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.
