We left the Mood Hotel in Chuclayo and headed south to Trujillo where we stayed at the marvellously hospitable Hostal Donde Alberto. Essentially a bed and breakfast type accommodation without the breakfast. The host was lovely we spent many a fraught ten minutes discussing our journey with ‘Donde Alberto’. It’s so difficult when nobody knows what each other is saying. What was even more disconcerting is that Susan (our appointed linguist) started throwing in random French phrases! Yup she’s becoming just like me! What a thought!!!

In my book, Trujillo is known for the best Pisco Sour (to date) in South America, it’s yellow cathedral and the best Lomo Saltado (to date) in South America. The Pisco and the Lomo Saltado are synonymous with South America so that’s quite a record to have ‘in my opinion’ but there’s a long way to go yet.

From Trujillo we had a detour route option to head into the Andes on the way to Lima. By now we had experienced the Pan American Highway in northern Peru (off and on dual carriageway) and the capability to make good quick progress. Susan said ‘no thanks’ to the Andes detour and so ‘Pan American Susan’ set the direction of travel – due south as fast as the policia and the steel horse would allow.

Now the Pan American Highway is a network of roads that runs through 14 countries, from North to South America. It’s about 30,000 km long (19,000 miles) and is said to be the longest road in the world. That’s easy to say, however, it’s not a single road and it’s not continuous. You see it stops and starts either side of the 90km Darien Gap between Panama and Columbia (the Darien Gap is unnavigable and is a natural barrier between North and South America).

Our next stop was Neuve Chimbote. We were going to stay in plain old Chimbote but ‘Donde Alberto’ said we would get shot. Being honest I’m not sure he did actually say that – remember we couldn’t understand each other! But he held up his hand in the sign of a gun, mentioned Venezuelans and that was enough for me. I’m sorry to fall into accepting a Peruvian stereotype for Venezuelans, poor unfortunate refugees that they are. But Donde Alberto’s advice was good enough for me. So we were not going to stay in Chimbote even though it is the largest fishing port in the world (now there’s an interesting fact for you.).

Neuve Chimbote and our hotel were okay. We ate in the hotel restaurant which looked like the staff canteen with huge televisions. We were the only guests and the manger put on the local news on all four TVs at nearly full volume. It was a lovely setting for dinner for two.

The news was all about murders and shootings. Of course we couldn’t understand the commentary but a video of bullet holes is easily translatable. It certainly appeared that ‘Donde Alberto’ was right.

He was such a nice ‘Donde Alberto’ that he kept in touch with us for several days by WhatsApp to make sure we hadn’t fallen into the clutches of the Venezuelan’s, poor unfortunate refugees that they are.

The following day it was the Pan American Highway again and after 260 hard miles through a hard dusty desert landscape we reached Lima.

It was a very difficult day but we checked into a very nice hotel and went for a beer for the ‘driver’. Yup that’s me! It appears many people think you ‘drive’ a motorcycle and who am I to correct them? I have enough trouble with ‘Pan American Susan’ calling her helmet a ‘hat’ and her foot pegs are ‘pedals’. ‘Where’s my hat’ she will say – it’s not easy being the ‘driver’ of a motorcycle looking for a ‘hat’!

So the ‘driver’ was rewarded that day with an ale described as ‘Scottish style – it was as close to Scottish ale as a ‘helmet’ is to a ‘hat’ but it was tasty and so I’m not complaining.

The following day it was another walking tour in a city with a very European look. Lima is our third capital on this trip and the best so far.

And now some more food. I’ve got to post some food stuff because we’ve eaten a lot of rubbish so far – burgers and pizza have been preferable to some of the food on offer. This time it was black tagliatelle with seafood and the second dish is cerviche. Both absolutely marvellous.

I’ve got to show show a photo of a pre Inca adobe pyramid (Huaca Pucllana) in Lima even though if not much to look at. It beats Machu Picchu by about a 1,000 years so it’s worth a photo or two. The second photo is three burials – yes they buried the parents with a baby as the baby knew the way to the afterlife. The things people did!

Finally, here’s something you can’t do. Join the Peruvian army and take part in the changing of the guard. Oh you could try and change your nationality and get around the age barrier but there’s no way you’re marching like this!

After Lima, our last stop on the Peruvian coast was at Paracas where we stayed in a lovely boutique hotel. It was there I was ‘assaulted’ by a plate of food.

