The Motorcycle Blogs
The Motorcycle Blogs
Day 30 - Cairo, Egypt
Having fun in Wadi Rum, Jordan
I had heard that Cairo has both the worst drivers and heaviest traffic in the World. Personally, I didn't believe that anything could possibly be worse than Lima, Peru. I was wrong. The craziness started on the highway on the way in. Big slow moving semis drove in whatever lane they wanted, which was often the left lane, even when the right was free. There was no pattern. The faster moving traffic (and there was lots of that) would have to weave around the trucks. It was customary for two cars to try to pass semis simultaneously, one on the inside and one on the outside, even though ostensibly there were only two lanes. In reality there were as many "lanes" as cars and semis could fit side by side. Motorcycles didn't count. Drivers would honk as they came barreling down on you from behind, expecting you to get out of the way. I guess it is considered bad etiquette for a motorcycle, which could fit on the shoulder, to occupy space that otherwise could contain a car (or at least a part of one).
It was after 9 PM when we got to the outskirts of Cairo (yes, we were riding at night but we thought it was justified because we thought there would be less traffic and that it would be cool enough so that our mules wouldn't overheat in traffic jams). I'm not sure if there was less traffic, but our mules didn't overheat. I was still drenched in sweat though because it definitely wasn't cool. As we got closer to the city centre, the traffic became a crawling mass of honking chaos. Every car tried to squeeze into even the smallest spaces. If a space opened up, the rule appeared to be if you honk your horn, you have a right to that space. You just honk and gun it there before the guy beside you can get in. On motorcycles we were able to filter better than cars, but even still it was slow going. It took us 2 hours to get downtown to our hotel (Hotel Luna chosen from the Lonely Planet guide). I couldn't imagine having to get around in Cairo on a
daily basis.
We had planned to spend two nights in Cairo because Tom needed to get his Sudan visa (which could easily take an entire day) and we needed to get desert knobbly tires for the bikes plus change the oil on Tom's bike. Jerry and I had already done that in Yalova, Turkey with the help of "Bill the Turk" and his gang of Yalova Choppers (whcih they all had emblazened on their leather jackets). I also had to get all four of my Pelican case padlocks cut off, but that's another story.
So this morning we split up: Tom went to get his visa sorted, Jerry went shopping (and ended up spending time searching for a stolen wallet but I'll let him tell about that), and my job was to handle the bike maintenance. Luckily the guys working at the hotel spoke English and knew of a motorcycle repair district that was nearby. They drew me a map and I set out on Tom's bike thinking it would be good to get the repair shop (when I found one) started on his because it needed the most work.
The traffic was so bad that even on a motorcycle (which can often squeeze into places where cars can't), it took me an hour just to go a couple of kilometres. I was glad that I had decided to ditch my helmet and riding jacket. Crazy traffic or not, I would have died of heat stroke sooner. The drivers were so crazy and the noise of horns and engines so overwhelming, that there was nothing to do but grin. It was so ludicrous to watch people fight over every square inch that I found myself entertained just watching the show unfold around me. Pedestrians walked right into 6 "lanes" of traffic as if they were invincible. Racks of clothes and shoes, surrounded by crowds of shoppers, lined the sides of the roads, and there was no clear boundary between the road and the stalls. In some cases I took advantage of the fact that I could weave my bike through the racks and tables to gain a few car-lengths. Each car length was worth several minutes at least.
When I finally got to a place that looked like a motorcycle shop (really a row of bikes with price tags parked on the meridian of a street), a couple guys standing there took one look at my monstrous Japanese bike and shook their heads. I'm not sure if they were affiliated with the bike shop of if they were just motorcycle enthusiasts. They motioned for me to follow them. They set off into a mass an outdoor market jammed full of people and goods. My helpers kept disappearing into the crowd in front of me. I tried to keep up, but I felt like I was riding onto the set of a chase scene in a Jackie Chan movie. People kept pushing carts of fruit and clothes right in front of me. Suddenly the crowd parted and a car was heading right at me. There was nowhere to go but into a rack of clothes, which I sent sprawling onto the ground, sending hangers and clothes flying onto the cobblestones. I was about to get off my bike and help clean up, but the owner
rushed out from behind another rack, smiled, and waved me on.
I dodged a few more obstacles (a mother pushing a baby carriage, another oncoming car, some more racks of clothes) and finally caught up with my helpers. They led me through a maze of narrow alleys before finally dropping me off at a bike accessory shop whose owner actually spoke decent English. He welcomed me to Egypt (as so many people have done) and set out to help me in any way he could. When he found out what I was looking for (new tires), he called his son out from the back who jumped on a motorcycle. Chase scene take two. This time I avoided all the obstacles.
When we arrived at the parts shop, I no longer had any idea where I was. No one spoke English, but I was able to communicate that I wanted new tires by points and gestures. An old man disappeared into the maze, and returned 5 minutes later with a front tire that was exactly the right size (amazingly) but obviously purely a street tire. We were headed for Sudan and miles of sand and dirt. How could I communicate that I wanted kobblies? I spotted a quad with the right tread and after pointing at its tires, the old man went on another mission. This time he brought back a tire that would work, although I had no idea of the quality as I had never heard of the "Duro" brand before.
Once I had managed to indicate that I wanted 3 rear and 3 front tires, I sent the man on another mission. I needed new brake pads because my caliper had seized up quickly destroying two sets of pads (and wrecking my fuel economy by having the brakes permanently applied). Tom cleverly suggested we take it apart and lubricate everything. Since then it seems to have been working properly, but I had gone through all my spares and the current set would definitely not make it all the way to Cape Town. I was shocked when the old man came back a few minutes later with exactly the right pads. I think there are about 3 KLR650s in Cairo at the moment. It was a lucky find. The only explanation is that other local bikes must use the same style.
The total for the 6 tires and set of brake pads was 1860 Egyption pounds (about $370). I didn't have this kind of money on me and they only accepted cash. I communicated that I needed a bank machine. The old man called a kid over and I got on the back of his bike. He took me to a traffic choked street and hailed me a cab (which already had a fare inside - it seems that cab sharing is normal here) and explained in Arabic that I needed a bank. Off we went. I tried to find a landmark, but it was just a swirl of colour, people, and nondescript buildings.
