We quit our jobs, sold everything we owned, packed up my old Yamaha XT660R and left the UK to ride round-the-world indefinitely! Well, we hope... we don't actually know what we're doing - but we're doing it anyway!



Just after crossing the border into Azerbaijan May 2018

Our (very rough) route is London through Europe to the Caucasus, then onto Kazak, UZbek, Tajiki, Afghan and Kyrgy stan (plan on buying a second bike in Kyrgyzstan), through Mongolia, Russia and to Japan. Then fly the bike back to India, Pakistan, Nepal through South East Asia to Australia and New Zealand, fly it up to Alaska and ride to Argentina. Fly to South Africa and ride up to Nord Kapp and then... we don't know, maybe go round again?

We love meeting up with other travellers so if anyone's on our route we'd love to hear from you!

Thanks for reading our posts! Hope you enjoy reading them as much as we enjoy writing!

You can follow our adventures on our website, which is packed with destination and travel guides, bike kit, gear and equipment reviews, bike prep and hard-earned travel tips!
www.madornomad.com

We're on Facebook at
https://web.facebook.com/madornomads/

And Instagram at www.instagram.com/madornomad_

Thanks guys and all the best,

Andy and Alissa

Going on the trip of a lifetime is fun - riding through a storm, running out of petrol, being permanently soaked, burning your luggage and snapping your exhaust is not.


Off to a wet, cold and overloaded start

It was supposed to be special - the first day of our long awaited round-the-world adventure. But it wasn’t special - it was hell. And it got worse… fast.

Not wanting to die on the first day was the only thing we could think about as we chugged along a blacked-out empty French motorway at 30mph, in the most dangerous riding conditions we’ve ever experienced. The wind threw us from lane to lane like rag dolls. The rain was relentless, hammering into our visors and reducing visibility to an outstretched hand. When the rain rested the fog took over; a thick cold blanket which swallowed petrol stations and left us running on fumes - finding fuel with only drops to spare.

Only as we arrived at a friend’s house in Normandy at 1am (seven hours later than the planned three hour ride) did we discover the cause of the weather; Storm Eleanor. We’d just ridden through an onslaught of 80mph winds and rain, severe storm warnings plastered the French internet and the entirety of the route we’d just ridden was on red alert. The ‘violent wind’ warnings peppered along the motorway signs were probably a good clue.

We should have checked the weather before leaving but it was a mad rush, our bags were quickly strapped into an embarrassing leaning tower. The excessive weight took me by surprise as I nearly dropped the bike. My stomach churned at the realisation of the new load. But with awkward smiles we set off - setting fire to our camping bag on the way to the Channel Tunnel.


Overloaded, we already set fire to one of the bags before we got on the Channel Tunnel Train to France

The ride from Normandy to Metz was no better. The rain hammered down even harder and time dragged like a broken clock. Eleanor realised we were making a run for it and made us pay by nearly smashing us into a bridge barrier, we rode at what felt like a 45 degree angle, sweating as we tried to stay upright, the tyres sloshing and slipping beneath us.

We couldn’t outrun Eleanor, who tormented us all the way to Germany, leaving us physically exhausted, infuriated and soaking wet. Alissa’s boots filled with water and so did all our bags. Nothing was dry, not even our laptop. By the time we arrived in Nuremberg we were so cold and wet that our hosts had to help us undress as we could no longer feel our fingers.

Only as we left Vienna did the weather change, the sun shone through a pale blue sky and we thought, for a brief moment, that things were going to get better - until we ran out of petrol on the motorway thanks to a faulty fuel gauge. Luckily, we had half a litre in our petrol MSR stove bottle. We chucked it in and set off again, laughing - for a mile. This time we had no spare fuel. I hitched a lift with a Hungarian lorry driver named John as Alissa guarded the bike on an Austrian hard shoulder.


