12/12/2010 - Rurrenabaque, Bolivia: Quality Time With The Griswalds

What's known as the touristy "Bolivian Death Road" is for pussies and grandmas. It's a beautiful road that has some ridiculous shear drops, and was once known as the most dangerous road in the world. But really it's not the case anymore because tourists are plucked from La Paz and driven to the top so they can mountain bike down. Now I'm not saying it's not extreme, it's definitely worthy of Bui's extremicle, but it's not even close to as extreme and dangerous as the road to Rurrenabaque. It was the most absurdly dangerous riding I've ever done. Period.

First off everybody drives on the wrong side of the road. Why? I have no clue, but after a few close calls and plenty of fist shakings I just accepted it. Next were all the crazy effing people. They're hauling ass all the time and just dodging obstacles while barely sticking to the road. Theyre all driving station wagons, so its like the latino Griswalds are coming to kill me. What made it worse was the actual condition of the road. It was a dusty, twisty, rut filled, one lane nightmare. Visibility was close to nothing when near anybody as the dust clouds were immense. My uncle died riding a motorcycle in too dusty of conditions. Needless to say I take that shit seriously. Lastly, I'm going down hill, so I'm on the big drop side of this one lane mess. So when cars come flying by, I've got to jump to the edge of what was usually another shear drop off. Scary shit, because randomly the road would crumble down the hillside, so if you were in a dust cloud hugging the edge of the road, you've got to hope that the road hasn't crumbled away in front of you. I was totally out of it. It was so fucking stressful, because during all of this I'm driving my Danish passenger, Teresa. There was simply no room for even the slightest error.

The touristy death road was fun, but after four hours of that crazy highway, I'm over it. We find a city midway to Rurrenabaque, and call it a night. I didn't think it was possible for the ride to get any worse, boy was I wrong. The next morning, it's just pissing down rain. Fuck. Teresa doesn't have rain pants, luckily I've got two rain jackets so at least a piece of us will be dry. I feel awful because I talked poor Teresa into coming, telling her about fun sunny rides on paved roads. While I take her on the two most ridiculous days of riding I've ever done. She's a trooper though, and even though she was obviously uncomfortable she didn't complain and was a stellar passenger.

The one positive about the rain, is that there's no blinding dust. But really that's the only plus about the days ride. Out of the frying pan and into they fire; if it wasn't rain, it was blinding fog. If it wasn't the Griswalds trying to kill us, it was the thick blood red mud that would pop up out of no where. I personally dropped my bike twice in the mud. Once doing a full 180 spitting up a huge rooster tail. Another time I hit a good strip of mud going about forty five and fishtailed all over the road for what seemed like two hundred yards. I thought for sure we were going down hard, but somehow I kept the bike upright. That was probably the worst of it, but after nine hours in the pouring rain we finally arrived in Rurrenabaque. Soaked to the bone, we couldn't have been more thankful for a hot shower. What a day!

The next day I'm ecstatic knowing I don't have to ride anytime soon. The whole point of coming to Rurre is to take an Amazon jungle tour, so with that booked for a grand total of forty bucks for three days. It might just be worth the drive. Then early the next morning we all stuff ourselves full of street food and head out. It's an awful three hour van ride on similar road conditions then a three hour ride up river to the jungle campsite.

Liam and I finally getting to ride a llama in La Paz.

The tour was awesome, food was good which was seriously unexpected since we paid next to nothing for the entire tour. Almost immediately on our boat ride the guide spots us a alligator. Then for the next three hours we're pointed out every living thing near the river. Tons of alligators, crocs, and caimans, as well as a couple different types of monkeys, pink river dolphins, turtles, capybaras ( giant rat / guinea pigs), and tons of different types of interesting birds. I was even stoked to see my first real wild toucan.

A nice capybara family.

