Chilas to Gilgit and the start of the KKH

It’s Father’s Day in Australia today so we started our day with a quick phone call to our dad’s back home, before we packed the bike and squeezed it out of the congested carpark of the North View Hotel about 08:15am, and stopping just down the road to refuel.

6th September is known as ‘Defence Day’ here in Pakistan, remembering Pakistan’s martyrs who have died defending the country from attack, dating back to 1965. 2015 is the 50th anniversary of the 1965 war, and we have seen many banners adorning the entrance to villages, and many programs on TV celebrating the success of the Pakistan military services.

A few km down the road from Chilas we stopped near the police checkpoint at the junction of the N35 and the N15 – the latter being the road we’d travelled up yesterday from Naran, and I let a few psi out of the front tyre.

The N35 north follows the Indus River, mountains rising high either side. The road itself was reasonable if not outstanding, and we just cruised along in second gear to better absorb the bumps and corrugations in the road. The river below was running quite fast and in many places we could see beaches of clean white sand that had been built up.

In a few spots the road surface had been ripped up or had been overtaken by sand, and so we had a few little off-road adventures along the way. At one point a new bridge was being installed by a Chinese construction team and the old bridge – which was still in use – had a road surface of metal plates, and in one place the plate had a big hole in it – which had then been plugged with some rocks. The metal plates were very slippery and it was a bit chaotic crossing the bridge and then negotiating some rough terrain on the far side as cars jockeyed for position and raced a truck for first place on the next stretch of narrow roadworks.

About 50km north of Chilas we came to the start of the rebuilt Karakoram Highway (KKH), and the road transformed into a two-lane highway. China has contributed financial and technical resources into the rebuilding of this highway, and whilst it may no longer be the hardcore adventure route of years gone by it’s still a magnificent ride through some of the most stunning mountain ranges in the world. Ever since I started reading about adventure riding six years ago (all thanks to Ken, my brother, and the copy of ‘Long Way Down’ he bought for me) I’ve been hearing about the KKH – one of the holy grails of adventure riding, and considered to be an engineering Eighth Wonder Of The World.

The road passes through the junction of the three mightiest mountain ranges in the world – the Himalayas, Karakoram and Hindukush and the confluence of the Gilgit and Indus Rivers. For a period the KKH was considered unsafe to travel on, but recent security improvements in Pakistan have seen the road re-opened to foreign travellers, and many riders use the KKH as a gateway between Pakistan and China. The road has its origins dating back to the Silk Road trade.

Road signs showed that the road was designed for 40kmh, but we enjoyed cruising along at a quicker pace, only once running the risk of being catapulted into a high retaining wall after hitting some ripples in a curve, but the big bike just hunkered down and ate up the bumps with barely a wriggle.

The road was magical, cutting along the embankments high above the river below, with the majestic mountains in the distance. The ride was over way too quickly and we did consider pushing on to our next planned overnight stop – Karimabad – but we’ve had some poor nights’ sleeping with constant noise and interruptions, and so the plan today was to have a short ride and rest in the afternoon, ready for the next couple of days.

We tootled into Gilgit and whilst looking for signs to the PTDC Motel I spotted a sign for the Gilgit Serena Hotel – perhaps more upmarket than the PTDC – but after a few nights in some fairly shonky places we were both ready for something a bit more relaxing and refreshing. Hot water and functional air conditioning is an absolute treat here in northern Pakistan, and we were both happy to check into the Serena and spend the afternoon unwinding and walking through the beautifully maintained gardens.

It’s about 5:00pm now and it’s drizzling outside – the forecast I saw this afternoon suggests that rain is to be expected over the next few days, so we’ll need to sort out our wet weather gear this evening, ready for tomorrow. I don’t think we’ve seen a drop of rain for months – not since Bulgaria from memory – so this will make for a pleasant change.

Happy Father’s Day everyone !!!

Our rough schedule had included two nights in Naran but after another noisy evening – this time brought on by the two Pakistani raves going off in the grounds of the PTDC Motel Naran, we had a bit of a sleep in followed by a simple breakfast and then packed the bike ready to move on.

Iqbal had suggested that we could cover the 234km from Naran to Gilgit in a day, but yesterday’s ride was about 8 hours long (not including rest stops), and the riding is getting more challenging, so we aimed instead for Chilas, about 110km north of Naran.

As soon as we were back on the road the terrain and landscape changed quite dramatically – the road following the contours of the river, and the mountains rising up high on either side of the valley. Traffic was light – private cars and small coaches the main protagonists. The road was surprisingly good but our average speed was still quite slow – every curve hid an obstacle around it, and there was no time to relax. Waterfalls started to flow across the road surface in many of the bends, quite strongly in places.

Just south of Babusar Pass we pulled over to stretch our legs for a few minutes, and to our complete surprise six adventure bikes appeared from the north, coming to a halt alongside us so we could have a chat. Eric from Seattle was on a BMW identical to ours, the German couple had two well-equipped DR650’s, Mike – the 19 year old Tasmanian on his way to setting a record for being the youngest rider to circumnavigate the world was on an XT660 (I think), and his dad Art was on an old school Triumph, and an English rider.

This group of riders had started from different origins and at different times – Mike and Art have been riding for three years now – but had all met up to share a tour guide through China, entering Pakistan via the Khunjab Pass.

We had a great chat, surrounded by many Pakistani tourists who had pulled over for the chance to snap a few selfies, before they headed south and we continued north.

The road dipped down to the river and we crossed a small rickety bridge before climbing up the steep, unpaved track on the far side. We had a series of switchbacks to negotiate, and we could see the huts and flags on the skyline that heralded the top of the pass, and just before we arrived it started to snow, the temperature dropping to 3 degrees C.

