As with all grand plans of the road , things don ’ t always work out as intended , and sometimes we all do stupid things that by rights we should never survive ; lucky moments , if we get away with them . Lucky ? Because each time something goes wrong there ’ s a new adventure about to begin . That ’ s an overlanding fact – if your eyes are open to the possibilities . My parents , both Christians , always used to say that God moves in mysterious ways . When I was being medevaced out of Chile with a major spine injury I really pondered that ! I mean , what on earth would be the up side this time ? As always , life surprised me and in spite of being told I ’ d never ride again , 3 months later I was back on my bike in Chile and heading north .
For me , the joys of overlanding by motorcycle come from all directions . In part from the moments of challenge , of surprise and of luck that happen simply because you are on the road . Sometimes it ’ s being almost force-fed contrasts that open your eyes and makes you analyse . It ’ s up to the overlander to realise and take advantage of all those moments . I always worry about those who are travelling so fast that they don ’ t have the time to ‘ smell the flowers ’ as the old saying goes . It ’ s almost as if a gathering country notches is more important than all the valuable things that , if you are moving gently enough , will wrap themselves around you .
Back in South America , even with a dodgy back , life was pretty darned good and by the time we ’ d made it to Colombia I was loving every minute of the journey . We ’ d linked up with another couple of riders for a while and that added a new aspect to the adventure . Guy and Marlene were from Belgium and two up on an 1100GS . Colombia , that country everyone told us not to go to – except other travellers that is , lived up to its rep on day one . We rode straight into a riot . Teargas , batons , plexiglas shields , panic , the lot ! But it was rather like putting an exclamation mark at the beginning of a sentence . As soon as we were clear of the situation , Colombia started to make its point . By the time we ’ d reached the centre of the country we were realising how privileged we were to be there .
We rode the cobblestone lanes into the streets of the sleepy Colombian river town of Ambalema . Its thick walls were painted brilliant white and the roofs were tiled with uneven rows of terracotta . It seemed to us that it was a place that time had largely forgotten . Even the vehicles looked as if they were leftovers from another age . Our hostal ‘ find ’ had undercover parking for the bikes and clean rooms whose wooden beams reminded me of rooms in old English pubs . To our amazement , tucked out the back in flower gardens was a twelve metre , crystal-clear swimming pool . A luxury for those of us on a slim budget , and we all felt it was time to take a break from the ride ; to see what this little place had in store . If a town that time had forgotten could have a swimming pool hidden away , what else would we find ?
This longer stay and the shady veranda also gave me the chance to try to deal with a very irritating slow puncture ; it was a new tube too . I ’ d been putting off the task but could do so no longer . Guy and I entertained the girls with what we called ‘ the tyre dance ’ as we both balanced on the tyre trying to break the bead . We were successful , eventually , but with the tube off and semi-inflated in a bowl of water I couldn ’ t find any trace of the leak . The valve wasn ’ t bubbling either . It was irritating because I was down to a rather ancient used tube as a spare . Rather than put up with the hassle I put in the spare , crossed my fingers and kept the leaking one for emergencies only . Not what one is supposed to do but I was well and truly at the ‘ Stuff it !’ stage and it paid off .