Globe Gallivanting- motorbiking across the world

  We left Gilgit as planned.  The massive problem with the bike turned out to be the starter motor.  It was a good job we had Brock the mechanic to help, and a mechanic scraped the carbon off some important bit, and it was all go again.  In England they would have just replaced the starter motor completely.  Here, anything is possible.  With Manfred purring happily again, we bombed it down the hill.  There were no major hiccups, and it all went a lot easier the second time.    We bounced over the same holes and through the same rivers, and whizzed through checkpoints with made up visa numbers and silly occupations like ‘gymnast’ and ‘dictator’.     We raced all the way through to Besham.  We stopped for lunch in Dasu.  We met a guide, who advised us against staying in Besham & Batagram because of the Swat Valley fanatics.  He mimed a giant beard, to explain.   (The Swat Valley has its transport hub ...

  The next morning saw us head towards Skardu, after a jump-start from the noise-makers.      We stopped briefly at a chai stand for an informative and friendly chat with a family from Karachi.  We swapped conspiracy stories about 9/11 and discussed Zeitgeist.  They answered the marmot question- this was a National Park for bears.  Bears like trout.  And marmots.     We photographed the bridge that was featured on all tourist posters across Pakistan, and were pleased we had made it.      At Satpara Lake we ate fish and chips courtesy of Peter.  It was excellent, and made up for not catching any. They were damming the lake.  Jack looked pleased.  The roads around Skardu were a bit scary, even with our now frankly vast experience of road conditions.  We went through a river, and then wound round mountains, stuck to the side like those things that slide down windows… Yaqoob miraculously squeezed us thro...

The next day we headed for Gilgit.   I was still unwell and weak, and had a horrible hysterical moment of lying collapsed in the dust by the side of the road, trying to force down 3 strawberry cakes just to have something in my stomach.    I have never met a cake I didn’t like, but this was similar to being force-fed polystyrene wrapped in cotton wool. The roads were really not roads now.  They were mostly rock-strewn dirt tracks wedged tightly against massive cliff-drops.  We bounced along and didn’t look down.  Me and God renewed our occasional acquaintance.   The Indus river churned impressively below us, looking like it wanted feeding.       We found a restaurant with real food, and I was so pleased I ordered two of everything.  Sadly my stomach had shrunk.  I still ate until I physically could not stuff any more in, but it was less than I would normally have for a snack. The German, prone to periods of rapid accelerati...

The next morning we were expecting escorts, and there weren’t any, which cheered us.  We set off, and promptly lost the German. He was doing 80kph again.  Apparently he had somewhere to be.     The land was still beautifully green, with bee-keeper boxes dotting the sides of the roads.  We were rounding the bottom of the mountains, following the river.  We stopped at a check post, where a guard tried to surreptitiously hold my hand while showing me a poster of Switzerland.  It was odd. We were escorted for 15 minutes through the most dangerous part of Kohistan. It didn’t look any different to the rest, and nothing untoward happened.       The mountains were snowcapped, the light amazing, and the waterfalls suitably sploshing.     Shame about the road-  it disintegrated further, with streams flowing over it, and bits of road tumbled into the ravines below.  The pot-holes were truck sized.      ...

  We set off up the Karakoram highway on my birthday.  The day started well, with Adam supplying a beautiful chocolate birthday cake, with my name piped on the top.  (He had left it in the hotel kitchen’s fridge for the night with the staff’s permission, and when he brought it in, we discovered with much mirth that the hotel manager had actually eaten a large chunk out of it.  It was hilarious.  I tried to picture an English Travel Lodge manager taking a large bite out of a guest’s birthday cake, before it had even been presented.  It didn’t work.)     Anyway, the cake was a great start, and we set off up the hill.  The road rose 2500m in 80kms.  Not surprisingly, it was very steep.  Equally unsurprisingly, it got a lot cooler, quickly.  I was very pleased by this, as was entirely fed up with sweltering.    At this juncture I might explain something.  My bike jacket is black.  My helmet is also black....