Mountain biking in Rockville, California

I could start by listing the disadvantages that I had compared to Edward (i.e. brakes the wrong way around, no fitness, no riding for 6 months, unfamiliar equipment etc etc), but that would sound like I was making excuses. The simple fact was that Edward rode great and I rode like a kook. We had driven to Rockville park about half an hour north of Vallejo and Edward had talked me into believing that it would be a straightforward Saturday afternoon's ride. Why had I forgotten the first rule of mountain biking - always make it sound easier than it is?

We parked at the secret bikers' back entrance to the park and kitted up - shin pads, gloves and, for Edward, a full face helmet. At this point, I began to get suspicious and made a blithe reference to the fact that I was "taking no risks today" as I had a few more months of travelling and didn't want to break anything. He didn't reply and I knew that he saw it for what it was. Another excuse.

We climbed a short section of fire road through a dry, but surprisingly green landscape to a fence line by a large pond. The third member of our posse, Fin, went off to the muddy water and filled his stomach in anticipation of the hot riding ahead. Fin is Edward's dog and, unlike Edward and I, he would finish the ride injury free, save for a couple of ticks.

We wiggled on a dusty, rocky trail between oak trees with Edward promising an "interesting challenge". I am tempted to add "dude" to the end of the last quote, but that may be my stereotype of Americans taking over. In any event, he was excited and I was beginning not to be. The challenge was a steep rock step leading into a bouldery gully with a tricky twist and turn needed to nail the final ledge. Imagine fist-sized chunks of rock cemented into a drainage channel to which someone had taken a sledge hammer to roughen everything up a bit. "Babies' heads", Edward called them, and they were pretty solid.

Edward, riding with clipped in pedals, hit the rock step and I watched his front wheel arc through the air. He tried to heave his weight forward to counter the movement, but it was too late and, in slow motion, the bike started to tip over backwards. Two things happened simultaneously - first Fin moved out of the way and second Edward tried to remove his feet from the pedals. He failed and landed solidly on his back. The camelback of water exploded and, with a nice scrape on his elbow, he pulled himself from the ground. I pushed my bike over the section while, Robert the Bruce like, he tried and tried again until he succeeded. That, my friends, is the American work ethic.

At the top, Edward pointed out poison oak, a plant that induces an irritating and very uncomfortable rash if it comes into contact with your skin. Most people first encounter it when "seeing a man about a dog" in the bushes. We rode off on singletrack, climbing slowly, and within half an hour I felt my legs start to get heavy. Edward was giving me the running commentary and I tried to make meaningful responses without sounding like I was out of breath.

Eventually, the riding became a little easier and we hooned through oak woodland with verdant green grass on packed singletrack. To my mind, the archetypal Californian riding. The brakes being the wrong way round caught me out time and time again as I pulled on the left brake expecting the back wheel to slow, only to find the front wheel locked up and the bike in a skid situation (again). Still, it didn't matter. The sun was shining, I was in shorts and I was riding. That was more than enough.

Edward's highlight was a steep gully of washed rock, babies' heads and loose stones. He disappeared, full face helmet tightened before the descent, in a cloud of dust and with a few words of advice - "don't do anything crazy". He must really have got the wrong idea about me! I eked my way down, scanning for the smooth lines and slipping the bike around all the obstacles that no doubt made it his favourite run. At the bottom, we turned right and I went over a step down. My weight was too far forward and I supermanned over the bars. A nifty little roll on impact and I was unscathed save for a few scratches. "You look like you've done that before," Edward commented. I wasn't sure whether to take it as a compliment or not.

Lake Tahoe, California

San Francisco

The Black Sheep Inn, Ecuador

After 7 hours on several cramped Ecuadorian local buses, the pressure was really on for my surprise to be worth the discomfort. Albane had no idea where we going as the bus rattled along dirt tracks into the mountains, steep hill sides smothered in mist and drizzle forcing the driver to use his wipers. As we stumbled out of the bus at the Black Sheep Inn, just outside the remote village of Chugchilan, I hoped that my brownie point total was about to go ballistic.

We were welcomed by Michelle, an American who, along with her boyfriend, had set up the Inn over 10 years ago. Aimed at bringing ecotourism to the region, they recycled, collected water and had composting toilets. Michelle gave us the introductory speech about how to poo properly, what we could do and reminded us that the half board was entirely vegetarian. I gulped. Four days would be the longest that I had ever gone without eating meat. Our room was cosy with a small wood burner in the corner. Anyone who knows Albane will know that my brownies went sky high when she realised that she could have a fire in her room.

