What's your biggest worry?
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Alun
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What's your biggest worry?
If time and money were no object what would be your biggest worry or maybe even stop you from making a long distance adventure trip to say, Timbuktu? I guess my biggest concern would be the bike breaking down in the middle of nowhere, and me not being able to fix it, and all the hassle that results from that. There again, if time and money were no object, I doubt it would be that much of a problem?
Re:What's your biggest worry?
I think my biggest worry is finding myself alone in a hostile place. although all the travel writers you read say that lone travellers never really find themselves in that sort of situation and that even in the most hostlie places on earth that compassion and humanity are shown to the lone traveller.
Well !! that's the ones that have lived through the experience to write a book !! What about those that didn't ?? are there any ?? how would we know ??
Well !! that's the ones that have lived through the experience to write a book !! What about those that didn't ?? are there any ?? how would we know ??
It matters not what you have or where you take it ........... Every ride is an adventure and every motorbike was built for adventure.
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Alun
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Re:What's your biggest worry?
No bikes involved Jack but as you've mentioned it...
About ten years ago I went through a patch where I enjoyed hiking across countries, as you do. I'd make no plans, little preparation and just arrive at an airport where I'd turn left or right depending on how I felt and stop when I came to a border or the sea.
I'd walked across Portugal, Iceland, Wales, Austria, Ireland and England when I decided enough was enough and turned my attention to traversing mountain ranges and chose the Atlas in North Africa as the first.
Having been to the main Atlas in Morocco many times I decided that I'd hike across the rump end of the range following the Tunisia/Algeria border. I decided to catch a bus from Tunis to the northern edge of the Sahara and then head north over what was near enough uncharted mountains. Try as I did I could find no record of anyone doing this walk, and neither could my contacts in the Tourist Board.
With the Sahara at my back I put one foot in front of the other and strode out for the Mediterranean some 350 miles to the north. I had a compass and a map that was no better than one you'd find on the back of a menu at a Little Chef and the biggest concern was a lack of water up in the hills.
Within half a mile of the start I was approached by a local who spoke a little English and French. Once he'd established that I was going walk through the mountains (a concept he could not understand) his agitation level rose to fever pitch as he warned about; Algerian bandits, boom-boom and dangerous pork (and he did say dangerous pork, I've not made that up).
Well, in the process of the hike I did indeed meet an Algerian bandit who wanted to slit my throat, the boom-boom were the still active minefields left over from WW11, and I walked straight through quite a few of them, and the dangerous pork were the wild boar that were surprisingly common in the hills further to the north. Luckily I survived all three.
There are good stories connected with the above but the ones I prefer to tell are about the warmth, generosity and friendliness of the subsistence hill farmers tending their goats up in the hills who all offered a strange, parched Welshman all the water and food he needed.
And then there was the day I came across a Roman coin on the ground near some curious ruins in the middle of nowhere. Then I found another, and another, and another. Then I took my backpack off and started to dig a little in the sand and uncovered a mosaic floor. It was an incredible moment to find such a treasure that had not been excavated. The more I looked around the more I found; pottery, coins, mosaics and lots of other bits and pieces. I had my day as Indiana Jones.
I could go on, but my point is Jack – travel is what you make it and I lived to tell the tale.
About ten years ago I went through a patch where I enjoyed hiking across countries, as you do. I'd make no plans, little preparation and just arrive at an airport where I'd turn left or right depending on how I felt and stop when I came to a border or the sea.
I'd walked across Portugal, Iceland, Wales, Austria, Ireland and England when I decided enough was enough and turned my attention to traversing mountain ranges and chose the Atlas in North Africa as the first.
Having been to the main Atlas in Morocco many times I decided that I'd hike across the rump end of the range following the Tunisia/Algeria border. I decided to catch a bus from Tunis to the northern edge of the Sahara and then head north over what was near enough uncharted mountains. Try as I did I could find no record of anyone doing this walk, and neither could my contacts in the Tourist Board.
With the Sahara at my back I put one foot in front of the other and strode out for the Mediterranean some 350 miles to the north. I had a compass and a map that was no better than one you'd find on the back of a menu at a Little Chef and the biggest concern was a lack of water up in the hills.
Within half a mile of the start I was approached by a local who spoke a little English and French. Once he'd established that I was going walk through the mountains (a concept he could not understand) his agitation level rose to fever pitch as he warned about; Algerian bandits, boom-boom and dangerous pork (and he did say dangerous pork, I've not made that up).
Well, in the process of the hike I did indeed meet an Algerian bandit who wanted to slit my throat, the boom-boom were the still active minefields left over from WW11, and I walked straight through quite a few of them, and the dangerous pork were the wild boar that were surprisingly common in the hills further to the north. Luckily I survived all three.
There are good stories connected with the above but the ones I prefer to tell are about the warmth, generosity and friendliness of the subsistence hill farmers tending their goats up in the hills who all offered a strange, parched Welshman all the water and food he needed.
And then there was the day I came across a Roman coin on the ground near some curious ruins in the middle of nowhere. Then I found another, and another, and another. Then I took my backpack off and started to dig a little in the sand and uncovered a mosaic floor. It was an incredible moment to find such a treasure that had not been excavated. The more I looked around the more I found; pottery, coins, mosaics and lots of other bits and pieces. I had my day as Indiana Jones.
I could go on, but my point is Jack – travel is what you make it and I lived to tell the tale.
Re:What's your biggest worry?
Great stuff Alun !! I think I would need another lifetime to do all the things I wish I had !!!!:(
It matters not what you have or where you take it ........... Every ride is an adventure and every motorbike was built for adventure.
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Alun
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Re:What's your biggest worry?
Plenty of time yet Jack - I see Rannolf Fiennes has just climbed Everest at 65 and even he's a youngster when compared to the oldest to have climbed it - a 71 year old Japanese man.
As long as you have your health its only the thing between the ears that stops most people.
As long as you have your health its only the thing between the ears that stops most people.
