Shortly after the highest passage of the Andes i stood wet in the icy river , holding my motorcycle with all my strength to avoid it drifting with the current. Helplessly tried to scream for help but to no avail . "Where the robbers when they are needed ," I thought and prepared for the worst.



So begins my journey in South America. With a special love for motorcycles and a dream that been cooked for four and a half years in the army .I Bought a motorcycle in Lima, Peru, and began to climb the Andes Mountains . I wanted to do a different trip . . Reach places as far away as possible to think about.With an advise of some climbers I met on the way I went to cross one of the highest mountain pass in the Andes ,The Punta Olimpico , at an altitude of 4690 meters .


i arrived the capital of Peru treks Huaraz and stayed there for a day of preparation and study traffic route in the mountains until i was ready to head off.

Several days of travel poor roads winding them up the mountain of heights I have not seen before. Stunning views of snow-capped mountains , lagoons changing colors and the air,Oh the air ... for the night I was looking for a place to set up the tent. I met a local who said that there are robbers on the roads so i started looking for a place hidden from the road.



The sun was setting between the mountains and i didn't have much time of daylight . for several houres i did not see any person or village. I decided to get off the road and sleep on the other side of the river [ assuming that's where the robbers will not come ] a few seconds of deliberation " just a little stream ," I said to myself , I released the clutch and went into the river.


Incorrect assessment of the depth of the river , the construction of a lack of concentration, the front wheel hits a big rock and I'm falling with the motorcycle into the water ( the same water that a few hours seen as snow in the mountains ) I stood in a frozen stream Holding my motorcycle with all my strength to avoid drifting with the current, I was helpless and I tried to scream for help " where the robbers need them " I thought. The thin air at that altitude made it *even more difficult for me .



After a few seconds I pulled myself together and managed to lift the motorcycle that with all his gear weighed close to 280 kg. now the Bike is not starteing . the next thirty minutes I pushed the bike idle the remaining seven meters of the river , but at least I got the place I wanted. Hidden from the road and across the creek .


I spent the night with a knife open in my hand and waited. Every noise outside the tent made ​​me tense and be ready for those who come rob me. More than once I woke up from the cold and the fear that I was on the verge of hypothermia , I left the gas stove on and I got up to do pushups to warm up a bit. Most of my thoughts that night were on the fact that i have to cross the bloody river back in the morning.



That night I started writing the first words of this diary . I decided to continue north to the mountains. Despite the danger and loneliness was something fascinated from the strength of nature. it made ​​me Stay




If you find it interesting wait until you hear the story from the Rally race in Colombia



Or how i crossed the Dorian Gap [for free]


Or the day i had to play the mandolin for my life in front of 70 angry protesters and Cauca vally


and Why the hell my bike is in a Herqulis air craft of the Colombians Air Force??




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motorcycle diaries

I'm crossing Africa at the moment so I will try to post a story from South America Once a week

cheers

Rom

After a month and a half in Ecuador I got to the border of the infamous state - Columbia. Quite a few people I met on the way warned me not to enter.



Drugs, guerrilla wars, kidnappings and corrupt administration were only a few of the concerns. However there were others that said Columbia is the most beautiful country in the world and I should not miss it. I decided to judge it for myself.
When I got to the border there were dozens of police officers wearing heavy shields and weapons to disperse demonstrations.

The passport clerk took me aside and told me that massive protests had just begun across the country and the roads are full of rebels that would hurt anyone who tries to cross through.
So tatters the little expectations I had from this country.



After dozens of checkpoints along the way, I managed to get the first city : Pasto ( Pasto ) it was crowded and hot. I started looking for a hostel . For two hours I rode around in the city at 37 brakes per minute, failed to find a hostel with motorcycle parking . It was hot and humid, the motorcycle temperature gauge passed the red line, which did not improve my mood. I was hungry, tired and irritable and, worse, it was getting dark. I hated Columbia.

