We almost extended our stay in La Paz by yet another day, but fearing we would need to apply for citizenship if we kept putting off our departure any longer, we mounted our steeds and headed for La Cumbre Pass, the northern gateway to La Paz and in the direction of Rurre. 120km out of La Paz, having descended almost 3,000m the asphalt ended, replaced by a narrow and winding dusty road. With the amount of oncoming traffic, in the form of speeding buses and trucks, it was more of a ‘death road’ than the original! Trying not to collide with the maniacs coming the other way is one thing, but overtaking is almost impossible. Riding into a cloud of dust and literally ‘feeling’ your way past a big truck is not for the faint hearted…

Having accustomed ourselves to average heights of 4,000m and temperatures hovering just over 0 degrees, our bodies were now in somewhat of a shock. We were struggling to adampt to the humidity and 40 degree temperatures. In addition our asses were hurting like hell! Maybe difficult to believe after 110,000km on the road, but not unusual after such an extended rest. Exhausted and overheated, at the end of each days ride, we had just enough energy to put up the tent and unpack our sleeping bags. The rest was just a blur and before we knew it, the suns rays were creeping into the tent inviting us for another long day in the saddle.

It wasn’t as boring as it may seem though. If the views weren’t enough to occupy our minds, then the breakdowns were fast becoming an unwelcome alternative. It seems the Africa Twin is starting to show signs of the long road we have traveled… About 200km out of La Paz the engine just stopped. Suspecting another electrical fault (ie. regulator, battery), Kamil inspected all the connections. It turned out the the battery had run flat because it wasn’t being charged by the generator. It turned out it was because of dirty connections at the battery. Maybe it does pay to wash the bike once in a while?
Next, we had two quick flat tyres on the Africa Twin. Both were because of perfect straight cuts on the tube. Something wasn’t right. A close inspection revealed that one of the wires in the tyre had come through the rubber and was puncturing the tube. Some roadside cosmetic surgery repaired the tyre, but it’s evident it hasn’t got too many km’s left. We were hoping to get to Colombia on the current tyres, but it’s not looking good. Not only is the rear falling apart, but the front (a cheap Chinese imitation bought in La Paz) is wearing fast too. Fingers crossed!

With the Africa Twin sorted it was now time for Iza’s Bros to start spluttering and dying every 10km’s. We could not figure out why! We checked the spark plugs, air filter, battery connection and even cleaned the carburattor. Nothing helped. Finally, a couple frustrating hours later, Kamil figured out that the fuel flow was being restricted somewhere. Blowing clean the fuel tap that feeds fuel out of the tank, did the trick. The Bros coughed no more!

And so, after a few days we passed Rurrenabaque and rode into the Amazon basin propper. Excited by the prospect of all the jungle had to offer, we decided to camp by a river. Even if it meant having to navigate about 2km of dense jungle…

We had grand plans of a camp fire, sausages and maybe even a spot of fishing. Unfortunately, we didn’t count on all the mosquitos!! Arriving just before sunset, we were too late to get a fire going to ward off the invasion. Our only hope was the safety of the tent which protected us until the new day arrived and the mosquitos returned to wherever they magically appeared from. Our grand plan was foiled and the only reminders we were left with, were uncountable mosquito bites and about half-a-dozen ticks each. Ouch!!

We figured Bolivia had had enough of us and headed directly for the border with Brazil at Guayara-Mirim. After 1,000km of dusty off-road, it was “Adios Bolivia! Bem vindo Brasil!”

Brazil is one of our favorite countries. Brazilians are very relaxed, always smiling, ready to strike up a conversation and share an ice cold beer. The streets teem with music and football. We could still feel remnants of street parties from the last World Cup.

The friendliness was put on hold for a while though, when we got stopped by the National Guard. We were on our way to Porto Velho, when suddenly a black 4×4 basically cut us off and 3 heavily armed soldiers surrounded our bikes demanding we show them documentation. For a moment we though this might be an attack by some gang, but staring into the barrels of a couple automatic rifles, we didn’t bother to protest. Having checked out our documents and inspected every bit of our luggage, they relaxed a bit and explained what set them off. Iza’s number plate had broken off a few months before, but we never bothered to attach it back on. We just never seemd to have the time These guys thought we were drug smugglers from Bolivia, which is probably understandable.

Having ridden through some amazing jungle tracks in Liberia, Cameroon and the Congo, we were keen to do the same in the Amazon. Initially we considered riding the Trans-Amazonica all the way from Humaita to the east coast of Brazil, but a bit of research on the internet and reports from people we met on the road, told us that these days its nothing but a dusty four lane highway. Definitely not what we were looking for! So, we chose to take Route 319 from Humaita to Manaus. An overland option which is considerd to be one of the toughest in the Trans-Amazon network. Apparently its impassable in the wet season with some sections completely absorbed by the jungle, so most travelers take a river boat instead. We were also excited by reports of jaguars encountered on this road , something we were yet to see. Laden with an extra 30 litres of fuel (reports indicated there are no amenities for almost 700km) we set off with high expectations.

Unfortunately it proved to be a case of imaginations gone wild… People like to exagerate on their blogs to make them seem more exciting and so it was the case with this road as well. The reality is that it’s almost 50% asphalt. Bad asphalt, yes. But not unrideable. All bridges had been repaird and no jaguars were sighted, even though we slept in our tent right by the river.
Apparently, about 20 years ago the whole road was paved, until the ‘river boat mafia’ blew up section of the road in order to force people to travel by boat. That explained why you would have a section of good asphalt for about 500m and then another section of heaviy potholed dirt. Also, there are small communities strung out along the whole stretch of road, so in cases of emergency help wouldn’t be too far away. Our only emergences were a broken throttle cable on Iza’s bike (which we managed to fix) and an unquenchable thirst for beer, which we managed to partially sataisfy at one of the home run cafes

A nice catch! Our dinner in the Amazon jungle.

About 200km before Manaus, we met Igor coming the other way on a KLR650. He had been on the road for about 9 months, riding down from the U.S. He was curious to know where we had been sleeping at night, as everyone had warned him about the threat of jaguars. There’s even a story of a Japanese tourist being killed by one. Igor was relieved to hear we weren’t so ‘lucky’ to see any wild fauna…

A little over two and a half days after leaving Humaita, we arrived in Manaus. A metropolis in the middle of the jungle with a population of almost 2 million. It’s some 1500km from the Atlantic coast, but has a huge port which accomomdates oil tankers and cargo ships sailing in from the Atlantic. The amazon river really is big!!

A barge on the Amazon River.

In Manaus we were quickly approached by strangers eager to help a couple of foreiners, obviously new to their city. There was Andre, who offered his garage free of charge for any servicing we might need. Juan, a Peruvian living in Manaus, who helped us find the cheapest hotel with air-con. It didn’t bother us that most of the customers paid by the hour And then there were the guys from the local motorcycle group “Brazil Rider”, who we met for a beer and the local specialty - tacaca soup.

Lucio and Ghengis from the “Brazil Riders” motorcycle group.

A few days of chilling out in the comforts of a modern city and then we’re off north to Venezuela.