbZg6QJRT3jtFh6hl_z2zdwMNY0Tv8sQysucMzHgYGpPizcdGGmZ7dCdbi1_wBzdJKgiA/s1600-h/IMG_0164.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhIW-YFvo0tD0_ZyEhBBAoh5hTeAeIZix62Q7RcZpTuQr0kQAZPcKMnG82Xdnyr7NFPJTbZg6QJRT3jtFh6hl_z2zdwMNY0Tv8sQysucMzHgYGpPizcdGGmZ7dCdbi1_wBzdJKgiA/s320/IMG_0164.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5116123372333171410" border="0" /></a>The Alps- good roads!<br /></div><br />I found quite possibly the bussiest caravan campsite I'd ever seen, not realising that there was a wine festival going on. At night, the Rheine was taken over by about 30 pleasure boats going up the river as part of the festival. While getting packed up the following morning, I got talking to the Brits next to me who were Scots living in Kent and ended up being given a huge cooked breakfast!<br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjyLqQedGMf4KK37rD-4IfZ81ZxK3pDP-As8JYbrUb0kiM6U4Mru8ZFdLnvC9pXzvmzsoDk5LKvIwvjiVdtuBUFht3iLn5vzJr4uuMkDCkbuFqvu6rHxvlq-b5n11H_Hz-aLNpu7Q/s1600-h/IMG_0174.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjyLqQedGMf4KK37rD-4IfZ81ZxK3pDP-As8JYbrUb0kiM6U4Mru8ZFdLnvC9pXzvmzsoDk5LKvIwvjiVdtuBUFht3iLn5vzJr4uuMkDCkbuFqvu6rHxvlq-b5n11H_Hz-aLNpu7Q/s320/IMG_0174.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5116124132542382818" border="0" /></a>The Rheine<br /><br /><br /></div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEje7e0_FjyEUp7QTBlpIvo2pcAw91o48zRMueAjCsdHkIUdiUmohMQRqpz37r26m74GMBb_-mngxwzbCOobcctgUx6PwQL32MZcSTacFx9cziLqzSnHEjqpLPG4ZvqLDEzcByB6rQ/s1600-h/IMG_0181.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEje7e0_FjyEUp7QTBlpIvo2pcAw91o48zRMueAjCsdHkIUdiUmohMQRqpz37r26m74GMBb_-mngxwzbCOobcctgUx6PwQL32MZcSTacFx9cziLqzSnHEjqpLPG4ZvqLDEzcByB6rQ/s320/IMG_0181.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5116124136837350130" border="0" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEibKZo88Q5ueElebxCddrXn0G_NCG5ZlDUpN36PAFdh-roNE_yWzzrO13flZ8CA5tRdaQ4F487ZS1eFaFYWa95S3n0eAsZVa0_jDErp7gbLF2tCsKuweIm1wWzlUmI7-BP96hUudw/s1600-h/IMG_0221.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEibKZo88Q5ueElebxCddrXn0G_NCG5ZlDUpN36PAFdh-roNE_yWzzrO13flZ8CA5tRdaQ4F487ZS1eFaFYWa95S3n0eAsZVa0_jDErp7gbLF2tCsKuweIm1wWzlUmI7-BP96hUudw/s320/IMG_0221.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5116124136837350146" border="0" /></a><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg-HHB64o4p3pETKzOlPIoTAG2AiFO-jwXgCdtTncBpoa2QdeQPjWu8CIe-VCD1Pr3IL4RhS6ugCpxFDUgxPre6AdZZUK9WyKiYBa-9GOGKxC0rXKqw8NlTnMHHAco0pvrF3nKgzA/s1600-h/IMG_0240.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg-HHB64o4p3pETKzOlPIoTAG2AiFO-jwXgCdtTncBpoa2QdeQPjWu8CIe-VCD1Pr3IL4RhS6ugCpxFDUgxPre6AdZZUK9WyKiYBa-9GOGKxC0rXKqw8NlTnMHHAco0pvrF3nKgzA/s320/IMG_0240.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5116124141132317458" border="0" /></a>A healthy Scots fry up!<br /></div><br /><br />From there, I stopped briefely in Koln to see the Dom and then cracked on to Holland. I rode into in Nimwegan but still having a few hours of daylight left and nothing really catching my eye as far as campsites go, I plodded on until the bizzarely named s-Hertogenbosch. There I tried a few hotels but they were all too expensive and a bit noisy. I was told there might be a campsite at Vught,, to the south but there wasn't. I did eventually get directions to a campsite a few miles away, and on arrival, I found there was no one at the reception desk so I made my way between the vehicle barriers and started looking for a pitch. This was no ordinary campsite though as it was populated entirely by static caravans and it took me a heck of a time finding a spot to pitch. I found a group of drunken Russians outside one caravan, who pointed me to a small patch of grass nearby. One of them asked me, in all seriousness if I was indeed Hunting Terrorists thanks to an Alaska sticker on my pannier. It didn't look great but it would do.<br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhOhtCUtcfbkid3I99gxupxA8A6eMlbaxh7h2R3wYdJCPy9xr8mO9M7BhEZtf_-6WtHl1Cf_vz7twdhBFZgWIfXjrMBEgpXz99_DuW87RAn5uYXIdR_DPIZO4XWDDx53R5b8u54jQ/s1600-h/IMG_0256.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhOhtCUtcfbkid3I99gxupxA8A6eMlbaxh7h2R3wYdJCPy9xr8mO9M7BhEZtf_-6WtHl1Cf_vz7twdhBFZgWIfXjrMBEgpXz99_DuW87RAn5uYXIdR_DPIZO4XWDDx53R5b8u54jQ/s320/IMG_0256.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5116125124679828258" border="0" /></a>Koln</div><br />It was funny, tonight was the last night of my journey as tomorrow, I would be back in the UK and I dunno, but I was expecting something maybe a bit nicer to mark the end of what has been to me anyways, quite a big thing. But it was not to be, I sat alone on a bench in the dark outside the site's snack bar eating sausage and chips out a bag and had a couple of cans of Heinikan to mark my last night in Europe and of the last 10 1/2 months through the Americas. I thought of Michelle, the beautiful places I had seen and the truly wonderful people we'd met on the road.<br /><br />I awoke later at night in my tent to noises that wouldn't have been out of place in the Blair Witch movie. Every few seconds, I kept hearing loud bangs and snaps coming from all around and it took a while to realise that it was actually acorns falling from the trees on to the roofs of the caravans below. I wasn't too happy with this place as I'd been back to the reception, tried the door of their house and all to no avail. There were toilet and shower blocks nearby but they were locked and I could only get a key from reception. I thankfully found an unlocked toilet door near the site entrance otherwise the Russians might have had something to say.<br /><br />When I had packed up the bike the next morning, I was determined not to pay and having noticed that the outward automatic vehicle barrier opened spontaniously the previous night as I was manoevering my way in, I quickly rode past the guy who was actually now in the reception window and straight to the barrier which thankfully opened immediately.<br /><br />The town called Hook of Holland has to be one of the most depressing looking places I'd see, not lest beacuse of the incessant rain and the fact that it really looked just like Britain. Once I had my ferry ticket, I had a few hours to kill in this hell hole which I did by drinking lots of coffee and looking for an internet cafe in the rain but failed on the latter. The old dears in the tourist office eventually cracked and I was allowed to use their pc though I wondered who actually wanted tourist information other than the route out of town. I was then able to make contact with my friend Mark, who would meet me off the ferry in Harwich that night.<br /><br />The ferry, though much like any other, pretty much signified the end of the journey for me. Once on board, I quickly found the bar to start drowning my sorrows. Thanfully there was a movie theatre (not free I might add) so the latest Bourne saga filled a couple of hours out of the 8 hour sailing.<br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEip7QrjS-dW8ViPBdyQ1X78lhhb6KuI6rhU7IUH4lBME8FQODxacIQPBEYkaxox3iRTto_0gwC1Da32CNnaWiBtVI6qwQIuD-tc33aUP4pEyjNNg_p4PCVXpAYMnwcMUdg_s9f3Hw/s1600-h/IMG_0263.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEip7QrjS-dW8ViPBdyQ1X78lhhb6KuI6rhU7IUH4lBME8FQODxacIQPBEYkaxox3iRTto_0gwC1Da32CNnaWiBtVI6qwQIuD-tc33aUP4pEyjNNg_p4PCVXpAYMnwcMUdg_s9f3Hw/s320/IMG_0263.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5116125128974795570" border="0" /></a>After 37,000 amazing miles, the end of the road!!!!!<br /></div><br /></div>Mike Skinnerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00831666098089781043noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-30352020.post-64340907574247872222007-09-24T19:53:00.000+00:002007-10-14T17:00:40.847+00:00<span style="font-weight: bold;">Italia- Parte Due<br /><br /></span><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh9UHU8nMPuAMeehtjLNrcevtwQIZI_yUAtdlAnMVdhIxCP4JwECDkzApeF5MFpAg89S6gOBqzAlxkPJzcw8tHQyz5TSKL2meVzMT5FnBhgZ1C-bCqIt4HJ50VyqAz91M3OFQez-g/s1600-h/IMG_0121.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh9UHU8nMPuAMeehtjLNrcevtwQIZI_yUAtdlAnMVdhIxCP4JwECDkzApeF5MFpAg89S6gOBqzAlxkPJzcw8tHQyz5TSKL2meVzMT5FnBhgZ1C-bCqIt4HJ50VyqAz91M3OFQez-g/s320/IMG_0121.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5116121881979519618" border="0" /></a>D'Elba sunset<br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />I figured there really had to be much more to Italy than tailing grindingly slow industrial freight in the rain so I got the hell out of Riccione. My plan, such that it was, was to cut across the mainland, go and see Assisi, mainly out of half-remembered art history lessons from school, then head towards this little island called Isola D'Elba that so far, a couple of people had mentioned. Frankly, I knew nothing about it other than it was a wee island that was supposed to be quite pretty and, God forbid, there might even be some sunshine. So once clear of the area around Riccione which was irritatingly inhabited by thousands of wanna-be racers on sports bikes, the road crept up into the hills to finally reveal some pretty darn nice views, something I had previously yet to experience in Italy, so I knew I was onto something. The sun finally made a late appearance and I ended up really enjoying the ride to Assisi. I had vague memories of old art history lessons about Renaissance paintings and some chap called Francis, but to be honest, it was just a bit to busy with tourists for my liking. Whilest there, I also had the misfortune of buying the dryest and blandest pannini ever created.<br /><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;"> </div><div style="text-align: justify;"></div><div style="text-align: justify;">I had decided to see how far I got before sundown as I was in the mood for the sea side now that it was all nice and sunny. I made it as far as the port town of Piombino by 5.30pm and headed straight for the ferry office, and as it turned out, there was a boat leaving in half an hour so I just got myself a ticket and got in line with the other Saga-louts queuing up. The company that runs the ferrys to the Islands, Moby, have these very colourful boats almost like huge floating cartoons.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh0ee0pdzOqeemQ18hY5hFOConXP0j4w9uCeg1qYgc-cYWuio1pnjLsAr4V47lEvolBXuyDim5ow38QRqQVb31dh8Wbd7ZiBHDb0n46VeXw2tOFMQ_vN9kfSzcf-3p633rbp1tjBg/s1600-h/IMG_0751.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh0ee0pdzOqeemQ18hY5hFOConXP0j4w9uCeg1qYgc-cYWuio1pnjLsAr4V47lEvolBXuyDim5ow38QRqQVb31dh8Wbd7ZiBHDb0n46VeXw2tOFMQ_vN9kfSzcf-3p633rbp1tjBg/s320/IMG_0751.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5116121869094617666" border="0" /></a><br /><br />After an hour, we pull up alongside Portoferraio, the main town on D'Elba and I head over to Laconella on the south side of the island where I've been told there are campsites aplenty. I'm shocked when the first one I find is asking 25Euro for a pitch so move on to the next one which is 16Euro, still expensive but its nearly sunset and I don't really have the time to feck about. It seems nice though, quite rustic, very near the beaches and I even get to see a proper shooting star leaving a cool silvery trail while sitting on the beach later that night so its all good.<br /><br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi1VSLyvA32JPC8ATpps4ow-HMw_BuagOgHyi0ZDy2VaD4fL0txJQ0zTEG5GP-QwAASYvy4qWLySYU-v9b37_Q2uADQS7V5kKzmDMYT1m7-HW0RE_h_qDPvoF7viWNDIZ3kHNY0-g/s1600-h/IMG_0766.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi1VSLyvA32JPC8ATpps4ow-HMw_BuagOgHyi0ZDy2VaD4fL0txJQ0zTEG5GP-QwAASYvy4qWLySYU-v9b37_Q2uADQS7V5kKzmDMYT1m7-HW0RE_h_qDPvoF7viWNDIZ3kHNY0-g/s320/IMG_0766.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5116121877684552274" border="0" /></a>My beach for a few days<br /></div><br />The next night, after going to the beach and then spending most of the day buggering about trying to find some email on the island, I'd just finished my dinner when Esther, a German woman starts talking to me about the bike. It turns out she's done a few bike trips herself to Scotland and Ireland. The next couple of days are really nice, just going to the beach in the mornings and swimming and trying to get a tan back so it looks like I've actually been somewhere, then in the afternoons, Esther drove us around the island checking out wee villages. Napoleon lived here for a bit, ooh quite some time ago, so we went to see his house but opted out of paying to see the inside. There was a really gorgeous village called Poggio that was almost impossible to take a bad picture though I did try.<br /><br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhENw8UuSjObmHCICGzWVRmgny91LjmhdwnjRTSO5WqcMTSvSfcWfC2MtcBzsQap3lNulSP3AVNm5l1EU4ot5yuJIqhyh_3TkYbD2r7UIbzGJ1Ir_hZ18hOEw7ou8Fvg_LF_ju_zg/s1600-h/IMG_0003.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhENw8UuSjObmHCICGzWVRmgny91LjmhdwnjRTSO5WqcMTSvSfcWfC2MtcBzsQap3lNulSP3AVNm5l1EU4ot5yuJIqhyh_3TkYbD2r7UIbzGJ1Ir_hZ18hOEw7ou8Fvg_LF_ju_zg/s320/IMG_0003.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5116122629303829138" border="0" /></a>Napoleon woz ere!<br /></div><br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgU3BjkR3JOaN6w17U_9g7so0rBovryzv6Bw8IPtpgqO01LXWj6xNwHElBKcBKm3aqhjnUTsXbtlYk8QE6aMJnVLd8fSeqFbSKUIPgadzoJY2FpVQ80FqlMDmCS0C4Vpckw24d6Xw/s1600-h/IMG_0015.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgU3BjkR3JOaN6w17U_9g7so0rBovryzv6Bw8IPtpgqO01LXWj6xNwHElBKcBKm3aqhjnUTsXbtlYk8QE6aMJnVLd8fSeqFbSKUIPgadzoJY2FpVQ80FqlMDmCS0C4Vpckw24d6Xw/s320/IMG_0015.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5116121877684552290" border="0" /></a>Esther at the wee mans house<br /></div><br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj4ThDUREntQNQiL7Tldkh9AL28L9aEpCzSeVJHGE5SgAXQxGYkADxqYNzhb3rHAle_bM3E7-MEhGqmhPnJ9_KB0vRTozsjwxGaixGy2_GNXEL07m4r1bE7LUnTX3qJ2Qa2fc-jnQ/s1600-h/IMG_0046.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj4ThDUREntQNQiL7Tldkh9AL28L9aEpCzSeVJHGE5SgAXQxGYkADxqYNzhb3rHAle_bM3E7-MEhGqmhPnJ9_KB0vRTozsjwxGaixGy2_GNXEL07m4r1bE7LUnTX3qJ2Qa2fc-jnQ/s320/IMG_0046.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5116121881979519602" border="0" /></a>A village called Poggio<br /><br /><div style="text-align: justify;">While at the campsite, I also met a really friendly couple, also from Germany, Stephan and Karen, who kind enough to offer their hospitality if I was passing their way while going home. I couldn't help thing that it was slightly ironic that in Germany, I was hanging out with Enrico, an Italian, while in Italy, I met loads of Germans. I can only figure that Italy and Germany must do some kind of mass country swap during the summer months or something.<br /></div><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhzFzvOlCDKLiqZ4k47Yvzm20_WDmPTjCeY9ImdrY064HqqLBwCOUFzvcC-jbPvjoJGxX_s0cYGbflSBFuVQNz0PNyxrKZF177nvKH0dXHRCIoOGdIRiF_4A51SiQ_8mEqrPKuUNw/s1600-h/IMG_2544.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhzFzvOlCDKLiqZ4k47Yvzm20_WDmPTjCeY9ImdrY064HqqLBwCOUFzvcC-jbPvjoJGxX_s0cYGbflSBFuVQNz0PNyxrKZF177nvKH0dXHRCIoOGdIRiF_4A51SiQ_8mEqrPKuUNw/s320/IMG_2544.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5121236505129255746" border="0" /></a>Stephan<br /> & Transalp<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhI1dEik6GdjxHcC5QpXtaMV0cE0iFwD-1LhuyKnVcTzVKMAylYGoCBPu1CN42DSbgNPe6HhLB2H952dhcrHqyUhVXyS8gA4EQVjecF3tcT2AKnkX5Y1IM3ich4Jcj6EjTtPGV8vg/s1600-h/IMG_2545.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhI1dEik6GdjxHcC5QpXtaMV0cE0iFwD-1LhuyKnVcTzVKMAylYGoCBPu1CN42DSbgNPe6HhLB2H952dhcrHqyUhVXyS8gA4EQVjecF3tcT2AKnkX5Y1IM3ich4Jcj6EjTtPGV8vg/s320/IMG_2545.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5121236509424223058" border="0" /></a>Stephans wife, Karen and me leaving D'Elba<br /></div><br /></div>Mike Skinnerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00831666098089781043noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-30352020.post-51508985961194719472007-09-03T15:37:00.003+00:002007-09-30T22:01:51.603+00:00<b>Italia- Parte Una<br /></b><p style="margin-bottom: 0cm;" align="justify"><b><br /></b></p> <p style="margin-bottom: 0cm;" align="justify"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgdAadoXrZ5BGUVH2tPQWC9YD4kieCbayPAuPKMRu5qESzXxcFZPuLhjR-x3YFWht7Dk2Mw7zKW9g_ojRq60h3ReL1sGBy4uFDVlUpl4U_QwPInHS7WQH3zEudSHP-Sd13VInNMNA/s1600-h/Europe+119.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgdAadoXrZ5BGUVH2tPQWC9YD4kieCbayPAuPKMRu5qESzXxcFZPuLhjR-x3YFWht7Dk2Mw7zKW9g_ojRq60h3ReL1sGBy4uFDVlUpl4U_QwPInHS7WQH3zEudSHP-Sd13VInNMNA/s320/Europe+119.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5106012805795900066" border="0" /></a></p> <p style="margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: center;">Just makes you think of Italy, eh?<br /></p><p style="margin-bottom: 0cm;" align="justify">I walk around the town for a couple of hours but there's nothing to keep me interested so leave town. At the last minute, I decide to ride to Italy instead of Croatia. I'm now thinking I'll just see some bits of Italy I haven't seen before and miss out Croatia unfortunately as I'm rapidly running out of time and money, let alone patience. I also feel I'm getting quite jaded with it all again. I need to get some sort of plan together as to where I'm going. After Longarone, the scenery is really nice. The mountains just rise up all around me though the traffic is heavy and at times very going. I want to make it to somewhere on Lake Garda but as I don't have a guidebook for Italy, I have nowhere in mind yet and don't know about any campsites. I nearly loose it a few times on some of the sharp, hairpin bends that catch me out suddenly. I find my quite worn TKC80 tires really aren't the best on tarmac when its been raining. It's getting near dark and I'm still quite a few miles from Lake Garda and get a bit concerned as to where I'm going to be sleeping as I really can't afford a hotel room here. I'm also running out of petrol and try a few garages which all have some type of pre-pay system I haven't seen before that my tired brain can't cope with so give up and hope I make it somewhere. Right on sundown, I get to the top of the hill looking down on to Lake Garda and even though I still don't know where I'm going to stay, I stop to take a picture. I can't quite believe it when I notice a sign for a campsite on the way into town. When I find it, its pretty dark but ok to get the tent up. The site is very busy and costs 18euro a night. Expensive but I think I'll stay a couple of nights as I just feel so tired now. I get talking to a German couple on XT600s and have a beer with them by the lake. They're here for a couple of weeks and are spending it checking out the dirt roads around the lake on their bikes.</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0cm;" align="justify"><br /></p><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhIvdaAOEnOUM3DYZKZH1mVu4KKRaXVbIoTt1E0TimtZJUR9iy_zl7TkwYFKmzyLkdqapIkE3McyUvEzg-2a9foOid0V8hXjsWhUTIxY9i6njM9iBsGbTC32oEmmWGukOlDl7NKZA/s1600-h/IMG_0735.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhIvdaAOEnOUM3DYZKZH1mVu4KKRaXVbIoTt1E0TimtZJUR9iy_zl7TkwYFKmzyLkdqapIkE3McyUvEzg-2a9foOid0V8hXjsWhUTIxY9i6njM9iBsGbTC32oEmmWGukOlDl7NKZA/s320/IMG_0735.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5113846477025575442" border="0" /></a>I'm in Italy so that can mean only one thing-</div><p style="margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: center;">Bloody pasta for dinner again!</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: center;"><br /></p> <p style="margin-bottom: 0cm;" align="justify">The following morning, it seems like it's going to rain all day. I opt for lying in my tent listening to the thunder and lightening while reading as there's not much else I can do and realise that I hardly ever do this so enjoy it while I can. Around 2 or 3pm the rain finally gives out and I get out from my sleeping bag and take as stroll around town. Windsurfing, it would appear is the main watersport round here as there are dozens of schools by the waterfront. The campsite manager tells me some places I should see while in Italy so my plan the following day was to head down the east side of the lake. Thats my first mistake. The traffic on that road is solid and barely gets above 30mph all the way. I have to go via Verona, a normally lovely city but not the parts I see today which are basically the ring roads. The ride through the country is not made any more pleasant by the fact that it was chucking it down with rain.<br /></p><p style="margin-bottom: 0cm;" align="justify"><br />I pull over at one of the many roadside cafe/restaurants and although I'm frankly horrified at the prices, I end up sharing a table with an Italian trucker who's level of english perfectly matches my italian so its a fairly quiet lunch. I really had no idea of the amount of freight traffic that uses this road otherwise I would have opted for somewhere else to ride to. After getting well and truly fecked off with it, I decide that the 'nice bit' I was told about must be right by the coast and come off the main road. 