I pulled aside helplessly to cool off the hot engine. Suddenly out of the darkness two angels in a white Volvo appeared and stopped to ask if I needed help. They generously offered for me to come and stay in their house and asked me to follow them. Slowly we left the noisy city and we headed up towards the mountains. We went through a large gate and the road became paved stones, surrounded by stunning scenery and grasslands until we got to a huge property.



The following days I spent with their family in their mansion. The days where filled with farm tours, fishing, running and teaching them to prepare Shakshuka. At the same time the situation in Colombia deteriorated, every day I watched the news with hope that it will end and the roads would open so I could continue my journey.
After two weeks I decided to go. The plan was to get up early and ride 8 hours nonstop to Cali ( Cali ) . Why travel without stopping? Cauca valley ( Cauca ) is dangerous, controlled by guerrilla bands - stopping there means risking kidnapping for ransom .

I woke up at 5 in the morning full of energy, parted with kisses and hugs from the wonderful family and left. I had a good feeling that day. I managed to go out of the city without any issues and felt I was going to make it!!

I was alone on the road, the music played in my ears and I was singing out loud in my helmet. I was free again.
The road gradually became narrower. I rode through a mountain pass and suddenly saw a huge road block with around 70 angry protestors. They ran towards me with rocks and sticks in their hand.
The only thing I could tell at that moment is that they weren’t very friendly.



A brief analysis of the situation told me it was too late to turn around. I collected all the confidence that exists in my body, I took gears and speed down until I was just as far to hit me with their clubs. I stopped the bike, took off my helmet and started to laugh. The crowd looked at me as though I landed from Mars and did not understand why I'm laughing. "There's no pass" they shouted angrily.

"don’t worry my friends, I came here for you. I;m going to talk with your stupid president that will do something to change the situation." Everyone started laughing, I laughed with them. The hostile stares stopped and I felt safer. Everyone came up to me and started to look at the bike. Suddenly, one shouted: "If you play us your guitar we’ll let you pass." surrounded by a fierce crowd with clubs and stones, I found myself sitting and playing the mandolin.



I finished and every one applauded. They agreed to open the checkpoint: "You're a good person and can pass," one of them said. "But know that you have no chance to get to Cali, there are another five checkpoints along the way and as you go further their anger is increasing. They will kill you. "Maybe fly to Cali," shouted someone from the back. Everyone started laughing and I laughed with them, but sadly, because I know that I cannot continue. I cannot fly. I turned around and started to follow the route back.

I was upset, I knew that things could take a few months and I felt stuck. I remembered them shouting at me to fly and I started thinking about that possibility. But how with the motorcycle? With a little faith I went to the nearest airport, which had become a closed military area because of the situation.
The guard stopped me and was surprised to see me there. As I was telling him my story, came through the gate the chief commander of the Airport. Luckily he loved motorcycles and even luckier he was trained by the Israeli air force. “Wait here, I'll see what can be done," he said and left.

I was given permission to enter the airport. I went straight to a large group of soldiers that were amazed to see me, a civilian, in their militarized airport.



I spent the time waiting surrounded by dozens of soldiers telling them brave stories about the Israeli Army. One of the officers pulled out a pistol and handed it to me, "This gun is best to have here," he said “Jericho" made by Israel Military Industries which had a Hebrew inscription. One of the soldiers cut my stories and pointed to the sky, "your aircraft" he said, as a Hercules landed.



One of the officers took me and to the entrance of the landing strip, another policeman with a dog gave me a drug test and I was rushed to the aircraft ramp. The pilots got to help push the heavy motorcycle into the belly of the plane.

Flight mechanic closed the door and the plane took off. I could not believe it was happening, I laughed out loud, looked out the window down to the ground disappearing. “Maybe try to fly, ah!” I said as I soared above the rebel roadblocks. See who laughs last .



next week rally race in Colombia with a surprising ending...

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