We left the city late, at about 11am after hanging around for police escorts which never turned up and attempting to get fuel. For this stretch of the journey we had a support vehicle, and were joined by Jorgen and Helga, driving their bright orange VW camper van to Australia. How thankful we would later be to have them.
The road North was good, if slow due to the unorganised police escorts who we had managed to take by surprise in our escape from the city. They let us continue mostly and we made it to Lorelay by about 5pm where the police led us to the most unsecure secure compoud for us to camp for the night. Apparently it was safe in this police compound but literally anyone could walk in or climb over the wall to say hello, and they did.
After faffing around giving all of our details to various unorganised policemen, including, name, passport number, visa number, fathers name, favourite toothpaste and bloodtype we retreated to the safety of the camper van where we could close the doors and hide from the constant questions. Friendly, but incessant. Where are you from? Where are you going? What is your name? Then someone new turns up and the questions start again.
We awoke the next morning at sunrise, planning to spend the day getting to Multan, only 350km away. An easy day we thought... how wrong we were...
Soon after leaving the town and getting petrol the road descended into chaos. Gravel, dirt, dust, trucks and bumps. At first we could make fast progress on our offroad bikes, with Deutsch VW support trundling along behind. That was until George took a bump too fast and SNAP...the hydraulics of his uprated White Power rear shock absorber literally snapped in half. Bugger.
We were literally in the middle of nowhere. The possibility of getting a pickup to carry the crippled bike was an option, but everyone we spoke to didn't understand what we needed. Thankfully, the VW could carry George's luggage and he could limp the bike as far as possible, since the spring was still holding the back wheel up. Only problem was that if he hit a big bump, it could jump off what little support it had on the ruined cylinder.
We crawled along the remaining 60-80km of bad road, at times averaging only 20kph or less. Eventually we made it to decent roads and the border of Balochistan with Punjab. Sadly we met Laurel and Hardy at ta checkpoint. One of them let George through, the other one stopped us, then let us through after an argurment with the other. On the other side of the town there was another checkpoint who, because we had skipped the last, sent us back to the police station to write all of our details on a scrap of paper. This would ensure we were protected against the Taliban.
Finally we were allowed through, and at about 4pm with 3 hours of light, had another 160km to make it to Multan. Now the problem was that we had a mountain range to traverse, with some incredible scenery, good and bad roads and lots of twisties. On the other side of the mountain we were stopped by yet another checkpoint. Here, after much arguing about not needing escorts, we were allocated a Toyota pickup filled with elite Punjab police commandos. Compared with previous escorts, these guys could have fought off an army of Taliban zombies with their bare hands. Their official t-shirts had "No Fear" emblazoned across the back.
The problem now was that it was still over 100km to Multan, with fading light. We made it as far as DG Khan along the banks of the Indus river where we told the police that we needed to stop, since we had been riding for 12 hours, had not eaten, it was getting dark and the traffic was literally out to kill us. We tried to get them to let us stay in Muzzafucka (real name!) but they told us that the only 'safe' place from the Taliban was Multan about 60km away and refused to let us camp in a police compound. We had no choice, we had to break the cardinal rule of overlanding... don't ride at night.
After graphically attempting to explain that the traffic was much more dangerous than the Taliban, and recieving lots of smirks we were led off into the fray.
For what I said about the Iranians, I am sorry. The Pakistanis are worse. They will gladly overtake and force other cars off the road. At night, defensive driving doesn't work. During the day, it sort of does, just, but only if you're really bold. Even the gutter isn't safe as people still try to undertake. Thankfully the traffic can't go fast enough to cause serious problems. India doesn't bode well.
The police were fantastic. When it got busy they jumped out of their truck, stopped traffic, then let us ride through. For us it was safer to undertake slow vehicles on the hard (gravel) shoulder.
We were still only averaging about 40kph so stopped about halfway at a service station. For the first time in days we were in civilisation. They had icecream and crisps and redbull and air-conditioning since we were now at about 100masl in a very humid climate wearing full motorcycle gear. Sweaty is an understatement.
Eventually we made it to a hotel in Multan where I was sent out with the police to get numerous photocopies of passports and visas for some file somewhere whilst we had our first proper meal in over 24hours, KFC and Dominos pizza, to celebrate our triumph at having finally crossed Balochistan.
That night our bikes were possibly as secure as they would ever be, since they were watched over all night by 6 police officers armed with AK47's.
They next day we set off on our final leg to Lahore, once again with a police escort. This time they were the most efficient they had ever been, radioing ahead to men stationed at cross roads to stop traffic for us. I felt like royalty and I'm sure the Pakistanis were wondering who the 3 idiots on bikes who deserved so much attention were. The escort switch overs, usually completely hopeless, were as smooth as silk, with a new pickup with armed guards slipping ahead and the old one pulling off.
About 30km from Lahore they waved us on and we attempted to make our way through the fray to our desired hotel. Once again road rules don't apply.
The hostel is a fantastic little place, the Regale Internet Inn, and after dropping off George's luggage, Jorgen and Helga made a run for the Indian border. Thankyou so much for your help guys and good luck!
Last night we went out for a curry and for less than 100 rupees I had a beef keema, vegetable curry with ochra, limitless supplies of chapattis and a pepsi. The vegetable curry was possibly the best curry I've had, so simple yet so tasty. To finish off I had an icecream for 50 rupees. I was pretty much stuffed for little over £1!
We will need to spend a good week or more here awaiting the delivery of parts from England and doing yet more motorcycle maintainance. I am going to get hold of some fork seals and stop my leakiness once and for all as well as make sure the engine is happy and attempt to get someone to make me some nice metal panniers.
Almost anything seems to be available here, they even have Heinz baked beans!!! The only problem is that it's hot and humid with no aircon and rolling blackouts. Not good for a supposedly nuclear power. The city feels much more like somewhere in India. Today I saw a bloke with a monkey on a lead and people were quite happily playing cricket in the street whilst busses trundled past. Sadly Pakistan lost to New Zealand last night so I'm glad im not a Kiwi!
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