Chile - Ouch

Ignoring the "No cycling "signs I rode onto the four lane expressway out of Santiago. I was worried the police would stop me, but they drove on by. Sometimes the four lanes shrunk to two so I waited for a gap in the traffic and was wearing my high vis rain jacket, I got through unscathed. So far.
After 30 miles I had escaped the city and stopped for a toilet break at a cafe. As I got back on my bike there was a bark, a snarl and a a stabbing pain in my right leg. I looked down and saw a dog with its fangs embedded in my calf. I twisted my leg and shouted. The dog let go and trotted away with its mate. At least they looked like healthy animals, but what should I do?
I resolved to ride to the next big town where I could consult Dr Google, check my vaccination record  (which was buried in my luggage) and if necessary see a real doctor. Shortly afterwards I bumped into another cyclist going my way. Actually he was riding home to San Francisco via Argentina. He  spoke fluent Spanish and got us a lift through a couple of long tunnels, the driver dropped me at a town with a hospital, and took him a lot further up the coast.
The next day I saw a pair of touring riders. Two days later they passed me in a truck, their bikes lashed to the back. I don't blame them.
The Pan American  Highway is brutal. It rolls over the foothills of the Andies for the entire length of South America. To my right I sometimes see snow covered peaks, or the profile of volcanoes, sometimes to my left I see the Pacific

Ocean. Sometimes there is an isolated cafe, rarer still a small town or city. All of the tine there is desert. Whether I enjoy the ride entirely depends on the wind direction. You crouch down into a headwind and see little and make slow progress. With a tailwind I sail along, admiring the view, doing perhaps 20mph with no effort.
The forecast is for a week of tailwinds. That should help me conquer the Atacana desert and reach Peru.

Dog bite. Fortunately the dog had a shiney coat, clear eyes and a wet nose. so little risk of rabies.

 Will - the rider from San Francisco - fixing a puncture. He also had been attacked by the dogs, but got away unscathed. 

Surfers  at Antofagasta,  I had a rest day here

 

The Pan American  Highway has a wide hard shoulder to ride on. Many  of the truck drivers say hello as they pass.

Ups and downs of North Island

Autumn reached North Island at the same time as I did. It rained for the full day in Wellington so I went to the museum which had a great mix of natural history, anthropology  and art.
I rode up the old highway . It used to be the main road but now moss grows down the centre and farmers  use it to shepherd  flocks of sheep to shearing, or mating or new pastures. This road brought me up to the historic towns of Hastings and Napier. Demolished by an earthquake in 1931 they were rebuilt in art deco style.
My plan had been to ride around the eastern most section of New Zealand, but the constant hills and a forecast  of constant rain caused me to head over the mountain pass from Gisborne to Otopiki where it was sunnier, but still hilly.
I could bleat on about the hills, but that would be boring. Instead I have written my complaint in the form of a poem - see below.
The best part of this ride was the Coromandel peninsula, a varied and volcanic landscape east of Auckland. Riding from there around the Firth of Thames was bliss. Nothing was happening, apart from nature. No industry, no farmers, no traffic, no hills, just blue sky, birdsong snd tranquillity.
Flying from New Zealand to Chile messes with your brain. I took off on saturday evening, spent a night on the plane then immediately  arrived in Santiago on saturday afternoon. Crossing the dateline is weird, and my diary only has one space for saturday 16th.
The rain is lashing down in Chile, causing much flooding. There is snow on the mountains. I only planned my ride as far as New Zealand, I thought it would be presumptuous to plan this far ahead. All I know is that I must ride northwards, into the sun, into the summer, into the Andes.

Poem:                     So Inclined 
From coastal town to coastal town,
how can you ride more up than down?
You climb and climb and climb some more,
surely this breaks some geographical law.

Some times  when you reach a crest
you stop and eat and drink and rest,
Back on the bike for a flatter section
then the road resumes its upward direction.

 A loggers truck is caught behind,
down to first and to a grind.
Then acrid smell of burning clutch,
for this monster the climb's too much.