Getting the money and returning to the shop (and Tom's bike) would turn into a 4 hour ordeal. My bank card wouldn't work in the first two bank machines I tried. The third and fourth were out of service. I finally hailed another taxi, but the driver didn't understand what I needed, even when I showed him my bank card. Luckily a guy passing on the sidewalk who spoke English overheard my feeble attempts to communicate and came over to translate. It would sit in the taxi for over an hour (not really going very far, but you can't get anywhere fast in a car in Cairo). I had no idea where he was taking me or whether he had understood what I wanted in the first place. I was starting to feel defeated when we passed the hotel Luna, and a bunch of ATMs right next door. I said I wanted to get out, but the taxi driver didn't understand. He was still clutching my bank card and was pointing at RBC. He had been trying to find a Royal Bank in Cairo! I opened the door, paid him 10 pounds (which is $2 but I had no idea what the actual fare was and he seemed very happy with that amount).
I went to back to the hotel and got my bike (our bikes were parked in the lobby area) and set off to return to the shop where Tom's bike was parked and to pay for the tires. Except I couldn't find my way back. I found myself in a maze of dirt alleyways filled with garbage and livestock and smelling of sewer. There were no motorcycle shops to be found. I kept circling, but as soon as I got out of one maze I would spend a half an hour on a traffic clogged street just going a few blocks. Then I would get lost in antother maze of alleyways. I finally decided it would be quicker to walk across all of Cairo than to ride in the traffic. I parked my bike and set out on foot. I was trying to retrace my steps through the Jackie Chan sets that I had rode through that morning, but it all looked the same. I was just about ready to give up and think of a new plan when I rounded a corner and saw Tom's bike parked where I had left it. What a pleasant sight
that was. I made circling motions to explain my hours long absence and they smiled because I'm sure they knew exactly what had happened. Now where did I leave Rosa?
The next step was finding a mechanic to put on the tires. I was directed to a stall where a couple of guys would end up working on our bikes for hours. They seemed to really enjoy it. I guess they didn't often get to work on giant Japanese bikes. They offered me tea and even a full meal at supper time. When I went back to get Jerry's bike, Tom was back from the embassy, his mission accomplished. He rode with me on Jerry's bike back to the shop, which I found after only one wrong turn. This is after getting a good feel for the area by walking back to the hotel from there. I thought a 25 minute walk was better than an hour taxi ride to go the same distance.
When the bikes were done (tires, air filters cleaned, Tom's oil changed, and they even fixed the circuits on my dashboard), one of the mechanics (and his buddy) offered to ride Jerry's bike back to the hotel with us to save us a trip (and to go for a joyride it turned out). I started off leading, but soon the mechanic dude took the lead and took us over the Nile (away from our hotel) on a nice little tour. I knew he was having fun when he popped a monster wheelie, nearly sending his buddy flying off the back. The traffic going back across the bridge was a nightmare. Somehow the mechanic dude got between the cars, but the spaces between the cars seemed to close up behind him. When I finally got across the bridge, he was waiting there with Tom with his hands up - wondering how it could have possibly taken me so long. Maybe he was just crazier than me.
That assumption would turn out to be correct. When I motioned the direction we needed to go, he took the lead again and took us on a "short cut" through sheep filled alleyways. When we finally emerged onto a major street, we were again headed the wrong direction. I pointed back the way we needed to go. I was shocked when he backed the bike up to the curb and turned around - right into 6 "lanes" of oncoming (albeit jammed) traffic. Like in Guatemala when we were following Kike as he split lanes against oncoming traffic with only inches of clearance, I couldn't believe this was actually happening. He was on Jerry's bike, so there was nothing to do except follow him. I had to avoid running into a policeman standing in the street as I turned my bike around. In fact I rode right around him as I headed the wrong way down a six lane thoroughfare. He was completely unconcerned. The mechanic dude started honking Jerry's horn at the cars facing us to get them to back up or move to the side to let us through, as if he had every right to be there and what where they doing in his way anyway? When I found myself between two buses moving the opposite direction as me, I found it so unbelievable that I laughed out loud. Welcome to Egypt indeed.
Day 27 - Petra, Jordan
We woke up early this morning hoping to do most of Jordan in one day.
We are starting to feel the pressure of the making it to Aswan, Egypt
in time to catch the ferry to Wadi Halfa, Sudan by next Saturday. The
ferry only leaves once a week on Sundays. Despite getting up before 7
AM and leaving last night's hotel in Amman shortly after, our (naive)
plan of swimming in the dead sea, hiking around Petra, and motoring our
way through Lawrence of Arabia's Wadi Rum was not to be. We had planned
on heading straight west to the Dead Sea from Amman. However, we ended
up on a twisty canyon road (thanks to me leading us slightly off track)
that seemed to descend indefinitely before spitting us out into valley
containing the dead sea. It was much more fun that the straight road
would have been, I am sure.
We passed a few hotels and one public beach, but we were intent on finding our own private cove to go for a swim. The road was carved into vertical bluffs so there didn't turn out to be many places where we could get to the water. When we got to the southern end of the sea and still hadn't found a place to go in, Tom and Jerry were in agreement that we try to find a way to get close to the water from the salt flats that we could see on the southern shore. I have gone swimming in enough prairies lakes to know that what they were looking at were mud flats. But they would have to find out for themselves.
We would our way down rough gravel roads, and with the help of a few locals pointing the way around washouts, we finally got to the mud. Away from the shore it was actually dried out and somewhat firm (or so I thought). After successfully descending a challenging hillside full of loose boulders, I parked my bike on the dried mud for a photo op. While the bike was in the viewfinder, she went rubber side up for the first time this trip. And I wasn't even within ten paces of her. The kick stand, which I had even placed on a rock, managed to push the rock into soft ground until the bike fell over. Bah.
Riding around on the mud flats was a lot of fun. I even caught some air when I rode through a ditch. The ground was too soft and the shore too steep to get the bikes much closer than about a kilometre from the shoreline. Tom and Jerry wanted to go into the water here. I tried to persuade them how much nicer it would be to jump into deep water from the rocks on the east shore. They just told me to "ditch the comfort zone". At first I was reluctant to go in at all. I thought it was about the worst place they could have possibly picked. Then Ted appeared in a mirage and told me to "man up".
I was expecting the mud squishing between my toes. What I wasn't expecting was how scalding hot it was. I probably should have guessed it when another person (there were only us three and a couple of Arabic tourists on the entire coast) came running back after taking a few steps into the mud screaming and grasping his feet. I had mistakenly assumed he had cramped up, and that the yelps of Tom and Jerry as they plodded towards the water had more to do with sinking in to their knees than the temperature of the mud. Even after running into the water 10 paces it didn't get any better. The water might as well have been poured from a whistling tea kettle. Neither was I expecting the salt crystals to lacerate my feet as they sunk a foot into the quicksand. Nor was I ready for the sting of the extremely salty dead sea on my wounds. Still there is no feeling like floating effortlessly on top of the surface of the water without any effort at all. I guess that makes it all worthwhile.