Out of fuel and stranded on an Austrian hard shoulder



John the friendly Hungarian lorry driver stopped for us and took us to the nearest petrol station

Bored and tired we kept on, playing travel games to stop our eyes from clock-watching. Night fell and we stopped for fuel, only to end up in a 15-minute argument with an automated petrol pump. The bike had enough of us and refused to start. After convincing an Austrian in a dark car park under a railway bridge that we weren’t distraction thieves he allowed us to jump the bike of his car. The battery lasted until we reached our accomodation for the night before conking out once more.

With the battery fully charged we had 180 miles to cover before reaching our friend’s house in Divin, Slovakia. We packed up, pleaded with the battery to last and made our final push. Sixty miles in and the exhaust snapped off the pipe. We bodged it back together as best we could and made the decision to carry on, much to the dismay of the XT, which screamed in agony as it limped the last 120 miles. As we arrived at our friend’s front door the XT shat itself, spluttered out a bunch of error codes, coughed its final breath and died. We pushed it the last ten metres into his garden where she sits right now, still shaking from the ordeal.

We’re wet, tired and cold. Our gear is soaked, we’ve massively over-packed, our bike is sulking, refusing to budge, not charging properly, riddled with error codes, the exhaust is broken, the fuel gauge is faulty, the hydraulic rear suspension has sprung a leak and will take weeks for a replacement part from the UK and it’s only day six. But it’s going to get better… right?


Finally made it to the little village of Divin, Slovakia - just before we realised the suspension's hydraulic fluid cable had been sliced - we had to wait three weeks for a part from the UK and the snow came down heavier every single day

You can see where we are right now on Facebook at https://web.facebook.com/madornomads/ , check out our best photography at www.instagram.com/madornomad_ and all our blogs, updates, travel tips, destination guides and reviews on our website www.madornomad.com

Welcome to reality. All that time spent in trip planning was truly invaluable wasn't it?

The farther you get down the road the more enjoyable life becomes, as you ease into a different pace. Bikes are a great way to travel but rain and storms are always a pain in the bum.

Enjoy the ride.

__________________
Garry from Oz - powered by Burgman

Cool to see your RR! We are about to finish our 6 years around the world. "Inuvik to Ushuaia to Madrid to Nord Capp to Ulaanbatar to South slope to KL to Montreal to Vancouver!" 150,000 km. We ship from Kl to Montreal this week. Good LUCK!! SARA

__________________
Sara

Those who say something is impossible should not hinder those who are achieving it!





www.worldwideride.ca

HU RR Finding Freedom...World Wide Ride

farqhuar - haha yes! the trip planning didn't exactly... 'go to plan' haha. Although, we did only spend two months planning before setting off!

saralou - Wow that's so amazing! We'll be following and checking out your site!

After a horrific start and a complete bike failure only five days into our RTW trip, we holed up in snowy Slovakia for a long wait


The snow came down harder every day, there was nothing we could do but stay trapped while we waited for parts


We spent three years in Divin, Slovakia. Or was it three weeks? Either way, it was a long time. We hobbled into the sleepy, fog covered village with a snapped exhaust and a bike that died right on our friend’s front door step. We arrived shivering, confused and - after further inspection of the bike – downhearted.

We had just realised the chain sliced the remote preload cable, leaking precious hydraulic fluid everywhere. This meant the whole rear shock had to be removed and new parts were needed from the UK. What was supposed to be a three day stop to spend time with one of Andy’s closest friends, Rusty, turned into three weeks of waiting for parts, dismantling the entire rear end and testing the charging system (which, the local garage couldn’t find anything wrong with, so it must be our heated jackets draining the battery, the only things keeping us relatively warm).


At least the views were pretty

As the days passed, fluffy white snow replaced the fog. With each passing day the white stuff deepened and the temperature plummeted to -10C. But it didn’t matter, Rusty and Janka took us in, gave us a place to stay and force fed us until our jaws ached. Our days were filled with traditional Slovakian style, we spent the mornings and evenings with their family and young children by the fire and our days in the forest, hunting, firing World War II guns, visiting more family, eating even more and exploring Divin’s 13th century Gothic castle.


