We’d had plenty of warning about the this border, not that it was notorious for it’s risk level, only for the fact that it had 3-4 or different office to visit and each one was several blocks or kilometres apart.

Fore warned is fore armed, and all that and with the right offices found we’d made quick work of exiting Peru and entering Ecuador. Now the only thing holding us up was the small fact that all the roads were blocked off as the mayor and other dignataties raised the town flag as the wonderfully out of tune marching band did their best to keep it together. Even the local military had become involved and dressed in green and black were looking very…funky?

Finally and to rapturous applause the parade came to end and the 100’s of pedestrians that had now built up behind the blockade, could once again flood the small streets. We were somehow going to have to push our way through them, whist trying not to kill anyone, easier said than done, when no-one moves. Yep, we know we’re heavier, larger and more clumbersome, but these guys just don’t care. When it come to playing ‘chicken’ these guys win hands down.

On the other swide of town we breathed a sigh of relief.

Machala, Naranjal and Guayaquil came and went as we headed North and by late afternoon we were skirting escarpments and diving into lush green vallies. Banos still seemed a long way off. Sass, Skank and their clients had left Punta Sal of days earlier and we’d arranged to meet up with them tonight. Right now we weren’t even sure if we were going to make it. We’d not really eaten and we defineatly hadn’t consumed enough water. The pot-holed mountain roads were taking their toll on the bikes as well as our concentration.

We exchanged the R25 for the Ruta 35 at Riobamba and pushed on it was now low dusk and we’d crossed a border and covered 300-miles. Across to our North East the horizon darkened ominously, the threatening sihoulette of saw the volcano Tungurahua was unmistakable. We just had imagines it would be so…BIG!!!

OK, so now we knew…there’s no way we’re going t make it before night fall. Stopping at a small gas station we wearily changed dark visors for clear and pushed on.

At Ambato we lef the Ruta 35 for the smaller 50. The last 60 miles were dragging. “C’mon, how far can this fucking place be”? To make matter worse everyone on the road seemed intent on either running us of it or blinding us with their lights on full beam. The dazzling lights in tandem with the mud and lava slides that were still covering parts of the road were testing us. Now all we wanted to do was arrive and rest weary asses.

The bright lights of Banos and the familiar sight of Skank’s truck parked up in the yard of the Hostel were a sigh t of sore eyes…literally.

Night, night.

After all my winging above…Bano was worth the effort. Our hostel is cheap, clean and one of the best we’ve staid in South America.

It’s been a great couple of days; we’ve soaked in the volcano fed thermal spa and blattedaround the mountainsides of Banos to get a really good view of this belching monster…Tungurahua. The photos will give you a better idea than my dark descriptives. And yes it did feel intimidating to be so close to an active volcanoe that only a few months ago was spewing so much lava and ash that the entire town of Banos evacuated.

Here’s the basics:

Met guy (Christian) on a V-Strom just outside Ambato. He took us into Quito and to the hostal that Skank and Sass recommended– which was full. So had to stay at a more expensive one just across the road and then moved in the following day to the cheaper one. Hostal Jardin del Sol (GPS: S0 12.239 W78 29.380). Good and secure parking.

Met up with the Bukima gang the following night and went out to the bar that most of the truck drivers and tour leaders use……too much booze was had by all.

We spent most of the next few days just working at the internet café down the road from the hostal and meeting the gang and catching up with writing.

Otavalo came and went as we headed North. Slowly but surely the landscape was changing. The drier scrub of the last few days was disappearing, now it had been replaced with dark green bush and emerald farmed land reaching high into the mountains that we were now riding through. The road was a great, twisty mountain road….but the hills around really reminded us of the hills around Devon!

The small town of Ibbara looked pretty uninviting. Small shack vendors limply offered fruit as we rode past. Dusty, rocky sections intermingled with pot-holed tar. Well, it kept us alert anyway.

We needed to get a move on; the heavy dark clouds covering the sky were looking ominous. So far we’d been lucky and seemed to have dodged the few light downfalls we’d seen. We were making good progress. Another 30 minutes and we’d be in Tulcan.

“Something wrong with my clutch, it doesn’t feel right”, Lisa commented over the Autocom. A few minutes later I could see her slowing radically. “Shit, shit” she yelled. “What wrong, what’s up”? “My clutch cables gone. I’ve got to pull over”, came the reply.

A few minutes later and I’d parked up and I was already trying to find the brake in the cable. OK, so the problem wasn’t anything more serious than the cable and we already had a new cable routed and in place. Well, for whatever reason 50 minutes later and we were still at the roadside trying to attach a cable which looked to be a little too short. With our Leathermans and some brute force we’d finally got both ends attached. We’ll have a good look at it in Bogota in Colombia, but seeing as the cable was the original one….we don’t think its done too badly!!!!

With all the important bits reattached we could finally get back on the road. Sure enough some 20 minutes later and we sitting in the centre of Tulcan looking for a hotel candidate for the night. We’d already scouted through our Lonely planet but Lisa had done some research on the internet and Hotel Frailejon looked like a good bet. The small dusty compound looked like a secure place for the bikes, heavy metal doors securing the entrance. For $10 for the both of us the price was right.

Ceaser was at reception and had checked us in and was already giving us a hand with our heavy bags up to floor 3.

With our kit stowed and bike kit exchanged for jeans we found dinner 3 blocks down. Dinner conversation was an excited conversation about Colombia…the good the bad and the ugly.

Next instalment from Colombia.