She's got this crazy idea- exploring the 3 America's solo, for better or for worse...

If you are easily offended please disregard and start following me in Ecuador

Feeling the vibrations of the thumper between my legs, I wind down the hill in the setting sun of the Columbian hills. The sign catches my eye, ‘Cabanas 24 hours.’ The ubiquitous love hotel flickers a need within me and I turn the bike round to go inside. The bike and I had been separated for days, I felt he had been neglected by me, as while he was away in the shop, broken and muddy, and I had coveted another.

After a quick negotiation of price and time, We pull together into the room towards the huge bed. The mirrors in the wall reflect his muddy Amarillo curves back at me. I strip off my riding gear and throw it on the bed.
I started by washing him down, caressing his curves with a damp rag, buffing him softly, then harder as I worked the muddy caked Amarillo into a crisp shine.

I start to work deeper. Pulling out my tools to tighten his bolts, to erect the drooping indicators. I try to turn him on to check his lights, but I blew a number of fuses by playing with the little spot on the back left indicator, climaxing and sparking something deep within him. Blowing fuses necessitating a change of tactics and a slow detailed inspection of the wiring under his seat. I replaced the fuse and turned him on again, hoping he would come with me, but the left indicator still let me down. I changed tacks, replaced the fuse and started to work him up again. This time just touching the break slightly, the lights at the back flashed and the he continued to pur. I had found his weak point, but the fuses were running out, so I taped over the indicator, until we would work together better further down the road.

I cooked up some dinner on the petrol stove, him giving me the juice I needed to sustain myself.

Swirling of insects coming to the light as we stayed up together well into the evening. Outlasting the bugs that feel into the love heart shaped bin. The sound of the door bell of the other rooms was going off all night, as others came and went, but we stayed up late into the night, caressing, inspecting bolts, rubbing down, greasing his chain, checking his oil.

I fell into bed finally exhausted at 1am smelling of grease and I slept with him beside me, my feet wrapped around the front wheel. Spare bolts, blown fuses and ruminates of boot polish, the forays of our evening littering the room.

Not sure this love hotel had seen love like this before, but its one I will never forget.

You continue to amaze. Abrazos.

Great writing

I leave early, saying goodbye to the crew from last night leaving gifts of items no longer needed on my bike and some stickers for the hotel ladies son. I ride down the valley towards Cali and the electrics (Speedo, odo, blinkers and break lights) suddenly blow on my bike again as I turn into a petrol station to fuel up. Joy. Oh well at least I am getting closer to fixing it now. I drive on heading to Popayan. Strangely there become more and more people on the side of the road pointing hoses from their houses and wetting people as they pass. Kids start to throw water bombs. Then I start to see the occasional shaving cream or flour attack on passes by. Interesting. I am not quite sure what’s going on.
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As the afternoon wears on I see a sign for &#8216;tres leche pastel&#8217; and I decide to pull round the bike to stop for some food. As I am negotiating the thick gravel a man and his wife come up to me and ask me about the bike and my travels. He tells me he loves motorcycle touring and his wife asks me if I want to come back to their house for lunch. I agree and follow them as they jump on their little 125 and head down a steep grassy track. We leave the bikes on the hill at the end of the track and walk down to their shack. They show me that they are building a new house and show me round the property and then give me a three course meal.
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I am blown away by their generosity. They ask me of my plans and I tell them I am heading to Popayan then onto Ecuador. They tell me that they had just returned from there after visiting their daughter in hospital, and they had struggled riding back to the house safely due to the festival. They urge me to miss the town as the water festival was making it dangerous to ride.


I take their advice as I take my leave and continue to head south. Missing the water festival was not so easy however. The buckets of water in my face get more and more frequent then at one point I a little village I am stopped by a procession of masked people dancing to the flute and the drum. They surround my bike and start gently pasting me and my bike with flour and shaving cream. I laugh and try and use the gopro to take photos. &#8216;Welcome to Columbia&#8217; they shout. They finally let me pass but not before playing me a tune and showing me a dance, and all shaking my now white hand.
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I head into the hills in the beautiful setting sun. Enjoying the riding. Smiling at the day. Stopping for photos and playing tag with a car that seems to be doing the same.
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I wonder how many km&#8217;s I have done looking down at my blank Odo. I guess I should get petrol soon. Strange I think as my fuel light has not come on. Suddenly the bike begins to splutter. Then stop. I am alone in the hills and it seems my fuse has blown my fuel light as well. My extended trip means I don&#8217;t know how far I have actually traveled. A little Panic comes over me. I feel stupid. No petrol in the Columbian hills at night. I get out the tiny bit of gas I have in the MSR bottle and put it in the bike. I guess the car that I have been playing tag with all afternoon should be passing soon. I am right and I flag him down as he passes. He speaks a little English and I ask he follows me incase I run out of gas before I find more fuel. He obliges and tells me his GPS states I should get fuel in the next 30km. I ride and see a closed down gas station. The panic comes back. He reassures me there is a town close and we go on into the darkness. Finally I pull up into the town and the gas station. The man in the car tells me he is driving on for the next 2 hours to Pasto if I want an escort. He tells me its ok to drive at night this weekend because during the holidays the police protect the roads from the FARC who might on other days hijack your car in the mountains! I don&#8217;t know if he was trying to convince me that it was safe, or scare me, but I declined his offer and found a cheap grimy hotel next to the gas station. Relived to be safely out of the mountains.


