Long Road To Ruin

Well we made it to the safety of Quetta. At one point passing about 20km from the Afghan border and deciding to stop to chase a tornado.

We left Bam in Iran bright and early at 6am with a police escort. They took us about 20km down the road where we go another escort, then another, then another, then probably another, until we got to Zahedan, where instead of going around a big city filled with crazy drivers, were escorted right the way through. We went from one roundabout to another changing escorts, at one point having a small 125cc bike with an old bearded bloke driving and a young lad with a Kaleshnikov on the back to defend us from the Taliban. Eventually after arsing about in the traffic the police just turned around to us and said go. So we went where we encountered a police checkpoint. They waved for us to pull over and get an escort, so we waved back and kept going. Near to the border we decided to fill up with the cheap petrol in Iran. In the middle of a sand storm a pickup truck pulled us over and demanded to have our passports until we go to the border, just like all the other escorts. George complied but I had had enough so flat out refused. This didn't make the adolescent army man who was too young to carry a gun happy. But he had Georges passport so we were at his mercy. He eventually got us to a petrol station where we could fill up then took us to yet another checkpoint. Here his truck left him and he still refused to return the passport but insisted on riding on the back of one of the bikes to the border, less than 1 km away. This was George's moment for revenge so he blasted along at 100kph with the young lad perched clinging to his spare tyres.

We arrived at the border 10 minutes too late but George managed to snatch his passport back from the conscript with the giant ego which made him even unhappier and he kept damading to give it back, despite us being at the border and trying to register with customs. We camped that night at the border. A hotel wanted 30 dollars for us to sleep inside so we offered 20 which they refused, so we camped on their doorstep and sat in their foyer instead.

The next morning the border opened at 8am Iranian time. The problem at this border is that Pakistan is 2 hours ahead so there is only a short operating window where both sides are open. After the usual customs faffing about we were through the the Pakistani side and clear by 1pm. We were told we needed an escort, again, but after refusing to take anyone on the bikes, who we would be liable for in the event of an accident, they told us to go. We planned to ride the 200 odd km to Dalbandin to stop for the night, just under halfway to Quetta.

We stayed in a ridiculously hot hotel where for the first time in weeks we could have a beer. It cost almost as much as our rooms at 250 rupees (80 RP = 1USD) but was worth it.

The next day we set off to Quetta, along what was reported to be a bad road. The first 20 km were good and we could cruise at 120kph until George spotted a giant dried up salt lake where we had some fun, riding in a HUGE open area and practising pulling wheelies. After an hour we decided to push on, encountering several security posts but not feeling threatened what so ever. In fact I think that the Pakistanis are even more friendly than the Iranians, plus they speak better English.

The road eventually did get worse, and we had to avoid trucks and busses coming the other way, but it was one of the most enjoyable rides of the trip for me, always keeping me on my toes. A lot of people are forced to ride the 600km from the border to Quetta in 1 day, often arriving in the dark, but by doing it in 2 days it was enjoyable. At no point did I feel uncomfortable, apart from when a 125cc bike unexpectedly emerged from behind a sand dune that had blown across the road and took me by surprise.

Quetta is the beginning of the subcontinent. The city is vibrant and bustling and full of wierd and wonderful smells of good cooking and shit. Its dusty and dirty and full of people from Pakistan and Afghanistan and nowhere have I encountered any hostility. Possibly because I have taken to wearing some local dress and paid for my first haircut in years. People have apparently mistaken me for an Afghan from Kandahar province according to people I met where I got my bike serviced.

My chain was pretty shagged after all the offroading we have been doing, the seals had actually started to come out! I also found some reasonably decent motorcycle oil so did a change and had to have my luggage racks sorted, since my crash in Iran had caused 1 bolt to disappear and 3 to shear leaving me with no bolts holding about 50kg of belongings on. All is sorted now but I dislike my plastic luggage bags so will either get some expensive aluminium ones send from the UK together with some new fork seals, or will get some made somewhere.

