Sometimes beauty is hard to see...

Walking down the Atlantic beaches of Comodoro Rivadavia with the cool misty brown salt water blowing into my face as flies swarm at my feet covered in sea weed, I find it hard to see the beauty from my situation. The beach is scattered with rubble and pollution in this oil town is blatantly evident. How could my first encounter with the Atlantic on this trip be more memorable?...try the 20 year old girl with four children walking into their four wall ¨home¨amidst the piles of washed up plastic and iron scraps. Completely somber from my experience in Comodoro; my transmission going out and having to ship my bike in the opposite direction of my friends as they leave south to Ushuaia, I indulged into a nice steak dinner. The red meat helped fill my stomach and provide me with the necessary protein that lacks in a one-meal-a-day diet, however, it did not compensate for my redirection.

funny this life

Lake Pesca on the way to Comodoro Rivadavia

I never thought I would ever be sick with the flu and be constipated at the same time, but sure enough, Sean has pulled one off yet again. After being miserably bloated for three days, I finally have excrement coming from all orifices.

However, it is not only me that suffers from illness, my motorcycle has taken the fall with me. It was in Chile, that I heard a noise coming from the motor, which startled me, however, it went away and we continued onto Bariloche for Christmas. After leaving mass early, being that I did not want my pale face to vomit all over God´s living room...she may not like that on Christ´s birthday...I went back to the hotel for a long night´s sleep on Christmas Eve. In Argentina, a loud siren is wailed at midnight for all the kids to come out in the streets and light off many hours worth of fireworks. It was the night before Christmas, and all through the streets, screaming fireworks blowing and children nibbling on treats.

Christmas Day, we woke up and took off south where we found a campsite in San Luis. It was a very small town, with dirt streets connecting with Ruta 40 which passes through. The only shop open on Christmas, was a gas station, where a young lady was restocking goods. It was not really open per say, however, she let me in long enough to call my family and buy a few goods to cook at the campsite. It was on the ride back to the campsite, where the terrible clacking noise began. Looking at the bike later that afternoon, we focused in on the noise and decided it was the bearings in the transmission. These are the same bearings that I had replaced in Kansas City before I left! How could they have gone out on me in such a short amount of time?

I woke up in the middle of the night, terribly bloated and ended up vomiting outside of my tent. The next morning I woke up to the pile outside my tent door and one of my boots missing. A dog had come up to the smell of my vomit, disliked the second hand spaghetti, and took my boot instead. Luckily, I found it 100 yards down the stream still in one piece.

We looked and looked for a truck to take us to Comodoro Rivadavia, a town in southern Argentina on the Atlantic coast, only 1,500 kilometers from Ushuaia. It is a big oil town, with lots of mechanics, and we were hoping for a place to get the bike repaired. Hitch hiking with a 700 pound motorcycle is not very easy, and the heat was getting to me. So I asked my motorcycle for a major favor. I asked her to ride the 250 miles into Comodoro Rivadavia, and promised her a mechanic if she got us there. Sure enough, through miles of desert, past the marshes of Lake Pesca, we made it through the oil fields into Comodoro. By the time we stopped at the first stop light, I could hear here bearings churning...it was death to my ears.

Not finding a mechanic in town that could help us with our problem, we were forced to ship the bike to Buenos Aires for repairs. I found a company that will do is safely for $350, and it will get there on Wednesday. I am going to try out Dakar Motors in B. Aires for the mechanics, and hopefully, I will be headed back south again to Ushuaia in a few weeks.

For now, I am trying to settle the stomach with ice cream, and we are getting ready to push the bike a mile over to the truck company. I will be leaving on Saturday for Buenos Aires in order to meet up with my bike and find it a good doctor to bring here back. I have included a picture of the metal filings that I found on the transmission drain plug as proof. Frustrated, I sit here contemplating my entire trip and the fact that my limbs are still functioning even though my bowels may not be, I remember how lucky I truly am.

Metal filings from the bearings of my transmission...this is really bad for a motorcycle.

