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About The Matt and Atley and Ferg Show

We are three Aussies riding KLRs from Canada to South America for a year or more. The rest of our info is deftly woven into the blog, so shine your beacon of interest forthwith.

Trip Start: 2012-07-01 Trip End: 2014-01-01 .

Author Archive | The Matt and Atley and Ferg Show

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Episode 16 Video

Read the original post and follow The Matt and Atley and Ferg Show's overland adventures on their website: Swerving Donkeys Daily.


Hola amigos! As promised, we now have the Episode 16 video edited and on YouTube, to do our best to satiate your endless motorbike desires! Remember us? All has gone to plan since the last blog post. Atley and Wendy…
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Crossing borders, breaking bolts and taking our sweet time

Read the original post and follow The Matt and Atley and Ferg Show's overland adventures on their website: Metal Mules in the Mayan Mountains.


Buenos dias amigos! We are currently residing in San Pedro, a tiny town on the edge of the beautiful Lake Atitlan in Guatemala. Our shady waterfront hotel costs $4 a night each, the U-bend under the bathroom sink is cracked…
<div>Que tal! Hola from beautiful city of Guadalajara Mexico! I’m finally getting around to squeezing out some dialogue to give you salivating readers your fortnightly feeding of our meaty, salsa-infused, barbacoa-esq travels. We’ve been here in GDL a week now, fully immersed in the Mexican life. Atley, Ferg and I are each living with different Mexican host families as organised by our spanish school. None of our families speak English, so every interaction is a baffling game of wits, acting and hand signals. We’ve been going to Spanish school for two weeks now, and it’s been an excellent experience. To be honest, I’ve had so much Spanish swirling through my brain for the last while that it feels weird to get my head back into writing purely in English! Writing this better not make forget the Spanish words! But there’s no time to dilly-dally, so I shall pick up our travel tale where we last left it, in the historic town of Loreto, about half way down the amazing Baja Peninsula.</div><div><br></div><div><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0"><tbody><tr><td><div><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-TIrAqCT9-1I/UGYQZBZ7DOI/AAAAAAAAARw/xJcXmIPzoLA/s1600/376440_227166244079442_484423735_n.jpg" imageanchor="1"><img border="0" height="426" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-TIrAqCT9-1I/UGYQZBZ7DOI/AAAAAAAAARw/xJcXmIPzoLA/s640/376440_227166244079442_484423735_n.jpg" width="640"></a></div></td></tr><tr><td><div>Salut!</div></td></tr></tbody></table></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0"><tbody><tr><td><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-yIN3EN7a8wo/UGYaq3HrMgI/AAAAAAAAATs/h8fpNWEc8hA/s1600/425824_227166114079455_914814238_n.jpg" imageanchor="1"><img border="0" height="426" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-yIN3EN7a8wo/UGYaq3HrMgI/AAAAAAAAATs/h8fpNWEc8hA/s640/425824_227166114079455_914814238_n.jpg" width="640"></a></td></tr><tr><td>The roaring sunset over a religious celebration we attended in Loreto</td></tr></tbody></table><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0"><tbody><tr><td><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-pD6vsRnDW8s/UGYa26v0NoI/AAAAAAAAAT0/EHdQc6HU9Xw/s1600/IMG_1088.JPG" imageanchor="1"><img border="0" height="480" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-pD6vsRnDW8s/UGYa26v0NoI/AAAAAAAAAT0/EHdQc6HU9Xw/s640/IMG_1088.JPG" width="640"></a></td></tr><tr><td>Shade - a luxury that Dual-Sporters rarely find in the Baja.</td></tr></tbody></table><div>Loreto was a much-needed 2 day break from the roasting 37 deg days roaring down the molten tarmac ribbon that winds its way through the 1600 kilometres of the Baja Peninsula. It was there we had our first proper night out with NON-english speakers. After resting the day before we had rejuvenated enough to poke around the town, looking for a bustling bar to wet our whistles and critique the locals from afar. Alas, we didn’t have much success finding an open establishment on our own, so we wound-up our Spanglish tongues and got chatting with 2 young Mexican guys who were enjoying some cervezas  on the side of a pedestrian walkway. Amazingly enough we were somehow able to explain to them that 1) we were looking for a bar, 2) yes we’d drink their beer and, 3) yes we’d like to go to a bar with them. It turned into a memorable night; playing pool and consuming enormous tequila shots, and doing our jolly best to communicate in another bloody language! But all in all our first Spanish-only social session went very well, and we were all excited with the fact we didn’t crumple and forget everything we’d learned.</div><div><br></div><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0"><tbody><tr><td><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-VdOlaSDwde4/UGYRyfiRCcI/AAAAAAAAASg/t2c6ufe1Ceg/s1600/272621_221073728022027_464125749_o.jpg" imageanchor="1"><img border="0" height="426" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-VdOlaSDwde4/UGYRyfiRCcI/AAAAAAAAASg/t2c6ufe1Ceg/s640/272621_221073728022027_464125749_o.jpg" width="640"></a></td></tr><tr><td>See photo for location.</td></tr></tbody></table><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0"><tbody><tr><td><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-CaulWTz06xc/UGYgsnvpLQI/AAAAAAAAAWA/NAMAjdjfhhk/s1600/IMG_1097.JPG" imageanchor="1"><img border="0" height="480" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-CaulWTz06xc/UGYgsnvpLQI/AAAAAAAAAWA/NAMAjdjfhhk/s640/IMG_1097.JPG" width="640"></a></td></tr><tr><td>Emergency support crew in action.</td></tr></tbody></table><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0"><tbody><tr><td><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-gXSz1JOZ3pU/UGYg3DxoiSI/AAAAAAAAAWI/veeYZ4jOR6s/s1600/IMG_1104.JPG" imageanchor="1"><img border="0" height="480" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-gXSz1JOZ3pU/UGYg3DxoiSI/AAAAAAAAAWI/veeYZ4jOR6s/s640/IMG_1104.JPG" width="640"></a></td></tr><tr><td>More amazing pacific coast Baja all to ourselves</td></tr></tbody></table><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0"><tbody><tr><td><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-L09i9UnRtb8/UGYhmyi0vBI/AAAAAAAAAWk/LYw1YXR8hgA/s1600/IMG_1122.JPG" imageanchor="1"><img border="0" height="480" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-L09i9UnRtb8/UGYhmyi0vBI/AAAAAAAAAWk/LYw1YXR8hgA/s640/IMG_1122.JPG" width="640"></a></td></tr><tr><td>The road unknown.</td></tr></tbody></table><div>As soon as we met Matt The German, he mentioned his adventurous hopes of turning off the main Baja highway and exploring some of the back roads. We didn´t really know what we´d be getting ourselves into by doing this, so whenever we were talking with a local, we asked them about the road quality and whether we should leave the pavement for one of the many un-signed dirt roads that we saw on our maps. This usually ended with them thinking we were awkwardly trying to order a taco from them, before they politely backed away, flinging tacos from their taco buckets, crying what surely meant, “BACK WHITE DEVILS, BACK!” A day or two out of Loreto saw us stopped 1km down one of these dirt roads, a vast, hilly, rocky desert surrounding us, discussing whether or not this really was a good idea. Interestingly enough, our Cactus Level Risk Assessment determined that we were all indeed willing to venture into the unknown, to live the Dual Sporting dream that sparkles in the eye of middle-age men of every race, creed and sexual orientation. So we set off down the dusty track, which soon turned into gravel, then eroded gravel, then sandy dirt, then quite sandy dirt, then into a wide open cropless field of sand and desert grass skirted by a cacti-packed landscape. Surely this wasn´t the way, so we didn´t turn into the field, but went around it, quickly ending up in the pig pen of the last farm of Estero Salada, population 110. The semi-crippled farmer hobbled out and delightedly cackled some words into Atley´s helmet over the Spanish audio tapes he had playing in there, and in a few moments we were back-tracking and turning into the large, open field, meandering towards a sandy track weaving up between 100 foot high sand dunes. Every map we had showed this as a graded road, and it goes through this guys field....? We didn’t flinch, but careened up the steep dune trail, with barely a fall amongst us, to bask in the amazing desert view that demonstrated quite clearly just how isolated we really were. But we saw the ocean 15km in the distance, maybe, and we knew that everything was going to be alright. Evvvvvverything.