To explain, hidden under that pile of salt in the middle was a firework and when the waitress placed it in front of me it popped and crackled and shot lumps of salt into the air! I could pretend I laughed with everyone else but after a lump of salt hit me in the eye and others nipped my arms and head I felt I was in a war zone.

Susan gave me a reproachful look when I shouted, swore and waved my arms in the air like a big baby. Oh how everyone continued to laugh at ‘big baby’. ‘It’s just the fireworks’ the hotel owner explained. Jeezo, I was scared to order even a beer after that – I imagined I could hear the staff in the kitchen giggling and planning their next wave of attack. So I retired to my room where I had a can of beer that behaved and didn’t assault me.

That night we relaxed in the sunset. Tomorrow we had to leave the Pan American Highway and head inland. ‘Pan American Susan’ wasn’t enamoured about the journey ahead. She must have had some kind of premonition – remember that Chumbawamba song?

Yes border problems again!

Our journey this day was from Cuenca to Huaquillas on the border with Peru. The road to Huaquillas was fraught as it gripped the steep mountainsides and, although largely paved, it frequently changed to dirt where landslides had washed it away. Even as we travelled, rocks came tumbling down. Susan held tight each time I gave her a millisecond warning as we careered over dirt and hit pothole after pothole.

On one section of paved road we both gasped in shock (well Susan gasped, I was more like ‘fu*k me!!’) when we just missed a pothole that had no bottom. It was an eerie deep black hole with a crust of tarmac and everything underneath had been washed away. It was a frightening sight.

Thankfully, there was no rain for the road would easily have been impassible. As it was Susan got her first taste of high wind on the bike as we travelled through steep canyons. It was a good experience for what will, no doubt, come later in the trip in Patagonia.

Huaquillas is a border town that you wouldn’t want to visit. The hotel was bareable but the staff were lovely. Outside it was like a living dead wild west. That night it was takeaway pizza and beer in the hotel room and we went to sleep with a chair propped against the door. For extra deterrence I hung my bike socks on the chair. It would be difficult to get past them without choking and retching, giving me a few extra seconds to react to the intruder. I’m an ideas factory!

The following morning, we skipped breakfast and rode to the border about 06:30hrs. Bike through Ecuador customs, 20 minutes. Susan and I through both Ecuador and Peru immigration in 10 minutes (same building how convenient). Then bike temporary import permit (TIP) into Peru, 30 minutes. Then buy compulsory motorcycle insurance for Peru, 20 minutes.

Then we were in Peru and on the road to Mancora with only two hours travelling to reach our destination. We were as happy as two llamas.

Ten miles outside Mancora we got pulled over at a Peru Customs post. I think it’s a secondary check because the main border wasn’t that secure. Anyway, no problem, we had all our paperwork in order. Or so we thought!

An hour later we were still sitting by the side of the road. ‘Nice Young Customs Man’ at this stop check discovered that ‘Dopey Customs Man’ at the main border had wrongly completed the forms. My bike registration was listed as STSS … instead of ST22. Effectively our temporary import permit (TIP) was invalid.

Oh yes I know what you’re thinking and you’re absolutely right!! Why on earth did Susan not check the TIP before we left the border? Well hindsight is a great thing so I’m not going to blame her – sometimes we just have to work with the limitations of the team we have. So let’s move on and not cast blame! I mean, it’s completely irrelevant my signature was on the form!

Regardless, ‘Nice Young Customs Man’ eventually sorted it. We now have a second customs stamp that will, hopefully, allow us out the country. Time will tell.

We eventually got to our hotel on the beach and Susan went paddling whilst I relaxed with my good friend Mr Beer.

The following day we were up before sunrise because Susan wanted to go on a boat trip to look for humpback whales. As I’m a supportive partner I went along to accompany her.

A 15 mile taxi ride in the dark later and, as the sun rose, we were bouncing across the Pacific Ocean on a speedboat looking for big black mammals.

Actually, the tour company, Pacifico Adventures, was excellent and big black mammals were everywhere. That said, do you know how difficult it is to get a few pics on a bobbing boat? Yes I should have brought a camera with a zoom lens but when your travelling light on a motorcycle and your clothing includes only two pairs of pants then camera equipment is completely out the question.

So here’s mom and junior.

And here’s junior having some fun.

So what did we learn about big black mammals. Lots and lots but I know your attention span isn’t great so I will keep this short.

Well, we all know mammals evolved from fish. Then some mammals adapted to the sea and that includes big black mammals, naturally. They reckon the indohyus, about the size of a cat, is the long time ancestor of the big black mammal mom we saw. And did you know, big black mammals actually still have some fur/hair. It’s unbelievable what evolution can achieve so there’s hope for your future generations yet!

