The Motorcycle Blogs

On the road again (sort of)

2009-09-23T16:32:00Z

After two fantastic rotations in Alberta (rural family medicine and neurology), I am now back on the road for my return trip to Toronto. My plan was to head south through Montana towards Yellowstone, where I intended to linger for a day or two. Then I wanted to head east across Wyoming and visit Mount Rushmore and Crazy Horse in South Dakota. This would have still left me enough time to spend a couple of days in Chicago.

Apparently my motorcycle did not agree with this plan, however. I even gave her some TLC by changing the oil and replacing the chain in Lethbridge before setting out. The first sign of trouble was when the dipstick snapped off and fell into oil reservoir in the frame. There was no fishing it out. Could I ride with it in there? I perused the internet and found that this had happened to multiple other DRZ owners. No one was successful at removing it, and everyone ended up continuing to ride with no incidents. There was no way for that 5 inch piece of plastic to get past the strainer into the oil pump or engine. Or so I hoped.

The ride along the number 2 highway, which crosses the Alberta-Montana border just south of Cardston and continues through the Blackfeet Nation skirting the east side of Glacier National Park, is one of the most spectacular rides in North America. The narrow twisty road winds its way from the rolling foothills high up into the mountains, along lakes, and then back down onto the plains with breathtaking vistas of prairie and mountains. There wasn't a dull moment. The road was built for motorcycles.

I camped at Black Sandy State Park just outside of Helena, Montana. After my hypothermic experience on a glacier in South America, I have a keen dislike of cold weather camping. This time I was lulled by how warm the day had been, and naively factored neither the high elevation nor the lateness of the season in my decision to pitch my tent. That night I barely slept as the temperature plunged to well below freezing and coated the hills with a hard frost.

My woes continued the next morning when my chain snapped on the Interstate about 15 km south of Helena. The masterlink that I had thought I had done such a good job installing the previous morning had come flying off. The chain got doubled up on my front sprocket and my plastic chain guard was broken in two. I was lucky the damage wasn't worse. Before I had even finished composing a text message to Houston (aka Erwin) asking for the name of a Suzuki dealership in Helena, a guy riding a brand new Harley Ultra Classic pulled up. It turns out it was the same guy, Neil from BC, that I had had a conversation with at the gas Station in Babb, Montana just the day before.

He gave me a ride back to Helena where I bought a bunch of master links hoping that they would fit my chain. None of them did. So Neil gave me a ride back to Helena again, where this time I bought a new chain. He helped me with the installation. It turns out he had been stranded on a Buell rally when the belt broke on his Lightning and he said it was a nightmare to fix (you have to split the frame). Certainly chains are easy in comparison with belts.

Neil said he would follow me for the next 30 miles or so just to make sure everything was alright. It was not. About 15 miles down the road I started to hear an awful clunking sound from within the case. Then I lost power and pulled over. My chain was intact. This was a new problem. My clutch cable was extremely loose and even with it adjusted for maximum tension there was still over a cm of play. Was my clutch burned?

I had to go heavy on the the throttle just to get going again because of the loose clutch cable. I was able to ride along until I put it into 5th. No drive. Back into 4th. Was it the clutch? Or had I somehow broken 5th gear? I was disturbed by an image of the broken dipstick lodged into the teeth of 5th gear. But there was no way for it to get there. Right?

Neil followed me all the way to Butte with his hazards on. I could not go much faster than 50 mph in 4th gear without red-lining it. This was a bit scary because the speed limit on the Interstate was 75 mph and most people in Montana still drive as they did back when there were no speed limits. As I write this my bike is being torn apart. The best case scenario is that it is the clutch. New plates should get here by tomorrow. So I will be here for another day at least. Luckily Butte is actually a nice place to be stranded.

Day 6 - The Prairies

2009-08-15T17:19:00Z

Wheat field, Southern Alberta.

As I rode across the open plains of the Southern prairies, I felt like I was riding home. I guess I am a Prairie Boy at heart. I think you have to be from the prairies to truly appreciate the huge skies and horizons so distant that you can sense the curvature of the earth in all directions. Some would say the prairies are flat and boring, but as I rode across the vastness I was reminded of a song celebrating the Prairies that our family friend Karen Howe used to sing around the campfire called "Nothing Like The Freedom". The song is by Prairie singer/songwriter Deborah Romeyn and Karen actually provided back-up vocals on the studio release. It goes:

There's nothing like the freedom
Looking over miles and miles of land
And it's something about the prairies
That strangers just don't understand

You can listen to the full song here, but if you're not from the prairies, you might not get it. Interestingly, this song was played on the space shuttle.

Short grass prairie, Southern Alberta.

My ride across the prairies started in Prince Albert, Saskatchewan where I had stopped for the night after riding down from the north. As I was packing up my bike in the morning, I got into a conversation with a guy who was getting married later that day. Him and his buddies were decorating three shiny black pick-up trucks for the upcoming wedding procession. The good ol' boys were even stringing together dozens of beer cans with twine to be dragged from the back of the trucks. He told me how people really loved their trucks in Prince Albert. I had certainly seen plenty of evidence of that as I rode around the city.

"Why get a limo when you can ride in a truck?" he asked, rhetorically in his mind. He does have a good point though. He saw my Ontario license plate and told me that one of his buddies had moved out there. He asked me if it was true that not everyone had a truck in Ontario. I said there were less trucks for sure. He nodded, and said: "Yeah my buddy told me that if you are lucky enough to see a truck in Ontario and hear the sound of dual exhaust, you have to stop and savour the moment."

Prairie Wedding, Prince Albert, Saskatchewan.

Snake highway (555), Southern Alberta. The sign says "Snakes are at risk! Watch for snakes on road next 62 km - Please slow down and save our snakes." I did see some dead snakes on the road, but unfortunately no live ones.

One of my favourite stretches of highway of the entire trip was highway 555 in Southeastern Alberta. The road skirts the northern edge of Canadian Forces Base Suffield which is one of the largest live fire training areas in the Western world at 2690 square km, and as such is largely uninhabited grassland. On the other side of the 505 is the dramatic Red Deer River valley. The whole area is teeming with wildlife. I saw hawks, deer, antelope, coyotes, and yes even dead snakes on the road. When I saw a magnificent Pronghorn Antelope (that I photographed below) bounding through a field, I felt like I was back on the Serengeti.

Pronghorn Antelope sighting, Southern Alberta.

I was almost home (Lethbridge, Alberta) as the day came to and end. I watched the sun go down near Brooks, where I captured this oil well (below). It felt good to be in Southern Alberta again.

Canada is both easier and more difficult to ride across that some of the other areas I have ridden (i.e. South America, Africa). Canada is great because you can go on an epic ride without having to cross any borders and safety is not a concern. Canada is also without a doubt the most pristine country I have ridden through. However, the challenges come from just how huge yet sparsely populated Canada is. This makes for great dual sport adventures, but there were many places that were so isolated that fuel was a challenge and where I did not want to think what would happen if I were to break down. It would take days to get the bike to a mechanic.

Another challenge is the weather. I rode through some downright nasty weather, the cold rain blowing sideways into my face, chilling me to my core. You can start a conversation pretty much anywhere in Canada by commenting on the weather. One thing that seemed universal across the country was just how bad of a summer Canada has had so far. People seem to be able to count the nice warm sunny days so far this year on one hand. Canadians endure some of the harshest most unforgiving weather of any inhabited place on Earth for a good part of every year. We put up with it stoically. All we ask for in return is July, which is normally glorious with uninterrupted long hot sunny days. This year we didn't get July, and we have a right to complain.

In 6 days I covered over 4200 km from Toronto to Lethbridge. I was enjoying the ride so much that it was painful to have to stop. Even the weather turned nice for the last couple of days. I wanted to keep going right up to the arctic circle. But that trip will have to wait.

You can see more pictures from my Canada Trip here.

Oil well near Brooks, Alberta.

Days 4 & 5 - The North

2009-08-14T01:53:00Z

The ride into the North was the highlight of the trip. There is such vastness. You can ride for hours without seeing another vehicle, person, or indeed anything other than wilderness. It made me feel small.

I decided to head north from Winnipeg after staying with Phil for a night (thanks for the friendly Manitoba hospitality buddy). I thought I would try to get all the way to Flin Flon, which is probably about a 10 hour ride if you go directly. However, I dawdled in Riding Mountain National Park. The park lived up to its name, providing fun gravel roads that meandered through boreal forest and muskeg swamp with impressive views of the surrounding prairie below.

By the time I got to Swan River (with it's giant swan guarding the entrance to the town), it was already after 9 PM. I might have stopped for the night, but it was still light!  The northern sunset lasts longer than a prairie good-bye. A couple of hours later, I was alone in the northern twilight on a deserted road twisting through the muskeg along the swampy shore of Lake Winnipegosis. Even though it was after 11 PM, the western sky was still aglow. I felt as if I had ridden onto some other planet, where the only sources of illumination were the lingering twighlight reflecting off the lake, the full moon rising above the trees, and my lone headlight shining on a cracked deserted road constructed by a long lost civilization.

