THE BIG TRIP

Starting in June Jeff Poulter and Graham Tillotson are about to travel the length of the Pan-American Highway, from Prudhoe Bay, Alaska, to Terra del Fuego on the southern-most tip of South America

It's a gender thing. Mention the Big Trip to a bloke and he goes all misty-eyed, gets really excited and is utterly jealous. A woman goes all misty-eyed, gets excited and with utter contempt demands to know what "your wife is supposed to be doing while you're gallivanting around the world having fun, huh?" To men it's adventure, to women it's dangerous. To Graham and me, it's a dream

Two years ago, Graham and I were sitting, with wives Flip and Mary, in Joe Allen’s restaurant in Covent Garden musing over what we might do when retirement dawns, a timely discussion since its sun was just peeping over the horizon. Wine had been consumed so, as is mandatory under such circumstances, someone had to mention the riding around the world thing. So I did.

"I'm coming, too!" said Graham. Our wives stared at him and then at each other with the look that assumes such grape-inspired vigour will be forgotten as usual, come morn. But Graham, I pointed out, you can't ride a bike. "Can learn, can't I?" So he did, in his 56th year. Passed his test first time and has been wobbling around ever since.

I have to explain about Graham. Basically, he's nuts. He's also bright and boffiny, generally referred to as "the prof", and an all-round good chap. I've known him for 30 years. He's a great traveller with real curiosity and a collection of several million 35mm slides. He also has focus, enthusiasm and determination, all of which he brought to bear on learning to ride a bike.

The planning started over a year ago. Being complete novices in two-wheeled world exploration we thrashed around a great deal to no obvious effect, beaming the research-light at anything that looked likely to yield a secret. Then we discovered the HorizonsUnlimited.com website, and found that dozens of folk are in the process of touring most unlikely parts of the planet, mostly on machines quite unsuitable for circumnavigating a roundabout, let alone the world. Like Harley Davidson's, for goodness sake. So we read books. Books by travellers who had achieved so much more than our limited ambition: women riding alone through Muslim countries; South America by C90, Beijing to London by D'nepr and sidecar

First Question: Where shall we go?
Gradually, a plot started to gel. We'd go south east through Europe (avoiding Switzerland, of course), through the Balkans, Turkey, Iran, Pakistan – Ah! the Karakoram Highway! – India, somehow wriggle through Myanmar and/or China into Thailand, loop clockwise around Vietnam, Laos, and Cambodia, drop down through Malaysia to Singapore, boat to Australia, and zip around Oz to Sydney. Quick cuppa in Sydney, hop a boat to Buenos Aires, south to Terra del Fuego to pick up the Pan-American Highway and head north through South America, Central America, USA, Canada to finish in Alaska. Then, basically, meander back east to New York or thereabouts and ship the bikes home, while we fly. Well, more or less.

"And how long is that going to take?" enquired the wifely one.

"Ooh, 'bout a year, maybe".

At which point the plan was immediately modified to encompass a maximum of six months, and only then if good behavior is strictly observed between now and then. OK, Boss, six months it is.

The obvious edit was to cut the trip in half: London to Sydney followed by the Pan-American Highway at a later date. So we spent a few months checking visas, routes, how to translate Thai street-cafe menus and such like essentials. We found out that one cannot traverse Myanmar and that travel by personal vehicle is forbidden in China, which would have complicated that part of the route. Then that pair of complete Bs – Bush and Blair – worked to reduce the welcome proffered to a GB plate from warm to hotter than hell in so many parts of the overland route to Sydney, that we decided to abandon it and opt for the Pan American Highway instead.

Northwards or southwards? Read more books, find some worldwide meteorological websites to check rainfall and average temperatures; ring around for estimates of freighting costs to South America, North America and Canada; make a stab that we'll be leaving Spring-ish 2004, and the decision is made. We head south, chasing summer.

