The border between Peru and Bolivia had gone remarkably smoothly although we just narrowly escaped getting involved with a tourist bus load off people waiting to get stamped into Bolivia. By talking nicely to their guide, we managed to jump the massive queue. Then it was just a matter of the Aduana. All pretty standard stuff. The bikes have to be exported out of one country and imported into the next all routine when you’ve already crossed so many borders. And we’re in. We’ve just entered our 14th country on this trip and you can’t believe how relived we both were after being laid up in Peru for three months with Jyl’s broken ankle. Finally, we were back on the move and we were progressing South towards Ushuaia. 

From the boarder we only had a short ride to reach the city of la Paz where we planned to stay just a few days to visit the city’s sights, sort out some motorcycle insurance and meet a couple of motorcycle traveling friends Jet and Jerry who were also in town, then we’d move on. We have planned to shorten our stay in the country (due to time lost in Peru) to approximately 10 days but without missing out on any of the attractions the country has to offer us but by doing this we would stand more chance of catching the seasons to our advantage down south. 

The afternoon thunder storms had started to build up all around us getting heavier and darker as we ride on. This has always been a fun game for me (much to the annoyance of fellow riders) you sort of know sooner or later you’re going to get soaked but you run the gauntlet. Will the road favour you or not? On this occasion the road starts to bend away from the massive black cloud that is now right in front of us, the cloud which has also just started discharging massive bolts of lightning, some of which are grounding alarmingly close by .The gamble worked, no waterproofs required yet!! The road turned to the right and toward clearer sky’s and we had just started passing the outskirts of the storm then clonk! 

My heart sank. I know deep down as I hit the kill switch and coasted to the side of the road that it wasn’t good. I’d felt something deep inside the motor let go. There was a sudden loss of power and a lot of vibration. 

I felt quite sick. Here we are in the middle of nowhere about twenty miles from our destination in a totally strange new country with no local SIM card for either phone on a road with hardly any shoulder and with massive trucks on a mission to pass us by as close as they possibly could and to top it all now the storm is probably gunner catch us .  I tried a few road side hopefuls had a plug failed? Can I fix anything with Sellotape tape and zip ties?  A squirt of WD40 had no effect. There was nothing I could do here the situation was actually quite dangerous with the trucks not budging an inch on their way past. I hopefully pushed the starter and It clonked and grumbled and started it wasn’t happy but it ran. I just got on it and off we set. It wasn’t very happy but it was moving slowly towards our destination, if we could get there, there is at least a chance of finding some sort of assistance. There’s lots going through my mind, could it be a simple fix? have I missed something? are we still going to get soaked buy one of the many storms? And dam you bike, you wait until the only country in South America that has no Harley Davidson dealer, could it be any worse as it slowly bumps and clonks into the outskirts of la Paz?

 

The Madness now begins, total madness we expect it and sometimes dread going into these big South America cities, but this was a different league altogether one sick bike, bad roads, more collectivos (mini busses from hell) than you’d ever want to see in one place. Of course, no one knows we have a sick bike but it’s much the same as any other big city. We stand out as ever like two gringos on Harley Davidson motorcycles, not a common sight but that don’t mean nowt. You get no sympathy; you have to do battle with the locals just to survive and to make any sort of progress! That’s ok in a normal situation you adapt and you get involved, you drive like the locals.  But with a bike that just wants to die and a sat nav that usually freaks out when it gets to a big city this time, we would be lucky to make it to our hotel alive. But make it we did, both relieved we park the bikes in the underground car park and retire to our room to gather our thoughts and make some sort of plan. First though we need food. I ask Jyl to put a shout out on social media to anyone and everyone for ideas and assistance advice. As I go off to walk the busy streets in search of food (the vegetarian option was very hard to find). I return with nothing! 

We ask the receptionist to order us a pizza, never a very good idea in South America but it is food, they just don’t seem to do pizza down here that well.