Legend has it that a Baron buried a live baby in the castle's foundations on the advice of the local witch in order to make sure the castle stays upright forever...

While waiting, Rusty, a traditional blacksmith by trade, built a new side rack (to stop our bags catching fire again), cut the sidestand down to stop us falling over at petrol stations, welded extenders onto the rear rack to move the top box back - so we could actually sit comfortably on the bike and welded the exhaust back together.


Rusty-Slav the master welder fixing the exhaust, building a new pannier rack and welding a fat foot onto the side stand - different to his normal work of beautifully intrinsic hunting knives

Twenty-one days after our arrival the bike was finally ready, we packed up and started the machine. The indicators didn’t work, click for left and all four flash like hazards. Switch the hazards on and nothing. The rear brake light is on permanently and the main beam’s out. We ignored this, hoping it would just fix itself. And if it comes to it, we’ll bung a couple of head-torches on and signal with our arms and legs. We left pumped full of goulash, venison and stews, with the smell of gun powder on our fingers and extra man stubble in Andy’s beard.


Following Rusty on his hunt for deer

You can see where we are right now on Facebook at https://web.facebook.com/madornomads/ , check out our best photography at www.instagram.com/madornomad_ and all our blogs, updates, travel tips, destination guides and reviews on our website www.madornomad.com

Crossing Istanbul’s Bosphorus bridge marked the start of our adventure in Asia



Bulgaria was cold. And we were tired of being cold, so our decision-making process went something like this: ‘I know! Let’s head south to the Greek coast and baste in the sunny glory of Apollo’s golden beaches’. One freezing, teeth-chattering night in an abandoned Greek campsite later and we were packed up at first light, bolting it to Turkey. We’re coming back for you Greece (when you’re warmer).

We were stung at the Ipsala border; the only insurance office there wanted to charge us an extortionate amount for a Green-card (a must-have for entering Turkey, but half the price at other borders). Time was ticking, the cold was chasing us from Greece and darkness was falling. So, we bit our tongues, paid and marched on. We saw Tekirdag on the map and found a cheap apartment on AirBnB. The owner asked us to add him on Instagram instead of paying through the site as he said he didn’t want us to pay for the night. Confused, we obliged and headed straight for him.

Typically, the XT couldn’t manage the last hour and a half ride without throwing a tantrum and blew the baffle clean out of the exhaust on the motorway. Our bike once again sounded like a tractor with a megaphone up its bum. We could see the cold weather stuck at the Turkish border, arguing with the insurance office, it was only a matter of time before it paid and caught up with us. We decided to forget about looking for the baffle and carry on – much to the XT’s delight.

We stormed into Tekirdag, our host for the night could hear us coming and raced to meet us, ushering us into his house quickly as confused neighbours came out to find the source of the racket. What was supposed to be one night turned into three. Onur took us to his favourite restaurants, for coffee with his friends and on a tour of his city. He quickly turned into a good friend and was a brilliant introduction to Turkish hospitality. But we couldn’t stay any longer as we were due in Darica to meet an old friend, Levent. We made our goodbyes, started the bike and watched Onur wince as the bike set off four car alarms and made a little girl cry.

I first met Levent six years ago while camping next to a restaurant by Lake Iznik, Turkey. He rode past on his motorcycle, saw mine and stopped to inspect it. A chat, ten teas later and we were great friends, touring the countryside, hanging out with the Iznik motorcycle club and drinking copious amounts of tea. No visit to Turkey would be complete without seeing him again. We rode to his family home in Darica where his parents treated us like their own.



Levent took us to his friend’s house where they build humungous off-road trucks together. Within 10 minutes they had fabricated a new baffle out of an old washer and piece of pipe and welded it into the exhaust.