The second day of the tour we went into the swamps to find an anaconda. We wern´t disappointed because not only did we find a ten foot snake to poke and annoy. We found a huge black caiman to fuck with. This gator was effing huge, it was at least fifteen feet head to tail. I walk up and take a picture coming pretty close. I thought that was it, but this other tour guide wasn't satisfied letting the gator sun bathe un molested, so this drunk ass grabs a stick and pokes the fucker. Eventually it gets annoyed and charges the guide, only for him to run away giggling. I'm totally dumbfounded. This guy is literally still drunk from the night before and he's fucking with a gator that could take his hand off without a second thought. Oh well, only going to be here once, so I get an escape route planned, and encourage this guy to poke him again. I'm standing right behind the guide telling him to poke it again and again. Same result. The croc lunges forward, faster and for a longer distance this time. I was the fucking flash, I was so out of there, if anybody's getting eaten, I'm throwing the drunk dude in first. Luckily everyone is fine, if not a little hyped on adrenaline. What a blast! Got to fuck with a giant gator and live to tell about it. Got some great pics, and BJ even got a pretty good video. Score!

This was one scary animal.

The rest of the day was spent lounging in the boat looking at pink river dolphins. They're fucking awesome. Dolphins in a muddy river. Are you kidding me? I didn't even know they existed. So cool. Even got to do some pirana fishing. What a cool tour, at a ridiculously awesome price. Too bad what happens in the jungle doesn't stay there. Some really serious shit went down, but that's for another entry. Stay tuned...

12/7/2010 - La Paz, Bolivia: The Mercedes Benz

There's a big lie in the travel community that's all too wide spread. It's that there's a difference between a tourist and a traveller. Others claim that the traveller is down to earth, ready to accept culture, and is open to see the world. While a tourist is somehow the opposite. Tourists are only there to stay in fancy hotels, see the major attractions and never attempt to speak the local language or enjoy the culture. I think these heady travel writer are full of shit. They're trying to act like they're so much better because they only need a backpack and they feel they have a better respect for the community. Give me a break, do you think Japanese tourists at Disneyland don't try and speak English or throw their trash in the bins. Not true. Why do you think the Eiffel Tower is one of the biggest tourists attractions worldwide? It's because it's fucking awesome. If you're near Paris, you're going to see it whether you're a penniless traveler or Bill Gates. There are just some can't miss things on this planet. And just because the traveler isn't wearing a full brimmed hat with sunscreen smeared on their faces while simultaneously reading a map with a camera around their neck, doesn't mean they're so much different than other backpackers. Crack open some travel books or articles describing some far off destination you've never heard of, and you might find the author a little too cheeky about how they themselves travel. Unlike other travelers, I don't define myself by where I've been. You shouldn't either because there's too damn much to see on this planet. Travel rant complete, fuck off snooty travelers.

Next up, leaving Perú. The ride out of Cusco was long, straight, and cold but I was rewarded with stunning sunset views of Lake Titicaca. It was easy to find the hotel where BJ and Liam were staying and after my arrival, it was straight to dinner. They found this place where you get three delicious well portioned courses and an alcoholic drink for five bucks. What a deal. If only Aguas Callientes was like Puno I would have been happy paying five six bucks for dinner, but no, they sucker you in and throw whatever they have in front of you. Then add a five dollar tip, just to say "it's not that much." Ugh. I digress though. Puno is a pretty cool little city, it's a bit different then the rest of Perú. I don't know if it's just poorer or neighboring Bolivia is spilling over. Things are cheaper, so we all book a tour of the indigenous people of the floating islands for the next morning.

These floating islands are ridiculous. First off they really are man made islands that people actually live on. I arrive and it's pretty cool that they still speak the native language, Quecha. We all received a hearty welcome from the dozen or so residents on our particular island. Then the president went on to explain their way of life. How they built the island, how they eat, sleep, and survive. It's all too much, it appears they survive just on tourism. They guilt you into buying they're handicrafts and knick knacks. Then the big seller is a ride on the 'Mercedes Benz' boat. (Seriously what it's called by all the islanders.) It really is a marvel of straw work and commitment. It's a beautiful native paddle boat that has two dragon heads, a roof, and room for about fifteen people. It's a great piece of heritage kept alive by these wild people. Originally these people built their straw floating islands to escape the Inca. Now, who knows what they're up to. Maybe those little pencil holders and mini woven table cloths provide enough essentials to keep them happy. I'm unsure, but I can tell you that they were stoked to see us. Each of the forty of so islands receives tourist maybe twice a month. So when the president was giving us the low down, he was absolutely beaming. It was adorable to see this guy run back and forth to his house to grab and show us the gun he hunts with. It was an experience. I guess with my western American eyes I just really don't understand these amazing people. I still can't figure out if the people living there are doing it for heritage, tourism, or because they're just dumb and don't realize what opportunities they have on the mainland. I'll probably never know, but at least I got to visit them.

