Tag: BMW

Long Way From No Hope

Ten days biking from Calgary to Anchorage. One days rest. Nine days biking to Hope. This is no way to treat an old man.

We thrashed it down the Alcan Highway. We thrashed it down the Stewart – Cassiar Highway. We thrashed it along the Yellowhead Highway. Roads that we had already travelled. They weren’t easier the second time.

The bike performed well though it could do with a wash. I kind of look the same – splattered dead flies and mud. Susan is fine and clean – she hides behind me and laughs when she hears flies the size of small birds bounce off my helmet.

Susan suffers in another way. The gravel and sand roads are her nemesis. I think she’s getting better although I’ve now had to ask her to stop breathing. Yes I know it’s cruel but it sounds like a cross between a heavy breathing phonecall and an express train over my intercom helmet!

In the evening she’s exhausted – nervous exhaustion. I’m exhausted – symbiotic exhaustion. I go to sleep dreaming of a whooshing in my ears. It’s not easy being me!

When she’s not whooshing in my ears, I keep Susan’s spirits up with junk food. Just look at her happy wee face. Susan has some kind of chicken salad sandwich whilst I’ve got the only Subway sandwich a biker should have – meatball marinara!

Here she is again at a petrol stop. I think she disinfected her hand after touching my handlebar – she thinks my gloves smell of dead Moose! I don’t disagree. It’s just a pity my hands smell the same.

So we reached Hope, less than 100 miles from Vancouver.

Chainsaw aficionados recognised the wooden sculpture in the last post as Sheriff Will Teasley (actor Brian Dennehy) from the movie First Blood, starring Sylvestor Stallone as Rambo.

Here’s a wooden version of the main man himself. The real wooden version can be seen on your TV.

So First Blood was essentially about Rambo walking into a small town and coming into conflict with a small town sheriff. It’s a classic movie of our times. Oh really? Yup, a classic!

The movie was filmed in the quaint mountain town of Hope and Susan and I have been here before – 11 years and 1 month ago.

Since that time we have referred to the town as No Hope. Sometimes Susan calls it Tantrum Town. Yes, there’s a story and that’s why we have returned.

First, let’s have a couple of photos of me.

Just to clarify, that’s me incorporated into a wooden carving – it’s not all wooden! Well maybe just the heid! I will give you that!

Here’s me 11 years ago! Amazing isn’t it? The wings look older but I’m just the same. You never know I could possibly be Marty McFly.

11 years ago we were starting our tandem journey from Victoria Island to Newfoundland. We set off with all the confidence in the world for our marvellous adventure.

Coming out of Vancouver and into the mountains we struggled. I cannot emphasise enough how we struggled.

After a few days we made it to Hope and Susan needed a day of rest. We had our day of rest and wandered the town taking photos for our marvellous adventure.

The following morning we left Hope with hope. We were rested, we were ready for our marvellous adventure.

Ten minutes out of town we reached this corner.

The photo doesn’t show it but it’s a bit of a slope. Just a bit. The newer lighter concrete wall wasn’t there at the time and, right at that spot, we faltered, and stopped. We were knackered. We couldn’t go on. And it was bloody cold and raining!

One of us had a tantrum and boy did they shout and moan. They even blamed the rain on the other person. The other person remained calm despite being presented with reasoned logic why it was their fault it was raining.

We were never going to bloody cross Canada on our marvellous adventure if we couldn’t even make it out of No Hope!

Now this was THE pivotal moment on our journey to adventure land and all our subsequent travels. We genuinely thought we would have to give up and if that happened then the rest would never have followed. Everything was about to fall like a train of dominoes.

So what is the one thing that separated our success from failure? Attitude! Our attitude was wrong.

We had no shared experience of such an undertaking and no understanding of the commitment. Our confidence, built on a flimsy platform of hope and a marvellous adventure, had disappeared.

We didn’t know how to cope in No Hope.

We decided to gave it another try. We pushed on, soaked and freezing and made it to the end of the day. We didn’t get to our intended destination – nowhere near it. But we got up the following day and did the same. The next day ……. you get the picture.

That day was a lesson that’s taken us through all our adventures – ‘just keep moving!’. Don’t contemplate the enormity of the task or journey ahead or how bad it is or how bad it could get – just keep moving!

Of course, we’re now on a bike with an engine. The physicality is not the same as the tandem but, as any motorcyclist will tell you, it’s the most satisfying but exhausting way to travel.

Panama literally feels like it was years ago. It’s difficult to explain. We’ve crammed in hundreds of places and destinations, gone through countless experiences. Neither of us can comprehend that Panama was only 3 months ago. We’ve lived a hundred ‘holidays’ since Panama.

It’s not for everyone but please never take my motorcycle away.

Now, without getting too sentimental, I’m going to get sentimental. Because of this story I’ve unburdened onto you, Susan and I decided this was the official end of this particular adventure.

It all really started here. So let’s finish this journey here.

10,998 miles.

We have another three weeks left before we fly home so we’re heading for Whistler then the Oregon coast.

So for now I’m going to leave you with a beer photo of me. Yup you’re getting bang for your buck photos of me today. You damn lucky person!

And in true Rambo style I ordered a pint of ‘First Blood’ at the excellent mountain brewery.

Looking like Rambo. Well perhaps not. At least the beer was excellent – nicest pint of red beer I’ve had.

Of course, at the end of another grand adventure, I’ve got to acknowledge that I was part of a team.

I couldn’t have got through this without you.

Until the next time.

Skol.

The Greasy Grass

We had a good few days sitting about Buffalo doing nothing much apart from walking to the local ‘historical’ bar. They call any bar ‘historical’ in these parts if it’s over 100 years old.

At least this pub had bullet holes in the walls and I had a drinking partner looking over me.

There was a multitude of stuffed animals in this bar including a huge moose heid and a standing grizzly bear. I like stuffed animals on walls. Susan doesn’t.

