Toques on Moto

Welcome to Toques On Moto

2010-08-20T11:20:00.014-04:00

Ripping up Deals Gap on the way home through North Carolina, (zeephoto.com)
Navigating the pot holes from Manaus to Boa Vista in Brasil on my way out of the Amazon.
Hundreds of crabs on the beach where I was swimming in a sand dune park called Lencois in Northern Easten Brasil.
The Torres in Chile at 630am from the far side of the lake.
Llama's grazing the plains on our way to Uyuni, Bolivia.
Heading to Igazu Falls up Ruta 14 in Argentina from Buenas Aires.
I finally made it to the End of the World after 3.5 months on March 1st 2010.
Julie and I standing on the Salt Flats in Uyuni, Bolivia.
El Calafate, in Argentina after visiting the Moreno Glacier where I pitched my tent in a field for the night.
A Guanaco atop a hill as I was passing through the Torres del Payne National Park in Chile.
Just south of Santiago, Chile, these group of young fellows were totally stoked to get their picture taken on their day at the beach.
Just off the PanAmerica in Peru just south of Lima, Julie and I pulled off into the desert for some adventure. Over confident in the traction we almost burried ourselves in the sand a considerable distance from the road, but, luckily we walked the bike and pushed hard until we got onto firmer ground.
Young kids we met in Guatemala just north east of Lago Atitlan who lived up on a mountain side and who were also expert kite fliers.
Julie and I getting a shot together as we just crossed into Guatemala from Belize.
Mexico, visiting Palenque a beautifully restored ruin site.

Welcome to Toquesonmoto,

Here you are welcome to browse through 8.5 months of motorcycle adventure over 61,000km through the eastern states of the USA, Central America and South America through 17 countries and 38 border crossings. For the initial 3 months and 20,000km Julie was my trusty co-pilot and navigator who read and researched the path to follow. I was solely responsible for handling the machine and bike maintenance. The adventure was so interesting and stimulating that although we were together 24 hours a day for 90 days we only quarreled once because Julie was too hot in the baking 43 degree C desert. She couldn't decide whether or not she wanted a day-old plastic wrapped cheese sandwich at the gas station or get back on the bike and head to an air conditioned restaurant further down the road which meant being subjected to the baking hot and dry wind. It was a sad day on February 14th 2010 when Julie had to leave me in Santiago, Chile. I was now alone, scared, but determined to continue on, to fulfill a dream, and ride onward to the End of the World. It took me a further 5.5 months to circumnavigate South America where I worked on a sheep farm in Argentina, I learned Portugese in Brazil, learned to SCUBA dive in Colombia & contracted Dengue Fever, Got held at gun point and had a machette held over me by a masked Bandito in Guatemala, and sailed through the waters of the San Blas Islands along the Darrien Gap with a nutty professor from Italy in Panamanian waters. We did our best to detail the entire trip from our opinion and point of view so read along and enjoy the trip through our eyes and experiences.

All the best, and happy riding,

Julie and Greg.

Ride Reflection

2010-08-20T10:08:00.007-04:00

Julie, my co-pilot, looking after the BBQ, all the more reason to be home.
Pretty but poisonous, A couple of mushrooms found out in the Fundy National Forest.
In contrast to the white fruiting bodies above, here we see a bright red fun-guy, "Fungus" among the bryophytes better known as sphagnum moss.
The Cocagne river nearby to where I live, In the scene you see the old bridge pillar.
The fields out in Bouctouche New Brunswick.

It has now been slightly over a month since I have been home and I feel that I'm just now settling into the groove again.... or rut, however you chose to view the "work, eat, sleep routine".

Since arriving at home I have sort of become a bit of a recluse creature rarely wandering far from my house and not speaking to very many people. On the way home from a little motorcycle ride the other day I noticed the next door neighbor unpacking his car with a bunch of fly fishing rods and equipment. I pulled over to chat and we both realized we'd been living next to one another for 4 years and have never met. I don't have a cell phone, nor am I a member of face page, so, he can't text me, which I guess means we'll never hang out.

As I am "broke.com" at the end of the trip, I have not been partaking in a lot of adventurous activities other than cycling, and hiking in order to whip my aching body back into shape. In total the entire trip ended up being 61,230 km over 245 days, 17 countries, and 38 border crossings which gobbled up all but 2 pages in my passport and my entire life saving plus a little more. As for the bike the following numbers speak for themselves.

I used:

7 rear tires

4 front tires

3 sets of chain and sprockets (I'm still running the 3rd set)

1 fork seal and wiper

1 arc welder (SMAW) to fix my rack

1 tube of 5 minute epoxy

1 tube of silicon

1 tube of Shoe goo

1 package of JB Weld

haywire for odd fixes

10 cans of chain lube 20 bucks a can $200 bones

1 dismantle of my rear shock for maintenance

1 hose clamp to replace the old corroded one on rad hose.

2 rear tubes to repair the 2 flat tires I had in the rear

4 spark plugs

1 valve shim

12 oil changes (30 litres)

90 litres of oil total (because KLR's burn oil) roughly $800 dollars worth!

4575 litres of gasoline at roughly 80 cents a litre $3700 dollars

various nuts and bolts that I robbed from my kit from time to time 6mm metric NF

1 tent lost to bandito

1 thermarest lost to bandito

1 walmart leatherman given as a gift

Roughly 15-150 dollars a day depending on what you do ie. swing in a hammock or SCUBA dive.

In the 5 times that I took the bike out for a spin after returning home the following things have happened:

I blew a headlight bulb

Speedometer cable broke

Ram mount for GPS broke

So I guess I should add these to the list of required spares that I needed to replace. Its funny that the bike waited until I got home for the GPS mount and the Speedo cable to break as those two parts are simply unavailable in most places in the world outside of the US or Canada.

Homeward Bound, New Brunswick, Canada.

2010-07-20T18:51:00.005-04:00

Mt. Katahdin, Maine's highest Mountain and terminus of the Appalachian Trail, looming ahead of the setting sun. (Named by the Penobscot Indians meaning "The Greastest Mountain") . This scene was proof that I was just a few hundred Km from home and all the more reason to keep on keepin on!

The Boys at Dirt World helped me out by letting me change my oil at their shop. I wasn't going to bother with the oil change this close to home, but when I saw the small shop I knew they'd look after me.

Twin Oaks camp ground where I accidentily set up on the 33 dollar site rather than the 20 dollar site. Apparently I took advantage of the site with the electrical outlet...OOps! In the end the man let me off the hook...but at this point of the trip I really wasn't in the mood for argueing about cash because I had nothing left anyhow. He was cool about everything and probably suprised that I actually stopped into his ranger hut to plead my case rather than bolt outta there.

Along the Blue Ridge Skyway the mist and cold clouds blocked out the sun for most of the 150mile road and made the riding kind of sketchy. For several Km there were deer crossing at the "Deer Crossing" Signs...go figure?

In good ole Stuarts Draft I pulled into Shenandoah Acres Camp Ground and found a dry place all to myself. It was a quiet night with all the heavy rain that came down.

Rolling out of Virginia I happened to see a sign that suggested that all trucks were to take the I-88 if heading to the New England States. I quickly referenced the GPS and decided to go for it. Instantly the heavy traffic petered out and I was cruising along with the highway pretty much all to myself. Only an hour or so later the scenery of Up-State New York began to show its beauty. I was admiring the green, lush mountains in the setting sun when it occured to me that I should be finding a place to stay for the night. The gas gage was reading low...which means my trip odometer was reading 350km, so, I pulled into a gas station to fill up. Here I was told about Twin Oaks campground which turned out to be a lovely spot about 5 miles off the highway in a wooded area with camp sites around a lake teeming with fish and bull frogs. The campground was pretty much deserted and I plunked down the tent on a crowned portion of land so if the threat of rain became apparent I'd stay dry for a slight bit longer. My worries of rain were in vain however, and the sky cleared and offered a stunning view of the Milkyway and millions of bright stars. I felt the sandman come early and retreted to the tent for a solid 10 hour sleep interrupted occasionally by a belching "BUARR" from some proud bull frog out on the lake trying to impress the ladies.

Morning came and I decided that I'd be having a breakfast of soggy "Chicken Sub" that I saved from the prior afternoon. I figured that my cast iron digestive tract would make mince meat of the chicken. For a few hours at least, I thought I had beaten the odds......

It was getting on about 4:30 Pm when I crossed through New Hampshire from Vermont and roughly about 5 Pm when I got to Southern Maine and hit the home stretch on the I-95. I knew that I was about 7 hours from home and that I had already ridden 7 hours, but, the temptation of riding more that 1100km in one day and getting into Canada, was enough to make me want to meet one more challenge.....ride more than a 1000km.

The further I got north the more evident the freeze thaw action on the asphalt became. The road began to have bumps, cracks and repaired potholes.....but nothing compared to other countries. The sun was just setting as I got to a popular look out over Mt. Katahdin. I was the first one there that evening. As I was inspecting a squeek on the front wheel I noticed several cars pulling into the view point to watch the setting sun. I stopped for a moment and popped a shot ,but, I knew that sundown meant bugs on the visor and freezing cold temperatures. Already for the last hour I was shivering, but, being stubborn, not wanting to unpack and dig deep into the bags for the long ago packed away winter riding gear(.....geeze it is afterall July!) I just suffered and pushed through the discomfort.

I arrived at the Canadian border and I was greeted by a cheery young crossing guard that politely went through the Q&A and let me proceed to home. Pulling into Canadian highways was a breath of fresh air. There were no cars and only a few trucks to contend with and the only worry was running into a moose, deer, or bear on the road.

I managed to pull into Fredericton that night and beat on the door of a long time friend and motorcycle buddy who rode to Panama and back earlier this year. (http://www.soreass2010.blogspot.com/)

Peter got up with his gal Melissa who made me a fried egg sandwich before I essentially zonked out for the night after a solid 14 hour 1100Km ride. In the morning I was heading to my home to see Julie after a long 5 month time period of not seeing each other.

Ridge Riding Through The Carolina's, USA

2010-07-20T18:17:00.004-04:00

The Gang that took me in for the night and treated me like familiy. I enjoyed the company and hospitality of these great folks and savored the food and local beer and local tonics which was shared with me. I'll never forget these people and hopefully we'll all hook up again in the future.

Riding at the back of the pack has the added advantage combining my two favorite things, riding motorcycles and watching motorcycles.

The mountain cabin tucked away in the Ash and Maple forest up in the Hills of North Carolina.

The famous Deals Gap, fun ride of 318 Turns, in 11 miles.

After making my way up from New Orleans and into Alabama for the night, I pitched my tent in a State Campground in one of their "remote areas". Here I ran into a young couple set up at a picnic table under the light of a coleman lantern playing a bit of scrabble. I introduced myself and proceeded toward the loaded motorcycle to unpack and set up my brand new tent that I picked up at a giant camping and outdoors store that sold everything under the sun related to the outdoors.

I set my tent up knowing that the rain clouds, (that I finally out ran were looming on the horizon evident by the flashing black clouds that were occluding the stars and from the occasional rumble of thunder from above) would be moving in soon. After fully pegging out the tent I hopped inside and listened to the deafening crickets and cicada's. They were so loud infact, that their noise eventually seemed like white noise and dissappeared completely from the mind. Finally the first heavy drops hit the tent at about 1am and boys...O...boys did it ever rain. The rain came down so hard that the pressure from the water drops forced their way through the fly and I was showered by a light mist from the exploded drops screened by the fly sheet.

In the morning I pulled out and pointed the motorcycle northward and began cutting a little more easterly following the suggestion of the fellows from Cycle Rider to ride the "Tail of the Dragon" Route 129 that goes across the border from Tennessee to North Carolina. Luckily the first gas station that I inquired about the Dragons Tail at, informed me that I took the correct turn off and that the road was 12 miles at the next intersection. Fate couldn't have served me better and so I rode along the twistiest most famous road in the east which boasted 318 curves in 11 miles. I rode to the end of the curves and stopped into Deals Gap for a break where I met Andrew who was riding his Aprilla and carried on a conversation about the good ole KLR 650.