Karen managed to grab a quick photo of the bike beneath the ‘Babusar Pass’ sign before we were ushered to the side by some policemen, keen for us to complete some passport formalities. We took the opportunity to pull out my spare gloves for Karen and also the external panels for her riding jacket as she was freezing in the cold and the snowfall was intensifying.

We were inundated with requests for photos but we were busy trying to get organised, so after a few quick photos with a young couple who had patiently waited whilst we sorted out our gear we were back on the bike and heading down the northern side of the pass. The traffic on this side was extremely light – I was left wondering if Babusar Pass is a destination in itself for many Pakistani’s, as few of them were venturing any further.

The road was wet and slippery on the descent, and the landscape became even more rugged and mountainous. There were still villages on this side of the pass, very basic structures that seemed almost built into the side of the mountains. We dropped down to the valley floor and carefully negotiated some rough ground around the construction site for a new bridge. The old rickety bridge was still in use but the approach was more befitting a motocross track.

A bit further on a young man held out an apple as we rode past, so we turned around and returned for the first food we’d had since leaving Naran 4.5 hours previously. The man spoke no English but quickly proffered up another apple, and Karen and I sat on the bike and munched down the juicy apples, chatting with an elderly gentleman who had joined the small group around us. Two soldiers, one standing in the gun turret of an army vehicle watched on, quite amused I think.

The apples had a replenishing affect on the both of us, and we both settled into the last 50km or so, slowly crawling past herds of goats that blocked our path at times. As we rejoined N35 we stopped at the police checkpoint for some quick passport formalities, and then turned left (west) towards Chilas – about 10km down the road.

The first hotel we stopped at upon entering Chilas – the Pakistan Hotel – had no rooms, but we weren’t that phased as they had no security for the bike either. The next hotel – the North View – was quite basic, but they were also cheap and could accommodate both us and our bike. We unloaded, got changed, and then had a wild ride in a freelance taxi to another part of Chilas so we could get some rupee out of an ATM. It took three different ATM’s before we were successful, and it was a bit tense at times as the ATM’s were located in a tribal area of Chilas not usually visited by Westerners, but we completed our mission successfully and the biggest danger we faced was an MVA at the hands of Chilas’ #1 wanna-be rally driver.

Back at our hotel – one floor up and on the street front so we can enjoy all the sounds, it’s time to catch up with photos and videos and blogs. We have no power and the sun is setting behind a blanket of clouds, hopefully we’ll get some power tonight and be able to recharge some gear.

Whilst it was a short ride today it was still long enough in terms of time and distance, and the big bike proved itself time and again to be fantastic at carrying the two of us and all our gear over some pretty crappy roads. I’m pleased we fitted the new tyres in Islamabad a couple of days ago – you can’t beat a set of new Continental TKC80’s !!!

I have to say this was not one of my best days………after a very disrupted nights sleep in our single beds….thanks to housekeeping waking us up to deliver water we didn’t order…..we had a bit of breakfast and packed the bike trying to be on the road for the long day ahead by 8.00am. I have not slept properly for the past two nights thanks to invasive hotel staff, and the combination of being sleep deprived and unable to have a proper shower (due to the disgusting state of our hotel bathroom and lack of hot water or pressure – despite paying Euro 80) had left me very cranky and uncomfortable. So much so, that after about a half hour of putting up with the hotel staff all taking photos (without even asking) around our bike as we tried to get packed….I ended up snarling at two of them who tried to push between Vince and I to get to our bike seat for more photos. Not the best start to the day….but it sent them on their way and let us get on with our packing. I do appreciate we are a novelty and everyone loves the ANIMAL….and mostly I do tolerate it with good grace…..but sometimes I wish they would all just leave us alone and give us some space to get on with things.

Vince’s prep in navigating our way out of busy Islamabad paid off and we soon found ourselves fuelled up and headed North for Murree. Moving up into the mountains was lovely as the temperature dropped and the greenery surrounded us…..magical and more tranquil. As we weaved our way up the windy roads we still had to contend with a multitude of crazy traffic, animals, landslides and rockfalls… which Vince negotiated expertly…..but it did slow us down to an average of about 25km per hour…….very slow going. As we passed through small villages we were slowed even further by even more traffic and people. Still mostly men and boys….but the odd colourful woman could also be seen…….albeit hidden behind her veil. We were very excited to see wild monkeys for the first time.

Without an escort we could stop as we pleased and, although we wanted to press on as we knew we had a long day ahead to get to Naran (270km or so), we did stop for a cool drink around 10.30am, a toilet/coffee break and lunch in Abbottsabad around 1.00pm. We continued on our journey, enjoying the change of scenery and welcome cooler weather…..but it was a long, grueling day in terms of physical toll on both Vince and myself. By the time we arrived at Naran around 5.30 pm, our butts no longer belonged to us and our knees were in agony. We pulled up at the PTDC Motel, recommended by our friend Iqbal and tried to check in.

The double room (Euro 50) offered was right near a music festival, so we were shown to an alternative Cabana (Euro70) a bit further away…..but still noisy. There was no hot water or water pressure …..so I had to remain dirty again and to top it off my “tummy trouble” is back……could it get any worse….but wait… yes it could! As we walked back from viewing the Cabana to the reception I saw someone on the ANIMAL… holding her upright like he was going to ride off…..I yelled out… but he ignored me so I started running…..yes guys….I CAN RUN….. I was furious and told him to get off my bike….he continued to ignore me like I didn’t exist… as his mate took photos on his phone! I had to really control my urge to grab the phone and smash it to pieces….the ordacity of them was just outrageous! Eventually he got off….no remorse or apology….his only explanation was “We like your bike” with a big stupid grin on his face……I yelled at him… telling him that I didn’t care if he liked it or not….it was private property and he had no right to sit on it or touch it. I asked how he would feel if I sat in his car or came to his house and just came in and sat down without permission…..he said nothing and just kept smiling. I wanted so badly to slap that stupid look right off his arrogant face! I told him to get away from me and my bike before I called the police. By then Vince had arrived with the hotel manager…..Vince told him to stay way from his bike or he would knock his $%#@ block off! The Manager also said something to him in Pakastani…..but the guy just kept smiling and walked off checking his ill gotten photos…….NOT HAPPY JAN – SO RUDE! UNBELIEVABLE!