Another day, another border crossing. This time Bolivia. I'm excited, this is supposed to one of the most gorgeous countries in South America. I received some hassle at the border, but nothing I can't handle. So when I got to Copacabana I was eager to keep moving to La Paz so I could meet up with Teresa, Liam, and hang with Danish Christina one last time before she flew out. It's really too bad the border took so long because it was too late to get to La Paz in the daylight. So regrettably I stayed the night in Copacabana. It turned out to be a super fun night because as soon as I got settled down. BJ and I went for a walk on the town, and met our friend from our shipping fiasco, Ian. We had been emailing trying to get together, so it was nice to see him. We all got a beer, and while sitting there, our chick twinsies Ariel and Christina show up. It's going to be a good night, since rum is two bucks a bottle. Everything was tame as our Cartagena reunion went swimmingly. It was definitely a fun night.

I wake up as early as I can with an awful two dollar rum hangover. It really did sound like a good idea at the time. As I'm about to leave I grab a quick coffee at the hotel, and watch the rain start coming down. Ugh. Not really what I was hoping for. Then the hail starts. It was crazy hard hail and coated the ground lightly. Looks like I'm going to wait for this to pass before I head out. So BJ and I watch an episode of How I Met Your Mother and afterwards I shoot out the door because the rain has let up. Little did I know, I would be following that storm all the way to La Paz. It was by far the worst weather I've ridden in. I can handle rain; you get wet, not really the end of the world. But hail, man I just can't ride in that. The hail was just dumping down. It hurt my knees too much to continue riding. I found the best cover I could, a big tree, and decided to wait it out. It's a no go. I waited about fifteen minutes and it only got worse. The ground in every direction was coated in an inch or so of white hail. Time suck it up and carry on. I went maybe fifteen miles an hour getting absolutely pelted by hail the size of rabbit poop. It was not only painful, it was cold as well. The hail would pile up on the seat under my crotch, and despite my best efforts to remove the ice, my balls were frozen. Not fun, but you can only laugh it off and continue on. Eventually it let up enough so that I could mostly dry out before I got into La Paz. Somehow I get lucky again, and even though it's a huge city, I find my hotel almost immediately. Nice, and as soon as I get in my friends Teresa and Liam are napping and hungry. Awesome, time to get warm and recover from a that crazy ass ride.

I spent a few days in La Paz and it was fabulous. It was cheap, had things to do, and since I stayed next door to the party hostel. I got to party as well as sleep. Definitely scored on that one. We walked around the city during the day, and got drunk with other tourists at night, it was splendid.

My time with traveling with Teresa is running short, so we had to decide where we wanted to go to with her last bit of vacation. Some of the big draws in Bolivia are the jungle tours, the death road, and the salt flats. With out really planning our timing, we chose the jungle and the death road. Unbeknownst to us we were making a huge mistake on a bunch of different levels.

12/4/2010 - Machu Picchu, Perú: Stop. Llama Time.

Traveling by motorcycle is a lot different than normal backpacking. First off what might take a backpacker twenty hours on an overnight bus, will likely take a motorcyclist a good three days. I like it because you get to see a lot more of the countryside. Enjoy a little more of the ride, not just the destination. Stupid shit happens all the time on the road too. Like roadside food is probably the most fun example. It can be an amazing success. Good local grub served up by humble hosts. While most of the time, it's just a crap shoot. Such is the life BJ, Liam, and I went through getting to Cusco. For some reason all the food has some ridiculous name that has almost nothing to do with the meal. Like Lomo Saltando, it translates to jumping loin, but it's really delicious beef fajitas mixed with french fries served over rice. It's really been my Peruvian staple because everything else you order here is a fucking mystery. The entire journey up the Andes, we all had to choose the mystery meal a few times too many. You know what hits the spot after a long days ride in the desert heat? Yep, soup. Accidentally ordered soup three times, fuck me. Then there are the endless options in little far off towns along the way. Like one day after visiting several lunch restaurants we were stuck with trout or more soup. Mmmm...remote.