After the dead sea we rode the King's Highway to Petra. The suffocating heat of the dead sea valley was replaced by a cool mountain breeze as we ascended to heights that I had not imagined existed in Jordan. The desert scenery was breathtaking, with deep valleys strewn with boulders the size of houses stretching into the distance. Despite the chaffing from the salt and having skipped both breakfast and lunch to try to accomplish too much in one day, I had a grin on my face. I was riding my motorcycle through stunning desert vistas.
My smile faded every time we rode through the dusty rubbage-filled towns, however. Then it was time for evasive action. Packs of kids would run in front of you to slow you down while their buddies throw rocks at you. I avoided most, but one big one rung off the side of my helmet. They would also throw sticks on the road right in front of you. Then you would go around the next corner and a cute kid would be smiling and waving (as opposed to shouting and throwing things), and instead of waving back, you'd be ducking behind your windshield. It's strange because without exception the kids in Syria were all of the smiling waving type. What is different about Jordan?
Overall the people of Jordan have gone out of their way to help us. Last night a policeman who was on foot commandeered a van to lead us to a safe place to park our motorcycles in downtown Amman. Today when we stopped to ask directions to the dead sea, a friendly motorist lead us to the right road. With the exception of the stone throwing brats, we have been treated exceptionally well in Jordan.
I am looking forward to tomorrow - we get to spend the first half the day hiking through Petra and the second half riding through Wadi Rum.
I have managed to upload a few trip pictures from Turkey and Syria. They can be viewed at http://www.flickr.com/photos/14077797@N06/sets/72157605843603639/
Updated with Tom's photos now!
http://www.flickr.com/photos/tdsmith/sets/72157605843004857/
We passed a few hotels and one public beach, but we were intent on finding our own private cove to go for a swim. The road was carved into vertical bluffs so there didn't turn out to be many places where we could get to the water. When we got to the southern end of the sea and still hadn't found a place to go in, Tom and Jerry were in agreement that we try to find a way to get close to the water from the salt flats that we could see on the southern shore. I have gone swimming in enough prairies lakes to know that what they were looking at were mud flats. But they would have to find out for themselves.
We would our way down rough gravel roads, and with the help of a few locals pointing the way around washouts, we finally got to the mud. Away from the shore it was actually dried out and somewhat firm (or so I thought). After successfully descending a challenging hillside full of loose boulders, I parked my bike on the dried mud for a photo op. While the bike was in the viewfinder, she went rubber side up for the first time this trip. And I wasn't even within ten paces of her. The kick stand, which I had even placed on a rock, managed to push the rock into soft ground until the bike fell over. Bah.
Riding around on the mud flats was a lot of fun. I even caught some air when I rode through a ditch. The ground was too soft and the shore too steep to get the bikes much closer than about a kilometre from the shoreline. Tom and Jerry wanted to go into the water here. I tried to persuade them how much nicer it would be to jump into deep water from the rocks on the east shore. They just told me to "ditch the comfort zone". At first I was reluctant to go in at all. I thought it was about the worst place they could have possibly picked. Then Ted appeared in a mirage and told me to "man up".
I was expecting the mud squishing between my toes. What I wasn't expecting was how scalding hot it was. I probably should have guessed it when another person (there were only us three and a couple of Arabic tourists on the entire coast) came running back after taking a few steps into the mud screaming and grasping his feet. I had mistakenly assumed he had cramped up, and that the yelps of Tom and Jerry as they plodded towards the water had more to do with sinking in to their knees than the temperature of the mud. Even after running into the water 10 paces it didn't get any better. The water might as well have been poured from a whistling tea kettle. Neither was I expecting the salt crystals to lacerate my feet as they sunk a foot into the quicksand. Nor was I ready for the sting of the extremely salty dead sea on my wounds. Still there is no feeling like floating effortlessly on top of the surface of the water without any effort at all. I guess that makes it all worthwhile.
After the dead sea we rode the King's Highway to Petra. The suffocating heat of the dead sea valley was replaced by a cool mountain breeze as we ascended to heights that I had not imagined existed in Jordan. The desert scenery was breathtaking, with deep valleys strewn with boulders the size of houses stretching into the distance. Despite the chaffing from the salt and having skipped both breakfast and lunch to try to accomplish too much in one day, I had a grin on my face. I was riding my motorcycle through stunning desert vistas.
My smile faded every time we rode through the dusty rubbage-filled towns, however. Then it was time for evasive action. Packs of kids would run in front of you to slow you down while their buddies throw rocks at you. I avoided most, but one big one rung off the side of my helmet. They would also throw sticks on the road right in front of you. Then you would go around the next corner and a cute kid would be smiling and waving (as opposed to shouting and throwing things), and instead of waving back, you'd be ducking behind your windshield. It's strange because without exception the kids in Syria were all of the smiling waving type. What is different about Jordan?
Overall the people of Jordan have gone out of their way to help us. Last night a policeman who was on foot commandeered a van to lead us to a safe place to park our motorcycles in downtown Amman. Today when we stopped to ask directions to the dead sea, a friendly motorist lead us to the right road. With the exception of the stone throwing brats, we have been treated exceptionally well in Jordan.
I am looking forward to tomorrow - we get to spend the first half the day hiking through Petra and the second half riding through Wadi Rum.
I have managed to upload a few trip pictures from Turkey and Syria. They can be viewed at http://www.flickr.com/photos/14077797@N06/sets/72157605843603639/
Updated with Tom's photos now!
http://www.flickr.com/photos/tdsmith/sets/72157605843004857/
Day 25 - Damascus, Syria
Since meeting up again with Tom "The Kid" Smith 5 days ago in Antalya,
Turkey, we have taken a leisurely course along Turkey's Mediterranean
coast towards Syria. Turkey has a special place in all of our hearts.
One day we were offered tea 3 times (twice when we stopped to fill up
with gas, and once when we stopped to ask for directions in Antioch).
It is a country of spectacular natural beauty, uncongested roads, and
friendly people who all seem to want us to feel like honoured guests in
their country. To top it off, there is abundance of ruins, some of
which are in dramatic settings such as the tops of mountains or
overlooking the ocean.
One day I emerged from my tent, pitched next to the Mediterranean, before the others had awoken (or so I thought). We were camped next to the Mediterranean. I went hiking through a vast castle that we had seen the previous evening just down the beach. I thought I was the only one there until, from the window of a tower, I saw Jerry wandering around the courtyard below, taking pictures every few paces. After exploring the castle, we went for a morning swim in the Med. How many places in the world can you explore a 2000 year old castle and swim in the ocean, without seeing anyone else, all before breakfast?
