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We were riding from Punta Gorda in the south to Orange Walk in the north of Belize when disaster struck.
Jayne's Honda XR150 suddenly started to make really bad noises from the engine. She pulled over and I started to troubleshoot. The bike was out of oil. I rode on my bike to the nearest farm and bough a liter of oil, while Jayne stayed in the little shade there was along the road. With oil in the bike the noise didn't go away, so it was time to use the emergency phone that Emma from Alternate Adventure Motorcycle Rental had provided. She immediately sent her mechanic on a spare bike to us and he arrived after about 45 minutes. The plan was that we would take the spare bike and carry on, while the mechanic would try to fix Jayne's bike on the side of the road, which I doubted was possible.
The spare bike was a Lifan ZR250, which is taller than the Honda, therefore Jayne took my bike and I rode the Lifan. Not 5 km down the road disaster struck again. The Lifan made a bang and it lost all forward drive, while the engine kept running fine. It turned out that the bolts that hold the rear sprocket on the wheel had all sheared off and the sprocket was turning but not the wheel. Time to call Emma again.
She was very apologetic and sent a pickup with another spare bike. The driver would deliver the bike to us, pick up our broken Lifan and then continue on to pick up the mechanic and his broken bike. This time it had happened in a village and the very nice locals invited us to sit in the shade with them and even helped us load the broken bike when the truck arrived after about 1.5 hours.
Emma said that in her 12 years experience the Honda XR150's never use oil and since we had ridden less than 1000 km it hadn't occurred to me to check the oil.
While it was unfortunate that we had to change our plans and didn't get to ride to Orange Walk and see Lamanai (we didn't have enough time left) we were able to cancel our hotel reservation. Emma really made an effort to make it right. Not only did she send spare bikes quickly, but after the second breakdown she didn't charge us for that rental day and offered us to stay the night in a room at her hostel, Crash Pad, for free. She also offered recommendations for what to do and see around Hopkins, Belize on our last two days.
We understand that shit happens, it's an adventure trip after all, and we really appreciate her efforts.

On the way back home at some point on Hwy 95, in the middle of nowhere in southern Oregon, I came upon a semi truck in front of me. I was going 75-80 mph and the truck about 65-70 mph. I had seen that there was no other traffic for miles in either direction, so I pulled out behind him to pass. In that very moment the truck passed a truck tire laying in the middle of the road and therefore blocking the tire from my view until it was right in front of me. I had no time to react. I tried to stand up, but only got my butt off the seat about an inch before I ran over the tire at full speed. I struggled to keep the bike upright but somehow managed to do it. I'm convinced that if I had been slower it would have thrown me off, momentum was all I had to get over this large obstacle. A inspection of the bike showed rubber marks of the truck tire on my front tire and on the bash plate, but no damage. I should have played the lottery that day as it was clearly my lucky day.

We arrived in Loreto and stopped to discuss which hotel to go to. When we then wanted to ride to the hotel Jayne's bike wouldn't start anymore. We changed plans and got a room in the nearest hotel and pushed the bike there. We had stopped in front of a car rental place and their mechanic knew a motorcycle mechanic in town and called him to come to our hotel.
Omar showed up half an hour later and picked up the bike to transport it to his shop, just a few blocks away.
After several test we called it a night. Omar determined the next day that it was a dead battery and a rubbed through wire, which caused the battery to fry. So we got a new battery, he fixed the wire and we picked up the bike that night. I insisted of staying another night and going for a long test ride before heading back out into the largely unpopulated areas again the day after that.

The breakdown could not have happened in any better place. The mechanic was good and cheap, and we got back on the road with just a little delay. The bike worked for the rest of the trip with no further problems.

After I had my first flat motorcycle tire ever in 2016, we had two on this trip. First Jayne picked up a nail on a gravel road in the middle of nowhere. First I tried a can of Fix-a-Flat, which of course didn't work at all. I really didn't want to change the inner tube in the burning sun, as I often pinch the tube in the process, and if I did, what would we do then without another spare tube? We cleaned out the mess from the spray can and the tube change went surprisingly well, even though we ran out of drinking water in the heat. Two hours later we were on the road again.

