Motorcycle Quote of the Day

[Biggles]

The long cane is duly popped with its distinctive 'click, click, click, click' and I start to walk towards the office with Bernard. Within seconds the sound of "No, No, just you!" comes as he is forcibly stopped by a hand in his chest. Guiding me back to the bike, Bernard places my hand on the back box before telling me of the queue, of how he'll be able to see me the whole time. The funny thing is I do not worry, as he does, about being alone. I'm at an international border crossing; what could possibly happen? Still reluctant to leave me, a plainclothes official indicates he will stay as he waves Bernard off to do the paperwork. With a final "I can see you the whole time," my companion disappears.
Within seconds, a voice beside me asks, "You England?" I turn towards it, confirming this. A soft whistle replies, "Have come long way." Approaching me very gently, he takes my hand and places it on the back box before, "Must go, stay here, safe for you here." I smile and thank him to the sounds of his disappearing footsteps as I know this simple action meant he had some awareness of being blind in an open space. Perhaps he had simply mimicked Bernard's behaviour of earlier on? Thus, he'd given me a physical object with which to locate myself. It showed how people can be so very gentle, demonstrated so many times during our border crossings so far. No matter where we've been, it always seems to be true.
Touching The World  Cathy Birchall  p24

[Biggles]

Istanbul is 1,200 km away and it dawns on me this single figure, this distance, my knowledge of it, all now measure how far I've travelled, mentally, physically and emotionally. 1,200 km? It used to sound so, so, far away. But it's not so far anymore. From the tip of my home country to the furthest point southwards? It's not far. Not really. Realising how the days are long gone when distance seemed to matter, when it was counted by hours instead of days, or countries, now the word 'only' creeps in. It's only 1,200 km. It will take us 'only' three days. Only. Worlds change. Perceptions accept new meanings of time, scale and distance. The bike feels like home the instant I'm on it. Everything is comfortable familiar, secure in all ways and even the traffic is light for some reason and we have no problem finding the dual carriageway system leading out of Athens.
Touching The World  Cathy Birchall  p43

[Biggles]

Bernard - It's the scariest car drive I have ever had with the van hurtling along the dual carriageway like an Exocet missile as the driver floors the accelerator at every opportunity. No matter what was in front - cars, buses, lorries, grannies crossing the road - this man was on a mission. He is going to complete it no matter what, even if he kills us. People leap out of the way as he aimed for every gap he could see.
All the time Turkish music is blasting from the stereo and he grins enthusiastically (maniacally?) at me, honking and beeping everything out of his way. He actually passed an ambulance at one point, hammering along with its siren wailing and I was never so relieved to get out of any car in my life. When we reach the bike shop I smoke three cigarettes before anyone can get any sense from me. The same was true when I forced myself back into the car for the trip back. I feigned sleep for part of the way. I just couldn't watch anymore.
Touching The World  Cathy Birchall  p49

[Biggles]

Things get worse when it becomes apparent that English is the interviewer's 39th language rather than their second. As the cameras roll on like a Monty Python sketch, people wrongly interpret each others' answers but their English is better than Bernard's Urdu.
"So how do you ride the bike, Katie?"
"My name is Cathy and I do not ride the bike, Bernard is the driver."
"But Katie it is hard for you to see the road yes?"
"I can't see the road, my eyes do not function at all. Bernard rides the bike."
"Goodness me, but how do you drive the bike if you cannot see the road?"
"Bernard sees the road and rides the bike."
"So he tells you which way to go? It must be very hard?"
"Incredibly hard yes, but I manage."
I know all of the questions are being directed at Bernard by the direction of the voice shifting and it is a relief when it finishes. "Bring back the BBC World Service," Bernard mutters on reaching our room. For the rest of the day my name becomes Katie as he shouts, "Watch the pothole" or "Cliff on the right" while he dodges shoes thrown at his moving voice. Sometimes I hate sighted people. The very least he could do was stand still.
Touching The World  Cathy Birchall  p73