We crossed the border from Turkey to Syria 3 days ago. The border crossing took several hours during the heat of the day. The heat has been oppressive, with temperatures regularly reaching 40 degrees Celsius or more. It makes it hard to stay hydrated, even with our camelbaks. The hydration problem has been compounded by the fact that, apparently, the vaccine against travellers diarrhea that 2 out of 3 of us took seems to have made little difference. We've all been suffering the consequences for the past several days.
The first day in Syria we rode to the old city in Aleppo, an area that has been designated a UNESCO World Heritage Site. Our health related issues prompted us to stay in a luxurious hotel deep in a maze of narrow streets that would have basically looked the same a millenia ago. Our room, accessed through a vine covered inner courtyard, was richly decorated with tile floors and walls of intricate wood carvings. The ceiling was two stories high and covered with artwork as well. With the *ahem* air conditioning and large two room tiled lavatory complete with fluffy towels, we were hardly ditching the comfort zone.
It's hard to say whether Turks or Syrians are friendlier. Everywhere we stop in Syria, as in Turkey, we are immediately approached by people offering to help. In Syria, we've become so used to it that when we want directions to a hotel or ruins, we just stop and wait (never more than a minute) for someone to approach us and help. If they don't speak English they will shout out to people passing by until someone can explain it. Failing that, they will often just lead us there in their vehicles. Last night when we arrived in Damascus, we stopped outside of a car washing business. They told us they got off work in a few minutes, offered us tea, and then hopped on the back of our motorcycles to direct us to the hotel.
Since leaving Aleppo we've gone on a tour of some of Syria's archaeological sites. In the same day we rode our motorcycles through two ancient cities. We rode down the main street of the ruins of the ancient city of Apamea, 2 kms long and lined by 600 giant columns on either side. We also rode our bikes through Serjilla, one of eerie the "Dead Cities", built by the Byzantines, that dot the Syrian Steppe. That night we stayed in Hama, a major tourist destination because of its famous wooden water wheels.
Yesterday we rode to Croc des Chevaliers, a castle perched on the top of a mountain, guarding a narrow corridor leading to the Syrian hinterland of old. I felt like I had slipped into a fantasy world. This is the castle of childhood imagination.
Last night we stayed in Damascus, the longest continuously inhabited city in the world. Today we are heading out into the blistering heat with the intention of crossing the border into Jordan.
One day I emerged from my tent, pitched next to the Mediterranean, before the others had awoken (or so I thought). We were camped next to the Mediterranean. I went hiking through a vast castle that we had seen the previous evening just down the beach. I thought I was the only one there until, from the window of a tower, I saw Jerry wandering around the courtyard below, taking pictures every few paces. After exploring the castle, we went for a morning swim in the Med. How many places in the world can you explore a 2000 year old castle and swim in the ocean, without seeing anyone else, all before breakfast?
We crossed the border from Turkey to Syria 3 days ago. The border crossing took several hours during the heat of the day. The heat has been oppressive, with temperatures regularly reaching 40 degrees Celsius or more. It makes it hard to stay hydrated, even with our camelbaks. The hydration problem has been compounded by the fact that, apparently, the vaccine against travellers diarrhea that 2 out of 3 of us took seems to have made little difference. We've all been suffering the consequences for the past several days.
The first day in Syria we rode to the old city in Aleppo, an area that has been designated a UNESCO World Heritage Site. Our health related issues prompted us to stay in a luxurious hotel deep in a maze of narrow streets that would have basically looked the same a millenia ago. Our room, accessed through a vine covered inner courtyard, was richly decorated with tile floors and walls of intricate wood carvings. The ceiling was two stories high and covered with artwork as well. With the *ahem* air conditioning and large two room tiled lavatory complete with fluffy towels, we were hardly ditching the comfort zone.
It's hard to say whether Turks or Syrians are friendlier. Everywhere we stop in Syria, as in Turkey, we are immediately approached by people offering to help. In Syria, we've become so used to it that when we want directions to a hotel or ruins, we just stop and wait (never more than a minute) for someone to approach us and help. If they don't speak English they will shout out to people passing by until someone can explain it. Failing that, they will often just lead us there in their vehicles. Last night when we arrived in Damascus, we stopped outside of a car washing business. They told us they got off work in a few minutes, offered us tea, and then hopped on the back of our motorcycles to direct us to the hotel.
Since leaving Aleppo we've gone on a tour of some of Syria's archaeological sites. In the same day we rode our motorcycles through two ancient cities. We rode down the main street of the ruins of the ancient city of Apamea, 2 kms long and lined by 600 giant columns on either side. We also rode our bikes through Serjilla, one of eerie the "Dead Cities", built by the Byzantines, that dot the Syrian Steppe. That night we stayed in Hama, a major tourist destination because of its famous wooden water wheels.
Yesterday we rode to Croc des Chevaliers, a castle perched on the top of a mountain, guarding a narrow corridor leading to the Syrian hinterland of old. I felt like I had slipped into a fantasy world. This is the castle of childhood imagination.
Last night we stayed in Damascus, the longest continuously inhabited city in the world. Today we are heading out into the blistering heat with the intention of crossing the border into Jordan.
Day 19 - Olympos, Turkey
Turkey has quickly become one of my favourite countries in the world. Since leaving Istanbul 5 days ago, we have been slowly making our way towards Antalya where we are scheduled to meet up with Tom (who had some work related things to take care of back in London). It's a shame because he's missed the best part of the trip thus far. Istanbul was worth visiting, but it is the country's small towns and natural beauty which define it for me.
The people have been incredibly friendly. It seems like at least once a day someone offers us Turkish tea. Today we were filling up at a gas station ın a town too small to be on my map and a gentleman came up to us and offered us tea. He took us next door and we sat outside and had a conversation made interesting by the fact that he didn't speak English. Luckily Jerry's German came to the rescue yet again (He's used it throughout Turkey).
Yesterday we stopped to use the internet in a small town on our way to Pamukkale. It was a hot day (we've hit our first 40 degree Celsius weather here) and we were immediately served water. Someone ran home and came back shortly later with Turkish tea. When we tried to pay for the internet, the young guy working there refused to take any money. All he wanted was to get his picture taken with us.
We've been camping next to the beach almost every night (the only exception was Pamukkale which was in the mountains). First we camped next to the Sea of Marmara, then the Aegean. and tonight the Mediterranean. We've adopted a routine where we swim twice a day - once in the morning before breaking camp and once in the evening at around sunset. We broke that today when we stopped for a dip in a crystal blue cove too inviting to pass up. We stopped the bikes and made a run for the water. Jerry didn't even take off his riding pants, apparently unconcerned with possible chafing.