With the afternoon rains settled in, we read until the communal dinner at 7pm. The food - some kind of vegetables - was great and I stuffed myself before roasting my belly by the fire. The next morning, we hired a small, old local man called Miguel who led us up the hill to the cloud forest. We followed the old boy, dressed in wool slacks and wearing a waterproof, for an hour to the ridge, panting as he scarcely seemed to breath, before dropping into the dense forest. Like something from Lord of the Rings, the trees were clad with epiphytes, hairy mosses, seaweed-like liches and delicate orchids. We twisted between the gnarled trunks spotting plants of interest in every direction before exiting abruptly into the open farmland. We ate a packed lunch watching the cloud rolling in from the Pacific before heading down in heavy rain. Another afternoon by the fire with a book. Guiltfree.

The next morning, we hired a truck and were driven an hour west gaining height as we passed through villages and fields of maize planted on impossible slopes. Llamas and goats and sheep, herded by young girls, bolted as the truck bounced past. Dropped in a small car park,we walked up a couple of steps andf ound ourselves on the rim of an enormous crater.Perhaps a kilometre across, maybe more. The Quilotoa volcano had blown itself up leaving a deep crater, now filled with a lake of the most intense chemical green. We snapped photos, failing to capture the scale, before following a trail along the edge, undulating here and there, always watching the crater and the lake as our viewpoint changed. After an hour and one final glance, we dropped down the flank of the volcano, across fields and eventually reached a small village populated entirely by chidren being grown ups. Boys stood in door ways, kicking footballs and looking at the girls as they chatted in small groups on the ground. Wise to the weather, we made it back by early afternoon and read as the rain fell again. Wet season was coming.

After more food for dinner and more food for breakfast, we felt ready for more exercise and descended from the Inn to the valley bottom passing villages and scrubby woodland on the way. With a few tethered sheep grazing and the river running a chocolate brown colour, there was something biblical about the valley. No roads, no powerlines and no human influence other than a path running along the right bank. We sat in the sun pondering the future before eventually dragging ourselves up the hill as the afternoon clouds started to gather.

At dinner that night, we pondered how to get back to Quito. The local bus passed at 3am and the milk truck apparently passed at 7am. Neither was particularly appealing, but Pachamama (the Andean Mother Earth) must have been smiling on us because we got talking to an Italian couple touring the area with a driver and they offered us a lift to Quito. They had a whole minibus for the two of them, so we had plenty of room and enjoyed a scenic return to the capital. A relaxing few days and some wonderful glimpses of the Ecuadorian countryside.

Sacha Lodge, Ecuador

The day after Ma and Pa's arrival in Quito and, after our most luxurious hotel room all trip, a minibus picked the four of us up and drove us to the aptly named VIP airline where we rested briefly before boarding a 30 person plane, replete (I am glad to say) with two propellers. We took off into heavy mist and, twenty minutes later, we had crossed the Andes and could see the odd patch of green jungle through the low cloud. Our arrival in the frontier oil town of Coca was run by the Sacha Lodge staff like a military opertation and we were eating a packed lunch in their office just minutes after the plane touched down.

The dug out canoe, with twin 90 horse power outboards, shot downstream for two hours passing Amazon river boats, barges filled with machinery and small villages clinging to the river bank. With his normal disregard to being ordered what to so, Pa led us away from the group and the shouting guides down a board walk towards the lodge. The guides caught us a couple of kilometres later, but had forgotten his infringement. We got the first canoe across the lake to the wooden lodges of Sacha.

As we enjoyed our welcome cocktails, the heavens opened and we spent the rest of the afternoon reading and listening to the tropical rain hammer down around us. It was refreshing after the chaos ofQuito. At dinner, we met Gustavo, our guide, an father and son with matching beards, and Terry, a tattoed American woman working for an expedition travel company. After stuffing ourselves (well, I did anyway), we went to bed early listening to the frogs, cicadas and unknown wildlife in the darkness.

We woke before dawn and, after a big breakfast, we boarded a dug out with Andelmo, our native guide, and Gustavo paddling silently through the still morning air. We slipped into a narrow creek, silent and hoping tospot monkeys or caimans or something big. We saw nothing, but it was very pleasant (and soporofic at 6 in the morning - though no one succumbed). At the end of the creek, we walked through the forest to a huge Capok tree and climbed a wooden staircase into the canopy. The view was stunning - trees in every direction and the vast expanse of sky hanging over it.

We stayed for a few hours and saw red howler monkeys, pale cream toucans with impossibly long beaks and tiny blue tanagers flitting through the foliage. On thepaddle backtothelodge, Andelmo pointed out ascaly Caiman lizard sunbathing ona branch over our headsand Gusavo looked a little sick that he hadn't spotted it first. After lunch, we convinced Ma to swim in the lake - if she had seen thepiranhas that people were cathcing or the 9 foot anaconda that was fetched out the water the next day, she might have had second thoughts.