'Nope, it certainly isn't here', I think to myself as I start skirting the edge of a trul ugly and equally massive industrial plant. At one point, the road has become totally flooded thanks to the ceasless rain and it looks like its around a foot deep in the middle. I decide I'll wait till the car in front of me has more or less cleared the huge puddle before I start to ride through it but as I'm waiting, the impatient knob-end in the car behind me overtakes me.</p><br /><div style="text-align: justify;">I've spent a very long and tedious day riding though heavy rain and even heavier traffic but eventually make it to Rimini. I had no particular plans to stay here so I thought I'd check it out first and decide if I would. After roughly two minutes, I decided I wasn't staying here but had seen a sign for the BMW place somewhere so figured I'd best grab a couple of spares like an oil filter and some crush washers while I had the chance. Again, this was easier said than done and after litteraly going round the houses and getting stuck on yet another ring road utterly solid with traffic, I found it. The man behind the counter was wearing quite fancy designer glasses with very clean overalls and wasn't particularly excited to see a dirty and soggy overlander or how little I spent in his establishment.<br /><br />For reasons still unknown to me, I ventured on to Riccione, a little further down the coast thinking it might be a nice place to camp despite the truly shitty weather. The rain had miraculously cleared up by the time I got there and found a truly dull looking campsite. There were some loud swiss beer-boys across the grass and a few german bikers who as it turned out, were here for the Moto GP happening up the road. I'd fancied a fw days on a beach but this place was a total turn off. What little sand there was between the 50-odd million or so deckchairs that covered the beach as far as the eye could see really wasn't what I had in mind for myself. Unfortunately I had to stick it out for a couple of nights as I really needed to do some clothes washing before I encountered a fairly severe underpant crisis which really wouldn't be good for anybody.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg7HzxL-ceC_gwwc_cguIt8adGCd0b8AuuK4miNnjewO57uVY885q0RQq7RgsZbuda6NY0rXP1ImtYis1Qwt9duf4m3DsKtp9sHVDSiyooXTEUJlrY4OBrvJ2VPtk3jFbi78PYsbw/s1600-h/IMG_0736.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg7HzxL-ceC_gwwc_cguIt8adGCd0b8AuuK4miNnjewO57uVY885q0RQq7RgsZbuda6NY0rXP1ImtYis1Qwt9duf4m3DsKtp9sHVDSiyooXTEUJlrY4OBrvJ2VPtk3jFbi78PYsbw/s320/IMG_0736.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5116120614964167218" border="0" /></a><br /></div><p style="margin-bottom: 0cm;" align="justify"><br /></p>Mike Skinnerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00831666098089781043noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-30352020.post-61354584284320395252007-09-03T15:37:00.001+00:002007-09-03T16:16:28.236+00:00<p style="margin-bottom: 0cm;" align="justify"><b>Slovenia</b></p> <p style="margin-bottom: 0cm;" align="justify"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgMIQ36AnSKzWPU6P0zL2NqbSVz5AQ1qm-gnHBK5mA020wCIcBI-bBnLCrgLITFexxdosAaT0dStAyMfXA3kLPiZQaqT7nNQfVwHSn-ot3gPOVvo__Ci0prpSbhG3cvlGLiEKw-jw/s1600-h/Europe+102.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgMIQ36AnSKzWPU6P0zL2NqbSVz5AQ1qm-gnHBK5mA020wCIcBI-bBnLCrgLITFexxdosAaT0dStAyMfXA3kLPiZQaqT7nNQfVwHSn-ot3gPOVvo__Ci0prpSbhG3cvlGLiEKw-jw/s320/Europe+102.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5106012350529366674" border="0" /></a></p> <div style="text-align: center;">Once the tallest building in Europe<br /></div><p style="margin-bottom: 0cm;" align="justify">The ride to Ljubljana is horrible. The map shows motorway where there isn't any and is chock full of lorries and heavy traffic. It also starts raining really heavily pretty much all the way, lightening too. At one point, the stationary traffic line goes on for miles but I ride up the outside, very dangerous in this rain as all it will take is some dozy bugger to decide to do a U-turn in front of me. I'm also worried about aquaplaning too. After a few hours of this hell, the motorway eventually starts and I can get some speed up, riding at 90mph a lot of the way but get clobbered for about 5 Euros over 3 different 'Peaje' toll booths. They really piss me off, why do bikes need to pay? I am as slow as possible but that's easy as my gloves are soaking wet and my fingers are totally hydrated so cars start honking behind me impatiently. </p> <p style="margin-bottom: 0cm;" align="justify"><br /></p> <p style="margin-bottom: 0cm;" align="justify">While I'm riding, my dreams of getting my own room with fresh linen and a hot bath are reduced to just getting a hostel not on the 4<sup>th</sup> floor. I make it to Dom Tabor hostel after dark but don't feel like going out so its noodles again. The hostel is 16 Euros for a shared dorm room but at least with breakfast included. Chatting with the Japanese guy in room, it turns out he's doing a 6 month RTW trip with what looks like a little day sack! He's quite cool though but I find he's difficult to chat to in the morning as he says his English speaking skills don't kick in till noon. We hear some commotion from outside the dorm window and watch some stupid students from England jump out their window on the floor below me on to the roof of the next building. One of them lands hard on the metal deck and it looks bloody painful in those flat-soled Converse shoes of his. I next see them again downstairs getting interviewed by the police and try not to piss myself laughing.</p>Mike Skinnerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00831666098089781043noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-30352020.post-55910684195255408122007-09-03T15:36:00.001+00:002007-09-03T16:15:10.893+00:00<p style="margin-bottom: 0cm;" align="justify"><b>Hungary</b></p><p style="margin-bottom: 0cm;" align="justify"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjkEc_40gePQdFz1fcD5b-RzEsLChugX2yTfPJHOyokfwlPRpD-TKeUzFkkCCM8Zs3m8A31Ev6pXTNrWuOIbIHRgFLRndlFJ9mtA7dFhx5AdIxQ3rjmMWkeD4Rs0caeHMUCFb6-OQ/s1600-h/Europe+092.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjkEc_40gePQdFz1fcD5b-RzEsLChugX2yTfPJHOyokfwlPRpD-TKeUzFkkCCM8Zs3m8A31Ev6pXTNrWuOIbIHRgFLRndlFJ9mtA7dFhx5AdIxQ3rjmMWkeD4Rs0caeHMUCFb6-OQ/s320/Europe+092.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5106012135781001858" border="0" /></a> </p> <p style="margin-bottom: 0cm;" align="justify"><br /></p> <p style="margin-bottom: 0cm;" align="justify">Once I cross in to Hungary. The scenery is a lot better and they even have castles on hills and the buildings generally don't make you want to look away. I make it to a huge campsite by Lake Balatan. Lots of families with kids here it appears. Dinner is noodles and a banana. Mmm. Feel really tired so after a bit of a walk around, its a fairly early night. First thing the next morning, I go to the reception to pay for the site as it was shut when I arrived. It turns out it is 14 Euros! I nearly choke. After breakfast and despite the expense, I think I fancy sticking around here today as I still feel tired from constantly moving every day. I try to find some internet to email Michelle and the place looks open so I go in and sit down at a machine that is on. They tell me they're not open until 10am and I have to leave even though it's 09.50! Slightly pissed off, I go for another walk only to find when I get back, their machines are all now occupied by little kids! Ok, I can deal with it. I figure I'll just go for a swim in the nice open air camp ground pool instead. However, almost as soon as I get to the pool, it starts pissing it down. This is unbelievable! I can see that its just a shower though so decide to get changed and get in anyway. I'm the only one in the pool but by the time I've done ½ a length, the pool attendant suddenly appears.</p> <p style="margin-bottom: 0cm;" align="justify"><br /></p> <p style="margin-bottom: 0cm;" align="justify">PA- something in Hungarian</p> <p style="margin-bottom: 0cm;" align="justify">Me- Sorry?</p> <p style="margin-bottom: 0cm;" align="justify">PA- You need a cap to swim, please leave the pool.</p> <p style="margin-bottom: 0cm;" align="justify">Me- Er ok, where do I get one?</p> <p style="margin-bottom: 0cm;" align="justify">PA- I don't know, the reception maybe.</p> <p style="margin-bottom: 0cm;" align="justify">Me- But that's miles away. Don't you keep them here if you need them for the pool?</p> <p style="margin-bottom: 0cm;" align="justify">PA- Just get out of the pool! (shouting)</p> <p style="margin-bottom: 0cm;" align="justify"><br /></p> <p style="margin-bottom: 0cm;" align="justify">I start to laugh as the day just can't get any worse. I decide to leave this shit-hole right now. While packing up my tent, I listen to a very severe sounding German mother shouting at her crying kids and I can't help thinking I'd probably be crying too if someone shouted at me in German.</p>Mike Skinnerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00831666098089781043noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-30352020.post-4428916170614487772007-09-03T15:34:00.001+00:002007-09-03T16:14:22.150+00:00<b>Slovakia<br /><br /></b><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhGTXjqh5H89Y8mLx8IyEPS9hFDbf7YjOf0-9w_saiNSMjL16c7kIqbmS6QHGHuekizm04kjzKm-vI8hOhE03jqn9nS9Cds2nwUzZYUzLlf8nIn4oLCsPSgWSVofBISfLZdaWkaZQ/s1600-h/Europe+083.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhGTXjqh5H89Y8mLx8IyEPS9hFDbf7YjOf0-9w_saiNSMjL16c7kIqbmS6QHGHuekizm04kjzKm-vI8hOhE03jqn9nS9Cds2nwUzZYUzLlf8nIn4oLCsPSgWSVofBISfLZdaWkaZQ/s320/Europe+083.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5106011860903094898" border="0" /></a> <p style="margin-bottom: 0cm;" align="justify">Feeling quite like shit after another good night out in Krakow, I eventually get myself ready to leave by about 1pm with Nick giving me a hand to get all my gubbins down the stairs. Krakow <span style="font-style: normal;">really is a great place and I hope I can get back there sometime. I think it even outstrips Edinburgh as having more pubs per head. Thanks again Nick! I take a detour via the skiing town, Zacapane for the smallest KFC meal I've ever had. The scenery </span>at the mountains is pretty stunning though. I only make it to Zilina by night fall, a town that my guide book describes as not having anything much going for it and it's right. It takes me about an hour to find accommodation in the darkness and I get myself a room in a Commie style student block, complete with dodgy, shaky lift with flickering lights. Later on, after pointing out what I want from the pictures of the food on offer on the wall above the canteen downstairs, its not exactly what I get. Damn, this is a hard language! At least I get a room to myself for basically peanuts though.</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0cm;" align="justify"><br /></p> <p style="margin-bottom: 0cm;" align="justify">I find Slovakia actually quite ugly, not the countryside which is very pleasant but the architecture is just horrendous. Can you imaging getting planning permission to build tower blocks in the countryside? A lot of the towns I pass through seem to be setting me up for a visit to a typical Scottish council estate. I find I have a few Slovakian pennies left and it totals around 700?s so before I enter Hungary, I stop at a McDonalds and go in to see what I can afford. I look at the confusing menu and see something which naturally looks shit but is affordable. The lady tells me that its actually a Happy Meal! Feigning indifference, I head to Spar and their deli counter instead.</p>Mike Skinnerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00831666098089781043noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-30352020.post-16879671597101137342007-09-03T15:33:00.000+00:002007-09-03T16:12:58.684+00:00<b>Poland</b> <p style="margin-bottom: 0cm;" align="justify"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgjSHvEM5O_hiuUKEBu2IR1HPeZxneLe_VS3SIkaWEj9YDhjB73V1o5uFP3XjIZhgRdZquz4LSNdCb6kPOK2jKXyfuz_TGXvnzE-PpP0hkBNNcF7Vy0v16IgMcI6DJwg277ncg1rw/s1600-h/Europe+005.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgjSHvEM5O_hiuUKEBu2IR1HPeZxneLe_VS3SIkaWEj9YDhjB73V1o5uFP3XjIZhgRdZquz4LSNdCb6kPOK2jKXyfuz_TGXvnzE-PpP0hkBNNcF7Vy0v16IgMcI6DJwg277ncg1rw/s320/Europe+005.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5106010933190158898" border="0" /></a>The following morning, wayhey! Its proper raining again! After another walk around town, this time in daylight, I get myself a cheap lunch consisting of some sort of fried cheese thing in a stale baguette but I'm not hanging around. I'm off to Poland today, Krakow in fact. I'm staying with Nick, a friend of a friend and thankfully he's sent me some directions on how to get to his place. I think I like Poland as soon as I cross the border as when I'm riding alongside a railroad track, the driver gives his horn a big honk and as I turn round to look, he gives me a 'go on my son' kind of nod so it's already more sociable than the Czech Republic. Riding into Krakow, I find it's a really attractive place. Not only does it have beautiful looking old buildings and cobbled streets but its got cool old trams running down the middle of the roads. The high stone built tenement buildings also remind me of Edinburgh a bit. Nick turns out to be a really nice guy and he has a fantastic flat where I get my own room. Over the next few days, Nick shows me around town and we go out for quite a few beers, God I'm out of practice!</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0cm;" align="justify"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhASIusjCw9IXgc6OBcBRGXBVMew3ANl85f3k04evOgyUZlzv6jwqLYnL3NypTY4oYQkAd0NqIqTNu6HqzpTrzlfAEgAOi00ZhvHfwgnwJ1YtVeQpRQa5_v2m_svMAH92MSkI3bsw/s1600-h/Europe+080.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhASIusjCw9IXgc6OBcBRGXBVMew3ANl85f3k04evOgyUZlzv6jwqLYnL3NypTY4oYQkAd0NqIqTNu6HqzpTrzlfAEgAOi00ZhvHfwgnwJ1YtVeQpRQa5_v2m_svMAH92MSkI3bsw/s320/Europe+080.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5106010946075060834" border="0" /></a></p><p style="margin-bottom: 0cm;" align="justify"><br /></p> <p style="margin-bottom: 0cm;" align="justify"><span style="font-style: normal;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjTzZ5tdE1-bG8vLjqg20tyZjYPj4L-M9aeB2MEtRDgdpp3MzCEM3-_VXkDwiEm-dXizqn8NvNtT-67gRa88zTVHXTJ8lHPZ3sAJnjno2eY2lvt7Upx1WinU0Cctr37LmnGfjmzQQ/s1600-h/Europe+042.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjTzZ5tdE1-bG8vLjqg20tyZjYPj4L-M9aeB2MEtRDgdpp3MzCEM3-_VXkDwiEm-dXizqn8NvNtT-67gRa88zTVHXTJ8lHPZ3sAJnjno2eY2lvt7Upx1WinU0Cctr37LmnGfjmzQQ/s320/Europe+042.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5106010937485126210" border="0" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgCUCDcyQyA8W1U2i5Fg0RHG709WbIok9gtlXCoN9iDd1RBvH7NQZHhQtNSdBnxKkdH9iYPsv0fqGcLyFdHiae8m0JbmYnieG_XspEtuZKjdsxtZXUo-EG2F1U6HxWedSVKt5uXlQ/s1600-h/Europe+063.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgCUCDcyQyA8W1U2i5Fg0RHG709WbIok9gtlXCoN9iDd1RBvH7NQZHhQtNSdBnxKkdH9iYPsv0fqGcLyFdHiae8m0JbmYnieG_XspEtuZKjdsxtZXUo-EG2F1U6HxWedSVKt5uXlQ/s320/Europe+063.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5106010941780093522" border="0" /></a>I enjoyed having a few days just kicking around not really doing much in Krakow which was just what I needed. </span>I did however take a ride out to Auschwitz which should have been quite straight forward but I ended up on back country lanes, dirt roads and dead ends, all within sight of the actual road I was trying to take. Unfortunatelly no rice paddy fields this time but I think as a detour, Michelle would have loved it! No matter, I got there eventually and this time joined one of the tours. I didn't know too much about this place apart from the obvious but there are really separate two sites. Auschwitz 1 is the start of the tour and was actually a former Polish army barracks that the Nazis helped themselves to and isn't really that big a site. 3Kms away is Auschwitz 2 (Birkenau), the place we all recognise from the pictures of the railroad heading under the brick archway. This place really is huge but there are actually less buildings to see here. Our guide thankfully doesn't suffer fools gladly and will just pause and give one hell of an icy stare to anyone caught making a noise during her talks. The exhibits are quite incredible, most notably the huge piles of human hair (about 2 tonnes worth), thousands of suitcases and even massive piles of children's shoes. It was during that exhibit that the irritatingly loud English couple (who's mobile phones kept going off during the guides speeches) and their free spirited sprog stopped and looked at the pile of children's shoes.</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0cm;" align="justify"><br /></p> <p style="margin-bottom: 0cm;" align="justify"><span style="font-style: normal;">Mum to daughter</span><i>- 'Ooh look darling, those shoe's are just your size'</i></p><p style="margin-bottom: 0cm;" align="justify"><i><br /></i></p> <p style="margin-bottom: 0cm; font-style: normal;" align="justify">(Fucking hell- this was just after the guide had explained that any children on the trains coming into Auschwitz were pretty much taken straight to the gas chambers as they were of no use to the Nazis)</p>Mike Skinnerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00831666098089781043noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-30352020.post-40098136842460525572007-09-03T15:32:00.000+00:002007-09-03T16:08:20.705+00:00<p style="margin-bottom: 0cm;" align="justify"><b>Czech Republic</b></p> <p style="margin-bottom: 0cm;" align="justify">As I'm riding towards the Czech Republic, I'm pleased to see petrol prices have dropped overnight from 1.35E/L to 1.12E/L, only to realise that I'm now in Austria. Once actually inside CR, I'm pleased to note that the road is again lined with prostitutes and stalls selling garden gnomes, just like it was when me and James came here on the bike all those years ago. I arrive in Czesky Krumlov and immediately get into trouble from the law for riding through the main square of the town, the centre of which is all pedestrianised. Using my tricks learnt in South America, I immediately ask him where the campsite is thus changing the subject and he points me in the right direction. The campsite is cheap at 120K and very busy. I notice one or two other bikers there but once my camp is set up and I've eaten my dinner, no one has spoken to me yet which I find difficult to get used to after all the places I've been where total strangers come up to you and say hello all the time. More annoyingly, I've pitched my tent next to a bunch of 12year olds who are hell bent on getting drunk, which isn't hard. None of them can sing in tune either. Earplugs time again.</p> <p style="margin-bottom: 0cm;" align="justify"><br /></p> <p style="margin-bottom: 0cm;" align="justify"><br /></p> <p style="margin-bottom: 0cm;" align="justify">After packing up my tent the next morning, I take a walk round town, which is pleasant but very touristy and there's really not much that makes me want to hang around. I get an email from Michelle and she's back in Oz now. That feels very weird indeed, to think that we've travelled so far and done so much together and are now temporarily on opposite side of the world. Not feeling totally overjoyed, I ride off to Ollamoets, finding the driving standards here totally appalling. I'm sticking to backroads but I get overtaken by only inches by some arsehole while I'm also overtaking a truck. Relived I've made it on once piece, I find I've picked probably the only hostel on a 4<sup>th</sup> floor. After getting up there to look at the place, I'm knackered. I then find I have to bring the bike in through the front door and stick it round the back for security, which is fine but its no easy number getting HB through that door frame but somehow we do it. I end up going for some food and a couple of beers with a few students. One is English and the other two guys are German who don't say much. I think students are brilliant, the conversation goes a little like this:</p> <p style="margin-bottom: 0cm;" align="justify"><br /></p> <p style="margin-bottom: 0cm;" align="justify"><i>Me- So what are you studying?</i></p> <p style="margin-bottom: 0cm;" align="justify"><i>Student- Business studies and French. Its the best course for what I want to do</i></p> <p style="margin-bottom: 0cm;" align="justify"><i>Me- Ah, so what to you want to do when you finish?</i></p> <p style="margin-bottom: 0cm;" align="justify"><i>Student- Erm, I don't really know yet</i></p> <p style="margin-bottom: 0cm;" align="justify"><br /></p><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhvnJ09ila25N8JlfDfsLlz9m45WYr1IOMiwd-_jXmKkZ4KRbKejFRrdLRSyURSgVldHcsACLl-pARxnsdlayYii1kLp-Y15qBiwsKtFyie7mTSbbi71CVXi_pMNMscucEOkWlHww/s1600-h/Alaska+and+europe+561.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhvnJ09ila25N8JlfDfsLlz9m45WYr1IOMiwd-_jXmKkZ4KRbKejFRrdLRSyURSgVldHcsACLl-pARxnsdlayYii1kLp-Y15qBiwsKtFyie7mTSbbi71CVXi_pMNMscucEOkWlHww/s320/Alaska+and+europe+561.