The temperature was dropping quickly as night fell, and yet again I found myself yearning for my electric vest. It felt like winter. The illusion was reinforced by the sensation that I was riding through a snowstorm as my headlight reflected off of thick clouds of insects. It became increasingly difficult to see as my visor accumulated smashed bugs. When I almost went wide on a corner because of poor visibility, I considered stopping to clean my helmet. But that would mean taking off my helmet and exposing my naked head to the bloodthirsty swarms. I decided to press on. All thoughts of camping in the northern wild vanished instantaneously, and instead I became fixated on making it to The Pas, where Phil had told me there was a "really nice hotel". What can I say? Just because I crossed the frigid Bolivian altiplano and the oven-hot Nubian desert in Sudan does not mean that I would choose to be uncomfortable just on principle.

Unfortunately I ended up having to expose myself to the ravenous clouds of attacking bugs. I ran out of gas about 20 km short of The Pas. Luckily I had strapped a Jerry can full of gas to the back of my bike before leaving Winnipeg. I had almost run out of gas several times on the well-travelled TransCanada highway, and I knew that the concentration of gas stations would only decrease the further I got off the beaten track. It doesn't help that the few gas stations that do exist often close at 6 PM. In the time it took me to refuel my bike, the insects had found their way through every seam and were even inside my helmet, which is the only reason I took it off for the above shot.

When I finally arrived at the Kikiwak Inn in the Opaskwayak Cree Nation near The Pas well after midnight, I was delighted to discover that it was the best value in Canada. The suites were luxurious and bigger than most people's condos in downtown Toronto, and it was ridiculously cheap.  Definitely a better option than being bug food.

The next day I rode past the 54th parallel and beyond into Flin Flon, Manitoba. I have been intrigued with Flin Flon ever since I discovered that it is named after a fictional character from a book that a prospector found in the woods.  I was amused to find a giant statue of the town's namesake, Fintabetty Flonatin. It is amazing that some town council actually agreed to pay for Flintabetty's resurrection.


An oversized statue of Flintabetty Flonatin greets visitors to Flin Flon, Manitoba.

I continued west along beautiful hard packed gravel roads acoss Northern Saskatchewan. The DRZ loved these roads, and it felt good to raise a cloud of dust along the straightaways with the throttle pinned.

The North is dual sport heaven - empty roads, beautiful scenery, and absurdly long days. The Yukon's Dempster highway has definitely moved up on my list of future rides.

Route 165, Northern Saskatchewan.

Day 3 - Lake Superior

2009-08-09T18:52:00Z

Lake Superior

I got off to a bit of a late start on Day 3 because the night before found me at the poker table in the Sault until past 4 AM. It was fun to play some no-limit Texas Hold'em against the locals. There was a 20ish kid who worked as a security guard because "you can't find a decent job in this town". Another young guy, by his own assertion, had the most boring job on the planet. He said he spent 10 hours a day leveling wood chips (or was it lumber?). There was a young 25ish woman from Eliott Lake, here on a mini-vacation with her mother. I asked what Eliott Lake was like, having never been there myself. This sparked a discussion at the table about how awful of a place Eliott Lake was.

"That town is full of retirees. It's where you go to wait to die," somebody said. Someone else added:

"It's worse than death." Everyone laughed at this, including the young woman here on a temporary escape from there. But at the end she was more sighing than laughing. I asked her what kept her there, and she said her 3 kids, aged 6, 2, and 1. That would do it. This was mommy's night out, and she was making the most of it - that is until her Aces got cracked and she busted out of the game.

I busted out myself quite early in the night when I lost with an Ace-high flush to a straight flush. I had Qh-Th in the big blind and the flop came down 2h-4h-6c giving me a four flush. There had been a raise preflop so the pot was already decent with four people in. It was checked to an older gentleman on the button who made a standard bet. I decided that this was a good opportunity to push all-in because I thought I could get him to fold a lot of hands and I had a lot of outs if I was called. Everyone folded except the old man, who called rather quickly. Oh-oh. He had the straight already with 5h-3h! The turn was a blank. When the Ace of hearts landed on the river, completing my flush, I thought I had won. That is until the old man jumped up and yelled straight flush! Well, what can you do except buy in again?

I made a good chunk of my money back against the security guard kid much later in the night. I had 6-6 in the big blind. The kid raised in first position and the wood-chip leveler called in mid position. Everyone else folded. I don't normally like to play small pocket pairs out of position in 3-handed pots, but I called the raise to see what developed on the flop because I had a good feel for the way people were playing. The flop came down Jc-8c-5d, completely missing me. I was ready to be done with the hand, but then the kid over-bet the pot and the wood-chip leveler folded, leaving me heads-up. Suddenly I had a read that the kid probably had two high-cards and not a big pair, and moreover I knew that he was a good enough player to fold a few good hands. He might even fold a hand like 10-10.

I decided to raise all-in against him. Folding would have been alright. The only clear mistake would have been just calling and then facing another tough decision on the turn when likely another overcard to my pair would come off and the Kid would almost surely bet again with anything. The kid thought for awhile and then folded A-K face-up! I love it when poker works out that way. I ended up leaving the table even which is a good result considering how the evening started. Stupid straight flush.

When I finally hit the road the next day it was already around noon and it was dark, cold, and threatening to rain (or maybe snow?). I did not regret sleeping through the morning. The clouds lifted shortly after I came upon the dazzling shore of Lake Superior. The TransCanada highway, carved out of the rugged Canadian shield, hugs the rocky shore of Lake Superior between Sault Ste Marie and Thunder Bay, Ontario, making this an incredibly scenic ride for hours on end. So how does the ride along Lake Superior compare to that around some of the World's other Great Lakes?

Left to right: Lake Superior, Canada; Lago Titicaca, Peru; Lake Malawi, Malawi.

Well, Lake Superior may not be situated at over 4000 metres on the altiplano of South America or in a lush tropical valley in East Africa, but it has a rugged beauty that is all its own. I felt like I was riding into a Group of Seven painting.

Left: Fred Varley: 'Stormy Weather, Georgian Bay' (1921)
Right: Franklin Carmichael: 'Lake Wabagishik' (1928)

The highway twists and turns through the bedrock and I spent a good part of the day leaning over the frothy waves crashing into the rocks below. At one point I flew around a corner and had the startling illusion that I was going to sail right into the lake.

When the sun started to get low and wash the racetrack with a golden glow, I was having as much fun as I'd had on a motorcycle since South Africa. I had the throttle pinned, the bike leaning into perfectly banked corners, and a big grin on my face. I almost forgot how unbelievably cold it was and how I wished I had my electric vest despite my two sweaters and two jackets.

I am not going to say whether Superior is better than Malawi or Titicaca, but I will say that it is by far the most pristine. The crystal clear waves splashing on the bedrock of the Canadian shield with pine covered hills stretching to the horizon is a scene that feels as if it has remained unchanged since the last Ice Age about 12,000 years ago.

The sun sets over Lake Superior and the TransCanada highway.

The Canada tour begins

2009-08-03T22:47:00Z

I am finally off on my two-wheeled trip across the Canadian heartland. It is only day 2 and I've already almost run out of gas twice. On the last trip I made it all the way to South Africa before running out of gas for the first time. What is going on? Well for one, I will admit that I have a little bit more packed onto my bike than Macher would approve of. But in my defense I am going to be living away for 6 weeks of electives. So I have some books, more clothes than I have an excuse for, and even this computer. The extra weight, combined with a strong headwind, and cruising at 125-130 km/h on the 400 resulted in the bike sputtering out at only 150 km since the last fill! I thought I would at least make it 200 km before going into reserve.

Almost out of gas in the middle of nowhere. I had to resort to my Garmin GPS while still only a couple of hours outside of Toronto to try to find the closest gas station.

Unfortunately the nearest gas station turned out to be a 30 km backtrack. According to the GPS, the next gas station in my direction was over 80 km away. It shames me to have had to break the number one rule of motorcycle touring so soon on my trip ("Thous shalt not backtrack"). It was either that or hitchhiking though.

I almost ran out of gas later on because I didn't realize that after about 6 or 7 PM almost all of the gas stations would be closed. I had to ride the last 150 kilometres into Sudbury at 85 km/h to try and conserve fuel. Luckily I made it to 223 km before switching to reserve. I wanted to reward myself for the cold night ride into Sudbury (I had a late departure and it was just befoe 10 PM by the time I got there) with a nice steak dinner before finding a place to spend the night.

Unfortunately, everything seemed to be closed. I eventually stopped at a Travelodge with a Perkins restaurant attached and when I asked if the restaurant was still open the attendant looked at me like I was crazy.

"Is there anything open in Sudbury where I could eat at this hour?" I asked.

"At ten o'clock at night? You really want to eat at ten o'clock? There is nothing open except for maybe the Tim Horton's drive thru."

Next I asked if there was a place to camp nearby and he really looked at me like I was speaking another language. I guess people don't normally come to Sudbury to camp. I used the GPS to find a tavern hoping that perhaps they would serve some bar food. In the end I ended up at a fine bar called the "Smiling Buddha" with a great beer selection and an open kitchen. So to set the record straight - yes you can eat at 10 PM or even midnight in Sudbury. And you can wash your meal down with a bottle of Unibroue "La Fin du Monde" if you should so choose.

