Sean's Motorcycle Journey

Shipping Home

2008-05-09T16:49:00.000-07:00

It took two days to ride through the wet mountains of Colombia into the capital, Santa Fe de Bogota, and a beautiful ride it was. Climbing once again into the Andes, over 12,500 feet, the cool air brings chills down the spine, as memories of six months prior tingle my brain. I have such wonderful feelings for Colombia, it is very exciting to be back. And then I remember why I am going to Bogota; I have no money and I have to fly my bike back home.
I found a company today, Girag, who will ship my bike next week to Miami International. There were no other cargo flights to the Midwest, and so I will be venturing through one more week of culture shock before returning to my home in Kansas City.
I shall spend the weekend with friends in Bogota, while receiving the excellent hospitality from a new friend Michael, out of London, who is also a biker that decided to just stay in South America. Not a bad idea.
So friends, this will be my last blog from South America. Latin America is a wonderful place filled with love and hospitality, of which I shall cherish dearly for the rest of my life. I will take the values that I have learned from my friends on this trip, to try and live with such modesty, patience and empathy. Gracius para todos.

Angel Fall

2008-05-05T14:31:00.000-07:00

While in Ciudad Bolivar, Ted, Cristi and I looked into prices for the tour to Angel Fall. The package that we were looking for was for one day and included a flight out to Canaima National Park on a Cessna six seater, a flight over Angel Fall, and a tour around Canaima lagoon. We found the package for 1,000 Bolivars Fuentes and Ted and I decided to go with it. I ended up taking a loan from Ted in order to do it, but I figured this may be the only time in my life where I had this chance to fly over the tallest waterfall in the world. The flight was nice and smooth, cruising at 3,000 feet to Canaima. Ted and I had a little to drink the night before, so we ended up struggling through the day just to keep everything down. Nonetheless, it was a beautiful ride moving over the jungle of Canaima in a Cessna. After arriving in the national park and paying the 8 Bolivar entrance fee, we went straight back onto the plane and headed towards Angel Falls. Ted and I were the only two going on the fly over, and had the airplane to ourselves (pilot included of course). Flying over the bluffs, the anticipation was craving, so was the alcohol from the night before, as the pilot swung the plane around and shot into the clouds. We crossed over a number of large drop offs with small waterfalls, and then the pilot pointed over to the right. There it was, in its pristine beauty of the morning sun. It was breathtaking and wonderful, and after our fourth fly around, we received the thumbs up. On the way back we followed the river with canoes filled with tourists heading up stream towards the fall. We nosed dived and skimmed the water as the tourists waived from below and cruising into Canaima lagoon. We made a fly by of the waterfalls in the lagoon and then circled into the runway. I was all smiles. Ted and I were greeted by our tour guide outside from the plane, and escorted down to the lagoon where we took a quick swim in the earth tone waters before jumping into our own canoe to head out to the falls of the lagoon. These falls were much shorter, however, they had their own spectacular beauty. Golondrina fall has the larger water output and was definitely impressive. The second fall in the lagoon, Hacha, is a wide fall where we parked the boat and took a stroll behind the fall itself. The water came crashing down over as Ted and I crept along the wet stones enjoying the tranquility and coolness. Once again, all smiles. We brought the boat back in and had a nice lunch in Canaima, just before the downpour came in. The Cessna was waiting for us after our meal, and took off as the rain started to fade. It was a nice choppy flight back into Ciudad Bolivar this afternoon, with smiles of a perfect journey. I feel like I can come home now.

Angel Fall from top.
Side
979 meter drop.

Golondrina fall.

Hacha fall.

Behind Hacha fall.

Oh...Venezuela.

2008-05-04T08:01:00.000-07:00

Our trip into Venezuela was very comfortable. We did not have temporary import papers for our motorcycles in Brasil and were a little worried, so we decided to ride on through the Aduana after getting our passports stamped out in immigration on the Brasilian side. Well, it worked and we soon crossed over to Venezuela, where we were sure to get our temporary imports. We already had the acceptance ticket into Venezuela for tourism that we picked up for free in Belem, so it was quite easy getting into the country. The border town of Santa Elena was only a few kilometers away, and we had enough gas to get us into town.

The ATM machines do not work for our cards and so after five days in this country, we are still running off of the extra Reais we had from Brasil that we exchanged over the border. However, we have been able to use our credit cards at super markets and hotels, so we are making it through. This is where it gets interesting.

In terms of prices in this country, a person will pay around 15 to 30 USD for a hotel room. Pretty reasonable. You will pay 10 USD for a hot meal, a little expensive for a South American Country. At the super market, you will pay 40 USD for bread, ham, cheese and juice. Ok, this is getting expensive. Beer is about 1 USD per can, and you can only buy them at liquor stores. Different. Water is about 1 USD for a liter container. This is where it gets really interesting. If you want to buy 1 liter of gas, it is going to cost you about 0.06 USD. This means that water costs 17 times more than gasoline in this country.

Ok, I understand that this country has surplus of gasoline. I know that there are a few people is this country that are making a lot of money off of it (will explain later). However, if you cannot afford a car, how are you going to afford a sandwich?

We met a group of BMW riders in Santa Elena at the hotel (4/30). They live up around Caracas on the coast, and were down in the southern part of the country on a tour for vacation. They were all driving brand new shiny beemers (oil business) when I pulled up in my classic Airhead covered in red clay with a dirty sheep skin on the seat. I do not need to front in order to prove my status of masculinity; I was proud. They ended up being incredibly friendly and helped us out a lot in terms of information on touring in Venezuela.
We took off the next morning and filled up for the first time, laughing at the prices. We made it to kilometer maker 88 when we ran into a couple from Venezuela on a Honda Shadow heading north as well. They told us about a biker rally in Puerto Ordaz and asked us if wanted to go. We told them that it had been a long day and were actually looking for a hotel. They were great and showed us to one, exchanging info before they took off.

About an hour later, we heard the Shadow roar back up to the hotel. It turns out there was a protest going on down the road where some angry workers set fire to old cars in the middle of the highway and were not letting anyone pass. But not to worry, although it was a national holiday for workers in Venezuela, I was able to find a phone card and call my sister on her birthday.

The next morning, we took off early with our new friends on the Shadow, Orlando and Joseliana from Barquisimeto, thinking the protest would be over and we would be able to pass. Unfortunately, the rusted cars were still in the middle of the road, with trucks, cars and touring buses stopped up for miles as people shouted back and forth over the economic hardships of Venezuelan life. We turned around and went back to the hotel to ask about an alternative route. The ended up taking us up into the mountains on dirt roads filled with clay pits filled with water and makeshift bridges that formed tricky obstacles. The road took us through a series of mining facilities that extracted minerals from the mountain sides. They used old techniques of pumping water through tubes up the mountain side on supports made of sticks tied together. It was classic and adventurous. When Cristi fell over in the mud, we had our laugh, however, that turned around and they soon were laughing back at me when the guy from the hotel that was showing us the way, stepped out of his buddies pick up truck and asked to ride on the back of my bike. He was not a small man, however, the space left on my bike certainly was. I was feeling mighty friendly with my gas tank as we went through mud pits and puddles. I ended up taking him to work, which was not far off from when we made it back to the highway, around the barricade. We ended up running into another group of bikers wanting to head south. They did not feel like taking a Gold Wing through mud, so they headed up to Puerto Ordaz with us.

Orlando and Joseliana were wonderful. They let us shower at their place and camp out at Orlando´s sisters for the night. They took us to the biker rally, where they gave us free admission and introduced us to all the clubs in the area. Our bikes were a major attraction as well. Apart for the Moto Guzzi, the fancy Suzuki Boulevard, a nice Harley, and the boys pulling spinners, I really think they were attracted to the dirty sheep skin on my seat.

The next day, we had breakfast with Orlando and Joseliana, who then went and purchased our gas for the fourth time, and sent us off to Ciudad Bolivar. They were wonderful and amazing and have given us a warm feeling of this country. Americans are definitely welcome here...excluding the President.

Jasper Fall, north of Santa Elena.

Of road detour around demonstration.

Do I even need to explain this one?

Friends Orlando and Joseliana with their uncle at the farm.

Ride north of Manaus through the Indigenous Reservation

2008-05-04T07:44:00.000-07:00

From Manaus, we left the boat and Ted, Cristi and I split from Pete and Carol to head straight north towards Venezuela. In order to do so, you must first cross an Indigenous Reservation with plenty of fuel in the tank.

So, we took off north in the rain, and made it about 50 kilometers before it stopped and the sun and humidity came out. We ended up filling our tanks just outside of the reservation. While in the reservation, Ted and I had pulled up ahead of Cristi and pulled over to wait for her. They tell you never to stop in the Indigenous Reservation north of Manaus, but they have never told us why. We figured they were just telling us that there was no gas or amenities there.

Cristi finally came up to us, we took out some sausage and crackers for lunch, and Ted used the jungle facilities. I was joking to Cristi while Ted was position up against a tropical bush, and told her that he will probably get a blow needle soaked in poison shot into his neck while he was over there. Luckily for Ted, but unfortunately for the aesthetic uniqueness of my blog writings, that did not happen. So we continued on.

Up the road, there was a guy on a scooter waving us down. So we stopped and he ended up being from Colombia and on a similar trip as us. His key was broken off in his panel and he could not get it out. He seemed to be very worried. We flagged a pick-up over and the nice gentleman inside took the guy and his scooter to town 100 kilometers up the road. So we continued on, happy and hot, watching the 4 foot lizard that looked like an alligator run out in front of the bike as the parrots cawed in the background of the dense forest.

Towards the very end of the reservation, we came upon another traveler. He was from Brasil and had traveled up to Alaska and all the way back through South America to Ushuaia. A really nice guy and his Spanish was perfect, so we were actually able to communicate with him. We told him about the guy on the scooter and about stopping for lunch, and then his jaw dropped, with eyes wide open. Perplexed at his expression, we asked why. He then went on to explain to us why they tell you not to stop in the reservation. It turns out that the Indigenous people of this reservation like guns, and they also like to kill people that stop on their land. We thought the guy with the shot gun just before we entered the reserve was going duck hunting...oh we are such ignorant tourists. So I was wrong, they would never of shot Ted with a blow gun...they would have just blown his head off with a rifle!

I guess we were pretty lucky, so we said our goodbye to another traveler and headed north to the equator. It was a funny line, about 20 feet off the actual GPS location of 0 degrees, with a hockey stick posted on the side. We took pictures anyways, and then headed north to a nice town with a hotel to camp out for the night.

Over all, the boat did not sink, we had enough gas to make it through, and we were not shot. I consider it a successful day.

Interesting birds, they looked like half flamingo and half vulture, north of the reservation.

A little closer to home.

Amazon Boat Trip (5/23 - 5/29/08)

2008-05-04T07:37:00.000-07:00

I remember my sophomore year in High School biology class when we learned about the ecosystem of the tropical rain forest. There was this laser disc movie about the Amazon which included a rap song called the Rain Forest Rap. The only part of it that I remember is the chorus, which repeated, “the rain forest, the tropical rain forest.”
This is what I had going through my head, as I walked out of my room the next morning on the boat and saw the sun rise over the river. The jungle was full and crowded with vegetation, which is actually second growth, after the deforestation occurred around 100 years ago.
Thicket houses line the edge of the river, literally built into the jungle side with docks edging into the water. The canoes that give the homes their only means of transportation, are carved out of whole tree trunks, and ebb to the ripples made by passing cargo and passenger ships. Children from these homes are told to take the canoes and paddle out next to the large boats, with engines screaming, and wait for alms to be tossed down from the boat’s passengers. It was amazing to see these children, no older than 8 years old, paddling out to gigantic ships, waiting for a plastic bag to be thrown off the side
The night afterwards, I went into my cabin, and dug through all of my things, trying to think of what may be useful to the Amazonian river dwellers. I put some clothes, kitchen supplies from camping, and other miscellaneous things in plastic bags, added a plastic bottle for buoyancy, and threw them off the next morning to the kids in the canoes. The smiles on their faces as they paddled toward the floating gifts were magical and unforgettable.
The living situation of the boat is divided up into three parts, the outside hammocks, the indoor hammocks with air, and the cabins with air. With our entire luggage from the bikes, we paid the extra 30 USD for the cabin to keep them secure. With the upgrade, also comes separated eaten quarters. I was disappointed about this, as I watched the interactions between the people staying shoulder to shoulder in hammocks, with children running around and laughter in the air. Our separated eating room was quiet and dull and filled with the same rice and beans every day. Those rice and beans would have been more special having come from a room filled with people who actually appreciated them. However, I must say having a separate shower was very nice. Besides the eating quarters, there was also a bar upstairs, which simultaneously filled the men’s bathroom with the smell of urine and vomit.
The river is large and very alive. It is the major transportation system for the northern section of Brasil, shipping a vast amount of manufactured goods between Manaus and Belem. I spent numerous nights up on the top deck, watching thunderstorms over the Amazon basin or looking up at the stars south of the equator. I will never forget the sunsets over the flowing river or when the Rio Negro and its black waters mixed with the brown waters of the Rio Amazona. The families taking naps in hammocks, the domino players at the bar, the same rice and beans, the children in canoes waiting for the plastic bag from the outside, and the life of the river itself; these will all be wonderful memories in my mind. The rain forest, the tropical rain forest.

The lovely hammock quarters where joy and happiness took place.

Children in canoes riding out towards the ship in the late afternoon.

Children going after the bags thrown off the ship as alms.

Sunset from the boat over the Rio Amazona.

Para Moto Clube in Belem

2008-05-04T07:35:00.000-07:00

Through a few connections, we were able to find a boat called the Rondonia to Manaus very easily. With our bikes, it cost us around 400 USD for the five day trip up the Amazon River. Our connections in Belem were also part of the motorcycle club known as the Para Moto Clube. Belem is the Capital of the state of Para.
They guys from the club were great. They are not the Hell’s Angels type what so ever. Actually, they are very involved in the community, and seem more like the Rotary Club on Harleys.
One of the clubs social chairs, Alfredo, took us in his arms and showed us around Belem. He invited us on a day trip up the river to a beach that is one-of-a-kind. It is the only river beach in the world that has waves! Go figure, the width at this end of the Amazon being 80 kilometers across. Not to mention, the Amazon has two separate mouths to the Atlantic!
We went for a swim and body surfed in the waves, as tree limbs and nut shells floated across the brown water. It is amazing to think of all the nutrients in this river, not to mention the other living organisms. The day was very nice, and everyone from the Para Moto Clube was incredibly hospitable, except when I tried to trade my BMW for Alfredo’s 1000cc V-Strom.
We were able to get our tourist cards for Venezuela at the Consulate in Belem without any problems at all. There was no charge, which made us all very happy.
Alfredo came out to the port and saw us off on the ship. It took a day of waiting at the docks for us to get our bikes loaded, and we were surprised at the loading crew (aka dock mafia), who insist on loading all of your things, and then give you an outrageous price to pay in return. The boat then filled up with an assortment of cargo on the bottom deck before finally setting off into the Amazonian night.

Road to Belem

2008-04-20T06:39:00.000-07:00

The road, or rather collection of roads, that lead you to Belem from Salvador, stream you through hills and valleys filled with grazing pastures, small villages, and amazing life...and death.
Here is a short list of what we saw from the road:
Ford factory
excavated forests
naked black boys bathing in a tub
flooded villages
women washing laundry in brown rivers.

Here is a short list of what we saw on the road:
Locals selling fresh fruit, coconut ice, and hammocks
herds of goats, cattle, donkeys, mules, dogs with cowboys
vultures eating the corpses of cows, donkeys, horses, dogs
six foot cobras and other Amazonian snakes jumping at the bikes
lizards racing across
10 inch grasshoppers
three semi-truck accidents
one dead body.

The small villages that sit between Salvador and Belem are filled with warm hearted people and tasty food. They do not see many gringos in this part, and the interest is pure and exciting. This is also the area where you see the real Brasil. An area without money and very little tourism, however, the culture is pure and includes the indigenous peoples, traditional foods, and plenty of truck stops. It was a very pleasant ride, although hot and humid, we rode into Belem with smiles.

Praia de Forte

2008-04-15T17:46:00.000-07:00

We all have seen those Corona beer commercials, with the coconut palm trees and white sand beaches, calm surf and seclusion. Well, I am there. Or at least at one of those places. The beer here is called Skol though.
The sand squeaks under your feet, and you can watch the sand crabs run from their holes to the water as you walk. Fish swim up through the rocks at the shoreline and turtles parade the waters here. You can see monkeys in the trees and lizards on the ground, geckos in your room and parrots. Old wooden boats sit in the harbor, and are used daily for the fresh catch. Little black boys and girls run around in the sand, then do cartwheels and flips into the salty waters. The older boys practice Caiporera for the young girls to watch. Happiness lives here.
We rented a surf board today, and walked out over the 200 meters of coral where the surf was actually breaking. The runs were short, but had enough behind them to get up. I sat on the board, watching eels jump out of the water and the sunset behind the coconut palms. Praia de Forte is paradise.

