Motorcycle Quote of the Day

[Biggles]

The temperature is extremely hot in Thailand. I ride to Hat Yai before stopping for lunch. As I pull into a large shopping complex, I wonder if my bike will be safe in the open parking lot. I strap my helmet and riding pants to the handle bar, take my jacket and tank bag, and go in search of food. Inside I find a huge food court containing every American franchise imaginable. I pick KFC and go for the chicken wrap- today I cannot face another rice and curry dish. This is Thailand and the Thai people like their food hot. Yes, even my wrap includes some kind of hot sauce. Oh what I would give for a simple salad or plate of mashed potatoes and gravy. The mall is extremely noisy. The main speakers are blasting out loud music, competing with the music and broadcasts coming from individual stores. Combine all the constant hum of thousands of people and the noise is deafening. I do not linger long at KFC.
I travel a very short distance today. In fact I have only clocked 144 kilometers when I reach Songkhla. I find the Amsterdam Guest House, an older building with clean, comfortable rooms, run by a Dutch couple. The price of my room is two hundred baht per night, or about $7.50 Canadian. I unpack, shower and go for a walk around town.
Untamed Spirit  Doris Maron pp136-7

[Biggles]

Later that evening around 8:30, as I am walking home from an Internet cafe, I see a man riding an elephant down the street. How odd, in the middle of busy city traffic. It looks awfully strange to me but no one else seems to pay any attention.
After the third day of teaching my Monday to Friday classes, Miss Sally, the assistant manager of Udom Suksa School, calls me. She wants discuss a full time contract. Do I want to commit to that right now? I still have half the world to travel around. The plus side of signing a full time contract is that the school applies and pays for your working visa and entrance visa. My entrance visa expires in a few days and I will have to leave the country and re-enter Thailand to obtain another one. I wonder if, by accepting her offer, my dream of riding around the world would fall by the way side... I turn down her offer.
To get back and forth to my TEFL class on Sundays I catch a tuk-tuk. This is a smaller version of the one I experienced in Songkhla holds six people in the back and one more person in the front seat next to the driver. For Thai people, this is a lot of room but when you put a couple of 'farangs' (the Thai term for foreigners) in the back, it gets crowded. The seats are low and, for us taller people, our knees end up close to our chest. The drivers are crazy as they weave in and out of traffic. I make sure I hang on and try not to slide onto the person next to me. If I sit right at the back by the entrance I am especially careful to hold on- one could easily slide right out the open doorway. When it rains the driver stops and lowers heavy plastic curtains (attached to the exterior of the box) to cover the open windows. There is no cover for the door so if you are sitting next to the doorway you may still get wet. One day the driver pulls into a gas station and fuels up with all seven passengers still aboard. I cannot believe it! That would be a definite offense at home. None-the-less, it is easier to take a tuk-tuk than ride my bike in these jam-packed streets.
Untamed Spirit  Doris Maron pp148-9

[Biggles]

Once back at Kau San Road I decide to go for a Thai massage before meeting up with Caryn. I pass by several shops before stepping into one that looks quite busy- must be good, I think to myself. They are able to fit me in so I take a seat and wait for ten minutes before being ushered into a large back room lined with single beds built with sturdy wood frames, running the length of the room. Must be ten beds placed side by side with enough room at the foot of them to create a walkway. First thing I notice is a man on one of the beds getting worked on. This is obviously co-ed and I am relieved to see we keep our clothes on for a Thai massage. Mae, my massage therapist who is a tiny little lady, probably no more than four feet ten inches tall, instructs me to lie on my back and relax. She gets on the foot of the bed and begins to work on my legs. Oh, that feels so good. I hear the man a couple of beds down making an occasional moan and ouch sound. What's wrong with him, I think. Then Mae places her arm at the top of my leg where it joins the hip and leans all her weight on me. I gasp and almost hit the roof! That is a sensitive area. But the treatment is just beginning. The little lady might be small but she is certainly powerful. She sits on my legs as she works farther up my body and uses her whole body weight to work out tense muscles. Just when I start to relax and enjoy this she hits another sensitive spot extracting a gasp from me. Then she sits at the head of the bed with her back against the wall and knees bent to her chest. She instructs me to sit in front of her with my back at her knees. She commences to pull my body backwards over her knees, bending, pulling and twisting me into positions I did not know were possible. I'm glad I've been practicing my yoga on a regular basis or she might injure me! I am beginning to understand the noises from the gentleman down the line and wonder if I can take an hour of this treatment. I manage to hang in there and vow never to do that again. That was torture, not a massage- but maybe a person could become accustomed to it if experienced on a regular basis. Definitely something everyone should try at least once.
Untamed Spirit  Doris Maron pp159-60

[Brock]

Those Thai Massages can be brutal.. My Wife has me booked for a 2hour session on Monday...