</div><div><br></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0"><tbody><tr><td><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-QGBu5ouQmUk/UGYgbfivPyI/AAAAAAAAAV4/1Ex9gA3BaMw/s1600/IMG_1093.JPG" imageanchor="1"><img border="0" height="480" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-QGBu5ouQmUk/UGYgbfivPyI/AAAAAAAAAV4/1Ex9gA3BaMw/s640/IMG_1093.JPG" width="640"></a></td></tr><tr><td>This was after ascending the sand dunes, then looking around to see vast amounts of empty desert.</td></tr></tbody></table><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0"><tbody><tr><td><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-PN2GymtVyKA/UGYhJoioBZI/AAAAAAAAAWQ/kc3mfDEwpCo/s1600/IMG_1106.JPG" imageanchor="1"><img border="0" height="480" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-PN2GymtVyKA/UGYhJoioBZI/AAAAAAAAAWQ/kc3mfDEwpCo/s640/IMG_1106.JPG" width="640"></a></td></tr><tr><td>Cowering from the sun at the end of a harrowing day.</td></tr></tbody></table><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0"><tbody><tr><td><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-Dzz_zw3VQAc/UGYhaYP9PQI/AAAAAAAAAWc/D8eygvSbwIQ/s1600/IMG_1115.JPG" imageanchor="1"><img border="0" height="480" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-Dzz_zw3VQAc/UGYhaYP9PQI/AAAAAAAAAWc/D8eygvSbwIQ/s640/IMG_1115.JPG" width="640"></a></td></tr><tr><td>The sweet prize at the end of the day.</td></tr></tbody></table><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0"><tbody><tr><td><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-JH_YLdz8Gmc/UGYRr5kUmkI/AAAAAAAAASY/wsZFTmjIaYc/s1600/301164_221240654672001_758157027_n.jpg" imageanchor="1"><img border="0" height="426" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-JH_YLdz8Gmc/UGYRr5kUmkI/AAAAAAAAASY/wsZFTmjIaYc/s640/301164_221240654672001_758157027_n.jpg" width="640"></a></td></tr><tr><td>Chillin Baja style</td></tr></tbody></table><div>“Never fear,” one of us cried, “there´s an arrow on a cactus! With some spanish words on it too! This HAS to be the way,” so we set off over the sand, following donkey footprints and using the keen sense of desert navigation our city lives had instilled in us. The track now varied randomly between 1 and 10 inches deep of loose beach sand, causing quite a few unexpected variations in the direction of travel of the bikes, and thus some frustrating tip overs. I stood on the pegs, squeezed the tank with my knees and nodded to the elderly citizens in Fort Mac who’d taught me about motorbikes, and I rode out to the Pacific Ocean. It totally was worth the 4 hours of technical, hot riding, to be presented with an untouched, unpopulated stretch of smashing, relentless, vicious Pacific ocean and the immensity of the distant horizon beyond. I waved to Australia across the water as I peed from the tallest sand dune I could find, and was pleased to be at a beach that reminded me of Squeaky Beach or Waratah Bay during their most venomous surf. We camped about 200m back from the beach, out of the sand blast zone, and had an easy meal of 2 minute noodles offered with a medium quality Mexican tequila.</div><div><br></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0"><tbody><tr><td><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-hJ__Rx7hsns/UGYhy4texwI/AAAAAAAAAWs/kX9_cIK9dWc/s1600/IMG_1125.JPG" imageanchor="1"><img border="0" height="480" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-hJ__Rx7hsns/UGYhy4texwI/AAAAAAAAAWs/kX9_cIK9dWc/s640/IMG_1125.JPG" width="640"></a></td></tr><tr><td>Moustache guy revelling in some leg shade</td></tr></tbody></table><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0"><tbody><tr><td><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-m-ICUV59VWE/UGYnBPePbxI/AAAAAAAAAYY/mj54_4JdC08/s1600/P1050013.JPG" imageanchor="1"><img border="0" height="480" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-m-ICUV59VWE/UGYnBPePbxI/AAAAAAAAAYY/mj54_4JdC08/s640/P1050013.JPG" width="640"></a></td></tr><tr><td>Riding sand on heavy loaded-up bikes... awesome!</td></tr></tbody></table><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0"><tbody><tr><td><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-fnUMxe3nvpc/UGYQzrnU9pI/AAAAAAAAASA/1OL023LKxxs/s1600/527528_227165760746157_114851138_n.jpg" imageanchor="1"><img border="0" height="426" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-fnUMxe3nvpc/UGYQzrnU9pI/AAAAAAAAASA/1OL023LKxxs/s640/527528_227165760746157_114851138_n.jpg" width="640"></a></td></tr><tr><td>Who likes desert camping¿ We do!</td></tr></tbody></table><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0"><tbody><tr><td><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-MYjTk_iFA5Q/UGYiAb0b66I/AAAAAAAAAW4/EwKRkVaQ8PQ/s1600/IMG_1129.JPG" imageanchor="1"><img border="0" height="480" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-MYjTk_iFA5Q/UGYiAb0b66I/AAAAAAAAAW4/EwKRkVaQ8PQ/s640/IMG_1129.JPG" width="640"></a></td></tr><tr><td>The Mexican equivalent to Dual Sporting.</td></tr></tbody></table><div>The exit route from our remote beach camp was another 4 tiring hours of offroad, sandy travel before we returned to the reasonableness of the paved highway. Soon after we departed in the morning, due to our on-the-fly route selection, we sailed into another back yard of a Mexican family. We discussed route selection in spanglish with the guy there. He offered us all a much appreciated break from the relentless sun, so we tied our steeds up with his donkeys and enjoyed a cool glass of water under his shady entranceway. He told us that the section of trail we were riding made up part of the famous Baja 1000 offroad race and that if we ever returned that we were welcome to stay with him and his family. Baja pescadores are a generous breed.</div><div><br></div><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0"><tbody><tr><td><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-3nYDbhaZFzc/UGYTvy7w1cI/AAAAAAAAATI/yFgMWawc7Xo/s1600/408547_227165607412839_784534737_n.jpg" imageanchor="1"><img border="0" height="426" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-3nYDbhaZFzc/UGYTvy7w1cI/AAAAAAAAATI/yFgMWawc7Xo/s640/408547_227165607412839_784534737_n.jpg" width="640"></a></td></tr><tr><td>A perfect time for Ferg to learn about river crossings</td></tr></tbody></table><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0"><tbody><tr><td><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-OXD1M28oMlc/UGYnN39rkUI/AAAAAAAAAYk/RuSakr3_vro/s1600/P1050015.JPG" imageanchor="1"><img border="0" height="480" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-OXD1M28oMlc/UGYnN39rkUI/AAAAAAAAAYk/RuSakr3_vro/s640/P1050015.JPG" width="640"></a></td></tr><tr><td>We made it!</td></tr></tbody></table><div><br></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0"><tbody><tr><td><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-7bExgX4I0Z4/UGYnqCQat7I/AAAAAAAAAYs/eg6k1P1oQRo/s1600/P1050018.JPG" imageanchor="1"><img border="0" height="480" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-7bExgX4I0Z4/UGYnqCQat7I/AAAAAAAAAYs/eg6k1P1oQRo/s640/P1050018.JPG" width="640"></a></td></tr><tr><td>"I wonder what I am going to have for dinner?"</td></tr></tbody></table><div>The very bottom tip of the Baja is where the Pacific Ocean and the Sea of Cortez violently mix, resulting in a spectacularly-eroded string of cliffs, coves and beaches. When the idea was put forth by a bikini clad French-Canadian gal called Gen that we take a small boat out to the very tip of this peninsula, and snorkel back to town, via the 8 or so isolated beaches, we three nodded in unison. So we stepped out of the hostel swimming pool, finished our beer, grabbed snorkels, goggles and the bottle of tequila and set off on foot through the busy streets of Cabo San Lucas to the marina. Some high speed Spanish from our lovely guide Gen had the deal cut with an eager boat captain, and in moments we were motoring through rows of very expensive boats and yachts, savouring in the blue water, warm sun and amazing landscape. The coast was indeed visually amazing, and after a quick stop to say hello to the sea lions, we were jumping off the bow into the splashing waves of the furthest beach from the town. Truly a wonderful privilege to be in such a location, we celebrated with tequila swigs then headed out beneath the waves to explore the under-sea life. That afternoon was a highlight of the trip, as we casually snorkled and swam round each rocky point, to laze at the next empty, white-sanded and beautiful beach.