HotRod's Ride to the Other Side

By Chad Hoffman

Note: This book contains over 150 pictures throughout the text pages. In this version the pictures are full color on glossy stock, providing more detail. Another version with black and white pictures is available for the reader more interested in the story, as well as a cost savings on the purchase price. That version could be considered if picture quality is not of great interest.

Chad Hoffman undertook an around-the-world motorcycle ride in 2017, covering 26,870 miles through 25 countries. His adventurous spirit and do-or-die attitude brought him through many obstacles to make the trip a reality. That same spirit made the trip successful, not because he finished, but because he gained an insight into the lives of people in every country, calling many of them friends to this day. This is a story of trials and triumphs on an epic motorcycle journey, including the loss of a fellow adventure rider, a broken leg in the Mongolian Desert and so much more. But this is not just a story about a motorcycle ride, it's a story about the human spirit that we are all part of. A story of how connected we all really are, even though country borders and diverse cultures might try to convince us otherwise. Come along for the ride.

• Language: English
• Publisher: BookBaby
• Release date: Nov 11, 2022
• ISBN: 9781667843681

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Copyright © 2022 Chad R. Hoffman

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced or used without written permission of the copyright owner except for the use of quotations in a book review. Violations will result in prosecution, including but not limited to, peeing on your toothbrush.

This is a non-fiction book, true to the recollection of the author, although he has on occasion forgotten his own address. Some names have been changed to protect the guilty.

Print ISBN: 978-1-66784-367-4

eBook ISBN: 978-1-66784-368-1

Printed in the United States of America

First Edition, April 2022

Dedicated to Brett Marschke,

who gave everything to follow a dream.

Contents

Prelude

The beginning of the end

Chapter 1

Where Dreams Are Born

Chapter 2

Traction In The Right Direction

Chapter 3

Throw loose the bow lines!

Day 1-5, March 31-April 4

Chapter 4

The Wild West

Day 6-43, April 5-May 12

Chapter 5

Russia, the true adventure begins

Day 44-51, May 13-20

Chapter 6

Huge loss and small miracles

Day 52-55: May 21-24

Chapter 7

New friendships and tough goodbyes

Day 56-60, May 25-29

Chapter 8

Siberia!

Day 61-66: May 30-June 4

Chapter 9

Mystical Mongolia

Day 67-71: June 5 - 9

Chapter 10

The Gobi Desert at last

Day 72-78: June 10-16

Chapter 11

Mongolia=1, Hotrod=0

Day 79-82: June 17-20,

Chapter 12

Broken but not beat

Day 83-90: June 21-28,

Chapter 13

Another leg of the journey

Day 91-100: June 29 to July 8

Chapter 14

Farewell Russia... Hello Scandinavia

Day 101-108: July 9 - 16,

Chapter 15

Nordkapp to Copenhagen

Day 109-115: July 17 to 23,

Chapter 16

Germany, Netherlands and Belgium

Day 116-120: July 24 - 28,

Chapter 17

England and Isle of Man

Day 121-126, July 29 to August 3

Chapter 18

Ireland and France

Day 127-132: August 4 - 9

Chapter 19

The Astonishing Alps and Dynamite Dolomites!

Day 133-137: August 10-14

Chapter 20

Rome and Athens

Day 138-144: August 15-21

Chapter 21

Macedonia, Albania, Montenegro, Bosnia, Croatia and Slovenia

Day 145-151, August 22-28

Chapter 22

Alps 2.0 and French contentment

Day 152-156: August 29 - September 2

Chapter 23

Pyrenees Mountains, Basque Country and Spain

Day 157-160 September 3-6

Chapter 24

Portugal and the Algarve coast

Day 161-166, September 7-12

Chapter 25

Barcelona to Toronto

Day 167-170, September 13-16

Chapter 26

Coming home

Day 171-180, Sept 17-25

Chapter 27

Slide in sideways in a cloud of dust

Day 181 to a new ending

Chapter 28

Before You Go

Prelude

The beginning of the end

I sat alone in a small rustic cabin in northern PA. It was late September, and the hardwood leaves were in their full glory, radiating golden hues down through the canopy above. It was a beautiful autumn day with a slight nip in the air, feeling crisp and clean. The earth was about to renew itself, I thought. I nestled into a worn-out recliner, hands cupping a mug of hot coffee, feet propped up on a wood stove, still warm from the morning fire. I was 50, jobless, homeless and in debt, but I could not have been more content. I leaned back and reflected on the things I had seen in the last six months, reveling in my good fortune and the great wealth of friends and experiences I had acquired.

