Dinner with the Yamaha XT Club

Our friend Hart, who had found us lost at the Supermarket, and found us the place to stay in Florianopolis, had invited us to a BBQ at his house just up the street. He and his friends are all part of the Brasilian Yamaha XT club, that spreads throughout the country, with about 8,000 XT motorcyclists.

His house is a modern, self built, beach home built up on the east side of the hill that overlooks the Atlantic. His garden is filled with Brasilian tropical vegetation and houses a workshop on the bottom of the slope. His plans our to build a room and bath onto the workshop and an outdoor patio in order to have motorcyclists come to visit while on the road. This is very similar to the place in Azul where we had the Biker Birthday, and Dakar Motos where my motorcycle was repaired.
The BBQ was fantastic, and a lot of beer went down in the warm evening. The company, like all of the people I have met thus far in Brasil, are incredibly warm and empathetic. It would have been very easy to have spent all of my time for this trip, in Brasil alone. It is that welcoming.

Hart has been a great help. He has given us the contact information to other XT riders in northern Brasil, in order to help us out with problems if they occur.

Later that evening, we walked down the beach and heard live Samba coming from the local bar. We took a late night swim in the ocean and watched the stars twinkle over the surf. All of those great beach shots in the posters at the cold KC airport that you look at in disgust as you leave to Detroit...well, I finally made it.

Wipe Outs and Board Shorts

Florianopolis has beaches and surf that boarders from around the world only dream of. Well, this Kansas boy thought he would put up his saddle for a few days and try out this sport they call surfing.
Do not get me wrong, just because I have spent my entire life land locked in mid-continent, does not mean that I do not love the water. Putting things into perspective, I thought that if surfing was anything like snowboarding, then it should be pretty easy.
We found a shop down the road that actually made surfboards. The company is called SRS, and is actually a two room house with an office and a workshop where the fiberglass shaping and painting takes place. The boards are cut sharp and made light for fast tight turns and big waves. I found out later, that this is definitely not the board you want to learn on.
Surfing is not like snowboarding at all. The difficulty with snowboarding is in staying up on your board, whereas, the difficulty with surfing is getting up onto the board. I learned this quickly as salt water slammed quite easily into my lungs and sinuses. I will not give up though. I am determined, and next time I will find a larger Malibu board to start on.
It must be said, however, that I do look quite good in my new Brasilian Board Shorts.

Beautiful Brasil

The Brasilian biker gang we met at the border on trikes made from VWs.
Brasilian modern landscape on the way to Florianopolis from Pato Branco.
Deck of our Condo with the ocean behind the trees in the distance.
Yes, this is what it is all about.

Crossing into Brasil for the first time was magical. We were riding over the Iguazu River bridge as the blue and white stripes turned to green and yellow, and an overwhelming joy came to my senses. Puerto de Iguazu became Foz do Iguazu, moved quickly through customs, and ran into a Portuguese Biker gang on trikes. Routes were exchanged with stories and photos, much to be determined because Portuguese is a very difficult language to interpret, a little like Spanish, however, with drastic differences. We moved through Foz do Iguazu and I noticed two very well maintained baseball fields off to the side. I knew that I was in for a treat.
Moving into the countryside of Southern Brasil blew all my expectations to the sky. The area has been drastically diminished of the original forests, and converted to mostly farm land, however, the rolling hills of Southern Brasil are wonderfully drastic and beautiful. It is a fairy tale landscape of the peaceful lands of the Shire. Lush green and yellows parade the landscape with farmers in John Deeres working hard as you pass the small towns of houses painted in bright colours. And the sunsets, I thought none in the world could compare to our beauty in Kansas. However, the sunsets in Southern Brasil compete very well to the pink and purple skies of western Kansas at dusk.
In two days, we covered almost 800 miles of Brasilian hill country. The country roads had more curves than the Brasilian women, and continued for ages. Ted and I had a wonderful time scraping the turns through the vast landscape of pines, soybean covered hills, cattle pastures, flowered ditches, butterflies weaving, and sweet fresh aromas lingering. What beauty.
We made it into Floranopolis late into the afternoon, and moved quickly through the city to the outskirts of the island, thinking the more remote beaches would be out there. After finding nothing, we stopped at the supermarket to ask, when a man on a Yamaha XT600, like Ted's, came up to see if we needed help. We were trying to determine a common language between us all, and it turned out to be German. Well!!! It turns out that he was born in Brasil from the decedents of full Germans and was brought up bilingual. His help was wonderful, and he found us a condominium only 100 feet from the beach. For a four room, fully furnished condo with kitchen and utilities, we are paying $38 USD per night. I think I may have enough money for a surf lesson after this one. Oh.....beautiful Brasil.