It was a thoroughly enjoyable boat trip and we returned to the beach hotel before lunch. Did we relax? Nope. We spent two hours at the local insurance office trying to sort out a little problem.

We discovered that because the customs temporary import permit (TIP) had the wrong registration number then the temporary insurance also had the wrong details – the insurance lady had taken the incorrect registration number from the TIP rather than the correct bike registration document.

Unfortunately, the Mancora insurance office couldn’t sort it as we were gringos. We either had to return to the border (two hours in the wrong direction) or try the head office in Piura. We were advised to leave the motorcycle in Mancora and travel by bus to Piura. Coincidentally, Piura was on the road to our next destination at Chiclayo.

Now the policia in Peru have road check points absolutely everywhere. To date, in South America, we’ve been stopped six times and I would say in Peru they’ve been the least friendly. It’s very risky travelling without the right paperwork.

So the following day the helpful staff at the insurance head office in Piura sorted our insurance in minutes. How did we get there? We got the bus of course! You wouldn’t catch me making a convenient journey on a motorcycle with no insurance in a country with police check points everywhere. No, you certainly wouldn’t catch me 🙄

That night we celebrated in the ‘Mood Hotel’ with some local food and beer. As the neon says ‘live more, worry less’ – that’s not easy to say when you have invalid TIP and insurance!

Yes, I thought that title would get your attention!

But first here’s a selfie on the roads of Ecuador.

That day we arrived in Cuenca and stayed at the wonderful Casa Hibiscus Boutique Hotel run by Mark and Alonzo. So great I’ve posted a Google review with a photo of Susan. That’s how good it was!

Cuenca, another city and another walking tour. It’s a lovely city with a European ‘feel’ and many ‘colonial’ styled buildings with clear Spanish and French influences. Here’s another selfie, this time it’s our walking group.

Our walk included a visit to the marketplace where we saw a limpia ceremony. This will be interesting for some of you with a certain predeliction for sado machism so keep reading.

A limpia is an Andean cleansing ritual that helps purge your mind, body and soul of any emotional confusion, ailments or negative energies stuck in your body. If you’re sitting there thinking yes I’ve got some of those then I’ve got the remedy for you – what you need is a good sound thrashing and a rub down with an egg. That will sort you out!

Now please don’t mock because famous Hollywood celebrities have travelled to Ecuador and paid a fortune for this ‘spiritual healing’ and you can’t have any better professional endorsements than that? Surely? 🙄

Okay, I appreciate some of you are getting impatient with this waffle about celebrities so let’s get straight to the ‘thrashing’

Here’s a photo of a ‘Thrasher Woman’ getting her thrasher ready for giving a good thrashing.

And here’s a ‘Thrasher Woman’ at work.

Now I know what you’re thinking – this poor guy could have had all sorts of ailments and negative energy and in his ‘private’ thrashing time there’s tourist Clif taking a video.

I agree with you as I felt mildly embarrassed that I didn’t let this guy enjoy his sound thrashing in peace. Sorry ‘poor ailment guy’ but I’m a tourist and watching you get a good sound thrashing was awesome!

‘Thrasher Woman’ is thrashing ‘poor ailment guy’ with a big bunch of herbs. Honestly, the thrashing smells lovely. Oh, and please don’t try this at home – you can’t just go to Tesco and buy a bunch of coriander and parsley. Thrasher Woman is thrashing with the freshest, finest herbs brought from the countryside that morning on a donkey. You can’t buy that authenticity at Tesco.

So what do you think happens next? Well, it becomes even more bizarre and because I’m a tourist I made a small movie.

Did you catch that? ‘Poor ailment guy’ is rubbed all over with an egg. It’s only a short video as I’m not sure how much egg rubbing you can take.

After the egg is rubbed all over the body to drive out the bad energies it is cracked into a jar and the egg is ‘read’, to determine the patient’s issues. Well I can tell you if ‘poor ailment’ guy didn’t have issues before he was thrashed with herbs and rubbed with an egg with me filming then he certainly has now!

So, if you’re the type of person who fancies a good sound thrashing then please get in touch with my ‘Natural Thrashing Holidays’ and I will arrange for a bespoke package for a small fee. For an extra remittance the egg can be replaced by a guinea pig. Yes, that’s not a typo, an alternative to the egg rub down is a black guinea pig rub down. Bizarre but true!

