Where is the best ....

Here are the answers to questions people frequently ask. If you have a question I don't answer here, either wait until we meet or ask it in the comments section below.
Where is the best place you have been?
The best place is south eastern Peru, the best city is Havana, the best country is New Zealand.
Would you do it again?
I would have to have a rest first! Seriously, there are so many intriguing places I haven't experienced and lots of places I would like to re-visit and explore more thoroughly that it is unlikely I will do another lap.
What did you miss the most?
Apart from friends and family I missed cooking curries, well stocked supermarkets, and BBC documentaries.
What was the best thing you took?
As well as my bike, which was unbelievably reliable, my favourite thing was an mp3 loaded with audiobooks. When I camped it was often impossible to read a book, with my mp3 I could listen to some Charles Dickens or Sherlock Holmes stories.
 Were you ever scared?
No. Occasionally I was worried I wouldn't find anywhere to sleep, but sonething always turned up. 
Did you get lonely?
If I spent a day or two riding with someone else, then when I rode on my own it felt a bit lonely. Also when you see wonderful things or are eating a good meal in the evening it would be good to share these things with someone else.
Hiw much did the trip cost?
The gear - bike tent etc cost about £2000 , the trip itself cost around £11,000 including flights. The taxnan will give me some money back.
Who were the most interesting people you met?
 New Zealanders, they have a different life but share the same language, and they are really kind and hospitable. In far off places I enjoyed talking to other travellers.
Has your trip changed you?
Superficially, I have lost a few kilos and gained a ton of memories, Hopefully I can emulate the kindness that is endemic through most of the world.

The world is full of kind, friendly people.

Fin done

It is great to see my family after a year and a week away. At Gatwick my first impression was that people looked glum; I suppose I was in the arrivals area where people had just returned from their holiday. I don't feel sad, there are many things for me to look forward to.
When I got to my sister's house she gave me a personalised map of the world. Once I traced my path through the twenty six countries I have ridden through it occurred to me how much of the world I have not seen yet.
Many people ask me about similar things. My last general blog will be to answer these frequently asked questions. I  will also do a quick blog to help other riders going to Cuba and also a road test on my bike.
Thank you for reading my posts. Also thank you for the encouragement, support and interest you have given me. Everyone is on a journey - either literal or metaphorical. I hope you enjoy yours, If not, get on your bike and go for a ride on a quiet road, you will feel better.

My older brother and his wife seeing me off on my last leg from Eastbourne  to Portsmouth. There is rain on the camera lens, that's why the picture is slightly blurred.

Saving the best ´til last

As I rode from the airport into Havana, the city's unique character revealed itself oddity by oddity. Enormous American cars from the 1950's cruised along the quiet dual carriageway. Red or pink Cadillac convertibles carried tourists while battered Buicks taxied the locals who sat 4 across the old leather bench seats. There were classic Fiats, Alfas, Peugeots and Mercedes too. It was like a living, working motor museum.
A tall concrete tower pierced the pure blue sky. This was revolution square. Surrounding apartment blocks were adorned with giant, iron pictues of Che Guevara  and Fidel Castro.
Heading toward the city centre the broad boulevards were lined with a mix of old buildings in various states of picturesque delapidation. My guest house was down a side street. Cycle taxi drivers rested in the shade, street vendors sold strings of garlic and onions, old folk sat and chatted, front doors open to the cooling breeze and gaze of curious passers by. Havana is a melting pot of peoples, architecture, cars and music. The only incongruity are the tourists.
I was late leaving the city as I had to wait for my laundry. Riding in fresh, clean kit is a lovely luxury on a road trip like this. But it didn't stay clean for long. The sun climbed to the vertical, my bike seemed to cast no shadow. The heat built, white fluffy clouds grew grey then black. Rain pelted onto the hot tarmac and instantly vapourised, a cloud of mist rose a metre above the road, My top half was cooled by the rain, my legs were steamed in a sauna.
The next day was dry, I thought I would camp. I stopped to buy bread, but they wouldn´t sell it to me as it was only for Cubans. I went to a campsite, they wouldn´t let me camp as it was only for Cubans. I was so hungary and thirsty that I had to go back to a hotel, they let me in, but charged me $60. Now with little cash I went to the nearest big town to get more. But it was Saturday and the banks were shut and there was no cash machine. I gave what money I had to a guest house owner, he gave me a room and dinner.
I headed along the north coast. The bumpy road pumelled my bike and body, incessant headwind slapped my sweat soaked jersey against my raw skin. I have sores and rashes where, you don´t want to know. One day I rode too far and ate and drank too little. At the last town I stop and order pizza and ice cream but a sick feeling fills my stomach and creeps up my throat, my legs go weak, my hearing fades, my eyesight dwindles into tunnel vision. Quickly I grab some water and sit down. Five minutes later I am okay, but had come close to waking up in a Cuban hospital.
Each day I ride through lush farmland, meadows and woods. Farmers use long sythes to gather grass and then load it onto horse drawn wagons. Cowboys look cool in their stepsons and chaps. Most locals give me a wave, some farmers gave me mangoes and bananas, some beekeepers gave me a section of honeycomb ozing with sweet honey. At roadside stalls you can buy fruit jiuce for 10 p and pizza for 20 p.
The centuries old Spanish cities spread out from tree lined plazas. Long narrow streets are lined with terrecota tiled houses. I often stay in one of these old places, they have great character, are clean, and the owners are kind. They are the equivalent (but better and cheaper) to British bed and breakfasts. Breakfast here starts with a big platter of fresh fruit. As food is hard to get in the shops I do rely on getting fed at these excellent lodgings.
Today I rode along the south coast, back towards Havana. The wind was behind me, I scarely needed to pedal, my big new tyre makes a whining noise on the smooth road. It is like being on an electric bike. Land crabs sprinted across the road,  a local woman offered my some weird fruit that was almost all nut.
Cuban roads and weather have drained my body. Cuban colour has filled my soul, Cuban culture has fed my mind. It is a perfect place to end my journey.