We left Buffalo and my stuffed animal friends and headed north to visit the site of the ‘Battle of the Greasy Grass’.

Where’s that? you most certainly will be asking? Well let me enlighten you once again.

It’s the site of the Battle of the Little Bighorn. You know the one – Custer’s Last Stand. Where the 7th Cavalry were defeated by the Lakota, Cheyenne and Arapaho tribes in 1876.

The Battle of the Greasy Grass is what the plains Indians called it and, as they always say, the victors get to write history, then I think it’s only appropriate we give it its correct name.

We stopped for lunch at the trading post run by native Americans and we each had an ‘Indian Taco’.

That’s deep fried bread with chilli and stuff. Delicious. Bit more calorific than a Scottish deep fried pizza and I’m not sure how Susan mentally coped with it. That said she certainly stepped up – there’s a real man in there somewhere!

So what happened at Greasy Grass?

Well the Native Americans were being persecuted, their ‘agreed’ lands appropriated and treaties ignored. Bad duplicitous white man.

The US Government, under President Ulyssses S. Grant, then ordered the Sioux to leave the South Dakota Badlands (their home) by the end of January knowing they wouldn’t be able to make the trek during the harsh winter. The government planned to use this as an excuse to expand hostilities. Really bad white man.

When the subsequent US campaign against the Native Americans began in mid-May, a large group of Lakota Sioux, Cheyenne and Arapaho tribes had already converged for a meeting called by Sitting Bull. An estimated 2,000 warriors and their families gathered on the banks of the Little Bighorn River. It was a huge encampment.

The Native Americans were no doubt wondering what to do next when along comes Custer and his 650 men of the 7th Cavalry.

George Armstrong Custer gained fame during the civil war (he was on the right side) and in post war conflicts with Native Americans. He was capable, experienced, vainglorious and eager for more battle glory.

Custer didn’t scout the camp properly, didn’t listen to advice, and was unaware of the true numbers of Native American warriors encamped there.

He split his forces into three battalions in an attempt to prevent any American Indians from escaping from either side. He wanted this to be a complete victory.

This was a huge tactical error when faced with an overwhelmingly superior strength enemy as his battalions were unable to support each other.

Of course, his batallion took the centre position, the position where he could get most glory.

The 7th cavalry engaged the Native American encampment thinking it would be an easy victory. They were eager for battle and thought it would be a rout.

The first action was the battalion, under the Command of Major Reno, flanking the village and opening fire on warriors, women and children. The soldiers were charged, defeated and retreated.

The other battalion, commanded by Capt. Benteen, was still approaching Little Bighorn and too far away to assist. Everything had started too early in a effort to stop any Native Americans from potentially escaping.

Once Reno retreated to a defensive position, the Native Americans turned their attention to Custer and his 210 men.

Custer’s Last Stand lasted under an hour as they tried to defend the high ground above the village. They were all killed and the only accounts of this ‘stand’ were from Native Americans. They said the soldiers fought courageously to the end.

The stones mark where some of them fell. It’s not widely known that Custer’s brother fought and died by his side.

Only a single, badly wounded horse survived from Custer’s batallion. Oh, I know some of you will be more concerned about the horse so I can tell you it subsequently lived a long life and was a bit of a celebrity horse.

Personally, I would like to have seen the horse’s head stuffed and on the wall in a ”historical’ bar I could visit. Wouldn’t that be great? Susan would disapprove.

The outcome of the battle, though it proved to be the height of Indian power, so stunned and enraged white Americans that government troops flooded the area, forcing the Indians to surrender.

Here’s a photo of the memorial stone at the 7th Army mass grave. Over 200 soldiers and scouts from at the ‘Last Stand’ lie here. Custer was reinterred at West Point Cemetery.

Let’s not forget Native Americans who died that day protecting their families, their freedom and their way of life.

Indian battle memorial outlook looking up to the mass grave of the 7th Cavalry.

Historians debate the pre-European population of North America and whilst disease and famine played a significant role, the American Indian Wars fought by European colonial empires against various Indian tribes has been characterised as genocide.

By the close of the Indian Wars in the late 19th century, fewer than 238,000 indigenous people remained. A sharp decline from the estimated 5 million to 10 million living in North America when Columbus arrived in 1492.

This was done in the name of civilization?

‘When we show our respect for other living things, they respond with respect for us’.

Arapaho Proverb.

Spanner In The Works

After wa-Ha-ka and Puebla we headed towards Mehico City.

What’s that I hear you say? I’ve rushed passed Puebla without saying very much? Well there isn’t much I actually want to tell you.

Okay then, here’s a photo of a cathedral. It’s pretty impressive because when they first started building it they thought Puebla was going to be the capital of Mexico and so the cathedral had to be a suitable size and quality.

That’s enough about Puebla, let’s move on.

What do you mean you think I’m holding out on you? I’m a pretty straightforward guy and I would never hold out on you?

The only other Puebla story I have is technical and you would be bored.

Here’s another Puebla church at night.

Oh come on, let me move on from Puebla. Let’s talk about fun times in Mehico City.

Surely, you don’t really want another technical story about a motorcycle? Surely, you’ve had enough after the clutch saga?

Sigh! Okay, okay I hear you!

Let me tell you about a day that started pleasantly and went so far downhill it quickly became one of my most stressful days of the trip. I really didn’t want to talk about this!!

We were in a nice hotel in Puebla with a parking garage under the room.

What a nice arrangement and so I thought I would take advantage of this facility and try to get my auxillary lights working – they’ve been kaput since Josias half fixed the clutch.

Now this is another story where I pass on a little bit of education to you. Today’s learning point is ‘never give an idiot a spanner’.

On this occasion, an Idiot opened the battery compartment and noticed the battery had been installed the wrong way round.