Boa Praia

2008-04-13T11:51:00.000-07:00

After Vitoria, we had nice rides through the hilly jungles of northern Brasil, where skin tones darken and poverty increases. There is a lot of history in these jungles along the coast line. The Portuguese in Brasil used slaves well into the late nineteenth century, and the living situations have not improved dramatically since.
Thursday night, we stayed in a cheap hotel outside of Euphanopolis, ate a big meal, repaired the bandages on Ted´s foot, watched the geckos climb the walls, killed hundreds of mosquitoes, and went to bed early.
The ride on Friday to the beach town of Guaibim was short and sweet, and the small town was deserted from tourists. We found a Pousada that was open and booked into a few rooms across from the white sand that squeaks when you walk on it. Coconut palm trees line the beach and the salty water breaks out from the shores, so surfing is popular here. The beach was beautiful, and the Brasilians are incredibly hospitable. It was difficult to push on the next morning.
Saturdays ride was a short 70 mile run to the ferry at Bom Despacho that took us into down town Salvador. Christi had been outside of Salvador in Barra, a beach suburb and hot spot, for a few days already. She directed us to a lovely Pousada a few blocks from the beach next to the lighthouse Farol da Barra. I took a walk and found some rocks that sat behind the lighthouse where the Atlantic came crashing in, and watched the sunset over the ocean.
You may ask, `how can you watch the sunset over the ocean from the eastern side of the continent?´ Well, Salvador and Barra sit out on a peninsula that raps around, so you can actually look across to the mainland and see the sunset to the west over the water.
Sunday morning was alive and beautiful as we walked through the historic streets of Salvador. The port was a major hub for slave trading, dating back to the seventeenth century, where bones of sick African voyagers are still being excavated around the peninsula. The Portuguese tax dollars were at work, when building the dozens of cathedrals that flood the two layered city. Half of Salvador is built on a bluff that overlooks the harbor, while the rest sits down below along the shoreline. Certain sections are known to be a little dangerous for tourists, and we were thankful for the number of locals who politely warned us before wandering off too far.
Returning to Barra, I took a walk along the beach, filled with sun bathers and male on-lookers. Coconuts with straws are a popular treat down here, and the milk is refreshing in the extreme heat. At the end of the day, the sun sets over the harbor, drums beat with Caipoera money handlers rockin´, and pink straws in coconuts rest in the sand.

BR-101 south of Euphanopolis

Boa Praia (Nice Beach) in Guaibim, Bahia

Guaibim, Bahia

Sunset over the Atlantic from Barra

Lighthouse of Barra at sunset

Historical downtown of Salvador, Cidade Alta.

Cidade Alta, historical downtown.

Plaza de Pelourinho, Cidade Alta.

Cidade Alta.

Graffiti art of Salvador.

Traveling with Ted

2008-04-13T11:35:00.000-07:00

After a long ride through a very hot and humid Brasil, we made it to Vitoria late on Wednesday night, and decided to take a swim in the hotel pool. The night was alive and beautiful, with the smell of BBQ coming from the beach. Women were out running while their boyfriends walked the Shitzu-Poodle lap dog.
The swimming pool at our hotel had an infection, so they directed us to the hotel next door. So we walked over and entered the pool area, where people sat drinking cocktails and relaxing in the cool evening breeze. I dipped my hand into the pool and it was very comfortable. There was a lamp post that illuminated the pool about two feet from the edge, a brass antiquity that created a pseudo ambiance.
Ted grabbed onto the lamp post to dip his foot into the pool, and took the entire thing in with him. The bloke was submerged underwater with a brass lamp post and a live 220 volt circuit. He managed to jump out of the pool, shortly after seeing the X Ray image of his right leg that was being zapped by the cord. Blood started collecting all over the pool deck, as the night watchers watched, and hotel management was called. The lamp post was put into the ground with three rusty quarter inch screws and no breaker.
After bringing out my first aid, Ted told me I could not practice sutures on him, so I used iodine, gauze bandages and tape to get the bleeding to stop. With the stethoscope, I checked his heart to make sure there were no irregular rhythms, although he does have a slight murmur.
Speaking with the manager, he was quite sympathetic, and told Ted he would not charge him for the damages.
Later, I turned to Ted and laughed. When asking me why I was laughing, I told him if this were to happen in North America, he would be a millionaire.
Never a dull moment.

Who´s Yo Daddy?

2008-04-11T04:14:00.000-07:00

Final - OT

(1)Kansas (37-3, 13-3 Big 12)
(1)Memphis (38-2, 16-0 C-USA)

Miss Moneypenny, have you ever seen the sunset over Rio?

2008-04-08T17:33:00.001-07:00

Ted on Ipanema beach one block from the hostel
The market in Ipanema one block from our hostel
Jesus designed by a Polish Brailian guy.
Carnival Museum with Ted and Carol
Christo at sunset from Sugar Loaf.

Copacabana and the Red beach at dusk

North Rio at dusk with Christo in the upper right.

Copacabana facing South

Copacabana facing North

Not wasting one minute in Rio, we woke up early from the Favela Funk Party hang-over, and prepared ourselves for a city tour. This included the Christo monument that overlooks the city from the west, the Metro Cathedral, the Carnival street and Museum, and Sugar Loaf Hill on a cable car that overlooks the city from the east side.
I have dreamed of seeing Brasil since I was 16 years old, and happened to run by the amazing photos of the country while looking for pictures of naked women in the National Geographic. These parts of the tour were all staples of memory that enriched my hormonal mind and filled it with the idea of traveling.
The tour was wonderful, and it finished with Sugar Loaf Hill which overlooked the city and Christo as the sunset. Moneypenny would have loved it.
The next morning, we left after breakfast, headed north towards Victoria. We stopped by Copacabana as the sun came out, and so did the lovely brown brasilians in swimming attire, and took some pictures of the beach.
Heading north, we made it as far as Campos, where we took apart Ted´s carburetor and adjusted the intake to make up for the terrible alcohol flooded gasoline they sell here in Brasil at outrageous prices. Tomorrow, we continue north. I looked at a map today, and am not terribly sure that you all understand this, but Brasil...is a really really really large country.

Favela Funk Party

2008-04-08T17:08:00.000-07:00

In the early part of the 19th century, the ruler of Brasil at the time decided to bring a wealth of hands from the country into Rio de Janeiro to help build new additions to the old capital. After the majority of the work was done, the people decided not to leave back to the country, but rather start their own communities up in the hills of Rio. In these hills, a large green plant we leaves called Favelas grew abundant. So, when the locals described their area of town, they would call it the Favela. This name has grown through the years, and has been taken over as the Portuguese term for `slum´. The name Rio de Janeiro was given by the Portuguese settlers who sailed into the bay and thought it was a river. Go figure, they came in the wonderful month of January.
The favelas in Rio have been hyped up a lot lately in news, movies and literature. There is a book, film and television series known as ´City of God,´ which is the name of a favela on the southern side of the city. The stories are mostly of gang violence, drug use and rape. Over the years, the favelas in Rio have become much more controlled with a great reduction in violence. However, like any large city, you need to be on the lookout in certain neighborhoods. So, Ted Carol and I decided we wanted a closer look, and signed up for the Favela Funk Party.
The bus left the hostel at midnight and headed south from Ipanema to the Favela. The discotheque was an old storage house painted black and vibrating from the bass of samba coming from inside. Walking into the club, we were patted down by security and warned not to buy drugs from locals. We were reserved the VIP balcony up top with its private cash bar selling 75 cent beers and 4 dollar whisky cokes, two of my favorites.
This place was bumping, and hot sweaty brown people were dancing with one thing in mind...sex! This samba Brasilian disco is a kind of hip hop and techno house mix where the dance moves are sexual gyrations. The women are stunning, piercing your heart with large brown eyes, amazing curvature, and little clothing. The traditional transvestites of Rio roamed the room looking for vulnerable males as the large gay bodybuilders waxed down an grinding each other, were stealing Carol´s attention. This place was hot, sexy and unlike anything in this world.
Fireworks lit up the room as 4,000 dancers grinded ass through the large warehouse. We all moved down stairs where the locals were making it happen up by the stage, as the fruity MC pulled 4 women and 4 men out of the crowd for a coitesque dance-off. One of the beautiful girls up on stage for the competition, was the same beautiful girl that came up to me, grabbing my crotch and asked me to buy her a beer. As I moved swiftly through the crowd for the bar, that is when the sparklers were lit, and she was invited on stage. What timing!
There is no way to describe the sexual appeal behind this night. If you know, then you know. However, the Favela Funk Party is unlike any party in the world.
Waking up at 10 the next morning after four hours of sleep, I looked down an notice that not one, but two of my testicles were a hue of blue.

Costal road to Paraty and Rio

2008-04-07T08:53:00.000-07:00

California has highway 1, and I have never ridden on it, however, I expect it to be beautiful. Nonetheless, the coastal road BR-55 that goes from Santos (East of São Paulo) to Rio is curvy, mountainous, and absolutely breathtaking. We left São Paulo early and road through Santos, across a ferry, and onto the BR-55, headed towards Paraty.
The ride has mountain passes that overlook stranded beaches with the Atlantic blowing a nice breeze up the hillside. Sailboats and yachts poke around finding secluded spots to chill, while palm trees climb the mountains from the beach to the peak. The BMW moved swift and clean around the jungle lined curves and the tarmac was nice and gentle.
The day was long and a little wet, as we battled through a bit of darkness and rain as we road into Paraty. Our friends Pete and Carol from Canada were waiting on the main drag as we strolled into town. They set down their beers and showed us to the hotel around the corner through the cobble stone streets with lighted lamp posts gleaming across the wet surface.
The next day we spent changing fluids, head lights and adjusting valves. In the end, we had enough time to eat dinner and walk along the shoreline where the fishing boats sat beached with the tide hundreds of meters from the docks. Portuguese iron cannons lined the walkways along the shoreline and the Brasilian flag stood strong and proud through the soft sea breeze.
We left Paraty early the next morning (Sunday April 6, 2008) and headed north once again on the coastal road towards Rio. The skies remained a little cloudy, however, we made wonderful time as we strolled into the old Capital of Brasil. We were told to stay clear of the yellow and red lines of Rio, so we decided to stick to the coast line and go strait for Ipanema beach. Getting into the city was much easier than what we expected and after an hour we found a reasonable hostel a block from the beach. A cold beer was well deserved and the sign on the wall told of a Favela Funk Party that night. We knew we were exactly in the right place.

High School Reunion in São Paulo

2008-04-07T08:43:00.000-07:00

In Florianapolis, we met up with a couple from Western Canada, Pete and Carol. I had met the couple in Buenos Aires, while my motorcycle was getting worked on. They are very experience travelers, who have already ridden around the world once, and now are going from Alaska to Ushuaia and back. We decided to ride north together and ended up in Morretes, just outside of Curatiba, along the river. It was a very nice little town, with an old railway that passes through the jungle filled with birds and flowers.

Pete and Carol on the way to Morretes.

The river through Morretes, outside of Curatiba.

Pretty flowers with an amazing fragrence.

The next morning, we left Morretes early and the road led us through a national forrest filled where the hightway was built from cobble stone, which bended around mountain sides through forrest filled with waterfalls and giant blue butterflies. As we left heaven and moved onto the interstate, we split up from Pete and Carol, because they were not interested in São Paulo, and decided to meet up with them in three days. So Ted, Christi and I headed towards the big city on a hunt to see an old high school sweetheart.

Cobble stone highway through a national park.

We made it into Embu, on the outskirts of São Paulo, early in the afternoon this past Wednesday and enjoyed the outdoor market filled with artisans and craftsmen. We enjoyed coffee and cake as we waited for my good friend Pati (pronounced Pátchee) from senior year in high school, and her husband Edwardo, to get off from work and meet us. It was interesting, because it has been eight years since I last saw Pati, and I was not quite sure what she looked like. However, when she stepped out from the car it hit me, and senior year memories came back to me. They live in Baueri, and so we followed them with our bikes to their upscale apartment just outside the city.
São Paulo was fantastic. Pati´s sister, who also spent a year at Hutchinson high, gave us a city tour and took us out for a wonderful vegetarian lunch. Pati works at a not-for-profit agency in São Paulo that works with teachers in the public education system, Edwardo (aka Dudu) works for his father´s tomato sauce company (and he really loves tomatoes), and Pati´s sister Barbara is an actress in an underground theater company downtown.
We visited Pati´s work, toured an art gallery and enjoyed São Paulo´s famous espresso. It was a wonderful, but short trip to a great city, with a wonderful reunion. Hanging out with Pati at her apartment in BaueriPati and here husband Edward (Dudu)...very cute couple.

Dinner with the Yamaha XT Club

2008-03-31T09:39:00.000-07:00

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

2008-03-31T09:28:00.000-07:00

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

2008-03-28T08:49:00.000-07:00

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

2008-03-25T08:45:00.000-07:00

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

2008-03-19T05:21:00.000-07:00

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

2008-03-11T19:06:00.000-07:00

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...

2008-03-01T13:10:00.000-08:00

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.

A Day in Tigre

2008-02-18T14:15:00.000-08:00

After meeting back up with my friend Carolina from Buenos Aires, whom I met at the tango house party, we were talking over some flan ice cream with dulce de leche and decided to take a day trip up to Tigre. Of course it did not stop there...we continued with pistachio, plum, raspberry, chocolate rum raisin and sambayon.
Tigre is in the Province of Buenos Aires, about one hour north of the Capital by train. The actual train ride is more of a commuter, filled with business men and women on the weekdays, connecting the suburbs to the city. However, on Saturday, we joined the crowd of families with picnic coolers to the sunny waters of Tigre.
There is a matrix of connecting rivers that cover the northern territory of the province. All of the rivers connect to one another at some point before emptying out into the Rio de la Plata, separating Argentina from Uruguay. Along the river that flows through Tigre, a plethora of shops create busy crowds shopping for home furnishings, fresh fruit and souvenirs. I was very lucky and found a present for my mother after searching for two weeks.

After finding my mother's present, we sat down by the docks and enjoyed some lovely sandwich-itos of which Carolina so nicely prepared. Washing down the sandwiches with some mate, we decided to spend the afternoon exploring the rivers on one of the the commuter boats. Along these rivers, there is an abundance of cabins. The cabins are typically used as weekend resorts for city dwellers, however, there are many people that actually live in these cabins permanently. A series of boats move up and down the busy river system, dropping people off at docks that stick out like arms of a comb.

Carolina and I took a commuter boat to the municipal park about 30 minutes upstream from Tigre. There was a walking path that takes you through a number of cabins, winding through tall trees and crossing more rivers, which looked more like alleyways or side streets, filled with canoes and small boats. We enjoyed some more mate (I am really starting to fit in down here) before catching the last commuter boat to Tigre and watched the sun set into the western Argentine sky.

Tranquilo es Uruguay

2008-02-11T05:29:00.000-08:00

There are multiple ferry boats, with duty free shops, live music and concessions, that carry vehicles as well as passengers from Buenos Aires to Uruguay. The two docking stations in Uruguay are located in Colonia del Sacramento and the Capital Montevideo. I took the shorter, less expensive trip, to Colonia on Friday (Feb 8, 08).

Colonia is a classic Spanish town rich in history, with original cobble stones forming driving hazards, poetic lamp posts lighting walkways, as well as the city wall and light house surviving hundreds of years. The streets are lined in Sequoia trees, much like Mendoza, Argentina, and the buildings remain stucco with the old Spanish style; large windows and high ceilings. There is a beach that runs along the harbor where boats use to bring in thousands of African slaves more than two hundred years ago.

The African culture is still very alive today in Uruguay, as it is in Brasil. During the Carnival, while the Brasilians parade the streets to Samba, the streets of Colonia and Montevideo are filled with Candombe. This traditional African drumming is made from wooden bodied shells with leather tops that create a powerful noise. As the drummers surround the fire at night in the streets of Colonia, and the dancers in costume parade through the blocks, the vibrations can be felt through the cobble stones under your feet for hundreds of yards.

In total, I spent two nights in Colonia and one in Montevideo. Although, Montevideo is the Capital of Uruguay, the size of the city is rather minuscule and the communities are very quiet. It seems as though the entire country is at peace after gaining their independence. This is why I would described Uruguay in a single word. Tranquilo.

You see almost every Uruguayan in the streets during the middle of the day with Mate (an herbal tea drank from a special cup made of a type of squash plant) and a hot water thermos. Even the tough guys in sunglasses, ¨wife beater¨ tank tops, and baggy pants, are sipping on mate around 3 in the afternoon. This country is relaxing and a much needed detour from the noise of Buenos Aires; hence, the large amount of Argentinians here on vacation. Filled with complete peace, like a mud bath and cucumbers on the eyes, I am impressed with the tranquility of Uruguay.

You cannot beat Chuck Taylor´s.

2008-02-07T11:41:00.000-08:00

Today was a walking day. I was determined to go to the Rose Garden, the cemetery, the ferry ticket office for Uruguay, and by Freddo´s for icecream. I must have walked almost 70 blocks in total. I must say, that my Mistral (Argentine brand) Chuck Taylor knock-offs don´t cut it. Nothing beats a set of Chuck Taylor´s.

The rose garden was nice. I stopped multiple times to smell the flowers. There is a beautiful bridge that crosses a small pond along the outskirts of the park, where I sat down for a little bit trying to cross fertilize flowers that I had picked up along the pathway. The park was scattered with joggers and marble heads of profound people lost in history...making them profound to historians and the dead.

I walked down Liberation Ave. towards the Cemeterio de la Recoleta where all of the dead have mausoleums where they contemplate the true importance of the profound people, who have marble heads in the Rose Garden, while sleeping permanently. Some, mostly historians, would consider the majority of the dead in this cemetery to also be profound. I on the other hand, after seeing their coffins inside the spider webbed doors of the crypt, consider them to be profoundly dead.

Walking around, I saw a number of tourists standing beside a marble tomb. I walked around the back way, noticing a tomb that was falling apart and happened to have a skull and crossbones with only two halves of a femur. I paid my respects while taking a picture and walked further down to the tourists.

Standing beside them listing to a tour guide, I noticed that they were talking about the tomb being that of Evita Peron. The tour guide was talking about grave robbers who have tried to steal the hands of Evita and her husband. Rumor has it, Evita had stolen a great deal of gold from Argentina during the war and made a vault in the mountains that can only be opened with their fingerprints. Being that the corpses of Evita and her late husband are resting quietly in coffins, what is not known, is that their hands sit in jars of formaldehyde in order to preserve the delicate finger prints in case a robber happens to get passed the tri-level security system in order to chop them off and open the safe to the Argentine Federal Reserve.