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5106010301829966370" border="0" /></a>Mike Skinnerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00831666098089781043noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-30352020.post-88386183990777035582007-08-25T16:53:00.000+00:002007-09-03T16:06:02.445+00:00<span style="font-weight: bold;">Am I dreaming?</span><br /><p></p><p style="margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><br /></p><p style="margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify;">It's like a bad dream.<br /><br /></p><div style="text-align: justify;"> </div><p style="margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify;">I'm on my own today and for some reason am in a bus driving on the left side of the road. There seems to be red double decker buses everywhere and that tower over there looks remarkably like Big Ben. I'm also really, really tired but I could even swear that the river on my left is the Thames. I try to wake myself up and think of sunny Vancouver but its just not happening.</p><div style="text-align: justify;"> </div><p style="margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><br />Hang on a second:<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh2e4vMeMIl1CfVsqDBIcao5La7SBusVisfW_j5CMoTFHZIthmTtSaZpHHYjr0VWk1OtK2fySK7Sz73kjFqWbTQB10aU0UEjfGVINxlBXaDu0WzFQbCN1ddarz40Figm7nZfZtD0Q/s1600-h/Alaska+and+europe+366.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 322px; height: 242px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh2e4vMeMIl1CfVsqDBIcao5La7SBusVisfW_j5CMoTFHZIthmTtSaZpHHYjr0VWk1OtK2fySK7Sz73kjFqWbTQB10aU0UEjfGVINxlBXaDu0WzFQbCN1ddarz40Figm7nZfZtD0Q/s320/Alaska+and+europe+366.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5106008596727949778" border="0" /></a></p><div style="text-align: justify;"> </div><p style="margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: center;">mmm, London<br /></p><p style="margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><br /></p><p style="margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify;">AARGH, F....K!! I'M IN LONDON!!! What the hell happened? </p><div style="text-align: justify;"> </div><p style="margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><br />Gradually it starts coming back to me. I remember the long, emotional goodbye with Michelle in Vancouver airport the previous afternoon and a couple of days before that, taking my bike to the shipping agent in Richmond. Wait a minute, that's it- we're at the end of our Argentina to Alaska adventure and Michelle is flying home to Australia while I'm taking the 'Long Way Home' (...sorry) to Scotland by taking in some of Eastern Europe first. I'm en route to Munich via London to pick up my bike because the direct flight to Munich decided to be fully booked up when I called Air Transat. The flight from Vancouver to London is depressingly full up and they want $80 for extra legroom so I decide to forego it. I'm squeezed in against the window by a large guy and his wife who are pleasant enough to talk to but I know that I won't be getting any sleep tonight. I remind myself that the last time I was on a plane other than the little Cessna over the Nasca Lines, was arriving in Buenos Aires 9 ½ months ago. I'm relieved to find the 9 hour flight passes quickly enough though with some movies, telly and watching the planes progress on the electronic map. The cameras on the nose and under the plane are nice addition too. </p><div style="text-align: justify;"> </div><p style="margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><br /><br />I have an incredibly miserable train ride from Gatwick into London, looking around at the normality that I easily recognise but don't want to be a part of again just yet. Next to me there's a very loud, posh woman bleating away about the new bathroom cabinets that the inept joiner has recently fitted to her clearly very bored husband. Once I'm at Victoria Station, it's straight onto a direct bus to Stanstead Airport. I'm pleased it's all going smoothly so far as I couldn't handle any fuck-ups or delays right now. True to form though, the EasyJet check-in queue is the same as they always are, with the useless, miserable sods behind the counters doing their utmost to ensure the checking in process goes as slowly as possible. </p><div style="text-align: justify;"> </div><p style="margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify;">With Michelle's words still ringing in my ear that I'd better not get chatting to any attractive women on the plane, Chrisa, a young Greek girl sits down next to me on the London-Munich flight who seems really nice. She's on her own and after chatting for a bit, invites me to meet up with her and her Italian friend, Enrico who lives in Munich so we agree to meet up following day. I'm pleased I've met some people to hang out with so soon. We land in Munich Airport at 3.30pm and I decide to get straight onto getting the bike cleared in Customs and out of the warehouse. The Swiss Cargo office is only one stop away on the airport train and thankfully it turns out to be a doddle. By 5.30pm, the paperwork is done, I've reconnected the battery and fitted the screen and mirrors again and I'm limping up the road to find some fuel as I'd practically run it dry before taking it to the shipping agent in Vancouver. Luckily a garage is nearby and the 22 litre tank takes 22.3 litres. I nearly choke at paying 30Euros to fill it up though.<br /><br /></p><div style="text-align: justify;"> </div><p style="margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify;">I ride straight into Munich but find I'm starting to fall asleep so have to try hard to concentrate as cars whizz by all around me at what feels like 100mph. I find the hostel I'd booked and get checked in to a 6 bed dorm. I take a walk to find something to eat but the nice looking place up the road seems a bit expensive for me so opt for the ususal Subway sandwich and an early night. By the time my head hits the pillow, I've been awake for about 30 hours.</p><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgBLR_m3gf5syLCxntjwOXdr4lTxBzUTUpiyoVDkxF9M7w2FlR7KLK7GagtwDKB2ArWerxwb51Ghv4bF4GMQ76h4X7ALM67Ek4_wcenZ2ynLJ6Scs6mXlOxx0Ooj2dpp3UYFw72DA/s1600-h/Alaska+and+europe+404.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgBLR_m3gf5syLCxntjwOXdr4lTxBzUTUpiyoVDkxF9M7w2FlR7KLK7GagtwDKB2ArWerxwb51Ghv4bF4GMQ76h4X7ALM67Ek4_wcenZ2ynLJ6Scs6mXlOxx0Ooj2dpp3UYFw72DA/s320/Alaska+and+europe+404.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5106008605317884418" border="0" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg1BffQ3T3aQ27awC2pQD4_YHLSKnnU2I28ZdFPwTonTDk_d5P3jSgzkmk1diZ21GnYxX5GfmgjfHrbjM_FoNNRMXFwqV2RoKHsmHy8n_yZ91NAg5x4Q2CyMair3UJAO8Ow1S5TEg/s1600-h/Alaska+and+europe+436.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg1BffQ3T3aQ27awC2pQD4_YHLSKnnU2I28ZdFPwTonTDk_d5P3jSgzkmk1diZ21GnYxX5GfmgjfHrbjM_FoNNRMXFwqV2RoKHsmHy8n_yZ91NAg5x4Q2CyMair3UJAO8Ow1S5TEg/s320/Alaska+and+europe+436.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5106008609612851730" border="0" /></a><p following="" meet="" up="" enrico="" italian="" germany="" improve="" his="" german="" knows="" all="" good="" places="" chrisa="" greek="" living="" london="" re="" really="" nice="" people="" go="" bit="" m="" immediately="" happy="" be="" surrounded="" by="" great="" architecture="" generally="" north="" america="" little="" lacking="" this="" kind="" stuff="" spend="" morning="" getting="" even="" went="" museum="" which="" turns="" is="" tempory="" they="" are="" currently="" building="" super="" new="" one="" it="" slightly="" amusing="" as="" amongst="" find="" gs1150="" 000="" miles="" on="" d="" wanted="" take="" hb="" see="" where="" he="" was="" born="" but="" out="" that="" you="" need="" to="" book="" tour="" the="" bmw="" factory="" about="" 3weeks="" in="" we="" also="" found="" couple="" of="" biergartens="" so="" i="" indulged="" my="" self="" with="" some="" schnitzels="" and="" a="" wee=""><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhGFdpvviI0xFVk5BDi622j9ey6KtL6PmrCQ8KROVRnZHgbQOxChdqzK5zPeN05696RQoRgjVaW-kTV_QbmQ1nFH1jD9II95NtXZvGj1vvoNDsBs7Q9FsJojDjb6RV-_Lhagk8ZEw/s1600-h/Alaska+and+europe+393.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhGFdpvviI0xFVk5BDi622j9ey6KtL6PmrCQ8KROVRnZHgbQOxChdqzK5zPeN05696RQoRgjVaW-kTV_QbmQ1nFH1jD9II95NtXZvGj1vvoNDsBs7Q9FsJojDjb6RV-_Lhagk8ZEw/s320/Alaska+and+europe+393.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5106008601022917090" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEib-Cmq6qXlpf4HjrczDcrkKpf-KyKsRPjO6PnaMO07nOePVpgiDFaGgl8ZWCFeHaBpgOy_JeK7N03iD0yJ-4pfsZrt3aVxbKlJhMA9bt2KVxm_UZb7wxU0W-I79ynJif9furv0qw/s1600-h/Alaska+and+europe+504.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEib-Cmq6qXlpf4HjrczDcrkKpf-KyKsRPjO6PnaMO07nOePVpgiDFaGgl8ZWCFeHaBpgOy_JeK7N03iD0yJ-4pfsZrt3aVxbKlJhMA9bt2KVxm_UZb7wxU0W-I79ynJif9furv0qw/s320/Alaska+and+europe+504.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5106008605317884402" border="0" /></a><br /><br />Although it would have been nice to hang out with Chrisa and Enrico for another day in Munich, I feel I have to get moving and decide to try and see Dachau the following day then head south to Berchtesgaden where Hitler had his holiday house. I first came to Dachau back in I think 1997 with my friend James when we did a bit of a Euro road trip on my old Suzuki GS1000G. We covered a fair few miles on that trip but I remember it seemed to rain almost every day in Germany so I'm hoping this trip is slightly less soggy. I pull up in the car park and it all seems very familiar, though this time the old parking attendant insists I leave my bike where he can keep an eye on it. The last time I was here, we didn't get a chance to see the museum so I headed for there first. As expected, it all makes for very educational but grim reading. The main sights can be seen fairly quickly if you know where you're going and these include the recreated accommodation blocks and the crematoria though I opt to avoid the huge memorials at the end of the site.<br /><br />After a couple of hours, I'm back on the road to Berchtesgaden, which is all fairly tedious Euro motorway until I hit the more mountainous areas but typically, the weather is looking fairly crap it has to be said. I am aiming for the campsite but pretty much as soon as I arrive in the Bavarian town, the heavens decide to really tip it down on me so camping is now not on the menu. The hostel I find at first looks like it will cost 16Euro but due to being an old bugger without a membership card, it will actually cost me 26Euro for a shared dorm. I take a quick dash in the now incredibly heavy rain over to a nearby hotel which is full of Bavarian charm/clichés including a proper Heidi manning the desk who informs me I must only use one bed. Its 33Euro but I get my own room. Oh well, there goes the budget again. After a not too bad dinner in the hotel, I'm out like a light by 8pm.<br /><br /><br />It still doesn't look good the following morning. You can't see the mountains from the window due to the solid cloud and lo and behold, its still raining. It's one of those days best off not being on a bike and Heidi informs me that its cheaper to stay a second night. Tempting but not at your prices, love. Luckily, breakfast is included and I eat enough to nearly make me sick. After grimly getting on the bike and riding out their garage into the pissing rain, I first head up the mountain to the Nazi museum at Dokumentation in Obersalzberg. I didn't know that the Nazis used this place as their second seat of power and by all accounts was a pretty busy place in its day and all the big-wigs had houses here though it basically got obliterated by the Allies. I end up going for one of those electronic English translator doo-dahs and I'm glad I did because all the exhibits were in German. Its actually pretty fascinating though some of the photos on display are pretty graphic. I particularly liked the bit about Hitler being portrayed by the Nazi PR as being this rustic, hard working, selfless man of the people but in actual fact he would normally sleep in till noon, eat a big lunch and then go off on one of his monologues for an hour or two, then it was movie time and after dinner it was on to another monologue that although Hitler himself frequently fell asleep during them, no one ever dared leave.<br /><br />By the time I was done here, I'd hoped the rain would have disappeared but fat chance of that so I caught the bus up to the Eagles Nest, Hitler's 50th birthday prezzy from the guys. I thought it must be pretty good seeing I'd paid 14.50Euro to get there. You get dropped off up the mountain and walk to a rather nifty brass lined lift, which shoots you up 120m to the Eagles Nest. Apparently, on a clear day you can get the most spectacular views however all I could see was a total white-out. I quickly looked around the building finding only a busy restaurant and then discovered that's actually all it is. Bugger! As there's literally nothing to see, I just headed straight down again.<br /><br /><br /></p></div>Mike Skinnerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00831666098089781043noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-30352020.post-24773420339922947052007-08-25T15:41:00.000+00:002007-08-25T16:43:56.557+00:00<div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-weight: bold;">Canada- for the last time</span><br /><br /><span>Instead of the 2 days I assumed it would take us to ride from Prince Rupert to Vancouver, it took 3 days. En route, we stopped off in Fraser Lake and Lilloet where we stayed for free at the campsite as no one came to chase us for money. I even manged to severely block their loo so it was a good job we left. We took a really nice dirt road over some hills between Clinton and Pavillion. The locals told us to avoid it as it was dirt and had lots of switchbacks- decision made really. The scenery there was quite beautiful and reminded me briefly of riding in South America again.<br /><br />I'd emailed Colin and Gill (we met them in Valpariso around Xmas) and we were on our waycaught the ferry over to Vancouver Island where they live. They were away for few days, and again we just needed to pick up the keys from their neigbour. Colin had said in his emails to just make ourselves at home and to make use of the bath, washing machine and had even left us beer in the fridge. We'd only met them once in Chile for really only a few hours but it was like meeting old friends when they came home a couple of days later after picking up Gills daughter from the airport and it was really nice to catch up again. Colin is a bit of a master at home brew wine making and we got pleanty of opportunities to sample his produce. On our last night in Victoria, I made everyone barbequed meat/veg on skewers with potato salad as a small way of saying thanks for our hosts wonderful hospitality.<br /><br />We didn't get to see as much of Vancouver Island as we'd have liked though Victoria itself was very pleasant and I can see why ex-pats Colin and Gill chose to live there. It has a nice climate, you have all the outdoor activities you could want too. We spent most of our time there sorting out shipping and flights as unfortunatelly after nearly 10 months on the road, we're pretty much at the end of our trip. I managed to get my bike booked in with Motorcycle Express, and am to take it over to Vancouver Airport in a few days time. Michelle is off to Australia shortly after 8 years in London and I'm heading back to Europe for a few weeks on my own then its back to Scotland for me. I actually need to sort out visas and stuff there as I'm looking at also getting to Australia but I expect that will take several months to sort out. Although it will be weird being back and staying in one place, it will be fantastic to see my family and friends again though I'm not looking forward to paying UK prices again.<br /><br />We next headed to Vancouver as we were staying at a friend of a friends place to the east of the city. Danny and Mia live in a very funky retro house with a huge assortment of animals. We stayed for a couple of nights while I got my bike over to the packing warehouse where Herr Bertie was strapped to a metal pallet and wrapped in plastic. The next time I'd be seeing him would be in Munich airport in a few days time. Michelle and I decided to get a hotel room for our last couple of nights together and spent a couple of days sightseeing in Vancouver and even managed to do the 'Grouse Grind' though our time of 1hr 40mins wasn't nearly as impressive as the people who do it in under 30 minutes. On our last night, we watched the sunset from Grouse Mountain and thankfully caught the cable car down rather than walking.<br /><br />It was very emotional at the airport the following morning as Michelle saw me off. She was flying to Australia a couple of days later and would be heading to her folks place for a bit. </span><span>After everything we've seen and been through together</span><span>, it felt really hard to be saying goodbye to Michelle however we will be seeing each other again in a few months.<br /><br />Next stop for me, Europe!<br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /></span></div>Mike Skinnerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00831666098089781043noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-30352020.post-15491540678548771722007-08-25T14:07:00.000+00:002007-08-26T08:41:16.174+00:00<div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-weight: bold;">South from Alaska</span><br /><br />Well it seems like ages since I've done an 'update' so will try and be brief. After getting down to Fairbanks, I decided it would be a good time to change my now totally bald tires. And with a brief stop in Anchorage (where we got refused getting into a bar cos we didn't bring our passports!) we went to Tok which is at a bit of a crossroads so everyone goes there. And sure enough we bump into Bob and Angie again, having not seen them since Nicaragua so it was good to catch up. We were staying at the Sourdough Campsite, which in reality is more of an RV park. At least it had Wi-Fi but owner Ken's nightly 'Comedy' show was a bit too much to bear though the pensioners in their RV's seem to enjoy it.<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhK_D-aUoi-ruH5oTVPbSE12ijEjLjxwA7OQnTRKNT04BuKRSt79Q2WFjinTupxIeDd5ApD_cSA8R1GE0h8-3vBOFA-w9KGvOVDmUhLnrT7dIam-wgAoQog6HZslykS_5uEBZr-Rw/s1600-h/Alaska+and+europe+033.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhK_D-aUoi-ruH5oTVPbSE12ijEjLjxwA7OQnTRKNT04BuKRSt79Q2WFjinTupxIeDd5ApD_cSA8R1GE0h8-3vBOFA-w9KGvOVDmUhLnrT7dIam-wgAoQog6HZslykS_5uEBZr-Rw/s320/Alaska+and+europe+033.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5102923208186620306" border="0" /></a><br /><br />We tried to book the inland passage ferry south but couldn't get anything for 5 days so decided to go to Valdez, which is where we had to pay for the most expensive hotel room on the trip ($90!). After a brief look around, including a bit of a ride up a dirt road, it was back to Tok where instead of enduring the painful Sourdough Campsite evening 'comedy show' again, we camped at a biker friendly campsite nearby for half the price. The owners, Brian and Vanessa have a 1968 Shovelhead Harley called Hazel and the campsite includes use of their sauna. They call each other from across the site by yelling 'Yo Mama!' or 'Yo Papa!'. Really nice couple and a very chilled out place to camp.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgA3MGqa71GwfTQota-uokjvI19AqjRBUz58kE0SBhSHyHOrUnAeuXycV5H4DU5wmqHXu44vjosaTAzNAGOg68QKaG14_Mn7y8itFkvXzMHhkj1UNlRH6pbWCo9s_LFJusbogcVFA/s1600-h/Alaska+and+europe+038.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgA3MGqa71GwfTQota-uokjvI19AqjRBUz58kE0SBhSHyHOrUnAeuXycV5H4DU5wmqHXu44vjosaTAzNAGOg68QKaG14_Mn7y8itFkvXzMHhkj1UNlRH6pbWCo9s_LFJusbogcVFA/s320/Alaska+and+europe+038.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5102924165964327362" border="0" /></a><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjeJMAXVcRlhPBJwR5hFOn5GvaqAQ-ztsfgbqvdSodobkydTA_XFroIdjs_vHbKN6XcNRUw_PyeofNXNbLpjOGSowEGjF2eGL3tb4b2DfuUIYeFoeooLHcsG35WWdZaLF5J60mTKw/s1600-h/Alaska+and+europe+039.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjeJMAXVcRlhPBJwR5hFOn5GvaqAQ-ztsfgbqvdSodobkydTA_XFroIdjs_vHbKN6XcNRUw_PyeofNXNbLpjOGSowEGjF2eGL3tb4b2DfuUIYeFoeooLHcsG35WWdZaLF5J60mTKw/s320/Alaska+and+europe+039.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5102923203891652994" border="0" /></a><br /><br />Dawson City on the 'Top of the World Highway' was next on the list, though its not really on the top of the world is it? It's one of those gold-rush town preserved for tourists and we find a campsite on the other side of the river, for which theres a regular and more importantly, free ferry to to other side. We take in Dimond Tooth Gerties show which is set in a old style casino. It consists of a few dancing girls and the singing Gertie who likes to get unsuspecting old men up onto the stage to remove garters from the dancing girls with their teeth. All good, clean family fun. On the way back to the campsite, we bumped in to another overlander from Switzerland called Werner on a well stickered Africa Twin who's also come up here from Argentina. I was pleased to hear that he didn't enjoy the Galapagos Islands as much as he had enjoyed the wildlife on the Valdez Peninsula in Argentina as we couldn't justify the huge cost of getting to the Galapagos.