That's what I thought

Johnny is back! Sorry I haven't mentionned that earlier, but we were both soooo excited about seeing us again, and Johnny had soooo much to tell, that I just didn't get around.

So what happened? It is as simple as always: Johnny fell in love....
So he sneaked off, out of my pocket, and rushed to the sweet Shirin. They spent a few wonderful days together in Esfahan, before they decided to leave and travel ahead of me by themselves.

In Zahedan, they met Ali, a little donkey from Pakistan. They became good friends, and Ali helped them to get across the border to Pakistan. Johnny and Shirin thought to be able to meet me in Quetta, where I was supposed to arrive by train. Because the train from Zahedan to Quetta only runs twice a month, he knew exactly when I was due to arrive. I had checked the timetable with Johnny in Esfahan.

After spending some time at Ali's house in Dalbandin, Johnny and Shirin went to Quetta, to wait for me. But things didn't go well there. First, the train had a 24-hour delay. And when it finally arrived, they didn't find me on it (because I wasn't).

So they walked back the road towards Dalbandin, where I would inevitable pass if coming by bicycle. But in the mountains out of Quetta, they got into the hands of a kid, who locked them into his house.

A Swiss secret agent found out where Johnny and Shirin were kept and could release them out of the kid's hands in exchange with a certain amount of ballpoint pens before bringing them both safely to Switzerland. From there Johnny and Shirin travelled together with Rebekka to Lahore to meet me. But Shirin then decided to stay with Rebekka, while Johnny continues his trip to Australia with me...

See the new fotos in the gallery...

It is true, cyclists always meet somehow.

For example at the border between Pakistan and India, where I met Mohamad from Iran who is cycling around the world. But he is not only cycling, he also aims to plant a tree in every major city he travels through, and thereby increase the awareness of the people about the necesity environmental issues our planet is facing, and in particular about the necessity of healthy trees for human beings.

I think it's a wonderful project, therefore I decided to stay with Mohamad in Amritsar to accompany him, planting a tree. Dr Bilga, from the city authorities, responsible for the green areas in the city, accompanied us through Ram Bagh, and had us each plant a tree, first a Jatropa Circus, also known as Biodiesel plant, because its seeds can be used to produce biodiesel, and a Ficus religiosa, which is the holiest tree of India, and is said to produce oxygen not only in the daytime, but also at nighttime.

for more information on the Mohamad's project see: www.weneedtrees.com

Thank you!

As I mentioned before, I spent a few days in Madyan, in the Swat Valley. There is no train, but plenty of (mini)buses going there from Rawalpindi or Peshawar, taking about 9 or 7 hours on winding roads with quite some traffic. I didn't exactly enjoy these trips, as I had to keep comforting myself with the statistical evidence, that most (mini)buses do eventually reach their destination without any major crash.
In Pakistan (mini)busdrivers seem to have their own traffic rules. They are roughly as follows:

1.) Be faster than everybody else.

2.) The more people you carry, the faster you should drive.

3.) Never depart before your bus is nominally full. Never
mind if this implies a delay of several hours.

4.) Your bus is never really full, there is always enough room for more passengers. Either inside, on the roof, standing on the bumpers and holding on to the roofrack, or anywhere else. (And remember rule no. 2).

5.) If you pick up or drop off somebody, you preferably do so by slowing down and/or stopping briskly right in front of a cyclist or another departing bus.

6.) You always have priority.
(In case of doubt, you may communicate this to other road users by constantly blowing your horn.)

7.) God be with you.
(To remind Him of this, you may stop anytime around prayer time near a mosque, to have your passengers praying for up to half an hour.)

8.) Other rules don't apply.

It's a boys club.

An American, staying at the same Backpacker's in Lahore (actually, there is only one backpacker's...) once used the expression "Boys Club", to describe Pakistan society.

This is particularly true for places in the provinces neighbouring Afghanistan, Baluchistan and the North West Frontier Province (NWFP), not only as far as the predominant gender in the streets is concerned, but also the average behavioural level of these males repeatedly spitting around.

An Australian couple, who have travelled through many countries in the middle east by motorbike consider Pakistan as the most conservative muslim country and estimated, that there is probably only one woman in a hundred men out in the streets.