The two days later I picked up a nail a few miles outside of Ely, NV. There was no shoulder on the highway to safely fix it, and since we have roadside assistance we called Progressive Insurance, what a nightmare that was. The lady on the phone was only reading from a script that didn't apply to motorcycles and then wanted to tow me to Salt Lake City or Las Vegas, both 250 miles away. Eventually we got a tow truck to a motel in Ely, where I changed the tube in the last daylight and finished by the shine of my head lamp. We had bought the tube the day before in Winnemucca, at the only motorcycle store we've seen since then, and it was the very last inner tube in our size they had. To get another spare tube we had to make a 200 mile detour to Las Vegas, but after two flats we didn't want to chance it and ride without a spare in very remote Nevada.

We never plan a motorcycle trip in August, but this year, due to work, it was either August or not at all. So August it was.
Usually we don't manage to get out until noon for a trip, but the forcast was 106F, so we hit the road by 10 a.m. to be in shady forest when the highest temperature hit.The incredible heat would stay with us for nearly the entire trip, which took quite a toll on us. We ride ATGATT (All The Gear All The Time), and one day we were just absolutey done by 3 p.m., so we decided to get a motel with an outdoor pool instead of camping, and we did and enjoyed it very much.

Another issue with a trip in August, as we had to find out, is the HUGE ammount of mosquitos in the woods. Our tent has, of course, mosquito netting, but I had seldom taken our hat-nets on a trip. Even on our Alaska trip we didn't need them, but wow, how we needed them on this trip. Good bug repellant helps a little, and I always bring my bug repellant No-squito shirt and pants, which unfortunately have to be long sleve and are quite warm, but help. The hat-nets pack small and are light weight, I highly recommend them for any summer trip.

During our Idaho motorcycle trip I finally had my first flat tire. It was bound to happen at some point, and of course it would happen in a ghost town in the middle of nowhere. But still, first flat after 225,000 km (140,000 miles), I can't complain.
It was a relatively slow leak, and since I'm not good at changing tires (I usually puncture the tube), I decided to use a can of "Fix-a-flat". It seemed to work, so we rode back to civilisation, and got a new tube put in at a Honda shop.

At a ranger station we met a guy from California on his KLR. He highly recommended visiting the ghost town of Custer, just a bit down the road. We would likely not have seen the tiny sign pointing to it, if we hadn't been looking for it. So we took yet another lonely gravel road to a ghost town. It was getting late and the ranger was just closing up in Custer, but she told us about the campground that is just a few miles past the ghost town up in the woods, so we decided to camp there and visit the town in the morning. At night it got smoky and in the morning there was a lot of smoke in the woods. We were a bit nervous, because we knew about several wildfires in the area. So we finished breakfast quickly, packed up, and rode back down to the ghost town.

On our way to Hyder, Alaska we camped at Meziadin Provincial Park. It is only about 60 miles from Steward, BC, but it was getting late and we decided to stay the night. It's a very nice camp site at a lake, but be aware of bears. Jayne went to the bathroom at night and apparently didn't notice the Grizzly behind her, at least that's what another camper told us in the morning.
During our motorcycle trip we saw several bears along the roads, and then two grizzlys at the bear watching platform in Hyder, Alaska.

We rode from Moab, UT along the Potash Road into Canyonlands National Park. The Potash Road is in parts a quite rough trail, and for sure not passable in a car without 4WD and high clearance.
At the bottom of Canyonlands National Park we came to the Shafer Switchbacks, a dirt, gravel, and rock road up a 1300 feet tall cliff. As the name indicates, the road has several switchbacks, and is altogether quite steep.
I stopped at the bottom of the road to take a couple of photos, while Jayne continued uphill. When I came to the third switchback I nearly got a heart attack. I saw Jayne pinned under her bike in the ditch next to the rock wall.
I lifted the bike a little so that she could crawl out, her aluminum panniers prevented the bike from crushing her leg. She had an altered mental status, which I assotiated with a shock, but it turned out to be a concussion from hitting the rock wall with her helmet. After about 1/2 hour later, with Rangers and EMS on scene, she slowly came back to being herself. She was taken by a 4WD ambulance to Moab Hospital for a CT scan to make sure she didn't have brain bleeding or similar, which she didn't. Read her side of the story here.
After three days of relaxing and healing at a Moab Motel we continued on our trip.

