автордың кітабын онлайн тегін оқу From the city of angels to the land of fire. Danny Beer, gringo on tour
Danny Beer

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Cycling around the world?

Has anyone done it?

Tour diaries from Danny Beer, an Australian guy, who found his passion in exploring the cities by bike and made his dreams come true. His daily adventures are shared on the pages of four different books.

This book is about Latin America, South Tierre del Fuego, Panama, Costa Rica, Mexico, Argentina, Chile, Bolivia, Equador, Colombia.

20,359 km (12,650 miles) over 1 year from August 1, 2007 to August 1, 2008

From the city of angels to the land of fire
Welcome to America.: Onwards to la la land
From laxatives south.: Riding SoCal
To imperial beach.: But where can you camp???
Welcome to Mexico.: And back into America again
To Mexicali: Some great scenery
San Louis Rio Colorado.: Hot, hot, hot
To Sonoyta.: Crossing the mini Sahara
To Hermosillo.: CHEATING
To Guaymas.: The gay invite
To Ciudad Obregon: Hitching in Mexico
To Navojoa.: Just riding along
Los Mochis.: One very long day
To Guamuchil.: A fly flew into my ear!!!
To Catalacan.: In the red light district
Towards La Cruz.: Camping along the freeway
Mazatlan.: More problems with the bike
Mazatlan.: Prostitutes and madmen
To Escuinapa.: A real Mexican town
Ruiz.: Another real Mexican town
San Blas.: Trouble buying beer
Los Ayalas.: Helmets are used for a reason
Puerto Vallarta.: Dangerous? No shit
Puerto Vallarhta.: The Mexican from hell
Towards Tomatlan.: Bad doggy
To Melaque.: A nice fine day
Towards Tecapan.: The wrong way
St Juan de Lima.: The wake up call from hell
Along the Pacific.: A great little camp spot and restaurant
Playa Azul.: Out of cash
Zehuenjeno.: A freeway all to yourself
Tecman.: Too many bus drivers make Danny go a little crazy
Acalpulco.: Riding without gears
San Marcos.: Local parts on a nice expensive bike
Mequense.: To beach or not to beach
Puenta Nacional.: Festival in Oaxaca
Towards Puerto Escondido.: Riding on.
San Gabriel Mixtepec.: Over the mountains
To the summit.: Just before San Pedro
Oaxaca: Danny: TV personality
Mitla.: Need a good rim job
San Jose.: Some great descents
To Jalapa.: Pitching the tent on the roof
Niltepec.: Nowhere to eat in town
Tapanatepec.: Good roads and tough wind
Up and up and up.: Spanish or no Spanish you still get the same lack of answers
To Tuxtla.: Bad bus driver. Naughty, naughty, naughty
San Christobel.: All uphill
Comitan.: Nice ride down
To Guatemala.: Dodgy border town
To a town.: It has a name, maybe
Huahuatenengo.: The world of Maya
Up the road.: Camping behind a church
Xela.: Bad, bad truck driver
Nahuala.: An interesting little Mayan town
San Pedro.: Damn hotel tout
Some tenengro town.: Wicked ride in the back of a pick up.
Antigua.: Another easy day
Guat. city.: It’s not so bad
El Rancho.: Leaving town
To Chiquimula.: Don’t take the room if he won’t let you see it first
Welcome to Honduras.: To Copan
Back into Guatemala.: A crowded minivan
Welcome to El Salvador.: To Santa Ana
San Salvador.: A lift up.
San Vicente.: Heading east
To San Miguel.: Riding at night
Welcome to Honduras. Again.: To Nacaome
To the border.: Can’t wait to leave the place
China town.: I’m number one
Leon.: No breakfast for you
Managua.: Attacked by a disabled begger
Granada.: To market, to market
Welcome to Costa Rica.: A boat across Lago de Nicaragua
San Carlos.: Every country has at least one arsehole
Alajuela.: Up and over the hills
Show me the way, the way to San Jose.: Hectic traffic along the freeway
Turrialba.: The wrong way out
Cuita.: Hello the Caribbean