Walking again, I kept looking down at my Mistral shoes. I am quite impressed with the lavish style that they bring to my wardrobe, however, the comfort level had quickly worn off on the cobble stone sidewalks of Buenos Aires. Nonetheless, they did their job and directed me to Freddo´s, where I comfortably ate a quarter kilogram of Banana Split, Dark Chocolate, and Samboyon ice cream.

After indulging in heaven, I thanked Evita and Mr. Martin for the liberation of Freddo in Argentina and continued along Puerto Madero to the Ferry station that takes you to Uruguay. I decided to purchase a ticket to Sacramento de Colonia, Uruguay for the weekend. It is suppose to be a wonderful place filled with history and classic architecture. It will be nice to get the old passport out again; the webs are starting to collect around the edges.

Glamor in the Rose Garden...

Super Bowl Sunday in BA

2008-02-04T11:41:00.000-08:00

Pizza, Empanadas, Chimichuri hot sauce, beer and football...what is the only thing wrong with this picture? The fact that they are doing play-by-play in Spanish for the Super Bowl.
It was quite interesting, after Landon had pointed out, that the Spanish translations have different meanings when converted.
For example, a fair catch, is called a free catch in Spanish.
I was also a little disappointed in the lack of enthusiasm of the announcers. I have watched plenty of ¨football¨games in Central and South America, and the announcers at those matches had unbelievable passion.
I must say, I am happy that the underdogs pulled off the championship, however, American Football should be broadcast with American announcers.

La Boca...

2008-02-04T11:13:00.000-08:00

Landon and Lou made it into Buenos Aires on the 31st of January, and met me at Dakar Motos working on my bike. We had a nice BBQ dinner with a few friends at the shop that night, camped out for one more night at Dakar, and then took off into the city the next morning to secure our apartment in San Telmo, only a few blocks west of Puerto Madero. The apartment complex is around 120 years old and has 15 foot ceilings, three rooms, a spiral iron staircase, marble floors and a nice patio in the middle. Settling in with such little gear was easy and comfortable.

In the old ports at the southeast side of Buenos Aires sits the classic location know as La Boca. Home to the Boca Junior football club, a major shipyard, and some of Argentina´s greatest artists, the activity of this colorful neighborhood is vibrant. Walking along the harbor with escalating bridge ways and mobile cargo ships, the sound of Tango came from a distance. Walking closer to the curl in the harbor where the center of La Boca is located, 100 year old cafes and restaurants with live tango lived beside old apartments of vibrant primary colours. The construction of this area took place at the beginning of the industrial revolution when Argentina made a great deal of wealth through it´s ports. The buildings were constructed of rock and wood foundations with corrugated steal walls and cast iron balconies with wooden floors. Obviously the living quarters for dock workers during the early 20th century. Each construction may have looked as if it were to collapse at any moment, however, it seems that the overwhelming amount of paint that has been added over the years has kept these structures erect.

Landon and I went to visit the Museo Quinquela Martín, a legendary Argentine painter who captured the amazing work of dock workers in La Boca in the middle of the 20th century. His artwork shows the struggle and hard work, the sweat and blood, the hot and cold experience of La Boca laborers. His stroke work is quick and clean and I was very impressed with his shadowry.

Walking back to the apartment, we passed the La Boca Junior Football Club stadium that stood out like the Obelisco, a staple of Buenos Aires that sits in the middle of Ave 9th of July in it´s phallic symbolization of the liberation of the Argentine Republic.

Visiting La Boca, Buenos Aires, February 2nd, 2008.

Motorcycle Repairs

2008-01-29T09:14:00.000-08:00

Gear Box:
Full gear set made new in Buenos Aires (300US)
6 Bearings purchased in Buenos Aires (180US)
4 New Shaft seals purchased in KC (50US)
2 New Pawl Return springs purchased in KC (6US)
1 New Pawl Selector spring purchased in KC (3US)
1 New Gear Box Gasket purchased in KC (5US)

Forks:
2 New seals purchased in KC (18 US)
2 New fork cups purchased in KC (32 US)

Cables:
2 New Throttle cables purchased in KC (32US)

Filters:
1 New Air Filter purchased in KC (34US)

Lights:
3 New Rubber Bushings for the light adjustment purchased in KC (9US)

Tire:

1 New Front tire purchased from Dakar Motos (100US)

Parts: (769US)
Labor: (???????)
Time Lost on Road: (35 days)

In times like these, when it is raining outside and the world has not worked out the way you had planned, it is important to stop, breathe and regroup. I was not expecting my motorcycle to break down in the middle of Patagonia, however, in the time ¨lost¨on the road, I have met beautiful people, seen beautiful things and laughed a great deal. It is interesting, when a situation seems to have turned against you, but in reality, it has opened a gateway to an even larger experience; one complete with excitement and joy. In times like these, when it is raining outside and the world continues to rotate, money does not matter, time does not matter, nor do materials...just get up, walk out the door and let the rain pour on your head, look up, breathe in really deep and feel...alive.

Tango house party in BA

2008-01-27T12:11:00.000-08:00

With two friends, Julie from Montreal and Emilie from Paris, we purchased wine and desert (chocolate cake with Dulce de Leche), and headed up into San Telmo in Buenos Aires for a house party. A friend of Julie, Serge, had a friend Sophie, who lived in B. Aires, but was from France. The apartment was a one room studio with a balcony of which a traditional Argentine BBQ was being prepared. Wine was passed around with smiles and laughter as the music played Latin Salsa in the background.
Argentine sausage is very high quality. They have Chorizo, which is like a normal thick Polish-like sausage and a Morcilla (know as Black Pudding in the UK). When they are both grilled to the correct temperature, you can add them to a baguette and enjoy a mouth watering, finger licking wonder. Dinner was very nice, and it was nice speaking with new people.
After dinner was finished, and the Dulce de Leche (a soft caramel) chocolate cake was passed around, Tango music was heard from the computer speakers. A couple moved out into the middle of the floor, and without hesitation, held each other closely and intertwined their bodies with incredible passion. The song ended much too early and applause took over the room and balcony. The next couple, Sophie and here partner, moved to the floor. You could tell that Sophie had added a few inches after skipping off into her room to put on some high heels. Sex and sweat took over the room as the Tango filled the air with romance. Talk of how tango is causing the increase in population in Buenos Aires was heard from the sofa.
I walked Julie and Emilie back to their hostel at around 4AM, and was able to catch a train back into Florida where I am staying. Buenos Aires is another city that never sleeps. Walking by kids in the street at 5 in the morning, laughing and smoking cigarettes, I smiled, looking down at my feet moving across the cobble stone and back up at the train station as some were headed home like me, and the others passing by on their way to work. Bliss is BBQ and Tango in Buenos Aires.

Attack of the waddling penguins

2008-01-23T07:19:00.000-08:00

Magellen Penguins at Punta Tombo.
Punta Tombo and the Atlantic.
Penguins with a Yanaco in Punta Tombo.

Arriving at Puerto Madryn, I had a little trouble finding a hostel. I was to spend one night in a particular hostel and then have to move to another for my second night. All the same, I had a bed, a kitchen, and the Internet. At the same help desk, where I located my hostel arrangements, I also was able to book a few tours around the area. One tour went to visit Punta Tombo, which is a breeding ground for Magellan penguins and then went later to Gaingan, the first Welsh settlement in Argentina for a proper cup of tea. The second tour, was a trip up onto the Valdes Peninsula, where a touring bus took us around breeding grounds of many different species, all unique to Patagonia.
My tour to Punta Tombo (Jan 21, 2008) was absolutely wonderful. When the guide told us, as soon as we walked into the park we will see penguins, I believed him with scepticism. The park itself is around 6 square miles. Within this area, there are about 250,000 couples...all monogamous. Including the chicks, there may be up to 600,000 penguins all on the same location. This was absolutely mind boggling. But sure enough, as soon as you entered the park, there was not one bush or burrow that was not inhabited by one, two, three, or four penguins. They would waddle across the pathway, duck under bridges and fence lines, stretch and flap their short wings, and squawk at the seagulls swarming around the young.
You could see three different stages of the penguins. The young chicks had loose feathers, all grey, and would stumble when waddling back and forth. The older chicks, were also grey in colour, however, their feathers started to come in tighter with their body and they would start to add the oil from their glands in order to provide protection as they started entering the cold Atlantic. The adults were seen often in pairs. The only time the monogamous penguins leave each other is in the search for food. Their feathers were black and white, oiled down and protected from the cold waters (5 to 12 degrees Celsius). They would tend to their young, clean themselves, add more oil from their glands under their bums, and take naps under the shade.
The Atlantic coast was lined in rustic oxidized volcanic stone, with which created a pleasant backdrop for the blue waters and the penguins themselves.
The best part about it, besides being outnumbered by penguins 10,000 to 1 at the park and totally relaxed; was the fact that they have a specific process for defecation.
First they walk around in a circle, much like a dog finding a resting place, in order to view their surroundings and find a landing. When they have found their target, the bounce back and forth from foot to foot, lift the tail, and with one quick expulsion, it flies across the rocks up to two meters in distance. I observed this process with intense curiosity and awe.
The following day (Jan 22, 2008), we left early in the morning on a bus to Peninsula Valdes. The bus was almost full and the skies were cloudy with a light rain. Our first stop after the park entrance was at a museum explaining the history behind the peninsula, the exploitation of it's resources, and the varieties of biological life that can be found there. We then moved onto Puerto Pirimide, where the group went on a whale watching boat trip. I did not go because I had asked before purchasing the tickets if any whales had been seen in the last few weeks. It is usually by this time that the breeding season is over, and the whales usually head back to Antarctica for feeding. The tend to be around Peninsula Valdez from October to December for breeding. Sure enough, none were seen on the boat tour.
The reason behind this area being a primary breeding ground for so many species, is because there are two currents, one from the north and one from the south, that meet at this location along the Patagonian coast. Where they meet, an overwhelming amount of organic material concentrates, which creates warm waters that are lush in dietary resources.
After the groups return, the weather cleared, and we continued across the Peninsula to PuntaNorte. On the way we saw Yanaccos (a kind of llama), Choicos (a kind of ostrich), foxes and armadillos. At Punta Norte, there is a large group of sea lions that had come back to breed as well. The large males had all competed for a hot landing to score with as many available mamas as possible. The best of them could have up to 9 women and the same number of pups. They would fight, play and moan, while sweet music played in the back of my head as the players fornicated.
We moved down the road along the Atlantic cost to visit another breeding ground for Magellan Penguins. Once again, I saw the exciting life of the penguin digestive pathway...which seemed to always go in the direction of an opposing family. I believe we tend to use fences in the US to tell our neighbors that they should stay on their side.
Further down the road, we came upon a small colony of young elephant seals. They are called elephant seals because the adult males grow a large snout that looks like a curled up trunk of an elephant. These young pups, weighing up to 200 kgs in size, did not show this unique characteristic, however, they acted very much like I would expect an elephant to act. Meaning, they sat around the entire time, absorbing the sun, rolling around in water and sand, doing absolutely nothing. You cannot actually blame them, it was a very comfortable 78 degrees outside. The young elephant seals are deserted by their parents after around 30 days. They then starve themselves until they learn how to swim on their own. They stay in the oceans for about 10 months out of the year, and come hear to breed during the time not at sea. They have unbelievable breathing techniques. The can dive to under 1,000 meters below sea level and stay under for almost an hour. Now if only I had these capabilities went I went down under, I could get all the ladies!
We made it back to to Puerto Madryn in time to catch a bite to eat before jumping on my bus to Buenos Aires. The trip was quite uneventful. I have been spending so much time on the bus, that my ankles look like those of a woman seven months pregnant. It was nice finally getting back to a place where I can settle down for a bit.
I am now staying in the back of Dakar Motos, where my bike is being repaired. I ordered some parts from KC today, and they are all in stock. A friend is coming to visit us in Buenos Aires and has agreed to bring them with him. So it looks as though my bike will finally be back in business. I have not decided how I will continue my adventure. The last thing I want to do is run out of money on my bike somewhere and not be able to ship it home. One option is to send it home from Buenos Aires and continue by bus. Only four more countries to go and then I am on my way back home...it seems like only yesterday when I left. No worries though...besides my patchy beard and a few less hairs on my head...I am the same ole Sean Tucker that left you all four months ago. I have aged, and with that has come a bit of wisdom...but as I like to say, "the more you know...the more you know you do not know."

A Patagonian Fox at Punta Norte on Peninsula Valdes.

A hairy Armadillo at Punta Norte on Peninsula Valdes.

Elephant seals resting at the sea line at Punta Cantor on Peninsula Valdes.

The End of the World

2008-01-19T17:00:00.000-08:00

Ushuaia, the end of the road.

I was very lucky to have convinced Alda and Andrea into joining me on a journey to the bottom of the world. Ushuaia, known as the city ¨fin del mundo,¨ or end of the world, sits at the site where the Atlantic meets the Pacific. From El Chalten, it took us around 20 hours to get there, crossing two borders (You pass into Chile before crossing back into the Argentine province of Tierra del Fuego) and weaving between green mountain passes. The majority of Patagonia is covered in shrub, very dull to the eye, powered with drought and extreme winds. However, when you get to the side of the Andes Mountains, lush vegetation and beautiful snow capped peaks unravel the amazing tranquility of the southern Argentine landscape.
Entering Ushuaia, the port town is obvious, filled with cruise liners, touring yachts, sail boats, and cargo ships. The back drop of Ushuaia is a beautiful white mountain side with a glacier sitting right up in the middle. The buildings are of middle European style (as seen in Switzerland and Austria) and the climate is a cool wet 40 degrees...unfathomable, being that it is in the middle of summer and the sun is up from 5 in the morning until 11:30 at night.
We found a lovely hostel filled with lovely people from all over the world...I should admit that 90 percent of them were from Israel. And even though these Israelis had spent multiple years in the military, they have terrible manners and do not clean up after themselves. The hostel was small and crowded, so the noise volume in the evenings was to be dealt with.
Nonetheless, we woke up early the next morning to go on a hike up to the glacier that overlooks the city and ocean to the south. Once again, it was raining on us, and unfortunately, sweet Alda had a sprained ankle and stayed at base camp while Andrea and I walked up to catch a piece of the ice. The weather inhibited any view of the city and ocean below, so after a couple of photos above, we made our decent to base camp to catch up with Alda.
Later that day, I took a boat trip by myself off into the Atlantic. Just as the weather started to pick up, we passed an island filled with penguins, sea lions, and elephant seals. It was a riot, everyone was attacking each other. I could not tell if they were playing or trying to kill. The boat continued on to the lighthouse, the last remaining lighthouse at the end of the world. Its red and white stripes stood out in the dark blue seas and grey mountain scape. The lighthouse is now run off of solar energy and is a ticket into the major port of Ushuaia. On the way back into Ushuaia on the boat, you could definitely feel the current that the oceans bring when adjoined together. The boat rocked up and down, causing more than ten people to vomit, and the rest to sit at the back to avoid the turbulence. The power of the oceans was felt and it could scare any man on a bad day.
The second full day in Ushuia took part in the National Forrest. We hiked around the coastal line of Beagle Chanel, visiting many lakes and rivers that curved through the mountain sides into the two oceans. The shore lines were lined in mussel shells, and the mountainous backdrop of Chile off in the distance gave one the feeling that it was actually a lake rather than the ocean. Yet the water contained salt and life forms were seen on the sandy shore, verifying its reality.
We took off the next morning to Rio Gallegos, where I split up from Alda and Andrea. They went up into the lake district of El Bolson, just south of San Bariloche where I had spent Christmas. I went directly north back to Puerto Madryn to visit the Penguins and Sea Lions. I just want to say, that the time I spent with Alda and Andrea was incredibly special and wonderfully educational. I learned so much about the Latin American culture, the language, and about myself. I learned to be more patient, to understand the differences between cultures and linguistics, and how to absorb the love across borders. I will never forget the time we spent together...dos gardenias para ellas...te adoro.

Park outside of our hostel in Ushuaia.

Last remaining lighthouse on the southern end of the world.

National Park in Tierra del Fuego, outside of Ushuaia.

Black Lake (lago negro) in the National Park in Tierra del Fuego. Only molds and bacteria grow in and surrounding the lake for the first 50 meters because of the stealthy organic mixture that has always grown from the lake.

make up work (b. aires a el calafate y el chalten)

2008-01-19T16:30:00.000-08:00

Glacier National Park on Lake Argentino outside of El Calafate.
Glacier National Park on Lake Argentino outside of El Calafate.
Glacier National Park on Lake Argentino outside of El Calafate.
Glacier National Park on Lake Argentino outside of El Calafate.
Glacier National Park on Lake Argentino outside of El Calafate.

