Dawn had given fresh colour and perspective to the grassy, oceanic expanse of the steppe. The deep green, gently rolling contours, flecked here and there by the tiny white outline of a distant ger, were now free of the bullying heat that had harassed me for the previous three days. After a mammoth train journey from London to Ulaanbaatar, Mongolia's congested capital, I was relieved to be on the road, under my own power. In a land of horsemen and women, I was back in my own preferred saddle, cycling through an adventure tourer's wonderland of rugged, remote country. From the [View Full Entry]

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My head snapped forwards as my front wheel was shoved sideways by the resistance of the long metal chain spanning the width of the road. With the fiercely bright morning sun full in my face, and my mind fully occupied deciphering the scenes around me, attempting to establish what, if any, exit procedures I should follow, I had failed to spot that my way ahead, the border-crossing between La Quiaca in Argentina and Villazon in Bolivia, had been crudely blocked off. To my surprise, the broken chain crashing onto the tarmac didn't provoke so much as a raised voice or a [View Full Entry]

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Even though I had expected the Argentines to be amiable and good-natured, I was still taken aback by the genuine warmth of these super-friendly people who offered help when I looked lost, waved to me as I cycled past and dealt with my clumsily-constructed Spanish with patience and good-humour. The occasional truck-drivers and motorcyclists with whom I was sharing the roads waved and sounded their horns as they sped past, and I was comforted by the camaraderie between us on the long empty stretches between settlements. The only hostile reaction I received was from unfriendly, irritating dogs [View Full Entry]

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Five days in, and my long-planned South American cycling trip was suffering from a notable absence of actual cycling. My bike was still in the box that had brought it to Santiago from London, and I was becoming increasingly frustrated with being stranded in the Chilean capital. My plan to take one of the numerous buses that climb up over the Andes to the Argentinian city of Mendoza, my intended starting point for my trip North, had been thwarted by three days of grimy wet weather that had closed the road leading to the "Paso Los Libertadores" on the border. On [View Full Entry]

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