My Christmas Card to You All

¡Merry Christmas and a happy New Year!

Sean´s top 10 adventures in Chile

I had a wonderful time riding through Chile with Lou. We shredded through mountain passes, relaxed on the beach, dined with a wonderful Chilean family at their home, tasted fantastic wines, and had eaten fresh Salmon of the Island of Chiloe. The country is lush, and beautiful, and welcoming...it was very difficult to leave such a unique place after visiting for only a week. Nonetheless, it is a long way through Patagonia to Ushuaia in Tierra de Fuego. So, I have come up with my top 10 adventures in Chile.

10. Following Route five down the entire countryside. It was a beautiful highway, and down south of Osorno, both sides of the traffic way are lined in daisies.
9. Having a little gay boy in Viña del Mar blow a kiss at me on the beach...it was really special.
8. Monday night out in Santiago may not be the most exciting night to explore the urban Chilean culture, however, I had a wonderful time diner hopping until 2 in the morning.
7. Cooking a German Potato salad and Snitzel in Vadivia, Chile...it is a town with very strong German influence. Wir haben auch Kunstmann bier getrunken!
6. Going swimming in Lago Lanquihue with the breathtaking Volcan Osorno in the back ground before our picnic in Frutillar. See picture of Sean without shirt on!
5. Cooking Chili in Chillan, Chile...it wasn´t chilly though.
4. Sitting by a campfire in Ancud on the island of Chiloe, just across from the bay. I was trying to convert to Australian Lesbians that night...quite unsuccessfully. Lou went on to add, ¨they may be lesbian, but it´s not as if their eyes have been poked out.¨ I believe they are just terribly lost young women.
3. I experienced my first earthquake in Los Andes. The ground started shaking, and Lou and I both jumped out of our beds. Lou goes, ¨Holy Cow, it is an earthquake.¨ I added, ¨Should we jump out of the window?¨ The ground finally stopped moving, and Lou asks, ¨what should we do?¨ I concluded while listening for a response around the hotel, ¨it does not seem that too many people are really worried about it.¨ It turns out, the Chileans have a different idea of an earthquake...this turned out to be only a 4.5 tremor.
2. Crossing back to the mainland on the ferry with our motorcycles from Isla Grande de Chiloe, we were looking off into the sea watching the flocks of pelicans look for breakfast and sea lions tend to their cubs. Lou and I were talking about movies, and I had mentioned that I hadn´t seen Titanic or Broke Back Mountain. He stood their with a peculiar face, and then asked me, ¨why is it those two particular movies of which you mentioned.¨ I quickly responded, ¨because I am uncomfortable with my own sexuality.¨ We both howled.
1. Lou and I had a wonderful experience at Roberto´s house outside of Milapillas. They have a remarkably beautiful family who have delivered unbelievable hospitality. And although, Roberto was 0 for 5 on hotel recommendations and watched me like a hawk as I spoke with his daughter, he is a very strong and wonderful man who has promised Lou a leather policeman jacket upon his return.

We crossed back over through the Andes into the lake district of Patagonia, Argentina. We are going to meet back up with Landon this afternoon and camp just east of San Carlos de Bariloche. I am not sure what our plans our for Christmas, but we are headed down to Ushuaia for the new year celebration. Until you hear from me again, I want to wish you all a very Merry Christmas. And to my friends who are not Catholic or Christian, please enjoy the season of liquidation sales and busy super markets. And be careful on those icy roads!

A red church on the side of the highway in Vicente Rosales national park, Chile. Coming back through the Andes to Argentina, towards Bariloche.
Lake Nahuel Huapi, just outside of Corentoso, Argentina. Salto de Laja waterfalls north of Las Angeles.

Glamour shots at Salto de Laja.
Volcan Osorno from Ruta 5 in southern Chile.
Going swimming in Lago Lanquihue with Volcan Osorno in the back.

