There...and back on a bike

Armed guards, elephants, Buddhist monks, rains, heat and mountains. Just some of the things Catherine Birchall encountered on her journey round the world on the back of a motorcycle with her partner Bernard Smith up front. The journey taught her more than just geography and turned out to be spiritual as well as physical

After 26,000 miles going around the world by motorcycle my head is full of emotions.

They flow through me as I experience memories, fear, exhilaration, heat, cold, altitude sickness, food poisoning, snow and monsoon rains. Each border we passed brought wonderful people who responded to the distinctive click, click, as the long white cane unfolded to signal my blindness.

The adventure began with no real itinerary and only the vaguest route sketched out. No hotels were booked, no flights between continents arranged; it was to be a year of arriving and sleeping anywhere we could find by sundown. Travelling through the safety of Europe we plunged eastwards across Turkey and the whole Asian continent.

We crossed Pakistan with military or police escorts as armed guards slept outside our room, while we felt for a nation where the shouldering of guns is a constant sound. It is also a country little talked about in terms of its people’s kindness. A place where old Muslim ladies threw Bernard out as they took over his role of guide, before leading me to a hole in the floor which passed as a toilet; complete with buckets of water to wash oneself due to the absence of any form of toilet paper. It was a country which left us coughing for a week due to pollution and dust which hangs permanently in the air. It was a country we loved.

We plunged into India at the Wagha border, where the rising and setting of the sun is greeted by a theatrical display of strutting peacock-like soldiers in front of ranks of cheering crowds. They seek to outdo each other in their frenzy of support for “their” side who “challenge each other” in this traditional ceremony between these two neighbours, dating back to their partition on religious grounds over 60 years ago. Travelling far off the tourist trail of air conditioned hotels and understandable food we became immersed in the chaos of India, while each day wondering if we would be alive in the evening due to the roads and driving standards.

So it was we sped to Nepal and the Himalayas where we found respite in this high country of snow covered peaks. Here we licked our psychological wounds and moved away from the two frightened people we had become after traversing India. Nepal was a joy even with its 18 hours a day power cuts. In my time there Bernard had multiple heart attacks as I climbed elephants’ trunks to scramble onto their heads, sitting behind large flapping ears as they rumbled through jungles where rhinos walk. It was a place where bears took exception to us and attacked our lord of the jungle with mighty roars. It was an unequal struggle as they eventually beat a hasty retreat into the dense bush to sit sulking, watching us as we passed.

When we had again become the people we once were we descended into the darkness and squalor of Kathmandu, before flying to the brightness and frenzy of Bangkok where electricity flows freely. It was a place of glittering gold statues dominating the temples to Buddha, as we headed north to the peace and tranquillity of the countryside. After time spent visiting the River Kwai bridge, we walked with Buddhist monks who were hand rearing tiger cubs left alone after poachers had killed their parents for their black and yellow pelts. The feel of their fur still lives in my head today, along with the sharpness of their claws as they eagerly held my arms as I dispensed the milky liquid from a baby’s bottle.

Riding southwards towards Malaysia we passed through this land where English is spoken with a distinctive American accent; a by-product of the Vietnam war where so many American soldiers spent their “rest and recuperation” (R&R) periods before returning to the horrors of the doomed campaign: a campaign which still leaves a legacy of dented pride in that massive country even today.

Malaysia came and went in monsoon rains and heaving moistness. It left our breath bubbling with the moisture as we experienced the frustrations of waiting for parts to be shipped from the UK for a broken motorcycle, before Australia could beckon us onwards.

Three breakdowns and six weeks of deserts with empty roads welcomed us to this single country continent, as the south blistered with fires while the north drowned in the rain. People died under the onslaughts of the numerous wild fires as a whole country mourned. Huge donations poured in for those who had lost everything in a collective outpouring of grief with a distinctive tinge of “There but for the grace of God go I.” Meanwhile the north drowned in silence while crocodiles swam in the streets.

Three thousand miles later we reached Sydney to meet with the charity Vision Australia and The Fred Hollows Foundation who work with the indigenous population of the Aboriginal Nation. As with many of the countries and organisations we met on the journey, people were mystified, puzzled and amazed; two people, alone, on a 20-year-old motorcycle pitted against everything thrown at them. The media swarmed onto the story of “The blind woman crossing the world on a motorcycle” as we spread the message.

Completely blind for many years I found myself alone after the death of my husband Peter from leukaemia in 1999. Many years followed where I was cut off, isolated, and functionally disabled due to my blindness and bereavement. Yet here I was crossing the world on a motorcycle years later with a wonderful man whom I love very much. A simple message of hope that life does go on. You have to grab hold rather than being like a leaf in a storm. You have to fight, take control, and make it what you can. We felt if one person in each of the 31 countries we passed through heard and acted then we would be satisfied. We pictured it like a ripple in a pond spreading outwards from person to person. Our pond was very big but if enough people heard?

From Australia we flew to South America. It was to be a land of consideration, where people with disabilities are regarded and cared for with such tenderness. As we covered the thousands of miles through Chile, Peru, Ecuador and Colombia the partnership between Bernard and I became, if possible, even stronger. We became stranded in mountain ranges where bandits roam at 15,000 feet in the dark, and huffed and puffed our way up mountains in Peru while people watched and asked “how can a blind woman climb mountains and cross the world on a motorcycle?”

In my frustrations Bernard is forever patient and supportive. I believe in him and he believes in me. My blindness is only a minor distraction to him, something he has to work around at times. So it became possible to travel the world with him as my eyes, while all my other senses exploded with information. As the miles mounted, our trust in each other under dangerous circumstances became implicit and unerring. We talked and decided to act despite dangers of terrain or people. He described what he saw and at times I would suggest he take a certain road rather than another. “I’m taking directions from a blind woman about a road in Ecuador!” he would laugh. It spoke volumes of the person he is as the bike was turned in my suggested direction.

Ever northwards we travelled through Central America where even the names of countries such as Honduras, El Salvador and Guatemala inspire caution. To us they became places full of curious people struggling to survive under difficult circumstances.

Crossing into Mexico we embarked on the long drive up the country held deep in the grips of swine flu before crossing into the United States. After a frantic 3,000 mile dash from west to east over six days we arrived in Canada for our flight home.

In many ways a card in the windshield of the bike summed up the ”dangerous” places and the whole 26,000 miles I covered as a blind person. It states, “What you see depends on what you are looking for”. We saw and experienced people in the rawness of everyday life, with hundreds of them flowing through a kaleidoscope of memories after a year living on a motorcycle on the road.