</div><div><br></div><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0"><tbody><tr><td><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-az3aB0TAJzg/UGYRc3GmP1I/AAAAAAAAASQ/9Gq6XgaSXGM/s1600/564526_10151378858994989_1140052520_n.jpg" imageanchor="1"><img border="0" height="480" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-az3aB0TAJzg/UGYRc3GmP1I/AAAAAAAAASQ/9Gq6XgaSXGM/s640/564526_10151378858994989_1140052520_n.jpg" width="640"></a></td></tr><tr><td>Heading out to the southern-most tip of the Baja via Small Boat</td></tr></tbody></table><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0"><tbody><tr><td><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-vOMEOxmyCjY/UGYSPI1uzhI/AAAAAAAAASw/yiy_F5LWDrk/s1600/603303_10151378860109989_1452272387_n.jpg" imageanchor="1"><img border="0" height="480" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-vOMEOxmyCjY/UGYSPI1uzhI/AAAAAAAAASw/yiy_F5LWDrk/s640/603303_10151378860109989_1452272387_n.jpg" width="640"></a></td></tr><tr><td>Happily stranded in paradise</td></tr></tbody></table><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0"><tbody><tr><td><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-ce1r8Rr1uH8/UGYSNyvUPFI/AAAAAAAAASo/U8_Tt3sgFjU/s1600/3119_10151378859554989_31896233_n.jpg" imageanchor="1"><img border="0" height="480" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-ce1r8Rr1uH8/UGYSNyvUPFI/AAAAAAAAASo/U8_Tt3sgFjU/s640/3119_10151378859554989_31896233_n.jpg" width="640"></a></td></tr><tr><td>Yet another facet of Dual Sporting</td></tr></tbody></table><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0"><tbody><tr><td><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-KDud7N8aTRc/UGYn5UGdCtI/AAAAAAAAAY0/Vr_ZD8ndMuk/s1600/P1050028.JPG" imageanchor="1"><img border="0" height="480" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-KDud7N8aTRc/UGYn5UGdCtI/AAAAAAAAAY0/Vr_ZD8ndMuk/s640/P1050028.JPG" width="640"></a></td></tr><tr><td>This is where we waited for the ferry</td></tr></tbody></table><div>The ride from Cabo to the ferry port at La Paz was fast and easy, scenic and enjoyable, until we got our first taste of Baja rain. Then it was wet, and visibility went down to 5 metres. Luckily it only lasted half an hour, while we crossed a mountain pass, then we were back riding though damp green Mexican jungle. We stayed in a hotel opposite the ferry terminal that night to facilitate an easy morning following. Our tasks there were to complete the bike importation paperwork and buy ferry tickets, which turned out to be very easy. For a moment Ferg sweat the good sweat when he couldn’t find his registration document, but as per usual it had been "put somewhere safe," and it just took a few minutes to remember where the great new hiding spot was. After that we rolled into the ferry waiting line, read books for 2 hours, then were directed into the guts of a large, multi-level ferry designed to carry a great number of transport trucks between the Baja and mainland Mexico. On board we were thilled to watch one of the bar staff members get dressed up and sing 18 songs in a row on the karaoke machine to 25 or so disinterested truck drivers. The ride was pretty smooth, the scenery interesting (I love boat rides) and the beer cold, so we couldn’t complain. It was about US$120 for each of us with our bikes to travel, and took about 8 hours. Importing the bikes cost about $40 but required a $400 deposit to make sure we remove the bikes from the country and don’t sell them for millions while we’re here.</div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0"><tbody><tr><td><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-gef39pxjyh0/UGYjxHE9VGI/AAAAAAAAAXA/9K_SauCTY5o/s1600/IMG_1137.JPG" imageanchor="1"><img border="0" height="480" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-gef39pxjyh0/UGYjxHE9VGI/AAAAAAAAAXA/9K_SauCTY5o/s640/IMG_1137.JPG" width="640"></a></td></tr><tr><td>Goodbye Baja. Next stop: mainland Mexico.</td></tr></tbody></table><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0"><tbody><tr><td><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-WgzwHw5GStU/UGYoFIXbzzI/AAAAAAAAAY8/C63vJxrZTBI/s1600/P1050033.JPG" imageanchor="1"><img border="0" height="480" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-WgzwHw5GStU/UGYoFIXbzzI/AAAAAAAAAY8/C63vJxrZTBI/s640/P1050033.JPG" width="640"></a></td></tr><tr><td>A perfect way to end another day of riding</td></tr></tbody></table><div><br></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0"><tbody><tr><td><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-gHSTKIVfiio/UGYRRovymCI/AAAAAAAAASI/Kd7oKXgY3us/s1600/74831_227165250746208_351532671_n.jpg" imageanchor="1"><img border="0" height="426" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-gHSTKIVfiio/UGYRRovymCI/AAAAAAAAASI/Kd7oKXgY3us/s640/74831_227165250746208_351532671_n.jpg" width="640"></a></td></tr><tr><td>The post-Baja Adventurers</td></tr></tbody></table><div><br></div><div>Once on the mainland Atley departed early the next morning with an eager look on his face, as it was his birthday, and he was riding to The Wendy. We had no such agendas, so hit the slow road and stayed at a nearly-beachside town that night called La Cruz. There I met more excellent Mexicans on which to lavish my fumbling Spanish, and had a jolly night in the hotel bar talking turkey. The following day we decided to veer off the direct course to Guadalajara, and head into the mountains between Mazatlan and Durango. This turned out to be an excellent decision, and took us 4 hours to ride the twistiest 150km of road ever! It was a single lane road, with just a painted line dividing us from the roaring transport trucks that sometimes needed the oncoming lane to make the very tight and steep curves. Overtaking was particularly hairy, and was generally facilitated by the helpful flashing turn signal from the trucks in front to tell us it was clear ahead. There was generally a switchback turn every half kilometre, we averaged about 35 km/hr all up and our brakes got a big workout. There were no guard rails to separate us from the exciting cliff drops back down the mountain, and the views between the trees were of vast areas of heavily-treed mountains and valleys - a seemingly untouched, pristine landscape, since pre-Dual Sporting times when enormous face-eating lizards dominated the lands. It was definitely another moment that was very difficult to capture on on film, but we did our best. That night we stayed at the shabbiest hotel yet, in a small remote mountain town, and appropriately cost us each US$7. We kicked back on the veranda and watched the town wind down for the evening, while sharing a delicious can of warm, soggy Spam, the perfect meal if one were living in a bomb shelter, post-nuclear attack.<br><br><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0"><tbody><tr><td><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-3IA4E-uJhIo/UGYkpEHGokI/AAAAAAAAAXk/-AVDxk20b3k/s1600/IMG_1162.JPG" imageanchor="1"><img border="0" height="480" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-3IA4E-uJhIo/UGYkpEHGokI/AAAAAAAAAXk/-AVDxk20b3k/s640/IMG_1162.JPG" width="640"></a></td></tr><tr><td>A sneak peak from the road side, inland from Mazatlan.</td></tr></tbody></table><br><div></div></div><div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0"><tbody><tr><td><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-Sq1MwjnMjMI/UGYkUrhPnYI/AAAAAAAAAXQ/sn4Ga6cV768/s1600/IMG_1153.JPG" imageanchor="1"><img border="0" height="480" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-Sq1MwjnMjMI/UGYkUrhPnYI/AAAAAAAAAXQ/sn4Ga6cV768/s640/IMG_1153.JPG" width="640"></a></td></tr><tr><td>Hilltop village after an amazingly twisty and windy ride.<span><br></span></td></tr></tbody></table></div><div><br></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0"><tbody><tr><td><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-MgReg63g2iE/UGYk1OH9v9I/AAAAAAAAAXs/aUm6EQV35YI/s1600/IMG_1166.JPG" imageanchor="1"><img border="0" height="480" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-MgReg63g2iE/UGYk1OH9v9I/AAAAAAAAAXs/aUm6EQV35YI/s640/IMG_1166.JPG" width="640"></a></td></tr><tr><td>Our charming $7-a-night hotel</td></tr></tbody></table><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0"><tbody><tr><td><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-pUwzWLhXhFM/UGYk-QaY9GI/AAAAAAAAAX0/pMkPG2EqloU/s1600/IMG_1168.JPG" imageanchor="1"><img border="0" height="480" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-pUwzWLhXhFM/UGYk-QaY9GI/AAAAAAAAAX0/pMkPG2EqloU/s640/IMG_1168.JPG" width="640"></a></td></tr><tr><td>Please don't let me touch the sheets.</td></tr></tbody></table><div><br><div></div><div></div><br>The next day we stretched our legs on some fast open curves, a real treat after the ridiculously tight bends and slow riding of the previous day. We passed through Durango but didn’t stop to engage in drug warfare, rather, pushing on to the colonial town of Zacatecas, one of the best towns in Mexico to spend La Dia De Independencia, which randomly, was that day! McDondalds gave us wifi to find a great hostel in town, and the great hostel gave us 15 young people from the world over, on the roof, with guitars, tequila, beers and ready to par-tay. I’ve been meaning for years to celebrate something, so I allowed Mexican Independence day to be this thing. After an hour on the roof with everyone, we shared 4 cabs to make our way to the town centre where a huge fair was under way. I was fascinated to walk through a sea of 1000 or more Mexicans, being the only fair faces in the place and getting many stares. We had several people ask if they could have their photo with us, which I can only imagine was related to Dual Sporting, so I duly taught them the Dual Sport hand wave. We first visited a cobblestone bar that appeared to be connected to a Cathedral, then after, a nightclub, where I was given salsa instruction by the lovely Angie from Monterrey in northern Mexico. Ferg was most excited to have many drinks bought for him by a rich young Mexican dude, then like the chameleon he is, remained perfectly still and thus invisible when the 6000 paso bill arrived. I believe his consumption list included a flaming drink, which would have been a treat to show on this blog, but sadly was not captured by the grooving onlookers.