From La Paz I went straight down to Sucre to meet up with the Moto Guzzi traveler Paul Van Hoof. The journey wasn’t too bad; the road was good though the altitude was fierce. Needless to say, it was certainly to push the limits with the second as the lowest gear, and constantly going up and down mountains. From Potosi, the said to be the world’s highest big city at 4000 meters, it luckily went down again towards Sucre, located at just 2800 meters.
It had taken me two days from La Paz to Sucre, you don’t make too many miles when you constantly must re-tune the carburetor, take off the air cleaner and run beside the bike in the worst up hills while the bike push your heart to the brink of an attack. However, I couldn’t complain as the bike managed better than expected and the gearbox that broke is a new design, which never came from the Nimbus factory.
Sucre turned out to be the best place I visited in Bolivia. A lot due to Paul and his family’s good company, but it also offered nice architecture and a good nightlife. The two nights I had planned to stay easily got a week.
Paul followed me out of town, and after he left me it was less than 40 kilometers before it was the end of the tarmac. Unfortunately, it was another 4-500 kilometers before I would see a paved road again.
Fair enough, the lower altitude helped, but it was still constant mountains to go up and down. The rough road weighed up for the benefit of the bike running well with more air. With second still as the lowest I had to go as fast as possible into the uphill’s to make it to the tops, and with Mongolian style pavement and countless hairpins you slide through it was indeed to beat the shit out of both man and machine.
My arm muscles were aching like never before, and I was sure I’d brake something in the chassis sooner or later. Suddenly I heard the sound I didn’t want to hear, and then the bike get a funny angle I didn’t find funny at all. The sidecar leaned in towards the bike, squeezing my leg between the exhaust manifold and the sidecar. After some wrestling I got loose from the rig and to my pleasure it was just a sidecar clamp that had let go the sidecar, an easy fix.
Some hills I had to wait for cars to haul me up, it was just no chance to make it. At least the cars passed every hour or two. After all, it’s the main highway from Sucre to Paraguay so it’s plenty of cars passing, if you got time to wait that hour or two.
The pleasure of finding tarmac again closer to the border to Argentina was quickly abandoned and replaced by disgust for Argentinean customs. They required insurance, but did not sell it. First border I ever seen with such a requirement, but not offering it. It seemed clearly to be a matter of corruption, but I never pay. Especially not when they say they are sorry and giggle.
I cleared the bike back into Bolivia, and spent the next day finding a quasi-legal way around the problem, and obtained a proof of insurance. Upon return to the border it was a new shift working, and no problems. It was actually rather pleasant, and they were very excited about the bike and took a lot of pictures.
I never got much impression of Argentina, except from that it was by far more European, civilized and developed than all other countries I’d been to since Colombia. The food was better too.
The route I took along the border to Paraguay and to Formosa was sparsely populated, and at a police check point at dusk they invited me in for the night, fed me and gave me a bed. The police is said to be bad in Argentina, but I had nothing but positive experiences with them.
I was in Argentina only 4 nights before entering Paraguay at Asuncion. Paraguay, which is said to be notorious for corruption was not bad at all. The border crossing was very straight forward, and the only corruption I noticed was the warnings from the customs officers; “Don’t pay the police, they are corrupt assholes”. They never stopped me though.
The only problems that troubled me in Paraguay I had brought with myself. The frame of the bike broke just after the border. I got it fixed, but next day it broke twice more. After the third time it was welded I felt sick while sitting on the bike, just waiting for it to break again in 90 kilometers per hour, making the bike uncontrollable and sending me into a light pole or meeting traffic and further into heaven or hell.
It luckily held up, and after one night and 400 kilometers I had finally reach Brazil, the last stop in South America before going to Africa.
Tormod
Bolivia-Brasil
Fra La Paz hadde jeg tenkt alt skulle gå smertefritt, med tanke på at det skulle gå nedover og sykkelen ville begynne å gå normalt igjen med normal tilgang på luft.
Å si at det har gått smertefritt ville ha vært en sannhet med modifikasjoner. Ruta gikk fra La Paz til Sucre, og fra Sucre trodde jeg at jeg skulle være berget. Sucre ligger paa knappe 3000 meter, og med tykkere luft var haapet at det i praksis skulle bli en dans paa roser, til tross for to manglende gir.