[Biggles]

Our eventual destination of Lahore is too big a jump for one day at nearly 480 km so the decision is made to make the short 100 km ride to Multan to have a rest day. The escorts hand us over to other vehicles waiting patiently at deserted lonely areas and our speed varies widely. One escort driver crawls along at less than 30 kph before the handover passes us to Michael Schumacher who wants to find out how fast Bertha goes on a good section of road. He gives up at 120 kph as his engine starts to bellow black smoke. Realising the unequal struggle, no doubt he watches Bernard in his wing mirrors nonchalantly smoking cigarettes. The guards in the back of the truck egg Bernard on with waves, saying "Yes, yes, faster." As Bernard smokes cigarettes and drinks from the bottle of water they turn to their driver, saying, "Give it up, the boss will kill us if we wreck the truck."
Touching The World  Cathy Birchall  p84

[Biggles]

The two-day journey to Delhi is our first real experience of driving in India and it is to shape our experience of the country in many ways as the standard of driving was truly appalling. Actually, 'driving' is another loose term, much like the term 'road'. Pulling in for petrol Bernard asks an attendant "On which side of the road do you drive in India?"
"On the left," he innocently answers. It leaves Bernard shaking his head for some time before asking, "Are you sure?"
As we make slow progress, cars and trucks pass on the inside, the outside, on the gravel verge, often resulting in hundreds of sharp little missiles being launched at us. Bertha sounds like she's being machine-gunned as they clatter against every surface. The air is full of the constant honking of horns. People force the bike across the road as they pass and then immediately pull in, leaving Bernard with little choice but to brake, hard, otherwise they will take the front wheel with them. Trucks and buses come straight at us on the wrong side, expecting Bertha to go off-road into the deep sand lining the edges.
Touching The World  Cathy Birchall  pp99-100

[Biggles]

Bernard: "You remember I told you my wife will kill you today if we still have no hot water?"
Manager: "Sir?"
Bernard: "Have you settled your affairs and made your will?"
Manager: "You want hot shower sir, I turn boiler on."
Bernard: "No, no, you can turn boiler on, but no hot water comes."
Manager: "Hot in five minutes."
Bernard: "It might be hot, but not in our room."
Manager: "Maybe ten minutes sir, you want me to turn boiler on?"
Bernard: "You do not understand!"
Manager: "Understand sir, want shower, I turn boiler on. You have cigarette and water will be hot."
Bernard: "It will not be hot!"
Manager: "Yes yes. Very hot."
Bernard: Bangs head on desk in true Fawlty Towers fashion much to the alarm of manager and staff.
Manager: "So sir, you are saying water will not be hot?"
Bernard: (lifting head off desk) "Praise the Lord, you understand!"
Manager: "I will turn boiler on for you."
And so it goes on.
In the end, as I wait patiently, the staff deliver a very big bucket of hot to the room with enormous smiles.
Touching The World  Cathy Birchall  pp112-3

[Jdbiker]

Very typical  of some smaller hotels in India  , although nothing wrong with a bucket of hot water and a mug🤓

[Biggles]

How Bernard feels I can only imagine but I hate it. I absolutely hate it. It is is the most frightening thing I have ever encountered as every second, for hours and hours on end, my mind streams crashing pictures of wagons hitting Bertha and then running over us. Every bang means we are coming off. Constantly bracing myself for the next shock or impact, my head, neck, even my ears hurt from the obsessive horn blowing inches away from us. I am truly frightened and willing it to all end. As bad as I feel I know it has to be horrendous to manage the bike under these inch-perfect conditions with wagons bouncing all around us. Bernard cannot speak and all I can do is imagine. I don't like what I am imagining. Wanting to shout "Stop the bike, stop the bike, let me off!" I keep quiet. I know if stopping was possible he would do it. Gladly. All we can do is endure.
Bernard tries to lighten our experiences at one point as we crash through the potholes asking, "Have you still got the fillings in your teeth?" Retribution is a wonderful thing as a few kilometres down the road a bridge on his teeth falls out; sometimes he really should not tempt fate. Now when he smiles two broken teeth show a gap for the world to see what the road to Gorakhpur did to him as we arrive in the city destroyed; emotionally, physically and psychologically.
Touching The World  Cathy Birchall  p119