</div><div><br></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0"><tbody><tr><td><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-WEvJA4tW2oE/UGYkg38iQfI/AAAAAAAAAXc/Oipio0r1QP4/s1600/IMG_1154.JPG" imageanchor="1"><img border="0" height="480" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-WEvJA4tW2oE/UGYkg38iQfI/AAAAAAAAAXc/Oipio0r1QP4/s640/IMG_1154.JPG" width="640"></a></td></tr><tr><td>Scenic roadside turnout, a perfect spot to dump some trash amigo!</td></tr></tbody></table><br><br><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0"><tbody><tr><td><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-XeVg2tz3Hkw/UGYkAxEjEoI/AAAAAAAAAXI/qe6IQRYk8gk/s1600/IMG_1144.JPG" imageanchor="1"><img border="0" height="480" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-XeVg2tz3Hkw/UGYkAxEjEoI/AAAAAAAAAXI/qe6IQRYk8gk/s640/IMG_1144.JPG" width="640"></a></td></tr><tr><td>The end of the road, although the map said otherwise.</td></tr></tbody></table><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0"><tbody><tr><td><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-rlalWMoRiE0/UGYTeMrUgII/AAAAAAAAATA/xHz2odJ_YxE/s1600/402613_227165320746201_1151040471_n.jpg" imageanchor="1"><img border="0" height="426" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-rlalWMoRiE0/UGYTeMrUgII/AAAAAAAAATA/xHz2odJ_YxE/s640/402613_227165320746201_1151040471_n.jpg" width="640"></a></td></tr><tr><td>Zacatecas is a Spanish Colonial kinda place</td></tr></tbody></table><div>We had the great honour the next morning of having our 15 new friends sit round and watch us pack up our bikes, while they excitedly asked key Dual Sporting questions. We’re fools for not having taken a group photo or video, but it was indeed a lovely note to leave the town on. We rode that day to our current home Guadalajara, and stayed a night at The Tequila Hostel, as arranged by Atley. He had been in town for a couple of days already with The Wendy, and was quickly becoming a local with his creepy Mexican moustache. On the way there we were ravaged without warning by a flash flood from the sky. Rain like I’ve never seen before SMASHED down on us while we were navigating the city streets, taking us from dry to saturated in 20 seconds. Visibility went to 2 metres and it was every man for himself (even though Ferg was following me because he doesn’t have a GPS!). When we got to the hostel, I straightened my arms and at least one litre of water came out of EACH arm. Atley and Wendy joined us at our hostel that night for a great party on the hostel front patio, to again celebrate Mexican Independence day. We had no idea when the actual day was, but Mexico seemed pretty content to celebrate it repeatedly, so the only polite thing to do was follow suit. The name of the hostel was quite fitting, as we were screamed at in Spanish unless we allowed tequila to be poured into our mouths, then forced to dance on the tables. Oh it was horrible. Really. I would much rather be updating a spreadsheet at work. Mwaaahaaaahaahaha. Sorry Paul.<br><br></div><div>After the calls of "VIVA MEXICO!" died down (a little) and the tequila bottles began to run dry, Atley and The Wendy decided to hoof it back their hostel. Streets were rivers and shoes were damp, but the mood was jolly as The Wendy had cleverly appropriated an icy cold bottle of ale for their homeward journey.<br><br>A few blocks down the river saw pretty blue and red lights reflecting onto the buildings beside them.<br>"¿Que es esto!?" Cried the couple in unison!<br>"It's us! The jolly ol' Mexican Police force!"<br>Atley and The Wendy reached out to meet their wonderful new friends.<br>"Hello new friends! We would love to take you both back to our police station to meet all our other friends! You can even wear these nice bracelets we got you!" Proclaimed Snr. Plod.<br>"I'm afraid Sir that we simply do not have the time right now."<br>"That's too bad. Then we would love to have something to remember you by, perhaps 200 pesos?"<br>"Jolly good! Adios!"<br>And the happy couple skipped merrily home, pleased with their intact kidneys and lighter wallets.<br><br><br></div><div><br></div><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0"><tbody><tr><td><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-VXzW6B9MTJ4/UGYS6SE4g-I/AAAAAAAAAS4/HETSFSju160/s1600/380146_227165404079526_292520335_n.jpg" imageanchor="1"><img border="0" height="426" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-VXzW6B9MTJ4/UGYS6SE4g-I/AAAAAAAAAS4/HETSFSju160/s640/380146_227165404079526_292520335_n.jpg" width="640"></a></td></tr><tr><td>OPEN NOW MORE!</td></tr></tbody></table><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0"><tbody><tr><td><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-6UcMrU9F9rA/UGYUiDZT2mI/AAAAAAAAATQ/pZ0jkJRxvho/s1600/417373_227165370746196_2005563149_n.jpg" imageanchor="1"><img border="0" height="640" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-6UcMrU9F9rA/UGYUiDZT2mI/AAAAAAAAATQ/pZ0jkJRxvho/s640/417373_227165370746196_2005563149_n.jpg" width="426"></a></td></tr><tr><td>"And then the bike went BRROOOOMMMM and there was sand EVERYwhere!"</td></tr></tbody></table><div>The following morning was understandably blurry and slow. We relaxed by the hostel pool for most of the day, then in an emotional farewell, parted company, and went to meet our respective host families. Atley’s tears reminded me that under the rippling muscles and nerves of steel Dual Sporting bestows on us, we are just regular guys who had an idea to kick the work desk back against the wall and go live our lives before they’re taken away from us by something stupid. His sobs rang out loud and true, and I patted him on the back like Mum used to do to me when I was 5 and James whipped me up the back of the head one too many times. He may have called me Daddy, but I couldn’t be sure, and I daren’t embarrass him by asking.</div><div><br></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0"><tbody><tr><td><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-YszK6WX9q0U/UGYm1zFJQZI/AAAAAAAAAYQ/bGzVMxNebDU/s1600/IMG_1176.JPG" imageanchor="1"><img border="0" height="480" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-YszK6WX9q0U/UGYm1zFJQZI/AAAAAAAAAYQ/bGzVMxNebDU/s640/IMG_1176.JPG" width="640"></a></td></tr><tr><td>My bike likes the interior courtyard, but it's a bit of an event riding it through the living room to get it out.</td></tr></tbody></table><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0"><tbody><tr><td><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-gtqqwPlAogs/UGYmqtyp0LI/AAAAAAAAAYI/ogkjS3FVBco/s1600/IMG_1175.JPG" imageanchor="1"><img border="0" height="480" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-gtqqwPlAogs/UGYmqtyp0LI/AAAAAAAAAYI/ogkjS3FVBco/s640/IMG_1175.JPG" width="640"></a></td></tr><tr><td>My host mum Teresa and her daughter shelling green tomatoes to make up more delicious salsa for my eggs!</td></tr></tbody></table><div>Meeting my host family was awesome. I was pretty sure they told me to ride my motorbike into their living room, so I did, and it looked goood. With zero English spoken, it’s been tough going, but I’m definitely getting better. Having some time away from the travelling life has been greedily lapped up by Atley and I, but I think Ferg is yet to be broken by the Dual Sport demands and can't wait to hit the road. These days we fill our mornings with Spanish class at our school in downtown Guadalajara, and our afternoons and weekends with whatever we want. Today I washed the odorous Baja sweat from my motorcycle clothes after writing a page in Spanish summing up my life (which I mostly copied from a take away menu from the local taco shop). We’ve made quite a few friends already, from fellow Spanish students, to the English teaching students and even with the school staff. It appears that everyone the world over is eager to celebrate Dual Sporting and those who bask in its heavenly glory. Praise hail the gentle yet knowing engineers at Kawasaki whose diligence and competence blessed us with our iron steeds of joy, branded the KLR 650.<br><br>And now, an exciting video. Make sure to watch it on full screen, on a computer not a phone, with a full beer, twice.</div><div><div><br></div></div><div><br><br>The song is called La Luz Del Ritmo by Los Fabulosos Cadilacs</div>