We made our goodbyes to our adopted Turkish family and went with Levent to Lake Iznik, where he works as the Turkish Olympic Rowing Coach.



He arranged a room for us in the National Rowing Club house, where we stayed for the next four nights. He filled our days with dingy rides, training the Olympic rowers, cycling through olive groves, exploring and hanging out with his friends.



We ate more delicious food and drank more Turkish tea than we thought possible. Levent, who knows everyone in Iznik, treated us like royalty. He took us to the lake’s shore at night to watch the sunset. When we hinted that it was cold he called a friend to come and build a fire. When we said it wasn’t big enough – another friend turned up in a 4x4 with old tyres and wooden pallets. When we joked that all we needed now was a guitarist, one magically appeared from behind the trees playing traditional Turkish music along with his father who cooked up a campfire feast.



On our last night the guys took us out to party with traditional live music and had us all dancing until sunrise. This is truly a special place, filled with the world’s kindest, finest and best men.

We’re already in love with Turkey and its people, and we can’t wait to see more of it.

You can see where we are right now on Facebook at https://web.facebook.com/madornomads/ , check out our best photography at www.instagram.com/madornomad_ and all our blogs, updates, travel tips, destination guides and reviews on our website www.madornomad.com

You two could write a book on "What NOT To Do On a RTW Motorbike Trip", could win a Pulitzer for that one.

Big ups for hanging in and powering on.

Next time you'll know how important simple pre-trip prep, maybe read the thousands of posts here on HUBB that cover everything from Soup to Nuts regards prep, problems, how to avoid mishaps ... and one good one ...

Shake Down Rides. (one of my personal favs and Pet Peeve)

A quick trip up to Scotland would have likely pointed out most ALL your eventual failures and allowed repair at home than on the road. I'm sure you guys know all this now ... ? Bikes don't run on Good Will!

You will also have to actually READ your owners' manual and understand your basic charging system! (I bet you know it a lot better now than before you started!)

I don't know what that 660 puts out in Watts but I bet it's not much (guessing from 200 to 300 Watts?) ... and certainly not enough to power two elec. jackets (my elec jacket draws 90W) and not run the battery down in short order, which is what happened. On a F.I. bike a strong batt is very important to keep ECU and F.I. going.

I now carry a Li-Iron jump start battery which is great for powering elec clothing. Will run my 90W jacket for about 4 hours straight ... and can be recharged in one hour. Will also Jump START any bike or car ... even a big 5L V-8!) It tiny and weighs nothing. For around US $120 well worth it. So far I've mostly helped others with it. I carry it on every long ride.

You mention getting another bike? Is the missus going to ride too? or are you trading in the 660?

Also was mystified why you'd cross colder parts of EU in Winter? Best time, IMO, is late Sept. October. Not too hot, students and tourists thinned out, best weather of the year in some places.

The really good news about your story is all the good people you met ... that if your bike just droned past, you would have never met!

When was your age (20's I'm guessing?) I could handle disasters like you've had ... also depended on "the kindness of strangers". It's a great experience but grew tiresome for me.

I tried to be more self sufficient. I'm glad I learned those skills because now I'm too weak and feeble to do a lot of road side repairs, crash or handle screw ups. Sure, stuff still happens but not nearly as much as in "the bad old days!"


You two take care, looking forward to more reporting and great photos.!
Thanks for posting on HUBB.

Hey Mollydog! Thanks for your comment

Believe it or not, we've both travelled pretty extensively on motorcycles before. I even rode this exact XT from the UK to Iraq and back about seven years ago! I really think a lot of this trip's faults are down to bad lack (apart from the charging system haha, we were just hoping for the best there lol)

Love the battery jumper idea! Should have thought of that haha!

Yeah we're getting a second bike for Alissa, she also rides!