I pulled a U-turn and planned to head further northward as it was still a few hours until dark. At an interesting looking intersection with new asphalt I spotted a group of 6 riders on sport bikes. I decided to stop and inquire about where the intersection might possibly lead me. Within roughly 3 minutes Jonathan (one of the fellows from the group) had me convinced that I needed to experience the best riding in the east and followed that up with an offer to hang out at the Mountain Cabin that the Group had rented. As crazy as it may sound I was on the edge of saying no because of the proximity to home and the light at the end of the tunnel, but, I came to my senses and agreed that I'd hangout, have some BBQ'd steaks, beer and a dry warm place to stay for the night among like minded fun people.

In the morning the decision had to be made whether or not to head out or stay yet another night with my new friends and explore more of the epic roads that NC has to offer. Alas, this time I felt the need to move on and accepted the fact that I'd probably kick myself later for passing on good times, good riding and good people....but after 8 months it was time to keep moving.

After saying goodbye to the whole gang I hit the road and headed through the Great Smokey Mountains riding through the twisty roads along side rivers and bumper to bumper traffic. Although the scenery was terrific, the traffic was too much for me and I had to hit the interstate once again. I finally pulled into some familiar territory in Virginia. I found some of the old roads that me and my buddies used to ride bicycles on once upon a time for training camps when we'd get a jump on the competition with some early spring miles while the weather was still too bad back home. I followed the roads until I encountered Shenandoah Acres. Here I ended up pitching my tent under a roof that covered a group picnic table area. I knew the black clouds would open up in due time and luckily I was under cover when the clouds finally burst. The water came down in sheets and the thunder in the valley was tremendous. I crawled into my tent just as the rain tapered off and fell asleep exhausted pondering my destination in the morning.

Gawd bless Emerica

2010-07-11T04:03:00.004-04:00

The fellas, Cycle rider San Antonio, Texas. I could'nt have found a better bunch of guys to help me out. Left to Right: Will, Murray, Skip, Brian, Bruce, Gary, & me.

The roads went from single lane where everyone shared the road to, everyone gets their own lane. The poor KLR had to work hard just to keep pace with the traffic that now goes above and beyond the top speed of the tired horse that I ride.

This is apparently the face of Lincoln, have a carefull look and you might pick him out.

I just had to stop for the Pronghorn, They are a beautiful antelope native to the grasslands.

Gary invited me to stay at his family's house for the night and he took me out for some genuine San Antonio BBQ eats. It was a great night and I was so happy to hangout, shoot some pool, as well as, shoot the breeze with my new friend from Cycle rider.

My final tire change of the trip. The fellows from Cycle Rider in San Antonio, Texas stored my highway tires for 8 months and then helped me remount them lickity split first thing in the morning at about 730am. Although all the work was done early, Will took me out for breakfast which fueled me for the big ride into New Orleans some 900km down the road through lightening storms and pouring rain until 10pm. Luckily Brasil conditioned me for such conditions and it was a piece of cake.

Somewhere under the rainbow was the destination of the day. Although the rainbows were beautiful I knew that they only indicated that I'd be putting on my rain gear momentarily.

The land of the brave, just one more border to cross making it my 36th border crossing. I was nervous, but, the border guard was really cool and professional and let me pass into Texas with no delay. Good bye Mexico, and the adventures within.

The last few hundred Km's before the USA border were through arid desert and the landscape was a diverse mix of flat lands, canyons, and sierras.

The Canyons were deep and huge and I wondered how they were formed. Not long afterward however, the rains came down heavy and explained everything.

40 Casas, Batoplais, Mexico

2010-07-07T23:09:00.009-04:00

I rode 2500km to get here and I think that my new friends Jesus and his son Diego made the whole trip worth it.

I wanted to get a picture of the beer can and in doing so accidentially dropped the beast again. Luckily a truck came along within minutes and the owner helped me lift the thing.

Looking into the abyss and tring not to fall in. I'm sure that it would be a few lung fulls of screaming before you'd settle down and enjoy the scenery

The road heading down into Batoplias was literally cut into the mountain side.

I found a great pull off to have a whiz at. Meanwhile I decided to take a picture of the kind of roads that I've been driving.

I was really looking forward to hiking into the 40 Casa's just out side of Madera. Arriving at the gate there was a small community of Cabins. I was flagged into someones yard just before the gates were opened into the site and invited to breakfast. Here I met Jesus and his son Diego. Jesus was a great outdoor cook and was up staying at the family cabin for a week with his son Diego.
After Breakfast I asked Jesus and Diego if they wanted to be my guide and they hoppe don their bicycles and lead me into the parking lot at the trail head. From here we descended into a deep gorge and then up the other side where we could have a first hand look at some of the restored 1300 yr old structures at the Curenta Casa's.

Jesus and Diego chillin in the shade after the 2km hike which was pretty much all down hill, across a small bridge, and then all up hill......repeat in reverse direction.

After the hike in Jesus offered me one last supper, and cooked up some Burritos that had mixed potato's, onion's, peppers, hamburger, and tomatoe's with authentic mexican spice and cheese....it was deliciosos!

Lets look at that again...gettin hungry??

Just outside of Madera these log cabins were advertised as the Hostal on the lake. Stopped in and decided to stay the night and listen to the crickets.

As I was kinda in the middle of nowhere and overheard one of the two guys mentioning that my wallet was full of money after haggling over the price I slept with a knife open and ready this time.

I don't know if I'm paranoid now or just prepared?...Where is the fine line?

Kids at play in the valley leading into the town of Batoplias

The scenery and the mountain road into Batoplias was a dangerous a mix. Several times I looked down into the abyss below and noticed that my knees were litterally shaking enough to slap the tank.
The 60 km ride in was roughly 2 hours long and began with new asphalt which eventually became rough dirt road. I had to depressurize the tires to ensure adequate control along the road as there was alot of loose gravel and big rocks that were just waiting to take advantage of my spindly legs and arms in a struggle to take down the bike.

A Torro keeping a lazy eye on me as I photographed the valley, little did he know that he'd be the best shot of the bunch.

The last Bridge crossing before Batoplias. Along the road into this village there were numerous beer cans strewn all over the dirt road for about 30km. I had met the rowdy fellows at the top of the canyon and to say hello they decided that one of the ten guys piled into the back of the ford F 150 pick up would fire a couple of rounds off with his shot gun. Since the armed robbery I'm much more aware of my surroundings and upon entering the Canyon I was thinking to myself that this scene was unnervingly familiar. I read later that any traveller into this region should be weary as the military recently raized all the maurianna plants and thus crushed the economy in the valley. Subsequently kidnappings and hostage takings have been more common, however tourists are not commonly targeted.

Robert and Madalin from Sweden just starting out their ride south on a BMW GS 1200. Of all the places I'd meet someone it was here in Batoplias, in a gorge deeper than the Grand Canyon..... called the "Copper Canyon"

Old colorful buildings made up most of Batoplias' village.

As a matter of fact Batoplias was the second town after Mexico city to recieve electricity

Meandering the street at 7:00am. Due to a time change I could'nt figure out why all the places to eat were closed.

A Heron taking a rest in the mist just before night fall in a Mexican tourist town.

Ian (in Blue)and Alain with the bicycle. Ian is just starting out his ride south as well I met the both of them on ruta 200 heading north as they were heading south. Alain has been riding for a long time and once rode through NB which I was appauled to hear was the only place thus far in his travels that he was assulted by drivers who tossed garbage out windows at him. Come off it ... NB!

I've covered quite a bit of ground since my last post in Puerto Vallarta and I'm currently situated in Chihuahua.

Since Puerto Vallarta I began heading north and stopped into a once trendy tourist town that John Wayne and Jack Kerouac used to enjoy called Mazatlan. I strolled the historical old town and meandered my way through the deserted streets enjoying the colonial ambience, but alas, its rainy season and noone was out and everything was closed so I headed back to my hotel for a chilly nights sleep in the powerfully airconditioned room.

In the morning I headed inland for the first time in a long time and headed up ruta 45 to Durango which is touted to be Mexico's most scenic drive. Indeed it was scenic, with epic vista's and beautiful pine treed mountains. Today was the first time in ages that I smelled pine trees and it was a scent that let me know that I was getting closer to home and fly fishing.

The 300km ride to Durango was 6 hours in duration because of all the turns and twists that the road threw out. Intermittedly all day it was either sunny or raining so the going was slow and tough. The aird county side was experiencing rain for the first time in ages so I was happy to be there and yet again witness rain in the desert.

The road continued to be twisty after Durango heading through foothill like terrain among the prairies. At times the road dipped into deep rough and rocky valleys and then ascended into soft yellow glowing grasslands. I pulled over several times to get photographs and in doing so managed to pick up a nail in my rear tire. I noticed the bike was wobbling a bit in the corners and stopped to investigate. I have learned that if I think that there is a problem for some reason...there is a problem and I must stop and look. Alas, I spotted the leaking tire and the tiny bent nail embedded in the rubber. I pulled out a can of insta-flate and this got me to the next little town that had a hotel that had "Economical Hotel $100" painted on the side of the red brick building. I pulled in and asked the man with a moustache and cowboy hat about accomidations and indeed they had a room available. I checked in and confirmed the price. The guy blabbed on in bad english that, yes, the room was a hundred dollars. I corrected him that it was 100 pesos.....then he corrected me that it was 150 pesos...then I mentioned that there was a larger than life Picaso billboard on his building stating that it was 100 pesos. He repled that my room had two beds.....I repled that I was sleeping in one of the two beds. We quickly reached a stalemate. I was the only one who knew that I had a flat tire in the parking lot so I quickly pulled 120 pesos which he happily accepted and then offered his garage to me for bike parking so it worked out well for me in the end.

In the morning I rode over to a gas station to inflate the tire and managed to limp the bike over to a tire change place. It was 8:30am and I had to get some 60 year old man to help me. In the beginning he did'nt know what to do so I let him go at it for a little while before jumping in (30 seconds) and then just took over using all his tools and work place. I got him to help me! After watching all the other skilled tire changers in South America do their trade I feel that I'm getting good at it as well. The old fella had some tricks up his sleeve and together we had both my tires changed (the ones that I been carrying since Ushuaia and Buenas Aires) and a new tube in place to continue my journey to the Curenta Casa's in Madera.

I pulled into Hidlago del Parral and filled up with gas and decided to have some taco's at a local joint. Just then I saw a speeding 15 passenger Ford van with 7-8 masked men dressed in black with machine guns blast by with the doors open. Then another truck full of men and then another followed by a few police trucks. I finished up my meal and decided that I was heading outta town to the country after that.

I still had enough daylight to make it into Batoplias and I followed up a winding road that could have passed for some park in Alberta lined with pine tress and mountains. I began a descent down a hairy dirt road that just kept getting progressively more narrow and steep as the Km's clicked by. At some points I couldn't resist but to look down and in doing so I felt like I was gonna drive right over the edge and enjoy a solid 40 second free fall into the 1500meter deep canyon. The descent was so far, that the road was nearly 30km long using switchbacks and cutting along the mountain to descend 1.5 km vertically into the very warm river gorge.

I tried checking into the hotel that the guide book suggested called Monse's place in Batoplias but there was a Funeral going on in town and all the rooms were taken. The owner, Monse, suggested the next place over that was 150 pesos per night. I thought, "perfect this is going to be easy". I checked into the place next door and I was told that the room was 200 pesos. I informed the man that I was told by Monse that the rooms were 150 each. To that statement the owner simply repled that the price was increased as there was no more availabilty at Monses ..."take it or leave it"! These peope are so stupid because that comment confirmed that I was staying only one night and heading outta there in the morning rather than spending 2 days there to enjoy the town.....typical....." plan for today, not for the future".

It rained hard for about 2 hours that night and while eating dinner I met a couple named Robert and Madalin from Sweden who also arrived in this little village by motorcycle. They were just starting out on their trip so over a few beers we chatted late into the evening sharing stories and enjoying the company of similar minded individuals.