I ended up splurging for a fine room at the Quality Inn just down the street. When I woke up this (late) morning, it was as dark as Mordor outside and threatening to deluge. Riding through Sudbury in the dim daylight on the ride out I felt as though I actually was in Mordor. Cool.

Nickel Mine (aka Mordor), Sudbury, ON.

Because of my late start on Day 1, I was hoping to make it all the way to Thunder Bay on Day 2. Alas, I had another late start (or put another way a wonderful sleep). My decision to stop in Sault Ste Marie was made much easier by the horrible weather. It has been cold and raining all day. I wish I had my electric vest. Without an electric vest, the ride to Thunder Bay in the cold downpour would be miserable indeed. Also I have been told that the north shore of Lake Superior is beautiful, and I would like to do the ride in nice weather during the day (which will hopefully be the case tomorrow).

The rain stopped for a few minutes today so I snapped this picture of the Busy Bee Restaurant where I had a hearty Lumberjack Breakfast and coffee on the TransCanada about 50 km or so west of Sudbury.

Camping in Algonquin Park

2009-07-23T02:40:00Z

Last weekend Mike, Matt, Jerry, and I went for a canoeing and camping trip in Algonquin provincial park. Jerry and I rode our motorcycles and we all met up at Northern Wilderness Outfitters where we rented two canoes. I left directly from the hospital post-call on Friday morning, having packed my bike before my Thursday shift.

It had been a long time since I had been in a canoe and I was wondering if I would capsize. In the end it was Matt, the seasoned pro, who ended up in the lake when Jerry made a failed attempt to land the canoe they shared at our campsite the next day.

To get to where we intended to camp the first day, we had to paddle across a lake, then a serpentine river (with two portages) then across the West arm of North Tea Lake. We finally found a camp site on an island in the East Arm of North Tea Lake just as it was getting too dark to see.

The next day we paddled to the end of the East Arm and did another portage to Lake Manitou where we found a soft sandy deserted beach and swam and soaked up the sun. It threatened to rain all weekend but we only had a few showers and one night of rain. It was a fun trip. However, I have to say that I may have enjoyed the ride throuh the forest from South River to the outfitters even more than all the paddling.

I packed almost everything I needed for a weekend of camping onto my increasingly adventure-ready DRZ400. I am looking forward to my upcoming trip from Toronto to Lethbridge, Alberta along the most northern east-west route I can find across Canada.

Niagara Falls

2009-06-29T02:27:41Z

It was a perfect day for a ride yesterday so I took my bike to Niagara Falls. You can see some of the recent mods: the Happy Trails panniers, Clarke gas tank, and Corbin seat. I took the back roads, finding some scenic rides along the Niagara escarpment (including some dirt), and clocked over 400 kilometres. I am impressed with the Corbin. With the stock seat, I would have had difficulty walking after such a ride.

I had seen the Falls once when I was very young, and I was worried that I would be disappointed seeing them as an adult. I was wrong - if anything the Falls were even more impressive than I remembered.

Wanderlust

2009-06-06T02:16:00Z

I have lived in Toronto since the start of the school year in 2006, but this is the first time I have spent any time in Toronto in the month of June. For the past two years the start of June has been marked by a grand departure on a 3 month motorcycle adventure. On this day In 2007, Ted, Tom, and I were camping just outside of Springfield, Missouri as we followed route 66 across the United States on our way to Mexico and beyond. The night before we had camped in a pubic park in St. Louis, and the night before that we had camped in a public park next to Lake Michigan just south of downtown Chicago. Three months later Ted and I would arrive in Buenos Aires, Argentina.

Above: On June 5, 2007, we camped at a KOA just outside of Springfield, Missouri. It was the first shower/laundry day since we had left Toronto on June 2nd, and the first time we had actually paid for camping.

On this day in 2008, Tom, Jerry, Ted, and myself were camping in the forest near Heilbronn Germany, already well into the Europe leg of our London to Cape Town Adventure. We had spent the day following the River Rhein as it cut a dramatic swath through a deep lush valley with castles perched on the ridges. I remember being mesmorized by the scenery for the first time since we had left London on June 2nd.

Above: On June 5, 2008, we camped (for free) in a wooded area in Southern Germany. The night before we had camped (for free) on the outskirts of Bonn, and the night before that we had camped (for free) in the parking lot of the Westvleteren brewery in Belgium (where the world's best beer is brewed by the Trappist monks of the Abbey of Saint Sixtus).

I guess it is only natural for my wanderlust to be particularly acute at this time of year. I am in serious adventure withdrawal, yearning to hit the road. There is so much of the world I have yet to see. I sorely miss the freedom of the open road and not knowing where the day's ride will take me or what wonders I will experience along the way. Ted Simon, who rode his Triumph around the world for 4 years in the 1970s (and is the author of one of my favourite books - Jupiter's Travels) once talked about the difficulty of returning to a "normal" life after his epic motorcycle adventure. He described how he felt trapped by a "multitude of gossamer strands" imprisoning him. That sounds a bit extreme to me, yet I can definitely understand where he was coming from. Nothing forces you to live in the moment and gives you a sense of freedom like crossing some exotic corner of the world by motorcycle, exposed to the elements, with no clear idea of where your next meal will come from or where you will spend the night.

It seems that the closest I will come to adventure this June is to re-read my journals and live vicariously through myself. Bah.

Video Slide Show of our London to Cape Town Motorcycle Adventure

2009-04-26T16:34:00Z

Below is a slide show of our 2008 motorcycle adventure from London, England to Cape Town, South Africa. Tom, Jerry, and myself (and Ted from London to Istanbul) travelled through 25 countries over the course of 3 months. We travelled 24,000 kilometres by motorcycle. So far we have raised about $4,000 for HIV treatment and prevention in Africa. The slide show is roughly in chronological order starting with our departure from London, continuing across Europe and the Middle East, and then Africa from Egypt to South Africa. The video ends with our arrival in stunning Cape Town.
http://tysonbrust.com/2009/04/26/video-slide-show-of-our-london-to-cape-town-motorcycle-adventure.aspx

Toronto Spring Motorcycle Show

2009-04-08T21:59:00Z

Jeremy and I spent last weekend at the Toronto Spring Motorcycle Show manning our booth. My DRZ was on display with its brand new black powder-coated aluminum Happy Trails Panniers. We also had photos and a map of our London to Cape Town route spread out on the table. I was surprised at the sheer number of people who came up to us to chat and ask questions. It was impressive to see how much excitement our adventure seemed to generate. I didn't realize so many people had dreamed of going on their own round-the world adventures. We even talked to a number of people who had ridden their motorcycles through some of the far off reaches of the world. One elderly gentleman had done a trip like ours over thirty years ago. I enjoyed listening to his stories - they made me feel grateful for my opportunities for adventure because one day I too will be an old man with stories.

Despite the fact that it was already April, we also sold a good number of our charity calendars, raising another $230 for Dignitas. We didn't set a price, but rather said we were giving them away in the hopes that people would make a donation. And people did so - generously.

Above: the view from our booth, which was in a prime location at a major intersection. It was exciting to see my bike one step closer to being adventure-ready. I am looking forward to being on the road again, even if it is on my own continent.

Spring has arrived

2009-03-29T03:01:00Z

The arrival of spring in Toronto is usually celebrated by a meal and/or cocktail on a newly re-opened patio. Those activities were occurring throughout the city today as winter-weary Torontonians took advantage of the warm sunny weather. For Ted and myself, the arrival of spring was marked by an off-road excursion. We spent the afternoon on our motorcycles tearing through the muddy trails of a small island of undevelopped land within the GTA that we call the Pit.

There were creeks to cross and hills to climb. At one point there was a fallen tree lying across our path that Ted discovered (the hard way) exceeded the clearance of his motorcycle, causing him get high-centred.

I had my own misadventures during one of the creek crossings. I managed to get my rear wheel wedged against a submerged rock and dumped my bike in the middle of the stream. It was my first drop on my DRZ 400, so we marked the occaision with a photo after I picked my bike up out of the water (above left).

The photo on the right shows Ted and his bike coated in mud, the result of him being too close behind me when I got stuck in a muddy hole. Yes my rear wheel sprayed him quite effectively as it spun wildly during my attempt to get unstuck. Ah, spring. I am giddy with anticipation of the upcoming riding season. (And drinks on patios).

The Next Adventure

2009-03-22T04:14:00Z

Icefields Parkway, Between Banff and Jasper, Alberta Rockies.

Many people have been asking us where we will go for our next adventure. How do you top Toronto to Buenos Aires or London to Cape Town? Especially when you only have two weeks of vacation? My response has been that we would make a run for the arctic circle. Alas, even this is has turned out to be overly optimistic. The distance from Toronto to Calgary is about 3,500 kms. From Calgary to Inuvik, it is another 3,300 kms, and the last several hundred of those are on reasonably rough road. It is not possible to cover nearly 14,000 km in only 2 weeks and still enjoy yourself (especially on a dirt bike).