I won’t get too technical as the Idiot would just confuse himself. However, to be brief, the red ‘button’ was wired to the negative terminal of the battery and it should be positive.

That’s when the Idiot got a little bit of knowledge from Mr Google and read that it could be damaging the battery, the bike electrics and a critical failure could be imminent.

What do you do? Nothing? Something?

The Idiot consulted with his ‘Sage Advisor’ who kind of agreed that something should be done.

At this point, the ‘Sage Advisor’, the only sensible control the Idiot had, was actually agreeing with him.

At that point, the situation was fu**ed!

And so the Idiot picked up a spanner.

A few minutes later the battery was installed the right way round. Everything looked good. Now switch on the power.

Nothing. Dead as a donkey.

The Idiot’s heart sank. His legs felt like jelly. Breathe Idiot. Breathe.

Tomorrow we’re booked out of this hotel and into an Airbnb in Mehico City. We need an early start for the traffic chaos. We can’t have a problem at 1230hrs, the day before we leave. We can’t.

We have!

Breathe.

Let’s change it back to what it was like before. It was working before. The Idiot shouldn’t have touched it.

Breathe.

The Idiot and the spanner set to work again.

It’s ready. Breathe. Now switch on the power.

Nothing. Dead as a donkey.

Legs wobbling, breathing stopped.

Press the power button again. Again! Again! AGAIN!!! AGAIN!!

Jeeeeeeeezo!

Take a walk. Breathe. Just breathe and think. Breathe.

A few minutes later the Idiot briefs the ‘Sage Advisor’. There’s no recriminations, there’s no rolling of the eyes like you’re doing just now. The ‘Sage Advisor’ was calm.

Only the Idiot was panicking.

Breathe Idiot. Breathe.

Now to give the Idiot his due he accepted he was already well past the limits of his ability. Oh yes, he could consult Mr Google and look for a solution, cry and wring his hands, contemplate solutions and fall into self recriminations or…….

…… the Idiot could get a grip and put a plan into action.

The Idiot needed an expert.

The Idiot became an example of perpetual motion. Unstoppable today.

Within 10 minutes he was in a taxi to a BMW motorcycle dealer.

Within 70 minutes, he was in Carlos’s truck with the motorcycle on the back.

Within 90 minutes the bike was in the BMW garage.

The service manager said they would look at it tomorrow.

Carlos, a billingual Mexican, helped with the interpretation and there was only going to be one outcome – the bike was wheeled into the workshop.

Perpetual motion. Unstoppable.

The mechanics looked over the bike and the cause of the problem was quickly found. Yes it’s what we thought all along – it was the Idiot’s fault!

Whilst the battery was in the wrong way round and the red ‘button’ was indeed negative when it should be positive, Josias had also changed around the wiring looms. Everything looked wrong but it worked right.

Idiot with a spanner changed all that and blew the main bike fuse.

Did the garage have a replacement 50 amp fuse? After all we’re in a garage full of motorcycles exactly the same model. Of course, they didn’t! It’s Mehico after all.

Idiot gives the mechanics a great laugh when he told them to take one from another bike.

Oh they laughed out loud. Idiot laughed. Then they realised Idiot was serious. They shuffled hesitantly to stand protectively in front of their spanners.

With one mechanic guarding the spanners , the other chap found a 60 amp fuse. Not the same but it would do. We had a solution.

The fuse was installed, the bike sprang to life and everything was going to be alright.

There was no charge for their work. Nice. BMW looking after travellers yet again.

For me, Carlos, was the real star of the day. An independent breakdown guy who was on hand within the hour to help. He now keeps in touch via WhatsApp. Muchas gracias Carlos.

Tomorrow we can ride for CDMX.

Unstoppable today.

Welcome To Mehico

That’s how we pronounce it.

Just giving you a little bit of language tuition at no cost. No need to thank me, I know you’re grateful when I share.

Our first stop in Mehico was Tapachula. We soon recognised there were security issues in the area because we were processed through more than 25 paramilitary checkpoints.

In this area, the UK Govt. advises against all but essential travel and the US Govt advises against travel due to risks of crime and kidnapping.

Our travel in this area could be considered ‘essential’ as we were obliged to ride up and down the ‘danger’ area to reach the alternative border for our bike import permit. Thanks Mehico!

At each checkpoint we’re slowed by ‘topes’ which are suspension killing speed bumps. The topes in Central America are monstrous and regularly scrape the protective guard on the bottom of the bike engine. They’re deadly and you go slow, very slow, for a tope.

They even have topes on dual carriageways with no highlighted markings. They’ look just like a normal road surface from a distance – try seeing them when travelling at 80kmph!

The security checkpoints are staffed by military guys with machine guns. Often there’s also a chap pointing a hefty mounted machine gun at us. It all feels very intimidating and not safe.

I appreciate it’s better to have security than not and they rarely stop us. If they do I think it’s usually out of curiosity and after producing our documents and a cursory search we’re on our way.

From Tepachula we did some long days on the bike. The roads are better in Mehico and we rolled along nicely.

The road from Tehuantepec towards Oaxca was a stunning motorcycle road. 170km of motorcycle heaven over mountains, climbing over 10,000 feet with 54 bridges and 12 tunnels. Hardly a straight in sight and an average speed of about 55mph if you’re not faint hearted.

The road was only fully opened earlier this year and it’s wonderful. Perhaps the best motorcycle road I’ve ever ridden and all credit to Susan for taking it all in her stride. She’s as awesome as the road.

We reached Oaxaca. Now that’s pronounced wa-HA-ka. Again I’m happy to pass on my knowledge of Spanish. When a friend gains from my knowledge it’s no loss.

wa-HA-ka is recognised as the food capital of Mehico. That nicely brings us to the point where I’ve said too much and it’s time for a photo.