The road out of Batoplias in the morning was no problem at all and although I had to back track up the rough road it seemed like a new road in the opposite direction. Twice I nearly lost control but thanks to the knobby tire I put on the day before it gripped well and saved my bacon.

I was on my way to the Curenta Casas and pulled into Madera stopping briefly at a hotel that advertised tourist information. Upon entering the hotel I asked about the 40 casas and was given a pamphlet. I asked about a few minor details including hours and parking etc. The girl working the desk informed me that she'd never been and had no idea. I was astonished because I just rode 2500km to get there and only 43km down the road from her town were the ruins and she'd never been?

Anyhow I kept everying low profile and began seaching out accomidation for the night and happened upon some log cabins at a lake that were advertised as a "hostal" on a highway sign. The guy wanted 400 pesos a night and I got chatting and got him down to 350 and for the tranquillity of the place and the ambience of the log cabin it was well worth the price after sleeping in mosquito infested, cigarette burned pillow cases and plastic beds etc. It was so quiet that the silence was making me nervous. For 8 months I have had loud music, loud people, cars, motorcycles, slamming doors, A/C, Fans, birds, roosters, barking dogs, crying babies.....the list is endless which has been in my surroundings. Now there was silence and only my own thoughts to hear. As I was alone in a log cabin that was creeking in the wind and with the occasional bump in the night my mind started wandering. I began repeating the conversation between the men at the cabin office where by one of the fellows stated that my wallet was full of dinero. (Its unbelieveable how nosy...curious some of the people are that they'll peer right into your wallet so that you're looking at their scalp while you're pulling out a few bills to pay, or if I need to open up my motorcycle boxes how I get swarmed my curious onlookers positioning for a better vantage point) I actually prepared a open knife beside my bed for the night just so that I'd be ready for my midnight visitor. Call it paranoid or what ever but having a gun in your face and a machette touted at you for 5 minutes of your life and you'll look at things differently from then on.

In the morning I awoke and had the bike packed early. I rode up to the gate entrance to the 40 Casa's and noticed that it wasn't open yet....should have known better it was 5 minutes before 9:00 am silly me! It was then that I head someone whistling I looked around and finally saw a fellow in a red shirt motioning me to enter his yard. I decided to pull in and see what all the fuss was about and I was soon sitting at an outdoors table having an egg buritto and coffee as a kind gesture from Jesus and his son Diego. I told them about my plan to hike into the 40 Casas and asked if they would like to join me for the walk. After a short pause the father and son changed their clothes and hopped on their mountain bikes to lead me down a 2km dirt road to the trail head.

I parked the bike and followed the guys on a 2 km walk that was essentially 1km down and 1 km up to the Casas. The casas are dated to be roughly 1300yrs old. One piece of information I read was that the site had been in use from pre-ceramic to about 1340 when it was ramsacked and destroyed by a neighboring tribe as this spot was a great vantage point along an important trade route.

Anyhow the site was beautiful and I mentioned to Jesus that I'd love to live at that site today overlooking the green mountains and breathing the fresh pine scented air. He agreed and the three of us rested at the ruins for the better part of 45 minutes just taking it in.

After hiking back along the same route we finally made it back to Jesus' and Diegos summer cabin and had a feed of beef burrito's that Jesus prepared over the outdoor stove. The meal was delicious and a great meal to replenish some energy. Jesus offered me a place to stay for the night but I for some reason declined making up some excuse that I needed to get to Chihuahua. Looking back at the photos later that day I was saddened that I did'nt get to know these wonderful people better and that I opted to head off into a city and to a more impersonal environment.

Tomorrow I will push for the US border and hopefully enter with out too many problems.

Puerto Vallarta, Mexico

2010-07-03T22:03:00.006-04:00

Sand sculptures and other displays of art was common on the sea wall in Puerto Vallarta.

Two dudes from the last supper.

A back drop to a theatre stage over looking the bay.

From Puerto Vallarta looking north west to the next town over, Marina Acros. I saw the HMCS Edmonton, HMCS Whitehorse and another frigit here in the bay visiting from Canada, Hrmmmm, Maybe I should join the Navy!!

Brass statues dot the sea wall creating a certain ambience to any walk.

Welcome to Puerto Vallarta, its quite a place to party if you have the energy!!!!!

A touristy beach front which has everything from fine restaurants to nick nack shops and cheap tattoo's apparently, this, according to a 60 something year old American woman who told me she had 12 hours booked for the following day.

The 400km ride up the coast sort of looked alot like this shot which is the reason 400km took me the better part of 10 hours to get to Puerto Vallarta.

From Playa Azul to Puerto Vallarta, the climate changed from Banana plantations to aird dry looking decidious forest.

These beautiful red blossoming trees dot the landscape, here with the mountains and agave plants it was just to much to pass by without a photo.

Acapulco, Mexico

2010-07-01T10:35:00.004-04:00

So I pulled into Acapulco to see what all the fuss was about and I was delighted to see that it had quite a nice beach front and because its low season I had the beach and pretty much the hostal all to myself.

In the morning I happned to spy a lonely Planet Guide book behind the front desk at the hostal and asked if I could buy it, or atleast borrow it. I was allowed to look at it for the day and so I took off towards Star Bucks for some over priced Java and spent the better part of the afternoon planning the next 5000km of my trip through mexico and circling towns and sights on my route home.

In the late afternoon I took off on a stroll down the main drag past all the neon pretty lights and filled up on local street meat. After eating I b-lined it to the beach and walked the better part of 2km before encountering one of the girls who was staying at the same hostal as I was. As we got talking we both remembered that Acapulco was famous for cliff diving. Off we went to catch a Volkswagon beetle taxi to the cliffs. As fate would have it we arrived with ten minutes to spare and the cliff diving men we just walking down to the water to scale the cliff and then plummet to the water depths in a display of athletic esthetics flipping and soaring their way down the 100 plus foot cliff. It was amasing and a great way to end the evening before sunset.

In the morning I'm off to follow my route up the Pacific coast heading towards Puerto Vallarta.

Puerto Angel -Oaxaca, Mexico

2010-06-30T10:52:00.007-04:00

Little churches dot the landscape in pretty much every community. They are the nicest structure in every town which I'm sure make the locals very proud.

This giant church was under restoration, on the horizon it looked like a castle or a fortress.

A mare and its foll standing on the ridge with a rainbow in the background which is faint in the photo, but, was brilliant in real life.

The brewmaster, he didn't want his picture taken until I said it was for the women in Canada, then he emerged....but slowly.

Huge vats with all the mashed husks of the (pina de something). See the 5 gallon buckets....yeah....that gets pailed into a cooker and then bottled. The smell was kinda nasty, but I'm sure that I'll enjoy the drink someday back in Canada reflecting on my journey.

This big stone wheel is drawn by Torro's (bulls) round and round to crush the roasted Agave ("pina", pine something). The mash is then transferred to huge wooden vats and left to ferment before the next step in the process.

A fire pit where the "pina de something" is roasted to make the ingredients for Mezcal. The guy had a stack of wood that would keep a house in Canada warm all winter.

I crossed several different climates in one day which ranged from tropical coast and palms, to Pine trees and than into a decidious forest and finally into an arid grassland and then back into the pines. I loved the smell of the pines, its been a long time since I last smelled that distinct aroma.

Curvy roads and Tope's kept me on edge all day. Although I needed only to go 265km it took all day and I was riding like a maniac leaning it way over and really testing my motorcycling ability. After 7 hours it just begins to seem normal to hang it out there. Infact At one point I ran over so many tope's in a short time and the road was so twisty with perfect asphalt that I noticed that I was getting motion sickness.....weird.

Just up the hill from Puerto Angel this town was blasting music in the streets and decorating the town for some reason. People here like to enjoy life and get to know everyone in their community. In my communtity....errr I should rephrase that to ...In the city where I inhabit in order to go to work, I don't even know who my neighbors are and when I do say hello they think I'm a weirdo. Here everyone says hello, everyone is happy.

I awoke after a deep sleep in my Comfort Inn bed and decided that it was time to get my paper work completed. I followed the hand drawn map to the Aduana perfectly and got the bike officially entered into Mexico.

As I don't have a guide book for Mexico I am completely lost with only a road map showing me where to go in order to travel north. I managed to motorcycle all day on really straight boring highway for about 500 km along Ruta 200, at which point the road begins to head along the coast at Salina Cruz. From here the road was narrow and twisty with amazing views of the coast line.

By this point of the day I had been on the bike for 7 hours and I was getting tired. I knew of a beach town 200km further up the coast from Salina Cruz and now that I'm far enough north to enjoy extended day light hours I decided to push for Puerto Angel on the advice of Max and Chris who were surfer dudes in El Tunco.

I arrived in Puerto Angel in the dark and quickly found accomidations and headed out on foot in the rain. The rain was no bother as I had been in the rain more or less all day anyhow and I was hungry and looking for something typical to eat from the region other than Domino's Pizza.

I found a series of small stands selling "Comida Typical" (typical food) which served taco's, enchalada's, Etc. I waited in line and met a couple of German dudes standing there waiting for some grub as well. The local's form a deep human wall around the food counter and don't leave for any reason. They werent really buying food or anything, just huddling and carrying on the conversation of the day. Thus, for me to order food I had to yell over the heads of the little brown people to get what I needed. In about 15 minutes I had my taco's filled with beef, and chicken. The food was excellent and well worth the wait.

In the morning I headed out along the beautiful beach at Puerto Angel. This place was so amazing but, alas, I forgot my camera so only I can enjoy the memories of this special place. After walking along the beach, along the seawall, and after breakfast overlooking a beautiful bay I decided that it was time to move on. The day was shaping up to be a lazy day hiding from rain indoors breathing moldy air so I donned the moto gear and pulled outta town up Ruta 175 to Oaxaca.

The road acended steeply from sea level to 3000 meters and the air turned really cold. I pierced into the clouds and had very poor visibily at times with only 10 meters of foresight. According to the map, Oaxaca was only 265km away. The time to get to Oaxaca took more than 8 hours as the road had hundreas of Tope's (freaking huge speed bumps) and the twisty road kept my average speed somewhere around 35km/hr. The road was exhausting and the number of Tope's was ridiculious. I figure that I ran over 7-10 bumps per town, every 5 minutes for 10 hours which I can honestly say lands me rougly with 840 bumps and 4000 gear shifts. My left hand is so sore from clutching that at the end of the day my hand was merely a claw.

Just before Oaxaca I saw a little house like structure on the side of the road which was actually a fermentation building for Mezcal. (Mexico's unique drink to Oaxaca made from Agave plant and with a worm in the bottle). I stopped in and took a tour of the Hombre's place and got him to explain as much as he could to me as I thought the process was really interesting. In the end I bought a 1 litre water bottle full of the stuff and I'll try and bring it home. I'm pretty sure if I tell the Customs official that It's gasoline they'll belive me!!!

Arriving in Oaxaca I had no Guide book and the road proceeded into a political blockade of the highway. I was forced to ride along a detour through traffic jammed streets and weave my way through cars, trucks, motorcycles, pedestrians, dogs, chicken, pigs, etc., for an hour moving like the Flintstones dabbling along while making way through past hundreds of cars in gridlock.

As I have no book I had no idea what Oaxaca was all about and seeing the traffic and the crowdedness I headed out a toll road which was beautiful. It swept along the mountains where there were no inhabitants to scar the landscape. The scenery was amazing! Finally that night I bedded down in a smaller town called Nochixtlan and checked into Hotel Del Carmen where Luis made sure that I was comfortable for the night.

Before I headed up to the room I explained to Luis that I was happy to find a good hotel as I did'nt like the "love Motels" He agreed that I'd be ok here and upon entering my room I laid down on the bed and realised that the bed was plastic........arghhhhhh! Oh well, The place was clean and I hunkered down anyhow with the sound of people coming in and out all night.

Looking at the map I guess I'll head back to the coast to Ruta 200 where I think the road will have less tope's and make my way northwest from here. I looked on my GPS where I was relative to Canada longitudinally and I'm right at Winnipeg.