Eventually, we did find our way to Cusco. And I'm happy as a clam to get off the bike, and chill out again. It's a nice rather large city, that really is the cultural capital of Perú. There are alpaca sweaters, goofy beanies, and colorful (apparently native) M.C. Hammer pants everywhere. I swear I've never seen so many foreign tourists grossly misinterpret cultural heritage. At our party hostel, there are tons of gringos mismatched in the best way. Literally endless amounts of llama print clothing. I wish I could show you what some of these people were getting away and getting laid with. It's like they're purposely trying to wear as many llamas on their clothes as possible. Now I admit I know nothing about fashion, but only in Cusco could tourists on a weeks holiday get away with that kind of stuff. If I wasn't so damn lazy I would have taken great photos of those douche bags. Next time in Cusco, fo sho.

Right now I've got a great little travel group. About seven of us off and on. Some cute blonde Danes, tall Canadians, an Englishman, and some goofy Americans on Kawasaki's. It was pretty nice running around together, hitting up all the touristy spots in Perú. One thing I'm glad I didn't miss out on was Machu Picchu. The price to get there is outrageous. There aren't any roads, and it's going cost a minimum of about a hundred and forty dollars. So since I'm traveling with the Danes who did not want to hike, I took the lazy way out and rode on a train and stayed in a hotel. Whatever, it turned out to be about sixty bucks more. The train ride was awesome, since the terrain itself is unlike anything I've ever seen. The mountains are shear, rocky, and jagged, but topped with green. It was really bizarre when you actually reach Machu Picchu. It really makes you wonder why on earth there's a five hundred year old city plopped on top.

I love llamas!

Extreme close up!  Whoaaooaa!

The lost city.

In order to get a pass to hike the adjacent mountain, you've got to arrive at six in the morning. At this time there's nothing but fog and grassy trails. On a small hike before our tour we found a llama waking up on one of the graded terraces. I'm stoked, so I take a ton of pictures and give it a big hug. Later, Teresa and Christina have to pry me away from all the other grazing llamas to take our tour. They're just so damn cute! I could have played with them all day. Anyhow, I guess the real story isn't the sweet llamas on Machu Picchu, it's the city itself. Which, by the way, is an expensive tourist trap, but is totally worth all the hype. Engineering wise it's great. I love the grading, there are old terraces that after fifteen or so flat landings drop off into shear nothingness. It's crazy to think how dangerous that construction job was. The city itself was once just a normal Incan city, it had all the necessary features, farming, water, people, llamas, but now it's remains are on display for forty bucks a pop.

The view from Huynu Picchu. Walked up in the rain, and was able to get this shot in a brief momment without clouds.

Don't get me wrong, the city is in a remote location and has some really cool features. I think the country takes too much advantage of this sight. Prices are outrageous for a fairly poor country. It's something you should want to see every time you're Perú, but since it's such a hassle to get there. I probably won't ever go back. It's too bad because tourists are really being taken advantage of. Seven bucks for a twenty minute bus ride, twenty dollar sunscreen at the top, and a even the forty bucks to get in is ridiculous. It isn't Disneyland for crying out loud, it's one of the seven natural wonders of the modern world. My favorite stories I've heard were about the Queen of Spain and a mudslide.

What a deal!

During heavy rains the road and path down from Machu Picchu were washed out. Hundreds of tourists were stuck up there, luckily for them the good hearted people of the nearby town of Aguas Calientes came to the rescue. It's too bad the locals gouged every tourist, already overpriced rudimentary supplies were sold for double the price. Tourism dropped like a rock the next month when word got out about it. I hope they were hurting for screwing with people like that. But alas, it's much too popular an attraction to be left alone for too long. I'm sure by now they've made a full recovery.