Hola amigos. So it has been a while since I last wrote in my blog, and I have quite a lot of make up work to do. First I want to apologize for my inconsistent communication. However, I have been traveling in the southern parts of Patagonia, very distant from electronic communication.
I was sitting at the computer in Buenos Aires checking the old emails, when I read a message from my friend Alda, of whom I met during the New Year's celebration. She was asking me to come meet her and her friend Andrea (both from Bogota) in Puerto Madryn on their way south to El Calafate. So randomly one day, I left everything behind in the Capital and took off south by bus to meet up with them. It ended up being a 40 hour bus trip to El Calafate. However, the bus system in Argentina, much like many of the South American countries, have very comfortable liners...many steps ahead of the chicken buses we saw in Honduras.
Meeting Alda and Andrea again was fantastic. We connected very well, as if we had known each other for quite some time. The fact that they speak perfect English did play a major factor in our social interaction. Colombians have this amazing presence about them, controversy to all of the terrible publicity received in the US. Colombia remains one of my favorite countries on this trip, and definitely is made of some of the finest people in the world. It is terribly wicked what the US press contributes to the misinterpretation of this beautiful country.
We arrived in El Calafate in the afternoon and only found camping available. It is now high season in Argentina, and everywhere seems to be booked full. However, the campsite was perfect besides me forgetting my water proof cover for my tent in Buenos Aires. I tried to cover my tent with zip lock sized garbage bags, ending up to be a disaster, nonetheless, very amusing. The following morning, we went on a day long boat tour in the National Glacier Park just off of Lake Argentino. The day was cloudy and cool, however the glaciers continued to melt and break off into the cold lakes. We must have visited seven glaciers stuck between mountain sides falling into the lake. The blue colours of the ice reflecting off the water was mesmerizing, and created an ambiance of purity and perfection. It filled me with joy and sorrow at the same time...knowing that they are all being destroyed at an unbelievable rate. That evening, I went on to prepare the BBQ of wurst, beef shoulders, shish kabobs and salad. As the successful meal wound down and the clock turned over to midnight, the sweet Colombians pulled one out on me and surprised me with a chocolate torte and candles. A wonderful Feliz Cupliaños song sung loud for the entire campsite to endure ended with me smiling immensely and making a wish.
The day following the glacier expedition, we traveled north to El Chalten, north of Lake Viedma off of Ruta 40. El Chalten is known for its majestic peaks and glaciers, also being part of the National Glacier Park in Argentina. After arriving and finding a hostel for the night, we went on a short hike to the overlook of Mount Fitz Roy, a peak created by the gods and for the gods, it soared into the clouds with white peaks and praise. To its sides lay glaciers, frozen for thousands of years, keeping the rocky soil cool and uninhabited. It was the perfect birthday present. Un vista muy linda.
Waking up early the next morning, we took a day hike to another part of the park where glaciers and mountains surrounded a pale blue lake, bringing unbelievable gusts of wind. I thought Kansas was windy, until I came down to Patagonia, where they could produce the energy for the world with wind turbans alone. The site was amazing, and the journey there and back was even more amazing; filled with birds (including parrots) and waterfalls amidst the mountain scape was a site that brought tears in the inter-mix of the sweat dripping from the forehead. El Chalten is a place incredibly special.

Foggy Birthday view of Mount Fitz Roy at the Ntl. Glacier Park in El Chalten.

Nice view from the hike to Glacier Grande outside of El Chalten.

Glacier Grande and lake Torre, five hour hike from El Chalten.

Mount Cerro Solo off of Lake Torre outside of El Chalten.

A New Year Feast

2008-01-03T09:40:00.000-08:00

I made it safely into Buenos Aires and found a hostel by the Congresso Plaza in the theater district. It just so happened to be around 5 blocks from the two Norwegians I met in Machu Picchu...this was no coincidence, we were planning on meeting. The two guys from Norway, Henrik and Colin introduced me to two Colombian girls they had met in Salta, and we planned a dinner for New Years at their hostel. 30 people had signed up for the meal, and it turned out to be a crowd of around 40...but no worries, because if you know me, I always cook plenty of food. I teamed up with one of the Colombians Alda, Christian from France, and Santiago the owner of the hostel, and we prepared a feast for kings and queens. The table was covered in wine and happy faces as we indulged into a meal prepared with love and lots of sweat. The weather has been in the upper 90´s the entire time I have been in Buenos Aires.
At midnight, we followed a Colombian tradition, eating 12 grapes and making a wish for each one. Then we put on something old, something new and something borrowed (nothing blue, however), and ran around the block. A sweet girl had a dress malfunction and ended up giving a show to some of the Argentinian men on the street corner. Luck was brought into the new year for all!
We danced in the streets throughout the night, to salsa and merenge, watching fireworks explode in the air, and sloppy drunks parading around singing. I ended up getting lost and roaming to a strange part of down as the sun was coming up. I went into a very nice hotel and asked to use the restroom. Following my hygienic recovery, I asked the front desk where I could find breakfast in the area. They pointed at the staircase and told me the buffet was down stairs. Still a little out of it from the previous 12 hours, I made my way down the stairs to white linens, polished silverware, a buffet from heaven and exquisite service. My luck has turned around in only five hours into the new year!
After my third cup of coffee, a nice lady came to me with a clip board and asked me for my room number. I looked at her with a Sean Tucker look of curiosity and told her I was on the third floor. She asked for my name, and in a movie star voice I told her, ¨Mr. Johnston.¨ She
looked through her clipboard and walked patiently to the back room. It was at that moment, I took one more sip from my coffee and proceeded to move very swiftly back up the stairs, thanking the security guard at the door, and hopping into a Taxi. I made my way home on a full stomach and with the smile of a mischievous little boy who just put a frog into his mother´s purse.
New Year´s day consisted of napping and Fredo ice cream, the best in Argentina. My friend Mario from England and I competed in the 1 kilo competition where I had chosen Banana, Espresso, and Dulce de Leche (Caramel). He went with a mixture of cream and sorbet...a smart choice. By the end, I was at the edge of regurgitation, however, I had enough caffeine from the espresso ice cream that I was doing cart wheels back to the hostel. My kick has just recently come down, two days later.
So I am about to cook dinner yet again with some friends at the hostel. So I must cut this one off, however, I want to wish you all a very happy new year. Mucho besos!

New Year´s feast at the hostel in San Telma.

My two chefs, Alda and Christoph

The Colombians, Alda and Andrea
Marius and me in the kilo eat-off.
Me after the kilo eat-off, getting ready to do a cart wheel.
Henrik, Colin (Norway) and Anna (Brasil) in the streets of B. Aires.

Sometimes beauty is hard to see...

2007-12-30T05:21:00.000-08:00

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

2007-12-27T09:34:00.000-08:00

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

2007-12-23T11:23:00.001-08:00

¡Merry Christmas and a happy New Year!

Sean´s top 10 adventures in Chile

2007-12-23T09:43:00.000-08:00

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

2007-12-21T06:49:00.000-08:00

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

2007-12-17T17:02:00.000-08:00

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?

2007-12-16T16:26:00.001-08:00

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...

2007-12-14T14:33:00.000-08:00

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

2007-12-13T15:47:00.000-08:00

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

2007-12-13T15:42:00.000-08:00

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

2007-12-12T07:34:00.000-08:00

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

2007-12-09T14:48:00.000-08:00

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.

2007-12-08T14:28:00.000-08:00

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...

2007-12-08T14:00:00.001-08:00

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

2007-12-06T14:24:00.000-08:00

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.

2007-12-05T17:54:00.000-08:00

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!!!!

2007-12-04T05:59:00.000-08:00

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

2007-12-04T05:32:00.000-08:00

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.

Missing Photos Recovered and Exposed

2007-11-29T05:19:00.000-08:00

The Inca trails

Follow the signs (Day 2)

View from the bike path of the Urubamba river (Day 1)
swift on a bike without all the steroids...take that Armstrong (Day 1)

Urubamba from the Inca trails (Day 2)
Incan Trails (Day 2)

Just a wild Orchid on the side of the path (Day 3)

Crossing the bridge, "one at a time, the bridge isn't very strong," says the smiling tour guide George. The train station in the background has fallen off into the river in a land slide. You can still see many of the rail cars and the tracks in the Urubamba below us. (Day 3)

Taking a rest just at the bottom of Machu Picchu (Day 3)
Hot Springs in Santa Teresa...one of four pools. (Day 2)

I like this picture.

Now you cannot say I wasn't there
A better picture...tilt your head clockwise and you can see an Incan head in the mountains behind Machu Picchu.
Tiered levels for agriculture in the plaza of the village...i did not know that llamas could climb stairs.

Housing that has since been restored to look like it did five-hundred years before. When the Incans left at the fear of a Spanish invasion, they burnt down all of Machu Picchu. What is left is the stone walls.
View of Machu Picchu from Wayna Picchu...it is suppose to be in the shape of a condorA little meditation after climbing up 3,200 stairs.

Yes...Alpaca llama crossing.

You didn't believe me? This is on the way to Arequipa.

Lake Titicaca in the morning. The floating islands are off in the distance.

Trek to Machu Picchu

2007-11-28T19:41:00.001-08:00

Day 1 (11/23/07)
Waking up early, I strolled through the courtyard of the Casa Grande hotel, making sure my bike was locked up and protected from the rain, as I waited to be picked up for my four day adventure on the Inca trails to Machu Picchu. After one cramped taxi ride, a micro bus trip through Cuscu, and a five hour shuttle to our drop off point, we were sitting at 13,200 feet looking over the Rio Urubamba. We had 48 kilometers to go, and I was sitting on top of a mountain bike with a bent frame, no rear break, a shaky front suspension, and a loose chain that would fall off every 15 minutes.
It took me a while to get use to the bike, but after a while, I was cruising down the mountain, enjoying the marvelous mountain sides, and dreaming of the messengers that once ran on the trails long before these wheels landed on their soil.
The bike trip landed us north of Machu Picchu in a small village called Santa Maria, where we cleaned up, grabbed some beers and sat with our tour guide at the local soccer match. The evening gave us time to meet the others in the group, consisting of three Brits, one Dutchman, our Peruvian tour guide and myself. There was a second group, who were all contracted through a separate company, that kind of followed our tracks as well. The night ended with a drinking game, where we all ended up snoring in our chairs with saliva stringing ever so poetically from our lips.
Day 2 (11/24/07)
Although slightly hung over, I was definitely excited about the 28 kilometer hike on the Inca trails through the mountains just north of Machu Picchu. Our tour was called the "Jungle Tour" quite specifically because the entire day consisted of rain, wet palms, fresh fruit picked on the side of the path, the call of Parrots across the valley, the rapid Urubamba river running below us, and the multitude of mosquito bites that came along with it.
It is difficult to describe the Incan trails, mostly because it is a massive construction of arterial interconnection between a culture that spread over thousands of miles through Colombia, Ecuador, Peru, and Bolivia. The Incans produced massive stone masonry, and endless miles of trails hundreds of years before the wheel even set foot on the continent. The very trail that I was climbing that day, chewing on coca leaves, picking the tangerines and pineapple; was the same trail taken hundreds of years prior by the Incan messengers .
We climbed through dark jungle filled with spider webs and butterflies, crossed the river on swaying bridges with missing planks, and even zip-lined across the river using a small box and a pull rope. I drank fresh coffee brewed in the old Incan mountains and juice made from purple Indian corn.
After our exciting crossing using the zip line 200 feet above the river, we hiked to the hotsprings just outside of Santa Teresa. It was a beautiful natural hot spring, that lay on the back of a dramatic Andean cliff. We ended up throwing our puddy muscles into a minibus, and headed into Santa Teresa for food, pool, and the discotech (where a drunk man insisted that I trade shirts with him, of which I am now the proud owner of the 1995 Santa Teresa soccer jersey...holes, smell, and all).
Day 3 (11/25/07)
Today did not compare to the Incan trails that we had yesterday. Mostly because, the trails had been replaced by railroad track, and we were left following them for most of the hike. It was nice walking by the river, surrounded by wet jungle and beautiful flowers, however, when the ties are not aligned on the track in a consistent pattern, it becomes quite annoying to walk the right of way.
All the same, we made it into Aguas Caliente, flooded with tourism and over-priced lodging, where ironically enough my water was Aguas muy muy frio! We had dinner and hit the bed early in order to wake up at 4 the next morn in order to hike up to Machu Picchu.
Day 4 (11/26/07)
Today was the day we have all been working so hard for. We had biked 48 kms and hiked 46 kms in three days...now we were to climb over 3,200 steps...and I am not talking about normal steps, but old Incan steps that will make your thighs wish they were taking the train.
However, when you are hiking up steps of that intensity, you have to get in a mood, and the fact that one of the New Seven Wonders of the World was only steps away from me...I had no problem sweating off gallons of man smell with one goal in mind...making it to the top.
We finally made it to the Machu Picchu site, in about one hours time, and started out on our guided tour through the village. The sites were overwhelming...perfectly cut stone masonry had come together with logically tiered agricultural plots overlooking a massive valley in the flora of dramatic Andes. Canals ran through the city, providing resources to the lost community that once lived up here. It turns out that Machu Picchu was like a University of sorts, where families would come to study agriculture, astronomy, weaving, and artisan works. Priests would hold sacrificial ceremonies on large granite boulders. Being just miles from the moon, you could easily feel the presence of the sun pounding on my volatile skin. While the llamas chewed on the grassy plaza, we made our way around to the temples where they had created sun dials and a massive boulder construction of a condor. The condor is significant, being that it circled in the air creating the circular patter, which to the Incans, represented the sun...worshiped very closely. There are three main Peruvian animals that were very dear to the ancient culture; the condor in the sky, the puma on the land, and the snakes below. This tradition can be seen quite amazingly in the construction of the cities, where as Cusco took on the formation of the puma, the shape of Machu Picchu can be seen as a condor from up above.
Being so, I continued the hike with some of the other boys in the group, up to Wayna Picchu that overlooks Machu Picchu. The hike was steep and a little dangerous, however, when reaching the top and sitting on the boulder overlooking the condor village, I understood what life is all about. So we popped a bottle of Champagne and celebrated it's beauty.
The trip back into Cusco consisted of a three hour train ride and a three hour bus trip...of which, I began to feel the tired muscles take their toll. Driving by more of the older ruins in Ollantaytambo an Urubamba, I kept thinking how fortunate I am to be alive on this earth. I could have been living hundreds of years ago, cutting out stones for these terraces and building the first network of highways in the american world. Only I a living here today, as I sit in unending awe of the magic that lies within the Incan history.

Crazy few days

2007-11-22T16:06:00.000-08:00

Nazca lines in negative image of the tree
largest sand dune in the world...really light, but you can see it in the back
Vicuna herds up in the mountains just before the snow started coming down

November 20, 2007
We left Lima with Shawn on the back of Lou´s bike with a little sorrow, being that we received such a wonderful welcome at our guest house. The desert was once again cool and dry, as we drove along the Pacific towards Nazca. We made it as far as Palpa, and decided to find a place to stay for the night. The hostel turned out to be an old prison, only they added stained glass over the bars and painted the walls to make it more hospitable. I swear that the beds are the same from the jail bird nights, curdled and lumpy from the hidden tools in the matress for the midnight escape.
November 21, 2007
We left early and headed towards the Nazca lines. We made it to the observation deck, and ventured on the 50 foot climb up in the tower that overlooks three of the many desert designs made by the ancient Incas hundreds of years ago. The lines are designed by digging channels into the desert sand in the shape of different figures...we saw the tree, hands and lizard. There are many theories, one being that they were using these channels to collect the very little rain water that fell each year, however, I tend to believe that aliens came down from space to make the land-art.
After visiting the not so impressive lines, we took off towards Cusco. We bypassed the tallest sand dune in the world, more than 2,300 meters, before climbing over 4,300 meters into the national forest covered in Vicuna herds and a very intense snow storm. Unfortunately, on the way, we happened to ride by a bus that had tipped over on it´s side. As we moved pass the police barricade slowly, we unfortunately caught the viewing of a deceased passenger being pulled out from the back window by two firemen.
A little taken from the sight of the wreck, we met the mountain peaks with warm engines and the snow fell sideways as we chartered into the wintry hell. My two thumbs were completely frozen, as I cleared my helmet visor every five seconds, and my body shivered for the next 45 miles. The descent was magical, as my heated grips on the bike finally kicked in, as if they did not work in 30 degree temperatures, and my body became homeostatic once again. We made it all the way down into Challaunca, just outside of Ayacucho, before seeing a sign with "Agua Caliente" on it and jumping on board. Meeting up with a few other bikers who were tired after a snow torn day, we warmed up with a little rum and chicken.
November 22, 2007
We left in the early rain this morning, headed for Cusco. Cusco was once the sight of the Incan capital, once covered in gold from top to bottom, it was quickly taken over by the Spaniards. However, the very close by Machu Picchu was not discovered until a very later date.
The ride today was beautiful. We climbed over 4,100 meters twice before arriving in Cusco, sitting at 10,000 feet. However, the majority of the trip was running along sweet curves on the river side. Arriving in Cusco, we found the hotel where all the bikers go to, and the manager was quick to offer us our Machu Pïcchu tours. I am going with the four day three night mountain bike/hike tour, and the other three are going with the "old man" train tour. We plan on all meeting on top on Sunday and riding back down together into Cusco by train Monday morning.
As for tonight, there is a biker bar that is known for their adventure enthusiasts...they may just get some of money out of me this evening. As for tomorrow, I am headed up the Incan trails, curing the altitude sickness...aka hangover...with a little coca tea. Salud!

Leaving Lima...here are some pictures of the last few rides

2007-11-20T06:56:00.000-08:00

In front of Case de Clara, with Clara and Michael....thanks for the recommendation Mr. and Mrs. Pletch!