[Biggles]

Now I can ride across the Friendship bridge to Laos. The bridge crosses over the Mekong River connecting Nong Khai, Thailand to Vientiane, Laos- and the two border crossings. The bridge is 1,170 meters long, has two 3.5 meter wide lanes for vehicle traffic, two 1.5 meter wide footpaths and an unfinished single railway line in the middle. Officials have just recently allowed motorcycles to cross bridge. As I reach the Lao end of the bridge there are traffic lights indicating the change over from left lane to right. Traffic drives on the right in Laos.
In no time at all I am at the Lao border gates. It takes two hours to clear customs before being directed to the booth where an officer stamps my visa and staples in a departure card. Next I am directed to room eight in the customs building where I must request a vehicle permit. I enter the room, which is occupied by two men. After a few questions they send me to room six, where I am met by a little man with a squeaky little voice. Now begins the second round of the game of twenty questions. He goes over all the regulations with me before he finally signs the paper and says, in his annoying squeaky voice, "I am giving you fifteen days- you cannot leave the Province of Viang Chan. If you want this extended you must go to the Embassy of Communication in Vientiane. Take this document to room five." 
Untamed Spirit  Doris Maron pp175-6

[Kev Murphy]

MERRY CHRISTMAS , BILL 

[Biggles]

I do a trial pack of my bike rolls and know I will have to lighten my load considerably before I leave. Mr Tan calls to tell me it will cost six thousand baht to crate my bike. I almost explode in his ear. He finally agrees to negotiate with the crating company and calls me back later to say they agreed upon four thousand. I am just sure the Thai people love to take advantage of foreigners. Two days later he calls me to say the weight of the shipment is 650 kilograms. Once again I explode in his ear! "How can that be?" I ask. "The weight was 350kgs when I shipped it from Canada and 398kgs when I shipped it from Australia. How can it possibly be 650kgs now? The bike only weighs 250kgs." I am a little frustrated to say the least. I talk to Khun Tairak about my predicament and he offers to intervene for me. I am so grateful. With his help we manage to get the crate weight downsized to 450kgs. I have to pay another thousand baht for the re-crating but it will bring the shipping cost down considerably. In total it cost me five thousand baht for crating and thirty-five thousand, eight hundred for shipping- approximately $1550 Canadian, complete.
Untamed Spirit  Doris Maron p186  End of Book 1.

[Biggles]

Nepal
A few blocks from the guesthouse I have an accident. I am riding very cautiously when I notice three women in long colorful saris on the sidewalk ahead. A moment later one of the women, dressed in red, turns and steps off the sidewalk directly into my path. I hit the brakes hard and go down with a bang! As I pick myself up off the road, "F*#^!," involuntarily explodes from my mouth. I should not have used such foul language but I am angry! The woman is half-lying on the ground in front of my bike. She looks up at me with huge, scared, round eyes, picks herself up off the ground, and scurries to the other side of the road. I know I did not hit her, so I'm not sure why she fell.
I have to get the bike up and off the road. I look around and it seems that the world has stopped- people are motionless on the sidewalk and traffic is at a standstill. Everyone is staring at me. I spot two of fellows on the sidewalk and gesture for them to come help me pick up the bike. Luck is with me as one of the men points to a bike shop just a few metres back. He helps me wheel the bike over to the kerb. The windshield is broken, the right brake and floorboard are bent, the mirror is pushed out of place, and there are a few scratches on the chrome. But this is all the damage I can see.
Untamed Spirit II  Doris Maron p27

[Biggles]