NOTE: The following morning, whilst having breakfast, we met some of the Communications Company Executives who brought 90 people here for the team building music festival. They saw what happened with our bike yesterday and they wanted to let us know how angry they all were about the behaviour of one of their staff…..they are making enquiries and said they will sack him when they find him, as that is not the Pakastani way. I told them that I would be happy with just having him delete his ill gotten photos from his phone so the behaviour goes unrewarded. They are both from Islamabad and have offered to host us if we pass through on the way back….very kind. It was very reassuring that Pakastani people condemn this kind of behaviour just like we do……guess there are “tools” the world over….I wonder if I can teach the ANIMAL to bite!

The original plan for today was to ride the 268km from Gujranwala to Murree, skirting Islamabad, but around midnight last night I was googling Continental tyre dealers in Islamabad – keen to have the two new spare tyres we’ve been carrying since Turkey fitted to the bike before we head up the KKH. The return trip up the KKH is around 2,000km in length, and we’ve already clocked up 13,600km on the front tyre and 7,000km on the rear. We checked the tyres in the morning after breakfast and they still have some usable tread left on them so we’ll keep them as spares.

The second plan for the day was to stay in Gujranwala an extra day as Karen was feeling a bit second-hand, but there was no room at the inn so we whipped up our third plan – ride the 220km to Islamabad, have the tyres fitted, and stay the evening.

We were on the road around 10:00am, and the going was slow to start with – averaging 60kmh in the first two hours as we zigged and zagged through the chaotic traffic along the N5. A traffic jam ahead announced a serious accident – everything had ground to a halt. Local riders on their little 150’s were taking to the grass verge to squeeze around the cars, and despite the bulk of the BMW we followed suit, at times gesturing to drivers to move their cars a fraction so we could get through. Once we’d past the accident site we had an easy run up north, stopping only briefly around midday for a coke and an ice cream.

The view started to change with low mountains ahead, and the scenery changed from populated to countryside. We slipped through the few tool booths we encountered and zipped past a small convoy of military vehicles, soldiers waving back at us.

I’d googled the location of the only Continental dealer in Islamabad, and fortunately their address was easy to remember and just as easy to find – straight up the Islamabad Highway – cross the Kashmir Highway – pick up the service road on the right and continue north on it until it turned right, then look for the ‘Continental Tyres’ sign, near the Envoy Continental Hotel.

Around 2:00pm we rolled up at ‘Continental Tyres Islamabad’, the big BMW attracting the attention of all the workers in the tyre store as well as many passing pedestrians. Massal Khan introduced himself – owner of the store – and it wasn’t long before he was on the tools himself, removing the wheels and supervising the tyre replacement and balancing.

Karen and I checked into the Envoy Hotel next door – not cheap at 80 euro and a disappointment after our great experience at the Marian in Gujranwala, but we didn’t want to push on late in the afternoon after the bike was ready, and then struggle with finding accomodation in Murree, 50km up the road. We had called the Shangrila in Murree in the morning as Trip Advisor rates it as Murree’s number #1 hotel, and it 140 euros it quite possibly is – but that’s way to steep for us.

Massal and his team did a fantastic job sorting out the bike – all the Continental dealers we have met in the UK, Turkey and now Pakistan have been very helpful and they are like a big family, and they are passionate about their tyres. Massal gave us a big ‘Continental’ sticker for the bike, and we had a quick round of selfies before saying goodbye. We’ll see Massal on the return leg of our KKH ride as he noticed that one of the tools in my toolkit is broken and he kindly offered to source a replacement. That’s typical of the service we’ve received here in Pakistan – friendly, helpful, and always willing to go the extra mile.

Tomorrow we’ll ride through Murree enroute for Naran – that will put us back on schedule. It’s been cooler riding today – maxxing out at 33.5 degrees C, and we’re both looking forwards to the cooler north and the beautiful scenery we’ve heard so much about.

After a few days of Rest & Recreation in Multan as guests of Iqbal – Pakistan’s #1 adventure rider and most gracious host, it was time to push on towards Murree, about 340km north of Lahore. With Lahore 350km north-east of Multan I wasn’t really expecting to cover the 690km from Multan to Murree via Lahore in one day, but I was hopeful that without an escort we’d make better time than we had previously, and so after loading the bike and enjoying one last breakfast of fried egg rolled up in paratha and fresh mango juice with Iqbal, he kindly led us from his home to the turn-off to the N5 to Lahore so we couldn’t get lost in the Multan traffic.

We refuelled near Khanewal at the petrol station where we had stopped at last Friday afternoon waiting for an escort to return us to Multan after the fiasco with the Italian 4×4’s, but then afterwards I wondered if that was such a good idea as when I’d flushed the washroom cistern on Friday it had half-fallen off the wall, and I wasn’t sure if I’d get into trouble.

On the highway we could max out at the 100kmh speed limit and it was nice to ride without an escort, but our average speed was probably closer to around 40-50kmh as often we’d need to slow down behind slow trucks that were overtaking even slower trucks. The roadside was a combination of rural farmland and developed villages, and both of them threw up constant hazards in the form of erratic tuk-tuks, 150cc motorcycles, impatient car drivers, crater-like potholes, speeding coaches, herds of water buffalo crossing the road, etc etc.

Without an escort we could stop where and when we wanted to, so for morning tea we pulled up to a Pepsi-signposted stall and had a cold drink and a chat with some local men. Pepsi has won the advertising war against Coca-Cola here in Pakistan. We pushed on again in the heat and the dust, weaving between the traffic and chipping away slowly towards Lahore.

