On the 6th of April 2005, cousins Jamie Mackenzie and Ben Wylson set off on their bikes on a journey which will take them to over 50 countries and to every one of the worlds great continents, all without the use of an aeroplane.
Tuesday, June 19, 2007: The Tale of the Lost Pannier, the Great Colombian downs and the good ship Comet
Today we are in northern Colombia. Buses got us here over 52 hours of excruciatingly uncomfortable, bouncing, beeping, throw-around travel. From base Quito we kicked about a plastic bottle on a litter-strewn street at the crack of dawn as we waited for the express to Bogota to arrive. The bikes were ready for the bus, perched on the pavement on kickstands, their handle bars folded in and panniers piled in neat stacks against the shuttered-up windows of a shop next to the stop. The sun rose over the mountains as early morning Ecuadorian fitness sorts jogged laps around a park opposite the road.
By and by our bus arrived. We watched it speed towards us from the traffic-free end of the very long straight road we waited on. We had been a little concerned that the bus driver might refuse to take the bikes out of policy, or not be able to take them at all due to a lack of space. In the end there were no problems and in a few hours we were well on our way to that country with the most fearsome reputation, perhaps of all, Colombia.
The country is stable at the moment, so the locals say. Never-the-less we expected to be shot at at least once as we crossed the border. A dot matrix printer had made marks in our passports to allow us a 30-day stay.
Colombia turned out to be an unexpected pleasure. Where we had expected to see bullet- battered buildings and bearded men with intent to kidnap, we encountered rolling fields and spectacular mountains that reminded us of Kent in South East England. It was as though the south downs had been dug up and layed over the Colombian mountains. Unlike other South American countries -even at 3,000 m´s above sea level- there were meadows where Daisy could be found grazing contentedly. Our only reminder of the civil war which has been raging in Colombia for years has been the frequent Policia stop checks which were in actuality quite pleasant, missing the bayonet prods and the beatings-for-banal-amusement that we had been expecting.
And so, we arrived in Bogota, the capital city.
We had expected to have a bit of time to explore, but a bus was leaving in 5 minutes for the place we needed to get to oh, so urgently, the northern Colombian coastal city of Cartegina -on the Caribbean coast- the city considered to be the best port from which to find yachts to Central America.
Travellers hoping to get to Central America without flying have to take a boat because the only other way to get to Panama is overland by way of a track through a guerilla-ruled zone and hundreds of kilometres of dense jungle. It is considered to be a suicidal trip which nobody -even the most loco travellers- dare take. That includes us. We have been known to be gung ho, but that would be just too crazy.
So in Bogota bus depot, without opportunity for refreshment or a much-longed-for leg stretch, we jumped aboard our second Colombian bus to experience even more of the lofty, South American Kent. Eventually we arrived -almost without incident- in Cartegina. There was one hiccup which got our adrenalin flowing soon after the bus had come to a stop at the out-of-town Cartegina bus depot...
Our bus had driven off, probably on its way back to Bogota. As we loaded the bikes on the concrete under the blistering sun, with sweat trickling into our eyes, Ben realised he was missing a front pannier. He yelled "Banditos!!" and began to run around the loading zone looking for the lost article like a mad goat. "The book Mum made me! My vitamins!" he whimpered. " My Head and Shoulders Sensitive Skin!"
"Maybe it´s still on the bus?" called Jamie after a frantic Ben whose blond mop bobbed off towards the terminal building looking for the Policia to help him find the culprit. Jamie stood guard over the gear while Ben found himself with a bunch of cool cucumbers armed with Glock automatics. The Policia had the situation under control in moments. First they located the bus by making a few phone calls. It turned out the bus had not gone back to Bogota... in fact it had not left the terminal at all and was parked just around the corner in bay 24.
The driver was questioned by the Policia. Had he seen any suspicious persons snooping around? Without answering, the driver pulled open one of the luggage compartments. There, nestled amongst some other pieces of misplaced luggage was... Ben´s lost pannier.
With the pannier held high over his head Ben returned to Jamie as if his prize were the FA cup. Jamie looked up from the luggage which he had been keeping such a close eye on, like a dog distracted for a moment whilst waiting patiently for a rat to flee its hiding place. "You found it!" exclaimed Jamie as he saw the missing pannier. "Did you find the culprit?"