Haha yes we were confused as to why we were there in the midst of winter too. The leave date just kept getting pushed back, one thing after another kept cropping up and so we thought it's now or never! Plus, we've both ridden pretttty much through every European country now so we didn't feel too bad just blasting through!

And YES you're so right about meeting all these people, made all the difference!

Really appreciate your reply, made us both chuckle! All the best mate

After months of riding through snow and rain we finally found the Turkish coast, we hugged it tightly… swearing we’d never let go



As the glistening blue sea came into view I screamed louder than an excited kid on his first visit to the beach. Rational thought vanished and we ploughed straight into a sand dune … on road tyres. The rear wheel laughed and kicked gold dust everywhere, burying itself up to the panniers. And - just like with a kid - it took hours, three buckets of sweat and a lot of swearing to get the XT off the beach.



I pushed the bike over onto its side to pull the rear wheel out of the hole it had dug. Alissa filled the hole back up with sand and we spent the next 30 minutes building a make-shift road out of tree branches for traction before heaving the bike back upright. But we didn’t care. The sea was shining a turquoise tint, the sand hot to the touch and we couldn’t stop laughing (after we got out of the sand). We were finally on Turkey’s Mediterranean coastline … and we loved it!



We knew things were looking up as we first joined the Aegean coast at Cannakele, two weeks before linking up with the Med. We latched onto the coastal road at Canakkale to check out the huge Trojan horse movie prop from the film ‘Troy’, the area where the Trojan wars took place and its settlements dating back to 3000BC. From Troy we got sucked into a week of historical exploration as we toured the western coast.



Turkey’s peppered with incredible ruins, but the most famous of all is Ephesus; an ancient city first belonging to the Greeks, then the invading Persians and onto the Romans. It was first founded 1000BC and prospered to become one of the most important cities in the world. It peaked during the first and second centuries AD under Roman influence, with around 400,000 residents at its height. As a diverse and incredibly wealthy city it attracted thousands of pilgrims, merchants and people from all over Asia.





Despite only uncovering 15% of the city, it’s still astonishing; the Great Theatre seats 24,000 people, the terrace houses are as close to walking through archaeological finds as you can get and the details in the stone carvings on the temples and libraries are mesmerising.






One eerie, lonely column is all that stands of the Temple of Artemis - once one of the Seven Wonders of the Ancient World.



Our route detoured back inland to visit the cascading, terrace waterfalls of Pamukkale. The surreal hot mineral pools are cupped by calcium stone rocks, which are formed by volcanic lava heating water under the earth’s surface.





We strolled into Dalyan and found a dead end by a river, a little ferry appeared and waved us on. Not knowing where it was headed and with no other passengers on board we accepted and crossed the emerald green river. As the boat abandoned us on the shore and started to chug away, we shouted after the driver, asking how we get back – ‘yes’ was his reply. We rode underneath tombs carved into mountains, took a mud bath, made friends with tortoises crossing the road and relaxed, waiting for ferries to flit across the river.







The road from Dalyan to Fethiye, Kas and Olympos turned from boring two-lane straights to a ribbon of pretty black tarmac, lacing its way along the seafront and wrapping around cliff faces. We ended up in a tree house in Cirali and spent days on its completely deserted beach.



We hiked up a mountain to find the eternal flames of Yanartas. Burning continuously for over a thousand years the fires are steeped in legend and rumour – something about a fire breathing monster. After a quick Google search it turns out it’s most probably methane gas escaping from the rock. Either way, it’s pretty cool and the hike was easy up carved stone steps. However, Alissa wanted to keep going as she thought a poorly spray-painted arrow on a rock may signal more fires further up. And she was right, an hour’s climb up a precarious trail led us to another patch of fire seeping from the ground. But night had fallen, it was pitch black and we only had one phone’s torch for light. After hours of slipping in the dark, nearly falling down the mountain, searching for faded dribbles of spray paint on the odd rock and wrong turns with a dwindling phone battery we made it down.