Yes, I know you expected a photo of food but you shouldn’t expect the expected. It’s a photo of a wa-HA-ka street.

Okay, here’s something better. It’s me with a 950ml bottle of beer. Doesn’t get much better than that! The beer I’m talking about, the beer!

You want more? Here’s Susan with a tiny glass of beer.

Now that’s not so good! The beer I’m talking about, the tiny glass of beer!

What else can I show you?

How about a mural or two?

Yes, yes all very nice but I know what you’re really thinking? ‘Come on Clif it was Easter weekend when you were in wa-HA-ka and we want to see a guy with a cross’.

Okay here’s a guy in the ‘Silent Procession’. Susan loved it but I found the whole ‘silent’ thing a bit of a challenge.

Here’s some more silent people. Shhhh shhh!

And while we’re being religious on what was Easter weekend, how about if I throw in a 16th century Spanish Cathedral.

Oh I did mention food, didnt I?

Here’s lovely shin of beef in the famous mole poblano. Mole is a big deal in this part of the world. Some are reasonable, some are a bit too sweet for my liking. The mole poblano is fine.

Now I’m going to ask you a history question – who’s this guy?

Well of course, this is Pancho Villa. I’m sure you will have heard of him but let me add a little background.

Pancho is considered to be one of the most widely known Mehicans of all time throughout the world. If I told you who the other top famous Mehicans were there’s a good chance you wouldn’t have heard of any of them.

Okay, okay I will give you Carlos Santana but I’m certainly NOT going to allow you Salma Hayek!

Pancho is seen as a Robin Hood, bandit, killer and, since 1812, is the only foreigner to have actually invaded and attacked USA. He was a key figure in the Mehico Revolution 1910 – 1920.

The President, Porfirio Diaz, ruled as dictator between 1876 and 1911. His time in power ended decades of economic stagnation and, even today, Mexicans recognise his achievements for Mehico in terms of the economy, transport and infrastructure. However, as is usual with dictators, corruption and power got to his head and despite promising democracy he reneged.

Pancho Villa, a General with his own small army, aligned himself to the uprising against Porfirio and after a stramash or two, a new president was installed. He didn’t last long and what followed thereafter was years of armed conflict and changing heads of state.

Now the first casualty of war is truth and Pancho reportedly signed an exclusive contract with a leading American newsreel company in 1914. Hollywood, not far from the border where most of the stramashes were occurring, came to Mehico.

Newsreels were a coming force and cinemas were growing rapidly in popularity. There were obvious advantages in controlling the way in which these newsreels portrayed the revolution and Pancho himself. In this way, Hollywood helped finance Pancho, his army and the revolution.

Pancho even starred in a 1914 silent movie titled ‘The Life of General Villa’ shot on location during the civil war, incorporating authentic footage from real battles. This movie has since been lost but the making of this movie was dramatised in the movie titled ‘And Starring Pancho Villa as Himself’ (2003) with Antonio Banderas.

Pancho was a brutal character and although he semi retired from politics to his ranch, his enemies eventually came calling and in 1923 he was ambushed in his car. Seven gunmen fired 40 dumdum bullets (usually used on elephants) into his car hitting Pancho seven times. He died at the age of 45.

Now that’s Pancho and the Mehican revolution. It took many years for him to be regarded as a ‘hero’ of the revolution but today, on balance, he’s better regarded than he once was. As they say ‘history is written by the victors’ or I suppose we could say, in this case, perhaps history was written by Hollywood.

So let’s now fast forward. Zoom zoom. We moved on from wa-HA-ka to Puebla and did you know the first shots of the revolution were fired in Puebla? Of course you didn’t and, as I always say, ‘a good friend teaches you something’.

Here’s the damage.

This was the home of the Seridan family and it’s now known as the Museum of the Revolution. Aquiles Seridan was a ‘revolutionary’ who opposed Porfirio Diaz and his house was stormed by the police and he was killed. The Mehican Revolution had begun.

Let’s finish with something more cheerful. It’s party time in Puebla and my friends are dancing.

Viva Mehico!

The Friday Of Sorrows

Today we were leaving El Salvador and heading for Antigua, Guatemala. A reasonable 160 miles, crossing the border at Las Chinimas.

The roads are in relatively poor state, single carraigeway with many slow moving heavy vehicles. Our average speed was about 35mph and it took us just over two hours to travel 65 miles to the border.

The border crossing was a mix of experiences. Leaving El Salvador was easy and entering Guatemala was a pain. In Guatemala I had to stand at an outside counter for over an hour adjacent to workmen using a Stihl saw to cut concrete. The screaming, screeching noise was relentless.

I also got fleeced for $16 for the bike import permit. I was told to go to a money changer to convert dollars into quetzals to pay into the customs bank. More tariffs for poor motorcycle travellers – get them Donald, get them!

We were a bit frazzled after the border and heading towards the outskirts of Guatemala City en route to Antigua.

It was the Friday before Palm Sunday and this day is ‘The Friday of Sorrows’. This is the day set aside to honour the Virgin Mary. I just add that in case you were wondering.

In this part of the world, this time of the year is very important to most people. In this part of the world, ‘The Friday of Sorrows’ was an apt summary of our day.

So there we were on the road on a day when everyone appeared to be on the road. They had obviously decided to respect the Virgin Mary by going for a run in their car or clapped out lorry.

The roads were a new level of chaos.

Our average speed dropped to 20mph and we relied on Waze navigation to get around some deadlocked roads. Waze is a nightmare at the best of times and Waze on ‘The Friday of Sorrows’ was hell.

I won’t go into the dead ends and blocked roads we encountered, the times we struggled, the times we crumbled – it was one of the most exhausting, frustrating, confidence sapping experiences on the bike we have had in the whole of the Americas to date.

Forty miles and an estimated three hours to our destination, we reached the bottom of a very steep mountain with hairpin after hairpin bend. There’s nothing as bad in the UK.