Deeee!-renched in Mexico

2010-06-26T19:42:00.007-04:00

A snapshot down a busy market street just north of Lago Atitlan in a town called Escuintla

The mountains are heavily planted here making for scenic mosaics in all directions. The plantation areas make up the watershed which feeds Lago Atitlans water supply. The government has been subsidizing fertilizers which now have been leeching their way with every rainfall down the drainage basin and in the lake. The people who live on the lake and have just always flushed their human waste and washed their clothes with soap in the lake sum this problem up as supernatural. This year has been the 1st appearance of algae in the lake which was considered the most beautiful lake in the world. The locals blame the algae problem not on human causes but rather consider it as an act of GOD!

A colorfully decorated church entrance located in a town just around the corner from San Pedro on the way out of town towards the CA1.

A shot of Fort St. John's newest snow making recruit. After my 15 minute monologue over a game of pool using Central americas best pool table I think I have Ryan (from Australia) convinced to become more than just your average flake.

Ahhh, Breakfast served up Guatemalan style, Actually its prepared in Guatemala but this cheeko Malo is down right Americana with a twist.

I pulled out of Yo Mama's Place early this morning and made my way around the rest of Lago Atitlan a little more alert and slightly more timid than usual after thursday afternoons incident. The hill climbing was epic heading northward around the lake and the elevation peaked out somewhere at about 2800 meters. The early hour made for misty views and cloud shrouded beautiful mountains that surround the entire lake.

In the last two days I really didn't get up to anything very eventful, however I made alot of new friends who were staying at the hostal. Infact, one fellow from Austrailia named Ryan mentioned that he wanted to head to Canada and put his nose to the grind stone and work the oil fields. After about a 15 minute monologue I had him signed up and possibly one of 2010's newest snowmakers in Fort St. John.

Alas, the time spent at Yo Mama's Place soon came to a head and it was time to head out as usual, with a few new friends (alot of Canadians actually) and some pretty good memories of interesting folks.

My aim for the day was to get as close to the Mexican border as possible and cross in the morning. The roads leading up to the fronterra were so good and new that the going was fast, easy and fun! Along route I stopped several times to photograph the terraced land planted with all sorts of crops which made for quite a scenic mosaic. Just then, I saw a BMW whiz by so I waved them down and met John and Sharan. They were riding two up on a big GS 1200 and riding for a Charity. I warned them about the back entrance to Lago Atitlan, the next stop for them, and they replied that they already knew about it! Man how was I so outta the loop?

I remounted the machine and I took off on what I believed to be the CA1 and rode through small villages, tiny streets with no signs........ (just follow the path most travelled and you'll get there), and finally after about 1 1/2 hours I popped out on a road that was signed the CA1. Its so weird how easily you can get off track here.

I was kind of nervous about the border crossing back into Mexico but the whole process was over in about 45 minutes for both borders. That being said I did have to find accomidation in the border town because I was unaware that I crossed a time zone, so, after I drove around for 45 minutes looking for the importation office some 20km from the border I had to return back to Aduana (customs) for better directions. On retuning the girl elaborated on her statement "its only 20km from here up the road on the right" .... to "Drive 10km hang a right at the exit that says 'Vida Mexico' and drive 5 km down that road and hang another right into an office complex on your right. (she even drew me a map with bridges, speed bumps and intersections). It is integral that you realise that on the road which I drove 20km, there were 5 unmarked turnoffs and 2 main turnoffs and at exactly at 21 km there is a city in which I'm staying in tonight called Tapachula.

After all the driving around nonsense it was well past closing time for the importation office and the time was going on 5pm. To add insult to injury, the skies darkened, and thunder and lightening began to streak across the dark looming skies. The environment was becoming a scene which I am familiar with from my riding through Brasil and before I could don my rain gear the rain began beating down. Again the highway became covered in deep water with occasional brown water flowing across the highway filled with sediment. Some cars simply pulled off the road to wait the cloud burst out. I however cannot just stop and get drenched, so, I opt for picking up the speed and letting the windshield do its work to blow the rain up and over me.

I finally got back to Tapachula after getting my directions sorted out for the morning. I began making my way through the flooded streets and down poring rain following the occasional sinage the city centre where I reckoned that I'd have a better selection for accomidations, hotels, what have you. Alas, my plan was redirected, literally, when I tried to cross a raging river that was flowing through a city intersection. The water was flowing so fast that when I entered the water caused the front wheel to steer and slip. Before I knew it I was no longer perpendicular to the flow but now driving with the brakes on tring to slow the bike as I was being swept down a sloping paved hill in water up to the engine crankcase. Actually the water was building up on the back of the bikes boxes. Actually, as I was driving through potholes I could hear the exhaust get muffled everyonce and a while as the exhaust port became submerged. I had to think quick so I wondered what Matt Fitz would do.

I began looking for an eddy in the river banks formed by brick buildings loathe and behold, up ahead at a 4 way intersection I saw my opportunity and tucked myself behind a building but not without a fight to keep the bike up right in in the direction I wanted to go. Alas, I had to return from where I came from and made it back to the edge of town where I checked into the Comfort Inn and ordered Domino's pizza....heh heh heh!

For the last couple of nights my "new friends" from Yo Mama's have kept me up late with the party atmosphere common to certain hostals. Even when I opted to hit the sac early I was awoken from 2am until about 4:30 and then again at 5:30 when someone else was getting up to catch a bus. (the party does'nt end after you come home from the bar at 2 am when you're 20 you know)!! So a good nights sleep without constant bugs dining on exposed skin will absolutely do me well for my ride up the pacific coast of Mexico in the morning.

See "The River Rider"

Only A Matter of Time, Guatemala

2010-06-25T17:01:00.006-04:00

Guatemala has some big trees, After passing dozens I decided to finally stop at this old fella.

Mario with the gun seemed to like pointing the barrel at my knees, Alas, after this long, looking into gun barrels and having guns pointed at various body parts almost seems normal now.

The infamous slow let down fall over. I tried to keeper up right but, alas, she was too heavey and I let it down easy and got some bystanders to help a brother out with the lift now that I'm as weak as Pete Wedge.

All along the coast the last storm named IDA flexed its muscles and took several bridges out making for many detours and river runs.

Paper pushers forming a wall around the window at Guatemala. If you want through you gotta go through these guys first. I managed for 5 bucks.-

Its been a bit of a tough ride through Central America riding solo thus far. It seemed that on the way down everything was smooth and easy. The way back has been challenging despite the near perfect roads, which occasionally have a washed out bridge to contend with. I've had to make a few detours but I still have been able to get to where I wanted to go with little troubles.

Yesterday was a day that I won't soon forget. First of all I crossed into Guatemala and began making my way to Lago Atitlan where Julie and I visited on the way down. Along the way while passing through a small village a truck slammed on its brakes and I had to stop quickly as well. I planted my feet on the asphalt off balance and had the infamous slow motion fall over trying with all my might to hold the bike up. Alas, the machine was too much so I had to lay it down. As I am in no shape to wrestle with the fully loaded bike I simply waited for someone to come along and help me. Down here there are alway people willing to help a guy with a big motorcycle.

After the fall over episode I rode my way up to Lago Atitlan through Santiago and took the back way into San Pedro. This is apparently the dangerous way in and on a short dirt road section just before the asphalt began again some dude jumped out in front of me with a hand gun and a black balaclava touting a machette. The hill was was climbing at that moment was super steep so I was in 1st gear trying to maintain balance. Then the bandito jerk pushes me and the bike over and begins demanding cash. I was being pretty cool about the whole situation but the machette was being pointed at me more than the gun was and the thought of getting slashed was on my mind. I opened up my fake wallet and pulled out the evuivalent to 80 dollars and handed only the cash over. He started asking for my camera, my GPS, and my passport....I was like yeah right asshole!

He began cutting my bungee cords and taking my tent and therma rest. All this time I was trying to lift the bike and asking the guy to help me with the bike. He just stood there looking at me perplexed as I was heaving on the bike with all my might. Finally after about 2 minutes of me yelling to him to help me lift the god damn bike he stopped pretending to slash me and ran off into the coffee bushes just as an old man with two little kids and a dog appeared. He probably knew the man and didn't want to get exposed. The old man helped me with the lift and roughly 30 seconds later the police truck that was chasing me for passing (again) in the last town appeared. They were ticked off at me until I popped my helmet off covered in sweat and began telling them that I had just been robbed.

At this statement they jumped out of the truck and 2 of the three police men ran with me into the coffee plantation. I was running after the man in his general direction until it dawned on me that I was chasing a man with a gun and a machette and I was way ahead of the police who might mistake me for the bandito in the thick brush. At this notion I returned to the road and gave a small statement to the police man looking after the bike. He asked why I passed them in the town and I said it was because I had a fast motorcycle. He liked the response and a conversation about the bike commenced before I left.

I Finally made it into San Pedro only 2 km further just before dark and found a hostal called "Yo Mama's Place!" I had a few beers and told my story to a few people who seemed shocked that I did'nt loose everything and that I didn't give the man all what he was asking for. But I say frig him!! He was a 25 years oldish punk who got away with 80 bucks. I had such aweful thoughts last night and began negotiation for a gun with a man that said he'd hook me up in Guatemala city to return in the morning to rid the area of a vermin who preys on motorcyclists apparently. I was told that I was the second guy with a touring bike this month! Alas, after sleeping, the beer stopped talking and I decided to sum the whole experience into a good story to tell the grand kids.

El Salvadors Best Wave, El Tunco

2010-06-23T23:52:00.005-04:00

This bicycle had a T.V and a cooler on the back rack. Man this guy really knows how to Roll!

My guy at the Honduras border with his family that accompanies him here everyday. Aside from his wife and child he had his entire extended family here as well, mother, father, brothers, uncles, etc. They run the whole food catering, paper pushing mafia. Had I paid the asking price up front I would have been through in 5 minutes...so I was promised! Instead for two hours I bought food from his relatives, practiced spanish, argued with his dad, and met his wife and child. It tured out to be a great experience.

The rainy season is in full capacity here and it typically rains in the late afternoon between 1pm and 4 pm depending on the topography. Here in a cloud burst a flash flood swamped this familys house and the inhabitants were hustling to get out all their possessions. While photographing it I noticed that the family was smiling and in good cheer...how different from how I'd be acting. I guess.......the fact that they haven't been paying flood insurance means that they have no strees waiting to hear back from the broker about why they won't be paying.

My first ticket in 50,000 km for making a dangerous pass around a transport truck that was slowing down at about 1 km from a check point. I of course could'nt see the check point so I passed in the passing lane. This apparently was dangerous and the cop pocketed my license and ordered me to pay 300 Cordobas. I was so mad that I requested to see my license and when it was presented from his pocket I tried snatching it from his hand. It didn't work out all that well and I had to pay up in the end to free my hostage license.

Mr police man. I popped a shot while he was writing up a ticket after I was arguing with him that I did nothing wrong....but whats to loose on his end other than 300 cordobas if he was to just let me roll on through. Thats what I get for stopping and abiding by my western rules which state, when a cop says stop...you stop...down here you waive and say ...good bye!

A Marathin ride was in order after hanging out for the better part of a month and so I pulled out of San Juan Del Sur, Nicaragua with full ambition to cross through Honduras and get to El Salvador in good time. As I was practically at the Costa Rica, Nicaragua Border I was instore for a big day.