While in Cirali we treated the bike to a mini-service by cleaning the calippers, brake pads and discs. But after tightening the chain we noticed another problem - the swingarm had play in it. Unsure whether it was the linkage or the bushes in the swingarm pivot we decided to head for the nearest Yamaha garage in Antalya. The mechanic checked the bike and suspected new parts might need to be ordered in, taking weeks. As he pondered the potential problem, a head popped up from behind a desk, staring straight at me. A second later and he was standing in front of me, shaking my hand vigorously with a beaming smile. It was Mehmet, one of the best mechanical engineers in Turkey. I first met Mehmet six years ago riding to Iraq. I had my bike serviced by him in Duzce, north Turkey, some 400 miles from Antalya in the south. Yamaha transferred him to the south to help start up the Antalya dealership. He recognised me instantly, wheeled the bike into the workshop, stripped the rear linkage, cast his Turkish magic, and with a little puff of smoke fixed the problem - refusing to take payment and offering us a place to stay for the night instead. I love Turkey.



But as much as we love the warm sand, we’ve now run out of precious coastline and have no choice but start our ascent north again – back into the cold. Never mind, we’ve got new tyres, a freshly fixed bike and brilliant memories. Bring on central Anatolia!

You can see where we are right now on Facebook at https://web.facebook.com/madornomads/ , check out our best photography at www.instagram.com/madornomad_ and all our blogs, updates, travel tips, destination guides and reviews on our website www.madornomad.com

Fair enough, hope your luck improves!
Was wondering if you knew WHY shock pre-load hydraulic line was cut? My guess is since you're over loaded and (suspension too soft) ... the bike sagged down so far that something cut that line.

So, you can either upgrade your shock spring and perhaps have the shock re-valved by an expert? ... or ... get another bike for Alisssa.


Yea, the jumper battery is good for a lot of things on the road. You can charge phones, computers ... comes with various plugs to cover most devices. And of course, will jump your bike easily. Here is a link for the one I got:
https://www.amazon.com/REDESIGNED-An.../dp/B01E5T4L74

Any idea which bike you might get?

You're so lucky to have been taken in by such accommodating folk. Life affirming encounters, I'd say! Simply amazing you randomly ran into the mechanic from previous trip! Kismet!

Here's to continued good (or better?) luck! Hope the weather is on your side!

I think you're bang on the money there MollyDog. The way they fitted the line was a bit silly though as it shouldn't have run in the direction of the chain! Equally my fault for not checking!

We're definitely planning on getting another bike for Alissa haha! We're thinking of something like a TTR250, whatcha think?

Brilliant! Thanks for the link

And yes, what a small world!

Thanks so much for your well wishes, hugely appreciated!

Rock houses, underground cities, hot-air balloons and some of the best hiking in the world! We’re going to miss Turkey… so much



A hundred pilots stood still, watching and waiting. Faint radio crackles, excited whispers and the accidental pre-emptive click of a camera echoed throughout the valley as a thousand people willed the sun to wake-up.



As the first glow of warm orange sun pierced through the rocks the patient pilots saw their cue. The crackles turned to shouts and the radios went berserk. They flicked the switches and cracked the gas. Fire roared above us and flames pumped hot air into the towering balloons.



The sun broke away from the earth’s surface like a slowly rising helium ball. As it climbed higher into the morning sky it’s gravitational strings snapped away – cutting gravity’s hold on the valley. Hundreds of balloons floated upwards, soaring over the Magical Kingdom of Cappadocia - instantly becoming one of the most special moments of our life.



Cappadocia is special, whether you’re floating 3,000 feet above it or clambering through tight tunnels 200 feet beneath it. And in the week we spent there, we did it all from top to bottom - and loved every minute of it.



My brother and sister, Robert and Lima, booked a last-minute flight and joined us in Cappadocia for three days. The four of us trekked all the major valleys, marching until our feet burned and night fell. We hitchhiked home when we couldn’t walk anymore and rented a car the next day to find and wander through even more valleys.