Lunch was a quick stop for a drink and some chips before we continued on our way, eventually arriving at the start of the motorway that runs north from Lahore to Islamabad. We’d heard a rumour that motorbikes weren’t allowed on the motorway, but I hoped that Pakistan would be like Iran in that regards and make exceptions for large-capacity foreign bikes, as we’re certainly capable of sustaining the 120kmh speed limit imposed on the motorway.

The six or so Police at the check-point at the start of the motorway waved us on, and so did the toll-booth operator, and we started to enjoy the open road and absence of chaotic rural traffic, but we were flagged down by a police officer and so rolled to a stop to chat with him. He said we really required a permit, but allowed us on with instructions to stay in the left-hand lane, except for when overtaking.

Encouraged with his permission we took off again, only to be stopped again at the next checkpoint further down the road. At this checkpoint the police officer wasn’t so easily swayed, and he called for a police escort vehicle to lead us off the motorway and out to the Grand Trunk. Karen sat on the naughty bench for 45 minutes as we waited for the escort, whilst I chatted with two men from the NHA-MP (National Highway Authority – Metro Police), and found out that the primary purpose of this checkpoint was to enable them to stop all coaches, video the licence plate number, destination board displayed on the front of the coach, and every passenger onboard, whilst the driver dropped off a list of all passengers. This information is retained for a week and then deleted if not required. Karen is getting quite used to sitting on the naughty bench, and once again the kindness of the Pakistan police shone through, as they offered us cold water to drink and food to eat.

When our escort patrol car arrived we greeted the three officers, and then followed back down the motorway on the wrong side of the road into oncoming traffic before we could find a break in the central dividing barrier and cross to the correct side. A few km down the road the patrol car peeled off at an exit and then pulled over, and we stopped to have an interesting conversation about religion, Pakistani Mystics, famous poets of Lahore (and their counterparts from Shiraz in Iran after I’d mentioned that we had visited Sadi’s Mausoleum in Shiraz), and the interesting sights we’d see by travelling on the Grand Trunk Road north to Rawalpindi rather than taking the motorway.

The conversation with the police officers (one of whom was also a Mystic) was enthralling but Karen was sweltering on the back of the bike, so we apologised once again for the inconvenience caused and took off, quickly picking up the Grand Trunk Road and immediately being swamped by all the road hazards that I’d been trying to avoid.

We kept our eyes peeled for a hotel or guest house as it was late afternoon at this stage and appreciating that we wouldn’t reach Murree today I was happy to call it quits rather than push on too far for limited gain, especially as I was a bit shagged from all the cut-and-thrust riding.

Just as we were approaching Gujranwala we spotted a hotel and pulled in there, and quickly checked into seventh heaven. We were able to get all of our filthy and smelly clothes washed, and we enjoyed a tasty steak in the restaurant – the first we’ve had in months.

Today has been a long day and we didn’t achieve the stretch goal I’d set, but we’ve set ourselves up to make Murree easily when we get going again. Tomorrow will be a rest day here in Gujranwala – I’ll use the opportunity to go over the details of the KKH route suggested by Iqbal, and Karen will upload a few photos from our time in Multan.

Upon reflection we’ve covered Pakistan from west to east over the past fortnight and it’s been a demanding and challenging experience, but it’s also been extremely rewarding and insightful. We’ve been privileged to meet and talk with many Pakistani’s and hear about their aspirations for the country and their sadness at the negative images of Pakistan presented on mainstream western media, and we’re looking forwards to the next part of our Pakistan adventure – the KKH !!!

Sukkur to Multan – 490km (including 20km overshoot & 20km back-track)

Our iPad alarm went off at 05:30am, allowing us 30 minutes to get organised before our pre-ordered breakfast of omelette, toast & jam appeared at 06:00am. We were expecting to be collected at 07:00am by the escort and the three Italian 4×4’s as advised the preceding evening, but when I went out to the bike at 6:10am our escort was already waiting outside for us so we loaded the bike as quickly as we could and by 06:35am we were following our escort to a petrol station where we refuelled, and then waited the next hour for the 4×4’s to appear, along with another escort vehicle.

Whilst waiting I organised some of the curious local boys into two facing lines and went through a basic karate drill – detaching shirt grabs – but the enthusiastic crowd was starting to swell quite considerably so a policeman chased them away and asked us to sit near their patrol vehicle.

Karen waved to some local ladies walking past and en masse they came up to greet us, but what started out as quite innocent started to turn a little bit as we were swamped, and again the crowd was chased away by a policeman.

We got going as soon as the 4×4’s arrived – once again I took up position directly behind the police vehicle leading the convoy, upsetting I think the driver behind – but I can’t see past his wide 4×4 and it’s easier for me to be behind the police utes as I can see them and they can both see us and look past us easily to see the cars behind. In addition – I can keep up with the police as they zip between the traffic where as the slow diesel 4×4’s always fall behind.

The road from Sukkur to Multan is about 450km long and is green on both sides with crop cultivation – rice, cotton, sugar, mangoes. Mills were dotted along the route to process the raw crops, and lots of trucks plied the highway carrying goods up and down, often overloaded and bursting at the seems.

On the subject of trucks we saw four separate truck accidents – all of them looked very nasty, but the police didn’t slow down at all – they kept on pushing along. We averaged about 40kmh for the day, though did have a short stint of 100kmh which was quite enjoyable. The police would sound their sirens to get trucks to pull over and make way for us – one truck was slow to do this and the police waved a big stick at him as their ute pulled up alongside – later in the day another policeman smashed the door mirror off a truck that was too slow to move over – and the police indicated to us via sign language that the driver had been on his mobile phone as well.