Men neida, da jeg kom meg paa veien etter en uke hos Moto Guzzisten Paul Van Hoof (www.guzzigalore.nl) så ble det slutt på asfalten, og veien gikk over til mongolsk standard.
Det varte I drøyt 40 mil, men til gjengjeld var det konstant opp og ned. Uten førstegiret maatte en kjøre hårnårsvingene så for en kunne for å ha fart til og nesten komme opp bakkene.
Kombinasjonen av hard ratting og seriøse svinger førte til at det føltes som musklene ristet av armene, og det var I grunn så ubehagelig at jeg måtte bite sammen tenna for å ikke hyle.
I en sving klarte jeg å slaa sidevogna ut av den ene braketten, noe jeg aldri har klart før. I flere bakker maatte jeg vente til noen kunne taue meg opp, og det tok gjerne en time eller to før det kom noen som kunne hjelpe. Det var i grunn ikke så lett å klare mer enn 15 mil om dagen.
Da asfalten tok til igjen litt før grensen til Argentina steg humøret betraktelig, men det gikk over da jeg ikke kom meg inn I Argentina. De krevde lokal forsikring, men det var ingen som solgte det. “i’m sorry” sa de og lo.
Det hele var snakk om at de ville ha penger, men av prinsipp betaler jeg aldri bestikkelser. Jeg tollet sykkelen tilbake til Bolivia, og fant en kvasilegal løsning på problemet slik at jeg fikk dokumentet jeg trengte.
Argentina hadde bra veier og mange kuer. Å komme ned fra Bolivia og Andesfjellene til Argentina føles I grunn som å komme tilbake til sivilisasjonen, bortsett fra tollmyndighetene vel og merke.
Etter et par dager I Argentina kom jeg over til Paraguay. Forventningene var helt I bånn, jeg hadde aldri hørt annet enn korrupsjonshistorier derifra. Grensen var fullstendig problemløs, faktisk en av de enkleste på lang tid. Tollerne advarte mot politiet, som var noen drittstøvler I følge dem.
Jeg ble aldri stoppet av politiet på veien frahovedstaden Asuncion og til Brasil. De eneste problemene jeg hadde var relatert til ramma som brakk tre ganger på to dager. Etter den tredje gangen satt jeg bare og følte meg kvalm og ventet på at den skulle ryke igjen og dra sykkelen rett mot motgående trafikk og videre inn I himmelriket. Den siste sveisejobben var imidlertid utført noenlunde greit, så det gikk bra.
Tormod
If you try to buy something from the Indians up in the Andes they will usually reply with “Que?!?” which means “What?!?” If you rephrase and push a little they reply with a sour voice and no passion “No hay”. On this picture, two Indians are trading, the woman is trying to re-stock with more no hay for her small shop, and the conversation is something like “Hay no hay?” “Que?!?” “Uno kilogramo no hay por favor” “No hay no hay, no mas no hay”
Prøver du å handle med indianere i Andes vil de stort sett besvare forespørselen med “Que!?!?”, som betyr “Hva?!?”. Omformulerer du spørsmålet og presser litt sier de på en sur måte “No hay”, som betyr “Det fines ikke”. Her handler to indianere sammen, og dialogen er antagelig noe sånn som “Hay no hay?” “Que?!?” “Uno no hay por favor!” “No hay no hay”
In Bolivia you take what you got of motorcycles, customize and become a wild one. In this case it’s a JAWA, thus I’d assume you could call Melvin, the owner, for a Jawanese
I Bolivia tar man det en har av sykler og customiserer og blir en wild one. I dette tilfellet er den en Jawa, og eieren og byggeren er dermed en såkalt jawaneser
Despite a nice paint job, it always gets better with a KCCD sticker
Til tross fin motivlakkering gjør det seg med kccd-klistremerker
Paul Van Hoof gets some good Nimbus shots for a story he’ll write for a Dutch magazine. I never dared ask what kind of magazine as he asked me to put on my leathers for the photoshot
Paul Van Hoof sikrer seg noen Nimbusbilder til en gripende artikkel han skal skrive for et nederlandsk blad. Jeg turde aldri å spørre hvilket da han insisterte på at jeg måtte ha på skinnklærne da han tok bildene
Paul traveled North and South America for three years on this Guzzi, which went very well until he came to Sucre and made his girlfriend pregnant. Now he’s been here the last two-three years, but plans a new travel to Siberia. Check his good website www.guzzigalore.nl
Paul reiste Nord og Syd Amerika I tre å på guzzien, og det hele gikk veldig bra til han smelte ei dame på tjukken I Bolivia. Siden det har han vært værfast der. (www.guzzgalore.nl)