In the afternoon, we climbed another tower and walked along suspended planks over the forest. The view of the warm evening light over the trees and the callsof a pairof toucans were a wonderful way to finish the day. Another big feed, another nightime orchestra of sounds and another early start to get the canoe fiurther down river to a clay lick where we watched four species of pale green parrots chew pieces of clay from the river bank to soak up the toxinsof unripe fruit in their stomachs. On the way back to the lodge, we visited a local house and heard about the shaman who are still important in the small jungle communities. In the humid, other world of the jungle, it was easy to imagine how these beliefs had been formed and why they were so important in maintaining a stable way of life.

The next morning, we took the large canoe back upstream and caught the plane back to cool and rainy Quito. Albane fell ill (though she did well in choosing the Hilton as the place to do so), but was sufficiently recovered enough by the next day to join us on a day trip to Otavalo, north of Quito, where Ma and Pa bought leather jackets (Pa needing only his Capri and a cigarette to feel like he was 20 all over again). We said goodbye back in town - they were off to the Galapagos and we were off to America.

The Peruvian Dog

Bapteme de plongee

Aujourd´hui, j'ai fait mon bapteme de plongee aux Galapagos.......... et oui tant qu'a choisir autant bien choisir. je n'avais jamais vraiment penser qu'un jour je ferais de la plongee mais on a qu'une vie et autant en profiter surtout ici, lieu paradisiaque pour les plongeurs.Apres une demi heure de bateau, on m'a dit de me preparer: combi, veste, chaussons, masque, poids, bcd, palmes..........bref suffisament de poids pour ne pas etre tres a l'aise. Une fois au bord de la vedette, je commencais a suer..........la chaleur ou l'angoisse? je ne sais pas. Cependant, j'ai fait une entree spectaculaire dans l'eau puisque j'ai fait un tour complet en arriere..............ca fait plus professionnel, non???

On a passe les premieres minutes a s´habituer a respirer avec le regulateur puis on est descendu a 5 metres pour s'assurer que tout aille bien et pratiquer a vider le masque si jamais celui se remplit d'eau. Bizzarement, j'ai trouve etre a cinq metres de profondeur et respirer artificiellement tout a fait naturel. Je retrouvais meme mes gestes de natation syncronisee pour me stabiliser dans l'eau , ce qui a fait sourire les autres. ( a chacun son style).Cette premiere plongee etait juste pour s'assurer que je ne panique pas et j'ai eu du temps libre pour laisser les autres plongeurs qualifies plonger.

Je suis donc partie avec mon masque, mon tuba et mes palmes a la recherche de gros poissons. A peine cinq minutes apres avoir commencer, un requin( white tipped reef shark est passe sous mois) . Etant seule dans l'eau, je nétais pas tres rassuree mais ils ne sont pas mechants parait il. J'etais bien sur entouree de poissons de toutes les couleurs dans une eau translucide. Un vrai aquarium!!!

Le capitaine du bateau m'a fait signe d'aller plus loin pour voir le requin marteau. ah oui, un requin marteau, vraiment? Je suis partie dans la direction qu'il m'a indiquee et en dessous de moi, tout doucement est passe un requin marteau!!!!!!!!!! Quelle etrange creature!!!!!!!!!!!! On se demande s'il n'a pas quelque chose coince en travers de la machoire!!!! Malgre mon angoisse d'une eventuelle attaque, j'ai persevere et ca m'a servi puisque d'autres white tipped reef sharks sont apparus et le meme requin marteau.Et tout ca en faisant du snorkling!!!!!!!! Quand les plongeurs sont remontes a la surface et m'ont demandee poliment comment avait ete mon snorkling............. ils ont regrette leur question puisque j'ai vu plus qu'eux.

Une heure et demi plus tard, je suis descendue pour une vraie plongee cette fois la.... douze metres, ce qui n'est pas mal pour une premiere experience. Encore une fois, je ne me suis pas appercue de la profondeur. C'est une sensation extraordinaire de pouvoir respirer sous l'eau........ on se sent tres leger et dans son element. Les poissons ne sont pas peureux au contraire, on peut passer pres d'eux , sous eux, au milieu d'eux ou meme rester en face et prendre des photos sans qu'ils bougent.

Ainsi, on a pu revoir des requins, des anguilles, une murraine, une tortue, un loup de mer, un poisson plat avec les yeus paralleles sur le dos ( je ne me souviens plus le nom) et bien d'autres poissons.Est ce que j'ai eu peur? Non? Est ce que je voudrais recommencer? , oui Quand ? demain et ou? Aux galapagos dans un endroit qui s'appelle Beagle.

The Galapagos, Ecuador

Everyone has heard of the Galapagos islands, but few could tell you that the archipelago consists of a large number of islands (only 4 of which are inhabited by humans) which were created by a number of volcanic eruptions beneath the Pacific ocean. While the large islands have relatively wet and green highlands, the coastal parts of the islands are baked volcanic rock scattered with cacti and scrub vegetation. It is hard to know where to start with the Galapagos. It has gorgeous beaches, incredible and unique wildlife, beautiful seas for swimming and a very healthy tourist industry. Most foreigners join a boat and spend a week sailing round various islands, but the cost was too much for our budget and we decided to DIY it - simply buying a flight and seeing what happened.