Lots of old cars, buildings and old fashioned shops, its like going Back to the Future.

Communist block. Images of Che Guevara  and Fidel Castro  adorn many buildings

Horse and carrsiges are common in many Cuban cities

Fresh baked pizza costs 20 pence

If you look beyond the shiney car you see normal Cubans living their normal lives. For me, this is the most fascinating  part of travel.

The joy of having a spare nipple

Borders can bring people  together. Roads converge and migrating cyclists congregate around the few checkpoints between Peru and Ecuador or Ecuador and Columbia. Most riders were heading south, aiming to amble through Peru and Argentina to arrive in the Austral area of Southern Chile in the spring (September). We would swap road stories and useful information before riding off in opposite  directions.
I headed north across the flat coastal plains of Ecuador. Through banana plantations and cocoa tree orchards the riding was easy. Then this road ran out and I had to climb fifty miles up to Quito. This is the highest capital city in the world and sprawls over an Andean valley at 9500 feet. It was a tough slog and I arrived arrived after dark on the broken concrete streets, amongst the random traffic, traversing deprived suburbs where you wouldn't want to stop. (The next day I chatted to an english speaking local who had just had his bike robbed at gunpoint.). It took ages to find a place to stay. I had one rest day to buy a new tyre, but it was a cold, damp, drizzly city, not a place for recuperation. In the next six days after Quito there was only twelve miles of flat road. It rained, which was usefully cooling on the 10 or 15 mile long climbs, but cold on the descents. My brake pads were worn out so I had to sit bolt upright so the air resistance  could slow me down a little.
This took me into Columbia, which is full of cyclists of all types, They would often ride beside me and "chat". This was tricky as my Spanish is abysmal. If I told them I was going to ride their famous climb "La Linea" they would incline their forearm or hand at 45 degrees to indicate its steepness.It actually wasn't that bad, but on the last little climb of the day I heard a "Twang, clack, clack, clack", a spoke had broken.
I had brought spare spokes. However the old one had snapped in the nipple - where the spoke joins the outer rim. That was a problem. My flight to Cuba was in three days time, riding to the airport would take two days, getting a bike box for the flight and getting all my bags sorted out would half a day, I could do without a mechanical problem. Then I saw on each spare spoke was a spare nipple. I was saved, bike mended, back on the road the next day.
It was another long ascent up to Bogota - the second highest capital city. I was powered by caffeine, and so didn't skeep too well last night; or naybe I am excited to be flying to Cuba tomorrow.

Artwork in northern Ecuado, to see real cyclists its best to head into Columbia

Right to left: Pascal who has spent four years on the road riding 40,000 miles, Hector the Argentine, heading to Mexico, and myself.