<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiDPWOCjCmUDXXO2MxIv8EEKETfSaIGaCv4A61d90qOT4wZv-vnKntnF3dB7Tdc2NrgZUnH1EAsmWGsKc5fbSONjsOVqQDVGNRG3dGW-ILB_92A9XuK9wsuoAR7JgDYp-P-dcL-mQ/s1600-h/Alaska+and+europe+066.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiDPWOCjCmUDXXO2MxIv8EEKETfSaIGaCv4A61d90qOT4wZv-vnKntnF3dB7Tdc2NrgZUnH1EAsmWGsKc5fbSONjsOVqQDVGNRG3dGW-ILB_92A9XuK9wsuoAR7JgDYp-P-dcL-mQ/s320/Alaska+and+europe+066.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5102923212481587618" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgRk3WBA7HiGNhISXhE13c14Cs8iRRl779FPghOUuRIrZjOE6M9Qp68qNWS0v5htYmut0DtAbPMoCAPAnmI_-GHigUJw7xGdBIq5lwzq4tqNmsMoB89WpUObv00QvytFjOG4MXQtg/s1600-h/Alaska+and+europe+073.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgRk3WBA7HiGNhISXhE13c14Cs8iRRl779FPghOUuRIrZjOE6M9Qp68qNWS0v5htYmut0DtAbPMoCAPAnmI_-GHigUJw7xGdBIq5lwzq4tqNmsMoB89WpUObv00QvytFjOG4MXQtg/s320/Alaska+and+europe+073.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5102923212481587634" border="0" /></a><br /><br />We then aimed for Skagway to catch the ferry down to Juneau. The town itself is again one of those touristy places geared up for receiving regular cruise ships so you'd be forgiven for thinking that all the shops here only sell jewelry because they pracically do. With relief we got out of there and spent a few hours on a mini cruise of our own down to Juneau, Alaska's capital which a little bizzarely, is not on the mainland. We would only be in Juneau for a night so checked out a nearby glacier, which was receeding and although nice, not a patch on Perito Moreno. We just had time to go to the Alaska Brewery for a quick tour and to sample some of their wares. I reckon the IPA was the best as the rest all seem a little watery to my tastes, but hey, I wasn't complaining, it was free beer after all.<br /><br />Early the following morning, it was back to the ferry port to catch the ferry for the 2 day trip down to Prince Rupert in Canada. Amazingly, the crew on the boats don't stock tie down straps for motorbikes so instead you get given a ball of string and are told to get on with it. Once the bikes had been thoroughly secured with the equivalent of garden twine, we got ourselves up to the deck. We had been planning to sleep on deck as the cabins were a tad pricy and had been talking to a couple of bikers from the US when one of them said he was just popping down to their cabin. A couple of minutes later, he returned with a key, and said 'there you go'. They'd only just gone and paid for a cabin for us for 2 nights! Yet another example of the incredible generosity of total strangers we have met on our trip. The guys were both ex-racers from the 70's and apparently had a great collection of around 30 bikes at home. So with our new cabin, we were able to stick our gear in the room and enjoy the next 2 days. The ferry goes down whats called the Inland Passage so you have islands on both side of the ship while it calls in at various ports. We stopped off at Sitka (they called out 'Sitka by the sea' on the PA) where we jumped ship for a few hours with a few people we'd met and went straight to some fairly lively pubs before having to get the bus back to port. The following day we only had 45 minutes in Petersburg or Little Norway as its known due to the colourful houses, which we put to good use by having the best cinamon buns we'd ever tasted from the bakery there. We manged to see a few whales etc from the ship but unfortunatelly nothing on a par with Valdez in Argentina. We did manage to see a couple of quite spectacular sunsets though in addition to some amazing scenery.<br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /></div>Mike Skinnerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00831666098089781043noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-30352020.post-43753766674465323672007-07-24T01:48:00.000+00:002007-08-01T06:32:48.963+00:00<strong>Alaska- The Last Frontier</strong><br /><br /><br /><div align="center"><strong><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5090860650568008530" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgPsq-YY5YSgxnnHWbZlryAizCEaKBKqvxpzX1iQfqbcWuW50c1iFp-6yrGSTiZKbWSJnC_qQXXiuDfxgHxcPOJdYqlmIZRV4eFrrhJCEhGc0VJ6Se3wltsnMeBE5K5uKl-wU-gIA/s320/IMG_1025.jpg" border="0" /><br /></strong><p align="center">Nice doggy</p><p align="justify">Again, its another easy-peasy border crossing into Alaska and am quietly relieved as I'd hoped the warrant for my arrest from my unpaid Arizona stop sign ticket hadn't been processed yet. We'd met Ramey in Canada and he'd offered us a spot to pitch our tent at his house in Fairbanks. To be honest, We'd have quite liked a hotel room as we were pretty shattered but after phoning a few hotels, they were all well out with our budget so the tent it was. </p><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5090890616554832738" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj88NbpNr34Y_34a8qz27ltyvuxA4XJTHD4WV6nk-OMAFffvJBenBdbUtRP949k-C-Y_iidkdZo7e8mTn1FhMjuIwmtoVJXIfz4DBF12ZVkb_8_OmhFxtkBcLq9KXD5rH5O3SIp7Q/s320/IMG_0985.jpg" border="0" /> </div><div align="center">Alaskan border<br /></div><div align="center"><br /><p align="justify">Ramey's place was a few miles outside of town but luckily he'd drawn me a pretty good map so it didn't take too long to find the place. No one was home but we knew it was the right place. Ramey is a friend of Karl Bushby (http://goliath.mail2web.com), the British guy who has been walking from Punta Arenas to Alaska via the Darien Gap, and just crossed the Bearing Straits by using the ice flow, with the final goal of getting to the UK, via the Channel Tunnel and will take something like 14 years, walking every step of the way! He is now part of the way through Russia but has been experiencing visa difficulties and has been using Ramey's place as a base so when we saw the sheer volume of equipment and camp food rations, we knew this must be the place. There were some cd's lying around the house including one entitled 'Bearing Straits photos for mum'. I could just imagine it- “<em>Yes, that's very good Karl, now come and eat your dinner</em>”. I'd read his book a while ago and was really looking forward to meeting him but unfortunately they were down in Seattle and Vancouver doing some promotional stuff. So we spent the following day doing fun stuff like oil changes and the like in preparation for the trip up north to our final destination- Prudhoe Bay (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Prudhoe_Bay). I bought a bunch of dried food to take up with us on the 3 day journey including beer as it's totally dry up there! The road up there is just under 500 miles from Fairbanks and turns to dirt at the start of the Dalton Highway. Enroute, we crossed the Arctic Circle and naturally stopped for some photos. While there, a family on holiday insisted we join them for sandwiches and beer- couldn't really refuse! </p><br /><p align="justify"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5090890620849800050" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh88RimUQSYbV6OUGrAD_40FMjHbeRSRZiX1_evcvbJPnb6i_6ZhdE-7lWUIAPMPuWCI8-LlVPinYcwT5D5EZxakKRTvLMiYdncq8-IN76vHfQJiP-Iv3l4APfAOwylwAuSIpGL5Q/s320/IMG_1014.jpg" border="0" /></p></div><div align="center">Arctic Circle celebrities</div><div align="center"><br /><p align="justify">On day one, we made it as far as Galbraith Lake, just over 400 miles from Fairbanks so not a bad effort really. It's really quite beautiful up there despite having a great big bloody oil pipe running alongside the road. On day two, we got up to Deadhorse, despite me getting a puncture only 20 miles from Deadhorse (easily fixed), my GPS giving up the ghost (only temporarily as it turns out) and finally, running out of petrol as we pulled up alongside the place for the oil field tours. Somehow, we'de made it all the way from Ushuaia at the very bottom of South America to Prudhow Bay in Alaska, 8 months and 18 days later. My starting milage was 62,831 and by the time we made it to Prudhoe, it was reading 91,926, a fraction under 30,000 miles. </p></div><div align="center"></div><div align="center"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5090891664526853042" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhpAolECF6zFczpoIss5KRG0lEMDxKvjPT22VdOyaSJLKxUyIkfJDrfACyfEkyhcvE36RDezNSxS9mi_7431B4B07uz9suRe2vULWnl0irYf7Cc8uGJBwDNRS81GIznvbsRN464uA/s320/IMG_1052.jpg" border="0" /></div><div align="center">"Clunk, click on every trip"-</div><div align="center">you can never be too tooled up on a bike ride<br /><br /></div><div align="center"></div><div align="center"></div><div align="center"></div><div align="center"></div><div align="center"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5090890629439734690" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhj1r6CwGGd-NH5UCyCmK0gc2M-ruiV76PALOG6Uvh2pc8kvGc6EWKojG-wrQwIrarKs6afg6i18ABOjfRbU7a4tN_24BgP8JKDISENEQEUlXkvnGVK8kRD2rzO5sO_wFXcUrQ18Q/s320/IMG_1043.jpg" border="0" /></div><div align="center"></div><div align="center">Confused GPS- Alaska's f%cked up sunset/rise times<br /><br /></div><div align="center"></div><div align="center"></div><div align="center"></div><div align="center"></div><div align="center"></div><div align="center"></div><div align="center"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5090891677411754994" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhG3Ie8wNVxn6_sl3oFIhA19dHVliNaf8_9cXFiQWTGATAwOziGGKfIq-vzQuexzBXnOvGfvwsAxEXzIIvrhMdVJBFCnF8FBU3GfQ-kXHYliyA1WYz4oshj6DAH_igxP4HV8DDPwA/s320/IMG_1093.jpg" border="0" /></div><div align="center">Midnight sun<br /><br /></div><div align="center"></div><div align="center"></div><div align="center"></div><div align="center"></div><div align="center"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5090890625144767362" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjxizyazcJN2Y-7XKdnUreyg7PRuvYMxD2iBNDlsY_drvSGM5KEYZi-qTalsRK8FZ61eGE_yAEMYJo2xb4KCuXi3ESAT8we33ma_tMsoZSiRKT3O5rnVrT_hWHwO9GTy-Bf7r7SOg/s320/IMG_1033.jpg" border="0" /></div><div align="center">GS shadow<br /><br /></div><div align="center"></div><div align="center"></div><div align="center"></div><div align="center"></div><div align="center"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5090890629439734674" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjq_ss_DV58tJGEXmT0PktJDSDErltIO3xx_AnI8_d9kjN2ldR2BVUYNYIijbKz6NoueGOd4VXyfHVa2QDYMVOS4RUXrfxzgj3JB_NJWpTAU4vrg0Z8d2BzZeSiFiy4s665vkCL6w/s320/IMG_1027.jpg" border="0" /><br /><p align="justify">The Deadhorse oil field is as far north as you can drive yourself. To actually get to the Arctic ocean, a few miles further north, you actually have to go on the oil field tour which costs $38. The blurb on the place goes like this: <em>“Commercial oil exploration started in Prudhoe Bay in the 1960s and the field was discovered in 1968 Atlantic Richfield Company </em><em>but production did not begin until 1977 when the Alaska Pipeline was completed. Production peaked in 1988 at about 2 million barrels a day, but had fallen to below 1 million barrels a day by May 2005, or roughly 300 million barrels a year. Total production from 1977 through 2005 has been 13 billion barrels. As of December 2005, it is estimated that only 3 billion barrels are left (recoverable), which is roughly 10 years of production at the current rate. In terms of recoverable oil, the Prudhoe Bay field is the largest in the United States, more than double the size of the East Texas Oil Field, the second largest”. </em></p><p align="justify">Anyway, we finaly got to dip our toes in the Arctic ocean under the watchful eye of the oil field security guard, all these months and miles since doing the same thing in Ushuaia. With hindsight, I think I'd have liked to have started the trip in Alaska given that an oil filed camps generally aren't the most beautiful of places compared to the lovely national park down in Ushuaia. </p><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5090891673116787666" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhVH7M_gyWG2sdElbl9Jvg58aWvfkJTsnM63qAP3tVaEO7NOXY0EQ9dQqDMSs90Z17DrNCCRjoI5WaT8nO74WgYQ7dAyMkW3nweUWrfzaTok2bN3_snjKP7fa093M6EHXroBbNJjA/s320/IMG_1088.jpg" border="0" /><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5090891668821820354" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiFTziHSh0rXcZ9BA2jjNyNS5cEobfAiYepwjUTj44v1_qjKKchgZairIomnHp7lmEYfbkmj3mzIsNipH7gGUzEum4MHoVrBCmNSQprlBQo6DYXekLedH-0TNw9KpBa3bC8yQMljw/s320/IMG_1073.jpg" border="0" /> </div><div align="center">The Arctic Ocean- We done it!!!! </div><div align="center"><em>(hmm, think I actually prefered the Carribean...)</em></div><div align="justify"><br />Well never mind, somehow we made it and it has by no means been an easy trip. Very briefely, we've both had lots of ups and downs throughout the trip but somehow, no matter what the problem was, there has always been a way out of it and a bed at the end of the day. Looking back on my photos of this trip just makes me smile and want to do it all again to be quite honest though my bank manager might disagree! </div><p align="justify">I'd just love to be back down in South America though, where it's just so different and diverse. To my eyes anyway, the people there seem to be generally a lot happier with what they have and never seem to be chasing some impossible dream like the rest of us in the more developed parts of the world. I miss seeing whole familes stroll round the plazas of an evening, the utter lack of globalisation and the same old bloody chain shops seen almost everywhere else in the world, the incredibly varied and stunning scenery, the corrupt cops, whole Mexican villages coming out to watch the building of a speed bump, potholed main roads, and for us anyways, low relatively cost of living and no doubt lots of other things that will come to me over the following weeks.</p><p align="justify"></p><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5090891673116787682" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiCcTbES1-hxlphqwK4vR4x8XiI51aNJZeEfZEdHzUjFmTq73nWoHuqtRSbzY07sFfJwSvlKILpKfDOGdl7csjx3FFJzbGX1aYSns8zFCMuuD7u4dHOVRHjMHEeOKqQOW-MKETjUw/s320/IMG_1102.jpg" border="0" /> <p align="center">Hmm, I really don't fancy having to wash that!</p><p align="justify">As as for us and the rest of the trip, we still don't know where we'll be shipping our bikes from but a ferry trip down the inland passage and Vancouver are next on the list. </p>Mike Skinnerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00831666098089781043noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-30352020.post-31065618893678488292007-07-17T03:13:00.000+00:002007-07-24T01:53:24.467+00:00<div align="justify"><strong>Oh Canada</strong><br /><br /></div><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5090558654237557426" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg4rz5Sf7vPba3RhffNRM_nSKIg7dESgu7-ed6bgi0OO0KNwyecWSJd86mQfv8MNPQluA84bvzMz_Zzi3T2do-OFmvdEv1Fy4vDD-KS7yOezV0zQTbgflkZvzKLk7apRSxkpDne_g/s320/1334.jpg" border="0" /><br /><br /><div align="justify"><strong></strong></div><div align="justify"><strong></strong></div><div align="justify">The wee border to Canada is surprisingly easy. So easy in fact that the immigrations girl forgets to stamp our passports, only briefely though. Its nice to be back in Canada, I've been here a couple of times before but not to the parts we'll be riding though. En route to Calgary, the fan on the KLR decides to stop working, though it turns out to be only a blown fuse and easy to fix, phew!<br /></div><div align="justify">I'd briefly met a canadian guy in Baja who'd offered a place to stay in Calgary so this was where we were headed. It also turned out that the Calgary Stampede was starting the following day so some entertainment was guaranteed at least. We went into town on Friday morning to see the Stampede parade, catching erm, at least the last 20 minutes of it. I've honestly never seen so many 10 gallon hats! We also managed to get tickets to watch the rodeo in the stadium, as we'd heard it was a bit of an event by all accounts. It was pretty much a full house in the stadium as we settled in to watch mad people trying to stay on totaly mental horses and even bulls. I think the idea is to stay on for at least 8 seconds and if you stay on longer you get more points for looking like a rag doll getting shaken about in the mouth of a rabid dog. Impressive stuff to say the least!<br /><br /></div><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5090558654237557442" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEir7Mur7nBqo4vTuOwPtmVmF1aw6mFoSusjwWUesQkDcQ8odqmsnUKlfSYdcG7TuTfAObcFZpqBLwjdqJ1wSJpW7Frzn_zpnFyU31vjkclRb5ymxQnAmlO16EidZOZXxuNlN5ovTg/s320/1338.jpg" border="0" /><br /><br /><div align="justify"></div><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5090558684302328530" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjjfx8hHjL2Mg9kPvORHdSpy1YcLdKm4emh-zYyOSPG-GSZJvXhgy6aYQCaZ60_3gcSwo1qcsd8aQMGl2Mydq571H9vd-T1xOChlLHl2M4ELbbPEUCt5eUvRNYrd8Gcw4okgQ-NiQ/s320/1401.jpg" border="0" /><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5090558684302328546" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh8EqzYih67F4A88qYAoSB_23goDi1EwZQ5ZYx8Cr1Nr-32IQDEnkT8huK8bXHiOjEOzr3eNccr3IVy2zmpL1bNpzojgQt6LNPRsLcmvXKrm_JukR4_xMDImXH0UGFAfw_LoUrMCg/s320/1406.jpg" border="0" /><br /><div align="justify"></div><div align="justify">Preparing to leave on monday morning during the first rain for quite sometime, we were loaded up and ready to go when (surprise, surprise) the KLR didn't start. After a bit of investigation, it turned out the battery was bone dry. Luckily our host had a charger so we gave the battery some much needed water and a bit of a charge and lo and behold, it started. Right, off the bike shop for a new battery I think! Whilst there, I picked up a new pair of Continental TKC 80s as mine are looking slightly knackered but I won't put them on till I see canvas showing through on the current ones.<br /><br /></div><div align="justify"></div><div align="justify">We got to Lake Louise in the early evening and as usual in a National Park, it was chock full. So after allowing ourselves a quick look at the lake (nice, not many tourists) we decided to stock up on supplies and keep riding until we found another campsite when we bumped into Jim and Sandy on their Harley. They have a tent already set up and while chatting, we cheekily ask if we can share their pitch. They were such nice people and had no problem as long as the campsite ranger people were ok with it. Unlike the American campsite rangers, these guys couldn't give a shit. Jim and Sanday wouldn't take a penny for sharing their site with us so we agreed that if they were ever in Edinburgh or Oz to get in touch. Actually, that might be sooner than I think as Sandy's dad is from Nairn of all places. </div><div align="justify"><br /></div><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5090559470281343746" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhPxmCblT0tG6Nbg8kB97EJdhk78wnBjmcQYxCTC_K2-9TKQJ0wETQWNwjoSe0FBICIVKX5qPDa7bOVP7NlQ492lfmDYShEwNjgxJroXjjv13QkAXmD3nqW0n3ifjuuw8qpoVPl6A/s320/1448.jpg" border="0" /><br /><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5090558688597295858" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgnjkaCz3cIaEne8drJ_7b5u-T2EETx722rt2XMWNSlkdLfZ-nWGHUbGyLPS5ciVsOLmnCH-xCFTv10rhpcHpuQaHZk96rbu0zLvNBdnbUYKQpfIDo7IYO7yZSJW6K8K2W7txgIXQ/s320/1442.jpg" border="0" /><br /><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5090559470281343762" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjclgWcNouSBb_8lb3yBbNdJRebbC1NmJLahCBAmAscpO2ZkxmccMVv7O4Z6jM_kFPjR5pEZzrlb5JJPor6ENfyDnGKdwdsDBXC-ZVHSjsCXVtEGaIhmqSnSu9WTPXCgWuWO2AHrA/s320/1457.jpg" border="0" /><br /><div align="justify"></div><br /><br /><div align="justify">We get to see Lake Louise and Lake Moraine the following morning in all their touristy RV-like glory. The night before, I was wondering what it would be like if all the carparks were actually full. Well now I know. Next on the hit list was the scenic Icefields Parkway (http://www.icefieldsparkway.ca/) in Jasper National Park, the road of which runs through a pretty valley containing several glaciers. We stopped at the Athabasca Glacier, which is 6km long and 1km wide and easily accessible though not if you have a lisp. It was pretty nice but I still think that Perito Moreno glacier is the best I've seen on this trip. There were signs as you approach it indicating where the glacier had extended to over the years and it is thought that it is now retreating at a rate of around 5m a year.