The long line of vehicles went as far as the eye could see and they were crawling up, almost at a standstill.

As I’ve mentioned before some of the old heavy lorries are at 2mph on these roads and it’s sometimes difficult to see if they’re actually moving.

Now, on level roads in traffic we can go as slow as 3mph as long as Susan doesn’t wiggle. However, on a very steep incline we have to at least maintain 7-8 mph. I could explain why but I expect you don’t care about the details so I will move on.

Stopping suddenly on a steep incline with a bad road camber means there’s a possibility Susan will use up another BOom BOom jacket gas cannister and at ÂŁ100 a time we don’t want that!

However, once we reach the back of the line of traffic we stop. It’s really not a nice place to be.

I recognise the gradient is too steep to start with our heavily laden bike. Yes, I can give it a go but in a couple of metres I have to do it again, and again, as I catch the back of the slow moving line of traffic. I really don’t want to fry another clutch.

There’s only one option when you have a heavy load. You ditch the cargo. We’ve all seen it in the movies – picture the scenario, the plane is going down and they have to throw the gold out to gain height to clear the mountain range.

Well that was exactly my position!

I was immensely pleased with my strong leadership qualities for I didn’t hesitate to discharge my precious cargo – ‘Susan you will have to get off!’

Susan didn’t hesitate and jumped off. As we like to say in football parlance – ‘she took one for the team’.

Susan started walking up the side of the mountain, up the side of the road with no pavement. It was unbearablly hot and the slow moving passing heavies were spewing thick oily black fumes.

What did I do? Well, I’m now the pilot with a light plane and I’m able to shoot up the mountain, make a few scary overtakes and forge ahead.

Now this is when I arrive at the same situation as my story in South America when I leftt Susan to walk up a snowy mountain. Today there were remarkable parallels.

After half a mile my helmet intercom makes a certain noise to say it’s lost contact with Susan. I can’t stop. There’s nowhere to stop and so I push on.

I soon come to an area where the incline is less and I know I have to stop. Susan is being left far too far behind. The bike is on the edge of the carraigeway and I’m causing chaos, partially blocking the road.

I wait.

I wait.

15 minutes.

I know she will have taken off her ‘hat’ and so even when the intercom now tells me with a certain tone that she’s within range, I still can’t speak to her.

Then I hear her shout.

I don’t know what’s happening. I genuinely think she’s been hit by a passing truck or bus.

Let me paint a picture – if a passing truck or bus stays on our side of the road they will pass within a foot or less of Susan. With the oncoming traffic they have problems pulling out to give her space. It’s that bloody tight.

So what do I do?

I shout into the intercom. No answer.

I decide to abandon the bike in its precarious position with everything we currently have and walk down the bloody mountain.

I shout again into the intercom.

I walk.

Then she answers – she’s fine! She’s still walking. She’d been shouting at a bus that had come too close.

Another 15 minutes later she reaches me.

Oh, she looks hot! No,no no! Not like that hot! I mean tomato heid hot!

It’s not a pretty sight but I take a diplomatic decision at this time not to tell her – ‘you’re doing great’ I say. That’s good leadership – sometimes you shouldn’t tell your team mate they look like their heid is about to explode.

She looks ahead of me and the parked bike. The road goes up like a rollercoaster and takes an unimaginable sharp hairpin. Susan knows what’s going to happen next.

‘Shall I keep walking?’ ‘Yes I think you’ve got to’ I reply.

I wait for a space in the traffic. I move the bike to the middle of the road. I wait. I block the traffic behind. I wait. I wait until I have enough clear road ahead that I can take a run at the corner.

Thankfully, the drivers behind are calm. They will be taking in the scene of a guy on a bike and a hot headed woman with a heid about to explode walking up the mountain. I’m sure it is better viewing than Guatemalan telly!

So off I go. Zoom, zoom around the oh so very steep hairpin. Hot heid is left walking behind.

I stop after a quarter of a mile and wait where I again really shouldn’t be waiting. Hot heid eventually arrives. She’s absolutely knackered.

‘Shall I keep walking?’ she asks. ‘I’m fine’.

Now under extreme pressure I remain diplomatic. She doesn’t look fine! But I say nothing! What a guy I am when I’m operating under pressure.

‘No, its okay’ I reassure her. This could go on for ever as we didn’t know where the summit was. As we were now on a slightly less steep area before a very bad hairpin it was time to give it a run.

Hot heid got on and I blocked the traffic. I waited. I waited. When I think I’ve left enough space ahead and eroded the patience of the drivers behind I go.

I could only see as far as the next upward hairpin, probably about 100 meters and I maintained 8mph. A steady 8mph. The queued traffic rolled behind me.

Why was I going so slow? Well the slower I went the longer it took me to catch up with the heavies ahead. With luck we would clear the top before we reached the end of the next tailback.

What a plan. And it worked!

Next mountain I did the same. Next hill, I did the same. I caused frustration but I kept moving, 8mph moving. Cars that did manage to overtake me, in the face of relentless oncoming traffic, just caught up with the 4mph queue ahead.

Later, I made overtakes that I really shouldn’t have. Susan remains calm and doesn’t take me to task. I put such overtakes into one of two categories – ‘I would do that again’ and ‘I wouldn’t do that again’.

Today’s overtakes were in the category ‘I would do that again’. We just had to get moving and get out of this absolute chaos.

Now there’s more to this story to tell but I think I’ve told enough. Unfortunately, I didn’t have the 360 camera on the bike as we were crossing a border and had to leave the bike unattended. So no photos. Anyway I wouldn’t want you to see a photo of Susan – she still thinks she looked fine.

We reached our destination, Antigua, checked in, and parked the bike in the hotel garage. That’s yet another story I could tell involving ‘nick nack’ (there’s a movie reference for you) but I’ve said too much already.