Looking down, past forest green,
a rail track meanders serene,
from whence you've come to where you're aiming at,
the train finds a route that's flat.

This road builder checked his map a lot,
joining hilltop to top in a dot to dot.
A rider doesn't mind an honest hill,
but twenty or thirty is a bitter pill.

A secret thought between the two of us,
maybe I'll stop and catch a bus.
But I can't have that attitude,
in the Andes altitude.

1280 sheep, the farmer told me.

Nightine in Napier, art deco capital of the southern  hemisphere

Men fishing for flounder in the Firth of Thames

The beach was mainly made from shells

 

New Zealand South Island

Imagine the most scenic parts of rural Britain stiched together into one glorious  patchwork. Make the mountains three times as high and the lakes twice as blue. Raise the temperature by a few degrees, reduce the population by ninety eight percent and you have created the south island of New Zealand.
However my first impressions were unfavourable. Christchurch is still a mess of building sites five years after it's big earthquake. Riding up to the Southern  Alps I saw six cycle tourists (in my four weeks in Australia I only saw five) and my first view of Lake Tekapo was through throngs of Asian tourists. I quickly rode on to the next lake - beside which was free camping - only to find the site filled with fifty camper vans lined up along the shore. New Zealand felt like a theme park.
However the next day I had the best day's riding ever. Following the "Alps to Ocean" cycle trail I escaped the tourists and found the stunning Lake Ohau, with a flat, fast, flowing path tracking it's southern edge. Then a climb and descent gave big views over the mountain ranges. (See pic. 1).
South Island is very hilly. On one descent I hit 83 kph (52 mph).  The bike felt rock steady. The flat Otago Central Rail Trail is very popular. I was tempted to wild camp there but it is illegal throughout New Zealand now, the fine is $200 (£100)  so I prefer to stay at small official sites with just a few other campers. Even bettér is to stay with a local. A lovely couple from Dunedin offered to put me up, but it wasn't on my route. Instead I stayed  with a friend of a friend who is a legend in the area for his hospitality to travellers.
My plans to ride up the west coast were blown away by the forecast of storms. So I headed north by a more sheltered route, determined to do one big cycle trail before leaving South Island. My preferred path was closed as recent rain had caused landslides so I opted for the 120 mile Molesworth Muster Trail without doing any research on it.
Isolation  is a double edged emotion. High on the old cattle drovers track I enjoyed being in the midst of a vast mountain wildnerness. The sky was blue, the route was clear, what could possibly go wrong? I ate my lunch at the official campsite then set off for another camping ground I had been told about. Soon grey clouds covered the peaks and the forecast tail wind was actually a head wind, the weather forecast wasn't right. I didn't want to be trapped up here in a storm. I rode and rode but there was no campsite, no houses, no other vehicles.  I felt very isolated. As it grew dark I found a farmstead and knocked on the door, the lights were on but there was no reply. At the next farmstead I could see the occupants cooking supper. I asked if I could camp in their field, she replied, "No, you can stay in our cottage ". It was the loveliest old road builders house with bedroom, bathroom and kitchen. Due to ravanous hunger I ate virtually all my food for dinner and breakfast, There was bound to be somewhere to eat in the 40 miles to the nearest town. There wasn't, just hills and headwind. In three weeks in New Zealand I have lost four kilos. Soon I'll be light enough to ride in the Tour de France.
Now I am camping in the garden of a youth hostel by the Marlborough sounds. The building  is the old school house where Lord Ernest Rutherford (the atomic bloke) went to school.  New Zealand hs retained many of many old wooden buildings from its mining and farming and pioneering  past. On the roads you see plenty of interesting old cars. People seem content with how things are and in no mad rush to embrace modernity. There is a relaxed, friendly, generous attitude. I like it here, I could live here.

The Alps to Ocean cycle track.

