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And I have to confess, on arrival, that my own prior knowledge on the subject of Uruguay is pretty scant. Not one of these beautiful old ferries that have been transformed into floating casinos but an ugly plastic catamaran. Oh, well. Colonia turns out to be one of those heritage listed towns full of Spanish and Portuguese colonial architecture that charm guide book writers but I find that one night there is quite enough. Then a short couple of days ride sees me on the outskirts of Montevideo, Uruguay's capital. The city stretches along the banks of the wide mouth of the Plata estuary My first Montevideo abode - courtesy of Agustina - is a lovely apartment in the old town, close to the port, with a fine view of the rooftops A couple of artist are working on a mural across the street that incorporates books, bikes and fish which just happen to be some of my favourite things. City bike scheme -- everybody's got one, these days. I was interested to see that in Montevideo, helmets are provided along with the bikes. Colourful murals decorate the pavement around storm water drains along La Rambla. And La Rambla absolutely makes Montevideo with its strip of parkland running along the milk chocolate waters of Rio Plata. It is the perfect place for people to walk their dogs, jog, cycle, rollerblade, hang out and read or just sit and relax. A slightly incongruous Jewish Holocaust memorial dominates a prominent section of the La Rambla. On the other hand, the memorial to the dead and disappeared of Uruguay's recent-ish military dictatorship is tucked away out of town. Lots of people while away the hours fishing. I'm not sure how edible the catch is, though. The Punta Brava light house lends the city an appropriately maritime air. My second Montevideo abode -- courtesy of Gloria -- is a mid-city apartment which provides me And I learn that Montevideo, just like its more famous neighbour on the other side of the Rio Plata, is the perfect place for watching Photo by Gloria. And just in case you are still having trouble locating Montevideo on the map, here are the details The ferry from Punta Arenas arrives in Porvenir, a scene of former glory, current decrepitude, and undeniable charm. A bus stop break reveals bicycle traces - I met these guys in the Atacama desert in the north Chile back in December. Guanaco's are everywhere on Tierra del Fuego and they stand about wheezing at cyclists with aggressive disapproval before bounding over fences with casual elegance. But there is evidence that fences do, in fact, pose a hazard to these lovely animals I am ecumenical and so I manage to enjoy a hundred kilometres, or more, of pavement over the pampas on the road out of Puerto Natales. There is not much traffic And then I diverge from the highway on a beachy route scoped out by Skyler, a like-minded cyclist with a penchant for exploring off road possibilities. Fisherman's shacks, Un-cowed by this show of exclusivity, I hoick my bike over a total of five gates during the course of the day but I am finally deterred from the last part of Skyler's excellent route by the presence of a car-full of people parked beside the last barrier which tips the balance and conspires to make it impassable. It is not the heavy steel but their potential disapproval that bars the way, in my mind. I have spent a large part of the last month or two dithering between these options. I am stubborn and persistent but not particularly strong and while I carry a lot less stuff than many a cyclist I am no weight weeny. Anyway, to cut to the chase, in contemplating how to make this work I plan on enlisting the aid of a donkey or two. The donkey can carry my panniers and I will deal with the bike. From Pastoruri, I drop down to Chiquian which actually sits a mere thirty kilometres or so from Hatun Machay by the most direct route. My next problem is organising a donkey. All luggage, equipment and supplies are carried by teams of donkeys, leaving the trekkers with not much to do but admire the views. The men driving these donkey trains are known as arrieros. So, what I need is not only a donkey but also an arriero. It is without the necessary services of an 'arriero' and his donkey that I arrive in Matacancha but I decide to hang around to see if I can inveigle my way into the orbit of a larger group somehow. A few unsuccessful attempts to infiltrate agency groups leave me thinking that tomorrow I'll be circling back around to the highway to reivestigate the possibilities of options No. If the arreiro agrees, they say, they are happy for me to add my panniers to their donkeys' burden. Catalino, the arriero agrees. True to form, pushing my bike over Cacananpunta, the first pass, leaves me no time or energy to take photos until I reach the top where I'm confronted with this techni-colour view. There is a fine looking road down there and I wonder where it goes Catalino, the arriero, takes it upon himself to push my bike over the top and down the other side while I am distracted by the views. The travails of the ascent are soon forgotten on the very rideable descent. Until fairly recently the eastern side of the Huayhuash Cordillera was included in the adjacent area that is considered lawless and unsafe — a couple of trekkers were fatally shot resisting a robbery on the Huayhaush route not so many years ago. Perhaps in an attempt to change this state of affairs, a system has been instituted since then that allows local communities to charge trekkers to pass through their land. Mind you, the arrieros are full of warnings not to leave so much as a toothbrush unattended outside your tent at the campsites. The 'cobradores' wait, generally in intimidating groups, at strategically placed gateways to charge trekkers to pass by. I have to admit to being - what now, at greater distance, seems quite unreasonably, since I was well aware of the practice before setting out on this venture - extremely resentful about the transaction. The process is formalised with receipts and my collection sets me back over sol. The low-point of this particular adventure is being charged for access to the three lakes area which I could not actually visit. Catalino, the arriero's, presence always seems to make things go a little more smoothly. So all in all it is with mixed feelings that I travel through this astoundingly beautiful landscape. That said, it certainly beats the highway alternative represented by route option No. People live in small communities through out