The other part of the routine is regularly get off our bikes to explore the abundance of ruins. Today I felt like Indiana Jones as I hiked among the olive trees shading vine covered ruins on the hill that was once the site of Xanthos, the ancient capital of Lycia. We've seen Troy, the Acropolis, Ephesus, Xanthos, and Olympos.
We're also getting used to starting our day with a Mediterranean breakfast consisting of meat, a variety of cheeses (now I know what good feta tastes like), sliced cucumber and tomato, bread and nutella or fig spread, and of course olives. Again, now I know what good olives taste like. Sometimes they even include an omelette. And it comes with Turkish coffee which is so wonderfully strong it leaves a layer on the bottom of your cup. Turkey has been about as much in the comfort zone as I have ever been.
As a result of the proper breakfasts (sorry Tom, you won't find cornflakes in restaurants here), swimming, and playing Indiana Jones we have averaged less than 300 km per day. This is despite being up around 7 AM every day. The days are not long enough to do everything we want to do. Despite going at a slow meandering pace, we feel like we are leaving so many places way too soon. For example, we didn't even have a morning bath in the thermal pools of Pamukkale this morning. Luckily we spent a good deal of time there the previous evening. Pamukkale is one of those places that expands your imagination. The white walled thermal pools on top of a mountain surrounded by Roman ruins with a spectacular view is not a setting I had thought could exist. When the sun set, the light reflecting off the mirror-like pools floating above the valley below, with a mountain range in the background, I must have taken 100 pictures.
The road that took us along the Mediterranean coast today is my favourite of the trip so far. The mountains plunge directly into the frothy blue ocean and the road feels like it ıs hanging above the water hundreds of feet below. It was hard to concentrate on the road because the eye kept getting drawn to the coves which periodically appeared between the rock faces. I felt like I should stop and take a picture at every turn - a feeling I've had ever since leaving Istanbul.
The people have been incredibly friendly. It seems like at least once a day someone offers us Turkish tea. Today we were filling up at a gas station ın a town too small to be on my map and a gentleman came up to us and offered us tea. He took us next door and we sat outside and had a conversation made interesting by the fact that he didn't speak English. Luckily Jerry's German came to the rescue yet again (He's used it throughout Turkey).
Yesterday we stopped to use the internet in a small town on our way to Pamukkale. It was a hot day (we've hit our first 40 degree Celsius weather here) and we were immediately served water. Someone ran home and came back shortly later with Turkish tea. When we tried to pay for the internet, the young guy working there refused to take any money. All he wanted was to get his picture taken with us.
We've been camping next to the beach almost every night (the only exception was Pamukkale which was in the mountains). First we camped next to the Sea of Marmara, then the Aegean. and tonight the Mediterranean. We've adopted a routine where we swim twice a day - once in the morning before breaking camp and once in the evening at around sunset. We broke that today when we stopped for a dip in a crystal blue cove too inviting to pass up. We stopped the bikes and made a run for the water. Jerry didn't even take off his riding pants, apparently unconcerned with possible chafing.
The other part of the routine is regularly get off our bikes to explore the abundance of ruins. Today I felt like Indiana Jones as I hiked among the olive trees shading vine covered ruins on the hill that was once the site of Xanthos, the ancient capital of Lycia. We've seen Troy, the Acropolis, Ephesus, Xanthos, and Olympos.
We're also getting used to starting our day with a Mediterranean breakfast consisting of meat, a variety of cheeses (now I know what good feta tastes like), sliced cucumber and tomato, bread and nutella or fig spread, and of course olives. Again, now I know what good olives taste like. Sometimes they even include an omelette. And it comes with Turkish coffee which is so wonderfully strong it leaves a layer on the bottom of your cup. Turkey has been about as much in the comfort zone as I have ever been.
As a result of the proper breakfasts (sorry Tom, you won't find cornflakes in restaurants here), swimming, and playing Indiana Jones we have averaged less than 300 km per day. This is despite being up around 7 AM every day. The days are not long enough to do everything we want to do. Despite going at a slow meandering pace, we feel like we are leaving so many places way too soon. For example, we didn't even have a morning bath in the thermal pools of Pamukkale this morning. Luckily we spent a good deal of time there the previous evening. Pamukkale is one of those places that expands your imagination. The white walled thermal pools on top of a mountain surrounded by Roman ruins with a spectacular view is not a setting I had thought could exist. When the sun set, the light reflecting off the mirror-like pools floating above the valley below, with a mountain range in the background, I must have taken 100 pictures.
The road that took us along the Mediterranean coast today is my favourite of the trip so far. The mountains plunge directly into the frothy blue ocean and the road feels like it ıs hanging above the water hundreds of feet below. It was hard to concentrate on the road because the eye kept getting drawn to the coves which periodically appeared between the rock faces. I felt like I should stop and take a picture at every turn - a feeling I've had ever since leaving Istanbul.
Day 14 - Istanbul, Turkey
We have covered a lot of ground over the past week, passing through the Czech Republic, Slovakia, Hungary, Romania, Bulgaria, and the European part of Turkey. Our fırst night in Hungary we camped next to the Danube in a postcard town surroundıng a majestic church perched atop a hill. Hungary was well worth riding through. From its vibrant small towns full of beautiful architecture to the tasty food of Budapest's sidewalk cafes, the country made for great touring.
There was a stark contrast between Hungary and Romania. For the first time, it felt like we were in a different world. Horse-drawn carriages shared the road with Audis driven by maniacs on congested twisty roads, producing some of the most dangerous riding conditions I have ever seen. And I have ridden through Lima. Although South America still holds the title for having the worst drivers on the planet, Romania ıs a more dangerous country to ride through. What made Romania so treacherous was not only were the drivers reckless and impatient, but they had incredibly fast cars to go with it (unlike South America). It is important to adjust your own riding in such conditions because you cannot assume other drivers will behave in the way that you are accustomed to.
Romania had some great stretches through the fırst mountains that we had encountered on the trip. Unfortunately, finding free camping was extremely difficult in Romania. It seemed like every side road I explored looking for a suitable site was instantly alive with angry barking dogs chasing the bike as soon as I entered. My guess is that they have had a long time to hone their defenses against Gypsies like us. The only two dog-free sites I found were both thwarted. The first because the road leading was challenging for a Mule let alone a Fıreblade, and the second because a police offıcer stopped us. Apparently he didn't think it would be safe for us to camp a few hundred metres from a mega hydro plant.