To Puerto Vuerto.: Look, a sloth
Welcome to Panama.: To Bocas Del Toro
To Chirique Grande.: Fuck off born again
To David.: From the Caribbean to the Pacific
David to Las Lajas.: Sunset on the Pacific
Las Lajas to Santiago.: Too tired to ride
Santiago to Anton.: Smoooooooooooth
Anton to Panama city.: But where’s the hostel?
From central america to south.: Welcome to Chile
Santiago to Paine.: Welcome Pedro
Paine to San Fernando.: What’s the use of a bike path if people keep walking on it?
San Fernando to Talca.: But why can’t I just camp here?
To Parral, no to Chillan.: One long hot day on the autopista
Chillan to Salto del Laja.: A return by Mark
To Collipulli.: Hell in LA.
To Temuco.: And a change of tire
To Villarrica.: Just picturesque
To Panguipulli.: Nice quiet roads
1. Saturday December 15, 2007, 62 km (39 miles) — Total so far: 8,395 km (5,216 miles)
To Rio Bueno.: Attacked by a local
To Las Cascades.: Detour around the lake
To Puerto Montt.: The long way round
To Ancud.: Chiloe island
Ancud to Castro.: What a pretty church
Castro to Quellon.: To ferry or not to ferry?
Chaiten to Villa Santa Lucia.: A red neck Christmas
To La Junta.: What a weird little town
La Junta to somewhere south.: Camping in a storm
To Villa Amengual.: Beautiful, beautiful tarmac
To Coyhaique.: But everything is closed
To Chile Chico… almost.: The funniest bike accident ever
To Fachinal.: The ghost town
To Puerto Guadal.: Trouble finding lunch
To Cochrane.: The end of the bike. For now
To the Argentine Border.: Where’s the boat?
South on routa 40: What a wind!!!
Further south. And east.: So hungry. So thirsty
To further east.: A hundred km before breakfast
To Rio Gallegos.: Traffic again
Welcome back to Chile.: Horrible, horrible wind
To Cerra Sombrero.: Tierra del Fuego
To San Sebastian.: Sleeping at the border
San Sebastian to Rio Grande.: Just cruisin’
To Tolhuin.: Sleeping at the bakery
To Ushuaia.: El fin del mundo
From the end of the world to the orient.: Ciao Argentina. Hello Uruguay
Montevideo to San Jose.: A new bike to ride
San Jose to Trinidad.: Sore legs
To the middle of hell.: Detours, detours, detours
To Paysandu.: To Paraguay or not to Paraguay?
To Salto.: Just cruisin’
To Chujuhi.: Trying not to get killed by the truck drivers
To Monte Caseros.: Arsehole truck drivers and arsehole dog owners
To bus or not to bus?: Bus
To Encarnation.: Paraguay baby
North bound.: On the road again
Happy aniversary.: On the road for a year
To Carapegua.: You’re a millionaire!!!
To Asuncion.: The cheapest city in the world. Apparently
And off to Brazil.: Still no yellow fever vacination
To Salvador by bus.: Welcome to Brazil
Salvador to Arembepe.: Good riding in Brazil
North on the 101.: Playa naturalista here i come
Lots of hills heading north,: Nowhere round to eat or drink
Riding, riding, riding.: Hello miku
Leaky roof.: 1 sick rest day
To Penedo.: Just listen to the music. Why? “Cause you aint got no choice
Camping on the beach.: Where’s my dinner?
To Maceio.: Bad pizza
Welcome to love Hotel Death.: Self service death available too
To Rio Formoso.: Did that taxi driver just try to kill you?
To Recife.: And 1 bizzarre night
From Olinda.: Bad driver. Bad driver
To Jose Pessoa.: The long way
Heading North.: Gotta love those half-completed freeways
To Pipa.: Always check the place out before you hand over the cash
To Black Point, Natal.: Plowing on the beach
To Maracajau.: Punting along
To Sao Migual.: Cafe de mana
To Caicara.: Broke, hungry, thirsty. What to do? What to do?
To Penencias.: Finally, money, beautiful, beautiful money
To Massoro.: Caught in a storm
To Icapui.: More beach cycling
