Been reading his book, and I love it. Hit the blog title to read the best review ever of his book "Endless Horizons"...
Note, this review is from a named "Bruixot and is entitled "Endless...Spew"
When the US version of this book included the subtitle, A Very Messy Motorcycle Journal.... they were right.
The first few pages will tell you all you need to know about the writer's admitted lack of expertise and common sense. There is " ...burst-mattress XT600 dirt bike..." (see that license plate? the XT is by definition and manufacturer legal description not a dirt bike). Actually the book's marketing folks are not in the running for accuracy either, where they proclaim "Dan Walsh rode out of London on a Yamaha XT Desert Rat.." forgetting all the while to hire the fact-checker who might have told them that there is no such model, except in their imaginings.
And perhaps more revealingly, Walsh wonders aloud "... how fast you have to move to outrun stupidity." For those still wondering, Walsh did not even attempt to outrun stupidity. He merely distilled it and carried it, in industrial strength and volume, wherever he went. It's best to get these acknowledgements out in the open, and early on. Oh, yes, and rememember that this book is a rehash of mostly previously published material. Though there is occasionally amusing and even creative writing, this book features a few too many repetitions of phrases that weren't particularly funny the first ten times, and attempts at some foreign phrases that are, well, he got the word order backwards.
Though Walsh's book is by no means in the same league as Chatwin's "In Patagonia," each has its own version of purely volitional messiness. Chatwin was a bit free and loose with certain of his facts, but nevertheless wrote a fine book that was well regarded even if the cognoscenti were well aware of his occasional tendency to invent. Of course, most readers take the factoids of In Patagonia as if they were true. Likewise, the uncritical folks -- those seeking mere entertainment -- will probably accept some of Walsh's representations as truthful. As an expounder of fact, Walsh is something of a failure; as a teller of tales, however, he is a bit of a qualified winner. He has his moments of lucidity. His description of the train hitting the van somewhere in central Africa will stay with you long after you've given the book to someone else.
We have the distinct impression that author Walsh was drunk most of the time during his travels, or just recovering from a binge, or about to fall over in front of another bar where he would spend several weeks forgetting where he left his bike. In true bad-biker form, he reveals his pride in abusing the women in his life.
It is difficult to see how any responsible adult reviewer could compare Walsh to the likes of writers of the genre like Ted Simon or Bruce Chatwin. What Walsh writes seems to be an exercise in fingerpainting with his own spew and filth, in a predictably colourful manner. His disdain for fellow travelers with differing styles, better judgment, clean clothes, tendencies toward sobriety and decent health, moderate mechanical ability, and greater competence is rather clear. Walsh's selection of venues and vignettes reminds us of a man who glides through a sewer in a glass-bottomed boat. Some find that charming.
For those expecting examples of Walsh's dubious scholarship, here is one: Quechua. It's a language group, Dan, not a tribe. Example two: we see that he dismisses Chile as too right-wing, though he only briefly and superficially passed through part of the country, forgetting that the right-wing government left the country nearly twenty years before he got there. This observation (about the "too right-wing government") is presumably because he notes that drivers actually stop at traffic lights, carry liability insurance, and behave in a manner consistent with the civilized nations. Or perhaps because the policies of the terrible former administration resulted in something like 70 percent of Chileans owning their own homes? (not squalid enough for ya, Mr. Walsh?)
In his diatribe against "right-wing" Chile, Walsh was evidently blissfully (drunkenly?) unaware that both the Chilean government and the Presidenta elected in 2006 were distinctly socialist (the Presidenta herself was trained in East Germany, and the Chilean president before her was a supporter of the earlier Marxist regime). Never mind that a degree of Western-style economic success has provided Chileans with decent food and housing and drinking water, modern public health care and relatively safe working conditions, along with roadways better than those in Colorado. No, Walsh finds the country lacking in stereotypical Latin American squalor and thus unworthy of his attentions. In describing Chile's government and society, Walsh was well behind the times, evidently basing his bashing on preconceived notions and the observations of others writing about conditions that existed many years earlier. Note to publishers: unbiased scholarship, objectivity, good grammar, and sober writing are not inconsistent with the normal travel genre.
Writer Walsh certainly gives hooligan motorcycle riders a bad name. He redeems himself by posing as the admitted prototype of the bad example. But there will always be that one clown in any population who wallows in ordure, wears silly rags on head, and goes about a part of his life pretending to be some sort of latter-day pirate. These fellows exist for distant viewing and our amusement, or even as a warning, but certainly not for emulation.
There is a certain subclass of "adventure" that is simply the inability to plan and execute a task intelligently, coherently, and competently. And so there should be a corresponding category of travel books dedicated to those writers best characterized by unwaveringly sloppy alcoholism, erroneous assumptions, abysmally poor preparation, flawed research, deliberately unhealthy pursuits, dubious journalistic skills, gratuitiously foul language, and the endless horizons.... of bad judgment.
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