After the congestion on Romania's roads, Bulgaria was motorcycle paradise. We had the road along the Black Sea in the northern part of the country virtually to ourselves. Rounding a corner overlooking the turquoise water, visor up and my sunglasses on, smelling the sweetness of the countryside, I was reminded why I love motorcycling. Bulgaria also offered a wealth of free camping opportunities and I was able to quickly sniff one out in a wooded area right next to the sea.
Last night we stayed in a hotel in old Istanbul. Turkey was playing the Czech Republic in a soccer match to decide which country would advance to the elimination round in Euro 2008. Late in the second half, the Czechs had a two goal lead. Istanbul was silent. People sat morosely in cafes and bars staring blankly at one of the many flat screen TVs that were set up every few paces on the street. Suddenly the city erupted: a goal for Turkey. A little later, at the 88 minute mark, the tying goal went in. Now the people were in a frenzy. People drove past the sidewalk cafes honking their horns in cars and motorcycles sporting oversize Turkish flags. People walked by beating drums. When the winning goal was scored in injury time there was pandomonium. The celebrating went late into the night.
My first Turkish encounter was Kids throwing what I thought were handfuls of rocks at my head. When we stopped, it turned out that it hadn't been rocks but rather large mullberries which we were smeared on the side of my helmet. There was even some unbroken ammunition remaining on top of my luggage. I wondered if it had been considered rude that I didn't stop to return their greeting with a volley of my own.
The Turkish people have been incredibly friendly. We were trying to find a bank machine ın the very same town where the kids greeted me with mullberries. When we failed to find one we pulled over to figure out our next move. Almost instantly people were stopping and asking us where we wanted to go. Eventually we made our way to the centre of town (Kirklareli) where our parked bikes drew a crowd and conversation. Someone even bought us cherries. We ate lunch in a small restaurant where the owner charged us less than the very reasonable quoted prices (2 lira for a donar sandwich) and refused any sort of a tip. In contrast, I just paid 3 lira (which is close to 3 dollars) for a small expresso in Istanbul.
Today we plan on seeing the sights in Istanbul. Tomorrow we will set off for the Aegean coast and hopefully a campsite on a nice beach. Sadly, Ted's time with us has come to an end. He will set off on his own tomorrow on a route through Greece and Italy on his way back to the UK. From there he is not sure where he will go, but he has 2 weeks and a bike that has been confirmed to go 180 mph (the Fireblade enjoyed the Turkish toll highways).
There was a stark contrast between Hungary and Romania. For the first time, it felt like we were in a different world. Horse-drawn carriages shared the road with Audis driven by maniacs on congested twisty roads, producing some of the most dangerous riding conditions I have ever seen. And I have ridden through Lima. Although South America still holds the title for having the worst drivers on the planet, Romania ıs a more dangerous country to ride through. What made Romania so treacherous was not only were the drivers reckless and impatient, but they had incredibly fast cars to go with it (unlike South America). It is important to adjust your own riding in such conditions because you cannot assume other drivers will behave in the way that you are accustomed to.
Romania had some great stretches through the fırst mountains that we had encountered on the trip. Unfortunately, finding free camping was extremely difficult in Romania. It seemed like every side road I explored looking for a suitable site was instantly alive with angry barking dogs chasing the bike as soon as I entered. My guess is that they have had a long time to hone their defenses against Gypsies like us. The only two dog-free sites I found were both thwarted. The first because the road leading was challenging for a Mule let alone a Fıreblade, and the second because a police offıcer stopped us. Apparently he didn't think it would be safe for us to camp a few hundred metres from a mega hydro plant.
After the congestion on Romania's roads, Bulgaria was motorcycle paradise. We had the road along the Black Sea in the northern part of the country virtually to ourselves. Rounding a corner overlooking the turquoise water, visor up and my sunglasses on, smelling the sweetness of the countryside, I was reminded why I love motorcycling. Bulgaria also offered a wealth of free camping opportunities and I was able to quickly sniff one out in a wooded area right next to the sea.
Last night we stayed in a hotel in old Istanbul. Turkey was playing the Czech Republic in a soccer match to decide which country would advance to the elimination round in Euro 2008. Late in the second half, the Czechs had a two goal lead. Istanbul was silent. People sat morosely in cafes and bars staring blankly at one of the many flat screen TVs that were set up every few paces on the street. Suddenly the city erupted: a goal for Turkey. A little later, at the 88 minute mark, the tying goal went in. Now the people were in a frenzy. People drove past the sidewalk cafes honking their horns in cars and motorcycles sporting oversize Turkish flags. People walked by beating drums. When the winning goal was scored in injury time there was pandomonium. The celebrating went late into the night.
My first Turkish encounter was Kids throwing what I thought were handfuls of rocks at my head. When we stopped, it turned out that it hadn't been rocks but rather large mullberries which we were smeared on the side of my helmet. There was even some unbroken ammunition remaining on top of my luggage. I wondered if it had been considered rude that I didn't stop to return their greeting with a volley of my own.
The Turkish people have been incredibly friendly. We were trying to find a bank machine ın the very same town where the kids greeted me with mullberries. When we failed to find one we pulled over to figure out our next move. Almost instantly people were stopping and asking us where we wanted to go. Eventually we made our way to the centre of town (Kirklareli) where our parked bikes drew a crowd and conversation. Someone even bought us cherries. We ate lunch in a small restaurant where the owner charged us less than the very reasonable quoted prices (2 lira for a donar sandwich) and refused any sort of a tip. In contrast, I just paid 3 lira (which is close to 3 dollars) for a small expresso in Istanbul.
Today we plan on seeing the sights in Istanbul. Tomorrow we will set off for the Aegean coast and hopefully a campsite on a nice beach. Sadly, Ted's time with us has come to an end. He will set off on his own tomorrow on a route through Greece and Italy on his way back to the UK. From there he is not sure where he will go, but he has 2 weeks and a bike that has been confirmed to go 180 mph (the Fireblade enjoyed the Turkish toll highways).
Day 6 - Prague, Czech Republic
Last night we spent our first night in beds since leaving the Smith residence in the UK. We stayed in the heart of Prague, which is a Medieval maze. We paid way too much for a midnight meal outside on a square with an evil-orange glowing castle leaning over our heads. We deserved it though because for the previous 4 nights we have managed to find free places to camp. The first night we made it all the way to Belgium, where we ended up camping in the parking lot of Westvleteren brewery. The brewery is actually inside the abbey of Saint Sixtus of Westvleteren, whose resident Trappist monks brew what many (including ratebeer.com) believe is the best beer in the world: Westvleteren Abt 12. It was certainly the best beer I have ever tasted.