Cathedral in Plaza de Armas in Santiago, Chile.
Basketball star Fernando trying out a BMW motorcycle.
The family Christmas tree at Roberto´s house.

Chile...the new California

I have been traveling through Chile for the past five days now, and I have noticed many things. One is the stunning beauty of the country itself. You have the Pacific to one side and the dramatic Andes on the other. You can have the ocean surf and the mountain slopes within 100 miles of each other. The agriculture down here is vibrant with lush vegetation, ranging from wheat and alfalfa to blue berries and vineyards. The melted snow from the mountains supplies an amazing amount of life to the land.
The beaches of Viña del Mar, the night life of Santiago, the vineyards of the Central Valley, the mountain slopes of the eastern border, and the forests of the southern region display the richness and fertility of this great country. Not to forget, that this environment creates a perfect backdrop for the relaxed and tranquil spirit that it´s inhabitants possess. This is why I like to to think of Chile as the new California.
Chile has a strong Spanish influence, which gives the women lighter skin tones and a sexy European style. Seeing so many of these angelic creatures around me, I cannot help but to get this itch. I am of the age where we look for a partner to settle down with. I am far from this stage, knowing what had happened to me when I last made that decision. The idea haunts me, however, these Chilean women have a presence that makes me want to give over my soul. An angelic appearance with luciferic capabilities, this could be the doom to my freedom.
But don´t you worry my friends, I have a plan. The idea is to not stay too long in one place, and keep on moving. Lou and I are headed south from our spot on Isle Teja, just off of Valdivia, and will be headed through Puerto Montt before getting onto Isle Grande de Chiloe.
Our time in Milapillas with our friends from the road, Roberto, Evelyn, the lovely Macarena, and the basketball star Fernando, was absolutely fantastic. They taught us Gringos what hospitality really is. I plan to take this knowledge back home with me and promise to share such love and kindness to all of you. Roberto and his wife went beyond common courtesy...they have proven to be family. I will never forget their overwhelming kindness to two bikers lost on the side of the road.
For now, I sit drunk by the beauty of this new Cali, waiting for my star to shine, my wheat grass juice to kick in, and the hot sun to develop short chain mutations in my epithelial tissue to where I will then seek advice on skin grafting from a dermatologist specialist. Greetings from Chile.

Beach, Vinyards, Mountains, and Chileans

Route 40 North to Mendoza, Argentina

City Streets of Mendoza, Argentina lined with Sycamore trees

My register clicking in at 10,000 miles south

Route 40 kilometer marker reminding me of my old house back on Quivira St in Hutch
My type of guys, headed west into Chile

The Inca Bridge up towards the Chilean pass, on the Argentina side
Suicidal dog by the Inca Bridge

Aconcagua Mountain in a snow storm. Climbs to 23,500 feet
The tunnel that crosses the border of Chile and Argentina at 3.100 meters
My welcome into Chile
The beach in Viña del Mar

Today, Lou and I had a nice breakfast at the Hotel in Los Andes, packed up our bikes and took off towards the Pacific. Passing more vineyards than in Mendoza, we were quick to discover the distaste that Chileans have for Argentine wine. It is a terrible feud between border wines, where Argentina is too humid to grow good wine, and Chileans cannot produce good grapes on the western side of the Andes. As for me, I remain neutral and drink lots of both.

We made it into Viña del Mar by noon, grabbed a couple cold ones and sat on the beach in the sun, watching the long traveled waves of the Pacific crash into the white sand. The city reminds me of a Miami, very modern with every western clothing store imaginable, Esso gas stations, and coffee shops by the beach.

After receiving a good red haupt, we decided to take off to Santiago. On the way out of town, we were stopped at a light where we met Roberto. He asked us where we were going, and we told him Santiago. So he told us to follow him. He took us to a gas station on the way, filled our tires with air, shared some Dulce de Leche treats, and even bought us lunch at an Argentinian steakhouse where we met his family. Tomorrow, we are headed south to his hometown, where vineyards surround his property and they will treat us to lunch yet again. Lou and I are having to figure up something really good to respond to such hospitality.