Now before we leave the fine city of Ecuador I’ve got another couple of educational points. Yup, you can hardly believe it – spiritual healing and education? Just marvellous!

Let’s talk Panama hats. Where do you think they come from? Well it’s not bloody Panama! It’s Ecuador of course! A Panama hat is also known as an Ecuadorian hat so next time you’re being casual about town in your ‘panama’ straw hat and someone compliments you on your head attire please throw in that little gem of knowledge to impress them. You could also add that the quality of an Ecuadorian hat can be told by the tightness of the weave though I would leave that fact out if you bought your hat from Marks and Spencer.

On our walking tour we visited a famous Ecuadorian hat factory and museum. The variety of hats was endless. I quite fancied one but Susan assured me they didn’t make them big enough. Oh well, back to Marks and Spencer XXXL for me!

Now let’s talk about something personal to most of us. I’m talking chocolate! In Colombia we found the chocolate to be relatively poor but in Ecuador it’s so much better.

Yes we all like chocolate but how ethical are you with regard to your chocolate choice. Susan and I are right up there at the top of chocolate society because we buy Pacari chocolate from Ecuador. Well, we visited their shop in Cuenca and it’s changed our chocolate lives forever.

And to be honest if you’re not buying Picari are you really an ethical chocolate eater like Susan and me? Here’s the chart to find out where you stand in the chocolate world.

Oh I know it’s embarrassing for some of you in the relegation zone. You might think it’s tasty but you’re doing nothing for the planet. Please stick to Picari if you want to be ethical chocolate eaters like Susan and me.

So that was Cuenca. Hopefully, I will be back if my ‘Natural Thrashing Holidays’ takes off. Give me a call – you know it makes sense!

Following yet another hard day (6hrs 30 mins and 152 miles) on the steel horse we arrived in Salento in the Cocora Valley. The only issue of note was we were stopped in a ‘policia’ road check. We have passed through many ‘policia and militar’ road checks on our travels through Colombia but this was the first time we had actually been stopped.

The ‘policia’ was friendly enough and asked to look in a side pannier. After a quick look he asked for the rear pannier to be opened. Again, quick look. He was obviously looking for drugs and guns and by this time realised the old gringos were innocent enough. We were waved on.

I obviously played it ‘Paul Newman Cool’ because the ‘polica’ didn’t read my nervousness. For if he had cared to look in the third pannier this is what he would have found.

No, no, not an offensive banana – that bag of white powder! Yup it’s Susan’s stashed bag of ‘crema de cafe’!

I’ve no idea what the ‘policia’, looking for guns and drugs, would have thought. Would he have stuck his finger in the bag, rubbed it on his teeth and tasted it for purity, just like the movies? Would I have pointed a finger at Susan and said it’s hers! I’ve no idea what could have happened next? Yes, probably after three weeks of Susan being banged up in a Colombian prison whilst the chemical analysis was done everything would have been fine and we would have all laughed about it afterwards. But that wasn’t reassuring, especially for Susan. So the ‘crema de cafe’ is now in the bin. We’re not going to find out if I’m a grass.

Back to Salento, an area known for coffee plantations and, coincidentally, we stayed at the Coffee Tree Boutique Hostel.

Everyone at the Coffee Tree was fantastic, everyone was helpful, everyone was young. Yes, we were the oldest people in the hostel.

Next day, ‘young hostel people’ and ‘old hostel people’ went in a jeep to visit a coffee plantation. ‘Jeep man’ surveyed the eager bunch of ‘hostel people’, pointed at the ‘old hostel people’ and said ‘frente’. That’s how Susan and I ended in the front seats. Then it was ‘chicas atras’ and all the ‘young hostel people’ climbed in the back, some sitting, some hanging on.

Susan and I had the best seats but these were obviously the pensioners seats. Furthermore, Susan was quite upset that she wasn’t regarded a ‘chica’. Worse than that, I was upset because I was obviously not considered strong enough to hold on for dear life at the back. Despite our smiles in the photo we were both feeling a bit huffy.

So off we went in the rickety jeep – ‘old hostel people’ in the front and ‘young hostel people’ in the back. Who said segregation doesn’t happen anymore?

The small coffee plantation was interesting to a point. We picked coffee beans, looked at the processes and tasted some very flavorful coffee. Then it was back to the jeep. This time, seat allocation was more of a free for all. Susan ended up in a comfortable pensioner front seat whilst I found myself in the back with the ‘chicas’. Don’t know how that happened. It was kind of the only seat I could see once I had pushed everyone out the way. As the old adage says ‘you can’t keep old hostel people down’!