The last anecdote is about the Queen of Spain coming to Perú for a visit. The most luxurious way to get there from Cusco would be an hour by car, then another hour by train. She would have none of it, so Perú made special arrangements to partly destroy a piece of Machu Picchu so a helicopter can fly her in. Totally hilarious. I love how Perú still has to kiss Spain's ass. You'll notice that half of South America speaks spanish. It's because the Spaniards conquered everyone they could find. The Inca civilization was the biggest and most prominent empire on the planet around the 1500's. Not for long because the Spanish conquered the whole empire with a force of something like a hundred and eighty dudes. Having the advantage of a cavalry, canons, steel, and surprise they stormed and took the capital. Completely amazing how it happened. I mean could you imagine two hundred guys taking down Washington and controlling the United States? Shyeeah right. Anyhow the spaniards took or burned most of the original culture. While all the natives are now speak Spanish, love gold, and drink coffee. Even today, it cracks me up that their former territory still bends over backwards to make them comfortable. What a world.

11/27/2010 - Huacahina, Peru: Sandy Outcomes

The drive to Huacachina was about four or so hours straight down the the Pan American highway. What made it more interesting, is I didn´t have a GPS, map, compass, or even at one point gasoline. Since BJ took off to do some volunteering in Pisco, I went alone to meet up with some buddies in the desert. I´m glad to report that, once I used my expensive engineering degree to fix my gas intake problem, (the gas tank was empty, complex solution: buy more gas and place it into the tank), I was able to make it to my destination by asking only four people. Good thing I don´t have any manly qualms about asking for directions or else I´d be fucked. And lucky enough, right as I pulled into town my friends had just arrived via bus. Perfect timing, within minutes we found a great cheap hostel and were having a beer poolside. Love it!

The next day, the Danes, Englishman, and I booked our sandboarding and dune buggy tour. So as the afternoon grew late, we piled into this absurdly large twelve man dune buggy, and headed for the dunes. It was fantastic, I just wish I was driving or had an able motorcycle or quad. Nonetheless, it was a blast flying up razorbacks, and going up and down bowl and giant bowl. First stop was a small hill to test our sandboarding skills. Not too bad, it´s definetly harder than the snow version. Since the boards aren´t really the highest quality, as soon as you run out of wax, the board pretty much comes to a grinding hualt. Still super fun though.

Me, Teresa, Christina, and a Britt abroad: Liam

It all started going down hill (ha) when we were taken to some huge hills. Now after three beers, I´ve got all the confidence in the world, so when I see people flying down head first. I´m all for it. I don´t even bother waiting in line, I get a running start and jump on down. What a blast, bring on the next hill. More good ideas keep coming as Liam and I decide that a race is in order. Of course, we both ate shit pretty far down the hill. It´s news to me, but yes, sand actually does hurt when going top speed. Whatever, last hill is next. Now to say it is a hill is a little judgemental. It was more like a a smooth sandy mountain. From the top you can see people heading down on their bellies and diminishing into tiny little dots seconds later. I could have sworn this one chick was going so fast that she was going to fly of the next hill. No time to think, just hold on, don´t use your feet as brakes, and hope for the best. Everything was going great until I was about three quarters of the way down, some idiot chick not paying attention walks right where I´m headed. I yell at her dumbass while hitting the footprints of previous riders, and then proceed to lose my grip, and the board comes out from underneath me. I was going pretty damn fast, so when it came out there was no chance for a non sandy outcome. It was fucking everywhere. Up my nose, in my eyelids, a good wad to chew on, and all in my ears. It didn´t hurt too bad, but what was worse was attempting to clean myself up for the next ten minutes. Eventually I decide I´ve got enough out of my mouth and eyes to continue. And as the sun was setting, we went out one last time in the buggy for some last photo opportunities and one last chance for Liam and I to be idiots and roll down some unsuspecting hill. Hey, when and where else can two mid twenties men act like jackasses while having too much fun? I can´t think of a better place.

After all of our sand dune adventures, we were stuck in a hot gringo´s paradise. Good food, good people, and a pool. How nice. Next was a tour that Liam wanted to see. Aptly named the poor mans Galapagos. It was a great little boat ride. Albeit overpriced, but hey when am I going to be that close to a Galapagos knock off ever again? So I ponied up the twenty bucks, and woke up extremely early the next morning. (6:30!) After a bus ride we arrived to the docks. All the camera wielding tourists were herded into boats armed with thirty seats and a bilingual guide. Withing twenty minutes, we were bird watching in the Islas de Ballestas. I was giddy to see my first wild penguin. They really are akward yet styling on land. Superstars. Other than penguins there are tones of different types of birds. Swimming, flying, and pooping all over the island. there are over seven million birds that call the islands home along with a big pride of lazy sealions. It was amazing to see a giant rocky hill barely visible because of the vast avain population. It wasn´t jumping off of waterfalls in El Salvador, but still worth my twenty bucks. Next up is the three days ride to the South American tourist capital of Cusco.

