May 19, 2016
It’s been an interesting but relatively relaxing week. I’ve met a number of travelers and made some new friends this week. I hope to be moving again soon, and new posts will be up by the first part of next week if all goes well. Thanks for continuing to check in here.
Hakuna Matata!
May 15, 2016
I had applied online for my “E-Visa” to Kenya, and received it about a month ago. On the application, they asked the date I planned to enter Kenya, and after some guess-timation, I put May 15th. I was actually slightly ahead of schedule, but a couple of rest days along the route in Tanzania, along with the trip to Ngorongoro Crater filled my time and I ended up right back on schedule.
I spent one last night at Meserani Oasis Lodge in my nice comfortable $11 room, and then said goodbye to Mama before heading north.
Mama and me. What a nice lady. She bought this six acre bare piece of land over 20 years ago, planted all the trees herself, then built the restaurant, bar, and lodge. It’s a beautiful, relaxing place. I hope to see her again when she comes to Texas to visit her daughter and son-in-law who live near where I lived.
Chips Mayai: basically an omelet with french fries cooked in it. Good stuff. I had this for dinner two nights at Meserani.
Heading north out of Arusha toward the Kenya border. Mt. Meru in my rear view mirrors.
And very hard to see, but Kilimanjaro off to my right in the distance (between the tank bag and rear bags).
The border crossing was a bit confusing due to construction of a new checkpoint facility. The road looped around the new construction, and it was quite easy to miss both the exit from Tanzania and the entrance to Kenya. Eventually I was able to get both done, and on my way toward Nairobi.
These flowers were thick along the way in southern Kenya, as were the Maasai men herding goats and cattle.
On the way through Nairobi to my camp I stopped at an ATM to get some Kenyan Shillings, and the woman security guard at the ATM was helpful in guiding me to the ATM that would accept my card (there were four different machines in the same room on the side of a gas station/convenience store). I decided to walk around to the front of the building and buy some bread and water in the store. When I returned, the female security guard was leaning on my bike, watching it for me, and studying the route I had written out in the top map pocket of my tank bag. She pointed to the coordinates for “Jungle Junction”, the overlander camp I was headed to, and said, “You must take me there some day”. I couldn’t help but smile. I’m sure she wanted to see the jungle, and wasn’t aware that Jungle Junction was in the middle of Nairobi.
While we were talking, more security guards showed up, along with two guys that worked in the pizza place next door. They were very curious about the bike, the GPS, and as usual, struggling to accept that I had ridden this same bike from the United States to South America and then through Africa.
My first encounter with Kenyans. A very happy bunch.
I pulled into Jungle Junction and set up camp for a while. Here I would wash and crate the bike, and sort the shipping for the next leg of the trip.
Home for a week or so in Karen, Nairobi.
Crating the bike.
A lot of overland travelers use Jungle Junction to store their vehicles for a while.
A LOT. Yes, even the two pink buses are overland travelers (from Sweden).
I also met Nino here. He’s from Switzerland, traveling by bicycle, for years (he couldn’t say how many kilometers or how many countries he’s ridden through). He jokingly called himself a “Luxury Traveler”. He has both a tent similar to mine, and this Exped Ergo hammock, as well as a laptop. Not the typical minimalist bicycle traveler I’ve met in the past. He’s been camped here at Jungle Junction for 8 weeks now. Just taking a short break before continuing south.
Aussies Jen (whom I met in Arusha a few days earlier) and her partner Craig were also here on their CRF250L Hondas. They are working on obtaining their visas to enter Ethiopia in the next few days. They were a wealth of information for future Africa travels, and I was able to help Craig with some service on his CRF as well as a quick troubleshoot on Jen’s.
May 22, 2016
I’ve been at Jungle Junction in Nairobi for a week now. I spent the first three nights in my tent. After the third night (two of which it rained quite a bit, but I sleep well in the tent in the rain), I had to pack up the tent between rainstorms so it could go into the crate with the bike. So I moved into a dorm room, which raised my nightly lodging from $5.95 to $11. I was the only one in the dorm, so it was like having a private room with a bunch of extra beds.