I had previously thought that I'd stop into Granada and visit a fellow named Amadice who Julie and I stayed with on the way down. This time, however, I'd be able to talk a bit, now that I have a better volcabulary of spanish. Alas, when I checked the map I was only 62km away and it was 9:45am. This seemed too early for me to stop so I continued northward to the border of Honduras. Just before the border there was a check stop and a large transport truck began slowing down about 1 km from the stop. There was a passing lane, and from behind the truck I could'nt see what was going on, so, I simply pulled out and passed the truck at about 80km/hr only to see a check point ahead. I was pulled over to the side and asked for my license. I handed over the trusty laser photocopied and laminated fake and got busted for it. No big deal! He simply asked if there was an original available. As Grant and I were asked the day before at the border to present originals I thought it was ok to hand over the original. Dumb move! The currupt cop pocketed my drivers license and began writing up a bogus ticket. I could see what he was doing so I interrupted and asked what hapened to my license. He immediately pulled the card from his pocket and stated that he'd be holding onto it until I paid a traffic ticket for dangerous passing. I thought back to the dangerous pass and there were no other cars, it was a straight road and it was also a designated passing area with a broken yellow line. All these thoughts ignited a fury in me and I lurched forward and tried to snatch the card from his hand. He must have been a professional knuckles champ, because, his reflexes were so fast that I missed and raked his finely pressed shirt with my greasy wet black gloves. This totally startled him and he backed way off and began yelling at me. As I knew that he was totally working me over I started yelling back at him which really did'nt do anything at all. I pulled out my camera as he finished writing up the ticket and popped a shot of him and he seemed oblivious. In the end I had to ride into town and direct deposit the money (15 USD) into a police account. On return with the payment reciept from the bank I got my drivers license back and he wished me good travels trying hard to be my buddy now. On departure there was a solid line of cars on the way out, I said good bye and rolled on the throttle passed them all on a solid line and suffered no consequences.

The fun wasn't over yet! As I was riding along, black as ink clouds beagn to form to the east. I could see rain on the horizon and suited up in rain gear. Moments later I was riding through one inch of flowing water making its way off the highway to the adjacent ditching. Eventually I made it out of the rain and arrived at the Honduras/Nicaraguan border at 2 pm. There was a football game on and Argentina was playing so the Aduana guy would'nt leave the T.V. room to process the papers for 30 more minutes until 2:30. I didn't care because I expected nothing more than this when I was approaching the border. Once the Guy came back it was only 5 minutes and I was in. I ran into the money changer at this border that ripped me off 30 USD on the way down. He remembered me and told the guy that was exchanging cash with me that I was a friend and to give me a good rate. Of course he remembered me! I paid for his months food and Accomidations and I specifically remember him yelling to me as I rode off that he "Loved Canadians!!!"

The last time that I crossed Honduras there were 15 check stops. This time however, there were 4 and I only got stopped at two of them. At the last stop I was getting too friendly with the police and finally when I turned the key on to start the bike the guy began asking me for my motorcycle gloves so that he could own a pair as I was returning to the United States where I could get another pair easily. As I'm low on cash the notion of handing over 60 dollar gloves was out of the question so I simply relpied ...NO!

I was about to tackle the worst border of all between Honduras and El Salvador. Here the border is run by a family that charges processing and paper handing fees to all that pass through. I told the guy that he was running a mafia and he totally agreed. I argued that I wasn't paying anything because I'd passed through more than 40 borders and its all the same process. He was very convincing that this was a different border and that I'd be spending the night. I agreed and showed him that I was content on staying up all night and sleeping beside my bike. The conversation was over heard by the woman at immigration and the message was relayed that she would'nt stamp my passport if there wasn't a payment. In the end I barged through the big wooden doors and spoke to the head official who phoned over to the immigration office and right away my passport was stamped. This scenario took 2 hours and in the mean time I met the paper pushers whole family who comes to the border to cook snacks, sell beverages, push papers etc. His wife and child also hang out at the border all day with daddy. In the end I saw the man as working for a living with his whole extended family extorting the public just to make ends meet. I finally gave up 6 dollars because he became my friend and introduced me to his father, mother, wife, brothers, brother in laws, baby, and all his friends (oh and didn't let anyone steal my gear when I had to go inside to sign a paper). I took a picture of him and his family and gave him my email so that I could forward the photo to him somehow just because I liked him in the end.

Getting into El Salvador was so easy that it only took the time for the official only to read the passport and it was over. Some 5 km up the road was Aduana and this took the better part of 45 minutes and a drug sniffing dog. By now it was dark and I was heading to El Tunco for El Salvador's best surfing wave. Alas, 40km down the highway the bridge was missing. A huge bridge...just gone! and with all the iron and concrete laying in the belly of the river below. I pulled a U'ey and accumulated so many bugs on my visor that it was an emergency to stop and find accomidation immediately. The problem was, there were no ligit accomidations other than love motels which are very popular down here. You see the vast majority here are catholic and the kids live at home basically until they are married so....if you want to get your end in, you gotta go to a love motel. I guess this is better than going to her house and having to stick around and pretend to enjoy scrambled eggs in the morning around an awkward breakfast table with daddy staring down his machette.

Finally, a hotel appeared on the horizon that wasn't pay by the hour, 24hr/day. Unfortunately it was 3 times the price that I usually pay and I had to shell out 28 bucks for a hotel that would definately run me about 150 in Canada, complete with free coffee, fresh potable water, and a bag boy with a pistol grip defender, chrome finished shot gun. He was a cool dude and very helpful with carrying up my bags. He was also really interested in my motorbike but was willing only to talk for a moment because he had a duty to protect the establishment with the pump action chrome pistol grip 12 guage.

Today I changed my oil at a little motorcycle shop and made my way to yet another bridge washed out. Apparently all the way up the coast I'll be running into wash outs. There was a group of fellows willing to help me across, for pushing, pulling and stabilizing the bike. In the end, however, I knew the water was too deep and the babyhead size boulders making up the river bed was just too much work, not to mention that the water was running hard and about waist deep according to the eager helpers. To save the bike and about 20 bucks in handing fees I opted for an alternate route. Announcing the plan for an alternate route one enterprising individual demanded a consultation fee. He was about 8 years old and should have been at school...but this little brat was obviously well on his was to being a millionaire.

I skirted the bridge by going north east to San Salvador and then came back south west to the CA2 to El Tunco where El Salvador's best point break is located. I checked into a hotel that offered me a 12 dollar room. Once my bags were in the room the girl looking after the bed sheets demanded 25 bucks. I was so polite that it was sick. But having the option to leave as it was only 2 pm she backed down to the original price and was super nice about it after I explained in broken spanish that her boss told me 12 dollars and I'd leave other wise. With this matter setteled I headed down to the beach that was rocked hard by a storm only a couple of weeks ago and rented a surf board from a friend that I met 7 moths ago named Bambo. The storm completely ruined the beach. Now all that is left is Boulders and round stones and pebbles. All along the back beach is piles of drift wood so deep that is is impossible to navigate. Alas, it was alot of work to get to the entry point where the surf break is located.

El Tunco is one of the best places for me as there is virtually no breaking waves off to the side of the point. Thus, I don't get my face wet trying to duck waves! I simply paddle out to the entry point, wait and catch a solid 30 second long wave. It's totally awesome dude!

Perhaps I'll stay another day but the mountains of Mexico and Guatemala are calling my name.

Two Roads Diverge, San Juan Del Sur, Nicaragua

2010-06-22T00:22:00.007-04:00

Although we were together for practically 24 hours a day for 3.5 weeks I`ll miss the kitty loving, puppy kicker!

Jesus saluts the people of San Juan Del Sur, but if you want to meet Jesus it`ll cost you 1 dollar US...well unless you`re local then its 10 cents...oh its for up keep of the statue!!

A shot of San Juan Del Sur from the west side of the beach looking east.

The hostal and surf board rental place at the beach where I got pummeled over and over again by sets of waves that completely exhausted any attempts to catch a ride.

Other tourists at the beach in need of a break and some sun after the punishment from the relentless crashing sets.

Ruta 4, an epic road through Costa Rica where this Volcano was occasionally puffing dark grey plumes of smoke providing for a awe inspiring back drop to an already beautiful scene.

A plantation of some sort of crop which I thought might be pineapple..but probably not...

The Infamous Bridge between Costa Rica and Panama which turned out to be more worry than trouble. Actually the most frustrating part was dealing with the fact that people down here are inconsiderate....no...actually dumb as...no...can`t quite figure out what to say....but nonetheless completely unresponsive to repeated horn beeping as you are navigating the planks trying not to drive off and onto the bumpy rail ties. The local dimwit(s) simply would not give way or remove their bicycles off the planks as you and the 800 pound motorcycle continued coming along with the rider tense and wobbling trying to maintain balance.

Grant verifying that the bearings needed replacing and thus I volunteered to get the job done in a jiffy riding the 126km round trip, finding a place, packing the bearings and then paying way too much to have a bunch of guys watch me work as I used their tools. In the end the entire job was Formula One worthy at 1:37 minutes!!

Zuly`s hostal in Panama City where Richard, the owner hosts guests, especially bikers including Grant and I and also some other bikers who I met down in Buenos Aires named Christoff and Silke from Germany riding their BMW GS1200 and GS 800 respectively. The bloke riding the cruiser was Tony from Austraila. The three of them arrived the day after Grant and I with Fritz on the Catamiran.

Leaving Panama City Grant and I made our way north along the most beautiful highways....well since I left Central America that is! The plan was to make it to the Town of David and from there take a secondary highway nothward up to a mountain town called Boquette which Julie and I stopped into on the way down. It was kind of comforting in a way to know where I was going for the first time in 7 and a half months. Along the road we were'nt without adventure however. Grant heard a squeeling and grinding type of noise which prompted him to pull over and employ my ears to verify the potential probelm. Grant determined that this was possibly a bearing problem so we coasted with the engines off down a long hill to the bottom where there happened to be a convenient pull off. From here we began the diagnosis and with the bike propped up on the centre stand we felt the back wheel wobble significantly indicating bearings which needed replacing. Without a moments hesitation we went to work with the tools and had the back wheel off the bike and loaded onto the back rack of my machine ready to head back to the nearest town some 62km away. My mission was to find a bearing place, get the bearings greased and installed and then get back to Grant who was waiting literally on the side of the road for my return. I took on the responsibility with honor knowing that Grant would save my life in any situation as only overland motorcyclists would understand. I rode the 124km round trip and had everything taken care of in exactly 1hour and 37 minutes which prompted Grant to ask on my return what went wrong. My response was "nothing went wrong ...you just sent the right man on the job...heh heh heh!!"

Grant and I ended up staying in Boquette for two nights since the bearing issue initiated a response in Grant that prompted him to replace his front tire with the spare that he carried from Ushuaia as well as the front bearings as a preventative measure.

After two nights in Boquette we rolled out of town toward the north eastern border of Panama and Costa Rica, at Sixaola. Here we encountered the infamous trestle Bridge that I actually lost sleep over. I had previously spoken to another rider who crossed the bridge and described it as hairy, however, I also knew of guys that crossed this bridge on Harley Davidsons so I knew in my heart that it could'nt be that bad. In the end the bridge was a minor challenge for Grant and I to cross after riding bazarre conditions all throughout South America. The border took 2 hours to cross because we did not account for lunch break and the 1 hour time change into Costa Rica which planted us at the border at 12:30 pm. Alas, after walking to the pharmacy some 300 meters away to pay for insurance and returning to Aduana to proove insurance, we had to return to the pharmacy to get a photocopy of our stamped passport, and then, return to Aduana to get our bike papers...it was an athletic endevor..we finally entered Costa Rica just as it began to down pour.

Grant and I made our way to the Town of Puerto Limon where Colombus apparently landed in 1492. Here we stayed at the hotel Contenential which was a budget hotel for 6 USD which the guide book suggested. First thing in the morning we arose to a car which wouldn`t start with barking dogs and a rooster crowing. It was 6 am and time to hit the highway for Nicaragua. I was toying with the idea of sticking around Costa Rica but the commercialism and the tousist industry of Costa Rica made it seem kind of ruined, so forward I followed Grant to the Nicaragua border with no regrets.