India
I find a room at the Buddhist Temple and Guest House, recommended in the Lonely Planet guidebook, for one hundred and fifty rupees. I spend thirty-nine on food, thirty-two on water, and have not even spent half the rupees remaining from my twenty US dollar exchange.
My room is a rectangular cell in an old monastery. It has no windows except for a small opening above the heavy door and a small square hole near the top of the bathroom wall. The bathroom has a squat toilet and sink, but no shower. A fan hanging from the ceiling works as long as the power does not fail. I sleep peacefully tonight.
I am up early and packing my bike before 6:00 am. Upon exiting my cell I discover cots on the driveway where people have slept. Had I known that, I would have done the same. I wonder if women are permitted to sleep outside under the stars.
At Gorakhpur I try to find a restaurant, to no avail, so I buy two oranges. Later I stop for a Pepsi- this will have to do for breakfast today. I continue on to Varanasi, arriving at 2:00 in the afternoon. It has taken me more than half a day to ride less than two hundred kilometers. The congestion in the cities and villages slows me down, but there is no way around it. All I can do is pick my way carefully through. Taxi drivers barrel through the streets, laying on their horns. I have learned that the horn is a most vital part of a vehicle. Had I been using my horn in Nepal I might have avoided that accident with the woman in the red sari.
Untamed Spirit II  Doris Maron p43

[Biggles]

Pakistan
I relax on a nice easy chair, but am feeling just enough on edge that I do not get too comfortable. My intuition is telling me something because shortly there is a knock on the door and I open it to find Mr Ahmed standing there. He comes in and makes himself comfortable before asking about Mohammad. I tell him Mr. Naseem is in the shower and should be out soon. I am not happy with this turn of events.
Mr. Ahmed starts asking me questions. They are pretty general at first, but gradually take a personal turn. He asks if I have a friend. I say, "Yes, I have many friends, in the biking community and elsewhere." I am fully aware that is not what he is asking, but I decide to play dumb.
Now the questions get more direct. "Are you in a relationship? Aren't you lonely? Don't you want a relationship?" Moments later he asks, "Are you afraid to stay here alone tonight? One of us can stay with you if you are afraid."
Oh-my-gosh! I have traveled halfway around the world alone and this man thinks I am going to fall for that?
Mr. Ahmed suggests 1 make myself comfortable, take off my boots and socks, and stretch out on the bed if I like. "Don't be shy," he says.
I am still sitting with my riding boots on and ready to bolt for the door if I have to. I am becoming annoyed that Mohammad is taking so long in the shower. He has been in there about half an hour already.
Finally Mohammad makes an appearance. It is about time! The men speak to each other in Urdu, and of course I have no idea what they are saying. My mind is racing and I know that I am not spending the night here. I formulate a plan in my mind, and then tell Mohammad that we have to go out to get our passports and visa application forms photocopied. I remind him that we have to be at the embassy at 8:00 in the morning so we cannot delay on this. He agrees and we leave with our documents in hand, Mohammad telling Mr. Ahmed that we will be back shortly. I am thinking, you might be, sir, but not me.
Untamed Spirit II  Doris Maron p74

[Biggles]

Quetta is a dusty frontier town with lots of activity and traffic. Once more I drop my bike while turning a corner and going over a huge speed bump. My strength is gone. I simply lose my balance on the bump and fall over. A man appears immediately and helps me pick it up. Finally I make my way out of this hectic area of town and find a street of hotels. I check the Muslim Hotel and find it is a dive. The next one I stop at is the Maryton. It is clean and comfortable, so I check in here. I need to rest before going back to the Embassy to pick up my visa.
I park my bike in the underground garage and haul my gear up to my room. Today this is too much for me. I drop everything on the floor, crash on the bed and sleep for a couple of hours. When I awaken I order toast and tea before riding back to the Embassy to pick up my visa. By the time I return to my room, Iran visa in hand, my energy is completely zapped once again. I decide to stay another day to sleep and regain some strength.
I spend most of Saturday in my room sleeping. On Sunday, June 8, still tired and weak and with three days left on my Pakistan visa, I decide to stay one more day. I am sure it will only take me one day to reach the border, so I rest most of the day. In the afternoon I take my bike to the service station to get fuel, check the oil, and have it washed. In these countries you do not wash your own bike- it is washed for you. I quite enjoy sitting back and watching as the young fellows wash and polish. For a small fee it is well worth the wait.
While I wait a young man approaches and speaks to me in English. He is a teacher here in Quetta and his wife is a nurse. He invites me to his home for dinner and to meet his family. He offers to pick me up on his little 75cc Honda. Under normal circumstances I would have refused and taken my own bike, but today I am tired so I accept his offer for a ride.
Untamed Spirit II  Doris Maron p97