Mexico: from the desert to the classroom

Read the original post and follow The Matt and Atley and Ferg Show's overland adventures on their website: Metal Mules in the Mayan Mountains.


Que tal! Hola from beautiful city of Guadalajara Mexico! I’m finally getting around to squeezing out some dialogue to give you salivating readers your fortnightly feeding of our meaty, salsa-infused, barbacoa-esq travels. We’ve been here in GDL a week now,…
Buenos dias gentes! Another week or so has probably passed, along with more exciting events in the world of Unemployed Guys Looking At Stuff. Most notably would be that Team Unemployed Guys just recruited a new unemployed competitor, Mark Ferguson, our friend from Melbourne. 4 weeks ago he woke up sweating, after an urgent bout of the midnight terrors, but this time Big Bird wasn’t involved. It was a strange noise that filled his dream. The noise of three 4 horse power Victor mowers, incessantly blaring their message at him: GO RIDE THE BAJA WITH THOSE GUYS. Not one to argue with such a specific message from beyond the grave, he promptly left his job, house and life, drawn magnetically to the thrill that keeps middle aged men trying to pass their kidney stones: Dual Sporting!<br><br><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0"><tbody><tr><td><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-T8qfNBWtuAs/UDQC3J87cLI/AAAAAAAAAMc/Bu_DLrev9x0/s1600/P8080015.JPG" imageanchor="1"><img border="0" height="480" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-T8qfNBWtuAs/UDQC3J87cLI/AAAAAAAAAMc/Bu_DLrev9x0/s640/P8080015.JPG" width="640"></a></td></tr><tr><td>Max Fergeson, Dual Sport Enthusiast</td></tr></tbody></table><br><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0"><tbody><tr><td><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-DZ6rkY_G2cg/UDQCV6gw3TI/AAAAAAAAAME/mjJEcGHPzY8/s1600/IMG_0944.JPG" imageanchor="1"><img border="0" height="480" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-DZ6rkY_G2cg/UDQCV6gw3TI/AAAAAAAAAME/mjJEcGHPzY8/s640/IMG_0944.JPG" width="640"></a></td></tr><tr><td>What the old men want</td></tr></tbody></table><div><br></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0"><tbody><tr><td><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-2ozE-z0rbLI/UDQCZ2jWHuI/AAAAAAAAAMM/QF09meqrSFs/s1600/IMG_0955.JPG" imageanchor="1"><img border="0" height="480" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-2ozE-z0rbLI/UDQCZ2jWHuI/AAAAAAAAAMM/QF09meqrSFs/s640/IMG_0955.JPG" width="640"></a></td></tr><tr><td>Riding the Nevada desert</td></tr></tbody></table>I write this blog post from the shady backyard of Andy and Amanda, who were so kind to host us for a few nights in their wonderful home in the hills of Los Angeles. In the smoggy distance the Hollywood sign stands gaudily, and in the foreground the delightful Mexican ghetto suburbs waft up tales of tacos and tyre shops. Tucked away at the end of a windy road, this house has been a Mecca of relaxation after the exhaustion of desert sports. The tremendous views of the hilly Hollywood suburbs below are an excellent backdrop over which to reminisce on our journey away from the Meth addicts of Salt Lake City.<br><br><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0"><tbody><tr><td><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-rFUay9i-uso/UDQDhIVMgOI/AAAAAAAAAMk/jhQSsnAQGIc/s1600/GOPR0223.JPG" imageanchor="1"><img border="0" height="480" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-rFUay9i-uso/UDQDhIVMgOI/AAAAAAAAAMk/jhQSsnAQGIc/s640/GOPR0223.JPG" width="640"></a></td></tr><tr><td>Psyching up to pump iron at Venice beach </td></tr></tbody></table><br><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0"><tbody><tr><td><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-RWf2IO07DVA/UDQDlVtEajI/AAAAAAAAAMs/edLyzBYkWzA/s1600/P8160021.JPG" imageanchor="1"><img border="0" height="480" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-RWf2IO07DVA/UDQDlVtEajI/AAAAAAAAAMs/edLyzBYkWzA/s640/P8160021.JPG" width="640"></a></td></tr><tr><td>"Hey guy, whatcha dooing?"</td></tr></tbody></table><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0"><tbody><tr><td><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-TZR3L7jLxWM/UDQDp1Z_RpI/AAAAAAAAAM0/HSSXyXnym_w/s1600/P8170018.JPG" imageanchor="1"><img border="0" height="480" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-TZR3L7jLxWM/UDQDp1Z_RpI/AAAAAAAAAM0/HSSXyXnym_w/s640/P8170018.JPG" width="640"></a></td></tr><tr><td>"Guy?"</td></tr></tbody></table>“Well my friend, we did bloody well to get out of that one with our bodies, minds and possessions intact,” crackled the voice of Atley over the bike-to-bike intercoms as we roared through the inner city streets of that salty, lakey, sketchy city. Religious and alcohol attainment views aside, there was something just not quite right about Salt Lake City. I suppose it was partly the numerous references to heroin made by our fellow hostellers, or comments like, “You’re riding to Argentina? You must have money?!” and the fact that Atley had 14 thong/flipflop blowouts on the 500 metre walk to the shonky Chinese restaurant. $2.88 Walmart footwear quality aside, a man just shouldn’t have to watch another man have that many blowouts. It’s just not funny after the 11th time.<br><br><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0"><tbody><tr><td><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-fbmnOER1PFA/UDQESnK7EKI/AAAAAAAAANQ/Z8k-aut_8Xk/s1600/P1040001.JPG" imageanchor="1"><img border="0" height="480" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-fbmnOER1PFA/UDQESnK7EKI/AAAAAAAAANQ/Z8k-aut_8Xk/s640/P1040001.JPG" width="640"></a></td></tr><tr><td>Clearly just a shed.</td></tr></tbody></table><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0"><tbody><tr><td><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-m1fHXm5-2ig/UDQED7-irAI/AAAAAAAAANA/UYUbs-w4d1Y/s1600/IMG_0929.JPG" imageanchor="1"><img border="0" height="480" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-m1fHXm5-2ig/UDQED7-irAI/AAAAAAAAANA/UYUbs-w4d1Y/s640/IMG_0929.JPG" width="640"></a></td></tr><tr><td>Utah storm front threatens the Dual Sporters. Unperturbed, we pushed forward.</td></tr></tbody></table><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0"><tbody><tr><td><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-ElE2jKfvZnI/UDQELYubKVI/AAAAAAAAANI/nSWHNqsNV3Y/s1600/IMG_0945.JPG" imageanchor="1"><img border="0" height="480" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-ElE2jKfvZnI/UDQELYubKVI/AAAAAAAAANI/nSWHNqsNV3Y/s640/IMG_0945.JPG" width="640"></a></td></tr><tr><td>Utah rock features</td></tr></tbody></table>So we were glad to be riding the Utah road with the city growing smaller in our shaky side mirrors, especially when we could turn off the interstate and ride some cruisey riverside secondary roads to rejuvenate our hobo souls. Having obligations in Las Vegas three days away, we could not take our dilly-dallying route as per normal and had to keep the throttle open at highway speeds for most of that day. While stopping that afternoon to stock up on dinner goods at a tiny town grocery store, we inquired with a semi-toothless man if there was any free camping to be found in the area. “Sure is,” he cried, and with his heavily accented responses repeated 4 or 5 times each, some spelled out pho-net-ic-al-ly ,we took off in search of the local “crik” that would host us for the evening. As luck would have it, we found the crik, the bumpy gravel track and camping, and enjoyed another quiet evening in the Utah wilderness, with good old Uncle Sam picking up the bill.<br><br><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0"><tbody><tr><td><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-711zvL0gI5A/UDQEwzElvzI/AAAAAAAAANc/DxoCzkSb3nA/s1600/P1040019.JPG" imageanchor="1"><img border="0" height="480" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-711zvL0gI5A/UDQEwzElvzI/AAAAAAAAANc/DxoCzkSb3nA/s640/P1040019.JPG" width="640"></a></td></tr><tr><td>Getting prepped for the gangs of LA</td></tr></tbody></table>Riding motorbikes is like wearing a complicated bra under a corset under a petticoat under a singlet under a blouse under a blazer, then going dancing. It takes time to go from eating lunch mode into Dual Sport mode, and it takes quiet effort. No one likes to get motorbiked up then find out you’ve gotta wait for the other guy to do some other crap. It was after a particularly hot and drawn out luncheon in Utah that we finally hit the road, after several stops on the way out of town, and a few wrong turns. We were just about to hit the right highway when Atley pulled over. Regular operation of equipment sometimes encompasses operator based failure detection. “Dude we gotta stop, my highway pegs are loose.” We pulled over and inspected the herd, observing an empty bolt hole that wasn’t previously there. “Reckon it’s important?” mumbled lanky man. It was then observed that said missing bolt previously linked the engine with the frame of the motorbike. “Depends.”<br><br>The following day led us to the mighty Grand Canyon National Park. Eager to ride the fun open roads between the park gate and the canyon, it was not surprising when the blue and red flashing lights of a park ranger pulled us over. Dubious of the nervous officer’s power to do anything other than suggest camping locations, we listened patiently to his explanation of why it’s dangerous to do 20 mph over the speed limit, then baffled him with our trip plans and talk of the metric system. Too excited to even tell us his favourite camping spot, he let us on our way with a wave, a smile and a, “I love dual sporting!”<br><br><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0"><tbody><tr><td><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-uCEIHQd0xzE/UDQ8gD_xw4I/AAAAAAAAAN0/RJVrETPDUfc/s1600/IMG_0941.JPG" imageanchor="1"><img border="0" height="480" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-uCEIHQd0xzE/UDQ8gD_xw4I/AAAAAAAAAN0/RJVrETPDUfc/s640/IMG_0941.JPG" width="640"></a></td></tr><tr><td>Large hole in ground</td></tr></tbody></table><br>The North Rim of the Grand Canyon did not disappoint, and through a pleasant mixture of wide angle photography, wasp stings and portabello mushroom burgers, we spent several hours pondering our insignificance while peering over the edge of a very big hole in the ground. An interesting Geologist talk taught us that the age of the rock at the bottom of the canyon is 1700 million years old, and the Colorado River started cutting the canyon only 5 million years ago. Clearly not fascinated enough with this information, Atley still took his shorts off in the carpark 10 minutes later (to put his bike pants back on of course, geeez).