these mountain ranges with their herds of llama and alpaca. It a way of life that looks largely effected by time - the circular stone corals have probably been there for centuries. Arriero's are the true heros of this route. They race ahead of their groups to the next camp site where they set up the tents, tend to their beasts and start cooking. Day three brings a welcome treat in the form of a hot bath at Viconga. The spring provides water at a toasty 40 degrees or thereabouts. Note the pile of garbage in the right-hand corner of the image. Ecological awareness is low and both tourist and locals alike use the springs for laundry, dishwashing and bathing without much regard for what kinds of chemicals they might be introducing with their detergents, soaps and shampoos. Vicongo marks the point where I diverge from my trail companions and head down this valley towards a road that will lead out towards Cajatambo and then Oyon. I bid a fond farewell to Catalino and his donkeys. If you ever happen to want to hire an arriero in the area I can't imagine that you could do better than contact Catalino of Popca. Given the barren state of my food pannier and the scant rations I have been on for the last few days it is sorely tempting to descend for a decent lunch but the prospect of climbing back up again to the Oyon turn off deters me and I plough on. Sadly, I don't see a shop selling food for another twenty-four hours. There will also be no gear talk of any kind and it is donkeys that get to do most of the heavy lifting. The book is multi-layered and complex, plumbing frightening depths in a series of intertwined narratives. My circuit by bicycle of the Olimpia and Llunganuco passes with their spectacular mountain backdrops left me wanting more. I long to get closer still to those peaks and investigate their icy mysteries in greater detail. Emboldened by my six day trek in the El Cocuy National Park in the north of Colombia, and fortified by invaluable information provided by Harriet and Neil of Pikes on Bikes , I decide to tackle the Alpamayo Circuit, a ten day high altitude trek. I fill my backpack with as much dehydrated food as I can find, highlight some key names on the topographical map that James gave me, and set off on foot. The trail head is at Cashapamba and so I hop on a minibus for the seventy kilometres from Huaraz to Caraz and then endure a rattly 'collectivo' ride on the steep windy bumpy dirt road up into the hills to the entrance to the 'quebrada'. Once I've bought my trekking permit at the gates of National Park I am ready to embark. The walk starts with a long steady climb up the valley. For the first two or three days my way follows the route of the Santa Cruz trek, one most popular walks in the Cordillera Blanca, and consequently is quite busy. For each group of tourists on the route there is usually an enormous accompanying team of guides, porters, cooks and helpers and a herd of pack animals. I am heading in the opposite direction to most people and somehow manage to largely avoid the crowds. The second day offers the possibility of a side trip to the Alpamayo base camp. The weather is perfect Even with a side trip, I make an early camp just past the standard 'Day Two' site, where I have an admirable view from the cosy shelter of my tent. Always something new to see The flower is believed to have the property of helping a child who has not yet learnt to talk to speak if it is knocked gently against the tongue. The sun arrives late on this mountainside and all sorts of ice formations I should have learnt the names of at least some of these peaks by now Looking back; the trail on the other side is the Santa Cruz trail descending into the valley towards Vaqueria, a small village I passed through on my bike last week on the way up to the Portachuelo de Llanganuco pass. Finally, up and over the pass, another galcier, another improbably coloured lake The way is always harder to find where trails multiply due to greater habitation and it is late in the day but the time I reach this lakeside camp by an unnecessarily circuitous route. Sadly, in this area, any greeting is quickly and almost inevitably followed up with a request, or a demand, really: Dame chocolate! Give me chocolate! Regalome un sol! Give me money! I decline. It must be said, that on the evidence of the local housing, that people in the area are not wealthy and who knows where the money collected at the entrance to the park the is going - not, it would appear, to anything that benefits the local communities. She begs me for any information I might have on how to combat freckles but then she talks about her aspirations - she is interested in theatre but also dreams of a future as a nutritionist. I wish I could offer her something of substance, more to assist in giving her an improbable opportunity to pursue her ambitions through the practical means of further studies than in curing her freckles, but I only have chocolate. I give her some. It has become apparent that I am probably not going to run out of food during my ten day trek but I am certainly going to run out fuel before I am done. The cliffs high above my campsite turn out to be home to a pair of adult condors with a juvenile still in their care. I watch them settle in to roost in the evening and then set out to another day of lofty circumvolutions as the morning light strikes their aerie. Up and over another pass, to make acquaintance with a new set of valley beasts - alpaca. I've seen plenty of these alpine cacti before but this is the first time that I have seen them in flower. This giant rock offers a cave campsite that appears intriguing from a distance I head up a long wide valley on another side trip. There is nobody at all here and I see a couple of Andean foxes. Wildlife is scare in these parts, in fact I think I can count the wild animals that I have seen in seven months of camping in South America on the fingers of a single hand. Andean foxes are far bigger and a lot less shy than the little grey Central American ones and I'm glad not to tangle with one too closely. The shores of the glacial lake at the end of the valley are dotted with post-Incan ruins but I'm not at all sure what they are about. Climbing above the valley floor proves challenging, initially because the trail is not clear on the pamapa and I have a fatal attraction for alluring cow trails that lead to precarious steep loose rocky slopes and then disappear. Once I gain the first pass after stumbling and sliding on this terrain through