To Aracati.: Always the same problem buying tires
To Beberibe.: No, mister ambulance driver. Find work elsewhere
To Fortaleza.: Time for a break
Fortaleza to Boa Vista.: By plane
Welcome to Little Venice.: From Ciudad de Bolivar
To Maripa.: On the road
To Caraica.: The chaos of Venezuala
To Santa Rita.: How to head west?
Santa Rita to Santa Rita.: Yes but how do you head west?
Santa Rita to Las Mercedes.: Long stretches of nothing
Las Mercedes to Calabozo.: Walking into a door
Calabozo to Camaguan.: Just heading south
To San Fernando.: Needing a passport to buy groceries
From San Fernando to Apurito.: More bad drivers
To Mantecal.: Lots of roadkill
To Bruzual.: Free internet
To Barinas.: So many arseholes on the road
To near Santo Domingo.: The first hill of Venezuela
To Merida.: A lift up hill? Sure, why not
Merida to Santa Cruz de Mora.: Downhill baby
Mora to large town with forgettable name.: Hit and run by arsehole kid with rock in hand. You run away
To the border.: Welcome to Colombia. Illegally
To Pamplona.: Up and up and up.
Pamplona to Bucaramanga.: Just chillin’ in Pamplona
Bucaramanga to the top of a summit.: Hi to some fellow cyclists
To San Gil.: And rest
San Gil to Barbosa.: On dusk
Barbosa to Villa de Leyva.: Where the fuck is that hostel?!?
To Susa.: Hanging with the locals
To Bogota.: Stupid bike lanes
Bogota to Granada.: Back in the traffic
ToEspinal Tap.: More crappy hotels
To Ape town.: Another ‘bad timing’ flat
To Campalegre.: Old ladies with big knives
To Garcon.: Slow going
To San Augustin.: Rolling rolling rolling
San Agustin.: The strange man
To Bruselos.: Just an easy day today
To San Juan de Villasomethingorother.: Cold cold cold
To Mocoa.: Peligrosa
To San Francisco.: 1 hellish road
To Pasto.: The world’s worst backpackers’ book exchange
To Ipiales.: The night rider
To Tulcan.: I can you can 1 or Tulcan
To the valley of longevity.: Descent
To Otavio.: Dickhead bike mechanic
To Jifu.: So close and yet so far
To Quito.: The tunnel
To Saquisili.: It is a good day when only 1 bus driver tries to kill you
To Sigchos.: The Quilatoa loop
To Quilatoa.: A pretty volcano and a night of dancing
To Latacunga.: Back in the big smoke
To Banos.: Bath town
To Ambata.: The shortcut
To Cajabamba.: The ghost town
To Chunchi.: The nice truck driver
To Incapirca.: Cough cough
To Azogues.: When good roads turn bad
To Cuenca.: A race in progress
To Onya.: Yes, you may ride on the wet cement
To Loja.: L-O-J-A Loya
To Vilcabamba.: Do you have water? Chocolate
To Valladolid.: Descent in the dark
To Zumba.: Intimidation from an arsehole bus driver
To the town with no name.: And a hostel maybe
To San Ignacio.: Mechanical problems
To Tamborapa.: 1 poor arse town
To Bagua Grande.: Bad bugs
To Pedro Ruiz.: And on the bus to Chachapoas
To Cerro del Pasco.: The thief. The bus. The monkey
To La Oroya.: Attacked by a gang of dogs
To Huancayo.: Shopping
To Izcuchaca.: And the end of the tarmac
To k town.: Boys don’t cry
To La Esmeralda.: Where or where have the valve caps gone?
To Huanta.: The strike
To Ayacucho.: The Wari ruins
Cuzco.: The fake police report
To Izcuchacha.: Time to leave dodge
To Limatambo.: The idiot bus passenger
To Curahuasi.: Idiot boys
To Abancay.: And the friendly nun
To Santa Rosa.: Yummy yummy cuy cuy
To Puquio.: The bus on the ascent
To Polvarin.: Downhill in the dark
To Nazca.: A beautiful descent
To Palta.: On the plains once more
To Huacachina.: Crossing the desert
To Pisco.: That bum tried to steal your icecream
To Jahunta.: A day on the waves
To Santa Cruz.: And onto the autopiste
To La Hermosa.: The unhelpful local
To Lima.: The end
The end is nigh.: Chilling out in Lima