Tonight, I am headed into Bellavista to check out some night life here in Santiago. The night skies are clear, the weather is warm, and my taste buds are very satisfied. Enjoy some pictures on me.

Lighting fire works in the plaza of Cachi, Argentina....that Nanni Malbec was really good...and organic.

Here you go ladies!!!

¿How is Mendoza like Overland Park?

Yesterday (12-15-07), Lou, Landon and I took off for Mendoza on a smooth straight shot from San Juan that passed more vineyards than one could hope for. It was a very nice ride and we made it into the city in time to put on new tires before siesta.
Siesta is very important in Argentina. Stores close for siesta at around 12 to 1, and then they will not open back up until 4 or 5 in the afternoon. Restaurants do not open up until 8 or 9 in the evening, which can be very difficult when you have been riding on an empty stomach the entire day. So, I put a new back tire on my Beatrice as well as some new fuses and a light, and we took off to the campsite to hang out for the night.
After settling in and putting up the tents, Lou and I decided to go to a store to find some food and wine. It turns out, that we were off in a suburb of Mendoza, and the only store around was a Walmart. Large tarmac square full of fancy autos in front, a metal box with blue paint and a sweet old Argentine man at the door greeting you with ¨Buenos Dias, Bien Venidos a Walmart¨ and a smile. Pushing a cart around in an American Phenomena in the middle of Argentina was surreal. They had all of the Sam´s choice products and cheap Walmart clothing. One good thing about the super market from hell, is that it had a wonderful selection of wine from the region. Four bottles and a cart full of food, we made our way to the line where this American charged his Walmart goods on a Visa card...I am so America, you can smell the fresh liberty on my skin.
Walking out of the Walmart was even more curious. Looking out over the area, you saw street lamps lighting the neighborhoods of custom built houses with nicely decorated yards...I was taken back through alien teleport to Overland Park and Walmart had probed me!
Stumbling back into reality, my motorcycle still had all of it´s pack on it, and we lead ourselves back to an Argentine campsite where everyone was speaking Spanish, and then I realized that the melting pot of America has spilled into the beautiful land of Latin America. It has not been this obvious since Panama City.
Today, (12-16-07) we took off for the Incan Bridge that sits up above 2,500 meters into the Andes that split Chile and Argentina. This pass that takes you to the bridge is known for it´s spectacular views of the mountains, including the largest mountain in the western hemisphere, Aconcagua. It is also lined with granite stone and streaming water falls.
The Incan bridge is a beautiful piece of how the earth can reform around running water. A river runs through a piece of granite stone with sulfuric hot springs coming from the sides, leaving a yellowish residue as the water slowly rolls into the river below. The backdrop of this unique site is the grand Aconcagua mountain that peaks at 23,600 feet above see level, and can be seen from the Pacific in Valparaiso, Chile. How dramatic these mountains are to the observer...it is breathless awe that took me over today, all the way into the two mile long tunnel that takes you into Chile.
From the Aduana services and customs at the Chilean border on the eastern side of the International Tunnel, you parade down a highway of nothing but curves back and forth, while trying to pass the semi trucks putting along. Dropping around 2000 meters, we breezed into Los Andes, Chile where we found a hotel. The city is modern and commercial, and you can see the dramatic price difference compared to Argentina. When a hotel room costs you 22,000 pesos a night, trying to work out the conversions into dollars can prove to be quite difficult after the shock value behind such a number. But heh, I am in Chile...a childhood dream of mine has come true. I am going to sit down with a bottle of wine and some cheese, read about our Chilean path, dream about the Pacific, and think about what I learned today.
What Sean learned today: Farmers cut off the balls of bulls and pigs so that the meat is not concentrated in Testosterone giving it a terrible taste. Lou adds that the church use to do that to boys in medieval times in order for them to stay soprano in the choir. Those poor poor pigs.

10,000 miles...