Thus we have decided to delay our trip to the Arctic until we have more time. Instead, this summer we will ride from Toronto to the Alberta Rockies. We will travel the northern shores of the Great Lakes to reach the prairies. Then we will circle northward and cross Manitoba and Sakstachewan as far north as we can while working our way westwards through the bush, camping along the way. I am sure that we will be able to find plenty of dirt as we go. Once in Alberta we will head south to Jasper and then take the famous Icefields Parkway to Banff.

The Suzuki DRZ400 is the bike that both Jeremy and myself will be taking for this trip. With the help of A Vicious Cycle and Happy Trails, we are in the process of making our bikes adventure-ready. From AVC, I am ordering a corbin seat for the long hours in the saddle. We are also going for Clarke 3.9 gallon gas tanks.

From Happy Trails, we are going to equip our bikes with aluminum panniers mounted to SU racks. These are the racks that held up so well on our London to Cape Town adventure.

The weather over the past week has finally been hinting that spring is approaching. I have started riding my DRZ to work again. Although it is warmer than it was, it is still bloody cold. I have been using my electric vest heavily, but unfortunately the DRZ stator has not been generating enough power for this luxurious accessory. I have had to charge my battery a couple of times. To reduce the overall wattage demand, I am going to install an LED tail light and perhaps a headlight switch so that I can turn off my headlight while using the vest. Especially after what happened today.

Today I rode out to T.O. Cycle to get a new front wheel installed (the old one was bent out of shape and the result was a scary wobble at speeds over 90 km/h). By the time I got out there (a half hour ride), my electric vest had completely drained the battery. After the wheel was installed, I had the guys push me so I could bump start the bike, and I set off for the ride back without the benefit of electricity's warmth. Luckily by then the temperature had climbed to a balmy 4 degrees Celcius.

Once on the Gardiner Expressway, I moved to the left lane to see if the new wheel eliminated my higher speed wobble. Previously, I had not dared go beyond about 130 km/h because of the wobble. Because the new wheel did not accomodate the stock speedo (tomorrow I will install a Trail Tech Vapour), I had no idea how fast I was actually going. The only way to be sure if there was an improvement was to pin it. At maximum speed the old wheel would have bucked me off. If I could pin it with the new wheel, then I could be satisfied that I had made a good investment.

As I was accelerating at full throttle, however, I suddenly lost power. Then the engine cut out. I pulled to the emergency lane on the left side as heavy traffic raced past me. What had happened?

I inspected the bike. The chain was fine. The battery was not - in fact, the green neutral light barely flickered. Luckily a car had already stopped ahead of me, and the driver was walking back towards me. It turns out that when he's not forced to drive a car he prefers to get around on a GSXR, and he himself had broken down once before on this very section of freeway on his rocket of a sportbike (a truly awful place for a breakdown by the way). With him pushing, I tried to bump start the bike. Three tries and nothing.

Then I turned to him and said "I think I have two problems - a dead battery and no gas." I switched the tank to reserve and he pushed me once more, and this time we were rewarded with the sound of a roaring engine. After merging back onto the freeway, I noticed a radar trap under an overpass about a kilometre ahead of where I had been sidelined. That would have been about the point where I would have reached top speed had I not suddenly lost power. What a lucky time to run out of gas.

I am looking forward to spring like a kid before Christmas. I can't wait to get back in the saddle. I am sure I am not the only one. For anyone who is itching to get back on the trail, the Toronto Spring Motorcyle Show is the perfect starting point. It is being held at the International Centre April 4th and 5th, 2009. We will again have a booth set up where we will have pictures and maps depicting our Africa trip. We will also be selling our Dignitas Calendars to raise money for HIV sufferers in Africa. In addition, we will be displaying our adventure-ready DRZ400s. Please drop by to support or cause and/or chat about motorcycle adventure touring.

SUPERSHOW 2009

2008-12-25T04:47:00Z

If you would like to purchase one of our 2009 charity calendars or chat about motorcycle adventures, please drop by our booth at the upcoming SUPERSHOW in Toronto.

In other news, I was taken by surprise when I was informed that I would be receiving the "Rider of the Year" MAX Award (Motorcycle Awards of Excellence). I feel honoured to have been selected. Thanks to the person who nominated me, whomever you may be. This is a great chance to promote Dignitas and the cause of fighting HIV/AIDS in Africa. The awards ceremony will be held on Saturday, January 3rd at 2:00 PM on the Hall 2 Touring and Cruiser stage.

The Motorcycle Awards of Excellence (MAX Awards) will be presented at SUPERSHOW 2009 in over 50 categories including Canadian Racing Champions, Rider Achievement, Media and Sponsorship, selected for showing excellence during the 2008 motorcycle year. The purpose MAX Awards is to recognize the contributions of people and organizations to the motorcycle community and of racers who compete in the many disciplines of our great sport.

Toronto Star Wheels Article

2008-12-16T01:15:00Z

I have written an article about our London to Cape Town adventure for the Wheels section of the Toronto Star. You can find it online here. The article caused a surge of interest in our trip and our cause of fighting HIV in Africa at the Toronto Motorcycle Show yesterday. I am happy to report that we have already sold over 100 Dignitas Calendars and have logged a number of cash donations as well. Thanks to everyone who supported our cause.

If you missed our booth at the Toronto Motorcyce Show, you will have another chance at the SUPERSHOW being held January 2,3, and 4th, 2009. We will be selling our Dignitas Motorcycle Adventure calendars there as well. See you there or on some dusty track in a forgotten corner of the world.

The 2009 Dignitas Calendar has arrived

2008-12-13T14:36:00Z

Cover of our 2009 Calendar. Left: Yarema (Jerry Bezchlibnyk). Right: Tyson Brust. Photo taken in the Sinai Peninsula, Egypt by Tom Smith.

We will be selling calendars all weekend at the Toronto Motorcycle Show being held Dec 12-14 at the Metro Toronto Convention Centre. The calendar features pictures and trip information from our recent adventure from London to Cape Town. 100% of the profits from the sale of the calendars will be donated to Dignitas International, a Toronto-based humanitarian organization that dramatically increases access to antiretroviral drugs for people living with HIV/AIDS around the world.

Please drop by our booth to purchase a calendar or to chat about adventures. We are displaying photos as well as a map and video. You can also catch for an on-stage interview today (Saturday Dec 13) at 12:30 and tomorrow (Sunday Dec 14) at 2:00 PM.

Please send me an email at tysonbrust@hotmail.com if you would like to purchase our 2009 calendar. Calendars are $15.

We are also encouraging cash donations to Dignitas through our fundraising page. Thanks to those who have already donated. You truly are making a difference.

Weekend Warriors

2008-11-16T01:21:00Z

Last weekend Ted, his brother Kolten, Jerry, and myself had some fun tearing around a secret spot that we call "The Pit". The Pit is actually within the Greater Toronto Area, but luckily has somehow been forgotten by developpers. There are probably about 10 acres of fun that include creeks, hills, mud-holes, and boulders. Jerry had the pleasure of breaking in his new 2008 Susuzki DRZ400S. Literally. He dropped it amongst the boulders in the middle of a creek and bent his brake lever. There is also enough challenging terrain to break mirrors, as Kolten discovered while riding Ted's bike.

As fun as it was, it could well have been the last blast of fun before winter ends the riding season. It may not be the wilds of Africa, but it was nonetheless almost too much fun because it was enough to give us all a taste of adventure again and now we'll probably spend too much time this winter wishing we were riding. The curse of motorbiking.

Jerry picked up a 2008 Suzuki DRZ400S (pictured above) last weekend. He broke it in by dumping it in a creek. (Not the creek pictured above but rather a deeper more rocky creek. Really.) The bike took it well, except for a bent brake lever.

Grand Prize Winner!

2008-10-30T22:56:00Z

I am pleased to announce that the above picture was recently selected as the Grand Prize Winner for the Horizons Unlimited Motorcycle Travellers 2009 Calendar competition. I took the photo on Guagua Pichincha Volcano in Ecuador while Ted and I were on our 2007 motorcycle adventure through the Americas. It shows Jose Rodriguez from Ecuador riding his Honda CRF 450X along a narrow ridge on the rim of the volcano at an altitude of more than 4700 metres. Ted and I weren't able to get our bikes up the last couple of hundred metres because the slope got too steep and rocky for our heavier machines. We were also not serious Enduro racers like Jose. Even had I been on a lighter bike, I'm not sure I would have made it to the top without soiling myself.

Jose kindly put us up in his home in Quito and took us on a motorcycle tour of the spectacular area surrounding the city. Ecuador is one of the most stunningly beautiful countries in the world, with towering volcanoes rising to dizzying heights above rolling green countryside. These days, my studying is often interrupted of by daydreams of motorcycle adventures, and I often find myself being transported back to Ecuador. Then I wake up and continue to read about acute tubulointerstitial nephritis.