My mechanic

Anyway, the plan now is to head for Multan, which means going down and up on the safe road, so 3 or 4 days ride. From there we can head to Lahore and Islamabad before riding the Karakorum highway to China and maybe doing some hiking before popping into India. Right then, I'm off to enjoy some more REAL food, better than the stuff in Iran. There's curry, and roasted mutton, and chicken, and somosas and mango milkshakes and cake and biscuits and battered chillies! Yum!

Desert Riders

After leaving Esfahan a couple of days ago I went to look at the ruins of the ancient city of Persopolis. It would be a crime to visit Iran and not visit. Although there is not much left apart from a few reliefs and columns, I've found it fascinating to be able to compare the different ancient ruins that we've seen along the route, from Italy, through Greece and Turkey to here. The distances involved are also astounding when you think that armies once would have marched to fight each other through often barren lands from one civilisation to another.

My plan was to camp at Persopolis but due to the amount of people milling around and the desire for some peace and quiet, I decided to push on north to Yazd, a peaceful city again on the edge of the desert. Here I spent 2 nights relaxing and enjoying some of the Iranian confectionary as well as visiting a museum about the underground canals which supply much of Iranian towns with water together with a local gym, where men twirl big wooden blocks around their heads whilst getting hyped up about Allah as comrade bangs a drum to egg them on. Intensive stuff. JJB take note!

The Gym

From Yazd I made my way to Kerman, where I could meet up with George and Morgan again in preparation for the crossing of Balochistan and southern Pakistan. We camped last night in the Kaluts, a barren desert region filled with sand castles. On the way we passed a lorry which had taken a corner too fast and run off the road. The trailer had tipped over bringing the cab to a sudden halt. The driver was also brought to a sudden halt by the windscreen and was hanging limply in a bloodied mess out the front of the perfectly undamaged cab. The stupidy of Iranians is striking. If he had worn a seatbelt he would have lived. Maybe it's a lack of education but there are signs telling drivers to buckle up on every road and knowing how each of them drive they must have something missing. Some of the overtakes I've seen, that would be risky on bikes with superior acceleration, have been performed by slow cars filled with 6 people or more. Still, it always makes me smile to see 3 people wizz past on a motorbike, each on their mobile phone. Idiots.



Even though we arrived at the Kaluts at sunset, the head was still almost unbearable. We rode across some sand drifts until I managed to get into an unrecoverable wobble in some deep ruts and went over the handlebars. The bike did a complete flip and rolled over on top of me. I wasn't going too fast so there was little damage done apart a crack in a mirror, a seperated luggage box and sand in every crevice imaginable. We camped there for the night and were treated with a fantastic view of the heavens. Sleeping was difficult due to the lingering heat and a small sandstorm shortly before dawn.

The crash site.

In the morning we packed and made our way to the top of one of the sand formations to witness the dawn. Before setting off on the bikes Morgan gave me advice to stand up as soon as possible after setting off and lean back to keep the weight off the front wheel and stop it digging in. What a difference it made! Technique is everything!

We rode on to Bam, where we were planning on making a run for the border tomorrow, but have decided to stay for 2 nights to relax and prepare the bikes, mainly because my lights have stopped working for no reason. After consulting the wiring diagram we think it's the white wire.... possibly...

Bam was devastated by an Earthquake in 2006. The once incredible mud citadel was reduced to ruins together with an innumerable loss of life.

The road to Multan in Pakistan is going to be tough. We will have escorts from here onwards for the next 1000km or more. From other overlanders accounts we may have to change escorts every 20km and they may possibly want to ride on the back of our bikes which we flatly refuse. Eitherway, this is probably going to be the toughest section of the trip. Now... where did I put my voltmeter?

I've Ridden Through The Desert On A Horse With No Name

I am currently in Esfahan having just extended my visa for another 13days. For some reason they keep giving me 13 days despite me asking for 30. After I got my Pakistani visa in Tehran I escaped to Kashan on the edge of the desert. Wow. What a fantastic place to chill. I sat in the hotel courtyard and could hear...... nothing! After the chaos of Tehran is was awesome.