We managed to get a quick drink from our water bottles being carried by the Land Rover at one checkpoint mid-morning, and about 12:30pm we signalled the police sitting in the covered ute that we needed a drink, so they pulled over at a fuel stop a few km down the road. Karen and I had our usual lunch – some dry granita biscuits, water, and a bottle of coke bought from the shop that was quite revitalising, and we’re ready to continue on after ten minutes, but the Italians had set up for a gourmet lunch and told the police to wait for them as they needed to finish brewing their coffees. A similar incident yesterday over coffee, and the Italian Job Fiasco last night had already tiried our patience and this was the last straw for Karen – we were sweltering in the hot, humid conditions in our helmets and riding gear, and when the officer recognised our willingness to get moving he got his men back in the ute and sped off, bike right behind and the 4×4’s in various states of disarray.

In the afternoon we stopped at a few check-points and when asked where we were going, we always said ‘Multan to see our host and friend, Iqbal’, and gave they police his mobile phone number,. We would then redirect the police to the Italians to discuss their needs as we did not want to get involved in which hotel they wanted this time. But later in the day, as we approached the outskirts of Multan, we veered NE and started heading towards Lahore. Having won a gold medal in navigation only yesterday, Karen was hot to impress again today and sure enough, she started to see road signs saying that Multan was behind us. We were already into a 12 hour day again.

I stopped the bike on the side of the road so we could check with police and find out where they were taking us, and they answered ‘Lahore, which wasn’t the right answer for us. This was because the Italians had told them we were ALL going there! We thought they were coming to Multan. The Italians were furious with us that we’d stopped the convoy – both Karen and I had sharp words with two separate drivers, telling them to settle down and pull their heads in. Contrary to what one driver said to Karen – the bike CAN and WILL stop the convoy if that’s what we need. She set him straight on that score, as well as the fact it was our escort in the first place ….not theirs and we were not going to Lahore (another 320km onwards)….the Italians has no right to tell the police otherwise.

The police led us another km down the road where one policeman stayed with us so another escort vehicle could arrive and take us back to Multan, whilst the Italians carried on to Lahore. Neither Karen nor I were impressed at all with their dramatics – they didn’t mind it when we stopped the convoy earlier today so people could have a lunch break, nor yesterday when Karen (sans-GPS) figured out we’d overshot Sukkur and needed to turn around, and we where glad to be on our own, albeit with Bilal, our Punjab Police Commando.

We waited in an airconditioned office attached to the petrol station whilst the police tracked down Iqbal and rustled up another vehicle – when it arrived the local Elite Squad Commander was with his team, so we complimented him on the efficiency and courtesy of his men as they have all been wonderful. Bilal treat us to a cold coke and we chatted about places to visit in Pakistan. His AK47 was equipped with two magazines taped together to double the number of rounds – when I saw the rest of his team they also had the same magazine configuration, and this is the first time I’ve seen this arrangement in Pakistan.

Siren blaring, the police ute raced back into Multan, and we stuck to the rear bumper as close as I dared. We were riding into the setting sun and the late afternoon traffic was chaotic, but the police vehicle bludgeoned its way through the cars and trucks and motorcycles and tuk-tuks, and we followed closely in its wake. After about 30 minutes of riding mayhem we pulled over, and a short while later a sleek black Toyota pulled up and Iqbal, our host, bounded out and introduced himself to us.

The Toyota led the police, and the police led us, down a few bumpy and muddy side streets before we arrived at Iqbal’s three-storey mansion, set in some beautiful gardens and surrounded by high walls. Iqbal welcomed us with flower wreaths, and after a swathe of photos we sat with Iqbal, some of his friends and the police team under the shade of the trees on the grassy lawn and enjoyed a welcome and relaxing cool drink.

Admitted to Iqbal’s care, the police team were dismissed and so after a solid round of hand-shakes and thank-you’s they remounted their ute and took off – job well done!

Iqbal calls himself a ‘biker traveller’ – and the term fits him perfectly. On the verandah of his mansion was sitting his Yamaha 660 Tenere – the only local bike bigger than 150cc I’ve seen here, and in his garage he showed us his collection of about seven or eight vintage Vespa scooters, including two recently restored Vespa’s. He also showed us the brand new Suzuki 150cc motorcycle he has bought for his son (aged 15 now, can ride it at 17), complete with panniers and top box, as he sets his son up to join him for adventure travel rides.

Iqbal showed us to our room and after unpacking the bike we showered and relaxed for a while, before Iqbal explained that we would go out for the evening, and I would ride his old 150cc bike with Karen on the back and follow him on one of his vintage Vespa’s. We grabbed our helmets – we were in our off-bike gear – and after a few kicks on the kick-starter we wobbled out onto the bumpy road in front of the mansion as I got used to the four-down heel-toe gearbox, and disconcerting brakes. We bumped down a muddy alley way and popped out onto an unlit main street, first riding along the footpath until I was a bit more familiar with the bike, and then out into the chaotic street traffic.

The riding was absolutely crazy – Iqbal was scooting ahead in his Vespa and I was trying hard to keep up, all the while dodging pedestrians and vehicles and camels and donkeys. We just shaved along the side of a donkey cart parked on the street – without street lights and blinded by the lights of oncoming cars it was very difficult to see, and Karen was “speechless” in her enthusiasm for such an entertaining ride.

10-15 minutes later we arrived at a very upmarket shopping centre and after walking through the metal detector at the entrance, into a lift that the locals were told to get out and let us in by the security guard, then Iqbal led us to the manager’s office on the top floor, where he introduced us to his friend. We had a stimulating conversation and shared a delicious traditional Pakastani meal. After dinner his friend showed us videos of the rally 4×4 he would like to build, and slideshows of the scenic delights of northern Pakistan. Iqbal showed us photos he has taken at various car rallies – he’s a very talented photographer and his action photos are awesome!

About 11:00pm we said our goodbyes to Iqbal’s friend, who has invited us back again, and remounted our loan bike for a slightly more sedate ride home, made easier in the lighter traffic but still quite an adventure. It had been a very long day and quite tiring as well, but the challenges of the day had been replaced by the friendship and hospitality we had received first from the police and then from Iqbal and his friends, and we slept soundly in this knowledge.