spiky brush I am confronted with a long desolate rocky valley to traverse before the reaching a second higher pass. And then it starts to spit rain and hail. On the other side of the pass, just ahead of me there, it's still a long way down into the valley to find a flat campsite with a good source of running water. I arrive at the campsite which I have to share with a few other groups, not long before sunset. In the morning, the groups set off but I head in the opposite direction on yet another side trip to investigate a valley running up to the 'back' of the Santa Cruz peaks. These alpine plants that I have seen, at altitude, as far north as El Cocuy are known locally, in Quechua, as 'Guinea Pig Penises' and they are hung in the corner of guinea pig hutches to encourage prolific reproduction. I think of them as more reminiscent of sea foliage, myself, but then I haven't studied guinea pig anatomy very closely. This valley has an ethereal beauty that I find hard to wrest myself away from. Closer observation of the glaciers, using my binoculars, reveal details such as ice caves hung with delicate icicles and hint at the some of the rewards of mountaineering. I may yet have to get still closer The village of Hualcallan where the trek ends is settled on one of the earliest archeological sites in Peru with structures that date back to over B. A large group of archeologists led by the US site director just happen to currently be in residence. I am allowed to visit but not photograph the dig at the larger of these two mounds in the middle of the villager's crops. The Peruvian archeologist who showed me around the dig explains to me how the different cultural and ethnic groups built their temples and ceremonial structures one on top of the other as they rose and fell from power It is still the same today, he said, he glancing back towards the building in the village full of archeologists and students from the US. On the hill above the village there are a number of more recent burial mounds. Unfortunately, we are not heading the same direction. A quick hour and a half back down the highway towards Caraz, brings me to Carhuaz, where I turn off onto the recently paved road that leads across the Cordillera Blanca via the Punta Olimpica pass. It's one of the classics of South American riding and despite the pavement still a glorious ride. The climb starts relatively sedately, with the road winding its way gradually up the river valley. As the sun starts to dip behind the mountains, I pull off the road onto the pampa and find a nice stealthy camp, not so far from the road, but sheltered by a rock and plenty of lupins. Morning coffee. The Trangia is still making me happy. I haven't had any problems with it at altitude up to about m to date and despite some reasonably involved meals haven't gone through too much fuel. Alcohol seems readily available here in Peru at pharmacies and larger markets. All good. Despite the areas national park status cows, and cow shit, are everywhere. An icon of Mary watches over the welfare of travellers towards the top of the pass A team of road workers are still labouring on a tunnel that cuts through the top of the mountain which will allow motorists to avoid this last avalanche prone section of road. One the other side of the pass - a glacial lake of improbable blue appears. The colour is caused by the population of algae that grows on the suspended particles of rock 'flour' created by the eternal grinding of glaciers in their rocky beds. The next day, however, its a welcome return to signless dirt roads that even the topographical map that James and Sarah gave me fail to shed much light on. However, I am more and more relaxed about not knowing exactly where I am. Most roads go somewhere and that is good enough for me. I choose up. The somewhere that these roads traverse are a series of sleepy villages I arrive in the Yanama village square towards the end of the afternoon siesta period. Yanama is a bigger town but exactly the same themes are repeated; sleepy square, In celestial blues, no less - couldn't they just go and contemplate one of the gorgeous glacial lakes? The building is going to be inaugurated at the end of August by the President himself. Next day, the climb begins again as I approach the Portachuelo Llanganuco Pass. The indigenous high altitude Polyepsis trees are abundant here They are reminiscent of Australian paperbark trees but are, in fact, part of the rose family of plants! These guys did not budge a single millimetre as a speeding car roared by. Once I hit the highway in Belize it is not long before I find myself cycling past a sudden rash of casinos and tax free shopping zones and then crossing yet another border back into Mexico. There have been quite a few border crossing in the last two weeks but this is not a particularly inspiring or interesting one. I camp on the edge of the lagoon and watch the sky fill with light at dawn. While I am quite happy to be back in Mexico I have mixed feelings about the Yucatan Peninsula with its massive relentless tourist machine and the prospect of lots of straight flat freeways to traverse. I find highway riding quite demoralising but there isn't any alternative in many parts of the Yucatan. Signage in Mexico is a little inconsistent, you may note, if you study the photo carefully. My first attempt sees me riding a hundred and twenty kilometres down a sandy dead end road on a mosquito infested windy section of coast to a tiny fishing village in a futile bid to find someone to ferry me across a sizeable stretch of water to Punta Allen where I could continue riding north towards Tulum. Nobody evinces any enthusiasm for assisting me to make this crossing and, after a lunch of very good fresh fish, I have to turn around and ride back a hundred and twenty kilometres to the highway. I am not always very realistic in my hopes. I rode around a hundred and twenty kilometres on a windy sandy dead end road, through mosquito infested mangroves, to this little fishing village on the off chance that I would find someone with a boat willing to ferry me across the mouths of a couple of sizable lagoons to Punta Allen. I had to ride back the way I came but I did have a very nice fresh fish for lunch. My second attempt on unpaved road is a more realistic proposition based on sounder information. Once I'd retraced my steps and pedalled along about eighty kilometres of soulless tarmac, I ride through the Sian Ka'an Nature Reserve on dirt again. After 50 kilometres or so the road