<br /><br /></div><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5090559474576311074" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjF-ZbcWDD7umhSAV6Ymp6gbCxvrPSZny3AClbh-kD63bHSg4tGuNJtJ70fg0JHiIp3GSXRTp1u5H6TfnJVMDRzCrU_b4e7tt7Xpecm8NarKPPhxtMtsha4X-No0xqpZ3WPOZ5dkw/s320/1496.jpg" border="0" /><br /><div align="justify"></div><div align="justify">Near Jasper are some hot springs and seeing as we probably going to be getting a shower for a while, it seemed rude not to go and see them. With 4 outdoor pools, 2 hot and 2 cold, it was hard to leave but with the number of mozzies about, we finally extracted ourselves and got back on the road to a small campsite near Hinton. As it doesn't get dark till after 11.30pm, the kids were up to all hours screaming away, the wee buggers.</div><div align="justify"></div><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5090559483166245698" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhX6n-jaoGxN3HDD60UeTDgy58ngzvww6VeerUaLK6tO34tNn_quwp4RxRuju0JEgdEO_7wjEjobmuoEZMAO3_0kNV-fVgogGcBWf8v6qXitQkH9re3av_trBnsBVz1ZLMGq7V_TA/s320/1530.jpg" border="0" /><br /><br /><div align="justify"></div><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5090559478871278386" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjzcj6qyQhHCv68lnN2V5HA-Hz7c2SsGfzilm1iIHM8XeJN20RwAaMIeGVnyi8EgwGQDIzJlSVNF95fJkOyFDe73LRRaRgEq01F3_DXz1WToUJLVRjZYBbB9IcbYVxjs9jlFpUz4w/s320/1512.jpg" border="0" /><br /><div align="justify"></div><div align="justify"></div><div align="justify"></div><div align="justify"></div><div align="justify"></div><div align="justify"></div><div align="justify"></div><div align="justify"></div><div align="justify"></div><div align="justify"></div><div align="justify"></div><div align="justify"></div><div align="justify"></div><div align="justify"></div><div align="justify"></div><div align="justify"></div><div align="justify"></div><div align="justify">The next few days were a blur of trees, trees and er, some more trees where we averaged 450 miles a day and hit nearly 500. We're also on the Alaskan Highway, which has the proud boast of being the 16th Engineering wonder of the world. This 1400 mile long road was built during the WWII as a military supply route to prevent the Japanese invading and was completed in a speedy 8 months. Filling up the bike twice a day was certainly making a dent in my wallet as I was spending up to $40 a day on gas alone, bringing the daily cost to around $60-70 per day. At this rate, the monthly sum I pay into the account I use will run out very quickly indeed. As the end of the trip is also so near and after 8 1/2 months on the road, I really feel the need to cover greater distances now. Watson Lake, Whitehorse and Beaver Creek flash by and suddenly we're in Alaska!</div>Mike Skinnerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00831666098089781043noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-30352020.post-29388544796506695032007-07-07T21:17:00.000+00:002007-07-24T00:37:32.170+00:00<div align="left"><strong>The National Parks and some other places</strong></div><div align="center"><br /><br /></div><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5090553315593208466" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjYcfrypO2QMWydHbzPMVVP54M015vf6GhkBcXQMnYA7IlPibVhTskWCkdGbrq6AbStwZoigwigE1BuvPUtYHQxswkazf9vOzZv8PoilzKOdg4Mtett5j0zHPqjmxUaPC-UXfg40w/s320/1253.jpg" border="0" /><br /><div align="justify"><strong></strong></div><p align="center">I'm the fire starter </p><p align="justify">In order: </p><p align="justify"><br /><strong>Zion Canyon-</strong> Saw it first thing in the morning so the light was quite nice. You have to get one of the free shuttle buses along the canyon due to the volume of traffic in the summer. </p><div align="justify"><br /></div><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5090551485937140162" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEha3IewrkexSIYfc0p67PI9SbmKBp642w8IDiARKTTrLl0QGCx8WPexWKQF7_bJ_68KSyRGlgKrTRI4nKUgTlW8F_p61yYHrjtwUs-qbOF_OuZ2GM2tbjelTxhAhy_6hcCAzAHJig/s320/798.jpg" border="0" /> <p align="center">Zion<br /></p><div align="justify"></div><div align="justify"><strong>Grand Canyon (the less touristy North Rim)-</strong> I'd read you need to book several months ahead for this campsite so it was no surprise that when we turned up, the stoney-faced Park Ranger woman on the desk told us they were full with no exceptions. The pitches were all pretty huge but she was adamant that there were no free spaces and the nearest camp ground was the service free National Park site about 16miles back the way we'd come. We asked a couple who were just setting up their tent if we could share it and amazingly they were ok with that. We offered to go 'halfers' with them on the cost but they refused so we ended up with free accommodation. We thought we'd wait till just before sunset to go and walk to the canyon, only 1.5 miles away but by the time we'd finished faffing with the dinner and dishes, it was getting late so we took my bike. We asked a Park Ranger in a car the quickest route and set off out the camp ground. Once on the road, I saw a Park Rangers car behind me so thought it was the guy we'd just been speaking too but my assumption was quickly dispeled when the lights came on the siren bleeped. 'Not again' I groaned as I started to pull over but the voice on the p.a. instructed me to 'pull in at the lodge car park'. The car pulled up behind me in the car park and what can only be described as 'Junior Cop' stepped out, a different one to the Ranged we'd spoken to. Apparently, I'd just gone through 3 stop signs in the campground and speeded on the road outside- just what I need! My excuse that we were in a hurry to catch the canyon before it got dark didn't cut it, neither did my assumtion that if there is no other traffic at a junction, I thought it was ok to drive through. When Junior Cop handed me my ticket for $75 (he'd reduced my heinious crimes down to just 1 stop sign), I said 'fantastic' in a slightly sarcastic tone. Junior Cop didn't like this, turning around like Robocop this time and said 'excuse me?'. 'Er, nothing' I smiled. Anyway, apart from over zealous coppers, the Grand Canyon was amazing and rather large. The next day, we packed up early and rode to some of the empty viewpoints were we had our breakfast without hoards of other tourists.<br /></div><p><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5090551485937140178" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhO1rzZWUE-RcjxIJioAcGOE2mE0O9TQjEpo5HMNyHhsXPLpvHwlYohrCb-ug_B4fJPqHpnc95Niyj21ab8xlCxX0M44wlTBbp51DTjsNNyz7y31kZglIAsh-IVjVI1gVPuQH73ag/s320/821.jpg" border="0" /><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5090551490232107490" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgS6EXefafERzeN2-d_HkQ_w9ExgbY3lF5KhuYlwFGk-aUvmHDcG6E6r70UrMiEOqiur_Jsl9v3rnE77mHaZ-CK4zd2kyHjSg1l1Q1BjrQkCZnJD2rq_DiI1HYEWOBOLcyHQC_ITw/s320/868.jpg" border="0" /> </p><p align="center">Its quite Grand, this canyon</p><p><br /><strong>Bryce Canyon-</strong>In a word 'stunning'. The canyon is full of odd shaped pinacle-like rock formations. We saw it sunset so again the light was pretty good. We have camped at all the parks and at least this one (Ruby's Inn Campground) had a pool to get out the heat again. Lots of Harleys going about the place though but hey, this is the USA so we'd better get used to it. The next day, we did a little hike to see a rock that vaguely resembles Queen Victoria.<br /></p><p><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5090551490232107506" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgSPdDRcwLYhzmoKHx8bBSD6_Y4Rr6W5TUV1L9jdIXj3DbzJcqUAmAhQQ_26WTlZq_v2rgxkTxyZnHIX1L_ytfOD28QyrEynzxQskic5qExYIK0vhOQjp-FPvUFkyXKeRnZfoqW-w/s320/891.jpg" border="0" /></p><p align="center">Bryce Canyon</p><p><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5090551494527074818" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiqM9owaSseKw_IyF0heYEnnYHPnY5AJ5RRd5ggPNonbYg26_UvhPrkOwL1wrxyHBOJbd3nuCdDdkavNMStneaOql-5rQXBO6BCBTa1ym9LTtobnq7Ir_pvCJmGlQi6uZP5Bjy1Zg/s320/931.jpg" border="0" /> </p><p align="center">Harleys- get used to em!</p><p align="justify"><br />We then spent a few days in Moab, Utah where we also checked out <strong>Arches National Park</strong>, but it was really hot and busy. Lots of big stone arches as you'd expect though. Then it was <strong>Dead Horse Point Park</strong> which has a view to rival any at the Grand Canyon. A bit of bike work on the KLR was required so we used the facilities at Arrowhead. Moab is a bit of a meca for mountain biking and trail riding but the heat was ridiculous so we had to give it a miss, maybe further north though.<br /><br />We stopped in a small place called Leadville in Colorado, where there's a great hostel - <a href="http://www.leadvillehostel.com/">http://www.leadvillehostel.com/</a>. The owner, Wild Bill is a right character, originally from Mississippi and grew up being neighbours with BB King and is also pals with Bonnie Rait etc and blues music naturally flows from the kitchen stereo (check out the music on his 'menu' page). The town is located on the crossroads of the Continental Divide trail and the Trans-Am trail so its full of walkers including a couple of guys who were walking from Mexico to Canada. They'd already covered 900 miles in only 2 months so only about another 2,000 to go guys! When we arrived, we were greeted like old friends and even though it was pretty full, we were given a private bedroom downstairs. Wild Bill does a cracking 'all you can eat' dinner and breakfast which was just what we needed to fill the void left by the stomach stretching of Las Vegas. Leadville, being a former mining town is a facinating wee town too and Bill filled us in on some of the local legends and history. We were really sorry to be leaving only the next day as it would be easy to stay a lot longer!</p><p><br /></p><p><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5090552383585305106" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhAzZMqufyD57JwUp8jJvYcbISF34AkC4GyoQO2PEGrEjUF3VCrSA1YvOcKSWsqaSkshmS57SEKzpfGegcIJuBajvSwlN3dLqtdKbyYyfiSL-UVuFAVfcZbbeoOey1ZUK9Oexdmiw/s320/1034.jpg" border="0" /> </p><p align="center">The very friendly Leadville Hostel<br /><br /></p><p align="justify">From Leadville, it was an easy ride through some spectacular mountain scenery past Vale and Aspen ski resorts to Boulder, Colorado where we were staying with Chris and Erin Ratay <a href="http://www.ultimatejourney.com/">http://www.ultimatejourney.com/</a> who are legends in the overland biking comunity as they got into the Guiness Book of World Records for a team covering the longest distance on bikes (4 years and 101,000 miles). They were great hosts, putting us up in their beautiful home which as you'd expect, had a garage full of lovely motorbikes. We managed to get stuff sorted out, use their computer for internet (as its getting progressively harder to find any now), repair my leaking Thermarest sleep mat and naturaly, work on the bikes. Chris also showed me the correct technique of how to pick up a really heavy bike like mine on your own, so that only took me 8 months on the road to find that one out! We also managed a couple of nights out on the beers, although embarassingly, we were totaly out of practice!</p><p><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5090552383585305122" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhm1I7UMh_NtrH4GmXOJI41mYlD0eN1aTO6DopqNnaOszLVkJP2MVOnaH92mZUBR2JXu_AGY76U9qXXxLwEsAZriNnL9tqZAyjBjBs-CckaWnVVtVQ4Elxwx3tip-0aP6dYuoT08A/s320/1047.jpg" border="0" /></p><p align="center">Now watch and learn- the 'correct' bike lifting technique</p><p align="center"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5090552387880272434" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgh7xmtUPY93FnVN5diQCYeT9lW1U_HDTriEgdACkEl8w7EcjKZL7hjefG5yYNM0TjUIajE-F60YIhixShmoJaUPThE91r-5nkcWbHLX2LsjIzChh9G0O1Y5zzJY95jwBj9gXcrGg/s320/1052.jpg" border="0" /><br />Boozin' in Boulder</p><p align="justify">We stayed about 3 days with the Ratays, but it was time to push on to <strong>Grand Teton and</strong> <strong>Yellowstone National Parks</strong> to the north. Grand Teton was yet another very pretty place, in a valley banked by the Teton mountains with Moose and Bison running free. Nice. We got chatting to a group of Goldwing riders in the campsite and one of them gave me a shot on his 1800cc, 900lb machine. Having no insurance, I was slightly nervous as I think he liked guns a lot but I had nothing to fear. It was a bit unwieldly to ride round the campsite although very comfy. He was probably as relieved as I was when I brought it back in one piece! There are also bears in the area (something we'll need to get used to) so the campsites are equiped with Bear-proof boxes for storing food, water, kitchen utensils and even your toothpaste. Slightly paranoid, we filled ours to the brim with our smelly stuff (of which we have a lot) in the hopes that Yogi didn't feel the need to come knocking on our tent.</p><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5090552392175239746" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgSUY88N3b0Uk9xIg4dsdy-6SrVVC-N1V855SreiJruz2xvgOZwp6mkCNk3ed97GroVkWu0bdcplDPGPLZY0VsPI71GHiVChNjUg8gVJpIm5_219qH03djXm4_5CB2JyNA500sGPw/s320/1082.jpg" border="0" /><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5090552396470207058" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjPlfilcrzMWMC7YK6u89M8xTkmgxFKzxha3vV47B2BxpHH-mERud3OdhJLJYgjKWz-Qou7mKrU1L0L6UUVM6STCpyZjtrCaFZHRe3z70J4-2Kn42jCJUf0Zt3OOd3ua-WuE5C8Pg/s320/1101.jpg" border="0" /><br /><br /><p align="justify">Then it was Yellowstone, which has a north and south 'loop' roads so we camped in the south to start with. Being a very organised place, the showers were about 2kms away from where we got a pitch and it cost $18 as we weren't allowed to camp in the Hiker/Biker section like we were in Teton which only cost us $5 to camp. The south loop contains a lot of smelly sulphorous pools and of course Old Faithful, which went off more or less on time but for some reason, the one just down the road seemed to be gushing for a lot longer and a tad more spectacularly, oh well! On the way back down the east side of the loop, the road went through a totally stunning valley complete with winding river and herds of Elk and Bison. Despite the bear warning signs, we still hadn't seen one and were getting worried that we weren't going to when we came across an 'animal jam', ie someone spots something from their car and jams on the brakes to take a look, then everybody else does the same. Anyway, assuming it was probably yet another bison or moose, we pulled over and parked up. Walking back up the road, we were relieved to find it was not one, but two black bears having a bit of a forage in the berry bushes down in the valley below. The ranger who had turned up to sort out the traffic warned that if the bears decided to start coming up the hill, we'd all need to leave but they pretty much followed the creek allowing us to get a decent look through the binoculars. </p><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5090553307003273826" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjLEkHD0S-8yin2uY1O2BxzQkNBy0YWsl_f0-jFjG0tZr5lh5-MFJJ4jeBw_IA7XUC1OT6g6f2dsk9NDpL-fbprY9QHF4G_lhCkL6oJ-vTxE4tKfKa9-ic_HFAJl-jTqQTXjTObdQ/s320/1105.jpg" border="0" /><br /><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5090553311298241138" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEioa248AmFoa8iRODyrUNFmmQFAVjzJxhUGi7bviGopIrXVJRhh1VBMA7L9XW4Kn58xJ3l7QZJH-Q62winJFavmDVwvG1BRKPoW2Jm1PbACtTjYjIXXYIDg1oMj8jh8LvZCn7p7Lg/s320/1129.jpg" border="0" /><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5090553315593208450" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgzcDdIeTv-fpUAK94DeZvIckd2zGz0PKRTiH7XynGCLHD1Z3k0OpjQq9J0pCSVPCP2KzgHhWuVhaUbxGyOuKyvxIZCaCzsPUPjqaStyL0kFT6Q2CZMXOWmebPImKSm6WEbhpOvEA/s320/1230.jpg" border="0" /><br /><br /><p align="justify">From Yellowstone, our route took us through Bozeman, and finally up to <strong>Glacier National Park</strong> at the far north of Montana. We weren't going to stop for the night in the park so we stuck to the Going to the Sun road which cuts past a stunningly clear lake where we just had to jump in to cool off. The road eventually starts climbing up the side of the mountians, giving incredible views over the valleys below, definitely one of the bestest roads on the trip. So after a final camp in St Mary's on the other side of the park, the next stop will be Canada, one of my favorite countries. </p><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5090553319888175778" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgimq-w-dgHqJQRrG88tJpeGXnzPThrawDUbGsYfeUNZHPybsqfvFPUV7fkGjNqrkHu4Z3uAWFpFbRwQPYSZrDA4enq2M9HpCJV9iXUnxmwv2IGKAvc9mlz_V0X3rBEcXswE3GCLg/s320/1315.jpg" border="0" /><br /><br /><br /><p align="justify"></p>Mike Skinnerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00831666098089781043noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-30352020.post-46851076854569471332007-07-07T20:39:00.000+00:002007-07-23T23:56:04.595+00:00<div align="justify"><strong>Sin City</strong></div><div> </div><br /><div align="center"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5090543398513721714" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgwDMS-tTqoaMaCX7z9vCqxBKWwQuedtLuFGv4_XzhjKSw0eSy6KTGpWTTvCN5p0uBKGS_Fm-sht9G-1lSlmvzsnv0HbfljpT9UFXW8_f51AFevLaTjguVH1Xq-IalJE0gK-6PdLw/s320/707.jpg" border="0" />The Glitz.....</div><br /><br /><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5090543398513721698" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjF0Rv_JejAkDNaV5WedyufYDD1XzP4UKbGWgWWcCU5xhqJgkf7k4ArRm0oKa5Qbhe3S9rrAXc6_VhaQSDf5hDWQQWvxwJSTLoas2Z7Rd5Ghk35n2248bQn6VrKFE3Kynceh27rJw/s320/700.jpg" border="0" /><br /><br /><div align="center">The Glamour....</div><br /><br /><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5090543394218754386" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-oBmOZzY8xGuCitBgxqpdKKe7ZYrI7Jf1JXZIfjEepNWM2_bmhwGnfj85Auzokz2CSN-aKPMYF1OupEqGBN8D0OMoQ41tUYaDhHDEKzzqZGdB7AntlkPDaod2jHhNk9u6eN_y3Q/s320/699.jpg" border="0" /><br /><div align="justify"></div><p align="center">The Reality!</p><p align="justify">What can you say about Las Vegas? Gambling, the Strip, the Casinos, the lights etc. As all the hotel prices shoot up at the weekends, we timed just right so we arrived on a friday night so we knew it wouldn't be cheap, but somehow we got ourselves a room in the Hotel Imperial for $65.00, right on the Stip. I have zero luck whenever I gamble so we saved that for later, opting instead for a walk about the Stip. It was so hot even at night so we tried to keep the walking to a minimum. The Venetian Hotel is decked out inside to look like Venice with a real canal and gondalears, the ceiling is finished to look like the sky with sunset and sunrise simulated every few hours. $0.99c margaritas at Circus Circus went down well too.<br /></p><p><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5090543389923787074" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEin8xVIGheT4NXC4sQIN1y09zQJQCzob4ZYvsQuP8rdACq9fJUyb8xTlnQUw1XfINGb3XwYIrzqRcqJBo4JSu4XbBTNlZtZlb79-MMo_djMuQXhIX0otrwqjwnVKLvNfyktgThlBQ/s320/694.jpg" border="0" /></p><p align="center">Indoor Venice</p><p align="justify"><br />The following day, we had planned to leave and camp somewhere to save money but we managed to get into Ceasers Palace swimming pool for free so we lounged about there for a bit to get out of the heat. For reasons still unknown, I thought it would be a great idea to go for a ride on the roller coaster which skirts about on the roof of the New York, New York hotel. All I can say is 3minutes was more than enough time. Thank God, there is a metro line running through the centre as there's no way you would want to walk the length of the Strip in that heat. My GPS thermometer was reading 53 deg C at one point so that might give you some idea. You may have heard of the 'all you can eat' buffets in Vegas, so without any delay, we tried the one in The Sahara hotel which looked like the cheapest at around $12. You pay to get in, then are given a fairly reasonable 2 hour time limit to gorge yourself silly. I was impressed by the sheer volume of food sitting on the tables of some people, obviously a ploy to avoid burning up any of those valuable calories going to and from the buffet table. It was about 7pm by the time we'd eaten more than our stomachs could ever possibly hold and we reached the startling conclusion that there was no way in hell we'd be camping anywhere that night so it was back to the Imperial to check in all over again and enjoy some air conditioning.