[Biggles]

(In Nepal) Ploughing through miles and miles of jammed roads once the troops wave farewell, the route involves walking-pace riding until we arrive in the pitch-black city as we (again) break Rule 1 (Don't ride in the dark) and Rule 2 (avoid pulling into a strange city under cover of darkness). As always, our tried and trusted 'Plan A' comes into action. And so we stop at a taxi rank and hand over the address of a reasonably priced guest house (the Holy Himalaya).
The taxi driver leads us through the completely blacked-out city where no streetlights brighten the way before arriving at a hotel of vaguely similar name (the Hotel Himalaya). It is four times the price we expected and the colour drains from Bernard's face. Settling into his usual humour and outrageously funny counteroffers ("I'll wash the dishes and clean the floors") he drives it down to a price that would pay to restore half the city's electricity. Since it's been weeks since we've ridden for so long, we cave in at half-price to take the room. At least it offers a base close to the airport and shipping agent.
Touching The World  Cathy Birchall  pp140-1

[Biggles]

My possiible naivety reminds me of the case of a person called Sydney Bradford. Sydney had his sight restored after 50 years or so of vague shifting images bordering on total blindness. When his eyes opened the world turned out to be very different than he'd expected, tragically so in many ways.
Born in 1906, from 1915 he spent his youth in the Birmingham School for the Blind in England, eventually leaving in 1923. In 1959, after about 50 years of nearly total blindness, his world was transformed by a corneal operation, resulting in a world full of frightening fast moving objects and people. From a cheerful and extroverted outgoing person he slipped into a drab and boring world, full of decay, violence and insecurity. Depression soon followed as his daily experiences became full of fear, changing in hundreds of little ways from the person who confidently crossed road in his blindness to a frightened, indecisive individual. His confidence deserted him and he lost the sense of peace in himself, ultimately leading him to commit suicide in 1960. His story is sad, in many ways, as prior to his sight being restored, he pursued life with a great deal of confidence and energy and his experience of 'seeing' left him with a huge sense of disappointment.
Touching The World  Cathy Birchall  p150

[Biggles]

Her husband (a police officer) presses for information, listening as we try to describe what it is like to be a Westerner riding a large bike in India. It is apparent he is not happy with what he is hearing, dismissing Bernard's account with "But surely if you ride defensively, it can't be that bad?"
Bernard understands his wish to ride a bike through India; he too felt it through most of his life as he tries to point out the difference between 'defensive riding' and riding in India. In the end it proves impossible, much as we thought at the outset. Even telling him of the five UK bikes in the country at the same time, of the three riders who survived unscathed would never do it again, nothing seems to dent his view. Hearing of how one rider went home in a body bag and another in an air ambulance still does not change his idea of what is involved. Confidently he maintains staying safe will be through good 'defensive riding' and 'good anticipation'.
Bernard lets the comments wash over him, not feeling the need to respond to the implied criticism of his riding style, of his 'weakness' or 'poor anticipatory skills'. I know he has nothing to prove. There is no macho, masculine, bike-riding ego to be defended about surviving each day as whenever anybody asks him about our own survival he reduces it down to pure luck rather than any inherent riding skill.
"We were just lucky, nothing more," he always answers.
I doubt it myself, I really do. I know. I was there.
Touching The World  Cathy Birchall  p176

[Biggles]