The Cataratas of Iguazu

It is very difficult to describe the power of nature, especially in her natural beauty, with such ignorance. Nonetheless, I will do my very best to describe to you the incredible sensation that took over me when the falls of Iguazu stole my heart.
Ted, Christi and I woke up early on Saturday and decided to go and visit the falls. It is a 20 kilometer ride to the east of Puerto de Iguazu, where you pass large hotels, a military base and the bridge that crosses the Iguazu River into Brasil. After paying the 40 Pesos (about 13USD) in order to get into the park, we strolled right up to the entrance where we parked the motorcycles next to the other local bikes. There is something about pulling up in a motorcycle to VIP parking on the other side of the world, which gives you the James Dean feeling of 'cool'.
The park entrance was filled with Easter weekend tourists, and the grounds looked as if it could have been a zoo. Paved sidewalks lead you through a maze of souvenir booths and hot dog stands as you go to the end of the line and wait for the miniature train to take you around the park. I was honestly waiting for Donald Duck to pop out of the bushes to greet us.
The train takes you to the largest waterfall, called Devil's Throat, overlooking the Brasilian side of the park. After exiting the circus train, you walk along a steal bridge over the river, or segments of river, which split off into many different parts separated by large Amazonian trees and fertile ground. The bridge takes you over the slow moving stream, filled with bottom feeders, geese, and even alligators. As the bridge comes closer to the turn around, you see a large group of people, look past them, and there it is. If Dante were here to describe to you the unbelievable power of the Devil's Throat, it still may not be an adequate explanation for these falls. Not even pictures could describe it's majestic beauty.
All I remember after that was the cool mist that was sprayed over 75 meters back up to the platform from the rocky landing below. Meditation took over, as a permanent smile attached to my chin and I looked down onto heaven's rainbow, which had come to an end directly in front of my eyes.
The many other waterfalls of Iguazu are just as magnificent. The Amazonian storm front came over us and cooled us down, as the mist continued to moisten our skin. We saw rodents that looked like Raccoons in North America, and are called Cutis. Vultures flew above our heads in circles, watching the boats take tourists into the mouths of the falls. It was a very happy day, and even though our ride back into Puerto de Iguazu was in the middle of a jungle downpour, only smiles and warm feelings reigned from our parade.

Really cute Argentine with the coolest butterfly in the world.
A little comparison knowledge.
Ted Hedy and Christi Ferrel, my riding partners.

Alligator.
The Devil's Throat.
Devil's Throat.
Cutis.

Back on the Road

Javier Kaper and I in front of Dakar Motos before getting back on the road.

I am getting ready to get back on the road with Eddie and Christi, as we head north along the Brasilian border towards Puerta de Iguazu. It has been a really nice two days and the feeling of being back on my motorcycle is like none other.

The gear box has a little sound to it, almost like two coins rubbing against each other. I had three new gears made by some CAD draftsmen in Buenos Aires, and they are not perfect, but work well. I believe after time, these new gears will work into each other, and the noise will go away. My forks are not leaking anymore, and the throttle cable is set well and providing my bike with proper acceleration. The only other problem I have found is with the starter, which is making a funny coughing sound, however, it has continued to power the bike and seems to be working fine.