I ask at the hotel for Internet but the old lady seems not to know what I am talking about. After a time and talking between other patrons they decide that I would not find any in this town due to the holiday and the time of day. I feel I really need to check in after a few days of silence of my location and wander the town looking for Internet and food. People wander the street like colorful ghosts. Wet, with faces smeared in paint and hair white with flour.
I am reminded of the festivals of Holi in India and Sonkran in Thailand. The main square is full of white people dancing in sunglasses. But since my time in Medellin I am cautious about showing valuables I the open, especially at night and only sneak a few distant photos.
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I finally find a beat up computer, in the back of a shop, that they let me write a quick email, and check in on Facebook. Its excruciatingly slow and all the keys have been wiped off, but it quells the concern of those following my travels at home. When I get off the computer 20 minutes later as the shop is closing, the owners refuse payment, and send me away with a smile. Columbians are lovely. As I eat dinner in a local restaurant the local news displays the extent of the festival in Pasto. I ask a local about the festival and what it is about and they tell me it it&#8217;s the Carnaval de Negros y Blancos. Seemingly a festival over a week or so, but today is Whites Day!


I go back to the hotel and fix the bike again, sorting out finally my electrical issues finding the shorting in the indicator. That is one thing for the same problem returning multiple times; It gives you a chance to actually learn how to fix it!

I got to catch up on your R.R.
I'm fascinated by people that have the courage to take long trips , different countrys on bikes ,solo with little mechanical experience ..wish you well !

LoL You need to meet up with your BF, STAT!

In the morning I am glad that I did not ride this road last night. It is beautiful.
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I head through Pasto, the remnants of last nights Party obvious in the streets. Huge colorful floats parked in the streets.
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Smudged Floured White people holding their heads. I get lost in the road works and ask for directions. A obviously drunk man stops me to talk at a stop sign about my travels. He asks me to come and have a soda to talk more. I explain I am not leaving my bike so he directs his wife to go and buy me a soda and bring it to the stop sign. He talks of travels and wants to hear my stories. He and his wife are incredibly nice, despite being drunk and I don’t want to be rude but cars are swerving around me. One car stops and asks if they can help. They slowly convince the man that they will drive ahead to show me out of town. I follow their lead and as I say goodbye to them they ensure I am ok and tell me that I should be cautious of talking to drunk people!

The road winds south towards the border and gets more and more scenic. I am reminded of my first motorbike tours in the Isle of Mull, Northern Scotland and the Atlas Mountains, Morocco mixed together. Its exceptional.
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I stop for a fabulous late lunch- that is enough for a takeaway dinner too and head towards the border.
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Leaving Columbia I am blown away by the generosity of the people. Their willingness to take in strangers, their generosity, and I hope that I can be more like the people I have met from here.

Thanks, i did write this a week before we met up and now after 2 lovely weeks he had gone again

I did not give this country enough time. Or pay this country justice. But after the glow of Columbia not much could top it. Arriving late in the evening after a long complicated border crossing, with multitudes of people trying to help and lines of people switching and swapping and holding places for each other doing the three import processes simultaneously. I was taken in and out of queues and whisked this way and that by my new friends just getting through the process before the aduna closed at 5pm. Fabulous people once again all Colombian who wonderfully took me under their wing. One girl who was in a car paid particular attention asking me all sorts of questions and blown away that I was riding solo.

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Some of the many that helped me at the Border.

I pulled into San Gabriel at dark and rode around the town for a long time looking for a hotel asking people and not finding anything. Finally i found a moto policeman who escorted me light flashing through the town to a cheap hotel with parking. My own room for $5 and Safe parking with the bike outside my door. Hot water and stylist tiled bathroom! Now I say this because I have not seen this luxury for a while. The water was hot and the bed was loaded with blankets. I snuggled in bed for the first time in my recent memory.
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From San Gabriel I rode to Quito to catch up with a friend Fred from the boat. His final drive shaft on his gs 1200 had blown and he was awaiting the joys of having it shipped to him and dealing with christmas and New Years closures and the complicated, expensive, and extended import process.