As we are advised not to travel on the 26th due to security issues on the road to Sukkur our escort was postponed until the 27th. After a quite and uneventful day in our hotel yesterday we were well rested and ready to move on. Some Italian tourists had arrived on the 26th, and they would be joining our escort to Sukkur.

We started early, without breakfast, as our escort was due to pick us up at 7.00am….we were up and ready with the bike packed well before and waiting. The 3 four wheel drives (white, beige and red) belonging to 5 Italians were also lined up as they were slowly alighting from their sleeper sections and finishing off their breakfast. The gentleman on his own (his wife is flying to meet him in India) offered to carry extra water for us as he is a biker too and knows what it’s like. We were very appreciative of the offer and took him up on it. (Note here that the stickers they had made for their trip included :Lets Get Lost….but more about that later!)

Once the escort arrived we were quickly on our way. The beige car was quite aggressive and pushed to the front….which meant in the heavy traffic it was difficult for us to see past and we could not see the escort properly. We all stopped to refuel and Vince took this opportunity to get behind the escort vehicle….much to the disgust of the beige car driver….who continued throughout the day to try to get in front…..but Vince was smarter than him and managed to maintain our position…..in a convoy situation the bike should be at the front!

The road from Quetta and the towns beyond, were a feast for the eyes with so much going on, traffic everywhere, vehicles of all shapes and sizes, often overloaded….including with animals and people….unbelievable. At one point I saw a goat being pushed into the luggage compartment of a tour bus….I saw chickens in Tuk Tuks, a motorbike with a rider and pillion and a goat straddled across the seat between them (missed the photo though). There were carts pulled by donkeys, horses, camels and bullocks! Life was busy in the city streets…even at that early morning hour.

As we moved over the mountain pass we saw our first glimpse for water…..after days and days of travelling only through desert. As we moved across the provinces, from Balochisatan, through Singh and into Punjab, we saw the landscape soften and fill with greenery and crops and the obvious signs of irrigation and agriculture were evident. We saw camels and water buffalo in addition to the everyday goats, sheep, cattle, horses and donkeys that we have seen elsewhere.

There were many passport and security checks along the way and with the addition of 5 extra people (who I have to say were very disorganised in having their papers ready) it became a lengthy, and very hot process. The temperatures were in the 40s and when we are moving on the bike it is tolerable, but when we stop it is just insane! But we kept our fluids up and tried to keep our patience….life in a convoy!

We often see the Jilly Trucks broken down….marked with rocks to warn others…..but today we also saw some accidents……not very nice!

At one point we were told that the police would take us to a rest stop as there was an issue on the road and not safe for us to travel for about another 30 min. So we stopped for a cool drink….the escort then came and told us we needed to go! Over the past 5 days we have discovered that escorts wait for no one….and rightly so…they have a job to do. (In fact over the escort time I dropped a glove and we just had to leave it behind…..the lock from Vinces pack safe fell off but we just had to leave that too). So when the message came back that we had to wait because the Italians refused to leave because they were making coffee….Vince and I were unimpressed but said nothing….and just sweltered in silence. Later for a lunch stop things seemed to be a bit better organised with us all being ready to go at the correct time. The police really are marvelous, once we left Balochistan we had no more Levies escorts, but sometimes it was regular police and at others an elite squad of commandos.

Our “Italian Job” came at the end of the 12 hour day…..despite the NOC banning the use of GPS (so we didn’t use ours) they were using theirs but all three vehicles failed to spot when we overshot Sukkur and were headed for Multan……I alerted Vince when I saw the road signs and we pulled over our motorbike escort to discuss. The Italians went off their trees at the policeman and attracted quite a crowd. Vince and I tried to keep a low profile and eventually we were on our way to the hotel the Italian’s wanted, the Inter Pak Inn. We cooperated, as we felt that the convey would need to stick together to be easier for the escort tomorrow. However, when we got there they decided it was too expensive and wanted to go somewhere else. It was a bun fight between them all……Vince and I had already checked in, but luckily not unloaded the bike. The Italians argued with the police saying it was the wrong hotel and remained unconvinced when the police assured them this was the only one of that name. Eventually, we set off for another hotel. Again the Italians were not happy…..I was sunburnt, soaked in sweat, dirty and my dermatitis was manic…..Vince and I said we were going to stay at that hotel (Euro 30) and we left them arguing out in the street! The behaviour was ridiculous and we just wanted away from it. It has really tested our patience today and we are not looking forward to travelling with them again tomorrow….but we will make the best of it….that’s what Aussies do!

We had a very welcome shower ….even without hot water…..the room was air-conditioned…..and though the power still went off (at least two to three times a day everywhere we have been in Pakistan) they had a generator that kicked in. The meal was great and we have ordered an early breakfast for the morning! I was asleep before my head hit the pillow…in fact poor Vince didn’t even get a proper “good night” or kiss, as he was downloading GoPro footage and I fell asleep!

Today was a rest day for us at Hotel Bloom Star, Quetta. The road south from Quetta to Sukkur is about 420km long and crosses the Kachhi Desert before reaching the provincial border of Baluchistan and Sindh Provinces. Despite some of our earlier escorts saying that we wouldn’t need a NOC (No Objection Certificate) to travel south of Quetta, all of my research on Horizons Unlimited had suggested that a NOC was an essential prerequisite, and our Australian 4×4 friends – Claire and Emiel – had needed to get a NOC in Quetta just a week earlier, so we weren’t surprised when we had been told the previous evening that the Police would collect us this morning and take us to the Home and Tribal Affairs Department to obtain our NOC.

