ADVENTURE
Husband and wife round the world on Suzuki DR650S.
What had we let ourselves in for? Staring out of our hotel room in Bogota, the capital of Colombia, there’s a sea of motorcycles buzzing around the honking cars and smoke belching school buses. A walk to a nearby pedestrian bridge doesn’t help our anxiety levels as we absorb the chaos below. Turns out there’s method to the madness of Bogota traffic.
At this point I should confess that my riding experience of a fully loaded motorcycle is minimal, on or off asphalt. Yet, here I am about to set out on a journey on a heavily laden 1996 Suzuki DR650 through countries known for their lack of recognisable roads. Husband Kelvin has more off-road experience, but he doesn’t have any experience of navigating on dirt. And so with our lives packed on our two DR650S, we’re under starter’s orders for the next couple of years. Having bailed our bikes out of Bogota airport customs we’re onto dual carriageway where my bike, which was drained of almost all fuel for the flight, runs out of petrol. Kelvin leans it over to shift the remaining gas to the side of the petcock and I limp to the next fuel station: one thing about larger fuel tanks is that the deep sides can be lower than the fuel inlet – it’s why some people fit a second tap.
Problems such as this are part and parcel of adventures like ours and we learn quickly that the best plan is a loose plan; you never know when you’re going to break down, come down with the lurgy or meet the most amazing people who want to show you a slice of their country.
The other positive about dealing with ‘issues’ is that you learn quickly; previous to the trip I knew virtually nothing of bike engines, but by the end I could draw you an intricate diagram of the inner workings of my motorcycle. Colombia delivers me two motorcycling landmark firsts: one, being catapulted from my bike; two, watching my entire engine being dismantled. The first: we’re riding along a dirt mountain road, with steep drop-offs, when my bike dips down where water has worn away the road beneath. Before I know it the bike hits the ground throwing me head-over-heels down a gully. 100m back there had been sheer drops, but here it’s less lethal, the foliage of a fallen tree breaking my fall. The second: we ride through the city of Pereira when my bike starts cutting out at low revs. We push it off the road and consider options. Within minutes we are given directions to a bike shop so I set off walking, sweltering in my kit. Fortunately, I’ve broken down close to the only town in South America with a Suzuki factory, unfortunately my DR has to undergo open engine surgery. Despite unwavering reassurance from the mechanic, more problems occur. Once again my bike is opened up, most of the engine removed and more new parts administered.
The Love Hotel
Our next landmark is the ‘Love’ hotel, Ecuador. In South America many families live together under one roof leaving little alone time for adults. So, love hotels are very common and not as seedy as they may sound. They’re very private establishments with measures in place to ensure staff and guests never meet – you don’t want to be visiting with your wife and bump in to your mate or, worse still, the neighbour. The rooms come with a curvy PVC chair and a poster suggesting possible uses. Patrons mostly pay-by-the-hour but they are ideal for us motorcycle adventurers as they have secure, individual garages, and you can often get a good deal for an all-night price.
Sadly, my bike’s recovery is short-lived. Not only does my new, purpose-built, shock die on a lightly corrugated road, but on our beeline for Quito – Ecuador’s capital city – to get this sorted the engine starts to rattle like crazy. It comes to a stop in a tiny, dilapidated town. Luck is with us again when we realise we are two-doors down from an equally tiny bike shop. On investigation the mechanic diagnoses a dropped valve, which is where social media, a motorcycle adventurer’s friend, comes in to play. We’ve been added to a Whatsapp group by someone Kelvin met in a biker forum and before we know it a guy called Davo, someone we have never met before, has arranged a truck to pick us up, sent his son to his friend’s house so there’s room for us to stay, and got his mother on dinner duty. As our journey unfolds we come to learn that much of the biking community in South America is made of similar stuff.
My bike is promptly fixed and we carry on enjoying Ecuador, which packs a punch what with its easy access to the Amazon, fantastic volcanos, stunning dirt and tarmac roads, and the warm Pacific Ocean. And there’s so much wildlife. Although we don’t have the funds to get to the Galapagos Islands, we do manage to get to Isla de la Plata, aka the ‘Poorman’s Galapagos’. A one-hour boat ride out to the uninhabited island and here we see frigates swooping around above us and families of blue-footed boobies tucked away in the bushes. We go snorkelling and I’m joined by a sea turtle swimming under me, while several others glide around me. There are flapping Manta Rays and a tonne of beautifully coloured fish.