emerges from jungle and heads straight across the mangroves ending at a pier where a couple of men waiting for a tourist group are happy enougt to whizz me across the water to Punta Allen for only 10 pesos in a little dinghy. Pierre, the coffee man, does the hard sell pretty hard but he really does make a good cup of coffee. Towards evening I set off to find myself a bit of beach to camp on along the stretch of coast between Punta Allen and Tulum. This coast is part of a protected wilderness area - a fact belied by the number of villas on the beach front but something tells me far worse is to come closer to Cancun. A friend in Mexico City has a piece of land in the jungle close to the coast between Tulum and Playa de Carmen, near the small village of Chimuyal, and so, even though there is a plenty of light left in the day, I turn off the highway to search it out. Almost as soon as I turn off the coast the pace slows down. Amazing - a pair of giant stick insects mating on the netting of the palapa. An underground cenote on the edge of Chimuyal small enough to have escaped the notice of the tourist machine. Returning to coast in the morning, I decide to check out Xcacel Beach, a nesting sanctuary for two endangered species of giant sea turtle, that remains — for the moment — a pristine and undeveloped beach, perhaps a unique phenomenon on this strip of coast between Tulum and Cancun. Caribbean magic However, there are plans afoot that may put this sanctuary in danger. Please click on the link at the bottom of this post to find out more and register a voice of protest again any tourist development on this beach. I spent the day at Xcacel lying, on fine white sand, under a found makeshift shade shelter watching the light change on the water. After lazing the day away at Xcacel, I get on my bike and head north wondering where on earth I am going to find a place to camp in amongst the huge villas, resorts and adventure parks lining the coast. As dusk gathers, at each likely looking exit to the freeway I check out the options for camping without any success until, finally, turning down a gravel track which runs a couple of kilometres to the beach, I ask a man standing near some modest cabins if I can camp there for the night. Without saying a word he simply opens the gate and beckons me in, helps me set up my tent, shows me where I can have a shower and presents me with mangos and other good things to eat. I arrive mid-afternoon, hot and irritable after a day on the freeway. I am going to stay with Hector and Vera, from Warm Showers, the cycle hospitality network. Vera, it turns out, is a dancer who performs on the hotel strip and so after a shower and a change of clothes I am suddenly transported into the heart of the tourist machine and I find is an astonishingly different world to the one that I have been inhabiting. I find myself backstage at one of these resorts with a bunch of girls getting ready for a show - a nostalgic experience for me, taking me back to my days as a performer Colour and movement: the crowd at the Cancun Palace lap up a bit of indigenous flavour. Silver Sands would like to be a more sophisticated resort If I was an anthropologist, I would come back to these places, these resorts, and spend some time here as a participant observer to try to understand what it is all about. Thank you to all the people who have given me the help, support and encouragement which has made and continues to make this trip possible. There has been a long hiatus in additions to this list which is symptomatic, perhaps, of a faltering, a loss of direction, a time in which I forgot what is most important. Because if I have learnt anything at all of importance from my trip it is that kindness is common. So common that I have, it seems, started to take it for granted, which is a sorry state of affairs. At the end of every day, I should make it a habit to list all the people who helped me — with directions, with advice, with a smile, with food, with good will, with simple good grace — sometimes in the face of unseemly bad temper and bad grace on my own part. I am sitting, now, in the south of Chile trying to recall from memory all the people I should have included on this list since I first arrived in South America! The list is incomplete — I have received help, support and advice from all sorts of people on my journey and my heartfelt thanks go to all of them. By signing up, you agree to our Terms of Service and Privacy Policy. Valle de Cojines, El Cocuy, Colombia. Skip to content. Cats get to hang out on La Rambla, next to the lighthouse, as well. The building is heritage listed and full of gorgeous details. Ricketty wooden structures I leave the faded glory The former glory, it transpires, was funded by gold mining. A 'historic' and abandoned estancia building. Chile is plagued by introduced beavers and their dams are everywhere. Lake Fanango. Letter boxes, roadside signs It's pretty much all joy Simple… Well, maybe. Leaving Chiquian, a long steep descent Cahaucocha Laguna is the first camp site. Refelctions and light And how about that, for a sunset? The road is easily reached and takes me past herds of llama Just above the Alpamayo base camp, peaks rise There is ample time to soak it all in Next morning sees me at Punta Union, the first of the treks passes. The forth day starts with another steep climb. Sun comes over the pass before I reach it, illuminating the forest. In the morning, a short climb More peaks rising splendidly above the valley. At the top of the valley, I stop confronted with tomorrow's pass It is a guilty pleasure, but an undeniable one. Back on the main trail, I arrive at one of the official camp sites The last pass is the highest It's all downhill from here A condor circles In the morning, it is a return to the agricultural patchwork below. Good stuff. I crave fresh fruit and vegetables. The climb starts in earnest with an incredible series of switchbacks, Finally, a gap in the rock Celestial: heaven is blue, I'm sure. The tunnel. Now it's time to layer up and descend, Corn hangs drying in the sun in tiny village squares. A modest village church, now derelict Three little pigs go about their business. Planet Earth's pointy teeth rise above it all. I flee Yanama, into the gathering shadows. More lakes and lupins The road winds up in a series of convoluted twists and whorls Pedal stroke after pedal stroke until I am there The sound of running water is a constant as glacier fed streams The streams collect themselves Up at