I had a lot more mosquitoes in the room than I did in the tent. I’ve learned how to enter my tent without letting the mozzies and flies in, but the room has open windows and no screens, so the mosquito netting on the beds is essential. The first night in the dorm I didn’t use the netting and slept terribly due to the constant buzzing in my ears.
Once the bike went into the crate (early in the week), I had no transportation, but Craig and Jen from Australia were nice enough to let me ride one of their CRF250s to the bank (through flooded Nairobi). I had to take out a cash advance on my credit card in order to pay for the bike shipping. That took a couple of hours, and a bunch of forms, and the bank had a limit of 100,000 Kenyan Shillings per day (about USD$995), which wasn’t enough to cover the shipping cost. A few more trips to the ATM over a couple of days eventually got me enough cash to pay shipping, lodging, meals, etc. By the time I got enough cash to pay for the shipping, I felt like I had applied for a mortgage at the bank. The amount of paperwork for a cash advance on a credit card, not to mention the time involved was suffocating! Similar to banks that I experienced in Argentina, you take a number when you enter the door, then sit in a large waiting room and wait for your number to be called. There were two teller windows open, and regardless of the transaction, each involved a lot of paperwork, a lot of conversation, and a lot of running back-and-forth by the teller.
I eventually got the bike onto a truck and delivered to the shipper’s office near the airport, along with my carnet, where it sat for another day before they finally took it to the cargo terminal and cleared it through customs (More on all of this in the next post). After five days, it was now officially stamped out of Kenya, and one step closer to leaving on a plane. Closer being the key word. Not done. Just closer.
Unfortunately, without transportation, I was unable to visit several places I had hoped to see in Nairobi. Particularly, the Karen Blixen house and museum, which were only about three miles from where I was staying. I had considered taking a taxi, but due to the ongoing shipping issues, and the weather, I was stuck at the camp most of the time.
For those reading along that may be considering a similar trip into Nairobi, this is the place to stay. If you have trouble finding the entrance, note that the sign outside the gate doesn’t say “Jungle Junction”, but simply “JJ’s”.
The area of Nairobi where I stayed is near Karen, which I thought was an odd name for a suburb in Kenya, until I realized it was named after Karen Blixen, the Danish author whose autobiography under the pen-name Isak Dinesen was later made into the movie Out of Africa. The farmhouse where she lived here in Nairobi was also used for the movie, and is now a museum. Much of her once 6,000 acre plantation is now suburban neighborhood.
Across the street from the Blixen museum is Marula Studios, the home of Ocean Sole, a “flipflop recycling company”. According to their website, each year thousands of flipflops are washed up onto East African beaches. These are collected by volunteers and at Ocean Sole they are turned into sculptures. Pretty cool recycling, actually.
Yep Used to be flipflops.
Near Jungle Junction is the Giraffe Center. On my last day in Kenya, I walked to the Giraffe Center, and fed the giraffes.
The giraffes know where the food is at the Giraffe Center.
Put a pellet in your mouth and get a kiss from a giraffe.
There’s an elevated deck where you can interact with the giraffes at their level.
This is my buddy Eddie. He actually knows his name, and will come when you call him. Either that, or he thinks “Eddie” means “Food”.
Eddie was my buddy as long as I had food. Once the food ran out, he quickly became somebody else’s buddy.
Also near here is the David Sheldrick Wildlife Trust and Elephant Orphanage, which focuses on raising orphaned baby elephants for return to the wild. This facility also allows public interaction with the baby elephants for one hour a day.
Craig & Jen saw a break in the weather and packed up their Hondas and headed out Friday afternoon towards Lake Turkana and Ethiopia.
Craig & Jen, off for Ethiopia.