Leaving Quito in the morning I headed south, getting caught in road works and the exclusive bus lane for a while ( the police didn't seemed to mind just asked me where i was going and trapping me for a while asking all sorts of interested questions about my trip while I was blocking a lane and busses were careering round me. The traffic was terrible and the huge truck fumes awful. Dust and pollution was getting on my nerves and I decided on a whim to turn off the pan american and follow the signs to Banos. Google maps telling me I was going an almost one way street, but my paper maps alluding to a huge road heading south close to here.



The road was lovely, winding down on a good road almost down a gorge and up the other edge of a mountain twisting and turning until I reached the town of Banos. The clouds were low and the famous volcano was hiding behind its veil. I wandered down to a river overlook and more people wanted to take my photo.
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I left awkwardly with a crowd watching. It started to rain. I didn't know where to go. I needed to head south. My patience was wearing thin with traffic and rain. I went for lunch at a local diner as the rain came down harder to ponder my options. I decided not to keep heading east as I was tempted to do to get off the pan American. But instead to find this road south. Though I had not seen it on my way down. I headed back when I noted My iPhone was low on charge. I stopped to plug it in and found the charger gone. Cursing myself I went back to all the places I had gone specifically remembering I had put it in my pocket. Nothing. Cursing myself I turned off the phone to save the last inch of battery to find my hotel in Cuenca. No more tunes to keep me sane and focused. I always find tunes keep me focused on the open road as my mind wanders less into more complex thoughts that take me from the road. I am actually quite pissed at myself as I see before me the hundreds of miles I must do and the cities I must navigate, and I curse my stupidity.

I ride back and I don't notice the road south. I stop 30km later and ask at a petrol station. He tells me I must head back to Banos to catch the road, or ride up and back north another 30km or so to then head south again

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I ride back to Banos. Looking for the road as described. I see some dirt tracks and a policeman, but no great road. Almost at Banos I stop again and ask. They point me back again from where I have come and describe the turn off. I head back to the policeman and yes this is the road but a landslide has closed it and I must head back north into the major city to head south again. The rain stings my eyes and I fight back tears. I don't want to be on the bike today. I want to be warm and dry and spend the day listening to tunes and spend the whole day cooking and baking and simply being. I realize that I haven't cooked for ages. A passion that I crave I have basically put on hold for 8 months. At the beginning unable to let go, I brought a kitchen with me and every spice I could ever need. Packed in tiny little sachets. I wanted to take two sets of plates, cutlery and wine glasses, as i argued no one should eat alone. Marcin gently reasoned with me to leave the extra behind. Over time I gave up most of the spices and kitchenware knowing I was isolating myself and I needed to eat out to try and interact more. Now I wanted it. More than anything. I wanted my kitchen and I wanted my home. Wherever that was. I cursed my heart for being in the states. I cursed my lack of visa. I cursed the rain and the trucks belching smoke and cruising at 20km an hour. I knew I was putting myself into a foul mood and should have stopped but I decided I needed to put on the miles. I headed south into the hills. It was raining and cold and my heated jacket decided it was now that it didn't want to work. I headed into the mist, my visor fogging. My mood refusing to stop. To put on a 5th layer. To install my fog visor. I decide it would end soon. The fog will clear. 'In no time i will be down theses mountains and too hot again'. But the fog and the hills go on. I have to keep my visor open to see. My timing for cuenca expanding as my speed decreases. 6pm. 7pm. At dark I am still in the fog in the mountains. Freezing. I no longer feel my fingers. I stupidly push on. Wifi and hot showers. 8pm. The fog clears and I head down into the flat. I turn on the last of the phone to find a map and the directions to a recommended hotel. In true Google maps style i am taken into the heart of a industrial area. 3% battery left. #%*!? I open the map and manually locate the hostel and turn the phone off. Locating it by memory. Confirming at the last minute. I arrive tired and worn out. Close to Tears I struggle moving the bike into the hotel parking through the to two doors she wants me to negotiate. I beg her to open the proper garage door and let me in. Hot water and wifi is all i want. I check in. Then go for a shower. It's cold. I head to bed that sags to the floor where i decided in the end to place It. worn out and Thankful only for the Internet that kept me sane. The noise of the hostel and the shower going on and off and the cries of the cold and the people on the stairs keep me up surfing till late.But finally i fall asleep as the house quietens down in the early hours of the morning.

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The morning brings better things. My mood has lifted. The shower is now warm. I search for an apple distributer for a new cord then find as I pull on my 'civi' pants the cord in my pocket. It seems someone was playing a joke on me yesterday and today they finally realize I have had enough.