I have been doing a lot of camping

High in the mountains, miles from anywhere  and anyone

I was getting desperate for somewhere to stay, when a kind lady (Pip) let me stay in this cottage

New Zealand  - good for reflecting

Domesticity of a long distance cyclist

I am sitting in a shady park in Sydney. My tent and both pairs of shoes are drying over a childrens' climbing frame. Jets fly low overhead and that makes me happy.  I am near the airport, I fly to New Zealand this evening. The kiwis have strict bio security rules, so I have disinfected and washed my gear.
My route down the east coast of Australia has been mesmerising. In my last blog I wrote about the rainforests and wildlife. Since then I have travelled through unspoilt country towns then bypassed Brisbane by riding into the hills and mountains of the Great Dividing Range. This was a vast landscape of forests and pasture, almost devoid of people but loud with birds and insects. The sky was blue, the sun was hot but the land was green after recent rains. It was blissful tranquility.
I had a choice of staying on the Great Dividing Range onto the Blue Mountains, or riding by the surf beaches and over the Sydney Harbour Bridge. I chose the seaside route as a heatwave was forecast (it is 35c in the west of Sydney today). The riding was great. The coast is a patchwork of lakes, inlets, estuaries, forests and expensive seaside towns. On a ferry across one beautiful inlet I chatted to a local couple, as we disembarked they said "You've arrived, this is Sydney". Ten miles later I was crossing the iconic Harbour Bridge. Another leg over. I will be sad to leave, there is so much to do and see that I haven't seen or done.
When you are cycle touring you rarely know where you will be staying the night. In the morning the thought doesn't bother me but as the afternoon wears on it dominates my thinking. Now there are apps for a smartphone that tells you about nearby hostels and campsites. Australian camp grounds are normally quite luxurious with well equiped kitchens and covered rest areas where you can watch tv or read. My favourite have been the pubs and cafes that let you camp free in their grounds. Then I can spend the money I save on a slap up dinner.
Surprises still happen. One day I was sweltering on the road, a couple flagged me down and offered to put me up for the night, he was a Doctor and his accomadation had stunning views over the pacific.
I do miss wild camping, being next to nature is really restful and there is always the chance of seeing unusual birds or animals. On the long, multi day bike trails in New Zealand I will pitch my tent in the wilderness. Adventure awaits.

Crossing Sydney Harbour Bridge on the cycle lane

The hills behind Brisbane

Pelican feeding time, town just north of Sydney

Up Down Under

Racing pigeons on Java

Various things have broken since I last wrote: speedometer, sleeping mat, lock, my left foot. All have been easily remedied apart from the last. I thought I may have a stress fracture but Dr Google diagnosed "hot foot". Either way, it needed a rest. So I hopped onto a couple of coaches to cross Java and then rode from the eastern city of Surabaya around the coast to where I could catch a ferry to Bali (for 35p). This part of Java was a fantastic. Creeks through mangrove swamps harboured colourful wooden fishing boats, fields of chilli were flecked with reds and orange, and in paddy fields the workers waded knee deep - planting or ploughing or harvesting their crop. Farm labourers are paid about $1 per day, enough for a can of coke and packet of biscuits at local prices. The friendliness of the people combined with the lack of tourists makes Java one of my favourite places so far.



After the elbow to elbow crowds of indonesian cities riding into Cairns in north eastern Australia was like riding into a ghost town. Few people, fewer cars, no mopeds.
In the city centre a police car pulled up beside me: "Goodday mate, where's your helmet? Its a $135 fine for not wearing one." I  apologised and pulled my recently bought helmet from my luggage. Another lucky escape.

The coral and fish are only a few feet beneath the surface.

Cairns is an ideal place from which to visit the Great Barrier Reef - as it is relatively close to the shore. I did a day trip and snorkelled from a boat. The coral and fish were spectacular but my favourite were the giant clams - hideously ugly on the outside but regally decorated with purple and pearl inside. Around Cairns there are vast mountain ranges covered in pretty undisturbed rainforest, waterfalls and wierd wildlife.
It is almost 2000 miles from Cairns to Sydney via the Mountains. That is long leg on a bad foot. It hurts a little, but missing all this and not seeing New Zealand would hurt more. The road goes on and so do I. Fingers crossed for a tailwind.