Lots of fruit, fresh from the fields

I avoivded this rain shower

Cafe in the clouds

Climbing La Linea, Colombia

Perusing Peru

It took six, scenic days to traverse the Andes from east to west. Once all I did was a 25 mile climb and descent and stopped in the dusty, dodgy town of Abencay. Afternoons were sweatingly hot, and nights were shiveringly cold, so I stayed in little hotels that cost £6 for an en-suite room. In tiny hamlets a basic room costs half that. Meals cost one or two pounds, as does a beer.
I rode through the capital - Lima - apparently there is not much to see there. The traffic was diabolical, it was like riding through fairground dodgems for three hours. I was glad to escape to the empty desert highway again.
In the northern city of Trujillo  I stayed at a "casa de cyclist". It opened in the 'eighties, I was guest  number 2634. My stay was extended as I got food poisoning. So I listened to podcasts of Desert Island Discs and read a good book.
My final day in Peru took me beside a beautiful coast with empty resorts and busy fishing towns. When I reached the border they fined me $7 for overstaying my visa.
My first impression of Ecuador is that it is very green and very hot. When I have seen more I will give you a more detailed picture.
One of my pannier broke this morning,  now I will find someone to mend it. My back tyre is damaged, my right pedal clunks, I am not sure the bike will get to Cuba.

At the casa de cyclists with the owner - Lucho. He was a champion road racer.

The centre of Trujillo has streets of old colonial  Spanish buildings and striking wrought iron work.

The Andes are lush, green and full of life.

A mindwarping 50 mile twisty descent through barren desert gave me a dramatic  exit to the Andes.

A tiny stretch of coast in northern  Peru was picture perfect.

Being a tourist in Peru

The high Andes is the most spectacular place I have seen. Abundant wildlife and colourful local culture is set in scenery of high plains, alpine lakes, smouldering volcanoes and colossal  snow capped mountains.
Through northern Chile  and southern Peru the Pan American highway drops down and climbs up mile deep canyons, and snakes around shattered  and quarried peaks of mountain ranges. It was the toughest prolonged stretch of riding that I have encountered. I needed some reward for all this effort, so I decided to visit the tourist hotspots of southern Peru.
I climbed to the old Spanish city of Arequipa from where I joined a minibus tour to the Colca Canyon. Thus is the best place in the world  to see Andean Condors. Ten to fifteen  of the huge birds soared through the canyon, gliding really close to us. On the return journey we stopped off to see the herds of alpaca, llama  and vicunas roaming wild on the high grassy plateau.
On the following day I rode a long, hot climb from 8000 ft to around 15,000 ft. When I reached a summit I stopped for lunch and soon started to feel the cold. I rode on, my head hurt from the altitude. The temperature fell away as the sun rapidly sunk towards the jagged horizon. I wanted to reach a hostel in the next town but the repeated  climbs slowed me up. I stopped and stuck my thumb out, The first vehicle to approach was a pick-up truck, it lived up to its name.
The 20 mile lift meant the next day I could easily reach a town near Lake Titicaca. Taking a back road out to the lake I saw the locals getting ready for the festival  of Corpus Christi. The women were resplendent in traditional white, red, orange and gold customes topped off with a white bonnet decorated with a pair of red pom poms. I said " 'ola" to one group, some smiled, some replied, one threw a stick at me. So no photos there then!
When I reached the old Inca capital  of Cusco I booked a two day, one night trip to the ruins at Mahcu Pichu. There is no road there, so you have to walk the last six miles beside the railway line. I was in a friendly  group, in fact everyone going there was in a happy mood. We had a guided tour of the site by a Quechuan. It is interesting to  hear the local version of events surrounding its rediscovery.
My detour into the Andes has given me a new challenge. When I entered  Peru the immigration  officer asked "Quantas dias?" I was so surprised that I understood her that I blurted out "30 days please" without stopping to think. Now I need to cover 1400 miles in 14 days. If  I over stay my visa then I will get fined and banned from Peru. I think I had better learn the spainish for "Please don't ban me, I want to cone back".

Condors flew so close overhead you could hear the air rushing through their eigth foot wingspan.

I rode past many flocks of alpaca, llama and vicuanas

Too high, too cold, too late. I hitched a lift with these kind Peruvians.

Lake Titicaca  was serene and beautiful

Mist rose up just in time to make the picture of Machu Pichu marginally more interesting

Wooly tights, four skirts , blanket bag containing shopping, produce or baby, and a bowler hat. In the Andes, traditional wear is everywhere.

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.