As an explainer – the NOC is a piece of paper that states that the relevant local authorities do not object to having a foreign tourist travel a particular stretch of road, and that the Police will provide all necessary security arrangements to ensure that nothing untoward happens. The NOC has to be presented at the Police check-points along the route, and without a NOC you will not be allowed to proceed.

Karen and I had a simple but enjoyable breakfast of toast and jam, tea and coffee in the cool gardens of the Bloom Star. A local family staying at the hotel were very intrigued by our presence – I counted about 10 or so young children, and they were fascinated by us. Initially timid and shy, with some coaxing they eventually came out and sat with us. The eldest boy could speak English and so we chatted with him, whilst his younger cousins and siblings just sat and smiled. The girls were dressed in very colourful dresses, and many wore armfuls of bangles and sported henna tattoos on their hands and feet. The boys wore the traditional male dress – not unlike a pair of plain coloured pyjamas.

One young girl – Sophia – was particularly taken with Karen, and Karen gave her the ‘Save the Rhino’ bracelet that she had bought in South Africa last year to add to the collection of bangles on her arm.

The elderly grandmother came out from behind the garden fence from wher she had been watching proceedings, and the young boy introduced her. She spoke no English but we still had a chat with her, and she sat and joined us and the children.

After breakfast we bade farewell to our Baluchistan entourage and presented ourselves at Reception, ready to go to Home Affairs. Four armed men from the ‘Anti-Terrorist Team’ arrived, and one of them procured a tuk-tuk to take Karen and I, with the four men astride two motorcycles.

The tuk-tuk drive to the Home Affairs office was one of the wildest rides I’ve ever had – it would have featured perfectly in a James Bond chase scene. As the lead motorcycle raced off the tuk-tuk was right behind the bike – literally just an inch off his rear wheel. Time and again I thought that we’d crash into the motorcycle as there was no space at all between us, and we were weaving through traffic and dodging obstacles all the time. The motorcycle veered down a side street, bouncing over a speed bump with the tuk-tuk in hot pursuit – Karen and I both thought we’d roll over as the weight shifted cornering hard over the bump, and we may have nudged the police bike at this point, but the wild ride continued unabated for a few more minutes without any accidents but plenty of exciting moments.

We pulled into a secured carpark and alighted, and the guards formed up around us and marched us through a complex of official buildings before leading us up the steps of the Home Affairs office. We were led down a dark corridor and admitted into a large office where seven men were working, surrounded by high piles of paperwork, and our team left us at this point.

We were made very welcome by the men in this office. They inspected our passports and prepared our NOC application, offering us sweet tea in the process. One smartly dressed man – he sported a waist coat over his blue pyjamas, sat with us and described some of the aid programs that Australia contributes to in Baluchistan, involving irrigation and water management, crop development, and livestock management. Apparently Australia has developed a lot of relevant experience and knowledge in these areas that is applicable to the farmers in Baluchistan, and they share both their knowledge – and a portion of the profits.

We were led to three other offices down the other end of the long corridor to obtain approvals from two officers, including the Deputy Secretary of Home and Tribal Affairs Department (and we enjoyed a brief but very pleasant chat with him) before moving on to two other officials, then returning to the first office and after a short wait, receiving our NOC. Everyone was most professional and helpful. The administrative process took about an hour or so.

Another Police team was organised by phone and when they arrived we retraced our journey back to the Bloom Star, but at a slightly less frenetic pace. On this journey one policeman sat next to the tuk-tuk driver, AK47 on his lap.

Back at the Bloom Star we enjoyed a spicy lunch in the cool gardens, and I was introduced to the elderly man who maintains the gardens here – and it’s obviously a labour of love as the gardens are immaculate. Whilst he didn’t speak any English I think he could still appreciate the compliments I offered about his garden, as he grinned a big toothless grin that stretched from ear to ear.

Throughout the afternoon we had numerous men pop by to sit and chat for a while, keen to hear about our travels and practice their English-speaking skills. At one stage we had about five men chatting with us, but the hotel manager chased them away eventually so we could eat our dinner in peace and quiet.

It was another hot night and when the power went out and our room fan stopped I grabbed a blanket and a pillow and slept on the balcony outside our first floor room, overlooking the garden below, as this way I could enjoy the cool evening breeze rather than roast in the room.

Woke up before sunrise to the sound of dogs barking, roosters roosting, and Imam calling the faithful to morning prayers. We put our mattresses away and left our rooftop bedroom to go downstairs and get ready for our anticipated 07:00am pick-up by the next Levies team arranged to take us out of Dalbandin. Our two overnight Police guards had slept up on the roof with us – in fact one of them had recommended that we sleep on the roof as the hotel power goes off at midnight and the overhead fans in the rooms no longer work and they become a sauna.

About 7:30am our escort arrived and we were quickly on the move, taking in the sights and sounds of Dalbandin as it hustled and bustled into life. We had two quick stops – the first to get some water for the trip, and then fuel – 14 litres for about 1,200 rupee, served out of a plastic canister and a tin can through a cloth-covered funnel.

Ali, the officer in charge of our morning team and proud driver of the brand new Toyota Hilux Levies ute had said that we were to meet up with three other tourist vehicles at a check-point down the road, but we never met any other travellers throughout the long, hot day.

We had approx 320km to travel from Dalbandin to Quetta, and we averaged 50kmh across the whole day. The day’s temperature peaked around 41.5 degrees – so not quite as hot as some of our previous riding days, but I was feeling quite sick with nausea through a lot of the morning, which made the riding difficult. The Levies have perfected the hand-over of travellers from one escort team to the next, so the change-overs are quick – so quick we often didn’t have time to grab a drink of hot water from our water bottles stuffed into the cavity of the spare tyres strapped to the back of the bike.

Fortunately we were invited inside a hut at the check-point at which Ali and his team handed us over to our next escort – a man on a 125cc Honda with his rifle slung over his shoulder, and we were offered a revitalising tea inside the hut before we moved on, and the sweet tea helped settle my nausea.