Jyl has asked in several traveller’s groups on Facebook and is waiting a reply and has also WhatsApp’d a guy called German who she had previously been getting information about Bolivia off. German lives in Cochabamba and also rides a Harley and puts us in touch with the Harley Davidson Club Bolivia and given us contact details for the club president Eduardo. Eduardo is most helpful and encouraging over the WhatsApp and says he knows several mechanics in the area and he is keen to help. He arranges to come to the hotel at 2pm the following day. Friday arrives with new hope. I potter about the bike but I know it’s sick beyond my basic mechanical knowledge. And so, begins an inevitable chapter of the journey. It was bound to happen to either one of us sooner or later. A chapter that I’m so pleased to have been part of (apart from the money it cost which really did hurt us).  If you know me, you’ll know I’m pretty laid back. A boss at work once told me in a tense situation “if you were any more laded back, you’d fall over” so I’ve always been of the mind set in life that you don’t have problems you have opportunities. The opportunities here are endless and they all have the potential to be good. We head down to the carpark just before 2pm and bump into a motorcyclist on our way down, Sergio. We all go to the carpark and before long in walks Eduardo el President of Harley Davidson club of Bolivia. He has brought a Harley T-shirt for Jyl and is on the phone as soon as the introductions are over. Eduardo speaks a little bit of English and Sergio had just come to meet these two crazy gringos and to get involved. Eduardo announces that, ‘he’ is coming at 4 pm and we must move hotel!!!! Ok who is coming at 4pm and why?? The mechanic he takes your bike! And it’s bad area new hotel I know a man has hotel it’s better for you!  Ok sometimes you just have to go with the flow we were after all in their hands.
 

Just after 4 pm the most unlikely looking Harley mechanic came wondering down the carpark ramp German (pronounced Herman) just looked like any other local walking in of the street and was carrying a plastic bag with a few items in including one can of beer.  introductions are made he takes out his phone and shines the torch over the motor and starts it up for a listen, he cheeks the oil then talks to Eduardo “he takes the bike now” says Eduardo. Eeeek, Ok I agree. Put yourself in my shoes would you let this happen, three strangers turn up shake your hand and take your bike. What could possibly go wrong, I wondered?? I even helped German push the bike back enough so he would have a good run up at the 45deg ramp he was going to try to get my sick bike up. Lots of revving of the motor, popping and banging and off it went, flying up the ramp with a local who didn’t even have a helmet with him, good bye bike. My whole life, this whole trip just went flying out the hotel carpark. 
Eduardo announces he will be in touch later and we must change hotel this is bad area. Not too encouraging for a guy that’s just seen his bike disappear into the busy streets of this “bad area”.
I had no real concerns though I trusted these people. I had no real choice in reality and I was still hopeful things could be sorted sooner rather than later. 

Next morning after a lot of WhatsApp conversations Eduardo and his brother arrive at the hotel in a sexy 4x4 pickup truck to take us to our new accommodation via a visit to the mechanic to see the bike and get the news. We load the bags into the 4x4. Jyl rides in comfort and I followed on the Sportster. We drive and ride across town to eventually arrive at Germans house. Eduardo and Sergio had been constantly telling me he is a good mechanic he is, the best mechanic in Bolivia. German doesn’t speak a word of English but I’m taken into his work shop, a basic garage with no fancy snap on tools or workbenches no expensive bike lifts but it’s full of Harley’s. All sorts from an Ironhead Sportster to a V-Rod and almost every type of Harley in between and there, wedged in the middle like the new kid in town was mine already stripped and problem found. Germans wife and son came out with cold drinks. German’s son helped his father in the workshop and spoke a few words of English and so the conversation went something like this ... 

‘Inner cam bearing (needle bearing) broken I need one month ....’ 
‘Can you make it happen in one week we have to leave Bolivia soon?’
‘I’ll check more Monday and let you know.’

You can’t ask more than that of a guy who has already prioritised this English bike to the front of his already busy work load. Eduardo was most excited as they uncovered one of the bikes in the yard waiting to be fixed. It had fairing damage and had obviously been involved in a slight tumble. “Look, this bike belongs to the president” yes, the President of Bolivia. More hand shaking and off we went. I felt a lot more comfortable now having seen the bike and that it was being worked on and finding out more about the people involved, but a week to fix that , a week would be a bodge job, I knew the motor had to come out and the crank split so it could be totally cleaned of all the shrapnel from that poxy bearing. This was a lot of work in its self, let alone any parts required would probably need to come from the USA.

Not to worry now the Jyl is flying across town in the sexy 4x4 pick up and I’m trying to keep up on her Sportster. I could see them all looking back and laughing at this six-foot 5 giant on such a small bike trying to keep up with them. Eventually we arrive at our new accommodation and are met by Juan Carlos and his daughter Vale at the entrance to their house and are shown to to back garden where there are two small self-contained properties, one of which will be ours for the foreseeable future. No time to hang around, bags in, price agreed, change of clothing and we jump back in the pick-up and are driven to another house a few blocks away for the Harley club Bolivia’s Saturday night BBQ and get together. Turns out our host Juan Carlos is also a Harley rider. We eat some fine nosh and meet some great people they do like there whisky this lot but me as ever, behaved of course, I drank their beer and stuck to the Bacardi. They would not except any donations towards the food or drinks.