</p><p><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5090543402808689026" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj1gUwyNYxhMoxPuX06K-wzqRgxmDDc2tNdXzzE1K0szAM-WQlkubL4sZkrFPM1OZuuAb7rlk4S_f5pE1QePfgDHWMZhbr4hP32a_CQ2XthAAOMfqxFLlyqJFDYfuOAAHvxSicHEA/s320/728.jpg" border="0" /></p><p align="center">Ceaser's Palace pool</p><p><br /></p><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5090543591787250082" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEihUQlQLHYLeA5IF9ym7mURn1ibQJbFB1sLCu7svYUq6W66axLZx_m0PeJl36ALC80LDlSokgBn1xSlJ3a9sQ-VFwnerZ8__gZTNdSipsULZi-ei7F06135-zCLEVzVZtwwx2TkmA/s320/747.jpg" border="0" /><br /><div align="justify"></div><p align="center">Sheer class<br /><br /></p><div align="justify"><br />Oh, and we also managed to recklessly blow a massive $2 out of the kitty on the one-armed bandits. It was all just so crazy but hey, this is Vegas baby!</div><div align="justify"> </div><p align="center"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5090543591787250066" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhde4nXwwbgpuk7G5djVeYF3xtuq2YLSJF2JFWr8FNy2WNktplRQ3qHqqq5wn5icq-dgGTGEuHQYFRngLv1mzlu6vxfcgZ4_RWu9Aanht8FIVUEagoR6UJ3VVyf68gxOVY4X4TrOQ/s320/743.jpg" border="0" /></p><p align="center">Whoa there big spender!</p>Mike Skinnerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00831666098089781043noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-30352020.post-67987205737033121762007-06-23T23:47:00.000+00:002007-06-28T01:27:52.609+00:00<div align="justify"><strong>Oooh L.A., L.A.!</strong><br /><br /><br /></div><strong></strong><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5080505137145222370" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgSCdsGxKqeV4s6zBoGK3ylu4UQmtXMTJ_Z9XaPVyOFhOkNdqMA-dXns5TCrihzmRmqQ_u2Nx_jmwY28c_qsHIttuYf6tpqCOc8CwXratxtKxv-Nj_JBNRJB5kEFyoUFTdya5Tcgw/s320/IMG_0616.jpg" border="0" /><br /><p align="center">Let's hear it for Hollywood!</p><br /><p align="justify">Our first night in LA (ok not technically LA but just outside it) was in Costa Messa. We were put up for the night by someone Michelle used to work with in London. On the way in to town, we just had to stop at a proper American diner called 'Ruby's' (my mums name) for a decent burger, well 1/2 a burger- we share meals sometimes as you can quite often get refillable drinks and fries. </p><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><div align="justify"></div><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5080505386253325554" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjfDGdEXjKjDgQZTZjHGVF2eFvjKCUICa71H8jpb8RQghm91tBURNaCdH4Y3AVle1n2WM2lgoArCzzT-DMjNmG7OhKS7ujuVCNY74_JW3nxk5QPq0j5XzzI5Z85wcHAW6xDz4gjlQ/s320/IMG_0313.jpg" border="0" /><br /><p align="center">Ruby's Diner<br /><br /><br /></p><br /><p align="justify">We went out for quite a few beers (ok, 3 or 4- I'm very out of practice these days!) and the next morning I had to get my bike over to Petersson Performance Suspension in Anaheim to get my Ohlins rear shock serviced, though 'rebuilt' would be more apt as most parts that could wear out had worn out. After another $245 had left my account (man, this country is expensive) we headed over to San Fernando Valley, past Hollywood and Beverly Hills. Our hosts for the next thee days were Irl and Marni, a really great couple who both work in the tv and movie music editing business. </p><br /><br /><p><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5080505777095349506" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEje0z0xyIc1_smNAy1jJQlsh_hxLxByX10VxoYpdyVSh8mSPku2vqAK3OjEyolPEW_3PWtG40Q9a2ckf4mwYCYSRx-0K4-0AkoM064oCrZISaQqfGoM4QgCZKt2AJA8AXY9pHKh1w/s320/IMG_0339.jpg" border="0" /></p><br /><br /><p align="center">Stig sorting out my rear shock at PPS, Anaheim </p><br /><br /><p align="center"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5080761621631054338" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhg4X3BnK9QuYsbrvQV6acVvyEEWN5eVPb_DfRswW06g56KHYnLHCi4sFwMib4iTrhd2My2vGwsZCU9p_0N6wWtLh7RvHfoTdxbZ3erqqYQMs1xMgABJxyNtn_SlnxPdSKsE1gjZQ/s320/IMG_0527.jpg" border="0" /></p><br /><br /><div align="center">Irl and Marni</div><br /><br /><div align="center"></div><br /><br /><div align="center"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5080761625926021650" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiOfAKFd26943cSEFmhmjA89PvjVyemC1ODhunYP1GXVRf91hROSJguBV3khPb3W1aFh19SlWGofvTK3lUdBadLF0EyQAjfMgCRloeZWe1IPf8GuYjCB8ujiThwGZ9juvfXTvZgKg/s320/IMG_0530.jpg" border="0" />Wanabe rock stars</div><br /><br /><div align="justify"><br /><br />Irl and Marni wouldn't be home till 7pm so we spent the day checking out some of LA including Venice Beach, which was fun as the board walk is full total characters. The houses along the beachfront and on the canals were just amazing. We rode along Santa Monica Boulivard and Bevely Hills where I suddenly realised that I didn't actually have Irl's address on me so I had to ask in some hotels if I could use their internet as there seems to be hardly any internet cafes in the US. I also wanted to go up Laurel Canyon as I new thats where the rock stars live so that was nice too. When we finally turned up at the house, Irl made us what I can only describe as the best gourmet deli sandwich ever- just what we needed. </div><br /><div align="center"><br /></div><br /><div align="center"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5080753937934561618" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjEh2klhJ2mI9jQgvqlSe9aUBZdo9h27RiIiazhEMtmHFO1AgiyGJ1nDXF8RHoMxutnZUDSUARw0bAoe0NpSxrFGCv8rOOSBoasPBJq7u-FCiiqM5qbWtXKom1FGHrDkkfg0zj08A/s320/IMG_0353.jpg" border="0" /><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5080753937934561634" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEji_7Q_4zIvgMqukHeFIbwqx_jsXcgg8nzK27hNefh6En5W-VHowJZXWt18GbK90ESWBeMihb1THAUUvYBUIJbGVTta3RF77Ln79jHitUOkHIDH6dz3uJy1qvdklpsnGouNzF_mWw/s320/IMG_0361.jpg" border="0" /><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5080753942229528946" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgDrya9yjv1-XLz_N4sBTWaOOW5nymwGALoNpyORDCZHY3fLmCXBQekhMwojuQH8mQNMo3w6WN1TCBwSyXh00owV3FHkq9ws7znRqftg3PPWItCkIgx5yZ12rmyQ1X8B9qrpZlhmA/s320/IMG_0370.jpg" border="0" /><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5080753942229528962" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiImaAlH0CD7u82LrNnnTKm_sSkCfgOn_c6PNUWzH4OgLgSn3MjhhXMt-zZLfuhafaJTJURQYY8NqcGWI4vtvVxYEKn5cR0GfAS8aRvU_bbqKXAe1m4qdykvx5ygUnK9MNuUfDypg/s320/IMG_0396.jpg" border="0" /> </div><br /><br /><div align="center">What the Union Canal behind my flat in </div><br /><div align="center"><br />Slateford should really look like!</div><br /><br /><div align="center"></div><br /><br /><div align="center"></div><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5080760586543935970" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj9n2uP_Fn6nq6Uq32MWieA9vsWJj-qCd_TvFXFIbSrbFbEbM7_toI1pU659AURGvxdbNwE2az4SIpowkIrsUIXDihZNVTTGIVGPOADitlN__PQMgBGrEC_xQA0ljw4smyC2YI7OQ/s320/IMG_0439.jpg" border="0" /><br /><p align="center">Paying homage to the Lord of cheesy sax-</p><br /><p align="center">Kenny G!!<br /><br /></p><br /><br /><p align="justify">The next couple of days were spent checking out more of what L.A. had to offer including the Getty Museum and The Griffith Observatory, both really beautiful buildings up in the hills. I also had to check out the Guiltar Centre where all I could do was drool at hundreds of vintage Fender Statocasters and Gibson Les Pauls on sale for around $78,000, a bargain I'm sure you'll agree. I really wanted to see some live music while we were in L.A. and the best place to look for listings is the <a href="http://www.laweekly.com/">http://www.laweekly.com/</a> Rodger Waters was playing that night in the Hollywood Bowl but it was a little pricy for our budget, so I noticed that one of my favorite guitar players, Scott Henderson, was playing in a small club called The Baked Potato. And so it was that we spent that evening enjoying some live jazz fusion while eating huge baked potatoes. </p><br /><br /><br /><div align="justify"></div><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5080757575771861394" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEig5TKcr1cM8Oq7smonJEAI6XDLHke-Qt9c1KqpSVtc_xZfhUpkxUK604MGjrkcwo31b0OZakiMbazLMeYV7aTZaCV8LRnp8BfLSvCHve7D3SVGJWbb-7sauk8iOpcAN-bVvXPwTA/s320/IMG_0655.jpg" border="0" /><br /><br /><p align="center">Scott Henderson Trio<br /><br /></p><br /><p align="center">(baked potatos not shown) </p><br /><br /><br /><br /><p align="center"></p><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5080758744002965922" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiVIp7QTZlBAaFInxZBou1xfKAjXnIJAILkVrS-DDvrsXtyGmIG6uzMNqtriPwrr9-G_qMC_1xOFUGageVCuBuh09OwBjufJdECjZmDg62oFG65CgXpzqkLcqJ96ImnBZsLNIQ0EQ/s320/IMG_0567.jpg" border="0" /><br /><p align="center">Griffith Observatory<br /><br /><br /></p><br /><p align="center"></p><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5080758748297933234" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgS-rPz_-kcMOEqvwFa3iqRcOi4uoXMHQelaC0cgH-K3bI-MqGN64Q_obx_pmGSUbuBOtEx-8j8cK5Eq4v_diDjwd1TerhP6L5u04cwQT6Vjk98KdLLTy_WytVCvFIUelnKksOfPA/s320/IMG_0633.jpg" border="0" /><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5080758748297933250" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiqVajvTU3lQEw2qImJ89P_qqLkTyvwm2Av7fABuCTfrFxtYGSbg8NkPLDAvqgim57IFSYVafJOK7d1LknUfFUcLQPa6WZUXEodIUozdqrrmPv_H5WIgxt40GLFLErZI2LrzF2Y5Q/s320/IMG_0569.jpg" border="0" /><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5080758748297933266" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgIDAgQovzsq88eaGh-N7UTxHsK3ehfSUy2C20-RRekjnVorvo17UgQA2WzY81DfBlYBkJwaHFeLgmW40uWcDYhqQgfz1K-_ddGOXpFKG4XueyatPXGuNet4uqkGoWBWyZCQi89og/s320/IMG_0637.jpg" border="0" /><br /><br /><br /><p align="justify">On our last day, we rode out to Malibu beach via Topanga Canyon road which was also great, full of fantastic properties. We also checked out Mulholand Drive, another place where the rich and famous live so we stopped outside Jack Nicholsons pad but he wasn't coming out to play. Down on Long Beach, we took a look at the Queen Mary but it was a tad expensive to do the internal tour. Cool to see her though. I have to say that L.A. is now one of my favorite cities.</p><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5080763421222351394" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh9322SsMafwUPmfesm5FPENUnRgNbKp9KBdSQBd8rCFBRKPZVC9rOwgNVY7uYZdaQAnEqLnsqqAssVeLqJtEmoyVUW9G2RVgKviKDoTbroCwJ6IMNGawUj14HNbrbP_thLUV2V3w/s320/IMG_0709.jpg" border="0" /><br /><br /><p align="center">Queen Mary and a Russian sub</p><br /><p align="center"></p><br /><p align="justify">Our next stop before leaving L.A. was George's place in Norco, just outside town. We'd met George in Baja and he'd invited us to stay. He was out of town that day picking up his daughter Sarah from the end of her college year up north but he sent me an email to say the doors would be open and just to make ourselves at home. Norco, you may or may not know, is horse capital of the USA so I think my cousin Sarah would love it. Its got a people population of around 25,000 and a horse population of 50,000 and you kind of get that impression when you ride through town ie bridle paths instead of sidewalks. No longer had we unpacked when George and Sarah came back so I helped unpack the pickup of Sarahs belongings. We had a really nice night listening to George playing one of his many banjos and I even joined in with my piss-poor version of duelling banjos! George also ran me across town to the auto store the following morning so I even managed to get an oil change in. I'm really enjoying this side of the trip where we meet total strangers, sometimes for a matter of minutes by the side of a road who are kind enough to put us up for an evening and in fact leave the front door open for us! </p><p align="justify"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5080919800981598770" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJBisxLR0yRNTXF-15I7QOc5HMS5kPo_UmmgjSaO9AAH05sMUulGQvNtpebwSryzJLmRdOCOqk2cfZvACXAX8D8-dZIaQJYeRYb7fHChtFVxhFSfZ7Am0kru0w-jBlTsMCGmCJDg/s320/IMG_0710.jpg" border="0" /></p><p align="center">George showing us his banjo skills</p><p><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5080919805276566082" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjM00Oz_rYCQecshFtjHMCGxlzqCK9LD3JrxMMZyWnRXudBm7VghwmFLzdbrDbSUJ9meF22YtTeRqgRcrKmC60xXhvm_N8UKib7dKFs-9YpfsI8nhyphenhyphenDOdek1FCpjMj7173BSyoMSQ/s320/IMG_0713.jpg" border="0" /></p><p align="center">Less 'duelling banjos', more ritual humiliation!</p><p><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5080919805276566098" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhSXCTyegSVPamqmxbzS-o_aIzu5x5PKM2FO8uUSOIj9gefHKBwfih4oZWJrBdZd9nKBbdXNWm3nMYhEaAQFSc9p7lWHW8CsKNP57EFmMNp5K9aWS8_Y1_OVSDGvJwGhxgLGK0R_g/s320/IMG_0727.jpg" border="0" /></p><p align="center">George and Sarah </p><p> </p>Mike Skinnerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00831666098089781043noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-30352020.post-64167488203379979302007-06-10T19:32:00.000+00:002007-06-26T22:32:55.123+00:00<div align="justify"><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgVlduee1aue32HjdxT2j-PrnlG42PAYetiz_RLGYKPBPzyaqVNcw5pos7i_G2XSxUB0tFt4nCtYAD5Qay5pOL8BeaQaWueePb51r3gX6HoCWpths8RPU99r5N4ctE1jaTL6tqXBQ/s1600-h/IMG_0313.jpg"></a><br /><br /></div><div style="TEXT-ALIGN: justify" align="justify"><span style="FONT-WEIGHT: bold">California Dreaming</span> </div><div style="TEXT-ALIGN: justify" align="justify"><br /> </div><span style="FONT-WEIGHT: bold"></span><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5080503977504052402" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhnmT_U9ykmqOUiUY66VSUCs5oS6BrylUaQdtolbQEbwLtNeiylVR9Zv-LQzPJXtpFCbdGpA6Lx6eafnC9pijiesLEomAis3Vo7-rFSOZv1iDtwpciwWoOaTwOhZATQ1vhN3gOqtQ/s320/IMG_0277.jpg" border="0" /> <p align="center">We must be in Califiornia then!</p><p align="justify">We had previously arranged to stay at Cameron and Jessica's place in San Diego so we made a beeline for Mission Valley. Amazingly, and with very few detours, we made it with no problems. Cameron has a very shiny BMW 1200GS and is a member of the Horizons Unlimited and ADVRider sites so is pretty used to folk like us, ie threadbare clothes and in dire need of a hot shower! We stayed with Cameron and Jessica for about 5 days, during which time, we were driven to and from our respective BMW and Kawasaki garages to get the bikes sorted out properly. Michelles bike for the slipping clutch and mine for some very expensive steering and shaft drive bearings. Ouch at $750 but I guess my poor bike was suffering by this point, and lets face it,it really hasn't cost me too much over the length of this trip. I had ordered some other parts like fork seals, a replacement rear shock bolt and a new cable for my GPS which had stopped working some time ago. </p><br /><br /><p><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5080503981799019730" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhUuowhIC0BWK4Rid5ycrRHt85SKbfJXQw0ubtPHmXLSfMUeWPdfUPUTFPGhuJB7vN_nlbbrix-fdc4HJNylvuw920GfuK2WGhllOaQpkDbB6YB3KmghROrJBSfIO3q9G7EoULrXA/s320/IMG_0299.jpg" border="0" /></p><p align="center">Our hosts for San Diego</p><p align="justify">I did the fork seals to avoid paying BMW labour rates ($78/hour) which went fairly smoothly. When it came to removing the bent rear shock bolt (the shock had fairly severely bottomed out), it decided to sheer off inside my swing arm. Fortunately, Cameron has a very well kitted out garage and even had the right tool for removing pesky sheared bolts. Despite spending several days working on the bikes, we did managed to actually see some of San Diego and I even managed to get a pair of jeans that actually fit me. We also used the time here to have a clear out, sending equipment and stuff home we don't really need in an effort to cut down some weight. On our last night, Michelle and I made a barbeque to thank our marvelous hosts for their wonderful hospitality and Jessica's excellent cooking, and my potato salad seemed to go down well too. Next stop, Los Angeles!<br /></p><span style="FONT-WEIGHT: bold"></span>Mike Skinnerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00831666098089781043noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-30352020.post-53378854993353493882007-06-10T18:39:00.000+00:002007-06-28T01:40:53.272+00:00<p align="center"></p><br /><div align="justify"><span style="FONT-WEIGHT: bold;font-family:arial;" ><span >Baja-humbug</span> </span></div><br /><br /><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5080923640682361442" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhJLY15L0WLXG98EXNnV0m_wYxl4SIvw9sUrueLwPx1Bvuy26_eRiia5wf1Nwc7JQb4Ai7bs27Bw0xe-wC8da3OGskqJiWYJ3gaRG9u7BVXERDf0-d-ou0z7FlRwiBE585aSd9Pkg/s320/IMG_0189.jpg" border="0" /> <div align="justify"><strong><span style="font-family:arial;"></span></strong></div><div align="justify"><span style="FONT-WEIGHT: bold;font-family:arial;" ></span></div><div align="justify"><strong><span style="font-family:Arial;"></span></strong></div><span style="font-size:0;"><span style="font-size:100%;"><div style="TEXT-ALIGN: justify" align="center"><span style="font-size:+0;"> A lovely cactus- unique to these parts </span><span style="font-size:+0;">(if you're at all interested)</span></div><br /><div style="TEXT-ALIGN: justify" align="center"></div><div style="TEXT-ALIGN: justify" align="center">After Choix, I went to Los Mochis to get my ferry ticket over to Baja although the ferry actually leaves from Topolobamba about 1/2 hour away. Neither town was particularly exciting I have to say and it was all I could do to save myself from utter boredom waiting for the ferry that night. I finally rode up to the ferry queue around 8pm, having been told it would leave at 11pm and to be there at 9pm. The queue was already pretty huge so I was kind of glad I'd turned up early, however, being the only bike, I was waved up to the front. Nice one, I pictured myself shortly relaxing in the truckers lounge watching Mariachi bands on the big telly.</span> </span></div><br /><br /><br /><div style="TEXT-ALIGN: justify" align="justify"><span style="font-size:0;"><br /></div></span><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5080500730508776514" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQEAQcQIzvKhEY4mRxMQfGnVYKdoTPQGVe8Bo2lBFfn7bmSpbFADW7In5llx_Ao0wK0rzcGdXjikSco-qgN9OSBMisBNyGl7whQOZ2JqaqiIUZJED3-HUwmIJ40LGO3yClo48GgA/s320/IMG_0163.jpg" border="0" /><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5080500739098711122" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg6pR_7Jh-yhTThYUYgUKnNjVc29eIvR6mE7AUHg_HY9JBwpDZvxWSw3TE_PQSUusuqdf8ZTFD2a1-y-ayYLk4Rcu4VklNJ5iPAXKgZ41bFnCH1NtxY8k9Ex2nL_Txqtjm5YZWONw/s320/IMG_0165.jpg" border="0" /><br /><br /><p align="justify">4 bloody hours I sat there watching truck after truck after truck get loaded on to that ferry. Finally at around 12.30am, as I was wandering up to the ferry to take a closer look I was ordered to get my bike on board, about bloody time! I quickly gobbled up what was left of the restaurant food, and although I had been allotted one of those awful seat things for the 6hour crossing, I chose to try and sleep on deck. This would have been fine except with several hundred truckers wandering about, it was a bit tricky. Finally, the excitable truckers decided to shut up and bed down for the night. I managed to sleep outside till around 4 am or so and them reluctantly based myself inside the 'room of chairs', where unbelievably they left the lights on all night. Getting fed up of people tripping on me, I got up and went outside just in time to catch the sunrise over the sea.<br /><br /><br /></p><br /><br /><br /><p><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5080500739098711138" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh398eJHZ8pz9pTmg9n9II5P_o5l2AxZH_ducyjB19IN_zSBct6LYv-zkkixJHL4-8jQoDbgrdT0TzLlpsFvSErB73Qp189lZHlSnk5kPuMDnEaC6xFgRa3plbHUJyEstWUHGdEEA/s320/IMG_0167.jpg" border="0" /></p><br /><br /><br /><p align="center">La Paz</p><br /><br /><br /><p><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5080500743393678450" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjky5x4-qZNRITSnyteFnBLc_29BHhCSvm5QymsXNS-ncZy_268xTUj5dXQEAcJb4KuVT_Nas4js-TadYwVqN1tzoT6VfCAjX6uhj-jEjepOCC-JbylQydebhHMUK7swZkKi46Qww/s320/IMG_0175.jpg" border="0" /></p><br /><br /><br /><div align="center">Ceritos, fun-ville</div><br /><br /><br /><p align="justify"><br />I arived in La Paz which was slightly warmer than the one in Boliva. It appeared to be full of retiring Americans so I didn't hang around long and instead headed for the south coast and Cabo, which turned out to be full of holidaying and etired Americans. Again, there wasn't much to grab my attention so I headed up to Ceritos, a beach up on the west coast. Michelle had been there a few days earlier and had said it was quite nice, but after a bit of surfing (even got up on the board on my 2nd attempt), I found it quite boring as it was just so quiet. I hung around till midday the following day and decided to go and catch up with Michelle who had been having chain problems further up Baja. I shot back up to Las Paz (you kind of have too, there's only one road) and from there, up to Loreto which tool me till around 6.30pm. I was on a mission by this point as I knew Michelle was leaving early that day to go up past the boulder field at Catavina and would probably keep going till she got to La Bufadora, one hell of a distance away. I rode at more or less 90mph most of that day and once I'd got to Loreto, I decided to keep going as long as there was still some light. I met a Canadian fellow on a KTM 640 in Loreto in the internet cafe who was going my way but I had to bid him farewell as I was in full speed mode and wasn't hanging around for anyone.