The final leg of the journey took 22 hours, giving us a total-time-on-bus tally of 52 and a half hours. The South American bus adventure had unfolded soon after an exhausting 65-hour flight from Melbourne which included crossing the international dateline for the third time and spending a day and a night at LAX. Sleep has been a rare commodity of late. Some can sleep sitting up; we -after all our worldly experience of travel- still find that impossible, and so in four days of almost back-to-back international movement we have had precious few hours sleep.
It was worth it, though, and when we arrived we had a beer to celebrate and checked into a dirty grease-pit of a youth hostel to enjoy the first sound night's sleep we´d had in ages.
The new invigorated us woke up early this morning, got organised and ate some very greasy breakfast. It was deliciously bad for the bowels and heart. We washed it down with a fine brew of the most wonderful Colombian coffee. The day was looking good already.
As I have already mentioned, Colombia is nothing like you would expect. The people are friendly and there seems to be zero hostility. The only reminder of our bad-ass location are the army helicopters which patrol the skies and the armed guards, with vicious-looking bayonets mounted on the barrels of M-16 assault rifles, who seem to be everywhere. There are five of them on every street corner. Locals sit in Cafes drinking coffee and chatting alongside these formidable soldiers as if it were perfectly normal. I suppose to them, it is. Incidentally, we heard from one traveller that the country really is exceptionally stable at the moment, the best it has been for 50 years. We could not have hoped to have been here at a better time.
Back to our our sweat-pit and today...
The heat was uncomfortable, but as soon as we were outside, the sun hit our faces and warmed our souls. We both had the feeling that something amazing was going to happen to us.
Yesterday we had been a little disappointed with Cartegina because I think we´d both been expecting it to be a Caribbean Paradise.. That it is not. However, we did find a spectacular old colonial walled city to walk around; outside of that, though, it is a bit of a poor man´s Miami. Anyway, today we had one objective: to find a ship to Panama, and with fingers crossed we went to the near-by marina.
Straight away we found a beat fellow, a living Hunter S. Thompson, a man who surely has affiliations with those legends of his generation, who goes by the name of Captain Carlos, to take us to Costa Rica on his yacht, The Comet, for little more than our fuel and food expenses.. I should say, our Captain is Portuguese -a handsome old sea dog- who was in the US Navy and speaks perfect American English with a Boston accent. The weather is set to be fine for the duration of our voyage and there is no need to worry about Hurricanes. "You find them further to the north..." says Carlos.
Tonight we will take our new-found skipper to dinner to buy him a Rum. We are so excited and completely over the moon. This is a gift from on high. We are lucky men!
The Comet turned out to be a seaworthy Italian-built yacht, 11 metres in length and in shipshape condition. It is to take us via a chain of islands in Panamanian waters known as The San Blas Archipelago where we will snorkel coral reefs and go spear fishing for supper every evening. Upon arrival at a Port called Limon in Costa Rica we will begin the ride north, all the way to the United States of America.
Finding this ship has been the dream beginning / head start and we couldn´t have wished for better. We will be on the boat for about 11 days and Captain Carlos is going to teach us to sail as well. To say we are excited about all this would be an understatement; VERY few of us have the privilege of taking a yacht from Colombia via Panama through the Caribbean to Costa Rica. We are eternally grateful.
After the elation of the marina visit, we went for a dip in the Caribbean for an exhilarating body surf. The waves were just the right size and the water was as warm as any we have yet had the pleasure of bathing in. To dry out we drank a fresh tropical fruit smoothie in one of those chipped-paint shacks by the beach whilst a Colombian band played grin-bringing music right next to us.
Wednesday, June 13, 2007: despair and reconciliation
Wrench! and that was it, we left Australian shores for the third time. Again we accelerated to 20 times the speed of bike and flew. Green Victorian grass disappeared from view beneath low clouds which spluttered driving drizzle onto the rounded portholes of the 747. The gloomy weather mirrored dismal emotions. We said little, the odd tear clambered to our tear ducts and jumped.