The terrain for the start of the days ride was across a flat and barren wasteland of a desert. In places sand drifts had crossed the road and we had to ride across these sandy patches in pursuit of our escort vehicle.

As we approached the first hand-over point – just east of Padag I think – we picked up a low mountain range to the south of us and followed its contours to the hut where we had the sweet tea. This area seemed more inhabited and there were signs of crop cultivation and livestock, benefiting from water derived from the mountains.

Following the next escort on his 125cc Honda we left the hut and immediately around the next bend was a grassy oasis with perhaps 50 camels grazing on the grass. We whizzed past the camels and none of them battered an eyelid, heads down instead as they ate.

Trees started to pop up on the plain, and we entered a small village, pulling up behind the escort under the shade of a tree outside an Islamic Boys School, and waited briefly for our next escort – this time two old sunburnt men on a single motorcycle, the pillion with his rifle in one hand and a walkie-talkie in the other. The boys at the school came out to see us – or more likely the motorcycle – as we waited for our escort, and that was a bit uncomfortable as they crowded around us, touching and fiddling with the bike. We were happy to get going again, and the breeze as we rode on was also welcome.

A short distance down the road we were handed over to two young guys on a motorcycle, and for the first time in the day we picked up our speed a bit, even managing to get up to 100kmh! We hoped that we’d have this escort all the way into Quetta, but it wasn’t too long before they handed us over to the next team.

All in all we lost count of the number of escorts we had throughout the day – probably between 25 and 30, and the number of check-points we had to present our passports to, and complete a log book with our particulars. With that said all of the police officers and Levies were very professional and courteous, and we enjoyed their hospitality and kindness. At one stop the Police showed us the drip irrigation system they had installed that allowed water to run down the reed wall of their shelter, cooling the breeze as the air passed through, and their dog ‘Tiger’ who they were training to guard their check-point when they were out on patrol.

The day progressed at a slow rate, and at one stage we were a bit concerned that we may not make it to Quetta, but once we’d passed Nushki – the typical overnight stop for escorts that can’t reach Quetta in a day – our confidence increased even if the speed of our escorts didn’t – and at times we were crawling along at 30-40kmh, baking in the sun.

We entered the mountain range and the road became quite fun to ride on, twisting through the hills as it climbed up towards Shaikh Wasil, before flattening out in a cultivated area. Our escort here pulled over and waved us on. We checked with them that we were free to ride on unescorted and they said ‘yes’, so we slipped into sixth gear for the first time in the day and enjoyed our run up to Lak Pass. The traffic at the tunnel here was banked up so I followed two motorcycles down the wrong side of the road as no oncoming traffic was coming through the tunnel, and when we popped out the other end we found out why – two trucks had collided and caused a traffic jam. We squeezed between the chaos of trucks all over the road and pushed on our merry way for another few kilometres before we came to another check-point where the absence of an escort caught the Police by surprise, and we were pulled over.

The Police at this check-point were wonderful, inviting us to sit in their hut and offering us cold water from their urns whilst they got onto the radio, trying to figure out what to do with us. An elderly gentleman came in and chatted with us – he spoke excellent English and explained how he was an Immigration Officer and had spent twelve years working in Taftan, before moving to other positions throughout Pakistan. This man had a large paddy-wagon parked outside the check-point and he explained that he’d heard that a large number of Afghan men were rumoured to be moving through the area without the necessary papers, and he and his officers were waiting to pick them up. Sure enough we saw two men inside the paddy-wagon when we arrived, and another eight or ten were offloaded from a bus stopped for inspection and they too were bundled into the wagon.

We sat on the ‘naughty bench’ outside the check-point hut and watched the vehicle inspections continue, and waved at the passing traffic. Utes full of girls dressed in bright, colourful dresses would pass by and we could hear them singing – it was a wonderful sight. Colourfully decorated truck and buses with live goats and people on top sped past. After 30 or 40 minutes a Police ute pulled up and an escort team alighted – giving us hugs of happiness that they had finally located their wayward tourists.

We were quickly on our way, and soon afterwards started to enter Quetta. The roadside chaos was a delight for our eyes and ears after the drab monotony of the desert crossing. Our destination within Quetta was the Hotel Bloom Star – the Bloom Star gets a mention in the Lonely Planet guide and is – we found out later – the only place that foreign tourists stay at when in Quetta. Whilst we only had a few km to ride to our destination we had perhaps six or more escort teams take us along various sections of the main road. My favourite escort was the armoured car that had his siren on, Karen liked the covered ute with three armed Police in the back – constantly alert and with their fingers resting on their trigger-guards. Every time we slowed down for traffic these men would pop up from the back of the ute and survey the surrounding area like uniformed meerkats.

We followed the escort vehicles as close as I thought safe – we’d sit behind them by just a few feet as they pushed their way through the afternoon traffic. Any cars or rickshaws that came too close were warned off by the Police – a little tap on their rifle enough to convey the message.

The last team we had needed to turn right across a busy, congested intersection (upon entering Pakistan we’ve switched back to riding on the left-hand side of the road), and one officer jumped out of the Police ute and stopped the traffic so we could pass through. A short distance later we were ushered into the secured car park of the Hotel Bloom Star, and the OIC formally handed us over to the hotel staff, and then left with his team.

We signed into the hotel register and were shown to our room – dilapidated and basic, but after sleeping on a rooftop in Dalbandin and in a Levies lock-up in Taftan, our room was almost as good as anything the Hilton could offer.

After a cold shower – no hot water here – we ordered dinner (chicken curry & chicken masala) – and a couple of alcoholic beers arranged by the Bloom Star staff – and then after downloading our photos from the past few days and watching them on the Mac it was time for bed – a long, hot day on the back of the four previous long, hot days – but we’d arrived safe and sound in Quetta and we’d had a wonderful adventure getting here. Mission accomplished!!!