dawn Bacalar is a pretty nice place to laze around for a day or two. Caribbean blue - what can I say? There is another tiny cenote at Xcacel Cancun: the hotel strip - the beach is still beautiful Vera doing her thing. It's clearly On the bike in Cancun. Photo: Hector. Melda and Jakub , in Prague, CZ, for being an important part of the very beginning of this trip, for putting me up when leaving Prague, for looking after sundry belongings to this day, for driving me and my bike to the airport, for ongoing technical support, on route, with all things digital. Nic and Mike in Tabor, CZ for storing most of my Czech-based belongings in the attic of their house and extra thanks to Mike for hosting this blog and all his help with it. Thomas , of Radspannerei, in Berlin, for building me a great bike. Ron and Barb in Anchorage for being my first Warm Showers hosts — and exceptional ones, at that. No thanks go to US Post. Teresa and the truck drivers at her Hot Spot Cafe on the Dalton Highway just north of Yukon Crossing for organising to transport some of my gear to Fairbanks. John Gimbel in Fairbanks for the extended use of his house. Gary the bus driver in Denali National Park for a memorable bus ride. Christine , in Talkeetna, for organising me a free seat in a small plane for a flight over Mount McKinley. Johanna , of Anchorage, first for letting me sleep in the spare bed in her hotel room in Talkeetna and then for sending me onwards armed with her address in Anchorage. Tom and Bridgette , in Palmer, for their warm spontaneous hospitality. Johanna again , Steve and Angela , for offering me refuge in Anchorage. Jay and Debbie. Renate and Gunter , at River Creek Campground, for giving me a new spoon, a truly essential camping item, when I needed one. Tracy and Danusia and all their various friends in Whitehorse, for their warmth, hospitality and friendship. The camp operators at Boya Lake Provincial Park, for a warm invitation to breakfast with them. Richard , a fellow cyclist, for his company, which made Stewart a great place to be. Heide and Andreas , of Austria, for feeding me very well on at least two occasions when our paths happened to cross in British Columbia. Penny and Ian , of Prince Rupert, for their hospitality and a great canoe adventure. Sheila , of Lasqueti, for her friendship and conversation and letting me stay in her beautiful house over the water. Chris , in Nanaimo, for rescuing a total stranger at dusk from a wet carkpark and providing a warm comfortable bed for the night. Jane and Eric , migratory cyclists with a Salt Springs base, for their advice, friendship and hospitality. Mark , on Whidbey Island, for feeding and entertaining me and providing me a place to pitch my tent on his expansive lawn. Donna , of Seattle, for spontaneously offering me a bed for the night. Tom and Jacky , of Seattle, for their hospitality. Babs and Dennis , in Forks, Washington, for all sort of things: among them — good food, warm hospitality and showing me around the Olympic Penninsula. Dave , in Beverly Beach Campground, for sharing his knowledge of mushrooms with me. The anonymous Fed-Ex Man who rescued me from a potentially scary dog incident. Brian , at Jedidiah Smith National Park, California, for letting me use his fishing rod and not minding too much that I lost his lures. Joe , who found me on the streets of Arcata, California, and put me up for the night, did my laundrey, fed me rubarb and strawberry pie and proved to be charming company. Bill and Cheryl e , of Ferndale, who spontaneously offered me dinner and a bed for the night. Judy, Greg and Clare , of the San Fransico Bay Area, for their generosity in letting me be part of their busy lives and the help, support and advice they provided during an extended stay. Stella , of the San Fransico Bay Area, for becoming a friend. Doris and John , of June Lake, for their generous hospitality and excellent food and a great day around Mono Lake and Brodie. Brain and Kathleen , of Bishop, for providing warmth and shelter on a couple of cold windy days. Mike for sharing his knowledge of Death Valley. The dirt-bike guys who stopped in the middle of the Mojave Desert to ask if I needed help when they saw I was repairing my bike. George , at the Needles Inn, for doing my laundry and providing an idiosyncratic and unexpected refuge. Jess and Tank , in Tuyasan, for giving me a warm comfortable base from which to explore the Grand Canyon and for some great late night conversations. Josh and Melanie , of Flagstaff, for exceptional hospitality and support. Bryc e , of AZ Bikes, Flagstaff, for letting me use his workshop and supervising me while I tackled my bike repairs. Nita , of Pie Town, who I never actually even met — a trail angel who provides an amazing refuge at the Toaster House for weary walkers and bikers on the Great Divide Route. Cathy and Ron , of the Pie-o-Neer Cafe, for looking after four hungry cyclists on Thanksgiving and lavishing lots of pie on us for the duration of our stay in Pie Town. George , who turned up just in time to alleviate our foodless plight in Pie Town, where there is plenty of pie but no grocery stores. Klara , at the Gila Hot Springs, for giving us fresh elk meat and other goodies which saved us from a dinnerless night. Jamie and his household in Silver City, for letting us colonise their lounge room floor for quite a long time. Dave , at the Bike Works in Silver City, for creating such a great resource for cyclists and for helping me out with my bike. Oscar , the Mexican border offical, for making our entry into Mexico an exceptional experience. Carlos in Ejido el Largo, Chihuahua, Mexico, for giving us a place to lay our heads in his crowded work house and also to Soco, for feeding us. Jesus , in Ejido el Largo, Chihuahua, Mexico, for the tamales and bunuelos. Keith, of Entre Amigos, in Urique, for creating a magic garden and a great place to stay. Pollo , in Guachochi, Chihuahua, for all the excellent food and entertaining stories in his seafood restaurant. Abraham Garcia , in Tepehuanes, who sought us out to talk bike talk and hooked us up with the Durango mountain biking scene. Genaro Garcia , in Canatlan, for his extra-ordinarily generous hospitality. Panchito Garcia, for the use of his workshop in Durango. Frida and Jorge Luis , for unquestioningly offering hospitality to four tired dirty cyclists at short notice. Victor and his house mate in Zacatecas and Monica and Andrea in Guadalupe, for their hospitality — totally different in style but equally