Arriving at the border was simple as I knew the whole drill and where to go. Instead of paying dozens of people 1 or 2 dollars a piece for nothing, I got through the border for only 9 USD .....3 for fumigation which I tried to skip but got caught and 7 for a tourist card. The fumigation is such a joke that I tried to refuse but they insisted on spraying the bike with soapy water. Before entering Nicaragua, however, we needed to find a police officer to sign a piece of paper before the customs agent would stamp our bikes in. The police down here are lazy and unavailable at the best of times so on a sunday late in the afternoon our guy was nowhere to be found. Grant and I split up and began asking and looking around for our fool. Alas, Grant and I ended up meeting in the Aduana where we both began asking the lady cop to come and help us. Nobody was particularily helpful treating it as ...`this ain`y mai jab!` Grant got pretty ticked off and proceeded out of the office into the parking lot yelling ..``Senoir Policiaaaaaaaaa` oh Senior Policiaaaaaaaa.....`` His stunt seemed to work pretty well and all of a sudden a man appeared in navy blue who seemed kind of embarrased. Grant has a special way of acting very apologetic and respectful when he knows he`s done bad and the cop bought his act and gleefully signed our papers which enabled us to gain stamps and entry into Nicaragua. In total the border took 2.5 hours which could have been much faster.

It was decided that we`d head for San Juan Del Sur, west of lake Nicaragua. Its a popular place for Americans to come to as well as lots of tourists from other countries. Grant and I celebrated our last night together with a few drinks and in the morning I said farewell to my friend whom I`ll never forget. Grant and I lived through some pretty challenging situations and seemed to keep our wits and humor about us. I was sad to finally see him pull away from the hostal this morning. I hope that Grant drops in to see me on a moto trip out east some day and share the memories that we created together in an epic 3.5 week oddesy.

Today I decided to chill out with a young American friend Josh, who I met at the hostal and invited me to go surfing. Together we hopped on my motorbike and headed down a terribly steep and muddy road to a beach that rented boards and offered accomidations. The waves were intense and I could only manage to get out past the break once and after that I was completely spent. Following surfing we cooked up some pasta and followed that up with a hike to the local Jesus mountain which seems to exits in every other town. The evening evolved into some beer and a few games of pool with a Yacht captain named Ken who has been in the area for 3.5 months and living on board his boat for 3 years after selling his computer company.

In the morning I`ll decide where I head to next...Possibly Granada and then continuing North from there.

Panama City, Take two

2010-06-16T20:48:00.010-04:00

At Zuly's backpacker hostel in Panama city, Richard cares for the safety of his guests!

In Carti the Kuna Indians build homes all over tropical islands using materials made mostly from the surrounding forests. Note the Palm tree thached roofs.

A Very large Tri-miran which I heard Grant comment that you'd be able to have a football match on.

Just entering Panama city and about the battle the local Loco's!

The new bridge that will aleviate the anxiety of the river crossing for future motorcycling adventures using the Carti port to catch or disembark yachts in the future.

The infamous river crossing which looked forboding, but was actually quite easily navigated as long as you kept the speed moving forward.

Grant went first and scouted the line. He was a very brave man indeed to blindlt go where very few of the worlds V-stroms have gone before.

I decided to get a shot with a few of the local Kuna women dressed in their traditional brightly colored clothes just after we paid our 5 dollar toll to cross through their land.

Grant up front with the bikes while I sat on a hard 1 inch wide fiberglass rib that added structural rigidity to the hull. The motor to shore was smooth and fast but the Captain was a hard barganer and wanted more than the lions share of the available funds that Grant and I had in our pockets.

After saying our final good bye's to Leonardo, Grant and I boarded a launcher with our bikes crammed into a tiny little craft. The motor to shore was to a Kuna indeginous beach landing where we had to pay a road fee of 5 dollars per bike to pass. This was all easy, however, getting the bikes out of the launcher was a bit of a hastle. Although there were plenty of men around nobody wanted to get sweaty or dirty lifting the bikes and everyone had their own ideas. Finally I got fed up with the Captain and I yelled that we were off loading the bikes onto the beach! Thankfully, Grant followed this up with directions in spanish as to where the men had to position themselfs and from there progress began to happen. In the end both of our bikes we lifted into 30cm deep seawater and pushed up onto the beach safe and sound.

Once all of our gear was out of the boat the negociation began about the fee for transporting us and our bikes to the beach. Leonardo told me prior to getting into the launcher that the maximum that I should pay was no more than 20 dollars each. The Captain began the price at 60 dollars for the two of us and Grant and I agreed to play "good cop, bad cop". I acted like I was peeved off about the price and began low balling at 30 dollars for the both of us. The game lasted 30 minutes until a truck loaded with goods needed a launcher, this new potential for income ended the game at 45 dollars which Grant and I were aiming for.

Next, was to tackle the road out of Carti. In prevous years the road was dirt, however, now it is very passable and actually quite easy with new tar and chip sealed hard top. The only obstacle left is the river crossing which was actually quite tame as the bottom is composed of fine gravel and compacted well enough to give good stability and traction even with my highway slicks. Grant went first and navigated the 100 foot wide river easily by following the ripples where we knew was indicative of shallow water. After watching Grant, I easily rode the same line with no troubles and actually avoided getting my left foot wet as I was able to hold it way up in the air and out of the wake created by the front tire. In total I estimate that the water was no deeper than 50 centimeters at the deepest point, but I could envision someone getting into trouble if they got nervous and fell over.

The road out of Cari was about 33 km long and was all out mountaineering for the bike. Most of the steeps warrented 2nd or even 1st gear climbing and the descents were gear box and brake assisted. The brakes, however, were worthless as Grant and I doused the calipers with WD40 prior to the sail to prevent pitting of the pistons.

We finally made it back to the CA1 and onto a good highway road. Our mission was to make it to Zuly's Backpackers Hostel in the heart of down town Panama. Richard, the owner, greeted us sweaty and tired motorbike men and then provided us with comfy beds and an A/C cooled room. Grant and I were so hungry that we went for supper twice before hitting the sac.

This morning we planned to hit Aduana early and head northward only to find out that the man stamping us in was critical of my expired registration. This warrented that I need buy Panama insurance for the bike. The total cost was 15 USD and validated my motorcycle for one month in Panama. The delay at Aduana was more than 4 hours and warrented that I stay in Panama for another night, so, as it lookes at the moment I'll be heading out first thing in the morning toward Costa Rica. In preparation for all the up coming border crossings I've doctored up my registration using a fine tipped black pen by turning the 03 for March to an 08 to look like my registration is valid until July. As I practiced several times on photocopied registration I managed to execute the forgery flawlessly and the doctoring is undectable. The fact that my registration and insurance is expired makes absolutely no difference because I'm not insured outside of Canada or the US. Infact my friend got rear ended in Mexico while at a stop light and when the police got involved the blame was laid on the Gringo. Sanbornes insurance informed my buddy that he'd best be getting out of there ASAP because there was nothing they could do for him and that He'd be going to jail until the issue got sorted out. Thus the insurance thing down here just doesn't hold water due to the curruption. Hopefully this gets me through Central America without further problems and without additional costs until I can get new registration and insurance when I re-enter the USA and Canada. As it stands I'm off to the beautiful country of Costa Rica in the morning.

Bridging the Gap with the Nutty Professor, Leonardo

2010-06-15T17:57:00.011-04:00

Leonardo and I at the helm on day 5 once he figured that I was a worth while human being.

Carti, a costal island oasis hidden behind a reef near our departure point from the yacht.

Sunrise on day 5 at 0545am looking at the island of Porvenir

The 46 foot sloop with me and the KLR aboard. Luckily for Grant and I the seas were calm and therefore very little salty water was splashed over the machines saving them from dreaded corrosion.

Kuna indians inhabit the islands along the coast. One evening while anchoring in a shallow bay a few fellows motored out to the yacht and offered us crab and rock lobster for sale if we wanted, dinner was being fixed in the cabin so we all opted to refuse the offer and save the lives of our crustacean friends.

The first night aboard the Yacht Zao was a pleasant evening where I chose to sleep on deck under a star filled sky for the last time in Colombian territory. While laying under the stars I happened to notice two identical constellations in a triangular pattern. I could not determine if I was looking at Libra or Gemini but nonetheless it was an impressive sight. We were anchored in the bay of Sapzurro which had crystal clear water with a visibility more than 15 meters. At 0600am Leonardo awoke to catch a Launcher back to Capurganga where a woman had found his cellular phone card which he lost the night before while we were getting our passports stamped. Alas, he returned at 1030am and we got under way sailing northwesterly along the Isthmus of Panama. Paola, his daugher, who rode down with us to Turbo was aboard to help Leonardo with the sail and also to visit, I guess it may have been many weeks since they last visited.

Grant suggested that I pop an anti-nausiea tablet so I took his advice, but only after 30 minutes of bobbing and listing. Although the sea was calm, the ocean rollers were present and caused the Yacht to raise and fall every 4 seconds. This motion had me focusing on the horizon and trying to ignore everything else for the first 48 hours and prompted me to sleep up on deck for the next 4 nights.

Leonardo´s Yacht was a 46 foot Sloop (Catch) 15 beam HYC (Heritage Yacht Club). The boat was previously owned by Ted Turner (owner of CNN). As the first sailing day progressed it became apparent that the dream of sailing a Yacht had turned into quite a boring occupation as well as passage. The scenery and shore line was beautiful but the diesel fumes and constant groan from the engine took away from the vision of what being a sailor on the open ocean is really like. The lack of wind and the schedule to get to Carti warrented 5 days of engine sailing. Thus, the sail through the San Blas islands was bland and I probably would opt for am overland flight now that I've sailed once.

As for the company on board, I was happy to have Grant to talk to every once and a while. Grant was also very good at stimulating conversation between the crew as his knowledge in the field of electrical engineering had much to do with physics. Grant also likes to discuss his phylosophical point of view which is always interesting and good food for thought.

Remember that Leonardo was a distinguished physicist who worked on CERN´s particle accelerator. Although he was apparently a brilliant man with 25 years experience he definately lacked any business sense and generally treated our sailing experience as a means to drum up 1600 bucks and pretty much stared out on the horizon or talked in Italian with his daughter. When Grant did prompt a conversation, Leonardo tended to treat the conversation as an intellectual battle field and aruge the opposing point of view every time. This made for thought provoking conversation but really it was all just a show of ego.

As for the life aboard the boat, the living quaters were a bit messy to say the least. During a heavy rain storm the windows and hatches began to leak. The leaks were convieniently located over the foam cushons of the seating and sleeping areas. This water leakage explained the moldy tinge to the air in the cabin.

In my life I have shared many close living spaces and have had to cope with many people that I really did'nt enjoy the company of, but, it was my duty to accept the situation and overcome my own personal feelings. This sailing voyage, however, tested my endurance in the field of tolerance. Leonardo and his daughter had to have been be the most openly oblivious people with respect to respecting others that I've met in a long time. On the 2nd and 3rd day of sailing I was appauled at the unhygenic behavior of these people. In one instance I yelled out in a plea for Paola to please stop chewing on Leonardo´s fingernails. They both stopped for a second to stare at my most rude interruption. In the moment of pause they let the single strand of saliva elastically break surface tension only to reply ¨what.....I am only cleaning under his nails....not chewing the finger nails¨! This was too much and I had to look away for the better part of 30 minutes 3 times a day for this grooming activity to occur. By the 4th and 5th day of sailing the ¨finger nail cleaning" became more normal to me but the personal grooming continued further. Next, Paola (LOUD TALKER) progressed to popping zits, and peeling sunburned patches of skin off of Leonardo´s sun burned scalp. This was gross enough, but, it got better than that. The next action almost made me hurl when I witnessed Paola pop a flake of Homo Sapien jerky into her mouth directly from a now pinkish sliver on Leonardo´s little bald head. To top it all off she followed the grooming session with chewing her own fingernails and cuticals all the way back to the origin of the nails Keratin. When it was all over this meant it was time to eat and Paola disappeared to the cabin below to cook over a propane burner.

For the first two days I tried to limit my food intake as there was limited water on board and I knew that hand washing and sanitization was impossible. Infact, rain water which was scooped off the greasy and rust speckled deck was used for boiling spagetti and potatoes and Leonardo boasted the fact that he encouraged his daughter to eat candy off the sidewalk when she was a child to boost her immune system. None of his stories about his immunity was very impressive at this point and I just wanted to get off the boat ASAP.