Well, when I had a cup of tea in Mingora, a town in the beautiful Swat Valley in the NWFP, I thought I might test this by counting the men and women walking past the teashop. I counted a hundred men and no women, when I gave up, to watch more men walking past, and still no women, till my cup of tea was empty.

After spending three wonderful days in the mountains around Madyan, a little further up in the valley, where women would turn there faces away from oncoming men, I went down to Peshawar, a picturesque city close to the Afghan border.
I didn't do any further counting, but the density of women there is probably not much different to Mingora. And if you do see a woman, she is most likely to be dressed in a traditional burka. This is an overall dress, that leaves nothing but a grid in front of the eyes for the woman to be able to see, where she goes. But when I was walking around the bazaar, and approaching the women's cloth section, the part of women may have actually increased to about 10 percent or even more. The good news now is, that with such a high female presence, most women actually lift their burkas to reveal their faces, which makes communication and shopping easier. And the burka merely looks like a burka anymore, but rather like a piece of heavy cloth thrown over head and shoulder. However, with increasing distance to the bazar, or the later it gets in the afternoon, women get scarcer and the burkas fall down over the faces again.

It's a boys club...

Well, I guess in the meantime even non-french-speakers would have found out, that the meaning of "le velo rouge" is closely related to the vehicle that is carrying me to Carnamah.

Why my bicycle is red, and why I am using french, there is no better explanation to it, but that I do like the color red, and that I do like the french language. And both in combination with a bicycle make a nice logo with a bicycle in it (see above).

But I also like coffee very much. Now, the good news is, that le velo rouge and coffee apparently go together very well, too.

How? Just have a look at Velo Rouge Cafe in San Francisco. And if you happen to be in that area, check it out and tell me about it.

By the way, my thanks for this piece of information go to Johann Bourquenez, who completes the Velo-Rouge-Community.

Well, to all those who still wonder what exactly happened to Johnny, I don't know. But I have some good news about him.

After we lost each other out of sight in Esfahan, I started searching for Johnny everywhere. I went around the restaurants, checked the parks and the monuments I had been to with Johnny, and I even promised a reward of $20 for finding Johnny at the hostel. But I had no luck.

However, just before leaving Esfahan, I happened to come across an agent of the Swiss secret services (SND), who seem to be quite active in Iran. When I told him about the mysterious disappearance of Johnny, he promised me to see what he can do.

The latest information I just received here in Zahedan, is, that Johnny had been seen crossing the border to Pakistan heading out for Quetta, a few days ago. So there is a chance, that we find us again in Quetta or on the way to there. Apparently, Johnny was not alone, but accompanied by someone...

I will keep you informed.

From Toblach in Italy down to Lienz in Austria there are 40 kilometers of a nice cycling path taking you down along the cascading river Drau through beautiful forest scenery. At the beginning of the summer holidays there were a lot of families taking their kids out on a cycling trip, sometimes with trailers on their bicycles for the picknick, or with kids in them. As they probably started all about at the same time in the morning from the same trainstation, they were causing some cyclist's traffic jam at the start of this path, slowing me down on my way down under.

Having passed most of the families, I was glad, to have this cycling path nearly for myself, when suddenly there is a group of a good dozen of fast mountainbikers overtaking me. Only five or ten minutes later I passed them again, when they were having a break on the side of the road. As it didn't look like being a long break, I expected them to catch up with me again, which they did. Again this herd of mountainbikers raced passed me, and again I passed them about five minutes later, when they were having another short break on the side of the road.

This scenario kept repeating itself for about three or four times, when the head of the group decided to stay up alongside me for a while and apologize:
- "I am sorry, but someone of the group has a weak bladder, that's why we have to stop all the time."
I replied that this was not a problem to me. Then, pointing at all my bags, he wanted to know where I come from and where I was going. He definitely was not the last person to ask me this. After a short conversation he wished me good luck and drove off, as the whole group was lining up behind him. There was not enough room for more than two cyclists to pass.