I was jealous and wished I was going with them, but with a U.S. passport, I would only get so far heading north through Sudan and Egypt. I still want to do that route, and I will, but it may be a few years. Hopefully by then the political climate will be better.
May 25, 2016
Having lived in the Rio Grande Valley of Texas, very near the border with Mexico, in the mid-1970s, I learned the meaning of “mañana” early. Not the literal translation meaning “morning” or “tomorrow”, but the more general meaning of that “laissez-faire”, easy-going, things-will-get-done-when-they-get-done attitude that invariably teaches patience.
I hadn’t experienced a lot of the “mañana” mentality in a while, having spent more than a dozen years in hectic Southern California, and then another decade in the laid back but trendy Austin. Nor did my job allow for that lifestyle.
When I left last July and headed into Mexico, I was reminded of “mañana” and readily adjusted to it, since I was on no particular time schedule and had been preparing myself mentally for the inevitable breakdown or delay that might leave me temporarily stranded somewhere for days or even weeks at a time.
Over the seven months spent heading south through Latin America to the end of the world at Ushuaia, I had a few mañana encounters, but never anything that caused me more than a day or two delay. I easily laughed them off, especially when I observed other foreign travelers stressing out over things not going exactly as they had planned. (Note: if you can’t handle the idea of a waiter taking an extra 10 or 15 minutes totake your order or bring you the check without exploding in a tirade, it would be best if you stayed in Los Angeles or Chicago or New York.)
Then came Africa. A continent that has embraced “mañana” and taken it to extreme new heights. Nothing happens here quickly. Or even slowly, by most standards. The concept is evident nearly everywhere, in the physical surroundings as well as the daily interactions.
In most of the countries I passed through after Namibia, the road conditions were unpredictable, at best. In many cases, the road would go from deteriorated asphalt with large potholes, to no asphalt and simply dirt, mud, or sand with large potholes, to beautiful new pavement. I later learned that the Chinese have taken over road construction in much of Africa, and this explains the new pavement. Yet the construction times are still extremely long due to the use of mostly local labor and the lack of mechanical equipment to build the roads. Much of the construction process is still done by hand, even on the major highways.
It’s also evident in the buildings. Even in Nairobi, as I walked into a shopping center, the sidewalk was unfinished, and the tile-work on the stairs was unfinished, even though the building had clearly been open and operating for a couple of years. No one was working on these unfinished areas; they were simply unfinished, and walked away from. Parts of the parking lot near the building were still unpaved or crumbling. People walked through the mud puddles and across the unfinished entrance as if everything was normal. Which it is in Africa.
In many (but not all) of the places I stayed in Zambia, Malawi and Tanzania, there was a common theme of frustration by business owners. They complained that they would hire people, train them, then have to re-train them again almost daily, as they seemed to forget the most simple of tasks overnight. I think much of this may be due to a “mañana”-type approach instilled over a lifetime.
People in Africa seem to begrudgingly accept this way of life, and it is often referred to as “Africa Time”. Things get done here in Africa Time. Nino, the Swiss cyclist I met at Jungle Junction, used the term “TIA”, for “This Is Africa”, any time a story was told about something taking a long time or multiple attempts to accomplish.
That’s not to say that everyone in Africa adheres to this regimen. Many of the employees I met along the way at various camps seemed to have a dedication to their work, and were able to perform their required jobs daily without supervision. They arrived on time, worked hard, and accomplished what they were asked. But the longer I traveled through East Africa, the more I realized that these people are the exception.
Things eventually do get done. Just don’t expect them to get done when promised, or on a schedule that you initially think may be reasonable.