<br><br><div><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-e4LE_0P4MaE/UDQ8htCxbhI/AAAAAAAAAN8/eCXYHMpHGu8/s1600/P1040030.JPG" imageanchor="1"><img border="0" height="360" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-e4LE_0P4MaE/UDQ8htCxbhI/AAAAAAAAAN8/eCXYHMpHGu8/s640/P1040030.JPG" width="640"></a></div><br><div><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-2c-cOjKFDqM/UDQ8yrH-LeI/AAAAAAAAAOE/CtCqshUcFHc/s1600/P1040043.JPG" imageanchor="1"><img border="0" height="480" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-2c-cOjKFDqM/UDQ8yrH-LeI/AAAAAAAAAOE/CtCqshUcFHc/s640/P1040043.JPG" width="640"></a></div><br>That night we had the pleasure of listening to a Blue eyed Arian family, giggly fart themselves to sleep at the next camp site. Like Atley’s thong blowouts, it got old after about the 12th time. We were on the road early the next morning, but not quite early enough to beat the $18 camping fee enforced by Ranger Walt B. Walton moments before we pulled on our helmets for departure. We had a final 450km to ride in extreme summer desert heat, towards the shimmering haze in the distance that was Las Vegas. The old sun didn’t disappoint, and we were soon frying like emu eggs in our motorbike suits in the 43C (112F) degree heat. It was all good until my bike started to act a little funny. Part of me began to ponder the strange surging that the bike was doing, while another part of me was gazing around at the blisteringly hot and uninhabited desert that we were very much in the middle of and probably didn’t want to be stranded in, and another part of me was rocking out to Jimi Hendix. After a while we pulled over and observed that the engine was still in place and the foot pegs hadn’t moved, but we swapped bikes to see if the desert heat was making me loco. Atley agreed he too could feel the surging, the heat of the desert, and the psychedelic funk that only Jimi knew how to produce, right around about the same time that I began to feel the same three symptoms on HIS bike. “Bad fuel man, bad fuel”, we cried, bopping our heads in unison to Foxy Lady. We’d already burned most of the so-called bad fuel in our tanks, so we quickly fuelled up, and surged our way through the final 50km into Las Vegas, eager to escape the desert heat, and to never speak of this surging again.<br><div><br></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0"><tbody><tr><td><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-1JBm2EJ1Orc/UDREeFbTafI/AAAAAAAAAOk/3uTDnjOrvBM/s1600/P1040050.JPG" imageanchor="1"><img border="0" height="480" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-1JBm2EJ1Orc/UDREeFbTafI/AAAAAAAAAOk/3uTDnjOrvBM/s640/P1040050.JPG" width="640"></a></td></tr><tr><td>Our penthouse suite stayed this clean, even cleaner, the whole four days...</td></tr></tbody></table>Enter Las Vegas! The happiest place on earth. Or is it the sleaziest place in the world? Or is it just some place to bet your bike on red and cross your fingers you’ll be getting a BMW? We didn’t know, but we did know we were extremely pleased to enter our 27th floor penthouse suite of the Palms Hotel and wash days of desert sweat off in the master bathroom’s 6-headed shower. And it was that day that we joined Matt, Isaac, Ferg, Mark Ferg, Damo and Jonathon to spend 4 lovely days in Vegas with. Strangely enough details of that period remain vague.<br><br><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0"><tbody><tr><td><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-GepC7ZaOiZY/UDREWykprwI/AAAAAAAAAOc/1kR6PYhc4pU/s1600/P1040039.JPG" imageanchor="1"><img border="0" height="480" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-GepC7ZaOiZY/UDREWykprwI/AAAAAAAAAOc/1kR6PYhc4pU/s640/P1040039.JPG" width="640"></a></td></tr><tr><td>Demonstracion del burro</td></tr></tbody></table>Mark Ferg however was not vague, and one hot August night while we were in Vegas he and I went to inspect a 2009 KLR650 that was for sale in the suburbs. The bike had enough forum-based mods to give three middle aged men the Dual Sporting Disease from 40 paces, so after some test riding he bought the thing. Thus began Ferg’s pleasant entry into Dual Sporting called The Paperwork Phase. DMVs in 2 states, insurance companies mis-spelling names on important documents and bank cheques with self-addressed pre-paid express-post envelopes of pre-specified dimensions were just some of the glamorous events that would turn this Adventure Riding Newb into a legend among men. Middle aged men.<br><br><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0"><tbody><tr><td><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-fdVtn1AdFGc/UDRHBxQH0yI/AAAAAAAAAP8/pv52wZUDMvc/s1600/photo+2+(2).JPG" imageanchor="1"><img border="0" height="462" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-fdVtn1AdFGc/UDRHBxQH0yI/AAAAAAAAAP8/pv52wZUDMvc/s640/photo+2+(2).JPG" width="640"></a></td></tr><tr><td>Copping a feel</td></tr></tbody></table>We left Vegas with clear heads and razor sharp vision. Luckily the road through the desert was straight and true, so we could pop our bikes on cruise control and head out back for a coffee and a biscuit. The Paperwork Phase forced a late departure, and that evening was actually the first that we arrived at the camp site in the dark. Lake Mead was the name, and hot temps were the game. We sweated every moment we weren't in the lake, and that made for a miserable night in the tents. The new guy didn’t complain though, and we soldiered on early the next morning, riding past the Mojave National Preserve and onto the sprawling urban beast of Los Angeles, California.<br><br><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0"><tbody><tr><td><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-CO6t5cKZcMQ/UDRFI7SwHiI/AAAAAAAAAOw/zxJw-Iy9FLk/s1600/photo+1.JPG" imageanchor="1"><img border="0" height="640" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-CO6t5cKZcMQ/UDRFI7SwHiI/AAAAAAAAAOw/zxJw-Iy9FLk/s640/photo+1.JPG" width="640"></a></td></tr><tr><td>Hollywood tire service. Break time.</td></tr></tbody></table><br><div><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-WD69TswHwvw/UDRFOM4RZFI/AAAAAAAAAO4/eiuXpb0gl5Y/s1600/photo+4.JPG" imageanchor="1"><img border="0" height="478" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-WD69TswHwvw/UDRFOM4RZFI/AAAAAAAAAO4/eiuXpb0gl5Y/s640/photo+4.JPG" width="640"></a></div><br>Atley had the mad hook ups, and we sailed into the Hollywood hills, to Andy and Amanda’s super cute house, with a backyard clearly designed for chilling out and changing tires. During the days there we picked away at jobs on the bikes, and Ferg continued his assault on the paperwork. Atley and I obtained some great new rear tires from the Mexicans in Santa Monica and installed them at Andy’s house, with just a little bit of help from some other Mexicans with a tire bead seating machine. In the evenings we hung out with our awesome hosts, going for a great walk in the surrounding hills and having the honour of becoming Tree People at a Neil Diamond concert! Nothing beats a local tour guide, and being driven into some suburb, parking the car, walking though some streets, around a fence, through some bushes, through another fence and arriving at a high point above the Greek Theatre below, we were stoked to sit and drink beers while listening to Neil Diamond belt out his classic tunes, pro bono.<br><br><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0"><tbody><tr><td><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-MxxB_EBOvtA/UDRFohYIEKI/AAAAAAAAAPA/VRiF8ZVHTZM/s1600/IMG_0967.JPG" imageanchor="1"><img border="0" height="480" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-MxxB_EBOvtA/UDRFohYIEKI/AAAAAAAAAPA/VRiF8ZVHTZM/s640/IMG_0967.JPG" width="640"></a></td></tr><tr><td>Awesome Andy and Amanda!</td></tr></tbody></table><br><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0"><tbody><tr><td><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-Lb4Uum-Fb-M/UDRFvcRRKuI/AAAAAAAAAPI/ZEnua5KA1OE/s1600/IMG_0971.JPG" imageanchor="1"><img border="0" height="480" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-Lb4Uum-Fb-M/UDRFvcRRKuI/AAAAAAAAAPI/ZEnua5KA1OE/s640/IMG_0971.JPG" width="640"></a></td></tr><tr><td>We only change tires before fabulous views</td></tr></tbody></table><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0"><tbody><tr><td><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-fbmk3db9VCA/UDRGwRI5suI/AAAAAAAAAP0/4CY6uTizWqs/s1600/photo+2+(1).JPG" imageanchor="1"><img border="0" height="460" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-fbmk3db9VCA/UDRGwRI5suI/AAAAAAAAAP0/4CY6uTizWqs/s640/photo+2+(1).JPG" width="640"></a></td></tr><tr><td>The getaway vehicles.</td></tr></tbody></table>Hopefully before Andy and Amanda got sick of Australians, we moved on to more of Atley’s hook ups, and stayed with Pete and Beth, and their two little boys Teddy and Evan. It is yet again a fascinating and humbling experience to have people who hardly know us, open up their home, possessions and energy to three homeless motorcyclists (looking at stuff). Here we’ve been able to continue the battle against Ferg’s paperwork demons, spend our days lounging in the backyard pool, and have a great holiday from the holiday. The highlight for me was definitely our trip out to Venture Beach on my 30th birthday a few days ago, in two vehicles loaded with 4 long boards and the family beach gear. Pete had us straight out to the point, and with his expert direction we were all standing and riding the Californian waves into the beach like champs. An awesome Mexican dinner and beers afterward was a great end to the day, and left us all fat and happy for the car ride home.<br><br><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0"><tbody><tr><td><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-J7syPbrXW4U/UDRGE498rqI/AAAAAAAAAPU/cqlIcy7yfcE/s1600/P8180028.JPG" imageanchor="1"><img border="0" height="480" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-J7syPbrXW4U/UDRGE498rqI/AAAAAAAAAPU/cqlIcy7yfcE/s640/P8180028.JPG" width="640"></a></td></tr><tr><td>Birthday guy has a big one.</td></tr></tbody></table><br><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0"><tbody><tr><td><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-D5lWeLpUwsE/UDRGJMeipmI/AAAAAAAAAPc/w6HRQA8KnQg/s1600/P8180030.JPG" imageanchor="1"><img border="0" height="480" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-D5lWeLpUwsE/UDRGJMeipmI/AAAAAAAAAPc/w6HRQA8KnQg/s640/P8180030.JPG" width="640"></a></td></tr><tr><td>Max catches waves.</td></tr></tbody></table><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0"><tbody><tr><td><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-19Rf3pD-bHc/UDRGNA8fa-I/AAAAAAAAAPk/zJZdZZbYm8Y/s1600/P8180032.JPG" imageanchor="1"><img border="0" height="640" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-19Rf3pD-bHc/UDRGNA8fa-I/AAAAAAAAAPk/zJZdZZbYm8Y/s640/P8180032.JPG" width="480"></a></td></tr><tr><td>Atley caught a baby</td></tr></tbody></table><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0"><tbody><tr><td><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-URwPqft9oFE/UDRGRmKsFaI/AAAAAAAAAPs/Rrum5UVqUHI/s1600/P8180033.JPG" imageanchor="1"><img border="0" height="480" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-URwPqft9oFE/UDRGRmKsFaI/AAAAAAAAAPs/Rrum5UVqUHI/s640/P8180033.JPG" width="640"></a></td></tr><tr><td>The cute little face as he eases his nails into your leg</td></tr></tbody></table>Well that’s about it. Paperwork Phase is still not complete, so our time in LA continues. Once we’re set, it’s half a day’s ride south to the Mexican border, where the 1000km long Baja Peninsula awaits our exploration. So stay tuned! We hope you’re enjoying The Adventures of Unemployed Guys Looking At Stuff! We are!!!<br><br>Moving photos (remember to click fullscreen, might have to "view in YouTube"):<br><br><div align:="align:" center="center"><br></div>

