The Bikes from Brazil

By Duncan Bennett, Member #4171

Youwouldn’t think so but riding into huge sprawling cities with insane traffic is perfect training for the adventure motorcyclist. We’d been getting a bit of practice since our first exposure in Buenos Aires and the entry into Brazil. Extreme slow speed riding with intricate clutch, throttle and brake control – Patagonian gravel, a piece of cake. With little bikes weaving between the clogged cars; we just sit and try to stop cars, buses, and trucks entering our surrounding force field, using our tractor beams to clear a path and recover any of the fleet who become separated. We’d bypassed Sao Paulo via Paraty, now it was Day 37 and the unmissable Rio de Janeiro was the destination. Unremembered, it was April 1st and Allana took the opportunity to announce that according to their website there was no Wifi in our Rio hotel, waiting until the hysterics, wailing, and beseeching of various deities was at a fever pitch before mentioning it was April Fool’s Day. Well played.

Brazil doesn’t do siesta-time like Argentina so the ride was going to get us in about lunchtime, a mere 250km. Started out OK through the picturesque coastal winding road into the precity re-group, then very slow moving clogged traffic which went for a couple of kilometres. Just before we got to the breakdown/crash causing the cloggage, a scooter rider appeared from nowhere and started discussions up the front with Ride Leader Supremo JC. Next thing we knew we were following the scooter rider. Wild intercom speculation between Cindy and I; did the scooter rider just cruise the clogged freeways looking for foreign riders in groups to lead in for a fee? Had he smiled winningly at JC and applied the Peter Allan curse – When a scooter rider smiles at me I go to Rio, de Janeiro, me-oh-my-oh we’re in trouble-o. Onto the more pleasant unfreeways and heading to the coast, the scooter rider took us through a toll booth and the winding streets, and then peeled off when we eventually got to the famously distracting Copacabana beach along the South Atlantic.

At the Copacabana U-Turn

We arrived Triumphantly (especially those of us riding Triumphs) into the Hotel Regina in Flamengo, and after a few dramas trying to get the bikes up the brutally steep ramp, ensconced ourselves. Was the mysterious scooter rider paid to divert people to the heady sights of Copacabana we asked JC? No, it was an off-duty policeman who had seen that we were heading in via a road lined with homeless, and