At last here’s a photo. There’s Susan at the door of our room. I’ve made sure she’s in shadow so you can’t see her hot heid. I’m doing yourself a favour and it’s no problem. Thank me later.

We were a bit shell shocked by the time we arrived at our hotel. Genuinely, it was that difficult. So we had a shower, put on our least smelly clothes and ended our ‘Friday Of Sorrows’ in the best place possible. Salud.

Nightmare In Nicaragua 5

Okay, I’m happy – if you don’t count the add on movies we’ve matched Rocky 5.

So where were we?

Oh yes, the melodramatic Susan has just fainted on a motorcycle moving at 55mph on the Nicaraguan highway.

Be calm. Just be calm whilst I tell you what a hero I was – nobody falls off my bike unless I’m falling off myself!

So when I felt Susan’s head keep hitting my back I immediately knew what was happening. I shouted

‘Susan, Susan!’

I reach around and hold her with my left arm. I’m now riding one handed. No problem if you’re going straight. Big problem if you want to pull in to a very narrow hard shoulder with wasteland next to it.

I had to get her to sit up.

‘Susan’ I shout again.

Finally, I hear ‘whaaaaaaaaaaat’

‘You’ve fainted’

‘whaaaaaaaaaat’

Then, ‘have I?’

‘Sit up’, ‘SIT UP’ ‘YOU NEED TO SIT UP!’

I feel her sitting up, I let her go and steer the bike into the side. We’re right on the edge of the paved road and only just off the main carraigeway. Heavy vehicles thunder passed.

I try to put the side stand down. I can’t. The camber on the road is too high and the bike stand is too close to the ground. Susan has to get off.

‘You have to get OFF!’

‘mmm mmumble’

‘I can’t’

‘GET OFF THE BIKE!’

She has to get off the bike so I can pull the stand down and get off the bike myself. We’re stuck until she does.

Slowly, very slowly she gets off the bike and I get the stand down.

We’re in the middle of nowhere.

I get Susan out of her jacket, hat and BOom BOom vest, give her water and I lie her down in the leaves with my gloves as her pillow.

Twenty minutes later she sits up.

I know you want a photo so paparazzi Clif steps up. I’m sorry I’m only pandering to my audience and you’re my audience. It’s essentially your fault I take photos of Susan in her times of desperation. You should be ashamed of your behaviour!

Now I took two photos. The first one she looked awful. So I asked her to smile. Here is the second photo.

After 30 minutes she tries to get back on the bike.

She has two failed attempts – each time the jacket and helmet go on she falters, feels sick and lies down.

I strap the BOom BOom jacket to the bike. I strap her jacket to the bike. I pack her leather gloves.

Less safe on the bike with less protection. More safe on the bike being cooler.

At this point Susan decides to take my initiative to the next level – she wants her pants off!

Jeezo Susan!

Let me explain. Underneath Susan’s goretex double lined trousers she wears motorcycle lycra short pants with thick padding on the hips. Just in case we fall to the ground.

She decides she wants them off!

Jeezoooo Susan!

Now I’m a caring guy but this is not the place to take your trousers off. Anything could be lying under that straw and leaf stuff.

But she wants them off and who am I to say no to an irrational hot headed woman?

So I kneel and take off her boots.

I kneel and pull down her trousers. No easy task when they’re double lined and she’s behaving like she’s a rag doll.

Then I pull down the padded shorts!

Now I know exactly what you’re thinking – you’re thinking ‘oh paparazzi Clif I wish you hadn’t been so busy saving Susan that you had time to take a photo of this scene!

Well I was too bloody busy saving Susan and you should be bloody ashamed of yourself for thinking I would stop my rescue to take a photo for your salacious pleasure!

It’s just as well then I have a 360 degree camera on the bike that never sleeps!!!

Here’s Susan relaxing.

Here’s Susan with her personal man servant.

By the time I got Susan dressed again I was done.

As you can see I’m still wearing BOom BOom and everything else. I was so exhausted I had to sit. I felt this situation was getting away from us.

There we were sitting amongst the leaves and the snakes and the 40c. She’s done. I’m done saving her from being completely done.

So what’s next? Well the only thing you can do is keep on going.

So I get up and on the fifth attempt I got Susan on the bike minus jacket and BOom BOom and the rest.

My focus and concentration come back once I’m on the bike. It’s probably the thought of a beer at the end of the day that kicks in and pushes me on.

A few miles later we reach Leon, straight into the market square and chaos. People, kids, donkeys, market stalls, scooters, trucks all over the place. Chaos.

I get Susan off and walking. I just can’t afford to risk dropping her off the bike. Not today.

I ride through chaos and multiple near misses. At least if the bike goes down it’s only me.

We clear the market square and Susan gets back on the bike and we complete the last half mile to the hotel. I half abandon the bike on the road and get Susan into reception.

When I get into reception I could see the concern the staff have when they’re looking at Susan. They’ve given her a glass of water. They don’t realise that when you give Susan water in these situations you almost shout at her to drink it.

She sips. ‘thats enough’. I shout. She drinks a bit more. I don’t shout loudly but I’m quite clear – ‘drink the bl**dy water!’

Oh, I get many a glower every single day! But there’s an understanding – she knows I’m right!

I bring in the first pannier. Each one is heavy unit. Today I’m struggling. I’ve got tightness across my chest. I think it stems from my bruised ribs when I fell off and impersonated ‘humpty dumpty’. It might be a heart attack. Well, I am a bit of a drama queen and it’s about time it was all about me again.

After five minutes I go back out to the street and get the next pannier. I then sit and rest until the tightness recedes. I go and get the third pannier. I sit and rest until the tightness recedes.

We check in.

Susan’s looking a bit better and she takes the key and the helmets to the room. ‘Come back and get the jackets, I will get the rest’.