<br /><br />I made it to Mulege by 8pm and although I felt like I could ride all night by this point despite having just ridden 400miles, I decided to free camp on the deserted beach outside of town. Wanting to semi-hide the bike, I tried sticking it behind some bushes but got promptly stuck in sand. Without hesitation and for the second time this week, I hauled off all my luggage, laid the bike on its side, turned it around and somehow got it upright. Walking alongside it in 1st gear, I got it back on to exposed but slightly more solid ground. I still had a few things I could make for dinner but as I didn't feel even slightly hungry despite not having eaten anything other than cereal that morning, I opted for the next best thing. 2 cans of beer and crisps. </p><br /><br /><p align="justify"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5080501954574455938" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgcv_o2r6cCtmJq9OUpsnDwq-XPTerisdK2QidAVvTO3XCT6RyyEUH7GF3iejN6yDYA6vaiymTp61QDA_zwg6xwxPdYZAZ5HK-TepcWw05_Fwp_b1YEYnwsFNvkjj0jmBDttA2kGQ/s320/IMG_0186.jpg" border="0" /></p><br /><p align="center">A healthy dinner</p><br /><p align="justify">I pitched the tent without the flysheet as it was pretty hot and also so that I could see the stars. I'd taken a couple of sleeping pill but just couldn't get to sleep. As I was lying there looking up, I just caught sight of a bright orange meteor shooting across the sky and burning up. Amazing! I'd set my alarm for an early 5am start but around 3.30am I must have somehow dozed for a few minutes but was awoken by the sound of voices and a car engine. Sitting up in my tent with only the mesh for cover, I saw a car with its headlights on pull slowly past my tent. What the...! Then another car, then another until there must have been at least 10 cars. They had pulled up on the little spit of land about 150 meters along the beach. And they started to have a party with really bad accordion-based mariachi music blaring from the car stereos. Right, bugger this I thought to myself as yet more cars inched past only a few feet from my tent. I got dressed and packed my tent up in the dark to avoid drawing attention to myself in about 20mins (how come it takes longer in the daylight?).<br /><br />I set off in the dark, something I never like doing but I was still fired up to do a lot of miles that day so an early start of 4am was no bad thing really. The soldiers at the first military checkpoint decided to be cheeky as I couldn't hear what they were saying with my earplugs in although I did hear 'inglatere' and a few 'ha ha ha's'. I had to stop after about an hour as I was freezing so I put on most of my thermal linings that I hadn't used in months. I had done 200miles by the time I stopped for breakfast and lots of hot coffee in Guerro Negro where I rugged up a bit more as I was still freezing. From there, it was several hundered miles of pretty boring desert. I rode through the boulder field at Catavina but didn't find it that inspiring so didn't stop. Just before San Quentin where I planned on stopping briefly to check my emails, I noticed a bike by the side of the road that I thought I recognized. It was Michelle having stopped for some roadside food! It was quite a reunion I can tell you and after a week apart, we decided we'd done enough solo travel by this point. It turned out I'd just ridden by lunchtime what she'd ridden in 2 days!<br /><br />I was literally shaking as I'd just ridden 500 miles before lunchtime so after we'd caught up with our respective travels, I said I couldn't face much more so we pulled into San Telmo for a last nights camping before hitting the USA border the following day.</p><br /><p align="justify"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5080503337553925282" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgIMnHoYnw9lEOBNI8E54tfrHb07yZ4EPV3ol7QUGBWzFd_QlZw4nK7yLXYp4dnXll1Ro_1mkwFt6umkaY3Y2VyWZj7ZsR5T553qcaHXU5ApIf-xr4EPYZxz9czRoihRyiTPRfCXQ/s320/IMG_0193.jpg" border="0" /></p>Mike Skinnerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00831666098089781043noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-30352020.post-63762712034542758042007-05-31T21:34:00.000+00:002007-06-26T22:13:34.866+00:00<div align="left"><strong>Creel- it seemed like a good idea at the time</strong></div><div align="left"><br /></div><div align="left"><strong>(...and how I wet my pants)</strong><br /></div><div align="center"><br /><br /></div><div align="center"></div><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5080407108811658226" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEisAtVzUm7Ykp27iez29Vl_N9I_Fsa8syjao_XRfkpcAkD1LYgbc7EumkOzFRUgdk_0ECsPYdFG0eo_zOrBpF7RoaWSLdN4VaeNeB1NAtyS2LAQFTyXI5Yf5Y9ABNOARj2-uwq2qw/s320/IMG_0067.jpg" border="0" /><br /><br /><div align="justify">I arrived in Hidalgo del Parral at nightfall, always the best time to arrive in a city and eventually found an expensive hotel for $18. It would have been $14 but I opted for the telly option. I watched a fairly trashy movie where the happless high school kids get chased around the countryside by a psycho in a Kenworth Freightliner, the main truck you see here. I couldn`t help wondering how it even caught up with them in the first place, these things are usually doing 15mph crawling down hills. </div><div align="justify"> </div><div align="justify">Anyway, I digress. There didn`t seem to be too much happening in Creel and as I`d splashed out on watching that rubbish movie the previous night, I need to save some cash so its off to the camp site for me. The site is split into two, on one side the cabañas and on the other, the RV parkground. I can only see two groups, an Icelandic couple in a German registered truck and some Americans in the biggest RV I`ve ever seen, actually a bit more like a rock stars tourbus. While I was attenpting to set up my tent on the concrete-like soil, a couple of American kids came over and offer to help. They asked me if I was a `survival guy`, a strange question but I replied, not really, I`m more of a hotel guy. I declined their offer of help as that would have just been embarassing and a couple of minutes later, a woman with the rock star tourbus invited me to join them round their campfire later.<br /><br /></div><div align="justify"></div><div align="justify">When I do join them, there are about 12 Americans from New Mexico including one guy in a hi-tec wheelchair. It turned out that Richard had been in a bus accident 5 years ago and the driver went under a low bridge taking the roof off. He wasn`t actually injured but the whiplash paralysed him from the neck down. He`s an incredibly astute guy though and has a house building business back home. Their families used to do a lot of camping and touring so they bought the huge bus with part of their settlement. The other couple were from Iceland and have been going for over a year and were heading south in their German reg overland vehicle, complete with sand ladders, now that would be handy! I`m sometimes pretty envious of these guys as they can more or less stop anywhere and sleep for free. I had thankfully managed to source some beers in town so I enjoyed an evening round the campfire listening to stories of UFO`s (they`d all seen some), Mexico and travelling in general.<br /><br /></div><div align="justify"></div><div align="justify">The next morning I set off to do the road to Batopilas from Creel. The first 48 miles are tarmac, then you take the turn off onto the dirt road. From the turn off, its maybe about an hour till you get to the edge of the canyon and the road starts to zig-zag downwards at an alarming rate. The views are just stunning though, hopefuly some of my photos might do it justice. I tried filming again but it was so bumpy, you`d probably be sick watching it. At the bottom, the road then runs along by the river, cutting in and out following the canyon sidewalls. At one point I lost it on a bend, coming round too fast the rear decided it was going to carry on and went over the edge of the sharp camber. Thankfully it was the wall edge and not the ´edge´ edge and I ended up with slightly wonky handlebars and a bit of a pain where I landed on my keys. </div><div align="justify"><br /><br /> </div><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5080405317810295682" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjIcggIrrV2k1Tc1JYM7iBWgO1_t6UM5j9EBV0orVsdl7lS_iwr-Ed_wue8mL8FcRNHPWUgAqOdEGww1iGic3E_Hy-3DyrCMLT9q4YDovrEH0f_mmpLDN6q5ECiZeHr8bxPNFnSZw/s320/IMG_0095.jpg" border="0" /><br /><br /><br /><br /><div align="justify"></div><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5080405322105262994" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjV5n31R2S3YSNhyY-pmsO-fje0DYNN5ql2NdmpbjY7DFvguWxRRrrTtoeF1ZTvlba7nzFOmP4BDSUBfLLwRN89xnplnDx_ZRVx6lMOZUlG6bUsp_PdAPc7W4VVbN8AgCOj_GiiYA/s320/IMG_0097.jpg" border="0" /> <img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5080406198278591410" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiPcM5cxiQrlYuK_BvohpavSqSxw3cht6BxOSW4QUAp2GBHR0cV1Z_ymzlnw-teaVP4wWdNubBrsFNOa4jELMFn28_kid-ke6MjEXd9iaZ1RfuxGGLSjZGfPIEn0D9jjtgRHD-zWw/s320/IMG_0106.jpg" border="0" /><br /><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5080406198278591426" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEinQcXATCKXutLifJ3UjQ13HxTzZ2aiVUpxa2kagOdhPKt_Uv3o0WMbfsN_8-f9Jp8L34T1rkwBNQZIKhqGKPT2ZRpD-Ure3HrXAuEFu1QI_r2zeBz3CYXAHjPHUANG6SS5aM3BhQ/s320/IMG_0111.jpg" border="0" /><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5080406198278591442" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhxdPxRIkHuUrCGGr9VQDHn9LUOTVWXKIyPMzu260GA4v08XzpSFEZ4lJzgRj4cL9VH8YCDBWzHOsJORc1zC9JKX1-MZVRT3XKBs9E-t1_E7ade6Y-J4wUF2VV7KRFZinqlhoC7Dw/s320/IMG_0115.jpg" border="0" /><br /><div align="justify">Finally I made it to Batopilas at around 2.30pm and it had only taken me 4 hours to go 90 miles. Now I just had to turn around and do all it again as I`d left all my stuff back at the campsite. I did bring some supplies like water, spare underware and toothbrush etc just incase it took longer. I say I brought water, but the 4L bottle cracked when I`d tightend the straps to fix my rucksack to the bike and about 3.5L of it had leaked out, all over my spare pants!<br /></div><br /><div align="justify"></div><br /><p align="justify"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5080405322105263010" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiO0sAL630U3tUm8miRminF8S58aKrhd2dT0CIzvWylNNsOFOK-Ir_uben5hlR2kmWhK35gLzhxKuFO3tbSjyWGd0ZYMhWg8u_M28omIX5EtM9QeSfp8_PTyTCLTmP7Ys5vp4jYhw/s320/IMG_0100.jpg" border="0" /><br />On the way back, I bumped into an American guy who I`d met on the tarmac road earlier with a brand new Dakar GS650 with Al Jesse luggage that he`d just bought in the states and was bring back to Mexico where he now lived. He`d said he didn`t have time to do this road but must have changed his mind and decided to do it. I think he might have regretted it though as when I saw him again, he was now carrying one of his panniers on the back seat. Apparently he`d also had a spill and had wrenched off one of the panniers. Oops!<br /><br /><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5080406202573558754" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjEMd2ECtnwmtqcUk0l1Qhm2-eumNP2DI7IUJjEiz9OYOsJZftXCFtxEFHjCpq87y0zpXiRnJVYwQSKXf9sCIRuiBn4yX-F7_VHnQjV55snAHxudQJmbLlwFyvOb65oxZitsDmLzw/s320/IMG_0119.jpg" border="0" /></p><p align="center">It was a good job I booked ahead</p><div align="justify">The next day, I decided to leave, first visiting the canyon mirador at Divisadero and then taking the long way round to Los Mochis via the Basaseachic Falls but while at the mirador, I find out that there actually is a dirt road going all the way to Choix, with tarmac from there till Los Mochis. They say it will take 10hours and its already 11.30am so best get a move on. I haven`t a clue where I`ll end up tonight but I`m always up for a wee adventure so grab a few essentials like water (making sure not to burst the bottle) and chili chips and I`m set.<br /><br /></div><p><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5080408624935113730" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjmoss3e6MtphKVf5rN6Y5P13NLEK4G__VjZzSyEVXPiQlYup7B_Tld8Q2gZR41RIcgE0_tnx5iZGcSXYG4wSTKpAby6lnsrFFT4U4w30__Na0STrx0D_gukX9IYhCyODZoUTOviw/s320/IMG_0127.jpg" border="0" /></p><p align="center">Divisadero</p><p>The road follows the railroad for a while and I even stand and watch as the famous scenic train passes below me. I also see a group of about 10 quad bikers out a tour having their lunch by a tree lined river. Its all good and the scenery is just fantastic. </p><div align="justify"></div><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5080408629230081042" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgYHbTPwQrS_PYOU4cvAUlqcBJcsiRbANStZn2qaEAbcDM8AZZhVMsCcN7bgHx_ra84KSA0X8OcrRw5l3yasHSpAM3VNi85xGIWGNbF4JJk38iPYPPsr0zBOGvOdcWDHOshWAUang/s320/IMG_0132.jpg" border="0" /><br /><div align="justify"></div><div align="justify">The dirt road decides to change all that and as hairpin after hairpin come up, I`m quickly thinking that maybe the other road might have been a better choice. I should point out that the road surface is not actually dirt or a nice compacted gravel. Nope, its more like someone has poured several inches of plaster dust all over the road which gives the front wheel absolutely nothing to grip in bends, of which there are a lot. I reach a small town by around 4pm where the locals advise it will be another 4-5 hours just to Choix. I`m determined to make it there tonight despite getting a little lost now and then. As my map of Mexico is next to useless at this scale and my GPS is no longer powering up, I can now only use it for short periods to save the remaining battery to double check I`m not going miles off course. The road is a seemingly endless succesion of hairpins, on nearly everly one the bike feels like its going to go its own way. The surface is pretty horrendous too with potholes appearing every time I glance away from it, resulting in two blown fork seals. Its incredibly tiring although everytime I stop to look at my mountainous suroundings, it takes my breath away which makes up for all the pain. </div><div align="justify"><br /></div><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5080408629230081058" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhB2_kJz86S1Efl3vmtN5DYJoOsJXwjZPVd9v4J27ivXxLGovTSXCGzwQ11kosPr91oyJ7iTJq8PcCnTMVBzXd7n-AzDd7SW_zHkIuYINugD3bkz4amyuQs1BGNR-BgfoP1kNfatA/s320/IMG_0137.jpg" border="0" /><br /><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5080408633525048370" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgecBxu9eEbUD_2q7Gld4xL-6KnigHH2c2TwACQ9i6cHDRFHMpDQqKeXH4A4A0GCGHEd52m9Q-iFR-2JB8cMP7p-Yc_xxVRdQbR6sO5itwrH6VIXuAJdu0ikNRVktwqhXcbdRVDjg/s320/IMG_0155.jpg" border="0" /><br /><div align="justify"></div><br /><div align="justify">I see the next small town is only 10kms away as the crow flies on the GPS, its 5pm so I time how long it takes to get there. An hour. I`m covered in dust and sweat when I am stopped at a military checkpoint who want to have a rummage in my panniers. While there, a guy in a 4x4 is also stopped and gives me a cold beer, he must have read my bloody mind! I stow it away to consume shortly down the road but before I do that, something is making a bit of a noise at the rear end of the bike. I stop to find one of my panniers half off. No, no! Don`t tell me one of the screw mounts has disappeared! I check to see and find its nearly off but still there- time for a cold beer and a look at the mountains I`d say! </div><div align="justify"> </div><div align="justify"></div><div align="justify">I finally roll into Choix at around 8pm having covered approximately 140miles that day. I have some water thats now too warm to drink and the tosser of a hotel owner won`t let me put it in his fridge. Theres a tv in the room which doesn`t work and the wash hand basin has been nailed to the wall but I don`t really care. Theres a cold shower and a bed but not before another cold beer! </div>Mike Skinnerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00831666098089781043noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-30352020.post-57890382143892396482007-05-31T20:31:00.000+00:002007-06-26T22:16:00.382+00:00<div align="left"><br /></div><div align="left"><strong>Oooh what a Pickle in the Wild Wild West</strong> </div><div align="center"><br /></div><strong></strong><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5080403470974358370" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgWPHX_uwjDhCOPp7RAHaOAjR_mmrBqgxyAGpyScU8_PiR0naFHJyCC_CBeum3f-ar3SrbGl6v4Tm8Q3VB6xe0-WIJmXHb7d0PGz2PjQ6INJeyCgFClvYjo84QBCBixPsRIi0XWkA/s320/IMG_0043.jpg" border="0" /> <p align="justify"><br />After leaving Mexico City, we headed west via Morelia, Chapala, Puerto Vallarta and Mazatlan. I got into trouble in Chapala for ´running a red light´ (cue ´Breaking the Law´by the mighty Judas Priest). Actually I did it twice at the same crossing and the poor copper there was frantically blowing his whistle at me when I didn´t stop both times. He caught up with me as I was waiting on michelle who went the other way (out of embarrassment probably) and it turned out he had more or less put out an APB on me in the little town (I´m not really that hard to miss though). He wanted my licence to book me for a ticket but I started arguing with him, shouting ´So you don´t like tourists then? Would you rather no tourists came here anymore?´etc (it was a very touristy sort of place). He didn´t really like me but I was in the mood for a good arguement. He ended up letting me off with a warning so I just said ´good´and took my fake licence back. The ex-pat english guy who had stepped to translate suggested that normally people express their grattitide and shake the officer´s hand when they are let off. Like f%ck!<br /><br />Michelle is off to Baja early to get chatted up by Mexican blokes and American OAPs and I`m off to Creel and the Copper Canyon, the place where HU has its annual meet in these parts and will head over to Baja when I`m done. First I head to Durango via the Spine of the Devil, where the land falls off either side of the road. Its a pretty nice easy route to ride which I make complicated by trying to film some of the riding on my digital camera. I duct tape my mini tripod onto the headlamp protector mounts which seems to do the trick and after a few trials and I have some not too bad footage.<br /><br />In Durango, theres some sort of parade going on in town in the evening. Dozens of Kenworth Freightliners acting as floats with, I`m guessing, the local school kids all dressed up in a variety of fantastic costumes and sets. The whole town seems to have turn up which might go some way to explaining why I couldn`t find anywhere to buy a beer. Not that I`m an alchoholic or anything, its just that if I don`t drink beer every day, I get very cranky.<br /><br />Durango as you may or may not know, is home to some western film sets which is due in part to the wild west scenery all around the state of Durango. Even The Duke, John Wayne himself had an estate here which his kids let fall into ruin after he died. I ride out to the one in Chupaderes having somehow ridden past the one nearby in Villa del Oeste (Michelle would never do that, she never misses anything). It only takes five minutes to wander the dilapidated streets with the rickety `saloon` and hotel. Thinking that I can probably take the little dirt road behind the town back to Villa del Oeste rather than get back on the main road, I wobble off along the track. I get maybe a kilometer or two outside the town when I come across a dried up riverbed disecting the dirt track. I get off to have a cursory glance and think `yep, that`ll be a piece of piss` and get back on the bike. I gingerly edge my way into the riverbed only to find quite deep sand, something I neglected to think might actually be a problem. The bike is now going nowhere fast and in a matter of seconds, HB burries himself up to his nuts in the deep sand.