That evening, I treated myself to what is perhaps the most popular dish in Colombia, Bandeja Paisa. It’s the national dish. Now let me start by saying we haven’t been impressed with Colombian food and this wasn’t my first bean dish since I’ve bean here 🙂

It included masses of refried black beans (obviously), rice, ground mince, plantain, a chorizo sausage you could use as a police baton, fried pork belly that was tasty enough but whose sole purpose was to take out some teeth, avocado, fried egg, and completed with a few other chewy things of interderminate origin.

Well I can now say I’ve tried it on your behalf and so if you’re ever in Colombia you can choose something else. Believe me you will thank me.

Susan obviously went for something less interesting. However, because some people are more interested in Susan than me here’s a photo of her dinner – trout in a muchroom sauce. They like their trout in Colombia.

After food we finished the day with a few beers. I was still trying to wash that pork belly down.

Then, suitably refreshed but feeling sleepy, the ‘old hostel people’ meandered along the back streets heading for the hostel and bed.

Guess who they met? About 25 ‘young hostel people’ going out for dinner and dancing.

Hola ‘young hostel people’ I said. ‘Buenos noches’ ‘old hostel people’ they replied.

Sigh!

The 254 miles from Monteria to Medellin looked straightforward enough. Unfortunately, when it comes to roads, nothing is straight in Colombia and our motorcycling is extremely tough. Whilst the scenery is stunning, we have no photos for there’s no laybys, no photo stops, no opportunity. It’s all about making progress. It’s not a holiday.

The sting in the tail for this ride was the ‘Monstrous Mountains of Medellin’ after 150 miles, just when we were looking forward to the finish. 16,500 feet of ascent and 11,000 feet of descent before we entered the multi lane carraigeway that cuts through the city. It’s a bit like driving into Glasgow I thought 🙂

It was dusk and I was already at the limits of my endurance and, like the rest of the country, there’s no lane discipline, no consideration for others and absolutely no road sense. That may be a sweeping statement but it’s 100% true!

I have worked out the outside lane is probably the safest to progress. Inside lane is for carts, donkeys, banana sellers, stationary buses and those lost to this world. Middle four lanes were just a cacophony of crisscrossing vehicle madness.

Even in my optimum choice of outside lane, motorcycles would pass us on the offside, inches from the central concrete barrier. If I moved too far to the outside to stop these crazy overtakes then a car would squeeze alongside me in my lane. It’s not for the faint hearted. You must keep moving fast. Keep making progress.

As we approached a road toll station the six lanes divided into 12. It became a stationary sea of thousands of motorcycles, cars and gigantic trucks. As we waited in a mayhem of a queue, trying to edge our way to the motorcycle lane, a gigantic truck rear ended us. Now I won’t exaggerate, it was more of a kiss, a nudge than a hit. The bike jumped forwards a little and I managed to keep it upright. I was reassured that Susan wasn’t going to hit the ground this time. We were so tightly packed with vehicles all around she would likely roll onto a car bonnet.

Susan kept calm, said we were okay, it’s fine, let’s keep going. There it was again that angel in my head, I mean my intercom, cutting through my ranting and raving at the truck driver. I’m not sure the truck driver could hear a word I said and not even sure he knew he had hit us from his lofty cab position in the fading light. So we moved on. This was not a place to stop and assesses the situation. This was a time to get out of the bloody situation! So we did. We kept making progress.

Eight hours and 50 minutes after our departure from Monteria with only 50 minutes of breaks, we reached our destination. You will be tired of hearing about how tired we were but we were. We were tired.

No ‘first class bell boy’ this time to help us with the luggage from the underground car park. Only me. You see we have a fair division of work – Susan sorts out the check-in and I do everything else. Susan says it’s fair and who am I to doubt her judgement?

Once the panniers were in the room and without getting changed I went out on the Friday night streets of Medellin in search of beer and water. It’s so so hot walking in heavy motorcycle goretex trousers and boots in 30c. However, I have come to realise over the years I unparalleled stamina if beer is my goal.

Our hotel was in the middle of a nightlife hotspot and it was jumping with bars, music and party time people. I had swapped road mayhem for night life mayhem. I’m quite sure people looking at me thought I was dressed up for some wierd club scene. Then again, perhaps they really just saw an old man desperately looking for beer.

There were police everywhere and none of them knew where I could get beer. Friendly and nice to the desperate old man but they lacked beer intelligence. I was on my own. No help from my brothers in arms.