Glen climbs into his cab with promises to follow for a while to make sure everything is fine as we rejoin the '90 Mile Straight' (now the '45 mile Straight') with the big chrome truck filling our wing mirrors. The bike tilts when Bernard checks the repair and it holds fast across the kilometres and with one last honk Glen waves farewell and then he is gone.
When things like this happen, I'm often reminded of a saying that the interruptions are the journey and it really is all about the people you meet, such as Glen. It's not about the distance you cover each day. It's not the country you are in. It's not even about the motorcycle. While it's true that a bike can act as a distinctive 'calling card' in its reflection of people's dreams, a journey is, and always will be, about the people whose path you cross. The indelible marks that never fade away and each one has a name and a voice sprinkled through your memory. Glen now inhabits one of them for me.
Later in the afternoon we reach Caiguna and call it a day.
Touching The World  Cathy Birchall  pp181-2

[Biggles]

Continuing on a roller-coaster ride to climb the 1565 metre heights, Bernard describes the ski lifts and lodges, the shops with signs declaring 'Snow Board Hire' or 'Snow Chains for Sale'. It's so unlike anything we expected in our naivety about the vastness of this land.
Stopping for the evening in two cabins Al tells of his time in Mogadishu during the American operation 'Restore Hope' or 'The Invasion' as the Somali people called it; of the wet kitchens set up by a local woman around the city to distribute food in an effort to stop it being stolen by the warlords.
As the evening passes he tells how many of the bikers had felt humbled by the two of us, the way we deal with each other. It seems there were conversations concerning our battered dust-covered bike sitting among the 'bling, bling' of new machinery, of our 'lived in' dashboard which needs only a set of net curtains to add a finishing touch. We laugh at the image and understand the sentiment. It truly is our home now.
The next morning our roads are set for different directions and Bernard tells me of Al becoming 'misty', the look men get sometimes and, after a hug, he is quickly gone. Pulling out of the site we wave to one of those special people whose lives we cross briefly, a stranger who feels like a friend despite knowing so little about them.
Touching The World  Cathy Birchall  p192

[Biggles]

A black Labrador dog bounds over, reminding me of my own dog so far away. Bernard helpfully looks up the Spanish for 'sit', 'stay' and 'down' while his front paws end up on my thighs, searching for my hands, begging me to keep up their attention.
At a tiny local cafe Bernard frantically searches phrase books to translate the menu but fails miserably as so many words are missing. Muddling through, we end up with huge steak and cheese sandwiches, and the most enormous bottle of beer Bernard has ever held. As I listen to him struggling to work out the menu I suddenly realise that I no longer feel frustrated by his inability to translate and give me choices. I've grown beyond it and now recognise how it only increases his own frustration. Becoming more like him, I now eat whatever is on the plate as I've become something, someone, different after so many experiences. Forever out of my comfort zone of predictability, which needed precision and organised experiences, I now settle into whatever comes my way, without fuss, without the flashes of irritability which so marred the earlier times. I am better for it, of this I have no doubt.
Touching The World  Cathy Birchall  p207

[Biggles]

"You will need to always remember it is only you who have changed and people will never understand this. It will cause you problems," Jaime adds, summarising his thoughts.
In our absence, they go on to explain, everybody else will have gone on with their daily lives in the same way as when we were there but no longer will it be possible to share the same reference points, the same ideas over what is important. Everything is altered by what has been experienced and perhaps it's never really possible to return to what you were. Fundamentally changed, altered, and honed into something different, your priorities are different, and that difference will be forever out of reach to the people around you so they can never truly understand it. Thus, in many ways, we both gain and lose by travelling the world. The gain involves everything experienced while the loss is the tranquillity of normality within which everybody we know will still be operating.
Touching The World  Cathy Birchall  p214

[Biggles]