<br /><br /></p><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5080398368553210562" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhRUKs4LJkoud2SwyiITPEH0BKEnrJ-ipfZ4IcR3_-1F3weUYZ-6GHCGGTXucHv1M4KHPpxbhtbOJ9c78PmNs65Ho7ycQ7bjbrMneSdn1VXiDmeImHY2QNYMftFtQB-TDRIHA27Bw/s320/IMG_0008.jpg" border="0" /> <p align="center">Luggage off<br /><br /><br /><br /></p><div align="justify"></div><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5080398372848177874" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJfUPoFT5uUbVbsXnPZVoom1KGuT4ChHP_uf3EwgDMIwV4gJKhHcItKBrNa__vPwItamnFHKHPbHWiOJv2gv45j-vycL-jl8MrcEZmhiS9nntxSdeB7qjp8V5AmidoeeQdpHFLvw/s320/IMG_0009.jpg" border="0" /> <p align="center">Tactical move<br /></p><p align="justify"><br /></p><p align="justify">Its the middle of the day, very hot, dusty and there´s no one around. I calmly take off all the luggage including, ironically, the new TKC80 I`ve been lugging since Medellin and think this might not have happened had I fitted it yet. I push the bike over onto its side to get it out of the sand and somehow upright it. I plan on riding along the riverbed, turning around and going back the way I came but it doesn`t happen, the nearly bald rear just gets buried again. Again, I lay the bike on its side and turn it around to face the way I just came but this time I just can`t seem to lift it, the full tank not really helping matters. At this stage, I `m thinking I might be in a bit of a pickle when I suddenly see a group of three police 4x4`s coming my way along the track in a cloud of dust and about 10 coppers get out. Its quite a surreal sight and unbelievably they`d actually come out to give me a bollocking as they thought I was going to camp and didn`t want me to start a bush fire, awww. They stopped mid-bollocking and were just looking at me like some kind of loony with my bike on its side and luggage all over the place including a Bolivian Charanga. I found it very hard to keep a straight face and after directing a couple of them to give me a hand, in a matter of minutes I was helped out of the riverbed and back on the correct road. Phew, at least that wasn`t embarrassing.<br /><br /></p><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5080398372848177890" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiOAFmtGnBryjKbuPjLtM3d_5I4JvCoD5OCb4m_4TSrNOkytjp5ULeuQ2mA7hGNpB666hEfIbt8aVxunKeSkkfF1pORWe8FUs4-j3xd5J166a9uJI8zQZpgLPznGU1Y8uNZhP26Og/s320/IMG_0010.jpg" border="0" /> <p align="center">Er, thanks guys!</p><p align="justify">Villa del Oeste turned out to be a theme park tourist trap with an entrance fee and directions on where to park the bike (just how did I ride past it?). The main street it has to be said was in a lot better nick than the last place, however each building appeared to be a restaurant or eatery and in place of the cowboys horses munching on nosebags, there were groups of tourists munching away on tacos. I wandered around the buildings but didn`t find it too exciting. I guess if I knew what films had used this set, it might make it a bit more interesting. At around 3pm, they started one of those street scenes, with cowboys, a sheriff and some can-can girls but I left halfway through, partly because I didn`t understand a word of it and partly because I really needed to get up to Hidalgo del Parral (where Pancho Villa was assassinated if you`re interested).</p><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5080402654930572050" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgIUePFip1BzgbGaom5CCrLnY2SXcJDae0S71RqledeN06Gk9F2LDFwmG1ASxulZWLRbxnyKJDBsDm7xRCpWR9EgN-eGEFtH1VsP832475YIT6wby-T4vQv_ioxHZ2gePKZ5XHmsg/s320/IMG_0024.jpg" border="0" /><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5080402654930572066" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjnDrjuX07CJC7NpgRaGErWhX5_LONNKxZ_w0ZkBly30sZzQXZRzHAGBMp8Lw762powZkWZ5mVcVfx1B2oKDYGoqCwgaj-ROvUeVMyTiSo-p4H7Ve2TvRLtn-Q8z7dTGhDxBA8TYA/s320/IMG_0025.jpg" border="0" /><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5080402654930572082" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgZsgZCKpzdRE-S7fVnUnfvkHKGvqEe7wFkJlFRk97Fi3f8Uw-d9BiK-fhRFQAUabfiyDpbmId38nwfUDRaGY8LlM7F-SKbWQO_AAYVsB-VIQGH-ewhoTgqiw75zESXt4oX33tkeQ/s320/IMG_0031.jpg" border="0" /><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5080403161736713042" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgZh_1_75FpfP0Ar32oPaNo9wE9rRT-nirRYOB0boskeiABo__t39tKsyA_LuwkRNB4yoRWOTvKahm7l8QdRH36xx-9f7NkzgyzoW3yTvWTYjF-4diAC4PQ03r0tteJsRCzkGNK5w/s320/IMG_0045.jpg" border="0" /><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5080402659225539394" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgE66QqZw35FxSEYzSnvLE0Uz2q-1xKm4wGlg2uXSQLpQfxZaipB3BZKmGenitHGLXrNQNAP9Vsz80233S7yu23FP0PpLW-umXjqsMAHO5HAy58ifZo-k30BEJ35OLbckg4PVk5Og/s320/IMG_0034.jpg" border="0" /><br /><br /><br /><br /><div align="justify"></div>Mike Skinnerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00831666098089781043noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-30352020.post-72849115039787952122007-05-24T22:47:00.000+00:002007-05-25T00:15:03.489+00:00<div align="left"><strong>Mexico City</strong><br /><br /><br /></div><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5068281905223924482" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiCGGIMCSbp0HhhIBMsEBsntoc-20g2o-3eixr1DF65YZ-I3A9BDwO6QRGE8K4tKCcYv-msuLUXLBirgEqY9iwWXYJsQTHg7GUrokciEl_aQNlrNZF7r2jiv0NXPI9zrIh4hsju7Q/s320/IMG_0419.jpg" border="0" /> <p align="justify"><br />Garry, who lives in Mexico City, via the wonderful Horizons Unlimited, kindly offered to put us up (or put up with us) for a few days and show us around town. Luckily Garry is also a biker and has ample parking for 4 bikes at his place to the south west of the centre. We spent a couple of days sight-seeing in Mexico City and I was more than pleasantly surprised. The centre of town has some really great buildings and it´s pretty easy to get around using the metro system however even so, it did take the best part of 2 hours to get back to Garrys workplace as you also need to take a bus from the metro which grinds to a halt in the congestion that never seems to let up. </p><div align="justify"><br /></div><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5068280934561315474" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiruSMiIyO3v4PSZBhUAeCibvgexgNNFEZH5tPp5ok7GBx5UKu3mM2wZRt4tJrDsozKlqoEOQlSoWJLzUs_wN06r3jmDU8Hpb06YcVS2bxIFxiTH9liDZfS33kMLWd8OzCP0BM-WQ/s320/IMG_0321.jpg" border="0" /><br /><p align="center">Mexico City<br /></p><br /><div align="justify"></div><div align="justify">Garry also took me and HB to the BMW garage (one of the many there but the best one) where they took a look at my gearbox problem where I´ve been having difficulty changing from 1st to 2nd). I was expecting the worst when the said they´d need to open it up to take a look and it might take a month to get any parts from Germany. There are parts in the US but I´d need to order them myself and there would be no warranty. Well thats BMW for you. Anyway, after a quick look, the head mechanic said he was 90% certain it was a simple loose connection with the gear pedal and with that in mind, I gave him a list of other things to do to the bike including valves, throtle body synch and cleaning my totally filthy air filter. The next day, when we picked up the bike, the total bill was an unbelivable $75. I do belive Garry was (and probably still is) sick as a dog! When ever I visit a BMW place at home, I might as well give them 250 quid up front just to get them started.<br /><br /></div><br /><p><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5068280934561315458" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhOcVdO18jkQV6111hris1i_8wDS1KQRflKTst6Tw54CclyOFImPYZbTkMcxI7kcwOJGgUhPI6W62MCzdGoI4HofZHeR8j4i4ll_b5Xum2arbqEVpBP8ni84MOby1pldLwu9D5WNQ/s320/IMG_0316.jpg" border="0" /></p><p align="center">HB getting a good seeing to<br /></p><div align="justify"></div><br /><div align="justify">We met up with Garry´s son, Lloyd and the four of us went to visit the pyramds to the west of the city. Garry is an old hand at this place so instead of parking in the first car park like everyone else, we park up in the second and go see the two big pyramids. After that, we drive back to the first cark park to see the museum and save ourselves a 4km walk. And thanks to Lloyd, we were also enlightened by a visit to the El Santos coffee shop, which is owned by the gimp-mask wearing wrestling ledgend´s son. On sunday after tinkering with the KLR just for a change, we were treated to a roast lamb dinner with proper roast tatties and everything, fantastic!</div><div align="justify"></div><br /><p><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5068280938856282786" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEil4juhSR5VGqFLUNCThH7An9faA-HZ0SuEyACuVM43tw7IDvVV0DdrGzH5VcK-7nrVcZIjzsF3g9df6GutCBkMcwOoK4uLtb9CGIoUmcBLB_uzu1XhgzQl9RpkQo2gzIARAD5aiQ/s320/IMG_0354.jpg" border="0" /><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5068280938856282802" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhDhENvfOvpRs6WfxckKFVtkLWihTXTx3wmlQHqexJ2DY8p7AciuERk_ppMNIb49og9hVS_6uEa4kJ1lkwK70nibEAAYScB6FCfe8tutfuna7U0FlXcw7-eLULXAwYnWXPauP5kbw/s320/IMG_0362.jpg" border="0" /></p><br /><br /><p><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5068280943151250114" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgDDWxflv4YRAU_S3NukkwgLKGFgs2P7JWGTNFRu50rtyR4RNikensRJtNa-Y0eXvz0HOSi73zk7NONi6ZYlo2v4i0l9ivlT1P-xJJyZ0JzIUw95TkE-vqSk0yATTzC7rYg5x3YzA/s320/IMG_0346.jpg" border="0" /></p><p><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5068283842254174994" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgu_WoLmod4k-UZs1ef9sjNGlbSo4EM76189TGI-COn8rkPSxxygrsub2nv3DkRlC_wpKP1pnXNM9xnkW16oyA_qjDk8F4himtjukHo2_AH4LcYxMxHSlrDr5tLsEtIXAomjDJ0cg/s320/IMG_0401.jpg" border="0" /> </p><p align="center">El Santos!</p><p align="justify">On monday, our host was again kind enough to see us out of town because lets face it, I wouldn´t stand a chance of finding my way out of the city. We were taken out to another beemer place on the outskirts of town (just how many BMW garages are there here?) where we said Muchos Gracias to Garry for looking after us so well over the last few days and headed westwards. </p><div align="justify"></div><div align="justify"></div><div align="justify">Cheers Garry for a top weekend!</div><br /><br /><div align="justify"></div><p align="center"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5068281900928957138" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgEJahUsss6D6WvAphmlUVYBbdVBd_D9BmthVXsGDA-c1FnYESgPj88r0PqpVMVYb1I7ln5VMFcb3LNJ_OWqIigJcbbARRv16BjI2-AmYOT3s8xnIAcbFxGRRZLT2i8nPDNeCMg0A/s320/IMG_0408.jpg" border="0" /> Quesadillia making!<br /><br /></p><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5068281900928957154" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhj_lC0XfjYwf7evEsOaxAXb2DCykJW9CXff1Ww5ITm4SxXhuaffF0c3b_5hN7p-lVvxc862s0SjNOfuGFkQfed_2paBIczebqNNC9Ibc8nHKUuemSkA5ZXnwRzI0bwDnHZNGzYig/s320/IMG_0414.jpg" border="0" /><br /><div align="justify"></div><br /><p><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5068281905223924466" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgDyDkcnDhus0iac8wPdd7wTcb3T4aDpICE9ZQZuf7ozs5N9fr1QRDfqADViKlGmVLrmjp5TSNheWnHJJea8osxekQDfaIBFXrEjiVJ3QrCuJ7JUa7YuOJfklBXNMmjBU9siOdjPQ/s320/IMG_0410.jpg" border="0" /></p><p align="center">And lets not forget Layla!<br /><br /></p><br /><div align="justify"></div><br /><div align="justify"></div><br /><div align="justify"></div><br /><div align="justify"></div><br /><div align="justify"></div><br /><div align="justify"></div>Mike Skinnerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00831666098089781043noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-30352020.post-1288951867017716382007-05-24T22:07:00.000+00:002007-05-24T23:01:58.116+00:00<strong>Acapulco</strong><br /><br /><br /><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5068259219206666866" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgC5TJeafqRlndnXyFqlghKwyWtn_oODuvkMUjXQ74pSMqDHfB_uVu3qkRYVyGbAIcvCpg3K1MzE8dHy8zBFlRjLWe5GbbfcDDAvqKH0CfeTzGHCdvI-2hdUS8gVAviCY6j2TbCQw/s320/IMG_0224.jpg" border="0" /> <div align="justify"></div><div align="justify"></div><div align="justify">After nearly 20,000 miles on this trip, I had so far managed to avoid being hit by anything much larger than an uncoordinated bird however all that changed as I was pulling into Acapulco. Skimming up the outside of a very congested line of traffic, I could see it happening before it happened if you know what I mean. The VW Beetle taxi driver makes a movement that stongly suggests he is about to pull a very quick U-turn right in front of me, and indeed he does. I heave the bike over to the left to try and avoid contact with the front left corner of the car now immediately in front of me however it is too late.<br /><br />Crunch! It actually doesn´t feel as bad as I am expecting and when I open my eyes again, I am a bit further down the road but somehow I didn´t go down. I look around at the taxi, the driver of which appears to be in a state of shock as he´s still sitting in the line of traffic, however the best part of his front wing now appears to be ripped and dented to buggery. My rather solid Al Jesse metal panniers seemed to have caused more damage to his car than it did to my bike. And so with a ´see ya, sucker´expression to the driver, I shot off through the traffic leaving him wondering how the hell a bike just smashed up his car.<br /><br /></div><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5068258617911245378" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgwt6r6IC6ZzdaX7ucsAP_NnQnpnpdBOwC5D9pDlSrzRtQQnFsT5exAizyYu4js7xdg4Vd5YU3raed8MaYWQzRu024Xr1b3Ln2RG2TTcTg6aE7Vo1vA8KUl5C5EypB_y4VcU8UbxA/s320/IMG_0246.jpg" border="0" /><br /><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5068258622206212690" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEie6qRRbQ66xFiGEGEmILUE3WzqOXBKd_M0bnv8DGbOevDNTkG2e7p5KX3OEbjmhrYOhyigZ0n7_7bq3ussljzZ6DVrXg06U0HVHcU6TEracWwG1FzTJHoyyrFcBv1hcCBlcC8Pmw/s320/IMG_0257.jpg" border="0" /> <div align="justify"></div><br /><div align="justify">Speaking to an American guy who lives in Acapulco while I was having breakfast in a cafe the following morning, I ask what I really should see in Acapulco, to which he says ´oh, ya gotta see the cliff divers, they´re really something´. Well, I actually saw them the previous night, and yes, they were quite good, so I tried a different line of questioning.<br /><br /></div><div align="justify"></div><div align="justify">´Er, so are there any decent bars around here I should maybe try?´ </div><br /><div align="justify"></div><div align="justify">´Hmm, well let me see now. Well, I don´t know if you´re gay or not, but there´s some really great gay bars here in town´</div><br /><div align="justify"></div><div align="justify">Right, just fuck off.</div><div align="justify"> </div><div align="justify"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5068258626501180002" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg3nTtmwwa8QXSSU4NSqKRHEzvSx_3-Z8yet7uqqGeJiQ6RVBY_0vzri_E3-4gvmwGllxiCtdkuuwEvlb09-R02T625lGPru8ZSS56Hgmn4VzAezVrJUtlfEuiOOA-P0pMWlW3MhQ/s320/IMG_0275.jpg" border="0" /></div><br /><p align="center">Leaving town at sunrise</p><p></p>Mike Skinnerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00831666098089781043noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-30352020.post-46113230457881975342007-05-24T20:59:00.000+00:002007-05-24T21:24:15.727+00:00<div align="justify"><strong>Mexican Beachlife</strong><br /></div><div align="justify">I took the road south from Oacaca to Zipolite, a beach town on the coast. It turns out that this place is actually a nude beach (like I didn´t know) but before you get all excited, the goods on display were pretty horiffic.<br /><br /></div><p><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5068238573298874754" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgn2_4e5i_jSHqP22PfjIqg1fSF-G-QCh2DWMG-A2cNQjxVip8-V7ZMz6JoW2n0iZ6yR-msbKL-s8UVygBlyzxnhO6UOnKFFO2TObiLtasGW-eVfVWpM4ohJvybgqz9TDTQX4U5bQ/s320/IMG_02092.jpg" border="0" /></p><p align="center">Ahh, nice scenery, but er, wait just a second, what´s this...?</p><p><br /></p><div align="justify"></div><p><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5068238573298874770" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEim5D2JH7OhNaPcRHBQGc90vrtdNzvCxaq6fpEwgRXtHdxnxqiGtNa0lGUrVpxPOXowxPx880rQ0zydfruvMC1vkdYiVK-O3O7Dv2T6E0ihJAUoonVnxnA9uxDtRDkqCJsGUCsoZA/s320/IMG_02112.jpg" border="0" /></p><p align="center">Aaargh!</p><p align="center"></p><p><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5068238577593842082" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjlSCSJf75NDiakWrWPfTIKdz6L3JrJaeqRitjem7GZX2kg18cyAA9q_XChMlOhnKv9yw2qQDGsdO5SlNUM3yDGcqbzTPC-3KjvqwXzGOHg-OBBcWqv1KDPwPgyfHvcRbS9vwf_QA/s320/IMG_02002.jpg" border="0" /></p><p align="center">Bejeezus!</p><p align="justify">Getting there, I got totally soaked crossing the mountains but was totally dry by the time I got to the bottom thanks to the intense heat. I also had a bit of animal fun on the way (no not that kind) by getting hit in the side of my helmet by a bird and nearly running over a 1m long snake and a rather large iguana. I stopped off for the night in a cabaña place called Solstice for $10 a night. Very nice little place by the beach. After a wander about along the beach and averting my eyes, I bumped into Ceasar from San Diago (from the previous hostal in Oaxaca and he of the voluminous snoring) so we ended up having a pretty good night playing fooseball (?) and finding the only decent bar in the place.<br /><br />It was actually very quiet there so instead of hanging around the following day, I set off to Puerto Escondido, about an hour up the coast and checked into the Mayflower hostel for $9 for a dorm room. This town is quite famous for having the longest breaking surf anywhere in the world called the Mexican Pipeline though you`d have to be mad to go anywhere near it. The waves were absolutely huge and the beach had red `no swimming`flags up so I gave the surfing a miss. The hostal was a very friendly place so I ended up meeting all sorts of folk there though surprisingly, this town was also pretty dead at night apart from a few drunk locals who seemed to be trying to pick a fight with me and Andy ´from London but from Vienna´. God knows how he got so pissed drinking Sol.</p>Mike Skinnerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00831666098089781043noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-30352020.post-76334414675518582832007-05-15T22:36:00.000+00:002007-05-24T22:03:52.297+00:00<div align="justify"><span style="FONT-WEIGHT: bold">Oaxaca</span><br /><br />It took a couple of days to get to Oaxaca so I had to stop off at Juchitan for a night. En route, I got stopped at one of the numerous army checkpoints around which I assume are set up to keep the army out of trouble. I was kind of tired and a bit hungover so during an inspection of my panniers, the boss man asked `drugs?`to which I was sorely tempted to say `aye, a wee dab o speed wid be just the ticket man` to quote Spud but decided to keep my trap shut as they had a lot of guns and not a lot of humour. I was kind of pissed off I had to pay $15 for a room with a toilet without a toilet seat but there weren`t many other cheeper places that I could find with parking. Great street food in the square here though, I reckon my sister would approve as virtualy all Mexican food seems to come with chili.<br /><br /></div><div align="justify"></div><div align="justify"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5068242636337936866" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiXCS7tNQCltOb1FyhTP2zdTg0M9FDpzuhAgG4kYs21WUOkh8qKrxJxmEWyvPXkLhTum1sRl5dcX31-qCrfZwH_auJ_sDMPED6qaZktByvXm1d374x-TXc16vYkJPCBqHXqHjChvw/s320/IMG_01822.jpg" border="0" /></div><p align="center">Monte Alban- nice but not quite Tikal</p><p align="justify">So from Juchitan, it was an easy 1/2 day ride through some rather pretty scenery. I really enjoy the scenery so far, the only thing that spoils it are the Topes (speed bumps) which are placed every 10ft or so. The first hostal I tried from the book had closed down but I eventually found a decent place (the name sounds like a plate of ice cream) with some form of bike parking. I spent a couple of nights here in a dorm room which wasn`t so bad once I took some sleeping pills and shoved my ear plugs in a bit more to drown out the snoring. I visited the ruins at Monte Alban, a short distance out of town which were nice enough but didn`t really compare to the ones at Tikal. Oaxaca is a pretty nice place and apart from the severe downpour on the second night but it was entertaining to watch the students parading outside after breaking up for the year and then disolving into a fist fight later. </p><p align="justify"></p><div style="TEXT-ALIGN: justify"></div><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5068241450926963122" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhyJBes7sabi9pAfFEwB0O7bUJNziXSnQ2kFWx6exIqejsXq2BZt5tG5OBDPzY79A6gFgt5NTjOWOKEyirJfjYbENjtOsHVfCXuzyw585geT7_Lhei9Y2FixXP3UrcvN8FzoOtc_w/s320/IMG_01872.jpg" border="0" /> <p align="center">El Studentes</p>Mike Skinnerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00831666098089781043noreply@blogger.com0