Back in Toronto

2008-10-04T18:52:00Z

Above: Me with my new (to me) Suzuki DRZ400, which I will mostly use to get around Toronto. However, hopefully I will be abe to go on some weekend adventures in the dirt as well. The DRZ400 is the bike that I used for our training session in California's Mojave desert before our African adventure. I loved it.

Returning to life as a medical student after spending over 3 months riding across Africa is a bit of an adjustment to say the least. I went from not knowing where I was going to eat my next meal or spend the night to a highly regimented schedule. I am enjoying clerkship, but I am glad that I took the opportunity to go on my two globe-spanning motorcyle adventures when I had the chance. The luxury of having three months with no scheduled duties is something that may not come again for quite some time.

Returning to Toronto was also somewhat of a reverse culture-shock. The difference in the standard of living is striking. I'm not sure if Canadians realize how lucky they are to live in a relatively safe society that has the means and desire to provide a safety net to those who would otherwise perish.

The story of our motorcycle adventure from London to Cape Town has recently received some media attention here in Canada. Debra Black, a staff reporter with the Toronto Star, was interested in our story and interviewed me shortly after I got back to Toronto. A photographer also came to my building and captured the above portrait of myself and my new DRZ400 (on the day that I rode it home for the first time). The story was delayed for several weeks. I guess the collapse of the world's financial system, the Canadian and US elections, Sarah Palin, and hurricane Ike all put a squeeze on us.

Nonetheless, here it is in all of its' glory: http://www.healthzone.ca/health/article/508585

I have also created a collection of pictures on my flickr account of the pictures from the London to Cape Town trip: http://www.flickr.com/photos/14077797@N06/collections/72157607350306724/

My own financial crisis has dictated that I remain in North America for the time being. Perhaps the next adventure will be a short trek into Canada's north. There is so much to explore right here in my own country.

Good bye Africa, at least for now.

Jerry and I in Ethiopia.

Day 95 - Cape Town, South Africa (Mission Accomplished)

2008-09-05T19:00:00Z

Mission Accomplished. Tom and I arrive at Cape Agulhas, Africa's most southern point. It was a good feeling to have finally made it, albeit with one bike and one team member less than we intended. You belong in this shot Jerry. And so does the Odyssey. The BMW F 800 GS is a fraud - we had to push it the final 20 metres through the rocks for this picture.

95 days, 25 countries, and 23,000 kilometres after leaving London, we have finally arrived in beautiful Cape Town, South Africa. At least two of us have arrived. Jerry is still somewhere in Namibia, stranded because of s sheared piston pin and bent valves. He is still determined to make it the last 2400 kilometres to the Cape. It's a shame that circumstances did not allow the team to reunite in Cape Town, but I am grateful that we have all come out of this trip with no serious injuries.

The last week has been a relaxing denouement to a trip of a lifetime. When Tom and I rode into Johannesburg a week ago, we were spotted riding two-up on the freeway by local motorcycle enthusiast Andre Haasbroek. Andre waved us over for a chat and before long had invited us to stay at his home. Andre owns 4 motorcycles, including a 2008 KLR 650, which he favours over all the others. After a few brandys, it was easy to convince Andre to join us for the last leg of our trip to Cape Town. He decided to take his V-strom for the trip as we were planning on riding mostly asphalt and his KLR 650 was in need of some repairs (not from flipping the bike as happened on a recent trip but due to dealer negligence on his last servicing).

Andre Haasbroek joined on his V-Strom for a brief one week tour of South Africa. We had a great time and I look forward to returning and going on more rides. The above picture was taken at Cape Point.

We had been hoping to get Tom's bike fixed at Russell Campbell Kawasaki and be on our way. Russell Campbell, ex-racer and owner of the dealership, has been incredibly helpful and refused to take any money for servicing my bike. Moreover, he have us the name of a good friend of his in Port Elizabeth where we could spend the night. South African hospitality has been mind blowing.

Unfortunately Tom's KLR (which was supposed to have been shipped to Russell by truck from Lilongwe, Malawi) was missing in action.  We would eventually learn that the bike was still in Malawi. Apparently there was a diesel shortage and no trucks were able to leave the country.  Tom decided to rent a new BMW F 800 GS (traitor!) to take him to the finish line in Cape Town. After having ridden for nearly 3000 km two-up (from Lilongwe, Malawi to Johannesburg, South Africa) we were both suffering from separation anxiety at the prospect of going back to solo riding. Somehow we got over it, although at first it felt weird not to be crotch to butt for hours on end.  After a week we had gotten used to it.

We rode nearly 3,000 kilometres two-up a la Che Guevara and Alberto Granado. Pictured above is a timed shot of us in Botswana's Sowa salt pan, the second largest salt pan in the world after Bolivia's Salar de Uyuni.

Our two-up adventure began in Malawi, continued through Zambia and Botswana, and eventually came to an end in South Africa. During that time we both experienced what it is like to crash as a passenger.  I guess it is fitting as Che Guevara and his friend Alberto Granado had their fair share of spills. Luckily Rosa proved more reliable than her namesake (La Poderosa II or "The Mighty One") and made it the whole way.

Our crash fest began in Botswana. We had decided to attempt the Sowa salt pan two-up after that route was recomended by a friend, Heiko Held, whom we met in Livingstone, Zambia. We met Heiko because we had gone for a microlight flight to view Victoria Falls.  One of the most memorable images I have from the trip is seeing the splendour of Victoria falls from above in the glow of sunset. I will not try to describe Victoria Falls, as Livingstone has already aptly described it is a scene "gazed upon by angels in their flight". Amen to that.

As luck would have it, Heiko was the pilot of my microlight. Heiko, originally from Germany, was a Kawasaki enthusiast and had been watching us ride around Livingstone from the air. He has spent years travelling the world by motorcyle, including two trips across Africa - all on Kawasakis. He put 100,000 kms on his first KLR before giving it to a friend. (He makes sure there is oil in the engine). It is still in running condition today. Flying a microlight seems like the next logical step to take for someone with motorcycling in their blood. In many ways it is similar but you get to fly too.

Heiko invited us to stay at his home in Livingstone. We were treated to some hair-raising adventure stories from Heiko's travels.  Our trip seems like a picnic compared to what Heiko has been through. Both him and his riding buddy are lucky to be alive. In any case, we told him our predicament - we had to get to Johannesburg to reunite Tom with the Odyssey. He recommended we save Namibia for another trip (planting the idea in our heads of storing our motorcycles in South Africa) and to head south through Botswana instead. The Sowa salt pan was close to our route and would give us one last taste of adventure before we hit the smooth tarmac highways of South Africa.

The Sowa salt pan was indeed an adventure. It took us an entire day to ride less than 200 kilometres.  It was hard work to get there, and even harder work to get out, but the effort was well worth it as the salt pan was beautiful and otherwordly - a highlight of the trip. Plus we got the chance to take off our helmets and have some fun.

The trouble began when the surface of the pan went from hard and crunchy to soft and muddy. The bike started struggling to keep a decent speed because of worsening traction on the back tire. Eventually we had to stop because riding fully loaded two-up over mud was too much to ask of Rosa and she was starting to overheat. Unfortunately once we stopped to let her cool down, we could not get her moving again because she could not get any traction in the mud.

After much effort involving pushing the bike over and cleaning mud off the tire, we finally got her going again. We found a vehicle track that was harder packed and were making good progress. It was almost sunset and we had a long way to go to get to the next village. We couldn't really bush camp because we had dumped all of our camping gear in Malawi to lighten the load for riding two-up. Thus we had to make it to a lodge or hotel for the night.

I was driving, and could feel that the ground had firmed up again. There is nothing quite like bombing at full speed over a salt pan, so I left the track and blazed my own trail. Soon I was going 90 km/h. In hindsight, traveling at that was not the smartest decision as the back tire was completely slick with mud. Suddenly I hit a section of mud again. With no traction the bike started to fish tail wildly. I kept trying to save it. I succeeded a few times, but every fish tail was bigger than the last. Soon we were basically sliding sideways. Then we slid out completely and we went down. Tom and I came off the bike in one unit and slid across the muddy salt pan. When we came off, I had managed to get the speed down to about 60 km/h. We slid farther than the bike, which embedded itself into the mud. It was one of the longest crashes I have ever experienced. I'm sure it felt even longer to Tom, who as a passenger could do nothing but wait for the bike to finally go down. Luckily we were both unhurt, although we were coated with mud.

We continued with Tom driving (I figured it was his turn after I sent him flying across the salt pan). We had about 80 kilometres to go, almost all of it on dirt, to get out. Little did we know that we would hit the most challenging riding conditions of the entire trip. At night. Two-up.

The result:

Tom would repay me for the treatment he received as a passenger by sending me flying. More than once. We made quick shift changes because the riding was exhausting. It was no fun being a passenger either because the guy in front had to stand up the entire time. Not only do you have a butt in your face, but you can't see anything. You can only feel the bike slide around and brace yourself for a fall. Often the driver could save the bike from going down (we almost crashed a lot more times than we actually did) but sometimes not. And you'd go down. (For the record my only drop of the day was the crash on the salt pan, but I made up in quality for what I lacked in quantity).