Eventually I stumbled on a grocer shop, bought beer and water then walked 20 minutes up a steep hill to get back to the hotel. As I crawled into our room dragging the carrier bag of beer and water I was greeted by Susan refreshed after a nice shower. I told you this division of labour worked out well!

That night dinner was a takeaway Domino’s pizza. Oh I know, half way across the world and it’s Domino’s pizza. However, we were busted. Again. And needs must.

Leaving Cartagena, after three days rest, we finally started travelling south. As usual, the roads were relentlessly winding and Colombia threw in a few million potholes to keep me focused on the road. You can miss the majority of potholes but some are unavoidable and the bike clatters each crater very hard. I try to give Susan warning but sometimes it’s quite a surprise to her. She takes each shuddering well. I do think it’s a testament to my good riding that she hasn’t lost any fillings. Yet!

Of more concern to me are the sleeping policemen. No not the ones I used to work with (sorry for that pun) but the speed bump ones. Every small village, every small town, every place the school bus stops, every bridge, every marketplace, every ….. You get the jist – they’re every bloody where! I estimate we bump over 60-80 each day.

Some are yellow, some are not. Some are obvious, some are not. They never work alone and each one requires slowing down to first gear. I kid you not I’ve even experienced them on 80 kmph roads before a corner and on a dual carraigeway just over the brow of a hill. Treacherous.

Our first stop after Cartagena was Monteria. We had booked into the fancy GHL Hotel and arrived hot, absolutely knackered and emotional. Just another day on the bike in Colombia.

The hotel was attached to a shopping mall on a very busy street with no parking out front. I wasn’t in a ‘wonder what I’ll do’ mood (remember I’m hot, absolutely knackered and emotional) so I ran the bike straight up the nicely paved guest area immediately outside the front glass doors. I mean immediately outside.

Unfortunately, my confrontational mood was completely disarmed by a member of staff. I had just put down the kickstand and was looking for the person who was going to say “you can’t park here, sir” when ‘first class bell boy’ magically appeared, smiling with two glasses of iced water!

He didn’t even show any emotion when Susan dragged off her helmet, hair everywhere, red sweating face looking like she had been wrestling a bear in a sauna. Yes, it was like a scene from Halloween but ‘first class bell boy’ kept smiling through it all. What a trooper!

He then guided Susan to reception where she sat down and now had a cool flavoured drink. I’ve no idea what it was because I was still outside in the heat dealing with the panniers. As long as Susan is okay in the cool who really cares about me? Well I tell you, ‘first class bell boy’ did!

I may have been temporarily abandoned by Susan who was only caring about herself and her cool unknown flavoured drink but ‘first class bell boy’ took the panniers inside and then jumped on to the back of my bike. “I will guide you to the parking” he said as he tapped me on my shoulder and said “lets go”.

He guided me around the back of the shopping mall where parking guy sorted me into my personal spot. Honestly, with this level of service from ‘first class bell boy’ for a fleeting moment, just a fleeting moment, I considered leaving Susan and her cool unknown flavoured drink, riding on and heading for Ushuaia with ‘first class bell boy’. Wouldn’t you?

We then anticipated the issue of getting the heavy panniers back to the bike in the shopping mall car park the following morning. Do you know the solution? Of course you do! – ‘first class bell boy’ changed his shift and started an hour early to assist.

That night we had a cocktail on the rooftop bar as the sun set. A toast to ‘first class bell boy’. May all your bell boys be ‘first class’.

I’m starting from the end of this story because it’s Cartagena, a pleasant and a happy place for us. It took three days motorcycling from Villa de Leyva to reach Cartagena. From Bogota northwards it was our journeys end. It’s also the start our journey south to Ushuaia.

Our journey north to Cartagena was rough, tough and at the of each day Susan had had enough. Rough, tough, enough.

The humidity and heat increased significantly as we journeyed. The roads rose and fell, turned and twisted unrelentingly. Each new day easily became the new hardest day I’ve ever motorcycled.

On day two, we travelled 163 miles from Villa del Leyva through the Chicamocha Canyon (deeper than that big canyon in Colorado). 163 miles in eight hours with only two short rest stops (totalling 33 minutes). Official speed limit for the majority of the route was 20mph and we curved over a thousand bends and overtook several hundred very slow moving heavy lorries.

You may ask yourself why didn’t ‘bif’ stop and rest. Well the road was narrow and off tarmac it was rutted uneven soil. No place to put down a motorbike kickstand. When a suitable place did appear we had inevitably just overtaken a dozen heavy lorries and we just could not let them back in front. We just had to go on. It was tortuous.