Aside from the unhygenic and unsanitary conditions the cigarette smoking and melow dramatic extreme talking volume began to become irritating. I could'nt understand what they were talking about but the drama was sometimes interesing to watch. The show went through cycles of europhic happiness, yelling, hand waiving...knock over the coffee cups and plates of food....to extreme sadness and crying sessions. Man....had I never had the opportunity meet other Italian´s I would have had only these two brats to judge the Italian culture and most undoubtedly would never have the urge to visit Italy for fear of being batted in the face, as an innocent bystander to a conversation.

You might ask why the heck I sat around and witnessed all this.....well the answer is that most of the time, although the diesel motor was running their voices easily out competed the diesel decibels and then add to the fact that the boat was only 46 feet long with the cock pit located two thirds of the way up the yacht...(the only refuge form the drizzle) there was no escape!

Alas, on the 5th day Leonardo began to come around and began being somewhat hospitable to me as the guest. He began telling me about all the ¨piece of shit ¨ other guests that have sailed with him in the past and how stupid he believed everyone was. He began telling me how he despised the western world and how he loved the people of South America and Colombia. Obvious to me but not obvious to either of genitically related self proclaiming geniuses, I determined that Leonardo was just plain burned out! Neither of them were particularily bright when it came to anything outside of their narrow scope of extreme specialization. I could only hypothesise that the poor soul was burnt out and I can only describe him as a pure "cluster f**k¨. I can appreciate only that he made significant contributions to society of a magnitude that I will never understand. Possibly this is the root of his hatrid toward people. It seems that he cannot communicate to who he feels are the dummest people on the planet, thus this makes the man, the genius himself feel inadequate and stupid in his own right.

In the end we pulled into the Port of Carti and off loaded the bikes into a launcher with 3 men waiting in the boat. Leonardo was all smiles and I saw that he genuinely was happy and sincerely hoping to meet with Grant and I again in the future. I hugged good ole Leonardo and looked past his faults and realised that he was just a good fellow with a few bad habits. He is just as ignorant in some respects as the rest of the world is, however, Leonardo is arguably much more intellegent in some areas which I cannot even begin to comprehend. Looking back on the voyage Leonardo gives a good product which I can only describe as unforgetable and thought provoking. As the man, I did not dislike him, however, I do hope that he finds something else to do soon and I hope that he persue´s his idea to be a yacht captin for a private yacht in Miami. I will never forget the voyage with the Nutty Professor, Particle Accelerator Specialist, Movie maker, Photographer, Fixwing Pilot, turned Sailor and soon to be new father. I wish him well and thank him for an unforgetable memory that will definately gain value as time goes on.

The Launcher Approach, Sapzurro, Colombia

2010-06-12T08:57:00.004-04:00

One after noon on day 2 Grant and I happened to notice a pod of dolphins making there way towards the bow of the boat. It was truely a magical experience and it was interesting to see how social the beautiful creatures were with us and to each other as they surfed and raced the boat for the better part of 15 minutes

The bikes being tied down on the deck shortly after the gruff Launcher captain got rid of us. In the process my windshield got broken but alas, it was no big deal, stuff can alway be fixed.

Once Grants bike was loaded it was time to heave my pig of a machine into the Launcher. Six men heaved the 200kg up and over the gunnel and all of our gear along with 10 people were loaded into the craft for the 1.5 hr motor to Supzurro.

After a heavey rain fall the streets of Turbo morph into single track trails that eventually get beaten down and smooth again once things begin to dry out.

A derelict boat rests on the shore along the main river estuary in Turbo.

Kids playing in a hole in the wall along a dirt road street in Turbo within the community area where Grant and I decided to go for a exploratory stroll one afternoon.

Two happy young fellows playing in the garbage that floats onto shore. In the Styrofoam were many baby crabs which the young boys were apparently farming.

A motorcycle truck with fragile cargo. This machine was a shaft drive and carried a payload of several tens of dozens of eggs.

The shore line of Turbo in a estuary which was polluted with garbage and raw human sewage. The air was dank and the water smelled like a treatment plant yet people lived here and seemed to be enjoying there simple lives.

Just before Turbo, these enterprising Military men were trying to pester us for money which we outright refused to give. After refusal I asked if I could fire his grenade launching machine gun to which he was ready willing and able to provide for a small fee. Before negotiation began however, Grant thwarted my idea saying it was not a smart idea. Since he was not confortable about me firing the machine gun I let sleeping dogs lie.

It was decided that we would relive the memory of the infamous town of Turbo and head straight back into the backwater town. We arrived just before dark and had little time to negotiate any such Launch out to Supzurro to rendevous Leonardo and his Yacht for the morning. Infact we blindly headed to Turbo without any communications with Leonardo because the urge to get out of Cartegena and have a change of scenery was overwhelming.

Paola, who is Leonardos daughter, met us at the hostal at 0830 am thursday morning and we set off together from Cartegena to Turbo with me in the lead and Grant and Paola riding two up. After spending the night at Hotel Caribe in Turbo, Grant and I decided to head to the docks and begin negotiation for a boat to meet Leonardo in Supzurro. Our discussion with a few people morphed into a huge mob of people formed into a semi circle of whom no-one had the foggiest clue about anything but were willing to add their two cents about the cost of a boat to Supzurro. The range in price was huge between 1 million to 2 million Pesos......about the same price as flying from Bogota to Panama. Alas talking to the dimwits yeilded nothing but frustration.

As the day progressed a phone call finally came in from Leonardo with news that he would organize a Launch from his end. This was great news as he managed to negotiate half the price that we could get in Turbo.

In the morning after our second night in Turbo we headed to Aduana to sign out the bikes and make our way to Necocci....a little town where the Captain of the Launcher decided to meet us. (The Captain probably had a woman to meet for an hour or two). Grant and I along with Paola rolled up to the beach in Necocci and greeted Leonardo along with roughly 15 locals ready to heave our bikes into the 20 foot by 6 foot wide fiberglass craft touting a 200 Horse engine. All of our gear was removed from the bikes and the crew easily lifted both of our machines into place within the hold of the small vessel. We were now ready to cross the open ocean along with 10 passengers in total. Luckily for us the ocean was calm and we didnt have excessive thrashing from the waves.

The Captain who is a local from Supzurro was a gruff jerk off who figured he was some sort of big wig treated us like a couple of lesser individuals.....scally wags! Grants bike, which I might add was tied down by the locals (incompetence runs rampid down here) began falling over into my bike. We requested the boat to stop so we could readjust but the prick yelled to us Gringos to sit down and informed us that we would be paying extra for the 30 second delay. Alas, everyone calmed down and Grants bike was uprighted with no damages.

We finally pulled into Sapzurro roughly 1.5 hours after departure. After dropping off the local passengers the Captain of the launcher informed us that we needed to hurry up. He was such an asshole that I wanted to strangle him. Using the mast we winched Grants bike up and onto the deck with no problems. Next was my bike. The captain yelled to me to toss Leonardo the bow line. Of course his mate being an incompetent local never organized the rope so it was completely tangled. After calling me a dumb white cunt! He reversed the engine and came in fast toward the sailboat effectively cracking my windshield which was overhanging the gunnels of the launcher. I yelled at the asshole and subsequently I got yelled at by Leonardo.....Leonardo needs this man and had to pretend to be on his side. In the end my bike got loaded with no further problems.

The next order of the day was to get our passports stamped in Caparguna. This involved walking up and over a jungle mountain and along a rooty muddy path. I enjoyed the hour and a half hike and also enjoyed arriving in the Town of Caparguna. The immigration office there was very basic and had a mascot who was a large orange tiger striped Tom Cat. In 5 minutes our passports we stamped and now all we needed to do is find someone to bring us back by boat to Supzurro. Simply looking around standing still promped the locals to inquire what we needed. Youre always being watched! In 2 minutes we had a nice and friendly captain who was willing to sail us the 10 minues around the shore to the Yacht.

Arriving at the dock in Sapzurro which is merely a concrete pier with 2 military Marine boats tied up we happend to notice that the military was gearing up for a nighttime patrol. Roughly 15 men decked out in Fatigues all touting machine guns silently slipped out of the shallow bay in their 30 foot by 10 foot wide boat touting triple 350 horse power outboard engines.

After a short walk along the unpolluted garbageless beach we found the dingy in the dark and together Leonardo, Paola, Grant and I paddled back to the Yacht for a feed of pasta, and red wine to cap the evening.

The cabin is a spacious 15 foot wide area with 6 foot plus celings. Alas, it is a working boat and is cluttered and kind of dirty. This however is nothing new to me as I have been dirty and sweaty now for the better part of 7 months.

So far Leonardo and his daughter have been slightly entertaining. Hands waiving, loud talking, yelling at times, emotional, cry babies at times, but generally good hearted individuals ready to argue about anything. We will see how the relationship kindles over the 3 to 5 day passage as the absent minded physics genius runs around the yacht meanwhile getting us eventually to Panama by passing the Darrien Gap.

Cartegena in the Moon light, Colombia.

2010-06-07T12:42:00.005-04:00

One of the most prominently light towers in the old town. It has beautiful detail and a brilliant glow among the sillouette of near by colonial buildings.

Corral pillars hold up the roof of this Cathedral which opens its mighty wood doors in the evening for tourists and locals alike.

If its not cobbled or connecting stone then its tiled. Everywhere in Cartegena you'll find beautiful stone work or stone work that uses extinct corral to create buildings with intricate natural patterns in the brick work.

The Clock tower and behind it the slave trading square where today traditional african dancing takes place to the sound of drums and shakers.

The green light district where the drug dealers have realized the value of a man hug.

It has gotten to the point that the drug dealers no longer befriend Grant and I as we walk along the streets to our proposed destination. Their token line is "hey my friend, I got it, don't hesitate, I'm de boss here, What do you need? I've grown sick of the line and simply reply that I need a hug and elude their out reaching hand and move in for a big hug. This takes the drug dealer off guard completely and we both stand in the street hugging while he squirms to get away. Its actually quite effective and for the past three days I've made a name for myself and no longer get pestered by smooth talking drug lords that rule the street. Remember the line back in the early 90's ..."Hugs not Drugs"? Well its certainly true and I've tested it against dealers of Cocaine, weed, and everything else in between.

Grant and I have taken advantage of the Latino homophobia and now stroll freely along the narrow streets after dark which has yeilded some grand night time photographic opportunites. I unfortunately don't have the equipment (tripod) or skill level to take advantage of the lighting and framing but I try nonetheless, with such beautiful architecture its hard to make a shot that looks crappy.

No news from Leonardo as to his where abouts yet. Alas, on our end it was only wishful anticipation. Realistically we know that the likely departure date will be either tomorrow or the morning afterward. The bikes are ready and its just a waiting game from now.

Last night Grant and I were walking along the street and I happened to look into a bar that was serving mohito's in a tall glass with ice. (Mohito's are drinks with fresh crushed mint leaves with gingerale/ soda water, white rum, and sugar.) I suggested that we stop in for a refreshing drink. Grant hesitated for a moment and I realised this. I suggested a second option that we return to the hostal, drink a Coca Cola, and play with the new baby kittens that are about 3.5 weeks old and who are tumbling around and playful now. It was agreed that the Kitties were the more entertaining option, and bypass the drinking establishment we did. Its obvious that we've exhausted all that Cartegena has to offer and the road and the boat are calling our weary souls.

Return to Turbo

2010-06-06T16:45:00.009-04:00

Looking from the outside into the old town of Cartegena at night. Many of the old buildings and archetecture is light up at night and makes for a very romantic escape into another time in another world.

The old town of Cartegena is always a bustling place with narrow cobble or connecting stone and brick streets.

Art and sculpture is everywhere and provides for interesting subjects for those with any level of photographic or artistic interest.

The bike stripped down for the 3rd time this trip and it was found to be in ship shape condition, what an amazing machine. The only thing on my mind is the lingering notion that my cam chain is loose and I need new nylon sliders from the manufacturer to solve this biggish engine job. Hopefully it'll make it back to Canada.....its made it this far!

The new engine brackets in grey. The old ones mysteriously cracked and were just about to fail. I guess I really should have inspected the bike further but at the time I saw a problem and fixed it.