The weather eases a little and people appear, including two female members of the road crew who direct the traffic with Stop/Go paddles like big table tennis bats. They stand looking looking at the bike, asking questions, and this prompts the young daughter of the hill women to shyly wander over to look at the bike. One ot the paddle bearers (Gwen) translates Bernard's question to the little girl, asking if she would like to sit on Bertha. Looking to her mother for affirmation it is given. So it is that a little 9 year-old Peruvian girl called Samikai sits on a bike made 11 years before she was born, in a country on the other side of the world. Life can be wonderfully magical sometimes as her mum relents about a photograph of the event and then views it with delight. It is a shame we cannot give her a copy.
In many ways, it's a different world despite many Western people claiming 'There is only one world'. There is not one world at all. There are many. It is divided up by so many factors including disability, religion, caste, class, language, culture, and a whole host of other factors. Each shouts uniqueness and, for me, long live the differences between its peoples.
Touching The World  Cathy Birchall  pp242-3

[Biggles]

Morning comes with Bernard lamenting the dartboard painted on his back, so covered in lumps is he as we find out, the hard way, that Tumbes is renowned for the density of its mosquito population. Last night they fed on white meat. As the sun rises, our room soon turns into an oven and the overhead fan circulates the hot air lazily as the sun burns fiercely bright.
Bernard readies himself to work under its glare with tubes of (now) depressurised sun cream being brought out. I sit under our umbrella as clink of metal on metal signifies Bertha's restoration back into one piece. Some time later the starter is pressed; sounds of clicking and whizzing precede a huge sigh, telling me it has to be taken apart again. The motor is not turning the engine over and there is little else to be done but dismantle the whole thing again. Each part is methodically tested before deciding a new starter motor is needed, meaning more delays in the wait for it to arrive from England. The news leaves us completely deflated and fed up, this being the fifth breakdown.
Touching The World  Cathy Birchall  pp249-50

[Biggles]

Climbing the 3,200 metre vertical helter-skelter, barely 6 km is covered in an hour as Bertha moves at little more than walking pace in first and second gear. The camber of the road is difficult, tilting alarmingly. Wagons coming down give off their overpowering smell of burning brakes; four hours pass travelling this way. Through 180-degree, steep, steep corners ever upwards we make our way to the sound of our own engine growling with a slipping clutch to keep us moving forward. During the climb the sky turns black as we ride ever upwards with coldness descending to the smell of burning clutches and brakes, which permeates everything around us. Even Bertha struggles, with first gear too low, and second too high, so her clutch slips in second to compensate. To stop forward motion is to slide backwards as the front wheel slips several times when she is forced to stop. It leaves Bernard straining to find a foothold to support the bike as the road cants crazily sideways leaving one leg in the air. Time after time Bertha's front wheel slips backwards and reaching the top is a joy but not even a prized photograph is taken of the spectacular view as the road is just too narrow, too dangerous to stop on.
Touching The World  Cathy Birchall  p271

[Biggles]

Holding our breath for at least three bus lengths every 100 yards, the road signs hold good, guiding us through Guatamala City, and the traffic is more orderly than the usual jungle survival of the fittest. The three-laned CA-1 leads us out the other side and up into the hills through intermittent roadworks, slowing our progress dramatically as the tarmac disappears to become hard-packed dirt, loose soil or gravel.
Road teams are everywhere flattening the soil, laying concrete or even, heaven forbid, spreading tarmac. Slithering and sliding, the back of the bike skews sideways as forward progress is made with revs and slipping clutch to keep the bike moving. Sharp twitches of the back remind us how the distance between our soft delicate bodies and the hard surface may be shortened at any second. Coming through several such sets of thoughts we emerge unscathed to start breathing again.
Continuing to climb, the temperature starts to drop after crossing 3000 metres (10,000 feet) up through the clouds before hurtling down the other side with Bertha's side-stand scraping loudly on left hand corners. The recent rise in side-stand scraping seems to have occurred after I promise Bernard a day off riding once we reach Mexico. Since then the same sound can often be heard, and felt - scrape. Scrape, scrape.
Touching The World  Cathy Birchall  p302