Our second rest stop at the bottom of the canyon was only 20 miles from the finish. I bought Susan an ice cream to lift her spirits and I can genuinely say I didn’t laugh when she had difficulty eating the ice cream because her hands were shaking. She got more on her nose than in her mouth. Oh I know another story where everyone thinks ‘oh poor Susan’. It’s okay though for as I watched her banging the ice cream off her nose I thought of a solution – next time I’m buying her an ice lolly! I’m a compassionate ideas factory.

It’s not to say I was standing at the garage without my own problem. You see as we were leaving Villa del Leyva I clicked a switch on the bike to adjust the electronic suspension. A warning sign came up saying the suspension was knackered (that’s not a BMW technical term) and to drive to the nearest BMW garage! Jeez there is only a handful of such garages in the whole of South America!

Well I had two options – deal with it or ignore it. This big brave man decided to ignore it. So as I watched the ice cream dripping off ‘oh poor Susan’s’ nose I had my own issue at the back of my mind – 17,800 miles to go and our suspension was not happy with our luggage, Susan and big lardy boy.

Once we reached Bucaramanga we checked into a nice hotel and, the following day, set off hoping for better things. What happened next made me nearly cry. Big lardy cry baby with broken suspension.

We followed the sat nav out the city. Actually we have two sat navs working at the same time. Now you’ve got to understand these city roads are chaos and once you miss a turn the sat nav should try to get you back on the right road. Or it could just find you a new route altogether. Well that’s what the bloody sat navs working in concert did. Big lardy cry baby lost with broken suspension.

I knew we were in trouble when we motorcycled high into the Bucaramanga mountainside right into a favela. That’s a very working class area where two gringos really shouldn’t be taking a big expensive bike. Luckily I wasn’t wearing my Gucci leather motorcycle outfit today.

The favela is built on a mountainside and consequently the roads are say 12 feet wide and sloping 25 – 35 degrees. I’m being conservative. They’re steep. Very steep. After forcing the bike up a few short steep streets I stopped and asked a local woman if the way ahead was clear. ‘Moto roadeo alongo’ I shouted in my best Spanish whilst gesturing up the hill. I told you I was a language melting pot. ‘Si si ‘ she replied and gestured up the hill. It was dry rutted mud and I ‘gunned’ the bike up the short slope and stopped on the first bit of flat ground (6 foot by 8 foot) I had seen in ages.

I looked at the onward road. It was like a blinking goat track tracing its way on a mountainside. I wish I had had the presence of mind to take a photo because honestly you would say ‘fu*k me’. Yes I’m sure locals on their scooters can scoot along it but certainly not this bike with our luggage, Susan and lardy boy!

I should apologise at this point for the profanities. However, I feel I need to convey, as much as I can, my feelings. And at this time I wasn’t thinking ‘golly gosh look at the road ahead’. No I was thinking what the fu*k am I going to do now?’

Right at this time, the voice of an angel entered my head. Actually, it was Susan on the intercom. ‘ Shall I get off’. Yup she was right we had to do a 24 point turn and head back down. The woman at the bottom saw us return and shrugged her shoulders. I know what she was thinking ‘grande wimpo gringo’!

One narrow escape. You would think we then got it sorted and that’s the end of the story. Well no. For it got worse!

Susan suggested looking at Google Maps. Yes that’s a good idea. Susan was being calm in a storm whilst I was crumbling. Maybe Google can give us an alternative way out of this favela helter skelter.

‘Turn left’ said Susan sitting on the back looking at her phone. I did. I was then committed to a 35 degree downhill. More profanities. We reached the bottom. ‘Turn right’ Susan said. What was in front of me was a two foot rain ditch across our path and the road I was to turn right onto was two foot wide. Even if I was stupid enough to try to force the bike over the ditch I would continue in someone’s front room.

I braked to a halt, struggling to keep the bike upright, with Susan behind me so high up she looked like she was sitting on my shoulders.

‘Shall I get off’ – there it was agajn, the voice of an angel in my head telling me the next thing to do. ‘Yes’ I squeaked.

Susan took command whilst I sat on the bike, gripping the brakes, trying not to pee myself.

Susan approached a young lad sitting in a nearby delivery van and asked for help. The young lad couldn’t move because his job was to sit on the footbrake as the handbrake wasn’t enough to hold the vehicle. I told you it was steep! When an ‘old delivery guy’ got back they found some rocks to put under their rear wheels and came to help.