Our plane tickets stated that we would fly from Quito to San Cristobal island, but when we touched down and entered the airport, we saw a sign reading "Bienvenido a la Isla Baltra" - Baltra and San Cristobal are a hundred or so kilometres apart. It was an introduction to the relaxed nature of the islands.

We crossed from Baltra to Santa Cruz island on a small boat and managed to find a bus that took us the 42 kilometres to Puerto Ayora, the hub town of the Galapagos. Settled in Hotel España, Albane managed to pull the sink off the wall and it fell onto the tiled floor, shattering into pieces. Luckily, the water pipe did not come off and flood the room. It was good practice for her spanish explaining what had happened to the owner. In the evening, we walked back from the main tourist street and found the local restaurants where we ate soup, fish, rice and beans for a pound.

The next day, we took a boat tour to a small rocky island just offshore and, having donned mask, snorkel and fins, we jumped into the deep blue to be immediately approached by seven sea lions. Sleek and elegant, they twisted in the water, their big eyes watching us as they twirled around us. We dived underwater to encourage them to play and smiled as they shot past us like torpedos. We stayed an hour, shivering at the end, but euphoric after the close encounter. As the captain chugged across to a narrow channel between steep cliffs, we ate some food and warmed up in the hot sun before jumping overboard again and snorkelling up the narrow channel. It was a place where white-tipped reef sharks spent the day, before feeding at night, and we found them swimming sinously beneath us, scarcely three feet of water separating us. Scary and exciting at the same time.

The next day, we took a small boat for the two hour crossing from Santa Cruz island to Isabela island. All the people we had spoken to had professed the island to be their favourite and as we passed the volcanic cliffs topped with cacti and pulled into the small village perched on a beach, we could understand why. We booked into a beachside room and went straight for a swim. I think that we swam more in the Galapagos than we have in the entire trip. It seemed that we lived in our swimming gear. The village had sandy roads, ramshackle houses and a few restaurants which served the usual set meals.

The next day, we took boat trip to a nearby islet and saw the small Galapagos penguin (is the penguin the only animal to live on the equator and a pole?) before landing on a jagged piece of rock sticking out of the ocean. We walked through crowds of prehistoric, black marine iguanas, all claws and spiked mohicans. They didn´t move as we approached and we could look them straight in the eyes, though their habit of spitting (to remove salt from their bodies) made that a risky move. At a small bay, we snorkelled and saw a shark and a large turtle, but the sea was choppy and visibility not great, so we swam back to the shallows and found four young sea lions who played within a few feet of us for half an hour. At one point, one lay opposite me in the water and, as I put my head under the water, he would copy me, lifting his head as I did. It was wonderful and we had to be dragged away by the guide.

We spent the next few days on Isabela walking to the beautiful Tortuga Bay, a curve of white sand so fine that it was like flour or dust, riding bikes inland, and swimming with the sea lions at the local beach at every opportunity. It was like a mini-holiday and was made appropriately decadent by the bakery making delicious pineapple pastries, which we ate far too often.

Eventually we left Isabela on the 6am boat, crammed and uncomfortable, and arrived before breakfast at Puerto Ayora. On a spur of the moment decision, we signed up for another boat tour of the bay, but the low tide and rougher sea conditions meant that we saw less sea lions, though snorkelling in a vast school of fish with a handful of small sharks crusing between them was compensation enough.

In the evening, I went to talk to a diving company about snorkelling trips and, in the course of the conversation mentioned that I had once been qualified, but that my certificate had expired. Not so, I was told and a quick search of the PADI website revealed that I was still certified to dive - despite the fact that I had not dived for 13 years! It wasn´t long before I had signed up to do 2 days´diving and Albane was going to get her chance to dive for the first time, a prospect that probably scared her more than it excited her!

The next day, we took a boat trip to North Seymour island and saw the huge frigate birds. The males have a vast red pouch on their chest that they inflate to attract females. We saw the famous blue-footed boobies (featured on many joke t-shirts)and the large, orange land iguanas hiding in the shade of the stunted trees. It was nice to see some of the land fauna, but we felt that we had done the right thing focusing on the sea.

For the last two days, we dived. A dive briefing at 7am, a drive and boat trip to the dive site and then hour long dives with the incredible wildlife. We saw sea lions, turtles, manta rays, white-tipped reef sharks, hammerhead sharks, tuna, moray eels, barracuda and enormous shoals of fish. It was the perfect way to finish our trip to the Galapagos - famed around the world for its large pelagic animals, we felt that we had seen the best and had no regrets about not going on a boat tour (though we might do so sometime in the future......)