I went looking for giant birds called Cassowarys, but saw
this 3 foot long monitor lizard instead.

Birdsong and insect calls are the soundtrack to my ride through tropical Australia.

Just as you would imagine. Sleepy and beautiful.

Wallabies hopping about my campsite.

Indonesian Education

I had failed to do my homework. Visa free travel to Indonesia was only possible through nine ports and airports. My route was not amongst these. I would have to pay $35 for a visa. However I had no dollars, and no way of getting dollars late on a Sunday afternoon. A website said the port would accept credit and debit cards. It didn't. I ended up stranded at the immigration desk at the Sumatran port of Dumai.
A local "fixer" said he could take me to a cash machine. Leaving everything behind I rode into Indonesia on the back of  his moped with no passport, visa or money. I don't think they would let people do that at Dover. I tried to figure out what side of the road moped man was riding on, it turned out he was riding in the shade.
After sorting out my visa predicament the fixer said his brother (actually - no relation) was an english teacher and could put me up for the night. In return I would teach Englush to his classes. It was great, we played games like hangman and "Who am I?" Even bright Indonesian teenagers did not know what / who the pope was , or who Usain Bolt is.
Incidently, teachers in Indonesia wear uniform. They have three different uniforms for different days of the week (including Saturday, but small children only do 7 - 11 each day). The end of the school day is a good time to be riding, as hordes of pupils shout "Hello mister" and smile with genuine warmth when they get a response.
Talking of warmth, it is sweltering in Sumatra, it is 30 degrees plus with humidity of about 90%. The mountainous route through the west of the island was out of the question on a heavy touring bike, I picked what looked on the map to be a flat road. It actually continually rolled over foothills for almost 500km. It was completly untouristy, there wasn't a sign when I crossed the equatior, locals stared at me for so long they almost crashed, there weren't any hotels, I stayed in cafes and a police station (normal travelling etiquette in these parts).
I was relieved to reach the city of Jambi where I could rest in a hotel. It is raining, so I am still in the hotel, sheltering from both the downpours and the incessant greetings of the locals "Hello meester, how are you?"I could tell them "I'm tired and need a rest." but they wouldn't understand.
I am half a year and half a world away.

You may recognise the teacher

Beautiful jungle in the Cameron Highlands, Malaysia

Sunnset over the Melaka Strait - separating Malaysia from Sumatra

Rolling road through the palm oil plantations of Sumatra

Thai Christmas

Riding south out of Goa it felt great to be back on my bike. In this happy state I hardly noticed the heat, humidity and hills. By the end of the second day the consequences caught up with me, my legs cramping badly in the night.
So I cut down the daily mileage and pottered from pretty beach to pretty beach. Even though it was Indian holiday season these were normally deserted. Indians don't sunbathe, they prefer the pale look (half the adverts on billboards and TV are for skin whitening products). Also, I was told, Indians like crowds, so a deserted beach stays deserted.
To fly to Thailand I had to get the train up the coast to Mumbai / Bombay. So I found a guesthouse by the sea and topped up my tan while waiting a few days for the train.
It felt weird to fly east but end up in a country as westernised as Thailand. Everywhere I looked there were 7 eleven stores and american style pick up trucks. I had to ride through the centre of Bangkok. It seems like an interesting city with its canals and street markets and buddhist temples. But it was a sunday and I didn't want to hang around to get caught by weekday traffic gridlock.
For Christmas I planned to go snorkelling in the fish filled, clear warm waters of the Andaman Sea off Thailand's south west coast. I reached the sleepy island of Koh Muk and lived in a bamboo hut for a week, snorkelling everyday.
Next I head south through Malaysia to the port of Malacca from where the ferry crosses to the Indonesian island of Sumatra. Indonesia is dauntingly long. But as the chinese proverb says "a journey of one thousand miles starts with a single pedal".

Peak season in Goa, I had this beach to myself

Nightime photo of a fire juggler in Thailand

We kayaked through a 70 metre long tunnel into the Emerald Cave

As well as seeng the cave we also kayaked to some lovely snorkelling places