I’ll use the shipping of my motorcycle as an example here. It took approximately three and a half days to put my motorcycle in a steel crate that already existed as a motorcycle shipping crate. Granted, in order to save a bit on shipping, the crate needed to be reduced in size, since the airline bases the price on volume. After two days, the crate’s length had been shortened. It was now actually about ten inches shorter than the bike, and the rear fender and taillight stuck out of the back of the crate. Oops. Well, TIA. Time to take a break (for a day) and reconsider the options. The next day, the solution was to try to pull the motorcycle forward in the crate using tie-down straps. This achieved the result of the front fender of the motorcycle sticking out of the crate, while the rear was still sticking out. Also, the crate was too narrow, so the panniers had to be removed from the bike. Unfortunately this left no place for the panniers to fit in the crate without either sticking out themselves, or rubbing against other parts of the motorcycle.
Oh well. TIA. A few zip ties and another tie-down strap, and the panniers were pulled tight against the engine of the bike.
Next was to reduce the height of the crate. Fifteen minutes later, the uprights were shortened. Now the handlebars were taller than the crate. Another day was taken off to consider the options again.
The next day, the handlebars were rotated back slightly, and the front of the bike was pulled down tighter using the tie-downs. Also, the right handguard was removed, as it was still taller than the crate.
At this point I had both accepted Africa Time, and given up on my bike actually arriving in London undamaged. This was the worst crating I had ever seen, especially since the starting point was a perfectly usable BMW motorcycle crate.
During the crating process, I contacted the shipping agency to arrange the shipping from Nairobi airport to London Heathrow. This also took several days of back-and-forth emails and phone calls. Each day, I would receive an email saying that they would email or call me again later in the afternoon with more information, but of course since we are on Africa Time, that email or call either came late that night, or the next day, and only after several follow-up calls and emails from me. Eventually I was told by the owner at Jungle Junction that nothing happens here unless you call every couple of hours.
Ultimately I informed the shipper that I would deliver the crate to them on Thursday afternoon at 3pm, not waiting for them or giving them the chance to drag it out further.
The bike was delivered, and I continued to wait for shipping details. Initially I was given an Airway Bill on Friday with information that the bike would go to London on a SwissAir flight via Zurich, but no specific date on when it might leave Nairobi. I continued to watch both the SwissAir tracking system online, and my GPS tracker (which I left in the crate so I could see where the bike was). Not surprisingly, there was no movement over the weekend. I kept reminding myself, “TIA”.
On Sunday evening I was advised via email that the crate would not fit on the connecting SwissAir flight from Zurich to London, and the shipping would have to be rescheduled. Later that night, I received a new Airway Bill with information that the bike would now be on a Turkish Airlines flight via Istanbul, but again no specific date on when it would leave. I continued to monitor both the Turkish Airlines tracking system online (which at this point didn’t even acknowledge that the Airway Bill number existed), and my GPS tracker. In anticipation that the bike might actually get on a plane in the next few days, I booked a flight to London and a hotel room near Heathrow. This was probably not wise, for several reasons. First, once I left Nairobi I would be unable to handle any additional shipping snafus in person if and when this failed, and secondly, the cost of a night’s stay in Nairobi was $11, versus over $100 a night for the London hotel room.
As of this morning, the bike has left Istanbul and is on its’ way to London. Hopefully by tomorrow I will know the condition of it and whether or not all of my gear that was also packed into the crate is still there.
For now at least, in hindsight, as long as you can accept TIA and Africa Time, things eventually do get done, and I would definitely use the same shipper again, though I would either crate the bike myself or use a different company to crate it.
More updates in a day or two. Barring any major damage, I hope to be on the road Thursday or Friday and headed for Scotland.
May 28, 2016
I arrived in London a day before the bike. I flew through Addis Ababa, Ethiopia while the bike went via Istanbul, Turkey.
I spent Thursday working on clearing the bike through Customs. I ended up having to hire a Customs broker to process the paperwork. Finally, around 7pm Thursday evening I received a call saying I could pick the bike up. I caught a taxi (about $30 for the 4 mile ride; I had walked there in the morning).
When the crate came out of the warehouse on the forklift, I was shocked: it didn’t look anything like it did when I delivered it to the shipper. They had wrapped the parts that protruded beyond the crate in foam sheeting, then placed cardboard over the entire crate, and finally shrink-wrapped the whole thing. As a result, nothing was damaged. It took me about an hour and a half to uncrate and reassemble everything, and I was back at the hotel by around 11pm.