In front of the Temple of the Sun outside of Trujillo

1,500 year old paintings of the Moncha God in the Temple of the Moon
View from balcony of hostel on the way to Huaraz

Path on the way to Huaraz

Pass on the way to Huaraz

Pass on the way to Huaraz
The top of the mountain over looking the Andes (14,000 ft plus)
Cuey (aka Guinea Pig)Road on the way to Barranca

Creek on the way to Barranca

Rose Garden in San Borja, suburb of Lima Centro
Lima Centro
Lima Centro

Mierreflores, Lima at night

Easy day...easy living

2007-11-18T18:04:00.001-08:00

November 18, 2007
Barranca to Lima,
The ride from the Beach side of Barranca along the Pan American coastal road of central Peru into Lima was brisk and cloudy with a light mist in the air that did not want to penetrate the sandy desert that lay on the outskirts of our tarmac. Winding through the skirts of the Andes that poked off into the Pacific, we climbed a wonderful dune two hours into the trip, only to find a group of six long boarders (a long board is like a little surf board on wheels, or rather a long skateboard used for downhill) cruising down the Pan American in Peru, with the trailer tucked in position holding a video camera. All of the riders, covered in protective gear and full helmets, gripped onto their surf cruiser, only a half mile off the Pacific coast, tucked in a 50 mile per hour race into the Peruvian dawn. A couple of guys in the group noticed us on our large bikes and stood up from their aerodynamic stance to give a ¨shout out¨ and acknowledge the similar taste for adventure sport in foreign land.
The Pan American took us straight though Lima, to much of our surprise, lacking any congestion. With only two gas station attendants and one taxi driver with a map, we found our house where we are now staying. It is a wonderful couple, who are good friends with the family of my friend Andrea from Lawrence. The house is lovely and their hospitality is more than I could have ever asked for. We have already attended to the much needed services our bikes were do for, and now have a few days before our friend Shawn flies into Lima, and we take off for Cusco.
My beard is growing for the mountains, my mind is growing with each new adventure, and my heart has opened up a little more with each smile. I am accomplishing exactly what I had set of to do.

Update from heaven...only I´m not dead (II)

2007-11-18T17:32:00.000-08:00

November 17, 2007
Piracoto to Barranca:
We were hesitant to leave the wonderful little village of Piracoto, just on the foot of the mother Andes, being that we received such wonderful hospitality. One dream of mine, is to set up a clinic outside of the states, and if I were to pick a place from the trip thus far, it would have to be Piracoto, Peru.
We set off at six-thirty in the morning, understanding the severity of the trip that we had in front of us. There was a little adobe house on the corner that sold gas out of a watering canister, and we each bought a gallon to fill up our tanks for the road...knowing their would be nothing for the next 5 hours of trail.
How do I explain this trail. It is 109 kilometers of rock, river, gravel, dirt, mountains, valleys, donkeys, cattle, goats, sheep, dogs, birds, waterfalls, and wonderfully friendly mountain villagers. Twice I passed women in the formal dress, full of colour, it included a skirt with stockings in black leather shoes, a blouse with a shall, and large bowler hats tilted to the side. They would be very traditionally sitting to the back drop of mountains, washing clothes or doing needlepoint, with the most unique look of true beauty...exactly what I think of when the word ¨life¨ comes to mind. They would then for those few seconds, look up from their daily activity, I would wave, and they would smile...it was poetic and beautiful and I will never forget them.
I had rediscovered beauty all throughout the five hours of riding at ten miles per hour, through some of the roughest terrain...no, the roughest terrain, I have ever experienced. Not to mention, it was a one lane trail with domestic animal herds, fallen rocks, and unbelievably dramatic cliff drop offs. My mother would be very upset. I tipped the bike over twice on this road, once in a pile of mud, and the second time on a gravel turn. Just a couple of scrapes on my legs, otherwise the bike and myself are just fine. We climbed to over 14,000 feet, where we made it to the top of the mountain over looking the city of Huraz and the beautiful snow capped mountains, home to the tallest in Peru. The site was magical and emotional, Lou even started crying. We sweated out a very intense ride for this moment, and alas, it was their in front of us, screaming ¨look at me, I am fucking amazing!¨
It took us an hour and a half to get down into the city of Huraz; dropping around 5,000 feet through road construction is always fun. It was well time for lunch, and Landon and I were feeling lucky to be alive, so we dared for more adventure, and chose the Cuey for our lunch item (aka Guinea Pig). It tasted like rabbit, only their wasn´t a terrible amount of product and was left hungry. I think I will stick to Pollo next time.
After lunch, and taking pictures of the fried appendages left over from our Cuey corpse, we headed back on the highway, this time paved, through the Peruvian National forest to Barranca.
This is another part of the trip that I am not sure how to explain. It was the most beautiful road I have ever been on in my entire life. I was left breathless, for four hours back down to the coast. White capped peaks with grassy highlands, adobe cottages on the mountain sides, with grazing cattle, cold rocky streams, sweeping valleys, the largest boulders I have ever seen (an absolute climber´s paradise), with a winding road that would make every German connoisseur jealous. It was remarkable, and I wish for every person in the world to be able to travel this road once in their life. I only imagine that if I marry some day, my wife on our wedding day, will bring me as much aesthetic beauty as this road did that day.
It would have been a perfect day in the life of Sean Tucker, if it were not for the simple fact that I was judged on the basis of my skin colour. For all of my friends out their that understand what I am talking about...racial profiling is a bitch. We were riding all day, with kids and adults alike screaming out ¨Gringo¨ from the dome of the Peruvian mouth, like it was the common hello for ¨pale ass different person.¨ The worst part of being pink and riding through Peru, is that you are stopped by every police check point. ¨Who are you riding in this neighborhood on that fancy cycle, huh Gringo?¨ And they are always wanting something. Lou is the one that forks over the goods; one time he gave the cop glow sticks and the other time a sheet of Benadryl. They are really just their to hassle you, mostly based on the colour of your skin and the fact of the motorcycle being so large. But eventually, all the paperwork comes back and they let us pink boys on our way. We made it down to the Pacific and into a Hostel merely feet away from the crashing waves just in time to watch the sunset over the big blue ocean...of course, they made us stay in the back of the hostel.

Update from heaven...only I am still alive

2007-11-18T17:09:00.000-08:00

November 16, 2007
Trujillo to Pariacoto: We left the wonderful home of Carla after a a perfect breakfast of fresh rolls with butter and jam, and some hot coffee. After two kisses on the cheek from Carla herself, and a few pictures out in front of the house, we took off to the Mocha tribe´s Hucas del Sol y Luna; two pyramids separating a community from 300 to 900 AD, before it separated into the Chan Chan community. Later, the Chan Chan community, outside of present day Trujillo, had been taken over by the Incan tribes, which were then taken over by the Spaniards in the 1500´s.
Only the Hucas de la Luna Pyramid was open to the public, and Landon and I went on the formal tour. It was named the Pyramid of the Moon because the mountain that sits adjoining to the pyramid, or rather temple, would shine white in the moon´s glow. This pyramid was home to the priests and preistas of the ancient period, who would worship a God, made up of the land, ocean, sun, and moon. In times of which they though their God was angry with them, whether because of El Nino or earthquakes, they would viciously sacrifice humans and feed off of the blood spilt from the necks of the dead. The violent temple can be seen today with the bones of the sacrificed peeking out of the sand.
Over one thousand years has passed since the pyramid had been evacuated for the Chan Chan community, and besides the Spaniards raiding the tombs for metals, the entire pyramid, up until 1991 when the project began, was completely covered in desert sand, blown in from the Pacific.
The pyramid was built in five levels, raising over 45 meters. Prisoners would be taken to the internal quarters of the temple, where only the priests and priestas were allowed. The priesta would come forth to the naked and tied prisoner with a golden dagger in hand, slicing through the jugulars and quickly lowering the goblet in order to collect the blood. All while the prisoners next in line watched the bloody sacrifice from their knees.
After our tour, we did not have much of an appetite for lunch, so we decided to jump on our bikes and start down the road. We made it all the way into Casma, where I convinced the two men I am riding with to head up into the mountains, instead of continuing down the path of the dry and cool desert. We had been warned about this road, that it was not all paved and that it would be dangerous and take a long time to get only 100 kilometers...it sounded perfect to me. After all, we are adventure riders. So we decided to head up into the mountains and finish off the day in Pariacoto, just where the tarmac turns into the hellish gravel that we would soon come to see the very next day.

Riding a sand blasted highway

2007-11-15T18:22:00.000-08:00

We took off from Piura this morning, once again without Coffee of which really upsets me, and headed off through the Lambayeque desert towards Trujillo. The desert today was so completely dead, yet it seemed to have a life of its own, underneath the wind torn and Peruvian littered bareness. We continuously passed signs warning, ¨Zona de Dunas,¨ where the sand would ebb up onto the shore of the highway. This highway is legendary for terrible windstorms that can pull a truck of the road, ripping the axles from underneath, leaving it paralyzed without a trace in the middle of nothingness. It was like looking at a never ending tan table cloth, spread over the horizon, with nothing on the table except a few broccoli crumbles scattered in the distance.

Further into the trip, their was an oasis of major irrigation, as if one could pull anymore hydration out of this stone dry land. Sugarcane, Rice, Corn, and Potatoes could all be seen growing in perfectly straight lines, as sand dunes were kept out by lining the perimeter in bush. Further on, more bare bones of abandoned homes, now turned into a landfill with the occasional trash burning and mountains souring in the back ground, half covered in sand.

We did happen to stop off in a sand covered town, of which I mean, the entire town is made of stone and concrete that match the terrain of the state. However, beyond this dehydrated city lay a wonderful blue Pacific. We sat on the patio of the 100 year old hotel and had Calamari in Picante Cream sauce with fried Yucca as we watched the fishermen in their dinghies, the surfer falling out on the tide, and little children playing hop-scotch in the sand.

Riding down the highway in the desert can be quite tricky. The low air pressure in the Andes, sucked a sand filled cool wind from the Pacific, smoothly across the highway like a Dyson. The sand takes away from traction on the tarmac, and the wind wants to tip your bike over from the side. So the speed is kept at 80 kph and you tilt the bike around 15 degrees to counteract the winds resistance. However, when you are passing a truck, or visaversa, you must correct the balance to zero degrees while the air flow is stabilized, until the truck passes, and you adjust back to the 15 degrees against the current. This was the case for about 6 hours today. And, who would have thought the desert by the equator would be in the low 70´s?

We found a nice place in the city of Trujillo to stay at, just beyond Chan Chan and the Pyramid Ruins. I am going to finish with a chicken Empanada, chips, and Burt's Bee´s Wax.

A lovely sand dune in the distance along a very long baren Pan American traveled by a very linky Gringo on a very dirty mule.

The desert....that is what this picture is of....a desert. I did see my first desert mirage in this desert today...it looked like a big lake...only there was no lake...it was a mirage (aka magic)

View of the pacific from the 3 star Hotel at lunch time. 65 miles north of Trujillo. Behind me, a big desert...lots of sand.

2007-11-14T17:39:00.000-08:00

Broken Saddle bag all gussied up for the ride...couldn´t prevent it from falling in a puddle of mud though.

Braids, cool hats, and crayons...

2007-11-14T17:27:00.000-08:00

I don´t know if any of you have driven through the Andes of South Central Ecuador in the morning, but if you haven´t, I would definitely recommend doing so. Not only are the mountains absolutely beautiful in the morning, with the waving mountain sides forming shadow puppets against a dewy greenery, but the lively hood of the school children are very pleasing. Up in the mountains of central Ecuador, there is a wonderful Incan tradition, and it is very well observed in the dress. Woman can be seen in long colourful skirts with wraps around the waist, a top and another scarf around the shoulders, and a very peculiar hat (of which you would only think old English males would sport). The men, and young boys, are in black shoes, long black shorts, a colourful top (and sometimes a poncho), and can be seen with this hat as well. It is very interesting to know that their is not a patriarchal hierarchy behind the Incan hat tradition.
The men are known for their long black shiny hair, much like you would see in one of my mother´s 40,000 romance novel covers. The older men have it braided down their back, while the fresh young boys can be seen with little ponytails. They actually look really good with the hat and hair, something I shamefully hide for the fact that I cannot keep any of mine.
As we passed through the mountains and dropped into a very dramatic climate change, the weather turned very warm and dry and the vegetation depleted to absolute nothing. We had entered the deserts of norther Peru, and it was not pleasant. Nonetheless, the colours still amazed me. Moving from up in the mountains full of lush photosynthesis down into the barren deserts of emptiness, their was a crayola abundance of lush colours that made my mouth water...even in the driest of heat. Reds, and greens, yellows and blues...they all came together to make the big 64 crayola box set...the one with the sharpener in the back. It was a wonderful ride...one I will not soon forget.

The mountains can make a man tired

2007-11-13T17:43:00.000-08:00

Today we took a nine hour ride through the central mountains of Ecuador, just west of the Amazon basin. We took off from Riobamba, and headed south towards Cuenca. The weather was nice and brisk, but the sun was shining and the views were immaculate. Just before reaching Cuenca, we could actually look over our right shoulders and gaze through the valley...it was the Gulf of Guayaquil stretching out into the Pacific. We were still around 150 miles from the coast line, only we were also around 10,000 feet up in the Andes...it was a wonderful moment.
Passing Cuenca, we rose up even higher in the mountains. It is interesting to think that we could be only a few hundred miles south of the Equator, and the average temperature this afternoon was 45 degrees Fahrenheit. Up in the clouds, we had complete fog coverage keeping our speed down to around 30 mph. The roads were absolute terror. You would have a nice paved highway, that would turn into the land of enchanted pot holes, which would then turn into a gravel rampage filled with boulders that had fallen of the cliffs only nights before. The road was awful and they had definitely taken a toll on us. Yes, Lou is old, but it only took him two minutes to pass out with his boots on.

Enough about today. I owe you all some photos.

Resting Sea Lion Pup on the Island of Seymour North
Scarlet Crab walking on the Lava rocks

Sea Lion Pup riding the back of his momma off the coast of Seymour North
Young male Frigate bird
My Blue Footed Boobie in artistic frame work

Sea Lion taking a nap on the bouy The first pair of boobies I saw on the islands
A Blue footed female guarding her egg from the intense sunlight

hangin´ out with Lonely George, the last of his kind from the islands
Sea iguana sunbathing on Santa Cruz
Land Iguana resting below the Cactus shade

Mountain Pass through central Ecuador. North of Cuenca

We pulled over today to help a man (George) fix a flat on the way to Saraguro

Boobies...Alas!

2007-11-12T18:36:00.000-08:00

November 10, 2007
There I was, walking up from the lava stone dock on Seymour North Island in the Galapagos, with the sound of hungry Sea Lion pups yelping behind me, lizards crossing my path, horny male Frigates flying above my head and the Giant Land Iguana perched at the normal spot, underneath the Cactus...I saw my first boobies. They were a beautiful pair, perched so elegantly together, as if God wanted them to be in perfect unison for everyone to see. I wanted to grab them into my arms and squeeze them firmly with passion and tenderness...
At that very moment of pure excitement, the Blue Footed Boobies flapped their wings in dance and posed for the legendary tourist photograph...purely magical.
Seymour North is legendary for the breeding grounds of Blue footed Boobies and the Frigates. You will also find a massive colony of Sea Lions tending to their pups as well. It is a mysterious mating palace, with free rooms, to populate the dry island with some of the most interesting species I have ever seen.
Later on, I snorkeled for an hour with wonderful colors swimming around me in reaching distance as the tide pushed me through the lava rocks underneath the beautiful turquoise sea. Scarlet crabs surrounded my entrance to the white sanded beach, filled with large holes of buried treasure. This beach is on the north side of Santa Cruz Island where the tortoises are known to bury their eggs right in front of the ponds where you will catch the pink flamingos strutting. Sea Iguanas lied out on the beach, becoming even blacker than their usual tint, and I only turned a nice red, much like the stripes of the Union Jack Spider legendary to the islands.
I finished off the night with a little Galapagos bar hopping with a nice scuba diving instructor from Munich. Playing terrible pool, I spat off some witty German slang phrases, and we all laughed childishly. It was too bad that the time at the Galapagos had to end, but at least I found me some Boobies.
November 11, 2007
I took a taxi out to the ferry, which takes you across the canal to Malta, where a bus picks you up and proceeds to take you to the airport terminal. My first airport without walls, the noise and vibrations from the planes taking off and landing are quite powerful, a little too powerful when dealing with a hang over. This was the case for me and my new friend of whom I met in line. Her name is Cristina and she is from Quito, and we suffered our Chichetes (Quito slang for hangover) together as our turbulent flight was postponed, redirected for fueling, and a total of four hours late to the airport...much to the disgust of my two companions awaiting at my arival doorstep.
Nonetheless, my time with Cristina was wonderful, and she ended up meeting Landon a Lou, and then giving me a tour of here wonderful Colonial city filled with cathedral madness as well as a nice Mongolian recommendation for dinner.
November 12, 2007
Following a Landon detour, we made our way around the north side of Quito and headed south on the Pan American to Riobamba, where we now rest. The day was eventful. My daydreaming caught up with me, as I missed a red light, and my saddle bag went exploding into the highway. I should really stop doing that. So now I must bid on ebay for a new bag to be shipped to me in Santiago Chile, while I duck tape the one I have now, hoping my clothes will not die from moldy poisoning on the way down. But, I am happy.

No boobies yet...