[Bodø]

owning a harley is like masturbating with a cheese grater , its interesting but mostly just painfull

Speaking of cheese graters...

[Biggles]

Iran
As I follow the police car I am thinking I cannot go to the station without my passport. My hotel is a block or two off this road, just two blocks from the police station. I have to make a major decision and my gut instinct tells me to get my passport. When we reach the traffic circle the police car goes straight through and I turn off on the first quarter exit. Immediately their lights and siren comes on so I pull over and stop where I am. I watch as the police car turns and comes to me. The officer is yelling something at me and I am pointing to my hotel and saying, "Passport, hotel, passport, hotel." I continue riding and when I stop at the hotel the officer is still raging on about something.
The officer requests my passport from the hotel clerk and I go to my room to get my carnet de passage. Now I will follow them to the police station. 
Once inside I am led to a waiting area near the entrance and told, in charade fashion, to sit. I offer my carnet but no one is interested in looking at it. Several officers study my passport with all the other country stamps. Whenever someone walks past me I ask, "Why am I here?" Each time they hold up a hand in a wait motion. Either they do not understand English or are pretending not to.
After a few minutes I am escorted into an office to see another man. He does not speak English to me and eventually sends me back to the waiting area. After a dozen different officers have studied my passport, two of them record my information into their ledger. What should take a couple of minutes takes them another ten. Finally they hand me my passport and indicate that I can leave.
Untamed Spirit II  Doris Maron pp119-120

[Biggles]

Turkey
At Malakara I get a room for the night. The past two mornings my bike has not been starting and I had to get a boost. I think I need new battery. At my hotel in Malakara a young university student, riding a 250cc motorcycle, spots my bike and stops to talk. His name is Paul, and he is in awe of my Magna. I tell him about having to boost my battery the past two mornings, and he immediately offers to help by contacting his friend Lon. They pull off the seat and take the battery out. The fluid is low- Lon takes it to a shop and tops it up. Once the battery is replaced I go riding for an hour, following Paul on his bike. He takes me on a short tour of the area.
It always amazes me how people appear when I need them. The Universe does provide and I thank the spiritual forces that look after me.
Untamed Spirit II  Doris Maron pp136-7

[Biggles]

Denmark
Today, August 31, I will cross the new bridge joining Sweden and Denmark. The bridge crosses the Oresund Strait from Malmo, Sweden to Copenhagen, Denmark, and was officially opened July 1, 2000. It has one of the longest cable stayed main spans in the world at four hundred and ninety meters, with a total length of almost eight kilometers. This stretch of the bridge bends in the shape of a quarter moon and arches up two hundred and four metres above the water, descending again onto the artificial island of Peberholm for four kilometres, then into a tunnel for another four kilometres on the Danish side. I look forward to seeing and riding over this bridge, but when I arrive, much to my disappointment, fog has obliterated all sight of it. I can barely see a metre in front of me, and am not even aware of the point at which I reach the bridge. I feel like I am riding on water in the middle of the ocean. Water crystals bead up on my windshield and face shield, making it very difficult to see. I turn my flashers on to make myself more visible to other vehicles and keep a slow but steady speed. It seems like an eternity before the bridge descends toward the island and the fog lifts and I am able to see again. I go through the tunnel and soon I enter Denmark.
Untamed Spirit II  Doris Maron p156

[Biggles]

Germany
Today, while visiting the aquarium, I experience a major shift in my awareness and attention to detail. I have visited other aquariums in the past and enjoyed the colorful fish and plant life, but today is different- today it seems like I am seeing all this for the very first time. I watch in wonder as the fish take in water as we do air, and as the plants swaying in the water provide food and beauty. I notice one feeding on a green plant and imagine the plant saying, "Go ahead, eat lots, I will grow more." I also see sharks swim in harmony with dozens of other species, and wonder why we humans don't learn from them. A large flat fish floats down the glass to rest near another of its kind. If I listened closely I might hear it say, "Just stopped to say I love you." The whole experience leaves me wondering if I'm losing my marbles or if my travels have opened my senses to a greater level of awareness.
Untamed Spirit II  Doris Maron p157

[STeveo]

Thank you for posting these each day, I look forward to them. I have been inspired enough to order a copy myself, so thanks very much for the effort.