Lazy mofos

Birds!

11/23/2010 - Lima, Peru: Want Some Weed?

Peruvians are funny people. First off they have no fucking clue how to drive. For example, a taxi sped by almost clipping BJ and the curb, only to stop second later at a red light. What a jackass. They really have no idea about common courtesy or a sense of ´we´re all in it together´. No. Every car, van, tuc tuc, or bus for themselves.  They´ve been the worst drivers I´ve encountered on this trip by far. It was stressful to say the least. Once I reached safe ground in the city, I got an even better idea how funny these people can be. everyone is super friendly.  They´ll ask where you´re from, or point you in the right direction, but as soon as your polite conversation is at an end.  They´ll try and sell you weed. Seriously unexpected. Eventually I learned to make a joke about it. It´s all pretty comical when you sit down at a restaurant for dinner and the waiter immediately offers you weed. Oh, no thanks, but dinner would be super.

Now, you might think that getting stuck in Lima might be a bad thing. Really, it was pretty great. There´s a giant circle of shit getting in, but once you make it to Miras Flores you´re golden. It felt a lot like a little slice of Los Angeles. Too many people spoke English, and it was cleaner than any other city I´ve seen on this trip. I spent nearly a week there waiting for the remains of my motorcycle to be brought back to life by a real mechanic. The days were long and lazy, filled with random strolls about the city and drinks in our quiet hostel at night. I could have stayed there another week easy. BJ on the other hand coudn´t wait to get out.

Like I said, it was pretty much uneventful. I met a crazy local chick. Literally crazy. We invited her out with us, and she totally dominated the conversation. She was a strange kid, but definitely made it interesting. The best part was when she thought that airplanes controlled the weather on a day to day basis. Correcting her gently was way out of the question. As it was too much damn fun making fun of her right to her face without her knowing. We didn´t really intend to be so mean, but she had been annoying us all day long, so it was time we had our fun. Other than a fun barbecue for a non profit, it was otherwise extremely lazy time, but hey after traveling for such a long time.  It was just what I needed.

Last few things about Lima, BJ saw a naked fat lady walking the streets like nothing was going on. We both became adults and got yellow fever vaccinations, and for the first time on this trip, BJ and I split up to meet later at a location to be determined. Duhn duhn duhn....

11/19/2010 - Chasquitambo, Perú: Slingshot Engaged

There are really two kinds of motorcyclists: people that are going down, and people that are going down again. I'm going to have to be lumped into the second group, because yesterday BJ and I had a pretty good wreck. In hindsight I can tell there were some crucial errors in judgment, but hey, you live and learn. With this lesson I got extremely lucky, but still had to learn it the very hard way.

It all began during the ascent to Huaraz. My bike was running pretty bad, so I fixed what I thought was the problem during our stay. But even after a clean air filter, I was experiencing the same trouble. My bike was struggling, and couldn't go above 45 miles per hour. It was damn frustrating when you're used to hitting 70 with no problem. After a little discussion, BJ and I decide to make it to the next big city in hopes that they would have parts for my bike. (Mistake number one.)

I head out of town and it's really slow going, the thin air is making my bike and I go miserably slow. So after about twenty miles, we decide to just tow my bike. I bust out my nice, unused tow strap, and we fix it to the bikes. Now we know how to attach it properly, so that in case of emergency the rider in back can easily let go of the rope, thus separating the two bikes. But my tow strap is made for cars, so it's not really possible to tie it up that way. So I just wrap it around the handle bars a few times and call it good. (Mistake number two.)

Things are going great, fifty miles later we awkwardly come to a stop for lunch. Afterwards, we head out again and find this is where the road is going to be steep and windy. After all, we are going to head down the damn Andes. So instead of stopping and having a quick chat, to discuss our plan of attack, we avoid the hassle of stopping both bikes together and just carry on down the road. (Mistake number three.)