We drove to the underground cities, explored ancient hidden houses carved into rocks, got lost in Red Valley, slipped and stumbled down steep rock faces and watched the sunrise every morning. It’s an adventurer’s paradise.





Riding and exploring the dusty trails of Cappadocia was a stark contrast to the turquoise seas of the Turkish coastline. But getting there -and away- wasn’t easy. Just before we left Antalya we had our balding tyres changed at a highly recommended garage. For the first hundred miles the motorcycle weaved as it went over white lines. We put it down to new off-road rubber. Only as the hundreds of motorway miles ended and we ended up on the twisties (two days later) did I realise something was seriously wrong. We pulled in to a petrol station to inspect the tyres, embarrassingly realising the garage put the front tyre on the wrong way round, which meant the wheel and tyre had to come off there and then.



After Cappadocia we made our way to Trabzon on the Black Sea coast. But getting there turned into another hell ride. We spent two days riding through torrential rain and heavy winds only to be turned away by our AirBnB booking, which ended in a two-hour search for somewhere to sleep. It got even worse the next day as our route led high into the mountains. Within an hour we were atop a snowy mountain pass, white-walled with ice either side, the wind crashing into us from every angle, pushing us closer to the cliff edges. We had no choice but to crawl at 15mph, exposed to everything it could throw at us, soaking us through with rain, freezing our finger tips with ice and battering our bodies with wind - it took us an eternity to clear it.



Cold, tired and beaten we made our way to Lake Uzongul – our final stop in Turkey before pushing onto Georgia. Our last days in Turkey were spent off-roading into the mountains surrounding the emerald green lake, stuffing our faces with as much Turkish food as possible and soaking up as much as we could of the country we fell in love with.







Turkey is an alluring concoction of different worlds, mesmerising and ever-changing landscapes, delicious cuisine and incredible hospitality. We loved all of it, especially the wonderful, kind-hearted people we met along the way. Go there, you are going to love it too.

You can follow our round-the-world adventure on Facebook at https://web.facebook.com/madornomads/ , check out our best photography at www.instagram.com/madornomad_ and all our blogs, updates, travel tips, destination guides and reviews on our website www.madornomad.com Thanks!

5 weeks, 1500 miles, 40 hours of hiking and 3 countries… Welcome to our whirlwind through the Caucasus



For the first time – in a long time – our Yamaha took a back seat. And no, not because it broke down again. But because Alissa’s sister, Alanna, and my brother, Robert, joined us in the Caucasus - and we couldn’t all fit on the little Yam (we did try).

For the next five weeks the bike was swapped for hiking around Georgia’s glaciers, riding horses into the Armenian mountains, driving Rob’s rented Kia on roads it really shouldn’t have been on and exploring ancient Azerbaijan.



But our whirlwind in the Caucasus started way back in Batumi - a sweet seaside city just after the Turkish border. We visited Batumi just to see the rotating Ali and Nino statues collide into each other every 10 minutes for a quick kiss. The statues aside, we didn’t enjoy the food, missed Turkey, wound up at a Turkish cafe with the hope of finding one last tasty lahmacun. When we realised they didn’t have any we left sharpish for Kutaisi and a flight back…

We flew back home - not just because of the lahmacun debacle - but because we wanted to celebrate our friends’ wedding and couldn’t wait to meet a new friend at the same time. Making friends on the road is one of travelling’s brightest perks - but the friends at home are irreplaceably special and it’s always worth stashing a few pennies aside for a cheeky flight back.

Two of us left Georgia for the UK, but three of us returned. Alissa’s sister Alanna packed her rucksack and joined us for the next five weeks. We dragged the bike out of our Georgian friend’s garage, Alanna jumped into a marshutka (bus) and we worked our way to the capital, Tbilisi.



