There is a legend. It is spoken of in hushed voices in the dark corners of places where only the bold dare to venture. It is a legend of two men, two mighty warriors who undertook an epic journey into the unknown. To those who dare to speak their names, they are known as 'Those Two Idiots.'
Jack and Marcin rode together on a journey from London to Asia (and beyond). They battled against middle age, common sense and the basic rules of human decency. They journeyed through Europe, Turkey, Iran, Pakistan, India, Nepal and Thailand for reason that were never made entirely clear. Marcin also frequently hid his soiled underwear behind the toilet as a 'special surprise' for the cleaners for reasons that also were never made entirely clear.
If you like stories of travelers who are old enough to know better but somehow don't, of borderline alcoholics getting lost in the desert, of two men arguing over just about everything and making mistakes a child could have warned them against then this might just be for you.
There are many such stories available, tales of stunning vistas, of the wonderful people, sights and experiences the road has to offer, of the warming sun gently caressing your face in a cloudless blue sky. This book has none of that. It's a more down to earth story of what it's like to share a hotel room with a man whose farts are powerful enough to set off car alarms.
It's also the cheapest one out there, but I guess you get what you pay for.
I hope you enjoy this poorly researched piece of wildly inaccurate literary garbage. Think of it as an idiot's guide to motorcycle travel written from the perspective of a genuine idiot.
Jack and Marcin rode together on a journey from London to Asia (and beyond). They battled against middle age, common sense and the basic rules of human decency. They journeyed through Europe, Turkey, Iran, Pakistan, India, Nepal and Thailand for reason that were never made entirely clear. Marcin also frequently hid his soiled underwear behind the toilet as a 'special surprise' for the cleaners for reasons that also were never made entirely clear.
If you like stories of travelers who are old enough to know better but somehow don't, of borderline alcoholics getting lost in the desert, of two men arguing over just about everything and making mistakes a child could have warned them against then this might just be for you.
There are many such stories available, tales of stunning vistas, of the wonderful people, sights and experiences the road has to offer, of the warming sun gently caressing your face in a cloudless blue sky. This book has none of that. It's a more down to earth story of what it's like to share a hotel room with a man whose farts are powerful enough to set off car alarms.
It's also the cheapest one out there, but I guess you get what you pay for.
I hope you enjoy this poorly researched piece of wildly inaccurate literary garbage. Think of it as an idiot's guide to motorcycle travel written from the perspective of a genuine idiot.