When towing anything with a strap or chain, the goal for the least amount of damage, is to keep the strap taunt. To do this the person in the back does all the breaking. Can you see where this is going? It's so damn stupid and reckless to look back on it, but I was heading down the Andes riding the brakes for two bikes. (Final mistake number four.)

I've never had a more terrifying feeling then mashing the brakes with zero results. I'm speeding way out if control and it's looking pretty devastating. My only saving grace is that when I actually race past BJ, I know we're attached and not in a place where I can fly off the side of a hill. The moment when I'm in front of BJ, we both are thinking the same thing. This is going to hurt. Slingshot enganged. Of course the strap pulls taunt and rips the handle bars straight for the ground. All I could do is hold on, as I was going about 50 miles per hour. I'm thrown pretty quickly to the ground, and before I knew it, I was dragged to a stop, and though my heart was racing, I knew I was ok. BJ too was ok, even though I pretty much just launched the bike out from under him.

It's funny looking back at it, but the first thing I do is ask if BJ is ok. He said he's fine, and as I try to get up and survey the damage, I can't because my motorcycle is on top of my leg. You'd think I'd be more concerned about that. Ha. Anyhow, my bike is fucked, I ripped the left pannier off, broke a foot peg, broke the mirror off, bent the handle bars, but surprisingly my clutch lever is still intact. There's a silver lining to everything. And my motor is still broken. A little situation has arisen, screw the original plans for the day.

As with all situations like this, the goodness of people usually comes out. We happened to crash in a small village in front of what seemed like the entire damn town, so rapidly people were there to help and laugh at the stupid gringos. After they found out we were in fact fine, one truck driver offers to take us into town. What a guy, he patiently waited while BJ and finally calmed down, and got our heads around the situation. Next up, load the carcass of my bike into the back of a five foot high flatbed. With the help of about eight guys it was a breeze, and before I knew it I was chatting in the cab of a semi with Julio the truck driver.

I'll say it again, we got fucking lucky. As BJ and I were joking about it later; had we gone over one the steep mountain sides, whoever would have found us would have been like: oh no, that's so sad. Wait their bikes were strapped together? What the fuck were they thinking? They probably deserved to go off the side of a mountain for being such idiots. Luckily for us, that wasn't the case as it seriously could have been so much worse. After all, the only insurance policy I actually have worked out great. My boots, jacket, and helmet protected me pretty well. Thank goodness I'm at least smart enough to always gear up. I got off with some gnarly bruises and scrapes, but no broken bones or serious injuries.

This kind of shit happens when you're on the road constantly. The only thing to do is chalk it up to the whole scheme of the adventure, and get back to it. Whatever.

11/17/2010 - Huaraz, Perú: Churro Situation

I'm pretty melancholy about my current churro situation. I'm sad that tomorrow I know I have to leave them behind. While on the other hand I'm so happy I had the chance to get to know them. I just had three after dinner, and I'm extremely full, but I still want to eat more of those little gems. For a grand total of a fifteen cents you get a fresh doughy, sugary crust, with deliciously sweet apple cinnamon filling. I would have discovered them earlier, but the night before I was all stoked to try one and the little sweet old lady that was selling them was asleep at her cart. I just didn't have the heart to wake her up. Had I known, I would have shouted at her, but since I didn't, I let her be. Definitely going to miss them, but as with all my recent travels I eventually have to leave them behind.

Having to leave Northern Peru was not as difficult, because one, I needed a shower, and two, I was happy to get out of the desolation of the desert. The camping was great, but I was eating up too many miles a day since there was nothing really to do or see. It was tiring to do two 300 plus miles day in a row, and see nothing change. It was totally surreal. Finally on the third day I got to see some mountains. I was certiantly happy for a slight change of scenery. Even though it was going to be a long drive on dirt roads it was still different and exciting.

Hills! So exciting.

Sunset from the top of a mountain where I camped for the night.

The road up the mountain was unlike anything else I've ever driven on. It followed a river at the bottom of the canyon for most of the way, but was dirty, rocky, and windy. A bit later I realized I was in the heart of Peruvian mining country. The hills were tall and sharp with plenty of ore crumbling away towards the valley floor. It seriously looked like I was driving into fucking Mordor. It's was spookier still, because often enough, these little one way tunnels would pop up around a corner or something. It was tough because before your eyes could adjust to the darkness, you were slipping on mud or heading straight for a wall or troll. It was such a bizarre and memorable ride. Really unlike anything I've ever driven on before.