generous. Jeff, Jason and Cass , fellow cyclists, for providing me with knowledgeable, challenging and extremely entertaining companionship for three months. Cass, in the first place, for inviting me to join them; Jeff, for teaching me names of the birds and the stars or at least some of them ; Jason, for providing a cool soundtrack in hotel rooms and by the camp fire; all of them for being fantastic company during many great adventures. Angel Guytan Bautista , who insisted on guiding me through Guadalupe to the highway. Ray , in San Miguel de Allende, for treating me to a lovely birthday dinner and putting me up for a couple of nights. Meara , in Queretaro, for her hospitality. The guy at Chincua Butterfly Sanctuary who gave me information and directions to the sanctuary at Mancheros. Ruth and her family , who fed me and gave me a much needed place to sleep when no camping possibilities presented themselves to me. Samuel, Cesar and Mikki , in Toluca, for looking after me. Marco Antonio Gonzales , who generously dedicated an afternoon to riding with me as a guide from La Marquesa into Mexico City. Alisa and her flat-mates, in Mexico City, for providing me a couch to sleep on and letting me and all my belongings stay for a such a long time that we became good friends. Rose and her charming cat, Yumi , for putting me up for almost a week in Mexico City. Kodiak , from Ciclovida in Mexico City, who gave me a new helmet to replace the one that was stolen in Guachochi. Monica Wyszkowska , in Puebla, who lent me a pair of hiking boots for my ascent of Iztaccihuatl. Grant Ferguson , of Mexico City, for letting me make his apartment my home during my second sojourn in DF. Cheve Barojas , from Mexico City, for guiding me up Iztaccihuatl. The Martinez family, in Chiapas, who, without hesitating, offered me hospitality and shared everything they had with me. Elias , for letting me camp on the veranadah at Cueva de Tejon by a gorgeous river near Bonampak. The French man and his son who invited me to dinner at Tikal. Antonio , in Uaxactun, Guatemala, who took a serious interest in my jungle adventure and provided lots of information and guidance to help make it happen. Cain and his workmate at the Dos Lagunas work camp in Peten, Gautemala, for letting me stay the night and use their kitchen. Everybody at the Rio Azul work camp in Peten, Guatemala, where I stayed for two nights, for their help, advice and hospitality. George , the ex-pat Hungarian in Belize, who let me camp behind his house. Bruce , in Belize, who spent several hours of his time phoning around to find the right people to assist me cross a river which would have otherwise blocked my way. The rangers at Hillbank, for sharing their lunch with me. Nat and Katy , the ornithologists at Hillbank, Belize, who offered me a warm welcome where it was otherwise tepid and proved such interesting and entertaining company that I ended up staying two nights. The guy who, when I asked if he knew where I could camp on the heavily developed Yucatan Peninsula coastline approaching Playa de Carmen, without saying a word, simply opened the gate to his property and showed me where I could set up my tent and plied me with a multitude of edible treats. Hector and Vero , in Cancun, who provided accommodation and heaps of support while I to-ed and fro-ed in and out of Cancun while preparing to go to Cuba. Reishee , on his floating island on the lagoon on Isla Mujeres, for letting me stay in that magic realm. Bernado , from Belgium, who I met on the flight to Cuba and who helped me with my boxed bike on the journey from Jose Marti Airport into Havana. Silvia and Regis , a couple of French cyclists I met at Playa Jutias, who treated my hand after a minor bike accident. Osmany , at the Ecological Station on Gunahabibicanes Peninsula, Cuba, for sharing his considerable knowledge of the area and for his genuine interest in me and my journey. Alejandro, Ramon and Yoanna , three biology students studying sea turtles on the Gunahabibicanes Peninsula, who welcomed me into their camp on a wild windy, rainy day and shared their dinner and dreams with me. Mercerdes and Sofia , in La Bajada, Cuba, for welcoming me into their home and feeding me. All the people in Cuba who refilled my water bottles. Laurenca , in Guasana, who cooked a fine meal for me, with what little she had, and tried to refuse any payment for it. Katarina and William , fellow cyclists that I met in Trinidad, Cuba, who improved the quality of my sleep by giving me one of their Thermarests when I mentioned that mine had recalcitrant punctures. Lazaro , the caretaker at the monument to Antonio D. Hector and Vero again , for putting me up again in Cancun. These people are great! Rodrigo , in Cancun, for letting me stay, longer and longer, and providing me with chilled out conversation and relaxed companionship. The Manglares de Dzinitun project, in Celestun, for giving me a tour and a lovely place to camp. Micycle , a bikeshop in London, for providing me with the tools and support needed for me to build a new wheel. Alissia and Raul , of Curnevaca, for lending me their sewing machine. Noah , of Montecassino, Morales, who spontaneously stopped to offer me a lift into Cuernavaca when I was burdened by the sewing machine. The family who let me camp in their yard on my first night in Guatemala. All the guards at various archeological sites in the El Mirador basin, Peten Guatemala, who provided me with cups of coffee and shared their frijoles and tortillas with me. Conchita of Carmelita, Peten, Guatemala, who looked after my bike while I walked to El Mirador and exerted herself considerably to organise a lift for me to the health services of Santa Elena when I returned after being bitten by a fox. The all the staff at the Santa Elena Health Centre , Peten, Guatemala who administered my rabies vaccines and especially to the nurse who came specially on Saturday morning when the Centre is not normally open to give me my second injection. Claudia , in Guatemala City, who — never having met me before — picked me up from the bus station, drove me to the hospital, and generally went out of her to look after me when I arrived on extremely short notice to get yet another anti-rabies injection. Reginaldo , of Bio Itza Spanish School, San Jose, Guatemala, for two weeks of intelligent and inspiring conversations on any number of subjects during which he did not forget his role as my teacher and patiently corrected the errors of my Spanish. Special thanks for the parting gift of a book