The crate arrived in better condition than when I last saw it.
The next morning I loaded up and set out for the Lake District in the North. I had been to London before, so sightseeing wasn’t a priority, but getting out of London was. I can’t afford to spend $40 a day for food and $100 a night for a hotel for long. Before heading north, though, I went south briefly, stopping at Yamaha UK for a quick visit. The guys there were incredibly nice, even offering to change my oil before I left.
Richard, Bill (shown here) and the other guys at Yamaha UK were very welcoming, giving me the tour of their offices and even helping me out with an oil change before leaving London. Compared to the US offices, it’s a small place (they are a subsidiary of Yamaha Europe) but they definitely run a smooth operation.
The traffic leaving London was horrendous. I spent about 50 miles between London and Birmingham splitting lanes, and again for another 20 miles or so after Birmingham. I later found out that it was the beginning of a 3-day weekend, so a lot of the traffic was likely people headed out of town for the holiday.
I made it to the Lake District early evening, and found a camp just outside of Windermere. This area reminded me somewhat of the movie “The Way” and the Camino de Santiago de Compostelo, the long trail that people use to make a pilgrimage from France into Spain. There are many trails through the Lake District, and people were here to hike between towns, staying in hostels or hotels.
Camp for the evening, overlooking the lake just outside of Windermere.
The road to Penrith.
A wee village on the way to Penrith.
Different wildlife here than in Africa…
Along the way I passed this old church and cemetery in Patterdale.
This seemed a bit creepy at first….what kind of music comes from a cemetery?
But this explained it…”Battle of the Organs”. I wonder if they’re “donor” organs…
The next morning I rode from Windermere to Penrith on a beautiful small road along a lake, and then back onto the M6 and in to Scotland before exiting at Moffat to take another great small road through the countryside, eventually arriving in West Linton, and the home of Ian and Tricia.
Tricia, Jasmine, and Ian.
The last time I saw Ian, we just happened to randomly pass each other at a border crossing between Argentina and Chile; he was headed north to Buenos Aires to ship home, and I was headed south to Ushuaia.
It was great to seem him again, and to finally meet Tricia. They have a gorgeous home in an absolutely beautiful and peaceful place.
The weather is a bit different than Africa; it’s chilly and damp, and a bit foggy this morning, but it looks like I’ve picked a good time to be here weather-wise. Ian gave me a list of gps coordinates for places to camp along the western coast of Scotland, and I plan to spend the next week visiting as many of them as possible.
May 31, 2016
“D’ya speak English?”, one of the two bikers in line behind me at the ferry asks in a heavy Irish brogue.
“Not your English, but yes”, I reply, wondering why he asked after seeing the Texas license plate. Then I realize he probably saw the “Montando en todo el mundo” (“I’m riding around the world”) written in Spanish on the back of my spare gas can.
“We’ve got a bit of a problem, and we were hoping you might be willing to help us out” he says. “See, there’s only room for two bikes on the next ferry, and there’s three of us here.”
“What time’s the next ferry?” I ask.
“Twenty past six.”
“No problem”, I say. “I don’t mind waiting. I’m only going about twelve miles to my campsite after I get off the ferry, and it doesn’t get dark here til almost eleven o’clock.”
“Are ya sure? I’ll pay for your ferry ticket.”
“Nah. No need. Go ahead.”
They board the ferry, while I wait. It’s a nice day, and I’m in no hurry at all.
Near the end of boarding, the ferry worker directing traffic walks up and tells me there is room for me after all. I ride on, they strap my bike down, and I walk upstairs to find the other two guys.
I tap one of them on the shoulder and he turns around, surprised to see me. “I should’ve taken your money” I say, grinning. They buy me a coffee and we talk until the ferry docks and it’s time to ride off.