2007-11-09T15:49:00.000-08:00

Call me a major dork who owes way to much in student loans for a plethora of information on molecular genetics, but currently, I am sitting in an Internet cafe in Santa Cruz, a major Island of the Galapagos wonder.
I flew in yesterday (Nov. 8th) from Quito, after parking my bike at the BMW shop and spending a night at the airport hotel. The flight was nice and easy, and I was able to catch up on a little politics and sport with a fresh Miami Herald at my fingertips. Finally, Brooks and Dunn have been removed from the pedestal.
After arriving on the island, we moved to a Bus that took us to the Ferry, which crossed over to the other bus, which took us to Puerta Ayora on Santa Cruz island. The waters are a very clear turquoise in the shallow end and move to a darker aqua blue as the ocean moves outward into the pacific. The terrain is a very dry, brownish lava dust covered in, what appear to be, dead trees and cacti. In actuality, the are what us geeks call CAM Plants that close their stomata during the day in order to prevent water loss. The trees look dead, because they almost are. We are at the very end of the dry season hear on the Islands (Rain from December to May), and the trees become almost dormant, loosing most of their leaves to hot days and starving insects.
After entering into Puerto Ayora, I quickly found the travel agency and booked a trip for the next day (Nov. 9th) and then went to the hotel to get a room. After changing into some cooler clothes, I started walking to the west side of town where the Darwin Institute for Research is located, in order to get my bio vibes rolling for an exciting few days in the Galapagos.
The research department here is using different techniques in order to preserve all biological aspects of the Islands, ranging from breeding tortoises and iguanas to planting to starting a recycling program and using solar technology. After taking a picture with the seventy year old tortoise, the only of it's kind in the world, quite appropriately named "lonely George", I started back towards town stopping by at the beach to pull out the new book I bought on the Islands. The book is based on journal writings, sketches and paintings from an expedition the islands in 1924.
Today, I woke up at six-thirty in order to get some breakfast and catch my bus at eight. The bus took myself, two Ecuadorians, 4 Austrians and 4 Germans, along with the 4 Tour guides, back up to the Northern Coast of Santa Cruz Island. There, a dingy met us at the dock to take us up to our Yacht, the Espanola. A very nice boat from the '70's, with a cleaver toilet.
The boat started heading west towards the Island of George, past the two Daphne Islands known for their boobies. The trip took about and hour and a half, taking us to the northwestern side of Santa Cruz, called Dragon Cove. It is known as a large breeding ground for sea and land iguanas.
The dingy took us onto the shore where we climbed up over 10's of crabs hanging out on the rocks. A guide took us through a mile long tour, stringing its way through cacti, lava rocks, volcanic ash, and dead looking trees. The day was hot and dry, my skin was starting to burn, and the Iguanas were all chilling underneath the cacti shade, just waiting for a leaf to fall in time for lunch. I say the Painted Grass Hopper, a Pink Flamingo, a Darwin Finch, a Galapagos Mocking Bird, and many iguanas. You really had to watch where you were walking, back on the beach, fearing not to step on one of the sea iguanas.
We then went snorkeling, where I swam between rocks covered in slick green algae, being fed on by schools of different fish. I kept thinking about the movie Nemo, and how I must have seen half of the fish in the movie...except Nemo. And still, no boobies.
We went back onto the Espanola, and started heading back. The cook on the ship today had prepared Tuna with Rice, Salad and Potato. The two beers really felt good and helped cool down the red epithelial tissue that splotched my body.
On the way back, I saw a pelican take a nose dive into the sea, a tortoise riding the back of his mother, and sea lions sleeping under the sun on top of floating bells(can't find the word)...but still no boobies.
Tomorrow is another day though; I am headed out to Seymore Norte and they say i can see some boobies up there.

The markets of Otavalo, Ecuador

2007-11-07T09:26:00.000-08:00

Looking through the traveler's guide for South America, I came across a colored section of the top 36 things to do in South America. There were two items listed for Ecuador, one being the market in Otavalo. Landon had suggested a few days back, that this is one of the places we stay, in order to split the travel between the Ecuadorian/Colombian border and Quito.

The ride into Otavalo from the northern border showed the dramatic change of climate in only a hundred miles. On the border, we were up above 7,000 feet in a very cool and wet environment covered in green pastures, separated on the mountain sides into individual lots farmed by different families. As we crept through the Andes passes we dropped a few thousand feet and noticed the landscape change into a more arid ecosystem, which reminded me of Chiapas in northern Mexico.
The weather was still fairly cool, in the low 60's, when we came to the colored stone streets of Otavalo. Like usual, we headed into the town center to find a hotel, and struck gold 100 yards away from the market.
The market itself is put together by the Incan Indian locals who have transformed into professional artisans of unbelievable talent. The market is one square block in size, and is covered in wool clothing, quilts, stuffed animals, leather goods, paintings, sculptures, and native artwork of many different medias. The women were all dressed in traditional clothing; white embroidered blouses that puffed out on the shoulders with intricate lacing. A long skirt, usually striped with bright colors and a thick shall rapped around the waste. Many of them also had golden jewelry, of which would rap around their necks in a thin spiraling wonder. Their skin and eyes showed years of hard work, and their salesmanship was well practiced too. I ended up buying a grey wool sweater in the market, bringing a smile to the woman who had made it. Of course, she offered me a coat, a scarf and a bear for my little girl (???). So I immediately put the sweater on, fitting tight to my chest and extending to the bottom of my thumbs. I couldn't help but to smile back at here with a warm face of enjoyment.

The volcano peaking up above the clouds this morning from my hotel room window in Octavalo

Best Ride Yet....

2007-11-07T09:18:00.000-08:00

I have heard from a lot of people, that the only place in Colombia that you have to watch out for is in the south, From Popayan to the border of Ecuador. There have been a lot of kidnappings and shootings by the Farc down there, so they gave me a heads up to watch out and drive at day...of which we always do.

So taking off from Popayan, we headed south to the border...about a six hour trip. Southern Colombia on the Western side is covered in giant green mountains. Our elevation had to have been above 7,000 feet, because there is no way that we could be this close to the equator and it still be in the 50's.

The ride was beautiful...imagine lush green pastures of Western Texas just fluent with 13,000 foot mountains on both sides. The roads were sweet and soft, curving over tight bends and through valleys with the occasional mountain side tunnel. I was forced by the Gods of Ecological Beauty to pull my bike of the side of the road and snap a few pictures of the landscape.

The ride was long and wonderful and I enjoyed every pass and fragrance. Definitely the best ride yet.
If you look closely on the lower left side, you can see the first tunnel that we entered.

La Ciudad de Blanco (Popayan)

2007-11-04T11:56:00.000-08:00

I am relaxing this Sunday afternoon updating my blog to the sound of motor scooters and merchants around the corner. I went with Landon and Lou to a Mass service this morning, collecting the smiles and songs of the Colombian religious type. It is an interesting perceptive of the Latin American culture when viewing it from a 500 year old Cathedral...quite poetic really.

We walked though the streets of the colonial town painted in white, looking for a cup of coffee and something sweet. We found a very nice place outside the Centro Market where young girls in pastry aprons were serving up strawberry shortcake for Landon, a caramel custard for Lou, and a tiramasu for myself. Reflecting on the Colombian culture with the boys, I wish I could describe to you how open and sincere the Colombian people truly are. You know how a very few people can spoil the fun for a group? The same thing is happening with the international media of Colombia. No one knows about the hard working citizens of this country, who ask me to go back home and tell the Americans, that Colombia is a very nice place to come too.

Yes, there are places in the southern jungles, where not even Joe Wilk and the Kung Fu posse would travel after dark...but that is not true with the country as a whole.

So as I walk through the streets of the Ciudad de Blanco, I ponder the question...How will our misconceptions change?

Pics de Colombia

2007-11-04T11:48:00.000-08:00

Graffiti work done in the west side of Bogota, over in the motorcycle shop distinct where we had to go to buy our official wear (vest and reflective helmet lettering) to be street legal.
Hanging out in Cali Cali...Colombia. I was excited to go to this city, because i wanted to make a rendition of Biggie Smalls song on my blog...it turns out that the city is really run down, and there is nothing to see, but a nice church and a pretty cool fountain. No honeys on the runway screammin´, ¨hey tucky tucky give me one more chance!¨

Who cares....what really matters is...

2007-11-03T17:18:00.000-07:00

Yeah, there are military officers at every corner of this country, flooding and mudslides happening all around me, not to mention, I stand out like a sore thumb on the biggest motorcycle these people have every seen...but what is really important is...

Final
Nebraska (4-6, 1-5 Big 12) 39
(8) Kansas (9-0, 5-0 Big 12) 76

What more do I have to say.

Blue Bags and the Devils Nose

2007-11-02T17:54:00.000-07:00

Today was an exciting day...we took off on a nine hour adventure through the great mountains that separate Bogota from Cali in Central Colombia. Bogota itself sits at around 6000 feet and the climate is quite mild. The Pan American Highway moves down from Bogota to around 330 feet, just before it shoots straight off into the clouds. Withing 100 kilometers, we had climbed over 9000 feet! When you are that high, up above the clouds, you can´t help but to reach your arm up in the air and, begging pull down an angel by it´s leg. So, as you could probably imagine, the temperatures today on our nine hour trip down to Palmira (outside of Cali) went from 60 degrees to 100 degrees to 50 degrees and back up to 100.
We passed fields of palm trees again, and this time, blue bags were placed hanging from an individual limb. They were collecting the sap to make the legendary Palm Wine that is sold on the side of the road. Also, on our mountain pass, we came around a corner to see a large rock projection reach over the highway 50 feet up from the road and about 200 feet across. It looked like a big nose hanging off the side of the mountain...they call it the Nose of the Devil. It was quite amazing...the entire trip through the mountains...almost euphoric as i sat their with a very tired ass. Colombia is nothing like any of us could have expected...it is truly a beautiful land with beautiful people, blue bags and the devil's nose (wonder what he´s been sniffin?).

2007-10-31T13:03:00.000-07:00

My Halloween Pic from the Monte Alban Museum in Oaxca, Mexico...I´ve been saving this one.
This is the view from the 2nd floor balcony at the Museum of Colonial Arts in Bogota.

This is a colonial artist set up that was staged at the museum in Bogota.

Panama Rewind

The Diablos Roja in Panama, a dying breed of artistic wonder on wheels.

This computer is really slow, and costs way too much....so there are more photos to come.

An interesting halloween...

2007-10-31T12:30:00.000-07:00

Today has been an interesting day in Colombia. The problem is the Colombian Customs agency continues to have our motorcycles taken hostage. What it comes down to is, there are many men in positions with authority who decide on which laws are in place; and if the law is not in place, then they make one up. Over the last 6 days, we have been fed a number of stories from both the Panama side and here in Bogota. What still remains true out of it all, is that our bikes are still under their control.
This is hard for me, because my bike is my best friend, and it has been very difficult leaving it in the hands of people of whom I do not know and in two countries very far away from home.
So, today we have traveled through town arranging the details in order to have our bikes released from customs and legal to ride in Colombia. This includes:
1) A form filled out for customs over the temporary release of import for tourism.
2) Copies of passports and titles.
3) Our passports to be stamped and confirmed by customs for motor vehicle access.
4) The purchase and registration of a $160 import booklet that allows us to import and export through S. American countries (which is not required, but like I said, these men make it required), &
5) Specially made vests with our tag numbers printed on the front and back that are required to be worn at all times in Colombia when riding a motorcycle.
And not to mention, the 6 days of waiting in order to be able for this to actually happen. We will end up paying off two more men, just in order for the complete transaction to take place.
Therefore, I must make a rebuttal of a previous statement. Where I once said that it costs $550.00 US in order for you to ship a motorcycle from Panama to Colombia...it actually costs $900.00 US and an extra week. Be forewarned if you are planning a cross-continental trip through Colombia...DO NOT go through an agency; it is more trouble than what is actually needed.
So, while we were running around today, we noticed kids on the bus dressed in costumes for Halloween on their way to school. We even noticed grown adults in costume as well. I cannot say that today has been a complete failure...we have progressed on being able to release the bikes, I have eaten the best hamburger in Colombia at El Corral and I have not been taken away from the spirit of Halloween.
While in Bogota, we have been able to see a few things. The Gold Museum was closed due to reconstruction, however, we were able to go to the Museum for Colonial Arts and were able to see great pieces of work (mostly religiously based) from 1500 to 1800 AD. The art work in Bogota is actually quite extensive. There are a number of galleries located throughout the modern city, including the national gallery and the Museum for modern art. Besides the staged art work, there is a number of modern pieces scattered throughout the city on walls of old buildings. I took a few pictures of some of the better pieces that I had seen.
Which reminds me...speaking of artwork, there is a dying art that is spread throughout Panama that I forgot to mention. It is know as the ¨Diablos Roja¨or the ¨Red Devils¨, which are actually old american school buses that have been painted over with some of the finest art work by some of the finest artists Panama has to offer. The problem with the Diablo Rojas, is that they are going to all be taken out of commission next year when the nation is going to go to a more ¨reliable¨ transit system. This frustrates me, not only as an artist, but also as a middle class worker. Think of all the jobs that will be lost; the artists, the drivers, and the mechanics of these old school bus beaut´s. So, in dedication, I have included a few pictures of the Diablos Roja as well.
There is a lot of bureaucracy going on in central and south america. It seems that they want to move towards a new system that is more organized and universal, however, they have been working on old bargaining mechanics for so long, and in a very patriarchal way, that it seems to have stalled out. Nonetheless, there are many things along this path that I have taken, that seems to work well with their culture. Maybe it does take some extra action under the table, however, they have preserved the beauty of personal interaction between their societies that could very well be erased with a more universal system. In the end, it takes a little more time and a few more people...something that this uptight capricorn is not used to, but a little patience may be just what the doctor ordered.

Happy Halloween

2007-10-30T11:27:00.000-07:00

Halloween is around us...

2007-10-30T11:13:00.000-07:00

Halloween is around us, and the excitement is in the Bogotá air.
Walking through the grey wet cobble stone streets up at the large buildings, watching the beautiful people walk by with great luminous eyes, you can catch a glimpse of the jack-o-lantern in the store window.
Candies are sold at every street corner, and the next shop has costumes with printout faces of the Gerber baby for the manikin.
It brings great joy that i will not miss one of my favorite pagan holidays on this trip. i am very excited to be in Bogotá; the city reminds me of a busy European city filled with fashion, culture and attitude. Being the only blond in a town of 3 million, i am able to catch glimpses of the locals. i sneak in a sweat smile and look for a response...the majority being an open glaze of two brown piercing eyes. Although beauty is definitely the norm around Bogotá Colombia, i am only adding one picture with this Halloween special blog...it is the beautiful spook-tacular little dino called Elaina...my niece.

The Panama Canal (10-27-2007)

2007-10-28T10:11:00.000-07:00

I visited the Panama Canal Yesterday...truly a modern marvel of the world, and I can be very proud of the American ingenuity that helped produce this amazing feat. However, after visiting the informative museum (the second of two canal museums in Panama City), waiting for ships at the Miraflores Locks is like watching your clothes dry. I will let the pictures speak for the rest of the visit.

The Miraflores Locks going from the Pacific ocean into Miraflores lake just north of Panama City. On the right, you see a ship entering the eastern canal lock...the process through the 50 mile Panama Canal takes about 24 hours...the locks around 1 hour. 8 hours to pass through the lakes, and another 15 in just waiting.

You can see how far the boat drops in the lock (27 feet), in order to move into the next one. There are two new locks that they have just started on in 2006 (one on the Pacific side and one on the Atlantic) that will cost almost $6billion in order to allow large boats to travel through, helping the Panama Canal remain a major world transportation leader. The toll is payed for 2 to 4 days ahead of schedule; the cheapest toll being by Richard Halliburton who swam across the channel in the 1930´s for less than 40 cents. The most expensive toll was paid last year by a cruise liner of which paid over $250,000.00 to cross the canal.

Pics from Strolling through old Panama

2007-10-28T10:07:00.000-07:00

The Panama Bay from the Fish Market...old boats pulled up on the shore, looking over the vast expanditure that makes up the city.
Inside the fish market in Panama City. I had a nice lunch upstairs from the market.
Government offices in the old Coloninial district of Panama City.
Kids playing on my walk back home.

Strolling in Panama City (10-26-2007)

2007-10-28T10:04:00.000-07:00

So I decided to ditch the group and go off on my own for a little bit during the day, so that I could pick and choose my path through the city without having to think of others first. Call it selfish, but I really wanted to just relax.
I took off towards the old colonial district of Panama City along the Pacific, recognized for the historical significance through Spanish, French and American colonization. It is a mixture like tofu...some of the buildings stand firm and very nice, and others are crumbling do the ground, showing the curse of years of rain and neglect. It was quite interesting, much like Harlem, NY today, seeing the wealthy empire sit right next door to a poverished community.
I strolled by the government offices, known for their large protests back in the ´60´s and ´70´s when Panama was seeking independence from the United States. President Carter finally gave Panama rights to the area surrounding the Canal in ´77, but they did not receive full access of the canal until 1999. I walked through a few galleries and around the bay, and also visited one of the two canal museums.
The canal itself was started in the late 1800´s by the French, who then went bankrupt and gave up on the large task, selling the equipment and project to the Americans. We finally finished ahead of schedule in 1914, when the first ship crossed the canal from the Atlantic to the Pacific, connecting the world.
On the way back home, I was walking through a neighborhood on the northern side of the city, looking at the old buildings with steal bars over each window, and clotheslines connected from balcony to balcony. Kids were playing soccer in the streets, old women sitting on park benches talking, and men smoking cigarettes outside from the shops. I was walking in front of a major Fire station admiring the old school machinery, when I felt a quick firm pull on my backpack. I quickly spun around in self defense yelling profanity, and saw a skinny Panamanian young man jump back and run away. Just by looking around at the poverty in this community; a community that is run off of capitalistic influence and popular advertisements, while it´s citizens are struggling to eat but forced to live a ´high life,´ you can understand why something like this may happen. Luckily for me, I didn´t loose anything and I was surrounded by the public eye. One of the firefighters was nice, and gave me a ride back to the hotel. I did not let the situation affect the rest of my day; I simply looked at the reasoning behind the actions, realized the outcome, and prepared myself for situations in which it may be avoided. So...I bought a gun!
Just kidding...

Panama City

2007-10-26T10:00:00.001-07:00

We made it into Panama City, yesterday afternoon (10-25-07), via over the Panama Canal (very impressive), and found the BMW dealership to get myself some new break pads. A gentleman from Panama driving a brand new GS1200 came up to us speaking English, and asked us to stay at his hotel in downtown Panama City for the motorcyclist discount of $10 per night. So without a do, we went to his hotel, and it has been very accommodating.
Today (10-26-07), we went to a travel agency that deals with shipping cargo out of Panama, and arranged for our bikes to be air freighted into Bogota, Colombia on Monday morning. It is going to cost us $550 US cash to ship the bikes, plus a couple hundred to fly ourselves over. As you can see, this is our most expensive part of the trip...besides the apartment in Buenos Aires that we have for the month of February (do I have any takers yet?). It is nice getting all of the cargo shipment arranged using an agent, because it could have been hell dealing with it ourselves at the airport. I am looking forward to reaching S. American ground.