Mormons, rattlesnakes and long boards.

Read the original post and follow The Matt and Atley and Ferg Show's overland adventures on their website: Metal Mules in the Mayan Mountains.


Buenos dias gentes! Another week or so has probably passed, along with more exciting events in the world of Unemployed Guys Looking At Stuff. Most notably would be that Team Unemployed Guys just recruited a new unemployed competitor, Mark Ferguson,…
Aloha from the beautiful town of Nelson, British Columbia! After a week of camping through various mountain and forest locales, we’ve emerged from the woods to get a welcome dose of civilisation. The weather has been warm and humid, so you can imagine the glorious glory contained within our armpits yesterday when we arrived, sweaty, dusty and stanky from the bush. Pure glorious glory.<br><br><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0"><tbody><tr><td><a href="https://lh6.googleusercontent.com/-RerCIWnPD9s/UARnX1FapkI/AAAAAAAAAIA/Jyc06idP05c/s640/blogger-image--502964577.jpg" imageanchor="1"><img border="0" src="https://lh6.googleusercontent.com/-RerCIWnPD9s/UARnX1FapkI/AAAAAAAAAIA/Jyc06idP05c/s640/blogger-image--502964577.jpg"></a></td></tr><tr><td>Breaking in the new boots the hard way</td></tr></tbody></table><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0"><tbody><tr><td><img border="0" src="https://lh4.googleusercontent.com/-9FUgbkmlAeA/UARncUqCALI/AAAAAAAAAIY/ybZAiJt4xMI/s640/blogger-image-2006231150.jpg"></td></tr><tr><td>Just the bare essentials</td></tr></tbody></table><br><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0"><tbody><tr><td><a href="https://lh5.googleusercontent.com/-LUlC_gqRvSg/UARnY6zp0-I/AAAAAAAAAII/XUXX5eFR1UY/s640/blogger-image--162229687.jpg" imageanchor="1"><img border="0" src="https://lh5.googleusercontent.com/-LUlC_gqRvSg/UARnY6zp0-I/AAAAAAAAAII/XUXX5eFR1UY/s640/blogger-image--162229687.jpg"></a></td></tr><tr><td>Spray lake clarity</td></tr></tbody></table><a href="https://lh4.googleusercontent.com/-9FUgbkmlAeA/UARncUqCALI/AAAAAAAAAIY/ybZAiJt4xMI/s640/blogger-image-2006231150.jpg" imageanchor="1"></a><br>It’s been a great second week, with another 600 leisurely kilometres put on the bikes, although it started with an unexpected slip n slide on the deep gravel of Spray Lakes Road between Kananaskis and Canmore in the Rockies. Our bikes are tall, laden with our worldly possessions and we are learning all the time how to handle them in various conditions. We were doing about 60 km/hr, in close staggered formation, Mighty Ducks style, when we entered a patch of deep, loose gravel, likely laid down by an evil minded grader operator (Canada 1, Australia 1). I was in front and my bike fishtailed like that of a guy who’s about to crash his bike. I tried my best to look cool in front of Mark and pretended I was just changing a song on my MP3 player, and I think he bought it for a few seconds, but then ach! it was too much captain, and I ended up sliding on my right side for a while. Mark watched me do this with an icy stare of control and locked up his brakes to join the party. Actually he only had time to say “sshhhhpppbb” and ran his bike into my bike, causing him to fall on his left side. We were both wearing all our riding gear, which are full of elbow pads and robo cop jokes, so both came away relatively unharmed, just a bit shaken up, but most importantly full of new found respect for grader operators. The bikes however needed some field repair, so we putted along to the next campsite, which turned out to be a glorious location for some R’n’R!<br><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0"><tbody><tr><td><a href="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-p6087kcf_Qo/UARneeXRwJI/AAAAAAAAAIw/QTjuZLYaYxM/s640/blogger-image--1231298370.jpg" imageanchor="1"><img border="0" src="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-p6087kcf_Qo/UARneeXRwJI/AAAAAAAAAIw/QTjuZLYaYxM/s640/blogger-image--1231298370.jpg"></a></td></tr><tr><td>Matt got a boo boo</td></tr></tbody></table><br><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0"><tbody><tr><td><a href="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-NuMsjowGr8A/UARnjdD9suI/AAAAAAAAAJg/2UM6hRFHB_M/s640/blogger-image--1798848981.jpg" imageanchor="1"><img border="0" src="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-NuMsjowGr8A/UARnjdD9suI/AAAAAAAAAJg/2UM6hRFHB_M/s640/blogger-image--1798848981.jpg"></a></td></tr><tr><td>Atley got a boo boo</td></tr></tbody></table><br><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0"><tbody><tr><td><a href="https://lh5.googleusercontent.com/-W6Ciu848wog/UARndA-0uXI/AAAAAAAAAIg/AeGLwKxaRB0/s640/blogger-image--598656323.jpg" imageanchor="1"><img border="0" src="https://lh5.googleusercontent.com/-W6Ciu848wog/UARndA-0uXI/AAAAAAAAAIg/AeGLwKxaRB0/s640/blogger-image--598656323.jpg"></a></td></tr><tr><td>Boo boo repair</td></tr></tbody></table><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0"><tbody><tr><td><a href="https://lh5.googleusercontent.com/-L3MrkFvBXp8/UARngIrcb9I/AAAAAAAAAJA/vC3FZk8o5uY/s640/blogger-image--933152048.jpg" imageanchor="1"><img border="0" src="https://lh5.googleusercontent.com/-L3MrkFvBXp8/UARngIrcb9I/AAAAAAAAAJA/vC3FZk8o5uY/s640/blogger-image--933152048.jpg"></a></td></tr><tr><td>Reparaciones más</td></tr></tbody></table><div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0"><tbody><tr><td><br><a href="https://lh5.googleusercontent.com/-in6Jh1Z5r3k/UARnl6V5vdI/AAAAAAAAAKA/8fl_WX71V8k/s640/blogger-image--947094205.jpg" imageanchor="1"><img border="0" src="https://lh5.googleusercontent.com/-in6Jh1Z5r3k/UARnl6V5vdI/AAAAAAAAAKA/8fl_WX71V8k/s640/blogger-image--947094205.jpg"></a></td></tr><tr><td>Stunning Spray Lakes at  Kananaskis</td></tr></tbody></table><br>Happy with our Level 2 glue and duck tape repairs we hit the road again and headed west into BC. Mountains after rivers after waterfalls after curvy roads, fast roads, slow roads and gravel roads got us to the awesome little ski town of Golden. We camped by the river in town and soon made friends with the surrounding campers. We did a pub crawl to enjoy the sights of the town, with the intentions of seeking out Fresh Meat Mondays, but were sorry to hear that this revered tradition has since ceased. This made the pizza taste bad, so we retired back to the campground to carry on jovially with various campground characters.