I then needed to make a decision, at that time having only 6 days left on the visa, I could either keep heading across Iran to Pakistan and make the border in time, or try to get an extension. Racing for the border would mean I would have to do the dangerous Zahedan to Quetta run solo so I went to Toudeshk towards the centre of Iran where I could ring George and Morgan and find out their plans. I stayed with Mohammed Jalali and experienced an Iranian families life in the desert. Mohammed gave me a great tour of his village and took me to the sand dunes the next day where I fell off the bike a few times before letting the tyre pressures down enough to be able to run up and down a dune. The trick to sand riding, as I discovered, is to go fast enough, then go faster.

Mohammed and his brother, my hosts.

I waited until late afternoon before heading to Esfahan since It was demonstration day in Iran yesterday. I was advised to avoid it, but from the people who are here in the hostel, I was told it was a very strange affair. The government basically handed out placards reading "Death to America" and "Death to Israel". It seems to be a tradition or old charter or something that happens every year. At least it keeps them off the streets.

I have now become an expert at all things beaurocratical after my many visa applications and extensions and have some top tips to pass on when being shoved around in the queue to speak to the guy behind the one way glass in that foreign embassy...
1) Smile a lot but also look slightly scared!
2) Lend your pen to people, then they let you go to the front of the queue.
3) Act stupid. (Usually no acting is necessary) People will then fill out forms for you!
4) Befriend the security guards. They're young and very often bored so like sheperding around a strange foreign fellow with their AK47.

By using these tactics, your Iranian visa extension can be completed in 2 hours, rather than the 1 week suggested by a lady in the office I spoke to.

Back to Esfahan, its a really nice city. I would describe it as the Paris of the Middle East. Tehran is a big smelly chaotic dump. Don't go there. Here, everything is relaxed. The hostel I'm staying in is filled with cyclists from Europe on their way to India poor sods.

The plan now is to stay here for another day or so, the head to Yazd and Kerman to meet with George and Morgan before heading to Bam and prepping for the trip to Quetta in Pakistan. I am hoping to get a few people together to form a convoy since the armed escorts we get can be a pain in the ass, so anyone who is reading this, I aim to be in Bam in just less than 1 weeks time. Feel free to convoy up!

Stop Mocking Me

I've just been out to have some food. A burger and chips would you believe it. It tasted soooo good! There's nothing like eating like a local.

On the way back to the hotel I saw a shop and decided to grab some toilet roll. After scouring around and eventually locating a packet, hidden, right at the back, behind some barriers indicating "do not go here" I found some. I took my selection to the couple sat watching TV at the till where they openly laughed. I may not have any grasp at Farsi but still I know when I'm being mocked and balls to using my hand thankyou very much. I may not like to admit it, but maybe I'm too British after all.

Clutching my new purchase close to me as I walked back to the hotel, I could feel the eyes on me. Several times people asked out of the blue, 'where are you from?' No one has asked all day unless I opened my mouth to try to buy something. It appears that toilet roll is like a beacon saying "FOREIGNER!".

Anyways I'm going to go to bed now. The computer room at the hotel doubles up as a prayer room and an old man has come to pay his respects to Allah. I feel a bit conspicuous typing away whilst he chants.

The Man From Ingelistan

Howdy,
Well I've made it to Tehran. I have many stories to tell but will keep it simple for the time being.

On Thursday I collected my visa from the Iranian embassy at 10:22 precisely. Knowing how crap Erzurum was and that the next day, Friday, the border would be shut, I ran. 300km to the border riding like a possessed nutter on a mission. I was through the border in about 1 hour, thanks possible to several 'fixers' who grabbed my passport and carnet and made sure everything was inspected and stamped. I had no idea who these people were since no one seemed to wear any uniforms to add to the confusion. Once through customs I was told I needed insurance, fair enough. The fixer told me 2.5 million Rhial for insurance, about $250. Several minutes later he said 2million Rhial and I got suspicious. I had to leave my bike in a quarantine area whilst I went to get my insurance and after much haggling, got the price down to 800,000 Rhial ($80). This included the tip to the fixer of about 300,000 Rhial. I was pretty miffed off but put it down to experience. First impressions of Iran were not good.