[Biggles]

Argentina
The next day I have a treacherous ride from Puerto San Julian north to Comodoro Rivadavia. I ride into a northwest wind and have trouble holding my head steady. Without a windshield the wind rips at my helmet. I am bent forward, resting the chin of my helmet on my tank bag. Even so, I have to fight to hold my head steady. Trucks that I meet create a blast of wind that tries hard to rip off my head! After four hours of battling this gale, I stop for lunch at Caleta Olivia. When I sit down I realize just how tired I am. It would be so easy to lay my head on the table and go to sleep.
I take my time over lunch, then battle the wind again for another hour north to Comodoro Rivadavia before turning onto Highway 26 heading northwest, directly into the wind. The pressure against my helmet produces tension and pain through my neck and shoulders. Several times I tuck in close behind a vehicle for protection, but their inconsistent speed makes it impossible to stay there. Finally it works. I tuck in close behind a half-ton truck traveling ninety-eight kilometers per hour and ride like this until I reach Sarmiento. Maybe these fellows are bikers and realize what I'm battling. I hope to have a chance to thank them, but they keep going when I turn into a gas station. I definitely need a windshield, although in this wind it might make things worse.
Untamed Spirit II  Doris Maron p187

[CallMeSteve]

Fair dinkum.  This girl sure gets around.

[Biggles]

Bolivia
The road is better now with the exception of some long, heavy, sandy stretches. In one such stretch I spin out and stop. The sand is deep- my bike ends up in an upright position. I have to get Norma to push me onto the hard packed track. In a rocky, gravel stretch Norma takes another nasty fall. She must be black and blue by now.
When I go to help she tells me her throttle is stuck.
"Maybe that has been part of your problem all along?" I ask.
She agrees that it might be, so after up-righting her bike I proceed to take her throttle lock off. I am so fed up by now that I do not even ask. I just do it. With every fall we have to offload the bike, pick it up, and then reload it. This is wasting so much time that I fear we will repeat last night's experience.
The sun is beginning to disappear behind the mountains by the time I spot Uyuni. I am so relieved that all my earlier frustrations disappear. I spot a tour bus as we ride into town and decide to follow it. I figure that bus is probably going to a hotel. Sure enough, it leads us to the Hotel Tinto where we get a very nice room, plus parking in a locked yard, for thirty Bolivian bolivianos. One Canadian dollar is equal to 6.19 bolivianos, and one US dollar is 8.11 bolivianos.
Untamed Spirit II  Doris Maron pp219-220

[Biggles]

I check a couple of shops before finding one that can help. One of the repairmen, Peter, rides as my passenger [on Norma's bike] back to my bike. He looks at the situation then decides he needs a tire pump. There is no air hose at the service station and I only have two small air capsules left. Off we go again back into Oruro. When we return, Peter looks for small pieces of rubber in the yard to plug the hole, and then pumps the tire up. There is still a hissing noise. He finds another hole and plugs it. This time all is quiet. The tire should carry us back to town.
Norma does not want to carry a passenger, so we strap my gear on top of hers, and Peter rides behind me back to the shop. Two men work on the tire. It takes them all evening to repair the holes and get the tire back on the rim. It does not want to seal properly and takes several attempts before they succeed.
At about 7:00 pm the repairmen race outside and pick up all their tools and parts sitting by my bike. Both our bikes are parked along the sidewalk out front. They close the shop door and tell us not to go out and to stay away from the window.
"What is happening?" I ask.
"Protesters are coming," Peter replies, pointing up the street.
We stay put and stand along one wall away from the window. We can still see out and I notice some of the protesters stop and look at our bikes before moving on.
I ask, "What are they protesting?"
Peter replies, "Who knows, everyone protests. Doctors, nurses, teachers, labourers— everyone protests."
At 8:30 the tire is finally back on my bike. My bill is seventy bolivianos, or 11 dollars Canadian.
Untamed Spirit II  Doris Maron pp223-4