Beginning of September 2012 we rode from Oregon to California where we visited friends. Then on to Nevada, from where we had wanted to headed back to Oregon. We had perfect weather on our trip through California and the first part of Nevada. One day we had planned to get to Tonopah in Nevada in the evening. We were about one hour ride away from reaching Tonopah when a black wall appeared in front of us, a bad thunderstorm. We stopped to see if the storm with heavy rain and lots of lightning would pass. That was not the case, and because of all the lightning we didn't want to ride on through the wide open plains and be the highest points on the bikes. Looking at the map we saw that the closest town away from the storm was about 60 miles north, so on to Mina, NV. By the time we got there it was already dark, and we noticed that this town hadn't much to offer, a bar and several nailed shut houses. We went into the bar to ask for a possible camping site. The bar was run down and there were guys playing poker at a tabel, one of them had an eye patch. The bartender said that there was no camping site near by and offered us to camp on his stage outside or to sleep on the floor of his trailer. When we declined both, he said we could put up our tent in the park across the street. We had a look at the park, it was a small gravel patch with a few trees and two grills, right next to the highway. In lieu of other options we set up camp in the "City Park" and listened to semi truck passing all night long. Next morning we packed up, quite tired, and continued to Tonopah.

Mid June 2011 we rode from Oregon to Yellowstone. It was nice weather and sometimes quite hot. Of course we had read that Yellowstone is rather high, and that there had been a lot of snow in the past winter. We had also heard that there should be some rest snow left, which was hard to believe while riding in temperatures of more than 30°C (90°F) on our way there, but whatever. When we arrived at the camp site we were a little shocked, not only did my GPS show an altitude of over 2600m (8600 feet), but they had just cleared some more camping spots, the snow was in parts still more than 1m high. They gave us a talk to absolutely use the bear boxes, which turned out to be hidden somewhere under the snow. The camping spot they gave us was a nearly 2m (9 feet) high wall of snow and the road in front of it. We looked for a better available spot and demanded to change spots, which was granted. The new spot was still only a cleared, paved parking spot, but at least we were off the road. We borrowed a shovel from a neighbor and started to look for our camping table and fire pit. After a few "exploratory holes" we found them and began with the excavation, shoveling snow in June is something different. The first two nights were cold but not too bad, during the third night it snowed and the temperatures dropped far below freezing, so we were happy to move on the next day. It was a cold, but interesting experience to tent camp in the snow, especially in mid June.

Cyrillic letters are used in Bulgaria, Macedonia and in the Serbian part of Bosnia. It not only makes reading traffic signs a challenge, but also makes reading a restaurant menu impossible, especially in the countryside, where English or German doesn't help.  In Shumen in Bulgaria we found then a restaurant where we could at least somewhat communicate with the waiter. We ordered what he recommended, chicken in tomato sauce, it tasted great. Since it was so good we had the waiter write the name of the dish down in cyrilic and used it to order in other restaurants.

In the morning I crossed the border from Greece to Albania. Then, at around noon, I stopped at this tiny restaurant in southern Albania for lunch. The cook, which was also the waiter, brought me a hand written menu, which of course I couldn't read. After a short language tangle (me in German and English, he in Albanian and something else) we noticed that we couldn't find a common language. Then the cook took me into the kitchen and opened all pots. Everything looked good and smelled good too, but I still didn't really know what everything was. So the cook pointed to one pot and said "Baaah", then pointed to another one and said "Mooo". Then we both had a good laugh, and I ordered the "Mooo" with rice -- it was really good!

I had shipped my motorcycle from Germany to Los Angeles for a 6-week motorcycle trip through the western states. After about a week, in mid May, I was in Las Vegas in Nevada at 100ºF. It wasn't only hot, but I was also stuck in traffic for hours in the city. I realized that the oil temperature of the air cooled engine rose further and further. I switched the engine off whenever I wasn't moving to prevent further overheating. This didn't entirely work, because of the constant starting of the engine the battery got weak. When I finally came to a side street with less traffic and turned off there the oil temperature was at an estimated 160ºC/320ºF (the display ends at 140ºC/184ºF and there is a red line at 120ºC/248ºF). Now you ask why I didn't stop earlier. Unfortunately this was not possible due to very high side walks, or even fenced in side walks, and stopping on the side of a four lane road is just not an option. After I stopped in the side street and waited for the engine to cool off, I took side streets out of the city. Two days later I was just before Flagstaff in Arizona when I heard the worst noise from the engine that I have ever heard. About 20 km later I was in the town and quickly found a Honda dealership, which was even open on that Sunday. Since the Honda NX650 Dominator was sold in the USA for only two years in the 80th nobody had ever seen such a bike, until a older mechanic came. He knew the bike and after diagnosing a cracked cylinder head he also knew where to get a new one by expedited mail. Three days later I was on the road again, Thank you very much! The awful noise was actually caused by a valve seat slipping out in the cracked cylinder head, and then by the valve pushing it back in.