I wait with the receptionist. I wait some more.

Susan doesn’t come back.

After 15 minutes waiting I smile and say to the receptionist ‘I don’t think she’s coming back to help?’. ‘No sir, I really don’t think so’.

It’s okay, it’s okay, she was fine. Susan just decided it was much nicer to lie on a bed than help me.

That’s fair.

One at a time I get the panniers to the upstairs room. It had to be upstairs. The maid helped me. I needed help from a maid. That’s when you know things are tough! The maid couldn’t actually lift the pannier and so she just dragged it along the tiled floor.

When I eventually get to the room with the luggage, Susan’s having a nice sleep. It amazes me how she can relax when she’s worried about how I’m coping.

I have a cold shower and get dressed. Remember the bike is half abandoned on the road outside.

The hotel has an adjacent garage and, as usual in this part of the world, negotiating the entrance on a large bike isn’t easy. There’s a narrow door, a very tight left turn and a five inch kerb. You need precision and speed. These are skills that I’m struggling to bring to bear at this time of this day.

I’m manoeuvring into a position where I can give it laldy when a guy on a small motorbike with girl pillion speeds up the road, doesn’t slow and impatiently sounds his horn. They all kind of do that bullying driving and riding in Nicaragua. It’s their way.

I lit up Leon with my ‘colourful’ shouting. The rider got such a fright he nearly lost control. Sorry impatient motorcyclist but you just picked on the wrong guy at absolutely the wrong time.

So is that the end of Nightmare in Nicaragua?

Well yes it is, I’m not going to go for 6 to beat Rocky.

After a wee sleep, Susan was feeling better. She refused a cold shower that would do her the world of good and I didn’t have the energy to moan.

We walked into town and sat at the rooftop bar. Is there a better way to end a story than a photo of a bottle of beer?

Of course there isn’t!

Nightmare In Nicaragua 4

Now Susan calls me Contingency Clif because I’ve always got back up plans. She actually calls me a lot more than that but that’s not relevant to this blog.

So when Josias and I stepped off the bike and I said ‘esta jodido’ I already had back up plans. It certainly wasn’t going back to granny! One of these options was to get back to Panama, come home and start again in 2026. Yes, Susan had agreed to that if necessary.

However, Josias stepped up, used my spanner and released some fluid from the clutch. We both tested the bike and it appeared fine. Hallefuckinglujah!

We parted ways. Josias said he found me ‘frightening’ and I was surprised – he didn’t actually see that side of me. I told him he was a nightmare to deal with. He told me he really liked me. I told him he was a nice guy but a nightmare. Oh, we had a pleasant goodbye.

As a footnote to this relationship, Josias has since said he would like to visit me in Scotland and ride motorcycles. He was serious. So if any of you have vehicle repairs needing attended please let me know and we can sponsor him and granny.

Photo time to break up the narrative. The bike is ready to leave. I’m starving (no breakfast), sweating and a bit of an emotional wreck after the last few hours. Please don’t zoom in on Susan as she’s got some maple syrup on her chin from her lovely pancake breakfast. How the privileged live!

Off we go to Leon. Bike repaired. It’s only a two hour ride as well. Sweet!

‘Oh, come on Clif’ I hear you moaning! ‘You’ve strung us along with this Nighmare 1,2 and 3 and suddenly it’s all going swimmingly’. ‘You’re a fraud’. You’re just like the Rocky movies. You’re milking it when you actually have nothing more to say!

Well, it was going swimmingly until I felt uncomfortable with the clutch. It just wasn’t right. I was tender with it as tender as I could be. The old clutch massager was back in action.

Oh, I know you’re tired of clutch this, clutch that!

I appreciate that and let me tell you that Nighmare 4 isn’t really about the clutch. The clutch only has a bit part role in this sequel.

Oh, you’re listening now aren’t you?

Well let me explain. It’s 40c. It’s hotter than a pizza oven.

You know what’s coming don’t you?

Who doesn’t like pizza oven temperatures? Well, we all know Pancake Susan doesn’t!!

There I am massaging the clutch when I hear in the intercom ‘if you see a garage can we stop’. ‘Yes, but there’s no garages about here’ I reply.

We’re in the Nicaraguan countryside and it’s pizza oven hot with no shade. Let me assure you, this isn’t North Berwick on a nice sunny day! This was Nicaragua, in the middle of nowhere, jungle all around, hostile and did I mention it was pizza oven hot?

It was at this moment, Susan decided to make it all about her.

So you remember the earlier story when Susan got so hot she could only see white light?

‘Oh, yes Clif we’ve heard that story before – don’t tell me she’s at it again?’

Well, we had none of that white light nonsense this time. She bypassed all that!

For at 55mph on the Nicaraguan highway she fainted!

No melodrama. No swooning. No moaning about the heat.

Just ‘thump’.

That’s the ‘thump’ from her head hitting me on the back.

‘Thump’ that’s her head hitting me for a second time further down my back.

She’s coming off.

At 55mph on the Nicaraguan highway.

Welcome to Nightmare 5.

Nightmare In Nicaragua 3

Next morning I waited for a text from Josias – I needed reassurance granny wasn’t off with my bike.

Susan and I discussed and made a plan. We decided if I didn’t hear by lunchtime I would text him. At 10am I broke and sent him a message – ‘Hola Josias, como esta mi moto’.

Yup, our plan was ‘oot the windae’. It failed on first contact with my nerves.

Uppermost in my mind was you lot – oh yes, I could already hear you laughing at me being robbed by Jesus and his granny.

I had pinned the location of granny on Google Maps. Yeah, yeah, I’m not so daft. Well, maybe I am but at least I knew where granny lived – I had a big red heart (favourite) on my Managua Google map labelled ‘Granny’.

Thankfully, Josias soon replied and I didn’t have to follow that red heart to granny. What a relief!!