by Rigoberta Menchu. Silke , a German cyclist who I travelled with for a month or so, for following me where she might not have bothered to go of her own accord. Tank and Mike for inviting me to crash their scene in San Pedro, Guatemala. All the crew at Maya Pedal , in San Andres, Guatemala, for a warm welcome and good food and especially to Bruce for his patience and expertise with my bike. The family who offered me hospitality and food on my first night in El Salvador. Lindsey , a friend from Prague, for making the time to hang out by the lake for a lazy week. Kelly and Kurt , fellow cyclists, for excellent company and conversation while cycling, cooking, camping. Alex for coconuts, prawns and a camp site in his back yard. Bani Zalaya and his son for guiding me through the jungle when I lost the path between Brus Laguna and Ahuas. Ignacio , who appeared like an angel on the banks of a nameless river in the middle of the jungle, and pushed my bike to the River Putuca where I wanted to be. Javier and his brothers who ferried me across the Putuca and who, in mythological style, I paid with a zapote seed. Yudinya and Carla , in Ahuas, for their hospitality and kindness while I regained energy for the second leg of my Moskitia adventure. Geraldo and Norbel — doctors at the Ahuas Mission Hospital who let me use their internet All the other people in La Moskitia, whose names I did not record, who helped me with much needed information and guidance in negotiating the areas roadless swamp, jungle and savannah, not to mention physical assistance in getting me and my bike across various rivers. Chente and Ilona , on Little Corn , for introducing me to the world underwater. Steph and Esmeralda , on Little Corn , for congenial company and conversation. The ranger at the Rincon de la Veija National Park in Guanacaste, Costa Rica, for letting me camp at the station and walk in the forest on non-public tracks, and who lent me his bird book and binoculars and showed me the larvae and caterpillars he was cultivating. Sarah and Tom , for sharing the road and meals for a while. The fire station guys. Emapanada George in Bocas del Toro. Janice in Bocas. Karl and Iris, who during our second encounter, in Bocas — the first being on Isla Mujeres in Mexico — offer to let me sail with them to San Blas. Hippie Mike for calmly talking me through some of the insanities of Santa Catalina. Michelle , of Buena Vida, in Santa Catalina, for yoga classes and girl talk. Rose for comparing notes on running a hostel in Santa Catalina. Herbie for letting me — however reluctantly — do my dive master training at Scuba Coiba in Santa Catalina. Diver Ben , in Santa Catalina, for being amusing company. Juan and Crissy , in Santa Catalina, for inspiring bread and baking. Alfredo , who gave me passage from Panama to Colombia on the good ship, El Inesperado, and Poli , his father. It was an amazing voyage. Gabriela , who I accosted on the streets of Cartagena, and Bruno , her partner, for a shady and calm place to stay in the tourist frenzy that is Cartagena in summer. All the various people , whose names — to my shame — I no longer recall, on the Caribbean coast and in the north of Colombia, who felt the need to feed me, provided me with water, gave me fruit and cups of coffee, introduced me to their families, offered me a bed, and otherwise opened their hearts to me. Like, for just one example, the guy who tried to give me the shirt off his own back in the dust and heat between Mompox and Caucasia to protect me against the sun. The guy in Taraza who took the trouble to impress on me that the mountain route I was considering really was dangerous and ill-advised. Dave, in Medellin, for generous hospitality, some really good cooking and interesting conversations over a bottle of wine or two. The guys who operate the ferry barge across the river Cauca on a private estancia who ferried me to the other side of the river and refused any payment. Edward for letting my camp at the bird sanctuary in the cloud forest on a cold wet afternoon and allowing me to accompany him in the morning on a bird watching walk with a client. Hector and his wife and daughter , in Santa Rosa de Cabal, Colombia, for inviting me into their home and taking time to give me detailed directions for a back road route to Los Nevados National Park. The rangers in Los Nevados National Park who tolerated my presence in a National Park that was officially closed to the public at the time. Mauricio and Natalie , for picking me up, cold, dirty and wet, off the streets of Villa Maria and drying me out, feeding me and showing me a good time. The guys at Casa Murillo, and particularly Brian , who went out of their way to make me welcome and show me the sights of Murillo. Eduardo , in Bogota, for putting me up while I organised my Brazilian visas and then again after my abortive attempt to venture into Venuzuela, The guy who picked me up in the Tatacoa Desert after a massive blowout and drove me to the nearest village, made sure I managed to find a replacement tire, and then bought me lunch. The guy in the bike shop in Pitalito who built me a new wheel in an instant after my rim had developed a frightening crack. The electrician who looks after the telephone towers on the first pass of the Trampoline of Death, between Mocoa and Pasto, who invited me in when I asked if I could camp by his house; and also to his young son, who cooked a delicious breakfast during a tempestuous morning storm the following day. Efren Imacuan , of Tulcan, Ecuador, who worked on my wheel in his workshop and refused any payment. Steve, Maria, Ramon, and Karlita , who accommodated me for a long time in the cabana out the back of their house in Tumbaco, Ecuador. Aaron , in Quito, for making sure my bike was in tip top shape and giving me his old set of Arkel panniers. Padre Bautista , in Angamarca, who has an open door and real Italian coffee. The good people of Mindina who put me up in the community centre. Padre Antonio Polo , of Salinas, Ecuador, whose kindness, good grace and hospitality are impeccable and inspiring. The woman in Atillo,Ecuador, who looked after my bike while I hiked to Achapullas. The owners of the restaurant in Tingo Veijo , Peru, who let cyclists camp in their yard by the river, for free, and provide a perfect base from which to explore the ruins of Kuelap. The two lads that organized for me to camp in the Adan Pino Quinones Coliseo in the village of Pampas in the mountains of Peru. The owners of the restaurant in Pasacacha, Peru, that