The track got so sandy that we abandoned our attempts to ride two-up. One guy would walk ahead and the other would ride the bike (usually after waiting for her to cool down). Once, while trying to get Rosa moving again with Tom somewhere up ahead, I have to admit that if a truck had come along at that moment I would have flagged it down and put the bike in the back. We had 40 kilometres to go, it was almost 9 PM, and we were moving slower than walking pace. Also, I was wondering if there lions in the area. There was nothing but dark bush on both sides of the track. I was exhausted. We had run out of water. But no vehicles came, let alone a truck with room for a bike. We were on our own. We had to find our own way out. Eventually we did. A few kilometres later we emerged onto a gravel road. Although it was full of loose gravel and corrugated, it felt like a superhighway after what we had just ridden. I am glad that no truck came and that we got out. It was a satisfying feeling to have made it.

That night the beer tasted extra good in the luxury hotel that Tom and I seemed to have a knack for finding ever since we ditched the camping gear. Soon we were joking whether 3 star hotels were "up to our standards". We stayed in some places that would make anyone soft. We ate excellent meals. I didn't realize that if you choose to do it, you can ride around Southern Africa without giving up the comforts of white linen, soft pillows, excellent meals, and hot showers. And it was all actually very cheap by Western standards. The pinnacle was probably the Arniston hotel in South Africa, where we indulged in 4 star luxury and an ocean view. The cost for the room (which included a mouth watering breakfast buffet) was only about $40 per person. It would have been $400 in California.

I am sad to leave South Africa. It is one of the most beautiful countries in the world. The coastal highway, the mountains, the desert - it has all been stunning. And the people have been going out of their way to help us ever since we arrived. South African hospitality is among the world's best. There is a special kinship among motorcyclists in particular. It feels like you are part of one big extended family. People are happy to stop and chat and exchange route information. South Africa is such a treasure for adventure motorcycling that there is always somewhere new to explore, even if you have been riding here for years. People will also happily invite you into their homes. We found this out when we stayed in Andres house when we first arrived in Jo-burg, and again in Port Elizabeth when we stayed in the estate of former racer Ian Mirk and his wife Jenny. We were treated to stories from the racing days and helpful advice on where we should go for our next adventure.

Both Tom and I would love to return to South Africa to continue our adventures. So much so that we have decided to leave our bikes in the care of our South African friend Andre so that they will be here waiting for us to come back. We have left so much unseen in Southern Africa, including Namibia, which by all accounts is an adventure motorcyclist's paradise. Leaving my bike here also takes some of the sting out of the fact that the current adventure has come to an end. There will be opportunities to return and pick up where we left off.

Our arrival in the Cape Town area was marked by yet another beautiful sunset. If anyone knows why sunrises and sunsets are more beautiful in Africa than anywhere else in the world, please let me know.

PS - You might be interested to know that the Sunday Times has picked up our story. Check out the In Gear section of the September 7th edition - the article is called "Eat My Dust, Obi-Wan".

PSS - I have uploaded some new pictures from South Africa and Botswana

Day 80 - Lilongwe, Malawi

2008-08-22T08:59:00Z

Dawn breaks over our bush campsite near Kigoma, Tanzania. We were blissfully unaware of the challenges that lay ahead.

We did not expect riding across Africa to be easy. We were expecting challenges and obstacles along the way. We came prepared for some. We have dealt with tire punctures. We have dealt with injuries of varying degrees of severity. We coped with the searing heat of the Sahara and the surprising chill of the East African highlands. We used wire and straps to fix broken racks. We replaced a snapped chain in the middle of nowhere. We "fixed" blown fork seals with cloths and zip ties. We managed to bump start my bike in even rough terrain (which Rosa has required dozens of times). We straightened bent headlight brackets on all three of our bikes. We managed to find gas when every gas station was dry. Jerry even sutured my broken fairing back together with zip-ties.

But some of the challenges we've faced are beyond what we could handle on our own, and have threatened to end the trip early. The past week has been the toughest of the trip by far. The first setback was a broken frame on Jerry's bike. The second was a lost pelican case containing all of Jerry's travel documents (passport, carnet de passage, driver's license, motorcycle registration, camesa insurance, etc.). The third was a seized camshaft and scoured and eroded camshaft seat on Tom's bike caused by friction from riding with no engine oil for a long distance.

A Broken Frame
It was the morning of Jerry's 33rd birthday - August 17th. We had been treated with yet another spectacular African sunrise over our bush campsite somewhere between Mpanda and Sumbawanga, Tanzania. Before we set off for the day, however, we had to inspect Jerry's bike and try to find the cause of Buffy's most recent woes. The previous evening, when we had decided to risk night riding on a rough dirt road in order to reach Sumbawanga in one day, Buffy had quite suddenly developed a scary wobble in her front end. We were at a loss to explain such a dramatic effect - it looked like the steering column was vibrating like a jack-hammer. Surely a bad bearing wouldn't have that kind of effect. Maybe a loose or sheared subframe bolt?

The night before Jerry's birthday Tom and I had ridden ahead, riding side by side to use each other's headlights to light up the road and enable us to ride faster than was wise or appropriate. (Great fun by the way). We had devised a system where we would wait for Jerry every 25 km so that we wouldn't get too far apart. I wanted to stay close to Tom because his headlight fuse had blown earlier in our night ride. Flipping on his high beams would cause a short and blow his fuse. We had already replaced a blown fuse in the darkness earlier in the night. Some urgency had been added to our repair job after someone in a jeep stopped to inform us that there were lions in the area. Despite the headlight troubles we decided to continue (we didn't exactly want to camp in lion territory). Without high beams, however, Tom could certainly benefit from my high beams at his side.

Once we rode 25 kms, Tom and I waited almost a half an hour for Jerry to turn up. We were wondering if he had had mechanical problems or had dumped his bike. We were going to wait until a full half hour had passed and then ride back. We would have started back earlier had we not learned from experience that riding back for Jerry always seemed to result in us dropping our bikes on our way back.

Tom and I both drop our bikes while riding back for Jerry on the road from Uvinzi to Mpanda, Tanzania. To be fair I went down first in front, putting up a nice road block for Tom, who was following.

When Jerry finally approached, just moments before we were going to ride back for him, I could see immediately that something was terribly wrong. His front fender was bouncing around wildly and you could see he was having difficulty controlling the bike. We asked him if he was alright. He was, but unfortunately his bike was not. Luckily he had not fallen off, but over the past 25 kms or so his bike had started wobbling uncontrollably.

We decided to camp close to where we were and assess Jerry's bike in the morning. The next day we found a large fissure in his frame. The vertical steel tube at the front was completely fractured. No wonder the front end had been acting like it was independent from the rest of the bike - it pretty much was. It's amazing he was still able to ride the bike at all.

We wondered how he had managed to basically break his bike in half. The road from Uvinzi to Mpanda, which we had ridden two days before, had been particularly challenging. The road did not like Jerry and the feeling was mutual. In one 2km stretch, Jerry dumped his bike 9 times. His total for the day was 14. He would ride a few metres, and the bike would go over again. Could this constant string of impacts have weakened and ultimately broken the frame? It was a bit hard to believe that these drops alone were enough to cause such damage because most of them were at low speed and in soft sand and fesh-fesh. He had only had a couple of high speed wipeouts on hard ground.

This was Jerry's 9th drop in one two kilometre stretch alone on the road from Uvinzi to Mpanda. Jerry was ready to camp right here.

I had dropped my bike 4 times myself on the road to Mpanda: 3 times in deep sand and once when I rode into a ditch to avoid an oncoming jeep (I think I only saw 3 other vehicles all day, which is a good thing because there was not enough room for a car and a motorcycle to pass each other let alone two cars). Despite setting a single day drop record for the trip, I still found it one of the most enjoyable rides thus far. The road was challenging and required all of my concentration. It was satisfying to get through tough sections without dumping the bike. For hundreds of kilometres we were also riding through untouched African wilderness. It was pure adventure.

A typical section of the road from Uvinzi to Mpanda, Tanzania. Macher may even have dropped it here.

While taking a break so that Jerry could recover after his 9th drop, we realized that we had not brought nearly enough water. Tom and I each had a 500 mL reserve bottle and about 500 mL in our camelbaks. Jerry had no reserve bottle and no water in his camelbak. I gave him my reserve bottle. He needed it from the exertion of constantly picking up his bike. We were hours from the nearest village. Knowing that Jerry was having difficulties, I decided to ride on ahead at speed so that I could buy water in Mpanda and then return to Jerry and Tom (who was riding in cleanup position behind Jerry). At the pace they were going, I thought there was a good chance they would not make it to Mpanda by nightfall. The road would be even more difficult at night.

I blazed on ahead. Despite enjoying the challenge of the ride, I did not relish the thought of going back over the same road again. However I had given myself a mission: get water for the team. There were many occasions when the bike would fish tail wildly or I would hit giant ruts and holes and wonder how it could be that I was still upright. Would I be so lucky on the way back when I was even more exhausted and the daylight was fading?