I had left Ian & Tricia’s mid-morning and headed west, with several nights planned camping along the west coast of Scotland.
First stop: Falkirk, just west of Edinburgh. I had two reasons to stop here. First up, the Kelpies.
The Kelpies.
This 100-foot tall metal sculpture of two horses is a monument to horse-powered heritage across Scotland.
Second stop in Falkirk: The Falkirk Wheel. This might be the wildest thing I’ve ever seen, yet it’s a simple concept and very functional.
The Falkirk Wheel in its’ “at-rest” position. This is a replacement for the traditional system of locks to raise and lower boats to different water levels. Note the canal extension that juts out to the wheel at the top.
The wheel in action: there is a boat in each of those two containers and it is rotating counter-clockwise, lowering the boat on the left while raising the boat on the right.
Getting closer. The whole thing takes very little time at all, and I’m sure is much more efficient than pumping water in and out of locks.
After Falkirk I continued west to Oban, where I bought a standby ferry ticket to Craignure.
Ian’s recommendation for a place to wild camp on Mull was fantastic. There was a long stretch of one-lane road (turns out this is the norm here), following the coastline. Between the road and the water was beautiful green grass, and lots of sheep. I passed a number of other people camping before I found a spot, but the opportunities were plentiful and stretched out for several miles.
I pitched my tent near the water, pulled out my chair and watched the sunset. At 10:45pm. It finally got dark about midnight.
And the sun came up at 4:30am. Brightly. By 6am the tent was dry and ready to pack, but it was so quiet and calm that I enjoyed a lazy morning.
Sheep, sheep everywhere and nary a wool blanket to be found. It was cold at night, but when the sun came up it warmed up quickly.
Eventually I rode further north on Mull to Tobermory, where I found an old church that was now a coffee and pastry shop. I had a bacon roll and a coffee at a sidewalk table in the sun, then walked next door to the grocery store and stocked up on food for several nights of camping in the wild.
Tobermory
This old church in Tobermory had been turned into a local version of Starbucks (but with better food).
No scaffolding? No problem. Just get a bunch of extension ladders and tie them together.
I hopped the ferry from Tobermory to Kilchoane and continued north through beautiful scenery until I finally arrived at Applecross Pass. Not since Huascaran National Park in Peru have I seen such a stunning road through dramatic landscape.
I got off the ferry at Kilchoan and saw this sign. I figured since I already had the “Furthest point south in South America” and “Furthest point south in Africa”, I might as well take a photo.
This was going to be my next camp spot, but the gate was locked.
Heading to Applecross. I’ve seen sidewalks in the States wider than the roads here, and these are two-way.
Looking east from the top of the pass.
Looking north from the top of the pass at the clouds pouring over the mountain.
The pass eventually drops down into the small village of Applecross. There was a campground here, and it was full of motorcycles and a gathering of VW combi vans. I decided to spend the night at the campground even though there were several opportunities to wild camp, in order to chat with the other motorcyclists. There were several motorcyclists from England and Scotland. The group camped next to me were from Ireland; another couple I met were from Germany. Several invited me to visit them if or when I came through their towns.
The next morning I took the coastal route — another unbelievable ride — north towards Durness. I hadn’t intended to venture this far north, but the scenery begged me to keep going, and who was I to refuse?
I stopped for a break and was sitting on this bench when soon after these guys from France pulled up. They spoke very little English, but my bike caused them to try. They were touring Scotland before heading to the Isle of Man.
These yellow flowers are everywhere and are extremely fragrant. Incredible smells mixed with incredible scenery.
I’m camped again tonight on the coast overlooking the beach in Durness. Tomorrow it’s off to John o’Groats, the northern-most point on the Mainland UK.