allowed me to sleep inside the restaurant and generously fed me. And also the members of the road crew who watched me making up my bed as they ate and rustled up a mattress so that I was more comfortable. Neil and Harriet Pike , who I first met in Huaraz; for their exceptionally congenial company; for their comprehensive knowledge of the Andes which they do not hesitate to share; for creating inspired mountain bike rides with detailed route information; and most of all for a few excellent shared adventures. Celica , the charming girl who gave me directions and then accompanied me for a while on my trek of the Alpamayo Circuit without asking me for chocolate. The archeologists in Hualcallan who provided me with lunch when I descended from the mountains more than slightly hungry after a 10 day trek carrying a tiny 35 litre pack and then allowed me to look around the dig. Anna-Maria , who put me up for the night in her house near Oyon. The family who picked me off the cold bleak streets of Yarajhuanca and warmed me with kindness and hot chocolate, fed me and gave me a place to sleep. The school director name forgotten in a village name forgotten somewhere in Peru, in that long long lonesome haul between Huaraz and Cusco, who gave me a place to sleep and summoned the English teacher to converse with me. And Maria , the English teacher herself, who gave up her time to me, provided me with tea and companionship in that chilly damp mountain village. Father Carlos , in Huanta, who provided me with accommodation at the parish when every hotel in town was full because of the annual festival, in which his part was key. Sarah and James , who I first met in Panama, and then again in Tumbaco and Huaraz, and finally teamed up with in Laz Paz to ride together for a while in Bolivia and, then again, in Peru. Thanks for many a shared meal and some glorious riding in both fine and foul weather of all kinds. The man in the grocery store in Pisiga who let me camp, with Sarah and James, in the yard where he kept his herd of baby llamas. The many people who gave me water and various items of food while I cycled the Lagunas in the south of Bolivia. Lee and Heide , fellow cyclists, first encountered in Cafayate, Argentina, for good company, conversation and asado. Juan Valenzuela Hernandez , who let me camp in the grounds of his fruit processing plant, in the industrial heartland of Chile. Kati , in Romeral,Chile, who invited me for lunch and ended up giving me her bed for the night while she slept on the couch. Jacob , from Colombia, who provided good company and some interesting route ideas around the Chilean lake district. Mauri , of Tsonek Eco Camp, for offering cyclists a hefty discount just for turning up on two wheels and for creating such a lovely place. Karen and Mike , fellow cyclists from Canada, who generously allowed me to accompany them on a four day trek out of El Chalten and sleep in their tent for the duration. The astonishing, Flor , in El Calten, Argentina, who is certainly no less than an angel, for outstanding generosity. Mika , in El Chalten, for cooking us all lamb. Sam and Jen , for excellent company and a great day at Perito Moreno. Tsahi , an Israeli tourist encountered in Puerto Nateles, for excellent company and conversation but most of all for chipping away some of my most bigoted prejudices. Skyler , a fellow cyclist, never encountered, but who generously provided comprehensive details of an entertaining beach route which allowed me to avoid a hundred kilometres of highway between Puerto Nateles and Punta Arenas. The Municipality of Magellanes for providing roadside refuges in Patagonia where cold and wind weary travellers can shelter. Facundo , of Cameron, Tierra del Fuego, Chile, who put me up for the night and fed me. German and Maricela , who welcomed me in, at the end of the road, on the shores of Lago Fanago. Tierra del Fuego, Chile. Jorge , an Argentian from Ushuaia, who was generous enought to put me on a boat between Maria Caleta and Puerto Williams, in Chile, and thereby giving me a free three day tour of the Austral fjords and glaciers. The captain and crew of the good ship Alakush , who welcomed me aboard, fed me, tolerated my presence while they were hard at work. Ken , who took me on as crew on his boat, Porvenir, despite my lack of previous experience and, thus, my lubberly ways. Luis and his workmate , in Lago Tagua Tagua, who saw me scouting around in the rain and invited me to share their Sunday barbeque. Thank you for meat, homemade bread, tea and jam. The young Chilean border official who took me, in a boat, as far as he could along the Rio Puelo, to the border with Argentina, to save me a few kilometres of hauling my bike along a very unsuitable trekking path in the pouring rain. To the Argentian border official who allowed me to sit by the fire and dry out a little after a very soggy crossing of the Andes while he processed my passport. The guy who ferried me from the Argentinian border post to Lago Puelo in an overpriced tourist boat and gave me fresh homemade jam to take the sting out of the transaction. Special thanks to Maria Eugenia who did my laundry for me — the first time my clothes had seen the inside of a mechanical washing device for many many months. To the director and staff of Escuela No. The man in the grocery shop in Mirasol, Chubut, for some nice route advice that directed me to a short cut which helped me avoid a couple of hundred kilometres of highway. The family in a car , who I stopped to ask for directions, who gave me not only information but a bag full of baked treats. Flavio , of Puerto Madryn, Argentina, who welcomed me into his home for three nights. Marco, Andrea and Ana , of Viedma, Argentina, for lovely meals, good company, an archery lesson and warm hospitality. Diego and Natalia , of Bahia Blanca, Argentina, for ethusiastic conversations about cycle touring, some great route ideas in Venezuela and Guayana, fish for lunch two days in a row and a very comfortable bed. The guy who gave me a lift in his truck when my way was blocked by extensive flooding leaving the tiny village of Lin Calel, in the state of Buenos Aires, Argentina. The ladies in the library who let me use the free internet after hours and then found me somewhere to camp in San Fransisco de Bellocq. The bomberos of General Conesa, Argentina, for providing me with a place to sleep for the night out of the rain. Your e-mail address First Name Last Name.

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