The ride into San Juan, Argentina today was a long, windy and beautiful trip, filled with sun and rocky splendor. Luckily, the weather was much cooler as we traveled almost 300 miles south into San Juan on Route 40. My mile gauge clocked in at 47,001, exactly 10,000 miles from Kansas City.
I am surrounded by beautiful Argentine women in the streets, it is 85 degrees with the sun still shining at 8-o-clock, and I am about to enjoy a steak for under five dollars. Happy Holidays for sure.

December 13, 2007

Landon says to Jocelyn, ¨will you fill out a liability waiver before you get on the back of Sean´s bike.¨ Jocelyn looks at Landon with a nervous grin, waits until Landon leaves the room, and says, ¨Sean, I don´t think I will be riding with you today.¨
Probably a good thing she didn´t sign that waiver. Today´s ride was grueling and very difficult. The temperature was a dry 105, and the wind was hot and liked to push the bikes around. The gravel was once again very sandy and difficult to work with at some points, not to mention, long stretches through the desert with little water makes one worry about the gas station shortage in the area.
Made it safely though, and we are about one day north of Mendoza, Argentina. Here are some pictures from the last few days.

Route 40 south of Cachi on the way to Cafayate
The same.
Little Argentine girl outside of Cafayate, giving us a wonderful display of music, dance and spice.

Hanging up Christmas decor in the plaza of Cachi.
Riding down Route 40 besides some children.
Vineyards outside of Cafayate.

National park south of Salta on the way to intersect with Route 40.
Camping with bike in Cachi.
Cactus wood ceiling and alter. Nanni Winery, Cafayate, Argentina.

Remnant of a Lost Waterfall

dust scatters from a rear tire
penetrating the porous mesh that protects me
a leaf falls along the side of the road
bearing the bones of a doomed soldier

river beds empty
with polished stones baking in the sun
grazing pastures fading
from green to brown to dust

a steer lies down for eternal rest
a feast for condors, flies, and earth
the cycle continues, a leaf falling yet again
amidst the remnant of a lost waterfall

Violet Mountains and Green Vinyards

I met back up with Lou and Landon in the city plaza in Salta, Argentina. It is a beautiful plaza, decorated in Colonial Spanish attire, with balconies perched out from second story stucco palaces, and beautifully designed cathedrals adorned by their worshippers. The new and very beautiful female President was being sworn in today, and the Plaza was filled with political propoganda, drumming interludes, and cheering citizens.

We left Salta and headed up into the Northwestern Argentine Andes towards Cachi. The ride took us on a winding road through a national park known for the conservation of a particular cactus of the region. The cactus looks like the type you see on cartoons when you are able to calculate the speed of the Road Runner as he crosses each cactus spread 50 yards from each other at 0.35 second interval. That is near 450 feet per second...that Road Runner is fast.

Avoiding any more side track notes, I thoroughly enjoyed the ride to Cachi. It is a very dry and dusty climate. At one point on the road, I looked up at the violet mountain to my left and saw the remnants of a lost waterfall. It´s stained red wall had showed years of Andes runoff into the river below, which now lies dry and baron to the sun.

That waterfall encouraged me to come up with a poem, of which I was successful in doing. This poem is now under review by a poetic critic, and will be released upon acceptance of validity. I do not write poems often, nor do I understand the intricacies of poetry, so I first must have it reviewed extensively.

Our evening quarters in Cachi were separated, where the older gentlemen took to the hostel for a peaceful rest and I took up into the mountains to the camp site, where I started a fire from twigs and cactus wood, sat under the plethora of stars, and gazed off into a spiritual bliss providing me with immense tranquility. The bottle of Etchart Malbec from Cafayate, did however play a factor in my serenity.

The next morning, we took off on Route 40, a legendary road in Argentina, much like our Route 66, for being the longest road in this stretched out land. It was gravel, incredibly sandy, and filled with some of the most dangerously vivid beauty that I have ever seen. Lou described it as breathtakingly Grand Canyon-esque. The heat and dryness took the life from most plants, however, the cactus remained a part of our journey, and our sandy Route 40 constantly tried to pull us from our carriages.