From San Jose to Palmar Norte

2007-10-26T09:51:00.000-07:00

Alternative Road due to Mud slides on the highway...this was the easy part of the rocky trail.
View from up in the mountains in Costa Rica, just before San Isidro de General.
Bungalos in Palmar Norte, Costa Rica (you are looking at the brits´ bikes ´86 R80 and ´07 GS1200Adv)

San Jose, CR pics

2007-10-26T09:47:00.000-07:00

Metròpolitan Park in San Jose, Costa Rica
National Theatre in San Jose, Costa Rica

October 24, 2007

2007-10-24T15:33:00.000-07:00

We had taken off from our bungalow early this morning, and road towards Panama with a stomach full of pancakes and black coffee...I was happy. We ended up being about 80 miles from the border, and a lovely border at that. After receiving so much hassle at the Nicaraguan border, we were not happy with the inconvenience of traveling through Central America. Luckily, the Panama border made up for it with a dramatic difference.
We were through the border in about an hour, and onto the Panamanian roads. The roads themselves in Panama are really nice...much smoother than most of the roads we have been on so far. The are covered...almost like going through a tunnel of palm and eucalyptus, full of tropical smells and humid moisture. Peaking through the palm trees, we saw a mountain stretching up into the sky on our left. Just in the middle of this large green rock was a 500 foot waterfall, poetically obeying gravity in it´s quest for the pacific.
The roads passed over many rivers, covered in white rocks, showing a sort of purity to the waters that passed underneath our motorcycles.
It was 120 miles into Santiago where we finally stopped for the day...at the Hotel Hacienda... a new hotel in the area with a very central American appeal. This is where I will rest my soar tail until getting back onto my horse and riding into Panama City tomorrow where we will load the mighty steeds onto a plain to Colombia.

October 23, 2007

2007-10-24T15:15:00.000-07:00

We took off early from the hotel today in order to get a new battery for Lou at the BMW dealership in San Jose. The gentlemen at the dealership were incredibly helpful, and one of them even led us out of the city and payed for our toll on the highway. It was a pleasure doing business with them.
The ride was one of our best yet. We headed straight up into the mountains, climbing to about 9,500 feet when it started to rain on us. The temperature had dropped from 85 in San Jose to a cool and very wet 48 in the mountains. I am extremely thankful that I had my heated grip handles to keep my wet hands warm as we cruised through the mountain passes, hugging the curves and praying for sunlight.
As we descended into the valley, the temperature rose with each mile, and the sun began to peak out of the clouds. We headed into a town, I believe it´s name was San Isidro de General...it is a town of which I was warned by Meridith´s boyfriend Randal. Supposedly, this city is known for their women. They send their boys abroad to work, while keeping all of their girls home to do the same. We needed to refuel, so we headed into San Isidro for gas. When I pulled up to the pump, I noticed six girls in tight shirts sucking on Mamons (an interesting hairy like fruit that tastes like a grape). Interested, I told the nice young lady in the yellow top to please fill me up. Ten smiles, and a gas tank of fuel later, I paid the girl and left feeling a little ashamed. Nonetheless, I wanted to go back with an empty gas can and ask for more!
We carried on towards the coast on the Pacific side on a wonderful winding road that took us back through the mountains. The smells of fresh rain and tropical plants created an aura of bliss that swept me off my seat and carried me all the way down to the salt water smell of the ocean crashing into Costa Rica. The beaches were not very crowded as we passed them by. It was about 40 miles of riding by the ocean side, with mountains screaming at our left, covered in tropical horticulture and waterfalls, eagles coasting above my head so close that I can see the originality of spottiness they bare underneath their wings, and the ocean blue acting as a mirror of the wonderful warmth that she brought.
We started to travel inland as we were looking for a place to stay. We headed towards the town of Palmar Sur, passing by plantations of Palm trees aligned in perfect rows with irrigated ditches between. Looking inside the grove, it was a cool and very dark appearance; very foreign and curious to this Midwestern Anglo. Having to turn around and back track a little, we ended up finding a nice cabana to stay in, back up north in Palmar Norte.
I ended the night with a wonderful meal down at the local Restaurant...it was a traditional Costa Rican dish with Pasta Salad, Black beans, Potato Salad, Rice, and Salsa de Lengua (I´ll let you all figure that one out). It was quite splendid, and I have never tried that part of the cow before.

Walking the Streets of San Jose...

2007-10-22T21:08:00.000-07:00

Today was an easy day. We did not leave San Jose, because Lou needed a new battery to make it through the trip and it will take 10 hours in order to charge it. Therefore, we will change out the battery in the morning and take off for Panama at around 9AM.
So this evening, I took it upon myself to walk down town and meet my friend Meridith who just had come back from KC. I know Meridith from the Canterbury house on Louisiana Street in Lawrence, KS. I actually lived with her sister Erin there, however, they both attended the Lutheran Campus Ministries there on Sundays where I cooked the evening meal.
Meridith is down here living with her boyfriend Randal on the outskirts of San Jose, and the both teach English. Randal has lived both here in Costa Rica, and in the United States where the majority of his family still resides.
So I took off into Central San Jose at around 5PM this evening, strolling through the park, looking at the sculptures and geese that roamed through the bamboo shade. I passed two soccer fields, a museum, and a monument before making it to one of the main streets headed into city centro. Walking down the street, I saw a number of fast food restaurants from Quiznos to KFC, Dollar Rent a Car, Banks, and Tourist information. As I went further, I bypassed the main hospital in San Jose; crowds of people lined through the door, creating a plethora of emotion in the lobby. I would expect that people had been waiting for hours to get any information at all...the crowd was amazing.
I kept walking down the street, and the business section turned into retail. Fashion from all over the world; assortments of designer shoes and purses to the latest soccer cleats and apparel. This town is certainly hip...beautiful young people surrounded me on all sides, all dressed in big city fashion, and all looking really good for a Monday evening. I was truly stunned by all of the beautiful people; on the bus, working in the retail stores, talking on the public phones, making out in the park, sitting outside the National Theater (where I met up with Meridith and Randal). I ended up walking all around Centro San Jose, through parks and around museums...where I actually met a few locals who ended up discussing my trip with me and telling me how wonderful Panama is going to be. They also taught me that if I am a gringo, then they are Tikos, and in Panam they are Panas or la P's. Good to know.
I met up with Meridith and Randal and we went for some cheap fried chicken and Ice cream. Truly hitting the spot and sparing some change for the bus trip home. We had a wonderful time catching up, and Randal was very helpful in giving me contacts for Panama City and Buenos Aires. I said goodbye, and watched the San Jose night through a sheet of glass down the Costa Rican streets. Beautiful people continued to get on and off the bus...I passed a soccer stadium and another museum...
Pura Vida en San Jose....Pura Vida.

Pics from San Jose

2007-10-22T11:39:00.000-07:00

San Jose, Costa Rica

The Restaurant Neueva Tierra and with a wonderful duo who kept us entertained throughout the evening.
Four grown men fitting into the back of Manuel´s taxi cab.
Manual and I cruising into Club Atlantis...look at that grin, if we had only known what the hell he was getting us into.

Promised Pics...

2007-10-22T11:24:00.000-07:00

Honduras: San Marcos

These are the lovely owners of ABC Mechanics, and they drove us around for an hour trying to find a battery for Lou´s bike. Wonderful help...¨must have been Salvadorian.¨ (Liz´s quote)

Granada, Nicaragua

Yellow Cathedral in Granada Center Square at morning.San Fransisco School Physical Education class outside the Cathedral in the Town Center.

Beautiful Nicaraguan Lady, meditating at day by the park bench, and dancing through the streets to a quick drum beat at night. She stands at about 7 feet 6 inches.
Construction artisan constructing pillars on a very old colonial building. Granada is the oldest colony city in Central America at over 500 years old.

More of the colonial style through the streets of Granada. The city itself is getting a make over, and this was an excellent example of a freshly coated masterpiece.
Outside the hotel, packing up for the trip into Costa Rica.

Jungle Fever with Fantastic Curves

2007-10-21T11:29:00.000-07:00

Finishing up Granada, I felt wonderful. The colonial city, full of entertainment, cobble stone streets and wonderful Nicaraguan food, filled me with gaiety that I have not felt in a very long time. However, the warm feeling that have overtaken my joy suddenly disappeared, quite quickly, as we headed towards the Costa Rican border in terrible rains. The volcano caps were covered in wet clouds, the wind off the lake was bitter, and Costa Rica never sounded any better.
When reaching the border, our days suddenly turned for the worse. Overall it took over 4 and a half hours to get into Costa Rica. There is so much red tape and paper work that one must fill out in order to check out, check the bike out, stamp the pass port, check in, check the bike in and buy insurance. Not to mention, the work ethic down in Central America, much like I reported in Honduras, will make an uptight American Capricorn, like myself, want to get a gun and shoot at the temple. I thought the English Laboratories were bad, cutting off clinical tests for afternoon tea...Central American border authorities are a nightmare.
We finally made it though the border by 4 in the afternoon. The process started at half past 11. Riding into Costa Rica was not very impressive. The roads had flattened out, and while the sun was setting into Liberia, the rain had not stopped, preventing any sight seeing from the bike whatsoever. Finally getting to our hotel in Liberia was a blessing.
One good part of the trip two days ago, however, was that we picked up another rider from England named Reg. He had met Tim, the other Englander, back in the states when touring through. He just happened to catch up with our group while heading into the border. It was quite an experience; watching five soaked gringos go through Central American borders on gigantic mechanical mules and having every possible handler want to help you for cash tips.
The next day was better. We started off with a little breakfast and a stop at the ATM to update the currency. Riding into San Jose, singing the song in my head...do you know the way to...the rain had lightened up a little bit as we came through luscious green mountains covered with Tarzan-esque vines and greenery; I had finally made it to the tropics. And after being redirected by police because of a river taking over a bridge on the highway, the road circled around and landed directly next to the Pacific Ocean. Cool waves came crashing into the rocky shoreline; sailboats rocking out in the distance...it was a definite highlight...we had finally made it to the Pacific.
Climbing back up into the mountains from the coast was a journey. The roads were rough, because we had been redirected, and also very narrow. Traffic was a nightmare, and the rain made it even slower. Coming around corners, with very little room, we kicked it into second gear trying not to look off to the side into the 200 foot gaps. At least in London the tell you to mind the gap...on these roads it is only a welcoming cliff leap to a quiet and quick death. Luckily however, with the rain and being up in the mountains, we were once again above cloud level and the clouds filled in the valleys below. This did happen to take away the beautiful tropical scenery that makes up Costa Rica. Nonetheless, it helped calm some nerves as buses raced around corners coming right at you while you are dodging pot holes on the highway in the rain. On a dry day with those curves, it could have been an excellent bike path.
And then to make our day even more exciting...as we came to the off ramp that would lead us to our hotel in San Jose, I noticed that my bike was difficult to steer. I looked down, and happened to notice that I had a flat. My brand new Akon tire, with only 3,750 miles on it, had gotten a rip and leaked air.
Short note: because BMW went to a different wheel, where the spokes go out towards the edge of the rims and not in the middle, it allows them to us tires that are tubeless. Whereas, most bikes have the spokes go right to the middle and then use tubes to keep air in the tire. So my tire was punctured, and I was wet and upset.
So, in the middle of a rainy intersection, five wet gringos get off their bikes, pull out our tools and find out where the hole is. Another good part about it raining was, the leak was easier to find when the rain had bubbled up around it. So for the first time, I learned how to repair a flat tire on the road with one simple tool, a little bit of expandable material to plug it with, a razor blade, and a pump. 15 minutes and we were back on our bikes...not a half of a mile away from the hotel.
Our hotel is quite lovely. Yes, we come to Costa Rica to stay in a Best Western and Casino...but they have Internet, a washer and dryer (Thank God!), continental Denny's breakfast, and a free happy hour. Not to mention, the pool, jacuzzi and weight room were nice additions today.
Even though we were staying in a little piece of home, we received an excellent recommendation from the cocktail waitress on where to eat in San Jose. So me, feeling a little happy, called a taxi over and told all four men to limber up and squeeze their way into the back of this old taxi cab. The windows did not roll down, and it struggled very hard at intersections and hills to get anywhere; the windshield wipers were not doing any good, however, the taxi driver was very nice, and seemed to know where he was going. (I do have pictures of them all in the back seat...will add later). So we were dropped off at this lovely palm decored restaurant just on the outskirts of Centro de San Jose.
I had the chef special; Steak with coconut battered and fried Jumbo Shrimp, sauteed vegetables, and a nice sauce. The other gents had a surf and turf dish as well. It was definitely the best meal I have had so far, and well worth the money and effort to get out in the town.
On the way back to the hotel, our trusted driver Manuel, wanted to take us to a "wonderful" place called Atlantis. Atlantis was suppose to be a very nice club, where we could have a few drinks and meet very nice Costa Rican women. It was Manuel's top suggestion for what to do in Costa Rica. So I had him show us the place, and as we pulled up, a nicely dressed gentleman, with the Security piece in the ear, gracefully opened the door for us. A quick glimpse through the door and I noticed a long glistening pool. Manuel had taken us to a strip club....that sly bastard. We told him that we would come back tomorrow, and he finally took us back to the hotel. It was an exciting $35 dollar experience at that.
Today was relaxing. The pool, washing clothes, using the Internet, and now sitting hear listening to the afternoon rain that will carry on throughout the night. My friend Meridith from Lawrence, happened to go back to the US to renew her visa this weekend, so I really did not have the opportunity to go out in the town. However, tomorrow is a new day for exploration, and I will try to see a little more than Club Atlantis to fulfill my cultural story that has made my trip of Central America. And then it is off to Panama. One good ride and we will be down to the border, and with good luck, it will only take 3 hours this time.

First confrontation with the police....

2007-10-18T19:39:00.000-07:00

Today we left Hotel Granada 30 minutes from the Nicaraguan border in Honduras after enjoying a wonderful nights sleep on a bed. Sleeping on a hard cold floor is not all it is cracked up to be. I really did enjoy my time in Honduras, and the terrain is excellent, however, it was time to move on.
At the hotel, we ran into another rider. His name is Tim, and he is from the Midlands in England. He is on his third worldly tour. He has been throughout Asia, and the Asian Pacific, as well as New Zealand and Australia. Each time he ships his bike across the seas. This time, he shipped his bike to Baltimore and took it across the states. He stopped at the BMW rally in Wisconsin before heading west. He then crossed the border into Canada and made his way up to Alaska, before turning around and coming down the Pacific coast. He eventually crossed the border into Mexico and took off through the Copper Canyon. He lost the guy he was riding with in Guatemala, and we just happened to catch up with him in Honduras.
So we are all traveling together now, and sharing a room in Granada, Nicaragua. A beautiful town with old colonial architecture that surrounds a large town square filled with flowers trees and gazebos overlooking the beautiful yellow cathedral at the north end. Granada sits on the bottom of Lake Nicaragua, the largest lake in Central America. The town itself, is crowded with tourists and kids in Language school. It is tempting to stay here longer than just tonight.
Today´s trip was beautiful. We hit some rain, however, we still missed a rather large thunderstorm that was brewing off to the west towards the Pacific. The road was very smooth coming into Nicaragua, 1000 times better than the pot hole infested tarmac that haunted us in Honduras. Lets not even go there. The country side was beautiful, and just when we were coming down out of the mountains, the sun peaked out from around the clouds, and a large glimmering blue lake appeared off in the distance....it was like watching a the dew drip from a leaf, early in the morning.
About 20 kilometers out of Granada, we had to turn off to the left. There was a stop sign, so we stopped to wait for traffic. At the corner, two police officers, stopped the traffic in the right away to let us come through. So our lead man Landon started to move forward. The cops made up a two man check point, which is very frequent all throughout Central America, and we have never had problems with them before. They asked us to pull over, which is usually not a big deal....we figured that they just wanted to make sure we had all of the paper work...of which we did.
So they start to look at Landon's papers and then, one of the officers tried to tell Landon that he did not stop at the stop sign. It was ridiculous, because we stopped twice, and waited for him to stop traffic from the other two directions in the T intersection. So we were all over on the side trying to explain to them that Landon was our best driver, and that is why he is up front...and that we were being especially careful because that is what is required to make it all the way to Argentina and back from the US. The cop wasn´t really having it, which was a shame, because he was a silly young twerp just trying to get some money out of some gringos. The second cop was not doing anything...he was standing back just asking about our trip and the motorcycles. So while the cop was trying to write up a citation, Tim was asking me if they were just trying to get some money out of us, using the international thumb and forefinger rub as the signal. The cop saw Tim motion to it and looked in appeal thinking he may have been getting somewhere.
This is when Lou stepped in.
Lou first asked me to write down the jerk officer´s badge number, which I did, and on my arm so he could not take it away...or at least not very easily and incredibly inconveniently. When I did that, the officer gave Landon back his papers and Passport. Then Lou went on to tell them that he was a Pastor and that we were coming to Granada to visit some companions for a month. He assured the officers that he was friends with the Bishop, and that the Bishop had invited us to his resort Ranch on the lake. A month in Granada would have been plenty of time to use the local clergy to contact the police administration and have this officer court martial. So both of the officers then stood back. Leave it up to a Pastor to lie his way out of sticky situations.
As we were getting back on our bikes, the friendly officer comes up to Lou and says, ¨El Senor, esa con Ustedes.¨ (May God be with you) Lou turns back at the officer, and with a grinning shrug he replied, ¨hey, that is my line.¨
We left the officers behind, Landon still in the lead, being sure to follow the speed limit and stop three times at each sign for the last 20 kilometers into Granada. When we had come into town, we saw a sign for Centro de Historico and took a right heading toward the town square. Out of the blue, a large man in a collared shirt came stumbling drunk into the street screaming ¨motor¨ and headed right at Landon. Poor Landon, as if he hadn´t had enough with the cops behind him, he had to deal with the town drunk too! So he swerved to miss the guy, and the guy jumped right back into him, grabbing onto the side mirror, twisting it around, and then grabbing onto the back of the bike, almost knocking Landon on his side. So I yell at the guy, and he jumps back startled and backs away. What a day...
We found a really nice hotel, a blend of old colonial Spanish style with a modern twist. The receptionists were lovely and Landon has his Wifi signal. We swept the streets, passing all sorts of tourist trapping dining establishments, before seeing some woman cooking off on a sidewalk on a side street with a man tending to the grill. It was an interesting set up, where the tables were inside and the kitchen was outside, however, it was the only thing on the street that looked Nicaraguan....and that actually looked worth eating. So we sat down and asked for a menu, the lady said no menu, just traditional Nicaraguan food. This was the right place to eat. You had a choice of chicken, pork, or beef, and then a choice of grilled, steamed or fried Plantains. It came with a coleslaw...and in a heaping portion. It was absolutely wonderful. Two big beers later with a full stomach, Granada was looking so much better in my eyes. I am so alive...thanks to a Preacher with a few tricks under his robe.