June 2, 2016
John o’ Groats is not a town. It is simply a tourist attraction. There is a signpost here, a couple of gift shops, a tourist information center and a few other buildings. Having watched “Long Way Down” a long time ago, I knew of John o’ Groats from that show, but had somehow missed the fact that there is nothing actually here. It also turns out that it isn’t the northern-most point on the mainland UK; nearby Dunnet Head holds that claim. However, it is apparently the longest distance from Land’s End, which is the southern-most tip of the mainland UK. Seems to me they had to stretch to come up with something to draw the tourists.
View from my campsite outside Durness.
Further north of Durness on the way to John o’ Groats.
John o’ Groats.
I would have liked to go further north into the Orkney Islands, but I’m limited on time due to my booked ferry crossing to Isle of Man on June 7.
The weather in the far North is severely overcast but not raining, and very cold. I’ve had the heated grips on 75% heat for a couple of days now, so I continue south down the east coast of Scotland to Dornoch Firth, where I make my first truly bad camping decision.
On occasion I’ve been staying in Caravan Parks rather than wild camping. Usually this is because there is hot water, showers, flush toilets, and sometimes a camp kitchen which allows me to cook without using my stove, saving gas.
“Caravan Parks” here are typically a large lawn, with nothing else, save for possibly electrical hookups. Not a tree. Or a BBQ grill. Or a fire pit. Or anything else. Most visitors are in cars pulling travel trailers (“caravans”), or motorhomes, or VW vans. This week, there’s been a number of motorcyclists as well.
Tonight, I am introduced to a new term: “static caravan”, which is known in the U.S. as a mobile home. Thus, the “caravan park” I chose to camp at is primarily a mobile home park, with a large lawn full of electrical connections for the people who show up in trailers, motorhomes, and tents. For those of us who don’t need an electrical hookup — correction, for me, since I am the only one apparently who doesn’t want to pay for an electrical connection — there’s a separate area against the dunes with no facilities. In fact, the nearest showers and toilet are on the other side of the Great Lawn. For this I am charged fifteen pounds, a bit more than $21. I could have driven outside of the caravan park, and camped in the dunes for free, and had a better experience.
The next morning I head towards Loch Ness, and the Loch Ness Exhibition Centre. Just before I get a good view of the lake, Dunrobin Castle comes into view.
Dunrobin Castle
Just down the road, I get my first good view of Loch Ness. I had no idea it was so huge. I had always pictured a small quiet lake in my mind. This thing is huge. The signs at the roadside park give a couple of interesting facts:
The lake is 23 miles long, and very deep, reaching 230 meters (755 feet) in depth. As I stand looking at the lake, I notice a single “wake”, which looks kind of like a large, long rope of water, even though there is no boat anywhere in sight. The reflection of sunlight off this single rolling wake gives it a dark, odd look. I can understand why people see things in this lake.
A bit too long for a serpent, and kinda flat, but oddly interesting considering there was nothing around to make it.
It’s a big lake, er, Loch.
At the Loch Ness Exhibition Centre, I am surprised at the theme. The center is in a former castle/hotel. and is well done. The presentations are in a chronological order, moving room to room and showing a video presentation in each room. But it’s the “disproving” approach that surprises me. The exhibition takes the claims, photos, and other information about the lake monster, and systematically aims to disprove each one, concluding that there is no monster and everyone is mistaken in what they have seen.
I personally don’t tend to take a stance one way or the other, and it surprises me that a place famous for its’ monster has put so much effort into proving it doesn’t exist. Still, I enjoyed the hall, and the information presented, including the WW II plane that was discovered in the lake while using sonar to search for large marine life, and the attempt at the world speed record on the water that ended badly when the then-world land speed record holder was killed after reaching 200mph on Loch Ness.
June 4B, 2016
The Pirelli MT21 tires that I mounted in Cape Town, South Africa still had about 1,500 to 2,000 miles of life in them, but these tires have worked so well on this bike that I decided to mount a fresh set here in Scotland where I knew I could find them, rather than wait until I might not be able to find them in stock in Europe. Ian was nice enough to order a set and have them waiting for me when I arrived.