Welcome to America.: Onwards to la la land

Wednesday August 1, 2007

Welcome to America. This isn’t so much a beginning as a continuation of sorts. After five and a half months of cycling around Europe it is time to head to the Americas. You sit awaiting your final flight to LA. From there you’ll head south. That is about all the planning you’ve done. A guidebook sits somewhere in your luggage. No visas are planned. No research. No idea. Just take it as it comes.

First impressions of America are interesting. A round of applause is given when the pilot touches down on the runway. You’ve never seen that before. Security has been quite high all day. If Vienna was bad enough, New York is even worse. The initial immigration guy was very laid back but apart from him it is all very strict. Especially for domestic flights for some reason.

The bike is a bit of a hassle getting about. After trampling all over JFK the box is looking a little worse for wear. But after today you won’t have to worry about it anymore.

Have fun in LA whatever you work out.

From laxatives south.: Riding SoCal

Thursday August 2, 2007, 191 km (119 miles) — Total so far: 191 km (119 miles)

Welcome to Laxatives airport. You pull the bike out of the box. A close inspection of the front tire reveals the axle is missing. You find the axle but the nut on the end is gone. It is not to be found. You put the bike together regardless. It goes alright just so long as you don’t lift up the front. The front panniers cannot be attached so everything must go on the back.

You head south out of the airport but are presented with a freeway and a big sign saying pedestrians and cyclists prohibited. You go back. You try to figure out the buses but to no avail. Eventually you make your way out northwards. But shouldn’t you be heading south?

You skirt the airport perimeter. North, then east, then southwards. And wait. It’s the sea. Already? You ride the bike, timidly at first and then with greater confidence, getting to speeds inexcess of thirty km. Are you north or south of LA though? Well, you’ll soon find out.

Pancakes at four AM releves that hole in your stomach. You get going again. There are a few people out and about. A couple joggers and other cyclists out doing their thing. Soon it is light. Not long after eight, in Long beach, you find a bike shop and get a new front axle.

It is good cycling in SoCal (southern California). Cycle paths are often available making traffic an infrequent burden. You pass through an army base and have to show your ID. It gets late and the sun cools. Time to find a campsite. You find one. An expensive one. But it is booked out. You are directed seven miles further south to another campsite. When you get there a sign says ‘no vacancy’. You ask anyway and success. Hikers and campers can stay and for a considerably less amount of money. Three dollars.

To imperial beach.: But where can you camp???

Friday August 3, 2007, 91 km (57 miles) — Total so far: 282 km (175 miles)

Time to leave camp. Last night you met up with a guy, Dallas, who then proceeded to bum money off you whenever he could. A few beers last night, a burger this morning. He was quite eager to take your bag off your hands when you mentioned throwing it away. He should be buying you beers and the burger!

You did sleep well. And well you should after having being awake for three days. You trudge on south on what is first the Pacific Coast Highway and then some other major road heading south-eastwards. You veer back west and find a river blocking your path. The problem is not with finding a bridge but finding a bridge to cycle over. You find a bridge and get on the foot path section rather than the road.

You rim the outskirts of San Diego. You ask another cyclist “Is this the way to Mexico?” and are redirected back towards the harbour to catch a ferry to the island, which is actually a peninsula. There is a campsite on this island but when you get there they only accept ‘self contained vehicles’. So you keep moving.

You ask someone else and are given a couple ‘hot tips’ on where to camp illegally. Apparently the rangers, but not the power kind, and the police often raid these camps so it is important to pack up and go come dawn.

Welcome to Mexico.: And back into America again

Saturday August 4, 2007, 99 km (62 miles) — Total so far: 381 km (237 miles)

Neither the rangers nor police disturb your sleep. Nor any vagabonds for that matter. After breakfast you head west to the border. Then south. Then east. Then north. And so on until after a way too long detour you find the Mexican border, and Tijuana. And cross over. No one stamps you out of America and no one stamps you into Mexico. Apparently this is important if you are to continue further south. So you head back to America to sort out these formalities. But look at the queue. Wow. That’s huge. Maybe cross elsewhere, eh? Let’s go east then and cross at Tecate.