The next day we used the Garmin GPS unit (with a map of Europe installed) to avoid toll highways and plot a course towards Germany, which gave us a great view of the countryside on a route that would not have been possible to figure out otherwise. The GPS is a double-edged sword, however. On one hand you can save a lot of time and hassle by having it plot a course for you. You know you are not going to get lost or go off track - and even if you do it will recalculate another route for you on the fly.
However, on the other hand, it takes some of the serendipity out of the trip. So many experiences that were trip highlights last year happened when we were lost (we didn't have GPS). Being lost is part of the adventure and it leads to so many pleasant surprises. The whole big circular tour of Colombia that Ted and I enjoyed so much last summer happened because we got lost trying to get out of Bogotá (we had been aiming for Medellin). When we finally emerged from the city after spending most of the day going in circles (seemingly) in heavy chaotic traffic, neither one of us wanted to go back in. So when a gas station attendant recommended another town to the east near the colonial gem of Villa de Leyva, we shrugged our shoulders and headed out in that direction. It would be days before we finally circled back to the northwest to Medellin, and we enjoyed every minute of our detour. We even found ourselves on the most spectacular paved road I have ever had the pleasure of riding.
Still, the GPS has helped us quickly get out of cities and effortlessly navigate complex road systems to get to the scenic roads that otherwise would have been too difficult (and time consuming) to find. We have been taking mostly scenic routes (with a few stints on the autobahn to satisfy the needs of the Fireblade). From our campsite in a wooded area just outside of Bonn, we followed the rhein south for the better part of a day. The road followed the wide smooth ribbon of meandering river through a deep green valley made surreal by castles clinging to the hillsides. The route along the Rhein has been the most scenic ride to date.
The next night we found a wooded are off the beaten track south of Mannheim. The next days as we made our way east towards the Czech border, we found another stretch of road (with the help of the GPS) that was as fun as it was beautiful. It swept its way through small Bavarian villages and through lush forests and farms. It felt like a trip backwards through time. It was also the first time that we had a full day of sunshine. What a glorious ride. That night we camped in a forest on the side of a mountain.
The next day (yesterday), we rode into the Czech Republic and followed narrow curvy roads through the hilly treed countryside all the way to Prague. It felt strange to ride effortlessly (we didn't even have to stop to show our passports) across the former Iron Curtain. I was thinking about what my dad's family went through to escape from behind the Iron Curtain and make it to Canada. Looking at the peaceful countryside on both sides, I found it hard to imagine such a different time.
The next day we used the Garmin GPS unit (with a map of Europe installed) to avoid toll highways and plot a course towards Germany, which gave us a great view of the countryside on a route that would not have been possible to figure out otherwise. The GPS is a double-edged sword, however. On one hand you can save a lot of time and hassle by having it plot a course for you. You know you are not going to get lost or go off track - and even if you do it will recalculate another route for you on the fly.
However, on the other hand, it takes some of the serendipity out of the trip. So many experiences that were trip highlights last year happened when we were lost (we didn't have GPS). Being lost is part of the adventure and it leads to so many pleasant surprises. The whole big circular tour of Colombia that Ted and I enjoyed so much last summer happened because we got lost trying to get out of Bogotá (we had been aiming for Medellin). When we finally emerged from the city after spending most of the day going in circles (seemingly) in heavy chaotic traffic, neither one of us wanted to go back in. So when a gas station attendant recommended another town to the east near the colonial gem of Villa de Leyva, we shrugged our shoulders and headed out in that direction. It would be days before we finally circled back to the northwest to Medellin, and we enjoyed every minute of our detour. We even found ourselves on the most spectacular paved road I have ever had the pleasure of riding.
Still, the GPS has helped us quickly get out of cities and effortlessly navigate complex road systems to get to the scenic roads that otherwise would have been too difficult (and time consuming) to find. We have been taking mostly scenic routes (with a few stints on the autobahn to satisfy the needs of the Fireblade). From our campsite in a wooded area just outside of Bonn, we followed the rhein south for the better part of a day. The road followed the wide smooth ribbon of meandering river through a deep green valley made surreal by castles clinging to the hillsides. The route along the Rhein has been the most scenic ride to date.
The next night we found a wooded are off the beaten track south of Mannheim. The next days as we made our way east towards the Czech border, we found another stretch of road (with the help of the GPS) that was as fun as it was beautiful. It swept its way through small Bavarian villages and through lush forests and farms. It felt like a trip backwards through time. It was also the first time that we had a full day of sunshine. What a glorious ride. That night we camped in a forest on the side of a mountain.
The next day (yesterday), we rode into the Czech Republic and followed narrow curvy roads through the hilly treed countryside all the way to Prague. It felt strange to ride effortlessly (we didn't even have to stop to show our passports) across the former Iron Curtain. I was thinking about what my dad's family went through to escape from behind the Iron Curtain and make it to Canada. Looking at the peaceful countryside on both sides, I found it hard to imagine such a different time.
Day 0 - London, England
A mule and a Fireblade - The Smith Residence, Eltham, London, UK.
It feels like I haven't slept in days - probably because I haven't. But now exams and the madness of last minute packing and cleaning are behind me. When the jet lag clears (hopefully by tomorrow), I will wake up and realize that the adventure has truly begun. I am writing this entry from Casa Smith in Eltham, London. I have just finished a Sunday feast consisting of bacon-wrapped stuffed roast chicken and assortment of veggies followed by wine and cheese. Tom's parents, Mr. and Mrs. Smith, have certainly been gracious hosts. I realize that soon these luxuries will only be memories.
Tomorrow the other two members of team CanUk, Ted and Jerry, will arrive in London. The day after that, we will make for the ferry to Calais, France, and our motorcycle journey will be underway. Three of us will be riding mules. One of us will be riding the fastest bike I have ever had the pleasure of riding. By far. (Sorry Ted - Tom and I just wanted to fill your new Honda Fireblade 900RR up with gas but we took a wrong turn and somehow ended up in the English countryside). When I first rode the bike, I thought the speedometre was in km/h. I would soon discover that it was in fact in mph. Still, even thinking I was travelling at speeds measured in km/h, the bike felt like it was barely moving. In fact, if one wasn't careful, it would be easy to set a new personal speed record (eclipsing the old one by an order of magnitude) without even realizing it.
Now that I've tasted speedbike ecstacy, riding my mule (the name affectionately given to KLR650s) will feel like I am riding...well, a mule. Although I wish Ted was able to come the entire way, I am happy that he is at least going to have an awesome ride for the leg of the trip for which he will be joining us (the UK to Turkey).