It was on this six hour journey down Route 40 to Cafayate, where I came up with a possible name for my sweet motorcycle. I asked her what she thought about the name ¨Beatrice.¨ She still has not responded to me, however, she road hard and well that day and never gave me any grief. Her determination, black beauty, and ferocious willpower seems so much like a Beatrice to me.

Our night in Cafayate at the Hostel El Balcon, was filled with great Argentine wines and a happily prepared pasta meal by your´s truly. I sat on the Terrace, over looking the plaza, thinking of all the wineries that I would have to visit the next day. I then looked up at my first star of the evening and wished very hard. I wished for all my friends to be out of that miserable wintry weather, and to be with me at that very moment. I am sorry...it was later discovered that is was not a star at all, but a passing satellite readily available to transfer my messages in order to innitiate envy. However, please trust me...the wine was fantastic!

Humahuaca to Salta

A couple sprinkles fell from the clouds today on my two hour ride to Salta, Argentina from Humahuaca. It was nice, helping quench the heat underneath my heavy riding gear as well as providing a quick bath for my motorcycle who has taken on a film of earth over the last 9 thousand miles from Kansas City.
I found a nice hostel by the park in Salta, and after the gentlemen at the desk denied me on my negotiation of decreasing the night´s stay by 5 pesos because I did not have a place to park, he let me bring my motorcycle into the hostel lobby for the night. He went on by saying, that there was another man from Germany who came here on a motorcycle and parked in the lobby...but his bike was much newer than mine. I said, well yes, but I have much more style than those uptight Germans.
I went for a walk through the park, where kids were feeding the ducks and fish on a similar diet...popcorn and cotton candy. The merchants were selling leather goods and jewelry, and children maneuvered through the pond on paddle boats.
I took a right hand turn and went into the Centro, where I found beautiful cathedrals painted in colours that only the sun could come up with. Beautiful people surrounded me in the plaza, holding hands on park benches and discussing historical political figures of the State of Salta at the display on the side. In the background, I heard a very familiar tune...it struck me, I had not heard such a tune for a while, I smiled and said, ¨yes, that is American Hip Hop music.¨ I followed my senses and came up to the gazebo on the east end of the plaza, which so happened to be covered with young b boys and b girls. As I stood there, and took myself back to the subways in Queens, the streets in Chicago, the concerts in KC, and the clubs in Berlin, I could not help to smile in pure joy...for American culture can be seen in Salta.

Parque San Martin in Salta
Cathedral San Fransisco in Salta
This b boy is truly a boy...he´s like 10 and crazy ill.
Just makes me smile.

Excited Sean...he has a new camera...and a beard!


Road headed south in Bolivia at sunset. Most of this road was gravel.


My friends from Potosi.

Tunnel on the way to Villazon.
Southern Bolivia.

Ciao Bolivia...