From where? Ah, then we find the myth behind the Pan-American Highway. Although everyone may have heard of it no-one appears to definitely know where it goes. We unearth lots of opinions but not an actual map. Opinion seems agreed that it ends/starts at Ushuaia which is about 60 km south of Terra del Fuego, and is the most southerly point on the continent. The northern end is less clear but the odd weighty tome, like the Guinness Book of Records, suggests Prudhoe Bay in Alaska. Anything in black and white by Guinness is fine by me, so the start and finish points were settled. The bits in between have taken half a year and we still haven't finally decided an exact route but, then, we don't want to tie ourselves down too tightly since most of the adventure of such a trip comes from the unexpected, the side road, the little cove, or the small town. And, most definitely the people we will meet en route.

We have a plan
The first stab at an outline route required the entire floor of Graham's dining room, with all pets, wives and other distractions banned. Maps of half the world were spread out and surveyed. Blimey! We're going from the Arctic to the Antarctic, which appears to be a very long way indeed. All the way, in fact, from the sideboard past the dining table to the kitchen door. The route is basically due south from Prudhoe Bay, down the west coast of Canada and the USA to Mexico. Through Central America we'll aim to travel the ridge down the middle – the high ground - straying south to the coast if we need to. Riding high will keep us cooler since we will, after all, be crossing the equator during July and August. Altitude, and south of the ridge, will keep us as far away as possible from the nastiest mosquitoes. (This is a personal priority for me because I'm attractively pink (or will be by then) and clearly very sweet-tasting in an insecty sort of way; mosie bites on me come up like marbles and last a fortnight.)

When we get to Panama we will airfreight the bikes to Quito in Ecuador, since it's not possible to ride through the Darien Gap and, even if you could, you'd end up in Columbia. Columbia, said the Boss, is not on. From Ecuador, due south through Peru and into Chile, riding to the west of the Andes until it comes time to head over the mountains into Bolivia (assuming the insurrection has quietened a little by then) to ride around Lake Titicaca. Back over the Andes into Chile for another few thousand miles to Patagonia where the land breaks into many small islands, and then east into Argentina before turning once more south to the end of the continent.

Graham set up our workings in a spread sheet. It took four pages of Excel. We will cover 27,237km which is 16,915 miles, through 14 countries, and we will be travelling for 104 out of 195 days.

While Graham and I were mulling over which route to take we also thought about what bikes to use. To many overlanders a BMW GS is the obvious choice: strong, capable, spares available every-where, with lots of bolt-on extras available from a range of suppliers. I rejected it because I thought that, fully laden, it would be too much of a hand-ful for a novice rider like Graham, especially as some of the trip would be off tarmac. I thought that something like a 500 or 600 single would be ideal: mechanically simple, relatively lightweight, good fuel consumption but beefy enough to haul us and luggage across a few continents. An off-road style would also be practical with long-travel suspension for pot-holed roads, some off-road capability for the occasional dirt ride, and a world-universal wheel size for easy tyre replacement. Tyres were a major consideration since road or sports oriented tyres, especially radials, would almost certainly be manufactured in Europe or USA and consequently would be in short supply, with a hefty import tariff attached to each one, anywhere in Central or South America.

What choices were there? Eighteen months ago we were looking at the BMW F650, Yamaha XT600 or Honda NX650 Dominator. All much of a muchness, really. Simple enquiries showed that spares for BMW singles were difficult to get in South America because they had never been imported there and Honda dealers were much more prolific than Yamaha dealers. And then I remembered the decision-clinching episode of a club trip a few years back in south Wales – Ken Gore's Spring Special, or somesuch - when I and a dozen others tried to follow Steve Attwood riding a Dominator down some B roads. I'm sure many other members will remember that ride too. Steve left many powerful bikes - a ZX9, R1, ST4 (er, that would be mine) – gasping in his dust. No-one could catch him. So, it's the Honda, then.