I had long awaited this adventure and gave much of myself to make it a reality. It felt as though I had been training my entire life for this very purpose. The amazing sunsets over foreign soil, the tough cold rainy days, the desolate landscape of the Gobi Desert, the endless dense forest of Siberia, the loss of a fellow adventure rider, the awe-inspiring peaks of the Alps, the reflective history of Rome and Athens, the coastal winds of Ireland, the amazing beaches of Portugal, the midnight sun of northern Norway. They were all there, burned into my memory like tiny pictures on microfiche. I could pull them up in my mind’s eye into larger-than-life pictures whenever I wanted.

But the most important memories are, and always will be, the people who took the time to help me, to feed me, to give me shelter, to save me. I had seen some of the greatest natural and manmade wonders on earth. These experiences are not lost on me, yet they do not make up the memories that surface first. I sipped my coffee and pondered the giving nature of people throughout the world. Without asking, and without a single word of common language, I was fed and given much needed shelter in northern Siberia. I was treated like family as a close-knit biker club in eastern Russia sent home the body of a fellow adventure rider. I was nursed back to health with a broken leg in the middle of Mongolia by hotel staff with nothing to gain. I was offered food and shelter in the Gobi Desert by nomads with so little to give it puzzled me. I was invited into lavish homes and treated like a king. I became part of people’s families with a room of my own and a key to the front door. I shared hostels with young adults alive with youthful energy but showing only integrity and respect. Simply put, I found kind eyes, trusting character and generous giving everywhere I went.

My thoughts shifted to my three adult children, family and friends only 150 miles to the south. They were anxious to see me, and I them, but I was slow to end my journey. I did not want it to be over. I loved the road and the intrigue it offered. I felt as though I could go on indefinitely. After much reflection I stood and began to pack my worn and tattered dry bags one more time. It was time to go home.

Chapter 1

Where Dreams Are Born

I believe this trip began when I was just a young boy living in a big woods. I remember looking out into the forest wondering what lay within. The huge rocks, the valleys and hills, the winding creek. Where did they go? As that young boy, I was given the confidence and latitude to go and explore. My parents were smart enough to give me good advice, but they also knew that a good scare is worth more to a boy than all the warnings they could muster. With little restriction, I climbed those rocks and followed that stream. Eyes wide with curiosity and wonder.

When I was just a young whippersnapper, I was surprised with a gift that would change the rest of my life; a 1973 Honda XR75. With it, I cut my teeth into the world of two wheels. It was immediately addictive, and I would never look back. It gave me the freedom to explore further, push boundaries I didn’t even know existed and to see the world beyond the surrounding woods. It was new, dangerous, invigorating, and never grew old.

As a young man, I honed my riding skills trail riding old coal mine regions of northern Pennsylvania, racing hare scrambles and motocross. I was fearless and believed myself to be indestructible, the perfect combination for being bloodied and broken continuously. But somehow, I had an innate knowledge that physical wounds meant nothing as long as your spirit is not broken, and as such I never slowed or wavered, learning to ride fast and fearless despite injury and broken bones.

Years later as a middle-aged man, I found the alluring road calling my name and began street bike riding. Like my dirt experience, I learned through trial and error what worked and what ended in near disaster. I pushed unknown boundaries of my personal ability and physical machine limits. Again, I found myself bloodied and bruised but smiling at the chance to cheat fate time and time again. It was the very thing that made the ride so enthralling; to be so close to the edge you didn’t know where practical sense ended, and the point of no return began. I was never more alive than in that moment. The more than 15 broken bones, countless stitches, road rash, concussions and near-death misses were, and always have been, well worth the price of admission. I feared the boredom of routine far more than I feared the potential of physical pain.

Eventually, I began to look beyond the local roads and tracks, setting my sights on the Wild West of the United States. Like the little boy who looked into the woods, I now looked across our great nation with the same wonder and curiosity. With little more than a rough idea of direction and timing, I saddled my worn but worthy 2004 Yamaha R1 and in three days sat in northern Utah peering over endless mountains. The ride would take me over 6000 miles in two weeks, but it took me so much further; it opened an insatiable thirst to see more. As I traveled, I honed my camping and packing skills. Packing light and minimalistic was a skill refined by several, multi-day backpacking trips through eastern states. A solo, six-day, 180-mile kayak trip through Pennsylvania gained more survival and navigation skills. Riding year round through the harsh winters brought cold weather experience, and 25-mile commutes to work in single digits helped me master the art of cold weather riding. Already well-developed mechanical skills became more seasoned thanks to every imaginable breakdown and the commitment to perform all cycle repairs on my own, from tire changes to complete engine overhauls and everything in between. In short, without knowing it then, I was slowly building a personal arsenal of knowledge that would allow a successful around-the-world trip.

