Bam in Eastern Iran should have been a nice stopping point, walled mudbrick citadel, good guesthouse, friendly people, etc. But it wasn't, we didn't exactly hate it, but we got close, damned close. Being our last stopping off point in Iran we were looking forwards to chilling out before the big ride across the desert. Our problem was the level of hassle from men in Bam is huge. I was on constant point duty whenever we went out, the guys (who have the BEST mullets by the way) are experts on the "elbow grope". A nice one where they 'accidently' bump into a woman but always manage to leave a hand or normally and elbow dragging across the booby area. The weird grin on their faces is deeply disturbing. Anyway whenever we left the hotel I was there like an American footballer knocking into guys 'accidently' witht a huge daysack. We were pleased to hit the desert after a few days.

Bam to Zahedan (300km split into 3 days) Deserts are weird places on a bicycle, sometimes they can be as silent as the grave as you glide effortlessly across the road, other times raging winds try to knock us off the bike, forcing us into lower and lower gears (and that's going downhill). Our trip across the Iranian deserts were all the latter, huge headwinds and busy traffic, which was a shame as I was looking forwards to them.

Our first night we were flagged down by a policeman at Shurgaz and he let us camp on the very sandy roadside next to the police compound. Very cold & very noisy as the trucks rumbled along all night long. The 111km to Nosrat Abad started off gently climbing but then after about 70km took a turn for the worse and the real climb began, we gained a vertical kilometre in the next 20km with many false summits, being our first real hills for months we were pretty stuffed by the time we got to our camp at the Emergency Station in Nosrat Abad.

Our constant companion the dreaded headwind was back the next day with such force that we struggled to make any progress even against a gentle incline. There was a huge downhill just before lunch but we had to work damned hard just to keep going forwards. Jen still had her cold form Christmas and was struggling to keep going at all. A third night out in the desert wasn't an option as the areas is considered 'unsafe' (never felt that threatened myself).So, eventually after 260km of desert we had to catch a truck for the last 40km, we were running out of light, I was too tired to lead anymore & Jen was too sick to go much more then 10kmph. Next day, extremely disheartened by our defeat, we took a pickup to the Pakistani border.

The Policemen on the Pakistani side were like something from he days of the Raj, all bristling moustaches and amazing accents. The whole image wasn't helped by one of them looking like the batty old colonel in 'Dangermouse'. Customs was a joke, "Please fill the book in. Welcome to Pakistan". That was it! The 14 hour bus journey across the Balluchistan Desert to Quetta was on an old ramshackle thing that's heyday was in the 1970's. Huge amounts of luggage were precariously perched on the roof with our bikes sitting on top, catching electrical wires as they passed under. The smuggled petrol that was loaded on began to leak onto Jen's seat and the guy next to us lit up a fag. Time to change seats, everyone else just looked at us like we were mad as we had got the best seats in the house.

Everyone had warned us about Quetta, all very negative. We had a ball, everyone was hugely friendly, fed us loads of tea and dhal and roti (lentils and chapatti) and made us feel at home, even the snow on the hills and the rain. After intensive haggling for a couple of Patus (thin woolen blankets worn as s hawls and used for every occasion) we were set up for the 44 hour train journey across the country to Rawalpindi. We had wanted to cycle across Pakistan but reports of a belgian couple being stoned by locals put us off. That and, to be honest, I was a bit fed up with deserts. We will return to Pakistan one day soon, hopefully when we are able to go north into the Karakoram area and trek to K2 basecamp, now that would be fun.

Three days of back and forth got us an Indian visa. God, the Indian Embassy couldn't organise a piss up in a brewery, they open late close early demand stuff they don't need then only give you 3 months when you asked for 6 months. Their excuse was "short staffing!!". The Australian Embassy runs a pub on Thursday nights and I had been holding out for this all the way across Iran, cold beer appeared before my eyes as we peddaled across the desert. Bloody thing was closed due to security problems. Must have been the dream target for Al-Queida, all these foriegn nationals doing such an unIslamic thing as dirnking.

We at least got in some serious gluttony when we discovered that the local 5 star hotel did a huge (and I mean HUGE) buffet for 500 rupees each (about a fiver). SO we pigged out on fresh veg and seafood, not to mention the 15 varieties of cakes and desserts on offer. A nice change from the monotony of Iranian cuisine!

A wee side trip up north to Peshawar and a daytrip to the Khyber Pass on the Afghan border brings us up to date. The police provided an armed guard as the 'Tribal Areas' are self governing. The main road has police checkpoints and right next to it is the smugglers road, where there are no checkpoints, no taxes, no police, and no laws.

Ho humm, a week left here in Pakistan then it is back on the bike and off to Amritsar, 3 weeks across the north of Indi a and then the relative calm of Nepal & a cold beer at last.