After mounting a new set of tires, I left Ian & Tricia’s and headed east to Alnwick, jumping back and forth across the England-Scotland border via more beautiful backroads. Today would be a short day of only around 135 miles.
On the way to Alnwick Castle, I passed The Blue Bell Inn. Out front was a large group of gents in their antique racing cars, including an Alfa Romeo, a Lagonda, a Riley, a Bentley, an Aston Martin, and more.
On to Alnwick, and the castle, which is the second largest inhabited castle in England, behind only Windsor Castle. The 12th Duke of Northumberland and his family live in the castle, which has been in his family since the 1300’s. Parts of the castle are open for tours.
Alnwick Castle
Alnwick Castle has appeared in many films and television shows, most recently including as the interior and exterior of Hogwarts in the first two Harry Potter films, as well as appearing as “Brancaster Castle” Downton Abbey.
And if you look back into the past, there was a Disney film called “The Spaceman and King Arthur”, which was shot in 1979, and among the extras in that movie was Ian Willcox (yep, same Ian I rode with in Ecuador and visited here in Scotland). Ian’s parents were employed at the castle at the time.
I’m heading southwest towards the Lake District again. I have two more days before I have to be in Liverpool for the ferry to Douglas.
June 5, 2016
May was the most expensive month of my trip so far, and not surprisingly as I once again had air shipping of the bike included. Bike crating & airfreight, my plane ticket to London, and broker fees to clear customs accounted for 60% of my total monthly expenses. I also had another safari tour in May, which was a big bite of the budget, though nothing compared to shipping the bike.
For the Africa portion of May, my gas, food and lodging averaged $29.68 per day. For the UK portion of May, my gas, food and lodging averaged $83.67 per day. While fuel, food, and lodging are all more expensive in the UK than Africa, the biggest difference was the three days I spent in a hotel near London Heathrow waiting for the bike to arrive. Those three nights lodging were equal to the entire rest of the month’s lodging expense. A shining example of why I planned early on to spend very little time in Europe, Australia, and the U.S.
May Expenses:
Gas: $164.15 ($49.95 first 23 days of May — pre-UK)
Food: $547.96 ($361.42 first 23 days of May)
Lodging: $653.84 ($265.20 first 23 days of May)
Daily Average Gas/Food/Lodging: $44.07
Shipping, Airfare, Crating, Brokerage: $2929.53
June 4, 2016
It was just a matter of time. If you spend as much time as I have in the past 11 months riding a small motorcycle through all of the places I’ve been, something is bound to fail eventually.
Let’s face it: these bikes were never designed for this type of use/abuse. It’s small, it’s underpowered for a long-distance tourer, it’s air-cooled, it’s intended to carry a smaller, lighter load for shorter distances and shorter durations at slower speeds.
At the end of the day, all of this stuff is still mechanical. Parts wear. Especially after ten months of continuous use.
I knew before I ever left home that sooner or later something would have to give.
And this morning it happened.
At least it happened in a good place, and not in the middle of Africa, or Patagonia.
So, to recount my experience, here’s what happened: As I was preparing to leave Ian’s, I went to zip up my ultra-expensive Klim riding pants, and the zipper broke. Complete failure. I took them back off, and sat on the couch for about thirty minutes trying to reattach the zipper before giving up.
At around $500 for a pair of pants, I expected them to last longer than 10 months. I suppose a bit more maintenance on the gear might have prevented it, or maybe I would have caught it earlier before it failed.
Broke down, but still going….
So I consider this a major mechanical failure.
Fortunately, there is a rain flap behind the zipper, so I’m not creating a huge wind scoop while riding. And if it starts to rain, I’ll put a piece of duct tape over the fly for additional waterproofing.
I intend to look around on the Isle of Man next week and see if I can find anyone that is doing leather repairs, but in reality I need a new waterproof zipper first, so I’ll probably just wait until I get the pants repaired properly.
Meanwhile, the little XT250 continues to purr along, far exceeding my expectations of reliability.