[Biggles]

Considering we left Tumbes in Peru only 3 weeks ago things have not gone too badly. Despite crossing several mountains and distant planets, arranging an air freight, doing some serious hill climbing in Colombia, we are still in piece; not bad for two oldies. Actually make this three oldies as Bertha has to be counted as well, although she loudly resists that fact (is that the gearbox again?) with all she has done so far. In my own head she goes on to proclaim: "Actually these roads are not what I was built for you know. I was made to sit sedately doing 100-120 kph, all day and every day. I am a mileage eater. Never did I think you would take me through Pakistan and India (I nearly ate my air filters in them). As I bounced through Nepal, Peru, Ecuador or El Salvador I kept reminding myself that you were both just daft. I was made to destroy German autobahns Mein Fuhrer, to conquer British motorways - when they are not closed for roadworks."
Touching The World  Cathy Birchall  pp310-11

[Biggles]

We've all read about people doing such things and they become something different in the telling of the story, something unique or exceptional. In reality, they too are just like us. Frightened, hungry, cold, wet, insecure, happy, sad, they continue to push their way through what they've set themselves in the best way they can. Like all these people Bernard had read about across his entire life, now he has his own answer to that question. Never again does he have to wonder about the answer. It's my own belief that only a very small number of people would have ever contemplated this venture with a blind woman. Many people did question his sanity for taking me on such a journey and their thoughts simply left him shrugging his own shoulders when he phrased his own question to them, "Well, why not?"
Touching The World  Cathy Birchall  p336

[Biggles]

Over the miles we were to become two people blended into one, in thought, emotion and even written words. Even as he stressed and worried about being able to fix the bike or ride the roads encountered, never once did any thought cross my mind other than 'confidence'. It is a rare state of mind indeed given everything encountered. In all our time spent together 24 hours a day for a year, the greatest compliment I can remember is how people noticed we liked each other. And more. Much more. Bernard has always said that liking somebody is not the same as loving them as you can love without liking and you can like without loving. We are truly fortunate in that we have both sides of the coin. A year on the road has reinforced these thoughts even further.
Touching The World  Cathy Birchall  p337

[Biggles]

Our friend Bertha is battered and misbehaving although intact as we wing eastwards on the seven-hour flight. Over the miles only once did we fall off, thankfully without any injuries. I have stood among the clouds at (nearly) 15,000 feet, struggling to breathe and shivering in the snow, before gasping in the heat of the lowlands. Enduring each and every day with humour, roads that were made of gravel, rock and tarmac, sometimes all at the same time. We survived. Clattering and rattling across landscapes for which Bertha was never built, objects were dodged be they cattle, kangaroos, chasing dog or trees which had fallen and blocked our way. We've encountered routes blocked due to protests, turmoil and political instabilities the likes of which we'd never before experienced. It's small wonder that many people try to come to our own homeland when you understand how they struggle with daily life. While existence is undoubtedly hard in some countries we passed through, it is also a fact that within the poorest we often found the greatest welcome. It seems to be a universal truth.
Touching The World  Cathy Birchall  pp337-8

[Biggles]

Bernard
In my own 'ordinariness', the story stretches back across the years to a night on a motorway in England. Wet through and riding a misfiring Norton 850, the sight of a service station and cup of coffee had cheered me up. The heavens had poured water out of the sky for hours and I was cold and very, very, wet in the days before Gore-Tex, heated handlebars and all such things.
Putting off going back out into Noah's domain in case I tripped over the animals, I had squelched into the shop to pass more time and there had stumbled on a book. Many of you may, or may not, know of it. It was Jupiter's Travels, written by Ted Simon. The year was 1980 and I was 24 years old. Ted wrote about something he had done, the same thing I had been thinking about for six years.
He rode the worid.
Sitting down with another cup of coffee, I opened the first page and my life was to change forever.
Touching The World  Cathy Birchall  pp341-2