Along the canal is at first the best way to go. But it isn’t so good and there is a road to take. So you take the road. Mexico is hot and dusty. It is built up for a good many km. And lots of hills too. You ask for directions. Tecate is further up and not too far either. Except it is a lot further.

You leave all buildings behind and enter the freeway. You see a cop car but they aren’t interested in you. There is a toll. You approach and are turned away. “Yes but how do I get to Tecate?” You try to convey. They aren’t interested in your problems, only that you will not cross this toll. So you head back down on the wrong side of the freeway and back towards Tijuana.

Suddenly two local cyclists appear from behind. One speaks great English. They are going to Tecate too when they spotted you. They are amazed at the toll situation. You accompany them back where there shouldn’t be any problems.

At the toll the same asshole guard crosses your path. He blocks your friend from continuing on. He is as stubborn not to let you pass as your friend is to pass. They argue in Spanish and your friend tries to get past. The other friend says to you ‘go’, and you do. The guard doesn’t bother about you so you keep on riding. Like a second wind you keep moving forward, occasionally looking back and always ready to be stopped by security. You feel bad about them being left behind after helping you get past but there’s no point in all three of you being up the proverbial shite creek paddleless.

You never do see your friends again. It is still quite a way to go to Tecate with lots of mountains to climb. You make it into town and to the border crossing. You spend twenty minutes in queue with the cars until someone tells you to just go to the front. Which you do. You sort everything out at immigration, first with America and then with Mexico. Job accomplished it is time to find a place to sleep. And then some food.

After all that some normality would be nice. So you eat dinner in a Chinese restaurant. Just like home.

To Mexicali: Some great scenery

Sunday August 5, 2007, 136 km (85 miles) — Total so far: 517 km (321 miles)

It sure is great to sleep in a bed again. Not to mention having a shower after going the best part of a week without. The used condom in the trashcan is a cause for worry though. You follow the freeway east until a sign proves the illegality of this. You get onto the highway.

You spend a lot of time heading uphill. And then, oh yes, downhill. 7 km straight downhill with spectacular scenery of rock covered mountains all around. Police had sectioned off a lane where a truck had overturned on a sharp corner. Nearby and further down the road are empty microwave boxes were people had pilfered the truck’s cargo.

You get to the bottom and it’s straight on through to Mexicali. But by now the wind picks up and it isn’t the tail kind. It is after dusk by the time you make it into town. You find a motel. It seems that motels here are for five hours only. You pay for the entire night but will you get woken in the middle of the night?

You pick up some supplies from the supermarket. On the way back a dog jumps up from behind its fence barking. Its owner is nearby. He laughs. You laugh too in a this-is-not-at-all-funny kind of way. You both continue in this fashion. The man laughing at your fright and you fake laughing at the cunt.

Mexicali sure aint tiny. There must be stuff to do here. But after today all you need to do is rest.

San Louis Rio Colorado.: Hot, hot, hot

Monday August 6, 2007, 80 km (50 miles) — Total so far: 597 km (371 miles)

No one comes banging on the door in the middle of the night, at least not loud enough to wake you. There are a couple staffs on duty but they don’t seem to notice you leaving. So you just go. It is late by the time you really get going. The temperature is already forty degrees out. The road is flat and the shoulder is wide. You don’t really leave Mexicali until twenty km later and in no time after that you are entering San Louis Rio Colorado.

It is only four o’clock and still very hot out. The town is similar to the previous couple you stayed in, hot and dusty, but nice all the same. You find a place to stay and go for a wander about town. There are some mariachis in town, wandering up and down the streets. You follow for a little while but nothing much is happening.

Tomorrow will see you crossing what is dubbed Mexico’s mini sahara. Two hundred km to the next town of any size. Flat and hot. So the plan is to leave early evening when the weather cools down and ride all night. You will need to take a lot of food and water. It’s going to be a long ride. Oh, and watch out for banditos.