While I was somewhere in the middle of nowhere in Iceland it started to rain (well, it happens). So, I stopped to put on my rain gear. Since I can't reach my wallet in the one piece rain suit and I needed gas soon, I took the wallet out of my pants to place it in my small handle bar bag. After about one hour of riding it stopped raining, so I stopped again to take of my rain gear. I nearly got a heart attack when I realized that my wallet wasn't in the handle bar bag. I had put it on the luggage roll while I put on the rain gear to put it in the bag later, which I obviously had forgotten to do. I searched in panic in every possible and impossible place on the bike, the luggage, and my clothes, but my wallet wasn't there. The wallet had to have fallen down while I was riding, and it contained all my cash, my credit cards, my ID card, and my drivers license! After I yelled "Shit!" several times I got back on the bike and rode the same way back, this time in first gear with my eyes pinned to the dirt road and its banks. When I came close to the area where I had put on the rain gear I had nearly given up on finding my wallet. But I decide to ride up and down the road until I would run out of gas, and then camp there until the next person would come by. Then suddenly I noticed a flat, square stone in the mud. I stopped and lifted it up - and it really was my wallet! Never before or since have I performed such a happy dance, and I'm glad nobody was around to film it.

My motorcycle trip in May was planned to go from Germany trough Sweden up past the arctic circle and then trough Finland back home. In Sweden the weather was perfect, even just before the arctic circle it was still 15ºC/60ºF. Then the weather changed over night and suddenly it was rainy with high temperatures of 2ºC/35ºF. This wasn't pleasant, but I was prepared for this kind of weather, so I rode on further north. Two days later, I had just crossed the border to Finland, when it got even colder. The high temperature was now far below freezing and it snowed sometime heavily. After just one hour of riding I was so cold that I couldn't feel my fingers anymore. So, I decided to head south as quickly as possible, but after three hours I just couldn't go any further. Then I noticed a sign for a camping cabin and decided to take it whatever the price might be. It turned out to be a real luxury cabin, which I got (probably because of pity) for a acceptable price. The cabin didn't only have heating, but also a sauna! I fired up the sauna and got in until I came back to an acceptable body temperature. Then I went to bed and slept for nearly 12 hours. The next two days I rode further south like on the run, and stayed in warm hotels at night. Finally the temperatures became a little warmer and I could continue my way home a little more relaxed.

On the way to the North Cape in Norway I decided on short notice to take the ferry from Bodo to the Lofoten. It turns out the ferry runs only twice a week and of course not the day I was there. But by chance a old mail ship of the Hurtigruten was there and ready to depart in a few minutes. So I hurried to find out where to buy a ticket, and if they take motorcycle at all. They take motorcycles and even cars as long as there is space on deck. When I asked where I should ride the bike on board they just pointed to the crane on deck. The captain came down to inspect the bike for damages and noted a few scratches. After unloading at the Lofoten he inspected the bike again, and I signed that they didn't damage my motorcycle. The normal ferry is a little cheaper, but I didn't want to wait for days, and the show with the crane was worth the price.

My Ireland trip was the first big trip with my new luggage. I liked the large bag, because one could unzip and then flip down two small side bag to reduce the width of the bike. With a second zipper one could take off the side bags. I had identified this as a possible problem and sewed the second zipper shut, so that it wouldn't open while riding. On the quite bad roads in Ireland and especially on the passes one of the zippers must have opened anyway and I lost one of the side bags. When I notice the missing bag I turned around and searched for it, but I couldn't find it. I hadn't only lost the side bag, but also a pullover, a jeans, and my rain suit. Surprisingly it didn't rain on the entire rest of the trip, until I nearly reached the ferry in England. I was quite lucky under the circumstances.