The last few days have composed of some of the hardest riding I have ever participated in. You all know about the road of death, well the next day (December 8) I took off from La Paz and traveled all the way across the country to a small village about 3 hours north of the border. It was made up of seven hours of tarmac and three of gravel. The roads in Bolivia, let´s say, have great potential. The scenery is absolutely magical; red rocks piercing from the sandy peaks in a dry Nevada-like landscape, with layered mountain sides in colours of granite green and rave wine. Nonetheless, riding on gravel roads (major highways) over an extended amount of time and passes can be very tiresome.
At first I was a little timid about the gravel roads, being that they had no consistency, and every once in a while, I would feel my tires slip from under me. However, by the second day, I was cruising into Argentina with great time.
I was forced to stop by a police officer today (December 9), not one hour from the border, and he asked me to wait over on the side of the road for a reason of which I could not translate. It turns out, I was riding directly into the finish line of a mountain bike race from Villazon. So, I waited patiently, talking with the locals about my trip, as young boys on mountain bike raced through the finish line, receiving a cold bottle of water, all the while the young ladies prepared the lunch by the plaza square.
Last night, while I was waiting for my chicken and potatoes to be prepared on the fire rotisserie, I was confronted by five women at my table very curious about my adventure. The fiery Senora in the bunch, very bluntly asked me, ¨why am I doing it (my trip)?¨ I had to think about it for a little bit.
This trip was meant to change my life, and I am very quickly finding out new reasons for my existence each and every day. Trying to explain this to here in Spanish turned out to be quite difficult. I started by saying that the interests in the US are much different from the values in South America. I tried to explain to her that I was looking for this difference, and to see if it could help me in my life. She responded with a puff and a ¨hmm.¨ The other ladies wished me a safe and wonderful trip and I went on to enjoy some great chicken with more Bolivian hospitality.
Watching the news last night during dinner with a couple from Potosi, Bolivia, I once again noticed the dramatic differences in our cultures. Down here, you actually see protests going on around the country. When they went to news from the US, we noticed that the CIA destroyed tapes in an interrogation case and Donald Trump gave a woman a $20,000 tip. What was I to say to my new friends at the dinner table? We like to destroy evidence of our faults and hide behind ridiculous gratuity? Let´s just say that my Spanish was in for me that night. Nonetheless, I made some new friends and was very pleased with the Southern Bolivian hospitality.
Today, riding on tarmac for the first time in 200 miles, Argentina welcomed me with beauty and ease. It was a flat straight road, which took me back to those days headed west on I70. Kansas came to mind, so I made up a song in my head and it kept with me the last 103 miles into Humahuaca. So, I guess there are some similarities.

The Road of Death

I left Copacabana early this morning with fresh air streaming past me, the back drop of Bolivian snow peaks in front, and the clear blue lake below. I made it across the penninsula where I had to take a ferry across the lake to Huatajata. I had enough time to grab a cup of coffee and some bread before the small wooden flat boat pushed off from the sides crept over the ripples of the lake. Taking in the morning bliss of the Andes, I decided to take a short trip north of La Paz. The only reason I truly wanted to come to Bolivia, was to ride the Road of Death.
http://www.liebreich.com/LDC/HTML/Climbing/Mountain_Biking_Bolivia.html
It is known to have over 200 deaths annually, and the drop offs are like none other in the world. It is obvious why it is the most dangerous road in the world, however, enthusiests ride down on bikes and in cars every day, seeking another great thrill.
I wish I could have taken the pictures of waterfalls falling over the road, rivers that ran through the middle of the eight foot lane, and foggy valleys that dropped off thousands of meters, only inches from my tires. To make it more exciting, I asked mother nature to rain and create a heavy fog...and she did.
My heart was racing and the adrenaline was in full concentration. Two hours down the road, I made it to Coroico, where I sat down with my muddy boots and a big smile, enjoying my lunch immensly. It is true, I have ridden the legendary Road of Death in Bolivia.
It deserved a celebration, so after finding a place to stay for the night in La Paz, I went over to the electronic district and bought a new camera. I am quite happy to be alive.

Even on vacation...there are bad days.

After taking a swim in Lake Titticaca and eating a wonderful filet of trout, I was negotiating a price on a painting that I really liked at this cafe. After agreeing on a payment of Peruvian Soles, US dollars and Bolivianers, I turned around to grab my bag, and it was gone. There was no one in the cafe, and somehow, my bag disappeared.
The bag itself was an early Christmas present from my family, waterproof and the best bag that I have ever owned. Inside the best bag ever was my swimsuit, watch, and yes...camera. I have lost all of the pictures from my trip within a blink of the eye.
So I have been through town many times with eyes open, looking for clues. I have gone back to the cafe numerous times and even put up a sign. Tomorrow morning, I am going to get on my bike and ride hard into the south. Bolivia has not been very nice to me, and I am looking forward to smelling the essence of Argentina under my wheels.
It is true, the more things you have, the more annoying it gets to look after them all.

Passport held hostage!!!!