Between the four of us we turned the bike to face up the hill. I’ve no idea how we did it without the bike falling over and if it had I’m sure we would have needed a winch to get it up again.

Then the ‘old delivery guy’ asked us to follow him and he led us out of the favela to a main road and our route out the city. We gave ‘old delivery guy’ a sizeable tip and he hugged and kissed us both and then blessed us for the journey ahead. Thank you ‘old delivery guy’.

Anyway, that’s some of the happenings on our way to Cartagena and I’m going to end back at our happy place. Here’s an actual photo of our ’boutique hotel’ and it’s ‘shabby chic’ look.

Cartagena for 3 nights. Bike parked up for 3 days. Suspension error code firmly buried in the sand. Susan back to eating ice cream like a grown up. Everything’s good.

We left Bogotá to head north to Cartagena. If we were going to travel the length of South America it would be nice to start near the top. ‘Shortcut Susan’ would be quite happy to start south from Bogotá but I have principles about the inconsequential things in life.

So this is our route for the first four days – Bogotá, Villa de Leyva, Bucaramanga, Mompos to Cartagena.

A nice easy start to our adventure. Or so we thought!

Here’s us happy as Larry leaving our Bogotá hotel.

That’s Susan with her personal chauffeur for the next 18,000km or so. She’s a lucky woman! ‘Onward we go Bif’ she shouted in the intercom and tapped me on the shoulder. I released the clutch, accelerated and we were off. South America here we come!

Susan didn’t call her personal chauffeur James, Jeeves or any other stereotype chauffeur name. She called me ‘Bif’. That’s fine I thought, it’s a rather macho name and I quite took to it. It has a nice ring to it. Watch out South America here comes Bif with a Bike I thought. It was only a couple of days later she told me it stood for ‘Bast*rd in front’. We’ve now reverted back to Clif 🙂

Three hours after our happy start we had only travelled five measly miles. The traffic jams were astoundingly horrendous. In all honesty I must have made over a thousand start stops and essentially walked the bike out of Bogotá. It was completely exhausting.

Actually, Bogotá is the third most congested city in the world after Istanbul and Moscow. Kiev used to be third but I guess there’s not so much traffic there just now.

As soon as we cleared the jam we stopped at a service station.

Susan is still looking fresh but its all downhill from here as the heat and humidity took its toll. She doesn’t cope with the heat at the best of times but wrap her up in a goretex suit, gloves and a helmet, push the heat up to 36c and it’s meltdown.

A few hours later, as we reached Villa De Leyva and, at the end of our endurance, we realised it was a holiday weekend. The place was utterly and completely congested. To be fair, Columbia has 23 holiday weekends a year so it’s difficult to avoid them all.

Roads were closed, junctions were gridlocked and our satnav went into a spiral trying to find our hotel. Even open roads were thronging with pedestrians. To make matters worse for the bike the roads were paved with uneven boulders. Our route ahead:

We realised we had to turn around. Not an easy task on a heavy bike on such a surface. The balance is so so precarious. Luckily we had the assistance of a small girl for she walked in front of the bike, I braked, the front wheel turned on a cobble and we hit the ground. Thump!

Well to be correct it was more of a ninja like step off for me, a slow fall for the bike and a bit of a thump for Susan.

Thankfully we were only travelling 3-4 mph and as the bike fell I was able to step off. I tried to hold it up but when you know it’s going down you know it’s going down and a former pen pusher like me isn’t going to defy Mr Gravity.

Susan hit the ground. Thump. Her helmet bashed off the bloody big cobbles. Graze. Left leg was trapped under the bike. Wailing. At such a traumatic moment, I really couldn’t hear myself think with all the noise she was making over the intercom.

As I tried to stop the bike making an automatic emergency call, the onlookers lifted the bike and Susan. Thankfully the bike was okay and Susan was fine as well.

After such a long day, Susan had enough motorcycling and decided to walk the last few hundred metres to the hotel. ‘I’m walking Bif’ was the last words I heard as she marched off into the crowd.

With less weight on the bike and no Susan to tell me to go slow I managed to fly along the cobbles, used a few flat pavements and reached the hotel first. That will teach her to get off and walk!

After a quick check in and shower we headed out and my beer senses led me to a bar that sold pints! Pints of IPA in Colombia! Result.

Here’s a photo of Susan shortly thereafter to prove she was okay. Honestly I’m not holding her up.

And hear’s me back to being as happy as Larry.

All’s well that ends well for we all know what Chumbawamba said ……