I then tried to get as far on as possibly, since my visa is valid only for 13 days. In my efforts to secure a visa, the shorter time you are in Iran the better. I may be able to get it extended but am working on the principle that I will not. Anyways, after riding through sandstorms I discovered that my front fork seals are leaking - hmmmm..... I decided to kip in Khoy at a tourist hotel. Arriving slightly after dark I met a couple of Germans (how useful being able to speak Deutsch is!) who introduced me to Iranian beer! Non-alchoholic mind, but comes in lemon or peach flavour and the lemon is fantastic after a tiring days ride.
I had a decent meal of chicken, rice and salad together with awful flat bread which is like eating wallpaper.

The next day I planned to make it to the valley of the Assassins. A good 800km away. George and Morgan gave me the tip off and it was worth it. Some good fun twisties, I arrived just before sunset and found Ali's guesthouse where I was shown a tiny courtyard up a steep alley to park my bike. Getting in was fun but at least it was secure away from nosey folk who love to oggle at a 640cc beast. (Only the police in Iran are allowed bikes bigger than 150cc so I am somewhat of a superstar - plus bikes aren't allowed on the motorways but balls to that. Several police have tried to make me get off but I've just waved and kept going)
A quick walk up to the castle where I met a couple of other tourists from Tehran who took my photos since they had never met anyone from Ingelistan.

The next day I tinkered with the bike, annoying my hosts no doubt, since they couldn't belive I would take everything apart in their courtyard rather than go to a garage. They still helped me change my tyres. The most exercise I've ever had was changing the rear, Crikey it was a stubborn bastard. It too me 2 hours to get off, then another hour to get the new one on. I also tried to clean my fork seals and stop the leaking with no joy.

I finished getting dirty at about 3pm and made the decision to hotfoot it to Tehran. Traffic here is a nightmare. Basically anything goes. Any hole is a goal. At first I was scared of making a big mess on my lovely Sheepskin seat, but then I got into the spirit of things since there are lots of little bikes who were awestruck at mine. I had great fun riding as king in my own little gang who followed me around for ages and tried to keep up as I wheelied down the street away from them. I was hit by other cars twice and clipped someone with my panniers once, but despite the chaos, the Iranians are awesome drivers. Its still a very harrowing experience trying to cross the street.

My GPS was a blessing since it has pretty good mapping for the city and I was able to find where my hotel was together with the help of a biker called Mustaffa who helped me carry my bags in, then took me to somwhere discreet to park since the street would be too dangerous. I was a little suspicous at first but before we got the parking place we stopped and he got me some chay and some roll filled with dates and cheese. It turns out the parking place is about 800m from the hotel and is a courtyard with a guard 24/7. I got a slip of paper and chained the bike up like a gimp and felt happy about leaving it. Unless you go in to park there, which few people do, no one would see it. It was still there when I went back late last night and again this morning.

This morning I went to the British Embassy, like Fort Knox trying to get in. I got a letter of reccomendation and went to the Pakistani Embassy to apply for my visa. They said ring up on Tuesday, so I have a couple of days to chill after my hectic ride here. I plan on stocking up on essentials and trying to sort the leaky seals as well as maybe doing some sight seeing.

Morgan and George (hi guys!) may be coming to Tehran but if I dont see you how does meeting up in Bam sound? Facebook is apparantly barred here (am trying to get on it as we speak) so that method of communication is out.

Right, well I'm off now to try to solve my leaky seals and to generally be a tourist. Ciaow for now.

P.s Answers to Mother questions, yes the weather here is nice, and I am wearing clean underpants.

A Mini Adventure

Erzurum may be the largest city in Eastern Turkey, but to be honest, it's pretty pants. It's situated half way up a mountain next to a large plain at an altitude of 1600m. There are most things here with the potential to make it an interesting city, shops, a castle, lots of traffic and people. The problem is that it's the middle of Ramazan, hence, no eating whilst the sun is up. I'm sure I could pass my time here in much greater comfort if I was allowed to go and sit in a cafe with a cay and read a book.