I also had the chance to ride "The Nimbus", Tom's Honda CB400 Superfour. It is a nimble, responsive bike that was fun to throw around the corners on the green tunnel-like roads of the English countryside. You just have to be careful because you can't see around corners (because of the hedge rows and trees) and the roads are so narrow that a car and a motorcycle barely have room to pass by each other. My only complaint with the Nimbus is that it was way to short of a bike and my knees were up around my ears. And the Fireblade can effortlessly make the Nimbus look like it is stationary even when it has reached it's top speed.
Tom "The Kid" Smith and his Nimbus.
When I arrived in London, I discovered that recently Tom has become somewhat of a local celebrity after receiving press coverage of the trip as a front page story in his local newspaper. He was even being recognized as "The Cape Crusader" by neighbours. I have scored myself a signed copy of the paper, and I am willing to part with it - for a price. This could be worth something when the Kid is elected Prime Minister one day. If you would like a signed copy of Tom Smith's front page story, please make a donation to either (or both) of the two charities we are promoting on this trip: Dignitas (the charity being promoted by the Canadian members of team CanUK) or Riders for Health (which Tom has been raising funds for).
Ride for Dignity
The departure date for our Europe-Middle East-Africa adventure is fast approaching. As you may already be aware, one of our goals for this trip is to raise funds for Toronto-based Dignitas International to help in the fight against the impact and further spread of HIV in Africa. Please take a moment to support our Ride for Dignity. Even a modest donation will mean tangible results on the ground in Africa. Over 80 cents of every dollar that Dignitas raises goes directly to the field where it directly helps those who need it most.
Below is a summary of some of the recent successes that Dignitas (in partnership with the Malawi Ministry of Health) has achieved in the Zomba district of southern Malawi since October of 2004:
- More than 5,000 children and adults have been started on life-saving ARVs;
- An average of 250+ new patients continue to gain access to these medications each month;
- An average of 3,500+ people continue to be tested for HIV each month at 31 HIV Testing & Counselling (HTC) sites;
- 31,000+ mothers-to-be have accessed Prevention of Mother-to-Child Transmission (PMTCT) services to help prevent transmission of HIV to their newborns;
- An average of 1,400+ mothers-to-be continue to access PMTCT services each month at 23 PMTCT sites;
- Hundreds of trained home-based care workers continue to provide essential care to the most ill patients in their homes;
- 15 community-based organizations in Zomba District are supported; and
- 1,000+ attendees continue to be directly reached through HIV/AIDS prevention education activities every month.
Please visit our Ride for Dignity fundraising page. Thanks so much to those who have already made a donation. You have almost certainly helped save lives.
Shave for the Cure
This Friday, a group of us medical students (and even some of our profs!) are going to shave our heads to raise money for childhood cancer research. Some of us have less hair to lose than others, but we all want to find a cure for cancer. Please support childhood cancer research by sponsoring me. Your donation to this worthy cause will be much appreciated.
Equipment Test
We found a dirt road on our way to Awenda Provincial Park (which is on the shore of Georgian bay northwest of Penetanguishene) for a camping trip to test out our gear over the weekend. It was the first time Jeremy has had his KLR off the asphalt.
We have spent many long days and late nights working on our bikes. We have installed the racks from Happy Trails and mounted the Pelican cases. It seems to be a solid and convenient setup (if you don't locktite the knobs, right Jer?). I have repaired damage to my dashboard from the last trip, which required soldering some new switches in and repairing the power supply to my trailtech computer.
We also installed new Pirellis, flushed our coolant, cleaned our air filters, and installed new brake pads all around. Jer has just about completed the modifications to his bike (skid plate, rad guard, tank guards, serrated foot pegs, heavy-duty shift lever, galfer brake pads, subframe upgrade, doohickey, acerbis handguards, etc.).
The camping trip was a good road test of our bikes and gear, and more importantly a chance to hang out with our support crew (below). We had a vehicle stocked with food and cooking equipment just out of camera range the entire trip.
Matt, Mike, and Colleen
Since there was an alcohol ban in effect while we were there, someone thought that it would be a good idea to fill our camelbaks full of single malt. Now who would propose something as crazy as that? Although it did turn out to be a good way to flush our bladders.
My new MEC Merlin (minus 10) sleeping bag was wonderfully warm despite near freezing temperatures overnight. If only I had had it in the Andes... Unfortunately Jer didn't sleep as well, seeing as he forgot one vital piece of kit: his thermarest. It made for a rocky night for his old man back.
Campsite in Awenda Provincial Park
I can't believe we are leaving in less than 3 weeks. The trip preparation has been taking most of our free time. We had to arrange for Carnets for our bikes, arrange to fly our bikes to London, get green card insurance for Europe, buy all kinds of gear, plus attempt to get as many VISAs as possible. So far we have VISAs for Syria, Egypt, Ethiopia, and Sudan. We sent our Kenya VISA application off today.
The process of getting our Sudanese VISA was helped immensely by the friendly owners of Bougainvilla Guesthouse in Khartoum, where we plan to stay when we arrive in the Sudanese capitol. They agreed to sponsor our application and had their lawyer present our case to the Ministry of Foreign Affairs and Interior Ministry in Khartoum. To cover this expense, we wired a small fee to their Norwegian account. We shortly received approval from the Foreign Ministry and then sent our application to the Sudanese Embassy in Ottawa. The whole process took just over a week.
In light of the rebel attack on Khartoum over the weekend, we will have to closely follow the security situation in Sudan before we commit to entering the country. I hope that the situation calms in the coming weeks as Sudan is one of the countries I am most looking forward to visiting on our trip.
In happier news, Ted "MacGyver" Macher is the proud new owner of a mint condition 1998 Honda Fireblade 900RR, purchased on his behalf in London, England by Tom "The Kid" Smith. The bike looks money as you can see below:
Ted intends to ride with us as far as Turkey, and then circle back through Europe to the UK. Sadly, he will have to sell the bike at the end of his month long European tour. And by ride "with us" I really mean ride for 15 minutes and then wait a half hour for the three Mules to catch up. There is no speed limit on the autobahns. My guess is that Ted's new bike will top out at about 250 km/h, although I've been told that I am pessimistic. Some argue the 900RR can go 300 km/h. I'm sure Ted will be able to personally provide the answer.
In addition to shopping for sport bikes, The Kid has also been working on a website for our trip. Please check out DitchtheComfortZone.com for information on our Africa trip. I think he's done a marvelous job.