[Biggles]

Bjorn (yes, seriously!) explained to me the various hand controls and foot controls; same as a car but different. The gearbox was on the right-hand side and was upside down in shift configuration by modern bike convention but I was blissfully unaware of such distinctions, having never been on a motorcycle before in my life, not even as a pillion, at the now still tender age of thirty-seven.
He pillioned me for about three kilometres through crazy Kathmandu, then offered me the front seat and he climbed on the back. I managed to ride back without killing anybody and of course I was immediately hooked. I wanted this motorcycle! There remained the small issue of the price, and as the bike was only 12 months old I suspected it might be beyond my limited travel budget. When he advised he wanted only US$700 I couldn't believe it - I had almost this amount in my money belt. By the time we rejoined the others on the rooftop for our second beer and further recreationals, I was the proud and excited new owner of a Royal Enfield and had suddenly become something of an accidental motorcyclist.
Free Back Issue  Mike Ferris p25

[Biggles]

As the weeks went by and a few of the twenty-seven enquiries turned into solid bookings with deposits paid, I would keep my parents regularly apprised of developments. I had calculated a minimum of six clients was my break-even number; any less than this would not be financially viable. I rang my Dad one day, quite excited, and told him, "Well, this Himalayan Motorcycle Safari is definitely a happening thing - I've got my six starters!"
"Well, actually no you haven't," Austin replied quietly, with a smile in his voice. "You've got seven." At the age of sixty-five, my dad had surreptitiously acquired his motorcycle license in Tassie so he could be a participant of my inaugural Himalayan motorcycle safari. I was speechless; you could have knocked me over with a papadum. To this day it still brings a dampness to my eyes whenever I recount this story.
Free Back Issue  Mike Ferris pp34-5

[Biggles]

"Are you sure the road is open, for us to pass?"
"Yes," he replied, before turning to address the group.
"Please go! But it is best perhaps you move quite smartly."
Our bikers needed no further encouragement. By the time I had put my helmet back on and started my bike, they were haring off down the road and I found myself riding Tail End Charlie rather than Fearless Intrepid Leader. But just one kilometre further on, an incoming Pakistani shell exploded into the hillside no more than a hundred metres from the road. I saw fifteen brake lights illuminate simultaneously, and chaos ensued as the guys tried hastily to do U-turns. One fellow stalled his bike, another laid his down gently in the mayhem and confusion.
And then an officer appeared out of nowhere and yelled we were almost through the danger zone and we should continue! More madness as the bikes were turned around once again, and then we quite literally found ourselves right in the thick of it.
Incoming Pakistani shells were exploding on our left. Indian gunners were returning fire from our right, unleashing 135mm artillery shells from their Swedish Bofors guns, with huge percussion shockwaves we could feel thirty metres away. Then they turned and stood gaping, open-jawed, as a colourful group of foreign tourists scrambled furiously through the middle of their war.
Free Back Issue  Mike Ferris pp60-1

[Biggles]

As is my usual way, I always carry my motorcycle helmet on board in a helmet bag as cabin luggage, rather than trusting its delicate structure to the dubious baggage handlers of the various airports. I'm sure we've all seen Youtube footage of ground staff tossing fragile musical instruments roughly onto the carts, or playing football with someone's new Louis Vuitton suitcase.
In Dubai I was very grateful to be boarding the last of the three legs. Singapore Airlines always have the most gorgeous young ladies working in their cabin crew, and one of them in particular caught my eye as I found my seat and was stashing my helmet bag in the overhead locker. She offered to help, and jokingly asked why I had brought a bowling ball on board with me.
I chuckled and said, "No, actually it's a motorcycle helmet, I'm very safety conscious. Should I put it on?"
She touched my elbow gently and replied with a stunning smile, "You won't need it, you are in my safe hands now." My heart thumped a little bit louder.
Free Back Issue  Mike Ferris p101