Chapter 2

Traction In The Right Direction

I’m not sure when my dream to see the world on two wheels began, but I can say it started as a small unassuming thought that grew over years into an undeniable force that had to be reckoned with. I read every book I could find written by people who have conquered such astonishing quests. I studied gear and accessories and maps and bikes and languages and cultures, trying to make sense of it all. I remember thinking of it under every imaginable scenario. I’d leave on 10/10/10 and return 12/12/12, yeah that would be cool. I’d travel to Alaska and take a small boat across the Bering Strait into the wilderness of Russia. I’d sell everything I own and never come back. I’d work along the way for months at a time and make money as I go. I’d find a sponsor to fund the trip. I’d ride my R1 with knobby tires to save money on a new bike. I’d sneak across borders to avoid the hassles of all the paperwork. I’d… the list went on and on over the years, unjustifiable thoughts or half-assed concocted plans lacking any real traction. Any reasonable person could shoot holes in my ideas and should have. They did not hold water, but they all had one thing in common: hope. Although it would take me years to put a stake in the ground and convince myself to make real plans, I never doubted my ability to do it. Never. Maybe that was the beginning of my success, the ability to believe it was possible. Somehow, sometime, somewhere it was not only possible, but it would happen. Without knowing it back then, I think I willed it into existence through the total and undying belief that it was not only possible, but it was going to happen. How does the saying go? Believe in your dreams until they have no choice but to become reality.

Sometime around early summer of 2016 I had enough of my self-inflicted idle talk and empty promises and began to concoct a real plan. A real plan. What did that look like and how on earth could I pull it off? How could someone who never had a single foreign stamp in a passport plan such an adventure? Where on earth to begin? Metaphorically, not physically, of course. I’ll begin from my garage door, but what will I need before that first twist of the throttle?

A bike, yes, a motorcycle. That would be a good start for an around-the-world ride. A proper one that can haul luggage and haul ass off-road while still being capable of long-distance days. If I was lucky maybe even one that has some fancy features like cruise control, anti-lock brakes, temperature readouts, and a real gas gauge. Wouldn’t that be nice for something you plan to live on for months if not a year or more? At the time, I owned a ridden-hard-put-away-wet Yamaha R1 with 96,000 miles on it and a BMW GX450X. While anything is possible with enough time and money, neither bike lent themselves to the task at hand. I needed a bike capable of hauling camping gear, clothes, food, water, tools and such, but also capable in some real off-road territory. In short, I needed an adventure bike. And so, the search began in earnest. Being an avid rider for most of my life I knew the offerings, so narrowing my search was easy. With some online research and a few trips to local dealerships, I quickly narrowed my options to three bikes: BMW GS800, Honda Africa Twin or a Triumph Tiger 800. Being short-legged and only 5’6" on a good day, height and weight were large factors in my decision. I’d picked up plenty of bikes in off camber, muddy, sandy, bramble infested trails and knew size was more important than any bells and whistles. In short, I was short and that played a big role in my selection. Much to the dismay of the sales reps, I laid the bikes over on the showroom floor and lifted them back onto their wheels. I sat on them envisioning myself navigating the crowded streets in large cities and rut infested trails of muddy jungles. In the end, the Triumph Tiger won my vote and by midsummer 2016, I was the proud owner of a slightly used model with only 1000 miles on the clock.

Buying the bike was only a small, almost insignificant part of the process to prepare for such a trip and I knew that the real work lay ahead, but even as I went through the motions, I still had not fully committed myself to the trip. In my mind’s eye I was simply exploring yet another type of riding that I knew I would appreciate. I already knew how much I loved off-road riding. I thoroughly enjoyed every aspect of camping and finding remote wilderness areas. I couldn’t get enough of long-distance travel via two wheels, so, the aspect of adventure riding fell nicely into place for me. It combined those things I already loved into one nice, compact and able package.