<br><br><a href="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-OCqZt8EQ6YA/UARnfIQqyfI/AAAAAAAAAI4/EFBJo0cP_BI/s640/blogger-image-1182975725.jpg" imageanchor="1"><img border="0" src="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-OCqZt8EQ6YA/UARnfIQqyfI/AAAAAAAAAI4/EFBJo0cP_BI/s640/blogger-image-1182975725.jpg"></a><br><br><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0"><tbody><tr><td><a href="https://lh5.googleusercontent.com/-F3CcfW-RGQc/UARnhOIAMJI/AAAAAAAAAJI/wsppBOvGU3Y/s640/blogger-image--1498274482.jpg" imageanchor="1"><img border="0" src="https://lh5.googleusercontent.com/-F3CcfW-RGQc/UARnhOIAMJI/AAAAAAAAAJI/wsppBOvGU3Y/s640/blogger-image--1498274482.jpg"></a></td></tr><tr><td>Got wood?</td></tr></tbody></table><div><a href="https://lh4.googleusercontent.com/-7kyO6AOOSzM/UARnh9QEEdI/AAAAAAAAAJQ/RPHLkDSMVZY/s640/blogger-image--279764075.jpg" imageanchor="1"><img border="0" src="https://lh4.googleusercontent.com/-7kyO6AOOSzM/UARnh9QEEdI/AAAAAAAAAJQ/RPHLkDSMVZY/s640/blogger-image--279764075.jpg"></a></div><br>We saddled up in the morning and hit the road in very comfortable and enjoyable riding conditions. Revelstoke filled our cases with food and we turned south to head towards the long skinny Kootney Lakes. A ferry ride took us over North Arrow Lake and we began the hunt for a free place to camp. The 3rd or 4th gravel road led us to a hippy hot springs healing resort and a group of sweaty, shirtless, middle-aged guys with far too much smiling and head nodding going on. We waited politely for them to nudge each other back into their cars and leave before chatting with the crystal wearing owner of the place, Maggie. She was all about motorbikes and hot springs and healing and offered her front lawn to camp on for $50, and even said she’d heal Mark. We countered her nodding with shaking and she was hip to our jive, baby. She gave us wacky hippy directions to some free camping and hot springs and 15 minutes later were heading down a logging road into some serious wilderness, wondering where the hell we were going.<br><br><a href="https://lh5.googleusercontent.com/-NCPaGteshW0/UARnd0MJJqI/AAAAAAAAAIo/o1-ngqEpTM0/s640/blogger-image--1660315127.jpg" imageanchor="1"><img border="0" src="https://lh5.googleusercontent.com/-NCPaGteshW0/UARnd0MJJqI/AAAAAAAAAIo/o1-ngqEpTM0/s640/blogger-image--1660315127.jpg"></a><br><br>We didn’t find a sign for B42 or the promised hot springs, but we did find a cool bridge in the middle of nowhere with an awesome crystal clear river rushing under it. We stupidly hadn’t had lunch, and it was late afternoon, hot and muggy, and Maggie had obviously cast a spell on us, because we were suddenly very much in need of some healing. So we decided this was it, and we set up camp on the side of the logging road and sat on the bridge waiting for the monsters to come.<br><br><a href="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-y6_3iEhXu5Y/UARnZplYEeI/AAAAAAAAAIQ/OnzICmbqbHs/s640/blogger-image-772340444.jpg" imageanchor="1"><img border="0" src="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-y6_3iEhXu5Y/UARnZplYEeI/AAAAAAAAAIQ/OnzICmbqbHs/s640/blogger-image-772340444.jpg"></a><br><br><a href="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-bmlQkOilRrQ/UARnihE0uaI/AAAAAAAAAJY/qMAcn-2sr_c/s640/blogger-image-1613972838.jpg" imageanchor="1"><img border="0" src="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-bmlQkOilRrQ/UARnihE0uaI/AAAAAAAAAJY/qMAcn-2sr_c/s640/blogger-image-1613972838.jpg"></a><br><br>If you go into the woods today....<br><br><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0"><tbody><tr><td><a href="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-OUEBYn7V1Iw/UARnj9eLr6I/AAAAAAAAAJo/3FiDrVuYhog/s640/blogger-image--1482818019.jpg" imageanchor="1"><img border="0" src="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-OUEBYn7V1Iw/UARnj9eLr6I/AAAAAAAAAJo/3FiDrVuYhog/s640/blogger-image--1482818019.jpg"></a></td></tr><tr><td>Pannier camping stools</td></tr></tbody></table><div><br></div><div><a href="https://lh6.googleusercontent.com/-RLQY3YCu9L4/UARnkikz7mI/AAAAAAAAAJw/jBPL2LFyrx8/s640/blogger-image-474125138.jpg" imageanchor="1"><img border="0" src="https://lh6.googleusercontent.com/-RLQY3YCu9L4/UARnkikz7mI/AAAAAAAAAJw/jBPL2LFyrx8/s640/blogger-image-474125138.jpg"></a> </div><div><br></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0"><tbody><tr><td><a href="https://lh5.googleusercontent.com/-BavItYPzGQo/UARnlX3bX2I/AAAAAAAAAJ4/WvLgdG1K2vs/s640/blogger-image-1572315805.jpg" imageanchor="1"><img border="0" src="https://lh5.googleusercontent.com/-BavItYPzGQo/UARnlX3bX2I/AAAAAAAAAJ4/WvLgdG1K2vs/s640/blogger-image-1572315805.jpg"></a></td></tr><tr><td>Level 3</td></tr></tbody></table><br>From the wooded paradise we rejoined the highway and headed south for some awesome twisty roads and just another happy day riding motorbikes in the mountains. Pretty soon we reached Nelson and found the White House backpackers hostel, a find place to perform our bathing, washing and blogging requirements.<br><div><br></div></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0"><tbody><tr><td><a href="https://lh6.googleusercontent.com/--hnkEj_bxoU/UASDUJX5ltI/AAAAAAAAAKQ/WyRcU-mq7QQ/s640/blogger-image--476208444.jpg" imageanchor="1"><img border="0" src="https://lh6.googleusercontent.com/--hnkEj_bxoU/UASDUJX5ltI/AAAAAAAAAKQ/WyRcU-mq7QQ/s640/blogger-image--476208444.jpg"></a></td></tr><tr><td>The White House Backpackers</td></tr></tbody></table><div><br></div><div></div><div>With my writing now done, I shall wander into town in search of hippies and lunch. We're headed east now, to creston, cranbrook and ferny way. Peace!</div><div><br></div><div>And the video...</div><div><br></div><div></div>

Fresh Meat Mondays

Read the original post and follow The Matt and Atley and Ferg Show's overland adventures on their website: Metal Mules in the Mayan Mountains.


Aloha from the beautiful town of Nelson, British Columbia! After a week of camping through various mountain and forest locales, we’ve emerged from the woods to get a welcome dose of civilisation. The weather has been warm and humid, so…
June 14th 2012 fiiiiinally came around, like sweaty Jehovah's Witnesses beating their pamphlets and bibles on our door, and successfully teleported Mark and I from Melbourne, Australia to Fort McMurray, Alberta, Canada. 18 months of talking and em...

Pre-trip preparations in Fort McMurray

Read the original post and follow The Matt and Atley and Ferg Show's overland adventures on their website: Metal Mules in the Mayan Mountains.


June 14th 2012 fiiiiinally came around, like sweaty Jehovah’s Witnesses beating their pamphlets and bibles on our door, and successfully teleported Mark and I from Melbourne, Australia to Fort McMurray, Alberta, Canada. 18 months of talking and emailing and online shopping…

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