 
When we returned Juan Carlos wobbled off and the lovely Maria appeared to introduce herself and to tell us about breakfast in the morning. Breakfast was included and would be served in the garden.
Over breakfast the next morning the situation started to become a little bit clearer. There had been much drunken talk at the party last night and everyone had a plan to help us. Juan Carlos had been the quite one in the background just sipping his whiskey, watching and listening. Turns out though, Eduardo had called him in search of Germans number. Juan Carlos and German are old friends and we are told that the President of Bolivia has a fleet of Harley’s used as escort vehicles for parades & police etc and that German used to work for the President ( but is now retired) servicing  and maintaining these bikes and insured us he is the best Harley mechanic in Bolivia. He wants to check your bike more tomorrow and will be around with the news at 4 pm.

 
True to his word although a little later than 4 pm on the Monday, German appears and with translations from Vale we discovered the oil pump was also trashed. He had a list of parts to be ordered and assured us he knew the team at Harley Davidson in Miami, German would take care of the order.  With express delivery the parts could be here in a week. He would not except a rush job or if he did, he would not guarantee his work. If I allowed him to strip the motor totally, he would totally guarantee his own work, not that this would help us we would be long gone if the bike need to be returned it would have been difficult. But the fact that German cared enough to want to do the job ‘properly’ mattered a lot “ 

 

We gave him the go ahead to order the parts express and complete the work as soon as he could. 
We now knew we were going to be in Bolivia longer than expected. Nothing you can do about it, just get on enjoy the down time. We decided to visit the places we had on our list so as to maximise our time in Bolivia. Other than la Paz which we could now visit at our leisure, we wanted to visit  Uyuni and the World’s biggest salt flats, ride the death road you know the one that was on top gear a few years ago ,so we decided to get these done while the bike was off the road. Uyuni and the salt flats we took an overnight bus, stayed there, took a 4x4 tour of the salt flats and the surrounding area and then took an overnight bus back to our new home in la Paz. The death road it just so happens that Juan Carlos, Maria, Vale and one of Vales friends were going up that way for a weekend away and invited us along with the promise of driving the death road. What a wonderful weekend it was, Juan Carlos had fun driving the death road and trying to scare us all.  I must confess I’m a little bit disappointed I didn’t get to ride the death road on my own bike. In the mean time we settled in to family life with these wonderful people, totally taken under their wing and meeting their friends we are taken out to dinner with friends and members of the Harley club. And discovered things we would not have seen or done had we moved on as scheduled. Eventually news comes, the parts are in the country but the customs have them, maybe in 24 hrs you can get them. As it is in this part of the world someone probably needs there ‘little something to help it along’ but German has it under control it’s just more time we don’t really have. Eventually a meeting is called in Juan Carlos’s kitchen with Vale there to translate. German brings a box of shiny parts including cams, cam plates, bearings, piston rings, oil pump and a total gasket set etc and a bill!  German agreed that he would give up his weekend and work totally on my bike until it’s complete. And this he did. We were getting worried as any problems now would involve extending paperwork for Bolivia for the bikes. We hassle Juan Carlos for updates but don’t want to pressure German too much, who sends regular updated progress pictures, then one morning Juan Carlos leaves the breakfast table and goes out the kitchen, he returned with his phone in hand. He has a video showing my bike running. So happy, happy, happy, happy. He has more tests and a test ride to complete but he will bring the bike back tomorrow. Wow, it’s so close. We have to leave the morning after he brings it back to be out of the country in line with our tourist visa and bike import paperwork. We ask one more favour of German. It’s hard for visitors to get gas (fuel) at some stations. Here some people get refused gas others have to pay double what the locals pay, to get gas, the registration and passport number has to be logged into the pump and this determines the price per litre. This is something Bolivia brought in to discourage its neighbouring countries residents from crossing the borders and buying their cheap gas. So, we ask just so we can get a good hassle free run the next morning, could German fill the bike up with cheap gas on his way here? Juan Carlos replied he knows the President, I’m sure he can. In reality he couldn’t because of the foreign plates so, he took another bike filled it up then drained the tank into mine. He delivered the bike back to Juan Carlos’s house 7 o’clock that evening full of gas and ready to go. I asked Vale if she would translate one question and that was. Would the German be happy to ride that bike to Ushuaia and back? Without hesitation he said yes. It’s a good job. My work is guaranteed Comforting words to me.