Last night we stayed at the Hotel Las Vegas in Paso de los Libres, where we enjoyed one of our last Argentine Parillas and cold Quilmes. On the way to los Libres yesterday, we came across two road blocks. There are protests going on in northern Argentina over farmer's rights. They take their tractors and trucks and block the road, for hours at a time. Our first road block was over in an hour, and we passed without problem. However, at the second road block, no one was budging for another 6 hours. Some of the locals tried to talk to demonstration organizers to let us bikers through, and they did not budge. So we found an alternate route and after an hour on gravel roads and trails, we made it around the barrier and back onto the highway. It was very close, as we pulled into los Libres just after the sun went down. We found the hotel within five minutes and jumped right on it.


Now we are getting ready to pack the bikes and get back on the road north to Iguazu. We have heard that Ruta 14 in the northern part does not have the problems with corrupt cops like it does farther south on the way to Buenos Aires. So, providing we do not run into any of them along the way or any road blocks, we should make it to the falls in good time today.

Biker Party in Argentina

this is a picture of the steel flower in Buenos Aires that closes with the sunset.
Biker ralley for the commensurate of the Argentine biker.
Biker friends in front of the catherdral in Azul, Argentina.
Backyard sculpture in the camp grouds of Pollo´s La Posta del Viajero en Moto.

So while my bike was up on the lift getting a rim job, I decided to ride bitch and go with Eddie from Liverpool to a biker party in Azul, Argentina. A man, a truly wonderful man named ¨Pollo,¨ Spanish for chicken, whose actual name is Jorge, runs a biker hostel by donation and was having his 50th birthday party celebration for a wonderful crowd to attend.
After a bone stiffing ride to Azul, 300 km south of Buenos Aires, we made it to a peaceful Argentine habitat including friendly neighborhood hellos and roosters cocking. Pollo was incredibly welcoming and we found a place to set tent, and spent a few hours looking at everyone´s motorcycles and talking traveler talk. Of course there was the naked German walking around the campsite, like Germans do so well, which you try to overlook and continue with conversation...although very difficult.
The weekend was filled with bikers and booze. The next morning, we went on a 100 km ride to commensurate the life of a famous Argentine biker, who had made a historical presence here on a Chzech motorcycle. Hundreds of bikes and friendly cyclists were grouped together on a passage into history, where cameras ran and flashes hilighted the day. I was interviewed on local television in Spanish about my trip, where Pollo was the interviewer and I was happily repeating the same sentences that I have been saying my entire trip.
The day ended with a large Asado (BBQ) for Pollo´s birthday. There must have been 67 people attending the Asado, at least, and there was plenty of meat to go around. Long conversations of Latin America and motorcycles continued around the table as music played softly in the background and wine was poured, always to your neighbors before for yourself.
A few late nights and interesting mornings with naked Germans walking around in the sun continued before returning to Dakar Motos in Buenos Aires. After the ride ´home´ to Dakar, I was confident that I would never ride on the back of a motorcycle, especially a bike smaller than 650cc, ever again. So a well rested mechanic, my good friend Javier, and I took charge and put back together my motorcycle.
Tonight, I rolled it off of the lift and started it up. If I had not had a few too many Pisco Sours, I might have taken it out for a test ride. But I decided to wait until the morning. My baby is back on wheels and ready for a test ride. The excitement is like a teenager waiting for the death of virginity.

Different trails...

Yesterday, I received a telephone call from Lou and he asked me whether I wanted to travel with them through the Amazon of Brasil from Iguazu falls after my motorcycle was repaired. I told him I needed to think about it and he agreed to call back later in the day for my answer. The other option was to go alone along the coast through Sao Paulo and Rio up to Belem. This was my plan all along.
So although my heart is with Landon and Lou, my mind would have been constantly wanting the ocean, the culture, the nightlife of Brasil. Not to mention, my bike was still not put back together and they were already two days ahead of me waiting to cross into Brasil.
When Lou called back that afternoon, we were rushed on the Dakar business telephone, and I quickly told him to go ahead and go. Later that day, when the gear box was put back onto the motorcycle, a loud clacking noise was heard as the motor turned. We had to take it back apart and start over.
I have found a few people to travel with through Brasil since then, providing my bike is finished by that time. We are planning to take off north to Iguazu falls on the 13th.
So now, as my bike still sits on her perch of the shop, naked to the world of bikers coming through, we wait patiently for our new path into the Amazon basin.