Last Monday I called Nasrin at Persian Voyages to find out what the crack with my visa was. My application had been submitted and I needed to wait a week to find out whether the Ministry of Foreign Affairs in Tehran would care to have me in their country. I decided against hanging round in Erzurum, since George and Morgan had left to go over the border and I had pretty much visited everything worth visiting during a walk lasting about 2 hours.

My plan was to go on a short detour for a few days. First would be up to the Armenian border to visit the ancient castle city of Ani, which sits perched along a gorge which makes up the border between Armenia and Turkey. There is a collapsed bridge that spans the gorge, forming the original Silk Road, the reason why the ancient city gained much of it's wealth. I decided to camp that night to save on funds and made myself comfortable in the grounds of an abandoned tourist centre. A young Turkish lad, probably about the same age as me, came and said hello whilst looking after his cows and we ended up becoming friends, as much as is possible by communicating in sign language interspersed with Turklish. He pulled some old coins out of his pocket and showed me a couple of fine specimens of some sort of ancient money which he said he had found in Ani. The smallest coin in the worst condition he gave to me and said I could keep it. Not knowing whether he wanted money for it or whether he was just being gracious, I fished around in my jacket for an old English penny from 1921 I had found abandonned at Uni. I gave him this and he seemed pretty chuffed. I seem doomed to carry around random pieces of metal as lucky charms. I can't bear to throw away the worn camshaft from my engine which was replaced in Istanbul.

That night there was a huge storm on the plain, and I was half convinced that my tent would be blow away, as I had managed to position it in the only portion of the walled compound without much shelter. Luckily the wind died down to be replaced by lightening. I'm sure it would have been a fantastic sight but I decided to stay tucked up and warm in my sleeping bag.

The next day I made my way to the Black Sea Coast, just to have a look at it - It's just lots of water. A French couple I met told me that the road to the coast was very alpine. I didn't really believe them since we were in the middle of a huge plain but they were right. One moment you ride over the crest of a small hill to be greeted by what honestly felt like Switzerland again. Only the roads are crap. Half the roads in Turkey are being rebuilt. But they don't do it in logical steps oh no! They do it in 1km intervals about 10km apart. The road will go from okish asphalt to gravel and potholes. No problem for the KTM though! The person with the most important job amongs all these road works is the guy with the red flag. Typically he seems to spend all day sat on a convenient rock waving for the traffic to slow down. A pretty important job which I'm grateful for. Anyway, enough ranting about the roads.

The foothills after descending from 2000m+ passes to the coast are used to produce tea. The farmers have constructed curious little zip lines to the roads which they use to send the bags of picked cay down in. I spent the night at a hotel somewhere near the coast which was a bit more expensive than I was willing to pay but they let me park the bike in the hotel lobby which I thought was pretty cool!

The next day I made my way along the coast, which was nothing special, aiming to waste another day by camping next to an alpinesque lake at ulungol. I turned off too soon and couldnt be bothered back tracking so continued up into the mountains, climbing from sea level up to 2600m through some stunning scenery. It's funny how the more places you travel to remind you of places you've already been. During the ascent the scenery at first reminded me of France then Switzerland then the Lake District then Iceland. Turkey is a seriously diverse country and not just a place where beer swilling Chavs come on holiday.

I passed through the town of Ispir where I planned to stay another night but the hotel didn't look too appealing so I kept going. I pulled over shortly afterwards to have a breather when an old bloke on a scooter pulled up and appeared to communicate that he had some bees in an allotment and was on his way to take care of them. He offered to show me so I followed him for a couple of kilometers and he did indeed have lots of bees. He gave me some bread and fresh honey, literally scraped off the comb and amidst a swarm of beestrying to get their precious nectar back, I feasted whilst he either ranted about Turkey or explained something, I'm not really sure which.