With bike in hand, my accessory research and buying began. Hour after hour of online searching and evaluating was spent scouring lists of companies and options. I pulled out tucked away pages cut from magazines and pamphlets gathered at cycle shows. I looked for panniers and engine guards, GPS units and map holders, tents and sleeping mats, waterproof tail bags and spare gas tanks. The list went on and on, and so did the research. Slowly and carefully, I made decisions and ordered what I needed. With engineering-like precision, I would evaluate each part, discovering that many did not mount securely or in the proper location. Luckily, I had a well-outfitted garage and managed a machine shop for my profession, so I began designing and handcrafting what I could not buy. I designed and fabricated a long tail rack that hinged, to cover the passenger seat which tripled my tail bag mounting area, a locking GPS mount to eliminate the worry of theft, tall engine guards that protected the upper fairings and also provided mounting locations for water containers and such. Months were spent finding, buying, making and mounting endless parts and accessories.

I loved the entire process and was tickled with the results. I had a near bulletproof design that could carry plenty of water, gear, supplies and tools. I included weatherproofed mounting close at hand for cell phone, GPS, heated gear controls and more.

By early September, I stood back and admired the results. It was mean and tactical looking. It was clean and new. It was too clean and new… it needed to be broken in and broken to find weaknesses and failure points. It needed a rough and tumble shakedown run.

By late September, I was heading into the U.S. northeastern states on a week-long ride. I would head into mountainous regions to test man, machine and camping gear. I ran long and hard. I found dirt roads and muddy ruts in the mountains of Vermont. I found sandy roads along the coast of Connecticut. I tented in sub-freezing weather in Maine. Everything functioned without issue or complaint, and it was fulfilling to see the fruits of my labor come together.

About mid-trip I sat in a small pub in Rockport, Maine, sipping a good dark porter and feeling content with my success thus far. An older, almost elderly couple walked in and sat directly next to me at the bar. The casual nod of the head and smiles were exchanged as they went about ordering drinks. Overhearing their conversation, it become clear they were foreign and visiting. Eventually, George introduced himself and his wife, Pipa, and we struck up a conversation. I liked them immediately, beaming with life and vitality that denied their true age. Is that your motorbike then? said George, as was evident by my riding gear hung over my chair. We chatted at length, and I learned that they were visiting from France. George was curious about my travels on two wheels and eventually, I mentioned my long-term plan to travel around the world, admitting it was still a far-fetched dream, but on my mind. George smiled warmly, leaned over to Pipa who was giddy with excitement and, digging through her purse, she handed George a small card. George presented me with an oversized business card explaining they owned a manor near the Pyrenees Mountains of France and would love to have me stay if I could make it that far. I looked at the card in bewilderment. The address was unrecognizable, in a foreign language, and the phone number so strange I wouldn’t begin to know how to dial it. We laughed at the absurdity of it and went about our ways, but after they left, I stared at the card for a long time. How on earth could I possibly make this huge journey when I didn’t even know how to locate or call one address in France? It seemed absolutely impossible, like stuff you watch in the movies but would never dare do, but it stirred something within me. I made myself a resolution right then and there that I must try, or the lost idea would consume me far worse than anything that could possibly happen along the way.

By early October 2016, I had finally put that stake in the ground and quietly committed myself to the journey. I had the perfect excuse too. I was turning 50 in March and knew in my heart it would be the perfect time to leave. The weather across the nation would be just breaking out of winter and it would put me on the West Coast in time to follow late spring and summer around the northern hemisphere, hopefully arriving in Europe by late autumn. My milestone age was as good an excuse as any I could think of. I tried not to talk much about it, as there was still so much planning and unknown logistics. I wanted to have a firm plan in place before telling friends and family. But how does one plan such a trip? I watched Long Way Around, a documentary about two famous people who planned a similar trip, but it only discouraged me. They had a team of people planning, spare bikes, two support vehicles, endless financial support and fixers in many countries; and it was still hard for them. How… how in the world could I tackle this on my own with no prior knowledge of overseas travel? How would I get the needed visas, carnet, vaccinations, access to money, language translation, international driver’s license, maps, insurance, transport across oceans and so much more? It was daunting, and it stirred up anxious thoughts and doubt. I almost gave up, but like so many things in life, I knew it was the slow march that would get me there, not a race to the finish line. So, I broke down the monumental task into portions I was hoping I could swallow.