Josias explained the clutch was finished and he sent a photo of the bike. Thank goodness granny doesn’t have carpet.

And here’s the burnt out clutch plates or ‘discos’ as we call them in this part of the world.

We needed a new set of ‘discos’. Big problem – nowhere in Central America has these ‘discos’. Nowhere. We were in a disco desert.

Two days later, we sourced discos in Connecticut, USA, and arranged for them to be shipped via Miami. It would take a week. That’s the best we could do.

The Nicaraguan shipping agent was a nice guy and very helpful. He had a warehouse and he shipped things. He bought the discos from USA and then sold them to me on arrival for cash. It was a reasonable deal.

Before I go any further, I should add some context because I know a few intelligent people read these stories and will be shouting ‘didyounotthinkabout….. etc etc.’ That’s how intelligent people think – they call it joined up thinking.

I tried BMW garages in Guatemala, El Salvador and Costa Rica. They all replied it would be a month to source the ‘discos’ and if they’re saying a month then that’s best case scenario.

Going back to Costa Rica would have meant our visa for Honduras would expire and that’s us finished if we can’t pass through Honduras. Transporting a broken bike across borders with no guarantee it would get fixed would be another problem altogether.

So now we waited.

We were in a nice hostel with nice friendly people. I mean very friendly people. It was a hostel and so like South American hostels there were a lot of young ‘backpackers’. We were all very cool.

Unfortunately, although our room was comfortable, it looks like a jail cell.

Fortunately, it had a nice area outside where hostel cool people can chill, talk about ‘discos’ and do their ‘yard time’.

Unfortunately, there’s not much to do in Managua. It’s safe enough if you take a pragmatic view as to what you should do and where and when you should go. Its not a pretty place. It’s not a place for tourists.

Fortunately, there is a shopping mall down the road from our hostel.

Unfortunately, it’s a twenty minute hot, humid walk.

We walked to the mall twice a day for exercise, coffee and food.

That was about it.

We lived a simple, extraordinarily boring life waiting for the discos.

One day we walked to the market.

Another rubbish market in another rubbish city. They’re all over the world and only Tic Toc people and Instagrammers find them fascinating. I’d like to put these markets into some context though – they’re still better than Benidorm!

On the way to the market we passed through a neighbourhood we shouldn’t be in. I saw a teaspoon of white powder being passed through a grill in a door. Yup, it could have been sugar for his tea. Just didn’t get the feeling it was.

So we got a taxi back.

Eventually, after being in Managua for 8 days the ‘discos’ arrived and we went with Josias to collect. Oh, I know – you want a photo and so here it is. Discos 👇

Josias took the discos and went back to granny. That was Friday lunchtime and I was hoping we might get the bike on Friday evening. Josias said we would. Excellent.

We celebrated in my favourite restaurant – beer and wings! Nice! It only has one downside – I have to sit and watch Susan’s face as she has disdainfully eats the food. She puts up with it because her life is all about putting up with me. Life can’t always be about hummus, pitta bread and veggies – sometimes life is beer and battered wings. As Oasis once said ‘you’ve gotta roll with it’.

Late in the day, I received a text from Josias – did I have the technical manual for my bike that showed the position of the ‘discos’ within the clutch?

Oh, my legs crumbled and I whimpered.

After a week waiting for the ‘discos’ he was now asking me for the technical installation details.

Be calm, Clif. Be calm! Granny has your bike hostage. Be calm!

Thirty minutes later I sent him 6 photos from the appropriate technical manual downloaded from the internet.

I crumble, I whimper, I rise. Honestly, somtimes I’m immense! I’m sorry I’ve got to say that but if I don’t say that it goes unspoken. And we wouldn’t want my immenseness to go unrecognised would we? Would we?

Now, Josias is a lovely guy but he just can’t deliver. Oh yes, I know we’ve all worked with these type. As a manager would say ‘he’s not task orientated’. Of course, the other side of that Myers Briggs coin is empathy. Well I can tell you Josias was not empathetic either because he was driving me fu**ing mad!

Friday went. Saturday came and went. Sunday came.

Promise me this. I promise you that. Guarantee this, guarantee that. On and on, text after text. I just think he never sat down and worked for any length of time on the issue.

All our conversation was in Spanish. Hundreds of texts. Believe me if you’re not delivering I’m on your case. Oh, I was persistent.

By Sunday afternoon I was a bit of an expert on my motorbike clutch. I studied the manual and I watched countless videos. I honestly think I could have done the job myself.

Josias had difficulty working in the evening because granny’s leccy had been cut off so he worked by torchlight. Not that I think a lot of work was getting done.

Things were getting tense on Sunday evening. I wanted the bike that day. I was promised the bike that day.

It was about the fifth broken deadline and I went to sleep that night at midnight after failing to get Josias to deliver.

We agreed I would get the bike in the morning and Susan and I would travel onwards that day.

Josias said I was definitely getting the bike in the morning and I could pick it up at 4am if I wanted. You’ve got to laugh!

Next morning at 6am I’m on his case.

By 8am I was in a taxi to granny’s whilst Susan tucked into her nice breakfast of pancakes, syrup and fresh fruit. I know you always like to know what Susan is doing and we don’t want the blog to be all about me, me, me.

So Susan is having pancakes and I’m in a taxi to I don’t know what.

When I get to granny’s, Josias is still finishing up working on the bike. Why couldn’t this have been done before I arrived? No reason – that’s just how he is.

I didn’t take the cash to Josias to pay him. I’m not travelling to backstreet Managua with cash. I tell him he has to come to our hostel and Susan will pay. Susan looks after our dosh.

Josias jumps on the back of the bike and I test ride it to the hostel. When we get there I’m sunk. I’m finished.

The clutch is slipping!

Nightmare in Nicaragua 4 is unfolding.

And it’s perhaps the scariest yet!