A youthful folly across The Americas on old bikes
No One SAid it
would be easy
DES MOLLOY
II
No One Said it Would Be EasyA youthful folly across The Americas on old bikes
© Des Molloy 2019
Text design by The Design Dept.Cover design by The Design Dept.www.thedesigndept.com.au
Editing by Diarmuid Brazendale
Published in 2019 by Kahuku PublishingPO Box 149 TakakaTasman 7142, New Zealandwww.kahukupublishing.comTablo PublishingLevel 1 / 41-43 Stewart StreetRichmond VIC 3121, Australia
All rights reserved.This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the author except for the use of brief quotations in a book review. All inquiries should be made to the author.
ISBN: XXX
III
To my crew, the best that could be imagined for our adventure of a lifetime and a special bigthanks to Steph (Best Pillion in the World) for the 40+ years that have followed
IV
‘The older we get, the better we were’, is an oft-repeated refrain muttered by rheumy-eyed old duffers, amber ale in hand, as they drag back wondrous memories from their youth … and accordingly pontificate dully. However, in the case of this account of a youthful adventure of some substance, it must be admitted that we were naïve, inept and blunderingly lucky. There is not a lot to glorify or revere in awe. Commenting on my proposed plans to write the book of the saga, fellow participant Roly said: “We must have been delusional!”
It is true that you can’t put old (wise?) heads on young shoulders and in many ways that is a good thing. Don’t, shouldn’t, and can’t, were not words that were ever associated with our youthful aspirations, which may be why they became a reality. My family assert that I suffer from ‘terminal optimism’ and I happily wear that mantle … it served me quite well on the rugby field as a captain of semi-social sides and has seen me through numerous exploits since.
Time does dull our memories and when mixed with decades of dreams, it is no surprise that recollections can be inaccurate. It is also often said that the truth shouldn’t get in the way of a good story. I hope that I haven’t strayed too far from the reality of our ride. Although the diary of the trip has been lost in the mayhem of 10 or more house-shifts, a contemporary account was serialised in the Panther Owners’ Club magazine Sloper. Also to hand are the letters written home at the time, and along with a collective sharing of memories by the ‘crew’, the full tale will be told, best as I can. The Sloper pieces are at times exciting but by necessity, they were a once-over-lightly scribble, dispatched every month from the road. Our emotions are rarely exposed and often kept completely out of the account.
Over the years we have shared our anecdotes with friends and family, we’ve given slide shows and Powerpoint presentations showing the trials and tribulations to like-minded groups. It is now finally time to ‘spill my guts’ to the world and tell the whole tale for posterity … something I hope our descendants will read with interest.
It may be 40 years ago but in many instances, the memories are still graphically vivid and I only hope I can give them a suitable portrayal and ‘life’.
V
Trust in dreams, for in them is hidden the gate to eternity.
Khalil Gibran (1883-1931)
VI
VII
Contents
Gestation . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .2
Tilbury Plus . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .24
Mexico . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .42
Belize and Guatemala . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .60
El Salvador, Honduras, Nicaragua, Costa Rica, Panama . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .74
Panama . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .88
Panama to Peru . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .104
Puerto Pizzaro to Lima . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .122
Lima to Cusco . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .138
Machu Picchu to La Paz . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .158
La Paz to Asunción . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .176
Asunción to Buenos Aires . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .202
Operation Rescue . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .218
The Cast . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .229
The world is a book and those who do not travel read only one page
St. Augustine (354-430)
2
Gestation
Chapter 1
Gestation
I knew I had only about two or three k's to go but I couldn't make it up a small hill. I was crying from frustration and exhaustion and from the silence behind me I knew I was alone. The others were probably bogged and unable to follow me. Twice Penelope made a chuffing noise and died on me with no compression, but both times she started on cooling down a little. I was parched and scarcely able to breathe but I pushed and shoved and swore, screamed, yelled and cried and somehow I got Penelope up that bloody hill and struggled on until I could see the brick outpost over a sand dune. In the last 20 yards I bogged down again, and so leaving Penelope upright in the sand I staggered in, to the amazement of the soldiers. I beg for water. The soldiers helped me to get Penelope and then I set out on foot to look for the others. While walking along I felt proud of Penelope because despite everything she got me to safety. Panthers rule, Ok!
So I wrote in 1977 and the memory stays with me, like something from a French Foreign Legion movie … Penelope, my trusty old Panther motorcycle abandoned, sunk to her rear axle in a picture-perfect, tawny sand dune, overlooked by a harsh blue sky. And yes, like a Hollywood character, complete with torn clothes, I did stagger down the dune and in to Fortin Garay, an army outpost in the Chaco Desert of Paraguay. A grimy, sweat-ingrained face with long red hair and a large dust-matted auburn beard formed my presenting visage. Possibly