Notwithstanding Mr Attwood’s attempt to melt his Dominator, the NX650 has to be Mr Sensible. It's been in production a decade or so, it's simple to fix and spares are cheap. It was the right decision - until Honda ceased production. Needing two identical bikes, preferably new, I immediately started searching and found a couple of black ones in Wolverhampton. I rode them both around for a couple of months to check that everything has been screwed together properly and then started to set about modifying them.

Luggage, spares and tools
According to our researches, one of the bêtes noirs of overland bikers is luggage systems. Most of these are made in Germany or Scandinavia, are expensive and not very good. The big aluminium boxes are fine, it's the racks that hold them on that are apparently the weakest link. Further investigation unearthed Ernie, he of Overland Solutions Ltd, of Sheerness in Kent. (I bet it's called "Overland" since it takes days and a lot of map reading to find Sheerness.) Ernie is the man when it comes to pannier racks, and just about everything else in serious bike preparation. He did, after all, prep BMW's Paris-Dakar bikes this year. So Ernie knows his onions and, from the racks he built for our bikes, it shows. Once the de rigeur ally boxes were in place it was time to think through a luggage strategy. It boils down to two factors: how much and where to put it. The where objective is kinda obvious: as low as possible and balanced between front and rear. To minimise high-up weight hanging out the back we decided against big aluminium top boxes, so we chose the cheapest plastic ones from MPS, intending only to carry light things in them. (And, if they fell off, we'd throw them away.)

Further luggage capacity up front indicated a tank bag. I had seen some in books that have saddle bags which drop down either side of the tank in front of your legs. Great. Except, would you believe, not a single tank bag manufacturer or importer in the UK (I rang eleven of them from the Ride report on tank bags) made even a bog standard bag that would fit a Dominator. Not one! The bike had only been in production for a decade, only about 8,000 similarly-styled dual-sport/off-road bikes are sold in the UK a year, yet no-one makes a bag – not even Hein Gericke in Germany. More web searching uncovered a splendid Dutch bloke who sewed up a couple of sets, complete with saddle bags, and they fit perfectly. Really good quality.

The next question was, how much luggage? Clearly the less the better but how little can you get away with? Our biggest decision was to dump the camping gear because it takes up so much space and, anyway, there aren't really any campsites in South America where a room would only cost twice the price of pitching a tent – and that may well be as little as $20 US. Pity. I like camping.

Before thinking about clothes or sun cream, we needed to decide how much space to reserve for essential tools, spares and equipment. Riding identical bikes cuts down on some spares but the list we drew up just got longer and longer, heavier and heavier and ever more voluminous. Eventually we narrowed it down to what we think are the essentials (see SPARES box) needed either to keep one of the bikes going after a spill or for safety reasons. We decided to take brake pads and oil filters in case we couldn't get high enough quality replacements on the road; a chain and sprocket set, with a split link to save having to carry a chain riveter, in case one of the bikes throws a chain; inner tubes for emergencies; and levers, bulbs, spark plugs and spokes for obvious reasons.

Tools and equipment promoted some brain ache as well. As well as all the standard toolbox stuff, including handfuls of cables ties and a mega roll of duct tape, we decided that we may well find a use for: a good quality hand pump, a plasti-fix kit, thread locker, instant gasket, WD40, oil, two-part epoxy, superglue, electrical cable and fittings, fuses, insulating tape, and a cunning jack-type device, called a Lifstik, which operates under the swing arm opposite the side stand to lift the wheels off the ground for changing. I hope I never use it

Clothing & kit
From the Arctic to the Antarctic crossing the equator in August is, of course, a doddle, kitwise. Just take everything you'll ever need for any kind of weather. Obviously we'll use fabric not leather. (I was in Mugello last year for the MotoGP, wearing leathers in 420C. Never again.) Electrically heated gear seems the answer to bulky layers, so we bought Klan waistcoats which seem to be of excellent quality, and fitted heated grips. Lots of silk underwear (from Patra) and Roof helmets so that we can wear them open-face when it's hot. Trouble with the Roof helmet is when it's cold they mist up like buggery and their anti-mist (sic) visors don't help too much. Still, I'm not going to wear a full-face in equatorial temperatures, nor an open face in the Arctic, so Roof it is.