The next guy following him must have understood, that I am someone you can actually talk to. So he thought he would ask me some questions as well. Being rather a technical person - he probably was an engineer - he didn't want to know where I come from but rather:
- "How far have you cycled already?"
- "About 700 kilometers", I answered.
- "How many more to go?"
Well, I admit, this sort of question caught me by surprise. But not showing any sign of embarassement, and determined to satisfy his need for numbers I quickly weight up: I am not quite going half way around the world. But then again, the road is not straight all the way. On the other hand I will have to cross a fair bit of water by boat, yet I will make a rather big detour within Australia.
- "about 20'000!" I concluded with a smile.
- "No, seriously!" He was really disappointed, because he thought I was making fun of him.
- "I'm serious, I'm going to Australia, and I think it will be about another 20'000 km" I explained. I was so sorry, that I could not give him any better answer to his question. He gave up with his inquieries, probably thinking that I am some crazy guy and wished me a good journey, too. He caught up with the front man and the rest of the group passed me without any more questions. Only two minutes later, just outside Lienz, I passed them for the last time, waving at them, when they stopped at a restaurant.

It's funny to think back to this conversation now after 7000 km. I realize, that I have moved on a fair bit, and if my prediction was right, it means I have only another 13700km ahead of me. This actually sounds quite reasonable, as my GPS indicates, that I have travelled quite exactly (a little more) one third of the distance between Basel and Carnamah.

And there is no one here anymore, who thinks that I am making fun of him, when I say, that I am going to Australia.

Dear Johnny,

You have been my companion for more than 6000km.
You shared with me so many great moments.
You cheered me up, when I was going uphill.
You were singing with me, racing downhill.
You always kept your eyes on the road for me.
You always kept smiling.
You never lost your good humour.
You made so many little and big kids happy on our way.
You gave me strength and energy when I was tired.
I will never forget the moments we shared together.

Dear Johnny, you decided to stay in Esfahan. I accept your decision, even though taking the road without you in a few days will be very difficult for me. I miss you Johnny. Good bye.

In deep sorrow,
Benno

I have a little yellow device with me, which is not really important, but it's nice to have, because it gives me all sorts of interesting information. It's a GPS-device (GPS = Global Positioning System). For example, in case I forget where I am - admittedly a terrible scenario - I turn it on, and it tells me, where I am. Now, for example, I am 39°54,543'N and 41°16,441'E, i.e. in the middle of Erzurum.
But much more interesting than this, is the fact, that this GPS-device can also tell the distance between any two points on this planet. For example it tells me, that I have already moved 2'817 km away from Basel, whereas I am still some 10'946 km away from Carnamah. Now, if you add this together you get 13'763 km from Basel to Carnamah, which is, surprisingly enough, also the distance my device calculates between Basel and Carnamah. In other words, Erzurum is situated pretty much on the straight line between Basel and Carnamah. My GPS-device confirms this, too, I am just some 30km off the track, that's reassuring....

And by the way, at the point where I am, I have passed a little more than half the distance between Istanbul and Tehran, from which only 1015 km separate me. A good reason to have a couple of days rest here. And: Tehran will be just another 9934 km from Carnamah, according to my GPS-device.

In every day life, especially here in Turkey, the most usefull information this little device gives me, however, is the information about the altitude. Believe it or not, I am currently not less than 1900 m (6234 ft) above sealevel. So whenever I have a mountain crossing ahead of me, the map often indicates the altitude of the crossing, but fails to give any more detailed information around that crossing. And I can tell you, it makes a great difference, whether you start at 600m (2000ft) or at 1500m (5000 ft) when you have to climb a road up to 2100m (7000ft) altitude by bicycle. For every 500m (1666 ft) gain in altitude I have to calculate an additional hour of riding, which can not be compensated on the way down.

And now you certainly have wondered already, about this little red bike moving slowly to the right on the bottom of this page. It indicates the remaining distance to Carnamah from my current position. Every dot ahead of it represents 200 km of birdflight's distance. However, it does not indicate the distance to Basel, as I won't be able to move on this imaginary straight line all the time, and because there were already four dots missing at the start...

turning a page
fullfilling a dream
leaving the cage
of daily routine

taking my load
on two wheels - hoorah!
I'm on the road
towards Carnamah