I first plotted my course on a large 3’ x 6’ world map. I drew it on the map with approximate mileage and target dates. I would travel across the U.S., fly or boat myself and my trusty steed to Russia, go north into Siberia, drop into Mongolia, cross Kazakhstan, back into Russia past Moscow, north into Sweden, up around Norway, down into Denmark and through part of Europe to England, across to the Isle of Man and Ireland, back into mainland Europe, down through Italy, ferry over to Greece, up the east side of the Adriatic Sea, cross the Alps, down to the Pyrenees Mountains of France and then follow the coast south through Spain, ending in Portugal where I could either fly back to the U.S. or, if I had money, drop into Morocco and head towards Egypt. I knew Morocco and Africa were a long shot, but I’d be damn happy to make it as far as Portugal. My route would take me through roughly 25 countries and well over 20,000 riding miles. Timing appeared to work in my favor, allowing seven months before cold temps set into Europe. My high-level plan held water. This just might work, with God willing and the devil smiling.

With a route in place and a departure date of late March (my 50th birthday was 3/21/17, but I was allowing a little time to kick-off), I had almost exactly six months to finalize all details. It was barely enough time I figured, but I would try my best. I next sought to figure out and obtain the visas I would need. This proved to be a lengthy and confusing mess, but of the 25 or so countries I planned to ride through, I found that I only needed two visas, for Russia and Kazakhstan. This was a huge relief and after partnering with an agency who specialized in obtaining visas, I felt like this black hole was finding light and traction. However much to my dismay, after my first Russian submission, I was informed traveling through all of Russia with no escort was deemed a risk at best and my visa was denied. The Russian Consulate required that I outline the major cities I planned to travel through and resubmit the visa as a three-year multi-entry request. This more elaborate visa was needed due to the fact I would need to enter Russia at least twice throughout my trip and my stay was potentially so long that a normal visa might run out before I exited the country. I was informed that staying in the country with an expired visa was an extremely bad idea, so the three-year multi-entry option would be required. With the visa modified and resubmitted, I crossed my fingers and moved onto other things. The approval for both visas would take several months, after all.

Next on my list was figuring out if I would need a carnet. A carnet is a document ensuring that I will not sell my motorcycle for profit in countries where they are not available. If a carnet is required, I would need to apply and pay for the carnet (often three times the value of your bike) prior to arriving at the country border. The carnet is signed when I enter and again when I leave each country with the motorcycle. I then submit the signed carnet to the issuing agency at the end of my travel and get my money back, minus a processing fee. If I’d try to leave the country without the motorcycle, the country could collect the full carnet value from the issuing agency. This was concerning (at best!) as I did not have that kind of money at my disposal. I had roughly estimated, without any real skill, that the trip would cost me about $22,000USD. This was simply based on $100/day for 180 days plus one-time costs to transport my cycle overseas. I knew there would be low-cost days camping while eating twigs and berries, but there would be costly days paying for ferries and hotels. I had saved roughly $18,000 over the past two years but there was no allowance for a carnet. The process was confusing as many smaller countries changed their need for the carnet and even the issuing agencies appear confused, giving unclear or outdated information. The policy in a few of the countries I planned to visit like Albania, Montenegro and Bosnia were as clear as mud. In the end it seemed most major countries that I had to pass through did not need it, so I chose not to worry about it. I’d simply cross my fingers and say a little prayer when I got to their borders. Often in life it’s easier to ask for forgiveness than to ask for permission. I hoped it would work and moved on.

I then pondered how I would access money. How would I get cash in the middle of Mongolia? How much should I take along in paper currency? Would I need local currency and if so, how would I get it? After considerable research, I visited my local bank and was informed that my existing ATM bank card should work anywhere in the world, but I would first need to give a list of places being visited so my card would not be shut down. There was a 5% processing fee for any amount withdrawn, but the upside was that it would calculate the currency exchange rate and dispense the local currency. I had heard horror stories of people being robbed without knowing it through fake exchange rates at borders, so I decided that this was a lesser risk than carrying $18,000 in cash. In the end, I carried $2000 in cash and held my breath that the ATMs would work when needed. I also had Visa and MasterCard credit cards as back-up if the ATM did not work.

With another task off the list, I researched health insurance. I found my existing U.S. based health insurance would do nothing for me in a foreign country except maybe pay a partial cost to transport me back to the U.S. After much more research I found worldwide travel insurance for a six-month period for $700, with coverage of up to one million dollars, including transportation back to the US if required. I was pleasantly surprised with that as it was cheaper than my normal health insurance at home! Upon asking why, they told me because it will cover any country on my list except the U.S. Go figure, and there’s a story here but I’ll save that for later.

Although there were many more items to cross off my list, the last big one was how to get me and my trusty steed across the pond and into Russia. For that matter, where in Russia would I need to go? I suppose that would be good to know too, huh? Both questions proved to be my biggest hurdle and would take every bit of the six months I had left to resolve. Through previous research and books read, I knew there