My mission to get water would experience a complication when I dropped my bike for the 3rd time of the day, about an hour after leaving Tom and Jerry behind. When I picked it up, I noticed gas pouring out from between the tank and side panel on the left side. I had managed to punch a hole in my gas tank. I wondered if I would have enough gas to make it to Mpanda, which was still about 120 km away according to my GPS. We had bought a few litres of gas from someone's personal stash in Uvinzi (there had been no gas station). But it had been expensive and we had bought just enough to make it to Mpanda by our calculations.

I did not want to run out of gas in such a remote area. Now it was necessary for me to find gas as well as water before turning around and heading back towards Tom and Jerry. About 20 kms outside of Mpanda I finally found bottled water in a small village. Since it was only 20 more kms to Mpanda, a town large enough to have a gas station, I decided to wait where I was in the small village for Tom and Jerry. The worst case scenario would be someone riding into town to bring me back a jerry can full of gas.

While I was waiting, I decided to try to find the source of the leak. I took off my seat and side panels. I looked under the tank. All the while gas was running down the side of my bike and pooling on the ground underneath. Unfortunately I could not find the leak. I thought it was probably somewhere underneath the tank because the bottom of the tank was wet with leaking gas.

After waiting for an hour with no sign of Tom and Jerry, watching the life pour out of my bike, I decided to press on to Mpanda while I still had enough gas (hopefully) to make it. The sun was going down. I was thinking that it was getting more and more likely that I would have to return to Tom and Jerry in the dark with my bottled water.

As luck would have it, when I arrived in Mpanda I arrived at a gas station with a friendly owner who spoke excellent English. He immediately started helping me solve my problem with my leaky gas tank. He made a phone call and a friend of his appeared with JB weld. We took off the tank and found the hole. It was actually more of a crack than a hole, explaining why I hadn't seen it. It was only a little wider than a hair and about one centimetre long on the side of the tank where the front of the side panel met the tank. I had been expecting a much bigger gash from the volume of gas pouring out.

About 45 minutes or so after arriving in Mpanda, I was relieved to see Tom and Jerry finally pull up at the gas station just as the last light of the day was vanishing. Jerry had had an exhausting and frustrating day, but he had made it. I would not have to go back in the dark.

At that point, his bike was still handling normally. The next day, a re-energized and determined Jerry tackled the challenging road through Katavi National Park at speed without dropping his bike once. He had finally taken my advice (which I had been repeating since Egypt) that he modify his tank bag to allow him to stand up. I find that standing up makes the soft stuff an order of magnitude easier. The bike fishtails way less and when it does you have much more control. Plus you have the advantage of seeing farther down the track for upcoming obstacles. I think I was standing for most of the day on the road to Mpanda. I think that finally adding standing on the pegs to his bag of tricks will give Jerry much more confidence on the type of soft loose terrain that has previously been his nemesis. This certainly seemed to be the case in Katavi.

It wasn't until later when we began riding at night that the problems emerged. At first Jerry attributed the squirelly feeling to bad traction on some sections of mud (construction crews had been pouring water on the road, presumably to reduce dust). However, shortly after Tom and I rode ahead, he realized that there was something seriously wrong with his bike.

Although Jerry's bike was knocked around a lot on the road to Mpanda, we thought that it was more likely that the problems with the frame dated back to Egypt. Jerry had crashed hard into a brick wall at the back of a hotel lobby in Luxor. The bike had hit the corner of the wall obliquely, which could explain the position of the fracture. Perhaps the fissure had started in Luxor, and the constant drops in Tanzania finally finished the job little by little until the bar was severed entirely.

We discussed the possibility of putting the bike on a truck for the remaining 95 km to Sumbawanga, where we hoped we could get the frame welded back together. However, Jerry was willing to ride the bike the rest of the way. He had already ridden 25 kilometres with a busted frame, why not another 95? He was anxious to have it looked at by a mechanic as soon as possible. So we rode on to Sumbawanga, Jerry's bike shaking crazily beneath him the whole way.

We arrived in Sumbawanga expecting to have to wait at least until the next day before anything could be done with Jerry's bike because it was a Sunday. To our surprise, we found some bike mechanics who not only were working on a Sunday, but who were so efficient that they had the bike stripped in minutes. That's when we discovered a second fracture in the frame. The "spine" of the bike was also fractured clean through under the tank. In fact, the only thing that had been holding Jerry's bike together were the crash bars. It looked like a career ending injury for Buffy. But the mechanics seemed unperturbed, and set about welding her back together. It must not have been the first busted motorbike frame they had fixed. I guess that shouldn't come as a surprise considering the condition of the local roads. In any case, Jerry's bike was ready to go within a couple of hours. We decided to spend the rest of the day and night in Sumbawanga anyway so
that we could rest up and celebrate Jerry's 33rd birthday with beer.

The busted frame would not be a strip stopper. However what happened the next day has managed to derail the trip entirely.

A Lost Pelican Case
As if the broken frame wasn't enough, the next problem to face Jerry was the loss of all of his travel documents when his pelican case dropped off his bike. The day after Jerry's birthday, we decided to try to get from Sumbawanga all the way to the Tanzania/Malawi border, a distance of just over 440 km. It would be a hard ride because all but the last 100 kms was on dirt roads, although thankfully much less demanding than the road to Mpanda.

Because I was concerned about the strength of the welds on Jerry's frame, I proposed that we ride close together with the leader dropping to the back of the pack every 20 km so that we could share "dust time". Tom and Jerry agreed to this plan and for the first 80 km we stuck to it. Had we stuck to it for even a little longer maybe Jerry would still be with us now, and not in Dar Es Salaam trying to get replacement documents.

The problems started when Tom was in the lead, Jerry was second, and I was riding in clean-up position. About 10 km after Tom and taken over the lead from me, I came across Jerry repairing his handguards in a ditch full of fesh-fesh. Apparently he had been forced off the road because there had not been enough room for both his motorcycle and an oncoming jeep to share the road. The road was particularly narrow in this section because construction crews had piled mounds of gravel on the right-hand side of the road, effectively reducing the width of the road to a single lane.

When Jerry dumped his bike, he bent his handguard and ripped off his right pelican case (the very case which would ultimately be lost). After he had repaired his handguard and remounted his pelican case, we continued. I followed Jerry relatively closely for the next 20 kms or so - just behind the worst of his dust cloud. I was surprised when we passed the next 20 km point where the system dictated Tom stop and move to the back of the pack without seeing any sign of the Kid. I would later learn that he had waited for about 20 minutes and then noticed another dotted line on his map that ran in parallel to the road we were on and had assumed that we had managed to get ahead of him by taking the other road.

About 20 kms after Jerry's crash, we had to go around a car that was stopped in the middle of the road, facing us, with its hazard lights on. While going by, I hit a big pot hole that almost bottomed out my suspension. I didn't think much of it at the time, as such incidents were commonplace on these roads. However, I soon noticed that the bike was not handling normally. It seemed to pull to the left, but it was hard to tell because the road was so rough. A few kilometres later, while on a relatively smooth straightaway, I noticed that bike was definitely pulling to the left. I stopped to check my tires and luggage and noticed, to my horror, that I was missing my right pelican case. With dawning panic, I realized that it contained my passport, carnet, driver's license, motorcycle registration, camesa insurance, and all the US dollars that I had left. As Jerry's dissappeared around a corner in front of me, I turned around to go searching for it.

Immediately I thought of the pot-hole. The bike had started handling strangely ever since I had hit it. The pot-hole turned out to be about 4 km back from the point where I had turned around. There was no pelican case to be seen. I had a flashback of the car sitting in the middle of the road next to the pot-hole. My gut told me that the bastard had picked it up and was now blazing as fast as he could in the opposite direction with his windfall. Indeed I saw a dust cloud in the distance.

Luckily Rosa is faster than any car on these rough roads. After a couple of kilometres I caught up with the car. I wad determined to follow him all the way back to Sumbawanga if I had to. In the end I only had to ride his bumper in a cloud of dust for a couple of kilometres before he realized that the gig was up. He stopped and I pulled along side. He produced the pelican case from the back seat of his car and explained that he had seen it drop and had been honking at me. I certainly hadn't heard any honking. And that didn't explain why he had put it in his car and driven off in the opposite direction that I had been going. I was too relieved to get it back to make a big deal out of it. I thanked him for picking it up (Peter would not approve) and proceeded to remount it to my bike.

It would drop off twice more that day. The problem was that one of the bolts had stripped and I needed a torx wrench to tighten it. Unfortunately Jerry had the tools, and he was somewhere miles ahead. The last two times the case dropped off I noticed immediately. Each time, before I had even stopped the bike, someone had picked up the case. I don't know where they came from. The road had looked deserted when I first passed.

When I stopped and turned around, whoever picked up my case walked towards me to give it back to me as if that had been their intention the whole time. Maybe it was. Or maybe they were waiting to see me disappear over the next hill before running into the bushes with it. I can't say I blame them. If my family was hungry and my kids didn't have proper clothing, as was so often the case in the villages we had passed, I would do the same.