I wander the streets of the beautiful town with a lightened step. Stopping to smell the roses ( literally) in the flower stalls, wandering the markets and talking to the people. Buying different morsels from the street sellers.
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A protest in the square
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Yesterday's upset fades. I head off to the border down off the mountains thinking maybe I should have stayed longer.

I pass a pig. Roasted and whole sitting on the side of the road. I pass another and decided to stop for lunch. I pull round to this.

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Sadly I did not get any meat. I think I said no to stuff in a pot on the stove which i thought offal. Hoping she was going to cut into the tasty leg. But I only got the cracklings with salt and a strange boiled corn. Ah well. I had a tank bag full of food from the market Envisaging long border waits. And with that thought I jump back on the bike and head on my way.

I stop at the strange Aduna .4 km before the border to check out the bike. It's a mess. A number of bikers are there already trying to get into the country and they have been waiting hours. There is no form of line. All I need is a signature on my paper. But no I must wait my turn. 1.5 hours later with much begging I get in after the other bikers and in 1 minute I am through and on my way. It's already 5.30 and I am sacred the Aduana will be closed in Peru. People want to stop me and take my photo. I realize I hate people watching me get on the bike as I always feel rushed and do something stupid. My papers and passport fall to the ground as I try and take off. Then my bike follows in protest. I breathe a deep breath through the flashing cameras and make a beeline to the border.

Crossing the other side is relatively painless. Immigration for both countries is side by side and empty. The Aduna is open and so is the insurance. I am the only one there but it. Seems the man enjoys taking his time to fill out he form to ask me questions about my travel and my love life and introduce me to everyone inside the office. They delight in watching me as he fills out the paperwork and finally at 6.30 pm I am on my way.

The road is fast and straight and the night air is pleasant. I decide to make the run to Mancora as its food was recommended to me by a chef and fellow traveler I met on the boat. Renowned for its tuna. So I pull into a hotel with camping at 8.30pm pull a cover over the bike and head into town for dinner. Delicious!

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Smoked tuna with Rock-fort sauce and quinoa risotto.
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Quinoa, sweet potato and passion fruit ice cream.
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In the morning I take me time and go for a swim in the ocean before hitting the road. It's a long day south. The winds are consistent and the roads straight and fast. My fuel mileage decreases dramatically and the price of fuel is high.

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At times the road is desert and flat and uninspiring. And the wind is strong!

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I push on into the night. I stop about 9.30 when I see some big bikes at a service station. They are some friendly Columbians coming back from the Dakar. One of their bikes has battery problems and we decide to stop at a hotel around the corner.

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I pull out early in the morning the scenery over the day increasing. The sand dunes and the mountains changing.
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With the occasional oasis in the desert where at some points they are growing sugar cane and rice! Crazy! I think they pipe in water from the other side of the mountains.
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I stop in to get a Peruvian sim for my iphone so I have data to work out my meetings, and after about 5 shops I manage to find the head store and convince someone to sell me a microsim. I am stopped again to ask about my bike and my journeys.
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I stop for cerviche from a side stand the police are there. I ask them if it’s tasty and if I can illegally park on the corner to join them. 'Of course' they say. A crowd gathers around me again and many questions asked. I am starting to feel like writing out an information sheet. A few people ask me what the GoPro is and I take their photo.
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I make Lima in the afternoon and catch up with Alison from the boat and another rider Bryce aka Ulyses. It was brilliant to meet with her again and have some time to talk. I miss female energy on the road. We share a room and talk until we are both yawning.

Once more I fly south in the morning. After an order with lost luggage Huzar has his riding gear and the rental bike and we plan to meet in Nazca.

Lima is not the horrible traffic Jungle I was lead to believe and I am on the free way, through the free toll for bikes, and out of there quickly.
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Beautiful roundabout in Lima

I ride fast and in the early afternoon pull up to the lookout of the Nazca lines. Interesting miles of strange lines and pictures placed in the sand and really only properly visible by air. Sadly by air one must empty there wallet. Peru is not cheap.

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I pull into pull into our arranged meeting hotel and track Huzars steady progress up the coast. He arrives late in the day after a long day riding. It is magic to see him finally after so much hard riding south it is worth it.

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Thank God. It's not just me.

Great post! Phew....... feeling the heat from here


Miss you sp

I have been reading your posts along with 5 or 6 other SA RRs on a day to day basis. I really appreciate your not "candy coating" the storytelling. In fact, your style of storytelling convinced me to re-read your report over again, but this time continuously from the start, and it was well worth it.

Miss you too buddy. Enjoy the ride.

Thanks Merlin 111. Glad you like it.