In the mountains from Sucre there were a few houses every now and then, but except from that nothing. If they first had used any paint, it was on things like making a rock into a car sculpture. At least they are creative
I fjellheimen fra Sucre var det noen hus her og der, men stort sett bare ingenting. Om det først var brukt maling på noe, så var det stort sett bare på fjas, slik som å male om stein til biler
The bike is pumping out and through two liters of oil per day now, and when you mix it with the fine dust from the road it get really nice
Sykkelen pumper ut og igjennom et par liter olje på en lang dags kjøring nå, og sammen med støvet blir det virkelig flott
For the first time in the history I managed to knock the sidecar chassis out of the bracket
Første gang I historien jeg har klart og slå ut sidevognschassiet av braketten sin
The bridges were of the same standard as in Mongolia, but luckily the rivers were not
Broene holdt same standard som I Mongolia, heldigvis gjorde ikke elvene det
There were also some surprises in the mountains. Her dress was clean before she got on the bike. Afterwards, not so much. But hell, she was the one asked to sit on the bike
Men, det var også lyspunkter I fjellheimen
And also the sidecar box totally dissolved and had to be strapped together…
Og sidevognskassa gikk fullstendig I oppløsning
Tired but happy, the gravel has almost come to an end after 4-500 kilometers
Sliten men fornøyd; nesten tilbake på asfalten etter 4-50 mil på veier som knapt var veier
When I finally got the insurance document the custom officers were very nice, but then again it was a different shift too, probably more honest guys
Da jeg fikk meg forsikringsdokument var de argentinske tollerne veldig hyggelige, men så var det også et nytt skift som var noe mer ærlige
When they finished up my paperwork everybody fled the office to look at the bike and get pictures with it
Da de var ferdige mes paparen mine maatte de alle fotograferes med sykkelen
Despite a bad reputation of the police in Argentina the police was nice to me. At a check point in the middle of nowhere at dusk they invited me in for the night, gave me a bed and fed me
Til tross for et frynsete rykte var politiet I Argentina hyggelige, på et sjekkpunkt I ødemarka inviterte de meg inn og gav meg overnatting og mat
Somewhere in Argentina…
Argentina et eller annet sted
These cowboys were loading cows going for a trip to the city. Maybe appeared exciting for the cows at once, but I fair that the day in the city would be the worst day of their lives
Disse cowboyene lastet opp kuer som skulle på bytur. Det virket kanskje eksotisk for dem, men jeg tror de skulle få den dårligste dagen på lang tid da de kom til byen
This man was very “Live to ride, ride to live” but it wasn´t much chrome on his horse
Denne mannen var veldig “Live to ride, ride to live”, men det var lite krom på hesten hans
Both me and the cows ready for new adventures, luckily our paths split at this point
Både jeg og kuene er klare for videre eventyr, heldigvis skiltes våre veier her
This is what I’ll remember most from Paraguay, three frame fractures in two days
Er vel dette jeg kommer til å huske best fra Paraguay, tre rammebrudd på to dager
Luckily, it happened in the proximity of weld shops all the times
Heldigvis skjedde det stort sett I nærheten ad sveiseverksteder
The last welder was very pleased to see my “Jesus loves you, but I’m his favorite” sticker. Despite language difficulties he had lately became Christian and after that everything had improved. Earlier it had been a lot of girls and beer for him, which he said was no good at all. I just had to agree
Den siste sveiseren var veldig opptatt av “Jesus loves you, but I´m his favorite” klistremerket. Tross spraakbarrierer kunne han forklare at han var nylig frelst, og alt hadde blitt mye bedre.åFoer hadde det vaert masse styggedom som oel og damer. Jeg kunne ikke annet enn å si meg enig
Finally arrived at the Brazilian customs. Almost done with South America with the final in civilization. It’s always good to get done with a continent no matter how much you’ve enjoyed it
Endelig ankomst på tollen I Brasil. Nesten ferdig med Syd Amerika, med avslutning I mer siviliserte strøk. Det er alltid godt tog bli ferdig med et kontinent selv om turen har vært fin