Half expecting Shelob the giant spider upon entry.

Once I arrived at Huaraz, it was a pretty nice little mountain city. The next few day were lazy and otherwise uneventful. It was a nice change, to chill out and be a lazy bum for a bit. After all, it's my vacation.

11/13/2010 - Máncora, Perú: Where Am I?

Fact: northern Peru is massive, and is pretty much one huge ass desert. It's so wild when you cross a border and the landscape changes dramatically. The first stop is a long haul from our last stop in Cuenca, Ecuador to Máncora, Perú. It was quite a drive, with a long border crossing. It was all kind of exhausting, since the border guy was an idiot, and I had to fill in my paperwork about five times for him. But when we finally ended up in Máncora, it was fabulous and I was instantly brought back to life. I was at a great hostel, and while playing a game of pool, BJ notices some friends that we met in Cartagena, Colombia. Stoked, that they're there, I get some beers and my teammate Christina and I start kicking some ass at fooseball.

Typical northern Peru.  Whole lot of nada.

Hostels are funny places. I've travelled a bit, and I wouldn't do it any other way. The people are just friendlier, and not always secluded in thier room. Hostels kind of force people to meet and talk to each other. Which for me is great, since I didn't come here to know everything about BJ. I've met some incredible people at hostels, but what I love the most is random coincidence. All along the gringo trail, like minded people somehow end up in the same cities at the same places. Not always because of Lonely Planet, but there's a certain crowd. There were the Germans girls I saw all over Nicaragua and Costa Rica, or this Canadian dude I saw in Panama and a few places in Colombia. So you can imagine, when BJ and I saw some super fun girls we'd met previously in northern Colombia. We were happy to hang again. It was easy to have fun, of course, since our hostel is what's known as a party hostel. Tell tale sign: it has a bar. It's far too easy to get roped into these bars because they're always filled with like minded travelers. Why go out and see the city, when there's a great group of people already here? Who knows, sometimes life is filled with so many damn difficult decisions. Oh well, that night was easy and fun. It got weird the next day with the girls though.


We had planned the night before to go on a motorcycle ride the next day. All of us were kind of hungover, so after a long directionless ride, we decided to picnic in the wilderness under some shady trees. It soon become apparent that Christina and Aeriel are the exact female equivalent of BJ and I. It was really uncanny to talk about. Christina like me, does about zero planning and can go with the flow really easily. Where am I? Oh, Máncora? Cool. While BJ and Aeriel are a bit more calculated in their traveling. Also, they're a little less reserved, BJ makes clear whatever is on his mind. An example while talking with females: "it's so crazy, chicks just get fat while they travel, and guys just continue to lose weight." All hilarious, but it was also funny seeing another set of same sex travel partners interact after such a long time together. BJ and I travel together, but were still pretty independent. You hungry buddy? Nope? Ok, see you after lunch. All pretty easy. They seem to have a similar groove. It was like looking into a travel mirror and seeing our chick twinsies. Weird, but great since of course we got along wonderfully.

After we said our fond farewells, BJ and I took off the next day heading south. The girls were heading on a twenty hour bus ride directly to Lima. BJ refused to believe that there was nothing worthwhile to see in Northern Perú, but after scouring on the Internet and guidebook, he found squat. Looks like camping in the desert is the best option. Too bad we're stuck in sand dunes, and just locating a spot far enough away and secluded enough from the highway is a hassle. Deep sand isn't a motorcyclists best friend. You've pretty much can't stop, or you'll sink and spin the tires until you're too frustrated that you stop, tip the bike over, and fill in the massive hole your tire just created. It's a bit of work since my bike weighs over five hundred pound loaded, so you can imagine dropping it and picking it up really isn't the easiest thing to do. But I'll have to say that I love desert camping. It's what I grew up with. There's wood to burn, the stars are fabulous, the solitude is a nice change, and it's usually hot and dry. Perfect for writing a shitty song in Spanish, reading a good book, or catching up on some needed sleep. It's simple, relaxing, and I suppose something that I was looking forward to on this trip.

Standard procedure when driving on deep sand. Fun!