I found a small family run hotel for the night and after a very cold shower had a fantastic meal of locally caught trout. So much better than some of the random meals I get given in the city. The next day I spent my time making my way back to Erzurum by cruising at a fuel saving 80kph and coasting downhills. I still arrived back too early for my liking at 11am and checked back into the hotel I stayed in previously. The guy on reception wrote down that it was 35TL a night, where I had previously paid 20TL. He then wrote down 30TL which I then crossed out and wrote 20. He said ok, so that's what I'm paying whilst I await the verdict from Tehran.

I met another couple of British bikers, John and Bev, who are also awaiting a visa decision. I think they have also gone off for a couple of days whilst they await their result. Good luck guys in case I don't see you again!

This morning I recieved an email. My visa application has been accepted. I have an authorisation number. I can go to Iran. The minor problem (there's always a nagging problem) is that the authorisation number is for the embassy in Istanbul, 1500km away, but is being sent here and will take a day or two (for some reason they telex things between embassies?!?). Still, after recieving the email I almost cried out of happiness. Great Success!

I met some Iranians staying in my hotel who seem extremely friendly. They don't speak any Turkish, just some English, and asked me if they were getting a good deal on the room they wanted in front of the guy on reception. Not knowing whether the guy on reception was overcharging or not and not wanting to jeapordise the security of my bike or belongings I said yes. It turns out they are getting the same deal as me though as there are 3 of them and a baby. Sadly they had a car accident today, which provided me with something to watch for 30mins. Someone ran into the back of them, practically destroying their bumper and the head honcho from the consulate is coming round to help them sort it out tonight. They said they would let me know when he turns up so that I can pester him about the visa. Yn Shallah we will be out of Erzurum and Turkey and back on the road by the weekend. I'm sure I'm starting to put weight on by surviving on a diet of crisps and biscuits.

A Sting In The Tail

After leaving Cappadocia we rode 600 odd km to Mt Nemrut, an ancient mountaintop burial mount about 2200m high. We rode up an amazing road on a ridge at sunset and were treated to a spectacular view of the surrounding area. We decided to sleep rough that night on George's ground mat as there was very little room to put up any tents. The plan was to get up early and watch the sunrise from the top of the mountain. At some point in the night I rolled over and suddenly felt a sharp prick on my cheek and shrugged it off as being the needle and thread that I keep in my jacket I was using for a pillow. After a couple of minutes I realised that my needle and thread was actually in my rucksack and the prick was starting to tingle. I had the feeling that I might have been gotten by a scorpion, and not wanting to find the bugger decided to try and get some sleep on the safety of a bench for the rest of the night - a difficult job as some turkish chav - aged about 60, decided it would be a good idea to rev his car engine at stupid o clock in the morning.

Just before sunrise we got up and began to pack our things away. I found the scorpion that had gotten me under my jacket. By now the tingling had gone away. Scorpion stings aren't even as bad as mosquito bites and I'm sure the skin on my cheek is much smoother now. We climbed a bit further up the mountain amonst noisy Turks complaining about doing exercise is my guess, to watch a fantastic sunrise. The very top of the mountain is an artificial burial ground and around the base are giant head sculptures, similar to those found on Easter Island, of ancient Greek heroes.

That day we descended the mountain with the plan being to get a ferry across the Ataturk Reservoir. We had to wait for almost 2 hours for the ferry to turn up and for everyone to faff about loading and unloading for what turned out to be a 5 minute crossing. They don't even bother to close the loading ramp which was an interested experience sat on a fully loaded bike in front of it.

That day we made our way through a small Kurdish region to Erzurum. There were a few folk wandering around with guns but mostly people honked their horns and waved at us. Erzurum is one of the last large Eastern Turkish cities where I hope to obtain my Iranian visa, the problem being that it's a Bank Holiday in the UK meaning I can't ring Persian Voyages and the Iranian consulate is only open from 8-12pm on certain days together with the fact that Turkey is 2 hours ahead of the UK so I need to time everything to perfection to make sure I can get things done when places are open. The hotel is only 20 lira a night and food is cheap so it's a case of not getting bored since I walked around most of the interesting places, if you can call them that, yesterday.

I've spent the time getting to grips with Picasa and have uploaded all my photos to that with a link from the top of the blog so enjoy!