The result of having to backtrack to retrieve my pelican case from the fleeing car and the other two drops was that I was now a long ways behind Tom and Jerry. I wouldn't catch up to Jerry until I had ridden about 80 kilometres down the road from the point where I had last seen him. When I finally met up with him (he was riding back towards me), he was distraught. He had lost his right pelican case - the very same one I had. In it was every important document that he possessed. I knew the feeling.

There had been no sign of Tom. We later found out that he had ridden to the town of Tunduma and had waited there. He had tried phoning Jerry on his cell phone, but Jerry had turned off the vibrate feature on his phone the night before because he kept getting text messages from the local wireless provider. (My phone was not working because the Sim card I had bought in Uganda had quit working somewhere in northern Tanzania and my Sim card from home had been lost in Ethiopia). Tom would wait for two hours in Tunduma and then continue on to Mbeya, about 100 km farther away, where he would spend the night on his own.

The most important priority was to try to retrieve Jerry's pelican case. So Jerry and I rode all the way back to the point where I had last seen Jerry. I was sure that I would have seen his case if it had fallen off while I was right behind him. Like mine had been the two times I had seen it fall off, it would have been sitting in the middle of the road. In fact, I think that had I still been following Jerry, I would have had to do an evasive manoeuver to avoid hitting it.

However, I had not been behind Jerry for 80 kilometres. It could have come off anywhere. We spent the next three hours riding slowly back, side by side, with me watching the right ditch and Jerry watching the left. Jerry had also broken his kickstand cleanly in two at some point, so he could not dismount his bike without help (or without dropping it). I flagged down several vehicles coming towards us, but no one had seen a black case on the road. I asked people in several villages along the way. No luck.

When we finally got back to the point where I had last seen Jerry and having found no sign of the case, we were dejected. It was clear that someone had picked it up. It was time to involve the police. We turned around and rode to Tundama, which was about 25 km from the point where Jerry had noticed his pelican case was missing. When we finally got there it was dark. With the help of a friendly police officer, Eric, we filed a police report. He found us a decent hotel, and helped us get Jerry's kick-stand welded the next morning as well as helping Jerry get a temporary import permit for his motorbike, which was necessary now that he had no carnet. He also made calls to the village elders along the route we had taken in hopes of getting information about the missing case. He even talked to incoming bus drivers. It would all prove futile. As Eric himself said, most people would "not be good" if they found the case. He did not expect it to get turned in.

Even yet another gorgeous African sunset couldn't lift our moods on the ride to Tunduma. With no travel documents, Jerry's trip was in danger of ending early.

Jerry had wanted me to immediately carry on without him. He did not want the lost pelican case to hurt my chances of making it to Cape Town. We were already way behind schedule, and it would be tough to make it even without a detour to Dar Es Salaam. I insisted on staying with him until it was obvious that the case would not be found.

By that afternoon we had come to the conclusion that there was no option other than for Jerry to go to Dar Es Salaam, about 1000 kilometres to the northeast, to get a new passport from the Canadian Embassy and arrange for a replacement carnet to be shipped. Such a detour, and the time required to get the replacement documents, could potentially end the trip for Jerry. It was possible that he would have to fly home from Dar Es Salaam. It was a bitter pill to swallow. It seemed unfair that we had overcome a broken frame only to be thwarted by something as mundane as lost documents. We wanted to ride into Cape Town as we had started: as a team. Still, there are worse ways to end a trip early. At least there was no medical evacuation.

Jerry and I rode the 100 km to Mbeya on the first tarmac we had seen in about 800 kilometres. In Mbeya we met up with Tom for one last meal before the group split up. It was a somber affair. Jerry would head north to the capitol and Tom and I would head south to the Malawi border.

A Busted Camshaft
Tom and I made it the border than evening and crossed into Malawi the next morning. We had planned to make it all the way to Lilongwe, the capitol of Malawi, in one day - a distance of some 640 kilometres. We wanted to get there so that Rosa could be seen by a mechanic. Her electrical problems had flared up again and she was back to requiring a bump-start to get her going every time. I had hoped that this problem had finally gone away when her electrical problems had magically dissappeared somehwere in Uganda.

I had also been riding with a blown fork seal since Rwanda. I had managed to stop the leaking by wrapping an stretchable cloth tightly around the fork and tying it through the fork brace to keep it nice and tight. I had also fastened down the rubber boot above the seal with a zip tie. This hack job was holding up remarkably well, although at first I had been riding scared because of what happened to me last year in Peru. I had blown my fork seals without realizing it and nad slid out on a sharp corner on my own oil spill. Not fun.

Tom had blown a fork seal of his own on the road from Sumbawanga to Tunduma just two days earlier (the same stretch of road where Jerry had lost his pelican case). I daresay his hack repair job was not holding up nearly as well as mine. There was definite fork oil spatter on his boot, front wheel, and radiator guard. His only excuse was something about the quality of the cloth and the lack of zip ties (Jerry has the last of our supply). In any case we hoped that we could find fork seals that would fit our bikes in Lilongwe. We have since found out that this is not possible, although it would prove a moot point for Tom. We had planned to bring spare fork seals - they are small and light and there really is no excuse not to have any. But in the chaos of trip preparation spare fork seals had been overlooked.

The ride through Malawi was a pleasant surprise. The roads were beautiful smooth tarmac, which was a nice break from the difficult dirt roads we had been riding for the past week in remote Western Tanzania. The scenery was also spectacular for the entire day. The first part of the ride hugged the shore of Lake Malawi and the last part of the ride took us high up into the mountains. We went from jungle to pine forest and rocky peaks and towering vistas. I certainly had not been expecting to find Yosemite landscape in Malawi.

Lake Malawi, with its sandy beaches and rolling breakers crashing against its shores, reminded me of an ocean. Indeed as the road carved its way through the mountains above the sparkling blue water, the ride reminded me a lot of riding the coastal roads in Turkey. I could just as easily have been gazing out over the Aegean or Mediterranean.

Lake Malawi was inviting me in for a swim. Unfortunatley, if I had gone in the water I would probably take some little friends home with me: parasitic flukes from the genus Schistosoma, which cause a parasitic disease known as schistosomiasis

At one point we stopped at an idyllic sandy beach. The water looked incredibly inviting. I would have gone swimming in a heartbeat, except that one of the few things I still remembered from medical school is Dr. Keystone's warning to our class during a parasitology lecture: "Don't swim in Lake Malawi. I am telling you not to swim in Lake Malawi. But what are you going to do? You're going to swim in Lake Malawi." I almost did. But the near certainty of getting a schistosomiasis infection and the contracting the urological consequences that could follow stopped me at the last moment.

Unfortunately, we would not ride into Lilongwe as planned. Instead, we would arrive in the back of a truck with both of our bikes. About 100 km outside of the capitol, Tom's engine gave out. He had not been checking his oil level consistently. Ted Macher would not approve. I don't approve either, but I have some sympathy. I made the same mistake on my last trip. I rode for about 2000 km from Southern Mexico to Costa Rica with more than 2 litres (of 2.5) missing from my engine. I have no explanation for how it leaked out. There was no evidence of a spill. Sometimes it just happens. I got lucky, probably because I was using synthetic oil. Tom was not so lucky - it is almost impossible to find synthetic oil in Africa.

After having ridden with low engine oil last summer (and being rebuked by Ted and rightfully so), I have become obsessive about checking my oil. I do it every day. I had checked my oil on the morning that Tom's engine had failed. I have topped off Rosa with extra oil several times on this trip (although she's never needed much more than a half litre). I am not sure why the KLRs seem to occasionally lose oil.

But for some reason or another, Tom had lost all of the oil out of his engine. He may have ridden as much as 1000 km with no oil. Eventually the friction caused the camshaft and the engine case to grind against each other wearing off metal like a file on wood. The only way his engine can be repaired is to build up the metal again and then bore it out to exact specification so a new camshaft fits perfectly with no gap. The nearest place where such work can be done is Johannesburg, South Africa.

This is what happens when metal grinds on metal with no lubrication. Poor poor Odyssey. Tom briefly considering continuing his trip on the little red quad in the background.

We have since arranged for the Odyssey (Tom's bike) to be trucked to Johannesburg. Tom and I are going to meet the Odyssey there. We are going to ride two-up on trusty ol' Rosa to get there (whose electrical problems seem to be fixed once and for all). We joke that we will be riding like Che Guevara and Alberto Granado when they set off on their own epic motorcycle adventure so long ago on a bike called "La Poderosa II" - except hopefully with fewer crashes. In a way it is fitting as Rosa got her name partly as homage to La Poderosa (and partly because she's red).

We have ditched over half of our gear, which we will put on the truck with the Odyssey. It's amazing how much stuff you can get rid of in a pinch. We have less now with both of our gear combined than either one of us had on his own before. We want to keep the bike light. We will be riding two-up for about 4000 km with a blown fork seal after all.

In a perfect world Jerry will be able to meet us in Johannesburg, Tom will be able to get his bike fixed, and we can still ride the last leg of the journey to Cape Town as a team. What a week it has been.

PS - I have uploaded pictures from Uganda, Rwanda, Tanzania, and Malawi.