The last year has really taken it out of us. On the blackest of days we wondered what on earth we are doing and frequently found ourselves questioning our sanity. We are from a respectable, large family, yet rather than working the 9-5 and building a secure career as the generations before us have done we brought upon ourselves an enormous struggle: FWE. At our lowest point we were homeless with nobody but each other to turn to, and for what end? So that we can finish what we set out to do. Our hearts scream for us to return to our lives and our loved ones, but whatever it takes we will finish FWE. We will grind our teeth away and go bald if that is what it takes, but there is no way we are giving up now. That said, our FWE motivation has certainly taken a few too many knocks; no longer do we exude enthusiasm for our journey. In this latter year frustration has dominated and we have learnt, through painful trial and error, that completing this challenge takes a lot more than riding a bike. It has involved being bogged down and stuck in time-wasting traps while we rely on the help of others to get us on to the next continent. Our year-long struggle to get to the Americas gave us both some of the most soul- destroying depressions of our lives, yet determination saw us through, only to be struck down again with illness early in the South American leg. With finances already stretched, the flight for health wasted more time and money which we did not have, also it further scuppered our cycling plans. In fact, cycling has become something that we can barely afford to do. As the last of our money evaporates, footing bills for unfortunate situations which are outside of our control, we are forced to concentrate less on cycling and more on keeping the over-land-and-sea task going in whatever way we can. Our challenge to go to and cycle in every continent without using aeroplanes is still very achievable but undesirable concessions will have to be made to ensure success.
Since the despair we felt on the plane at the thought of returning to our losing battle we have held long, painstaking discussions and given ourselves various formulae for completing FWE on a non-existent budget.
No money = no time, therefore we have to speed things up... a lot.
Our latest lickety-split FWE travel solution has given us a new immediate plan and an injection of fresh motivation for our journey north from the Ecuadorian capital. You see, we are both totally unfit -yet again- after completing the necessary, prescribed Meningitis recuperation period, and as our cycling attempts in South America didn´t go so well the last time, we have decided to opt for a fresh start -a new beginning- and take a bus to the Caribbean coast through Colombia and ride from Panama through to the states, building fitness as we go, a tried and tested FWE training method.
Now to project even further ahead; the long term lickety-split plan destroys our dream of cycling the length of Africa but it increases our chances of success 10 fold. It´s a long way off, but we might as well mention it; we do have a ship in the pipeline which will take us to Africa; however, we have no idea which port we will be dropped in. Our final inter-continental voyage could take us to the Cape of Good Hope or to West Africa, perhaps even Gibraltar? In an ideal world we would be dropped in Senegal and cycle home. If the ship goes to South Africa what would we do?! Hitch I suppose? If the ship goes to Gibraltar we´d have to nip across the strait to cycle in Morocco. No matter what fate throws our way -however ugly it might be- we will claim our last two continents. Wish us luck.
Monday, June 04, 2007: Coughs & Splutters
Book selling on Brunswick St has been a stunted exercise that’s coughed & spluttered and has never seemed to fully get going. In fact, in many ways these past few weeks have, for the first time in over two years, been a time when we have allowed ourselves to at first dangle a pointed toe and then an entire foot, in the waters outside of FWE; we’ve graciously welcomed and revelled in the comfort of familiarity and routine - a refreshing novelty indeed after two years of always moving on, of always saying goodbye to people just met. We’ve begun to ‘belong’ to a community again and not only do we scribble shopping lists, trawl the aisles of Safeway, eat Turkish bread & Spicy African dip, enjoy drinks in the evenings with friends, pay bills and watch the hallowed box, but we also live as two individuals. We reside in separate apartments that are divided by several kilometres of leafy suburban streetage, shops, parks and even a river; we meet different people, eat in different cafes and stroll daily down a different path. For better, for worse we are clawing at separate identities. It's living in a fashion which we both agree is becoming increasingly attractive; a fashion which shows us a world away from the road, away from the bikes. Like navigating a rocket through a field of tightly clustered stars, we’re choosing a course which will best suit our evolving vision. Time marches on as priorities shift and shuffle their order.
‘Where are we going...what do we want?’ we ask the wind as it licks our faces.‘Well...’ it replies in a lyrical whisper, but the words are never heard; they’re lost and grow fainter as it skips around our feet and dances away.
More than a year has passed since we first arrived on these shores, these streets. So much has happened...so much. Our return to Melbourne from Ecuador at the end of April was a convenient inconvenience that to us spelt ‘relief’. A mixed emotion salad, lightly tossed, heavily seasoned and drizzled with a guilty delight dressing. Recuperation and restoration of energy and well-being has been a drawn out process with no corners cut. Only time will tell if the body has again fallen in line with the mind's desire. In two weeks we will return to Quito, retrieve our bikes and test the mettle of bike & bone; once again gather up the frayed threads of our trail around the globe and by all available means, whatever they may be, continue on towards northern Columbia.
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