2007-10-16T14:43:00.000-07:00

Landon and Lou riding through the mountains of Honduras.
The kids meditating at the end of the day.
Class photo #4.

Hey Mister...

2007-10-16T14:17:00.001-07:00

Today is our third day in San Marcos, Honduras, visiting with my friend Liz from Pierpont´s restaurant. She is down here teaching third grade at a private school. Half of the classes are in English, and they are pretty good I may add, and the other half in Spanish. They kept coming up to me saying, ¨hey mister,¨and showing off something new.
The kids are brown, with tear dropped eyelids, and sweet smiles. They act just like the kids that I used to tutor in Lawrence, at the Quail Run Elementary school. We had a wonderful day, and I gave them somewhat of a geography lesson as I discussed my trip with them. They were very excited, and want me to return on the way back through. We ended the day with yoga and meditation, before gathering their things and getting together for a picture. I truly commend Liz for here work, it is not easy teaching this age group in two languages, half way around the world, in a third world country. She is doing an excellent job.
The weather has been very nice here. It rains at night, which kicks up the humidity during the day. It is probably in the 90´s right now, and we expect the same further south. It is suppose to be raining in Nicaragua, and we are expecting more mudslides. We saw quite a few in Guatemala from the last hurricane, so we are prepared and moving carefully. I am excited to get to Lake Nicaragua in two days, it is suppose to be amazing.
Honduras is different. It is the poorest country in the western world and can be very difficult to come to as an outsider. The people are very nice, however, they don´t seem to be very excited or proud of their lives and heritage. The country is in a slump, the president has been stealing tax dollars, the roads and transportation is terrible, there are few jobs, poor city utilities (the water is off from 6AM to 4PM every day, and the electricity goes off because the money the president stole was for the electrical supply of the country), and it is just kind of sad. The school today was trying to teach the kids about Honduran pride and standing up for the protection and growth of the country, however, the kids did not seem to really respond. National pride is extremely different when compared to what may be seen in Mexico for example.
Nonetheless, the kids are still playing and smiling, cows still roam the sides of the roads, dogs through the streets at night, and I even saw a woman on the bus yesterday to Santa Rosa with a live chicken in her bag. They call them Chicken Buses!
Honduras does have beautiful country sides, giant mountain tops and rich Mayan culture. It will be interesting to see the difference of culture and economics as we move into Nicaragua.
Ending off my afternoon, I was gathering my things together to head to the Internet cafe. One by one, the kids came by with their backpacks, smiling and telling me ¨goodbye mister.¨

2007-10-13T18:16:00.000-07:00

Today was a beautiful day...it didn´t rain on us at all.

We took off from Lago de Atitlan at around 8:30 riding on CA2 here in Guatemala lined in fields of Sugar Cane, and made it to Guatemala city by 11:30. The sugar cane actually looked like grass, only it was 10 feet high in the air and made me feel like I was taken back into the movie aura of ¨Honey, I Shrunk the Kids.¨ It took us about 2 hours to get through the city, and what a trip that was. There are no bypasses in Guatemala City, people actually head to the capital to go to the capital, not to go through it. So we were twisting and turning through the streets of this earthquake tortured town, asking for directions over and over again. It is actually a very nice city, if you try not to think about all of the smog that we were taking in on the ride through it.

This is one major difference between riding on a motorcycle and riding in car. The smells are ever present when you are on a bike. I took in the aromas of everything from pig dung to fresh flowers today on our ride, and it was all wonderful; because it did not rain a drop.

About 80 miles west of Guatemala city, we turned south towards our destination of Chiquimula. It is a wonderful city, full of life and culture. The people are fantastic, outgoing, and incredibly helpful. I bargained for a tamale this evening, and I think I got it down to around 30 cents.
Bargaining is a part of life down here. If you don´t try and haggle on the streets, they think you are just ignorant of their culture, and take your money with disrespect. So with some sweet blue eyes and a big Sean Tucker smile, I was able to get the young receptionist to get our room price down to 150 Quetzales, or around $21 for the night. I still got it!

The picture of the cathedral above with the mountains in the background, was taken from the balcony of the hotel over looking the town square. The other picture was from our hotel this morning in Atitlan, just when the sun peeked out from behind the mountain side.

Tomorrow we are heading into Honduras into and area called Octoepeque, filled with hiking trails and wonderful national parks. A friend, Liz from Pierpont´s in KC is currently living there and teaching English to kids at a school. So, I was planning on stopping in and playing guest speaker so the kids can laugh at me, and I can hand out Jayhawk stickers and convert them all to the crimson and blue.

I miss you all.

Pictures....

2007-10-13T18:10:00.001-07:00

Western Guatemala on a very rainy day, headed towards Lago de Atitlan
Trying to find our way to Atitlan using the back roads, only being blocked by a truck on a very dramatic decline. That is Lou waiting for the truck to be backed up. Missing are lots of cute kids running around giggling at us gringos.
View from our hotel in Atitlan of the lake. You are looking at the rooftops of the houses next to the hotel, warming up for breakfast this morning.
This is one of the volcanos that helped make Lago de Atitlan

This is the street out front from our hotel in Atitlan.

Guatemalan Boys

2007-10-12T19:38:00.000-07:00

I must admit, today was a grueling day. It has been raining for the last three days, and nine hours on a bike each day in pouring rain can be tough. If it were not for the amazing views, and constantly climbing up into the clouds, I may have wanted to stop earlier.
Yesterday, we crossed into Guatemala at around 3, and had to deal with checking out of Mexico (both ourselves and our bikes), and then checking both ourselves and our bikes into Guatemala. The entire process took about an hour, and cost around $13. There was a guy at the border that must have been the brother in law of the sheriff, because he ripped off $6 a piece to wash our tires before we could enter into the country. Some scam that the government lets happen. Oh well, nothing we can do about it.
It was raining pretty hard when we crossed, so we were quick to find a hotel. It turned out to be very nice, and cost about $12 a piece. The owner is an old truck driver whom lived in the states for over 10 years driving a semi. i am guessing, with his earnings, he started up this hotel. He had all of his little daughters or nieces working for him, and a guy with a rifle hanging out in front. You would all be surprised in how old wild west this country is, lots of them are packing. Nice guy, and nice place.
We took off the next morning and headed on to a little village outside of Solola on a lake in central Guatemala, just southwest of Guatemala city. Once again, it rained on us all day and we were dripping coming into the hotel tonight. We tried some back roads, which were not really roads, but cattle pathways. Landon got stuck, and Lou´s bike died. I was rocking it out on my R100GS, and loving it, but we ended up turning around and going back to the highway. Lou´s bike started up with a push start, and we are going to work on the wiring tomorrow to see if we can get some more charge to the starter.
We finally made it into Santiago Atitlan on Lago Atitlan, dripping. We had a glass of Pinch and headed on into the town square for Tacos, grilled Pollo, and Papas Fritas. We found a Cyber cafe afterwards to check our meals, which lead me to these young Guatemalan boys.
I saw like 7 of these boys all huddled around a computer, eyes glued to the screen and all of them, laughing and giggling. I was obviously curious, so I took a closer look.
Go figure, these Nacho Libre Lovers were watching wrestling videos from the American WWF film clips. I was interested, so I looked a little closer, and this clip had a chick out in the crowd flashing the wrestlers. They were looking at boobs! Ohh, these Guatemalan boys.

2007-10-10T18:40:00.000-07:00

Monte Alban pyramid for astronomy
Monte Alban view from above
South of Oaxaca on the tip of the Sierra Madres
Valley view from the highway in the Sierra Madres
The Clinical Lab Scientists in the town of Tehuantepec that were very nice to give me a tour and answer questions. Who would have known that Denge Fever was such a problem?

Riding in the clouds

2007-10-10T18:25:00.000-07:00

We woke up early today, to the sound of buses and three wheeled motor carts that parading through the city of Tehuantepec. Lou and I went down to the market to fetch some coffee and pan in order to get ready for the long ride ahead. Tehuantepec is 200 feet above sea level, and about 30 minutes from the Pacific. How tempting that may sound, we were destined to head back inland to San Cristbol de Las Casas, a historic town full of colonial architecture and beautiful tourists.
The ride was our best yet. It may have rained on us for around 1/3 of the trip, and my boxer shorts were very wet by the end, not to mention a very sore ass; however, the Sierra Madres today had taken us up to heaven and back. On the way, we saw everything from oxen driven wagons to high tech wind turbans providing energy to the power grid of Chiapes. What a wonderful ride. After passing the capital of Chiapes, we quickly climbed up to 6000 feet were the indigenous inhabitants of this very green land live and love. As we climbed through the wet and cool climate, we moved up into a dense cloud hovering through the clouds. Looking off the cliff sides along the road, all we could see was a dense fog. How many people can say they road their motorcycles in the clouds? Not to mention, along the way, we saw beautiful women in hand woven cloth of purple, turquoise, green and blues with intense needle point carrying the freshly cut tree limbs to start the oven for tonight's meals. Men climbing the mountain sides with saws, cutting the wood for tonight's meals, and children parading side by side, down the side of the highway, going home from a day at school above 5500 feet. Only angels think of such beauty, yet me and my best friend (aka my R100GS BMW motorcycle) had the amazing opportunity to see such beauty.
As we made our descent from the heavens down to about 4500 feet into San Cristobal de Las Casas, we were happy to find a wonderful hotel in the center square of the city, overlooking a city so alive and so wonderful, that we could almost imagine the fiestas with wondrous food and salsa dancing happening just 300 years ago, just outside from our balcony. How alive I feel right now, how rejuvenated, how majestic. I am alive.

October 9, 2007

2007-10-10T18:16:00.000-07:00

Today we woke up in Oaxaca and took off around 9 AM in order to go up to Monte Alban, and old Azteck ruin west of the city. It was an unbelievable sight, hundreds of years of work to build stone into the heavens so that a very few would be able to enter an afterlife. It reminded me a lot of the pyramids in Egypt, only without the mountains. The structures themselves rose up to a hundred feet in the air, over looking a valley where every whisper was echoed onto the mound, as if any battalion would have a chance. I was trying to put myself back in those times, walking around without shoes, caring stones over intense mountain sides and miles from origin. The life that must have been in those times had to have been both majestic and treacherous at the same time. The day was beautiful and the experience was beyond the skin and mind.
After the tour, we took off into the Sierra Madres, on another 5 hour trek through amazing curves and wonderful spectacles, that only God herself could have sent down for us to see. The tour was only 200 kilometers, but it had so many wild turns and valleys that we had to take it slow. Not to mention, we were right in the middle of Mezcal, the land of Mezcal my friends! Agave plants lined the valleys and mountain sides, parading our journey in green projection, with perfect design and wonderful smokey taste. The sight was absolutely amazing. We landed in Tehuantepec at around 4, found a quaint hotel and a wonderful dinner to end a perfect day. What a wonderful life.

2007-10-09T06:50:00.000-07:00

Hotel in Oaxaca, on the inside we stashed our bikes between the rooms, our room was on the second floor, first window on the right.
Oaxaca in the morning, looking up at a Church in el centro.
Oaxaca in the morning. The temperature is around 65 degrees and fresh.
El centro de Oaxaca. This is the town square, where we ate our Mole the night before. Our hotel was located a few blocks north of here.

Octoer 9th

2007-10-09T06:36:00.000-07:00

Today`s ride went through the mountains south of Cuernevaca on our stretch down to Oaxaca. The ride took about 9 hours, going through curvaceous mountains full of greenery and rock scaling. The rocks changed with elevation, from a red sandstone to a limestone and a darker shaded stone as well. South of Cuernevaca, there were cacti springing out 40 feet in the air, just stretching out for sun (or as Ned Flanders from the Simpson`s would say, ¨closer to God.¨) On the way down, there was an old ghost mining town that used to be very rich back in the day, and they had built this amazing church; something you may see in a major European city, with walls scaling over 100 feet in the air, with painting covering walls and golden trip all around. The church was abandoned years ago, however, now the region is coming forth with money to restore this massive Cathedral.

The ride was wonderful, lots of turns, ups and downs. Just before riding into Oaxaca, I crossed the 2000 mile marker of my trip. It is funny to think of how much farther I must go.

Tomorrow we will go in to Monte Alban, just outside of Oaxaca before riding down the Pacific coast. In two days we will cross into Guatemala, a completely different story. For tonight, it was Mole de Oaxaquiena con pollo. Absolutely delicious.

Lunch with Monks

2007-10-07T14:26:00.000-07:00

Today i woke up in my tent, to the sniffling of the monastery dog around the camp site, and unzipped the door to feel a cool and dew covered soil below. I was fortunate enough to have a warm shower in the Monastery and a clean shave before attending the mass up on top of the mountain outside Cuernevaca called Ahuatepec. It is a Benedictine Monasterio of which was founded by another Benedictine Monestery in Oregon over 40 years ago. This is where i came on an alternative spring break trip three and a half years ago to paint schools for a head start program called Vamos. It is also where I met Lou over three years ago, where he told me to buy a BMW motorcycle and go around the world with him. I thought he was crazy, and he still is, only I realized, I´m a little crazy as well.
The Catholic mass was very nice, with a full Mariachi band, incense, communion, robed monks and all. Father Conrad who lead the Mass, is a dear old friend of Lou´s. They studied here together 31 years ago when Lou first came here for Seminary. Lou is a Lutheran Campus Minister, (rather was...he retired a few weeks ago), and has brought students down here for many years. It is the first time that he has come down here in years, where he didn´t have to look after anyone. Acutally, Landon and I are looking after him now, making sure he doesn´t get to out of control and starts drinking Tequila with the monks all night.
Being that Lou and Father Conrad are good friends, Father Conrad and the Monks invited us up for lunch in their private quarters outside the Monestary Chapel on top of the mountain, which overlooks Avacado, Orange, and Lemon vineyards as well as the entire valley that makes up Cuernevaca. If you want to talk about Serine locations in this world to get away and think, these monks are in the right place for central MX. Lunch was fantastic. A few of the monks spoke english, however, Brother Raphael and I had a wonderful conversation as I suffered along with my limited spanish vocabulary. But like a good monk, his patience carried me through the conversation, and we talked about my motorcycle, mexico, our trip and the monestary. After lunch, the proceded with a few scriptures from the book of Psalms, of which I had no idea what they were saying except for Jesuschristo and Amen. It was nice though, and I was full.
Walking back down to the tents from the monestary, we stopped to pick off some Oranges, and I picked a few things that may be dates. Flowers lined the cobble stoned road droping a fourth of a mile down the road to our grassy lot with our bikes and homes. Breathing in the wonderful air smelling of roses, lillies, and cumin, I asked Landon, ¨how many times in our lives will we get to sit and eat lunch with some monks?¨

Oct 5th

2007-10-06T12:02:00.000-07:00

Today we woke up early at the Hotel Oasis and took off S. towards Cuernavaca. We scrambled through the mountains all day today, stetching a wide variety of climate regions in one days ride. We bypassed Toluca and Mexico City because international drivers liscence plates are not allowed in Mexico City on Fridays. We took of towards Chapulhuac though this amazing moutainous pass, carving our way from Santa Marha to Cuernavaca, putting the black forest and the swiss highways to shame.

Trhe forest was thick, green, and coldly wet from todays showers. We rose from 5000 up to 9000 feet in just miles. Trhe road had so many turns we had to ride in 2nd gear through most of the mountains (about 2 hours) at around 40 kph. Cars passing our slow descent on the left and 300 foot drop offs on our right without guardrails...we took it slow. This excitement was only after a 6 hour ride up into the Central Mexican Moutain range, of which i speak. It droppèd 20 degrees and the nerves running through me were not enough to keep me warm. However, beyond the fear of dropping off a deadly cliff, the mountainous forest was beautiful and amazing and alive.
The decent into Cuernevaca was a blessing. We dropped 3500 feet in elevation and gained about 25 degrees from up top. Of course the monastery is absolutely beautiful, and Father Conrad is a wonderful host.

Safe in Cuernevaca for a few days.

2007-10-06T11:56:00.000-07:00

Blessing the bike in TX
Desert outside of Monterrey
North of Toluca waiting on construction
Running away from Landon´s camera at 65mph.