I made it to the border of Peru and Bolivia on the lakeside just outside of Copacabana, at around 4:30 in the afternoon. It was no problem exiting Peru, and I crossed over with my bike in order to get checked into Bolivia.
Lou and Landon had crossed five days earlier, and had a wonderful experience and told me to cross at this border. So when I went up to the customs agent and handed them my passport, they then went to tell me that I needed to buy a $100 visa to enter the country. What?!!!

US Embassy in La Paz, Bolivia
Starting December 1st, 2007, all US tourists entering into Bolivia through the airport or any other border crossing will be required to purchase a $100 visa upon entrance.

What luck this young gringo from Kansas has.
So they are holding onto my Passport at the border until the banks open today in order for me to pay for the visa. Another option would be to head back into Peru and go into Chile and then Argentina. However, I am limited on the number of pages in my Carne, and I want to save them for later when I cross borders in the south.
So, it looks as though i will take one from the old sunless side and pay over my daily salary in order to make up for the political mistakes our politicians in America so frequently make.

Arequipa

My few days in Arequipa will be ones that I will always hold very dear to me. My friends Mr. and Mrs. Pletch were incredibly hospitable and provided me with a wonderful backdrop of a town so far from home.
The streets of Arequipa are narrow and cobble stoned with white stone walls lining both sides and colonial lamps lighting up the night. Cathedrals, churches and convents surround the city with a sense of serenity, bringing a wonderful spirit to the people who were kind and empathetic and genuine. Walking through Arequipa is a unique experience, and it filled me with happiness, as if it were my home.
I met up with Chris, Kim and Mathieu, my friends from the Mochu Picchu trip and we booked a white water rafting trip as well as a two day hike in Colca Canyon. The rafting trip was great fun, full of 3+ terrain and rock jumping where I managed to gain the courage to pull a front flip from 5 meters. However, it was way to short and I wish I would have gone for a second run.
The nights in Arequipa were quickly filled with restaurants serving Alpaca, Ostrich and Guinea Pig as well as night clubs filled with beautiful salsa and merenge dancers. We met some nice young women at the travel agency who took us out for a night on the town, to places not typical for seeing gringos out on the dance floor. It was wonderful fun and I am sure that my salsa moves are much improved.
The two day hike in Colca Canyon was difficult and euphoric. We started out at 1AM on an overnight bus trip that took us over pot holes and gravel stones, quite uncomfortably I may add, to the Condor Crossing where we sat for three hours as the great Peruvian condors warmed up in the morning to the sun peaking over the eastern mountain side. They started to move, and spread their 10 foot wingspan out into the sun´s rays as they leaped from the rocks and soured through the canyons with majestic praise. They soured over head and down through the canyon in circles looking for prey and giving thanks to the sun god.
We then hiked down into the canyon, about an eight hour hike that took us on a loop and over the river that had created this gigantic wonder. Colca Canyon is said to be twice as large in length and depth as the Grand Canyon in the US. On the hike, one could easily admire the intricate sides of the canyon, rocks of all colours and in patterns created only by the uniqueness of water. The condors would build their nests in these giant cliff sides in cracks and caves hundreds of feet above our hiking boots. At the end of the day, we made it to our bungalows, a place called Oasis for their three pools and tranquil spirit. The camp is without electricity, meaning the beers we bought were warm. However, when the sun went behind the Canyon sides, we were left with the largest abundance of stars I have seen so far on the trip. The complete southern hemisphere illuminated by the distance galaxies.
We woke up at 3:30AM to start our trek up the canyon side in order to avoid the heat. The moon light was our best friend as it lit the white dust under our feet and kept the 200 foot drop offs on the side in a hidden shadow. With our expedient guide, we made it up to the top in only 3 hours...an Olympic feat for sure.
It was difficult saying goodbye to my friends in Arequipa, a place of which I quickly came to love. The white city (known because of the volcanic stone that they build houses, buildings and churches with) is one of my favorite in the world. I felt so at home.