The jackets we've chosen - mine's Belstaff, Graham's Hein Gericke - have zip-open panels for ventilation whilst retaining water tightness, which is a clever trick. We would have loved to use some of the more esoteric BMW touring suits but they are really expensive, albeit of high quality. And the bills were starting to rise. So, other than the above, we're using normal road-going boots, gloves and bits.

Preparing the bikes
Although Ernie is brilliant he is also expensive so we would save a fair few bob if I prepared the bikes myself. But, more importantly, by spannering myself I would have a reasonable idea of what went wrong should things fall off, and how to correct it. That's the theory, any road. So, being a gentleman, I set about my bike first. It took six or seven weeks to fit engine crash bars, extra horns, a touring Scottoiler, K&N air filter, a headlamp protector, screen, heated grips, Acerbis brush guards, a 23 litre Acerbic fuel tank with in-line fuel filters and a top box.

Then the wiring. I fitted a couple of cigarette lighter-type sockets in the front fairing to power radio, GPS, etc but also wired the top box with a couple of sockets and a dc voltage selector which will be useful for charging batteries and things overnight in a locked compartment. Then I fitted the power socket for the waistcoat in the left side panel, and a SolarLarm 817 with immobiliser under the seat. it's hardly a sophisticated set up but good enough for lots of noise and flashing lights if anyone tried to tamper with the bikes. We'll be using tandem-ed U-locks as prime security.

The only difference between the two bikes is the exhaust. I decided to fork out on a Pro-Duro end can, primarily to save weight and, hopefully, to sound a little more fruity than the muffled Honda standard items, of which there were one each side. The result was a lot less weight but no more noise, so we didn't bother with Graham's. However, my bike then had a big cylindrical hole where the left-hand silencer used to be and I found that a piece of 5" diameter plastic drain pipe fitted admirably. This brainwave container now holds two inner tubes! Finally I cobbled up some small platforms and straps on the engine bars to grip bottles of water or containers of oil. It doesn't take much oil leaking into the luggage to ruin the trip, the water will stay nice and cool out in the breeze, and we can take 10,000 miles of Scott oil on each bike as well.

It took six week to finish my bike and, once I'd worked out what to do, only two weeks to finish Graham's.

Maps and navigation
We talked a lot about GPS. Graham already had a Garmin but the problem is its usability. Garmin’s software maps are brilliant for the USA and Europe where you can be directed to the nearest Pizza Hut with alacrity but south and central America are on the "rest of the world" map and the detail is quite minimal. In the end we shelled out the 100 notes and loaded it up. Maybe it'll be of some use. I also found a smashing wee gizmo in the ARDS Electronics catalogue, a waterproof, digital, compensating compass. We all need one of these. Once attached to the bike the instructions are to perambulate two full 3600 circles from which the compass beeps with joy and sets itself to its surrounding lumps of metal to read accurately for life. It works and I'm well tickled.

I also amused myself (you know, in those moments with nothing to do) by making up a road book which is basically a Perspex-topped box that operates by winding a roll of paper around two spindles. it's a real Blue Peter job with bits of old biro and sticky-backed plastic but it works brilliantly. I also took it out in a pelting rainstorm and it appears to withstand the Lord's water but I guess a tropical downpour will sort the dry men from the boys.

Here we go
All that remains is to crate up the bikes and ship them out to Anchorage, and we fly out to meet them on 27th May. It's getting so close now that nerves have started. For the last eighteen months, it's been a theoretical exercise: the start point has always been so far into the future. Now its just a few weeks away. Does that mean that, after all this time, we get to become real overland motorcycle travellers? Real ones? Gosh

Jeff 17.04.04