Tbilisi quickly turned into our planning base. We prepped for the months ahead, plotted routes and wandered around the sprawling city visiting every attraction we could find.







I changed the Yamaha’s oil, filter, coolant, brake fluid and pads while Alanna built a new tube out of guttering, glued it together and cable tied it to the pannier rack to store our waterproofs- all for £2.50. And Alissa repacked, condensed and fixed the luggage.







Tbilisi was important for us as we planned on getting our Russian visas there (Plan A was to get them in the UK, but the wait was too long so this was Plan B). We needed a double-entry visa, valid for three months and to start in three months from date of application. But the embassy was chaos. Within an hour of arriving it swelled and quickly turned into shoving and screaming. There was no way we were getting our visa here. Now we move to Plan C – try and get the visas in Kazakhstan (highly unlikely). So instead of drowning our sorrows we decided to nearly drown ourselves - literally - as we tackled Tbilisi’s white-water rafting routes.





We took the wrong hiking path up and trapesed a ridiculously steep, sweaty and dusty road for three hours. That became the norm for the next week.


Alissa and Alanna planned walks, treks, climbs and hikes all over Kazbegi. From waterfalls to abandoned villages, ancient forts and the formidable and exhausting glacier hike. I was happy to get out of Kazbegi, if just to give my feet a rest.



We blasted back to Tbilisi to meet Robert, who flew into Kutaisi, picked up a rental car and bombed it to Tbilisi. We shoved all our gear in the Kia’s miniscule boot, Alissa and Alanna jumped in and we drove in convoy straight for the Armenian border.



No way was I paying a fine to exit the country. Nobody told me at the Turkish/ Georgian border about insurance. “It’s a new rule”. After stubbornly sitting there for 20 minutes, we came to an agreement – I had 30 days to pay the fine. I would be in Armenia for 10 days, back in Georgia for two days and then exiting to Azerbaijan. I could then pay the fine the next time I come back or (as we eventually became friends) as the border guard joked - maybe my grandkids could pay one day. Finally, they let me go - probably just to get rid of me.

By the time we got through the Armenian border it was pitch black, pouring with rain, I was soaked through and the Yamaha’s headlight bulb gave up. It took two hours of crashing into deep pot holes before we finally found somewhere to sleep and start our Armenian adventure.

You can follow our round-the-world adventure on Facebook at https://web.facebook.com/madornomads/ , check out our best photography at www.instagram.com/madornomad_ and all our blogs, updates, travel tips, destination guides and reviews on our website www.madornomad.com Thanks!

Great trip reporting!

I'm finding myself responding inwardly on two levels, the first being a mix of envy and appreciation for your adventurous spirit and the places it's taking you. Careful planning is all well and good, but the easy availability--both print and internet--of all sorts of information about almost everywhere and everything, along with the flexibility provided by debit cards, ATMs, tends to deprive us of the actual "adventure" aspect of adventure travel. The good stuff happens when advance knowledge, understanding, internet connectivity, and other established systems break down and we're suddenly thrust into the unknown. It gets uncomfortable, but that's how we discover unexpected sources of strength within, and there are almost always local people inviting us into their lives and helping us carry on. That doesn't happen too much when we've eliminated all the uncertainty by being totally prepared and informed.

But the other side of my response is that in your frequent descriptions of being, for example, too hypothermic to manage basic functions, or stumbling around unknown mountains in the dark, I hear a strong possibility of life-altering injury or death. Yes, these experiences sometimes provide the great adventures which we seek--not least because they make the best stories later on. But it's also true that on some occasions our luck doesn't hold, and instead of a good story people get badly hurt or don't ever return.

I've had my share of that sort of adventure, and I've emerged rather better off than some I've known who've suffered disability or death. One key lesson to be learned from such experiences is that none of us gets an infinite number of chances, and that we're never too far removed from the end of all the good stories.

Hope to keep reading your stories for (at least) many years to come!

Mark