OFF A CLIFF
One of the most hair-raising events I have had on this trip did not involve the bike but nearly ended in the death of four people, including myself and the camerawoman Cathy Nel. In a small town outside Chachapoyas in Peru, I was befriended by a bike club. One of the members, a swarthy, smooth talking Che Guevara lookalike, who I will call, Frank, (to save his blushes), insisted on taking us out for dinner to a newly opened Chinese restaurant run by his wife. A South African, a Swazi, going for a Chinese cooked by a Peruvian sounds like the beginning of a joke, but a joke it was certainly not.
We were to meet Frank at his place at 7.00pm and we duly turned up on time. We were kept waiting for two hours as Frank showered, shaved, ironed his clothes, preened himself and proceeded to liberally splash on a year's worth of deodorant and haircare products. When he was finally ready we jumped in his battered, rust strewn people carrier, Cathy and me in the back and Frank and his sixteen-year-old daughter in the front. It smelt like a cheap brothel in the car and my eyes were literally smarting from the beauty products. Frank lived on an extremely steep driveway with concrete pillars at the entrance and two cracked, thin concrete strips leading down to the main road. I should have twigged when Frank reversed out the driveway and proceeded to scrape both sides of the van on the pillars. He negotiated this obstacle four or five times and eventually we bounced our way out and down the driveway at high speed. He kangarooed out of control down the steep drive, straight across the main road narrowly missing a Peugeot Taxi, and drove straight off a cliff edge.
It was dark and the first we knew was when the carrier creaked and started sliding at a horrific angle. The rear wheels were completely off the edge and the van was teetering and see-sawing in exactly the manner as seen in hundreds of films. Cathy I and I jumped forward to the front cabin to stop the van going over. We scrambled over Frank and literally dived onto the cliff edge. I screamed for Frank and his daughter to jump out. Frank never said a word and looked totally calm, while his teenage daughter was, I kid you not, texting a friend. Probably, something along the lines of, ' We are about to go off a cliff, won't make it round tonight'. Meanwhile two young guys were hanging on to the bumper. I shouted at Frank and he seemed to eventually realise the seriousness of the situation and got himself and his daughter out onto the verge. As soon as their weight was gone the van rocked backwards and by pure luck one of the wheels caught on a massive boulder and held fast. With the help of five or six guys and a tow-bar we literally extended the road with logs and soil and spades and elbow grease. After three hours we eventually built up enough ground on the freewheeling wheel to get the carrier out. It was only then that Frank announced that it was not his vehicle and that he had never driven a car before, only a motorbike. He said it so nonchalantly that I had to laugh. Unbelievable. Moral of the story. Stick to your motorbike. It's much safer!
Travel Story: Spencer james conway - south america