The plan that we originally derrived with Captain "JP" has arisen again, only this time, the plan is going to be carried out with Leonardo. What the real plan is, we have yet to figure out. What we think might happen is that, we'll ride back to Turbo and having sussed out the accomidations and eating arrangements last visit we'll find a couple of men and a Launcher boat to get us and our bikes out to Leonardo's Yacht 2.5 hours away across the ocean anchored in Panamanian waters. If the idea of motor boating in a 20 foot long, 5 foot wide boat seems sketchy, you're thinking along the same line as us. Alas, we are willing to do anything to get out of Cartegena after 2 weeks of the same thing.

Grant and I decided to fire up the bikes today to alleviate the monotomy. I hit the starter button and the bike hiccuped. I was puzzled at why the machine was having difficulty starting. So, ahead I went troubleshooting and ended up tearing the panniers, seat, side covers, and finally the valve cover off to expose the timing chain and all the guts that make the engine run like a top. I pulled out the feeler guages from my tool kit knowing that I was 14,000km over due on my inspection. I was suprized to find that the valves had not changed their tolerance since my last inspection 24,000km ago back in Santiago. I pulled the spark plug out and noticed that the terminal & pole had a larger gap than is suggested by "spec" so I popped in a new plug and set the gap correctly. In the disassembly I happened to notice that there was a crack in the engine mounting brackets. I pulled them off and headed out looking for a machine shop or back yard garage with scrap metal and a man with a hack saw to fabricate the new brackets that I needed.

I was pleasantly suprized at how fast I found someone able to make the new brackets. I should have had my camera with me but the mission to get the parts fab'ed I was overwhelming and I forgot it in my room. Alas, I will paint in words the scene. I arrived at a corrugated metal door and inside were 8 young men just hanging around. I quickly scanned the yard and noticed piles of metal and rebar. The scene was looking promising as far as material was concerned, when a young man who looked no more than 25 came over towards me. I explained that I needed new brackets make and he asked whether or not I wanted aluminum. I specificaly asked for Steel and quickly he pulled the exact guage metal out from within the pile and went to work tracing the parts that he would cut out using a hacksaw.

The little work shop had 3 vises and a grinding bench that used a washing machine motor to run a pully system which was attached to a piece of round stock that had a wire wheel and a grinding stone attached to either end. He also had a welding machine and a large industrial drill press. Essentially he had everything needed to do my job as well as tackle larger more complex work as well. His approach was interesing and different compared to how I would have done the job. Having a bit of knowledge with regards to fabrication in a shop environment I appreciated his back yard practical skills which were far superior to mine, hands down! Within 10 minutes he had the pieces cut out, drilled and polished exactly the same as the originals. When I asked how much I owed him he said that he didn't want to be paid. I told him that I wanted to pay him a little bit anyhow and in the end he happily accepted 5000 peso's which was about $2.50 . Enough to buy supper around these parts at a restaurant so about equivalent to 15 bucks in Canada...dang!

I slapped the newly fabricated parts back on the bike and bolted all the accessories back onto the machine. The humidity was sweltering and I was working only in board shorts and sandles. After about an hour I started noticing that my nylon shorts we feeling soaked like as if I had gone swimming and I was completely covered in a slick of wet sweat with greasy hands. Alas, the locals kept popping their heads in to chat and I simply replied that they could'nt touch the bike and that I didn't want to talk. I had to be harsh because otherwise these people just won't go away. The conversation never stops and I end up getting distracted or forget to tighten bolts or leave steps out completely. This sort of scenario happens frequently and luckily I only damaged the bike once back in Brasil when I forgot to retighten the chain adjuster bolts after a mob surrounded me at a gas station jabbering on in Portugese and bewildering me. Luckily that time another fabrication shop made me my new parts so essential to the bike.

Currently the plan is to either head to Turbo in the afternoon tomorow, (depending if we hear back from Leonardo), or head out the following morning. Coming to this plan was awhile in the making. Originally Leonardo informed us of his 20 something year old daughter that is currently living in Cartegena and who was coming over to sort things out. Paola showed up with her Italian passport and explained that she was going to fly to Panama and meet her father and the both of them (father and daughter team) would sail around the clock to get to Cartegena. This was a great plan for both Grant and I. We tried to book her flight using our credit cards online on the agreement the difference would be deducted from our boat fare. Alas, the site expected us to have a zip code so in the end the flight plan was thwarted and we were left in limbo considering our options. The discussion regarding Infamous Turbo had reared its ugly head again. Following a phone call to Leonardo he agreed to sail the 30 hours solo to the Panama border and let us deal with our own export and immigration paperwork in Turbo. The plan was good enough so we agreed to await the go ahead from his end when he reached the border.

In order to have a big enough crew (or maybe he just wants to see his daughter) Leonardo suggested that we bring his daughter along with us on the motorbikes and we reluctantly agreed to doubling her solely on the fact that she weighs no more than 90 pounds soaking wet. The advantage on our end is that she may (or may not) be a help in translating our requests for a launch.

Time will tell and although I don't fancy the idea of returning to Turbo, it is going to get us out of Cartegena and into Panama 3 days earlier than any other option at this point. So the next leg in the saga to get off of the South American continent continues.

Calm Waters

2010-06-03T20:41:00.000-04:00

Grant Else (www.grantelse.blogspot.com) my Canadian friend from Vancouver who helped me escape Turbo when I thought I'd all but bitten the dust

Frenando, My sticker Builder and owner of the shop that fabricated all my custom hand made National Flag stickers

One of the fellows hard at work on Nicaragua.

The Proud complete set just before I stuck them all over my panniers

Grant and I have been semi-successful at coaxing the Physicist, Leonardo from Italy back to Cartegena. In the morning we expect Leonardo's verdict of whether or not he will come for us now that we offered a larger quantity of cash than he normally charges. You see, Captains like to ship motorcycles (if their boat is big enough to ship them) because they can charge the motorcycles out for the same price as a person and still fill up the boat with passengers if they choose to do so.

Alas, our days have been a mix-up of reading, walking, eating and coming up with small tasks to do in order to occupy the day. For instance, the excitement today was all about getting hand made National Flag stickers to stick onto the bike's panniers. It was cool watching the guy cut out details in the stickers and over lay colors making near replicas of country flags. Yesterday was all about getting fake drivers licences done, and tomorrow will be a project which involves getting business cards made so I don't have to scribble down e-mails and website details on old reciepts or scraps of paper for people that want to keep in contact.

Grant has taken things one step further and semi-convinced me to tag along and partake in Salsa dance lessons while I'm in the City of Salsa! I took a peak into the studio and I'm not convinced that dancing with petite brown girls with pronounced busts is all what its cracked up to be but I'll try anything once!

For now I'm enjoying my new cans of raid and killing mosquito's that hover near the entrance to my room while listening to the constant blairing of Colombian/Cuban music all day and all evening.

Tooling around Cartegena, Colombia

2010-06-02T14:06:00.000-04:00

The newer part of Cartegena form a little inlet bay

White egrets roosting in a mangrove tree.

The Cartegena fortress wall from the land side.

The typical way to get your daily fresh fruit around these parts.

Grant, Michelle and I rented bikes and headed out around the town to explore at a quicker pace. Its neat how backpackers from other towns are popping up just when you thought you'd never see them again.

It has become apparent that Grant and I have completely missed the boat. Every boat that could possibly take us is berthed over in Panama trying to gather up sparse customers for a voyage back to Cartegena. We've resorted to coaxing Captains back by offering a higher than normal price and we have two Captains on the line nibbling at the bait.

Captain #1 is named Leonardo, he is a former quantum Physicist who worked at CERN on the European particle accelerator project. He's a tiny man in his 60's with a fiery personality and young wife who's local to the area and expecting a baby any day now. If he likes you, you're in the good books forever otherwise, you might as well burn in hell.

Captain #2 is named Fritz, He loves to make money more than he likes to create happy memories and return customers. He's a German in his 50's who seems to make money his priority over boat maintenance and customer comforts and who doesn't seem to enjoy the yachting experience apparently.

Both men have been plying these Caribbean waters between Cartegena and Panama for several years and have always arrived safely at their destinations. All the other boats at this time which are loading passengers are smaller boats and unable to accomidate our motorbikes.

Alas, we are in a waiting game and beginning to partake in creative little activities like going to a sticker shop and having a local man handcraft all 18 national flags for the countries that I have passed through. Hopefully we can get out of here soon as I'm running out of creative ideas.

Dance with Dengue

2010-05-30T15:13:00.000-04:00

So Dengue Fever is what I self diagnosed myself with after matching my symptoms to a list of possible diseases or ailments. I had text book Dengue Fever signature, Headache, muscle stiffness, pain behind the eyes, extreme fatigue, a bright red rash that initially develops on the abdomen and lower back and on the lower extremities. Some people call the disease "bonecrusher disease"...but I didn't feel that bad. Besides I've broken my leg, arm, foot, dislocated my shoulder and bodyslammed myself multiple times snowboarding that I'm sure the muscular pain was no comparison. Dengue Fever is a virus that is spread by mosquito's. As the mosquito is an organism that carries the virus but is not affected by the virus it is referred to as a vector for the disease. The WHO estimates that 2.5 billion people are at risk of becoming infected ever year and annually 50 million cases are reported.

The classic dengue fever lasts for 2- 7 days with a small fever peak at the end of the disease known as a "bi-phasic pattern" Typically the patients platelet count will continue dropping until the fever/ temperature returns to normal. I guess this is why some people die from this.

In the end the patient is left with little red dots under the skin where the old blood is pooled. In some cases the disease progresses to Dengue Shock Syndrome (DSS) where the risk of mortality is significantly higher. Thankfully I was healthy enough avoid this stage of the disease.

Cartegena, Turbo, Colombia.

2010-05-30T12:47:00.001-04:00

How convienient it is, not only can you nip out and get your fresh fish from the street and select your cuts, but also, you can choose which new shoes you'll be wearing out to the next Cartegena Ball.

Old town Cartegena, a sold door leading into a grand old church.

Manicured tourist area of Cartegena

A Patrol tower on a corner of the wall around Cartegena which was originally built in the 17th century funded by the Spanish Crown to ward off invasion from pirating ships that several times invaded the city and stole spains gold and silver reserves. The wall was constructed using European Military Engineers over the course of 208 years. In 1756 defenses were compled and considered impregnable with more than 11km of wall surrounding the city.

Over looking the city from atop the wall.

The slopeing wall was an effective deterrant to the would be theifs.

A Large bore cannon answered the call of any midnight knockers.

Some how on my way to Cartegena I managed to follow a few signs and ask a couple of the right people for directions and I ended up near enough to the Centro Nautico that I spotted the masts of several large yachts. I pulled a U-turn after riding across a small bridge that dropped me into old Cartegena and proceeded back across the same bridge and toward the port side where the sailboats were berthed. I was specifically looking for a 45 foot Catamaran with a blue and green boom bag. Somehow in the mirad of boats I saw a Catamaran, and then another, and then another.....like this was going to be easy. I continued motorcycling slowly along the street that paralled the port dock. Loathe and behold, I see this guy waiving to me from a Catamaran, I thought "cool", and immediately afterward I saw another Canadian motorcyclist Grant Else walking along the dock. Apparently we both had just arrived at the same time and the captain would be arriving any minute.

I chatted to Grant and moments later after a phone call the Captain "JP" showed up, explained a few things, accepted our deposit and stated our departure date for thursday morning. It was all so fluid that it just could not have been arranged. As this was tuesday night Grant and I had a few days to kill.

I was suprized to find several of the backpacker/traveller folks that I met in Taganga wandering the streets of Cartegena. It was kind of fun to run into a few people that I met in a completely different city. I must mention that it was odd that a simple change in my surroundings made it difficult to place some of the people immediately.

Wednesday night rolls around and Grant and I phone "JP" to verify loading of the bikes in the morning. I was trying to understand "JP" with his strong accent and could not quite make out what he was saying other than, he was going to give us a refund, he was arrested, problem with immigrations, must leave the country ASAP. Grant and I immediately went back to the dock and there he was. "JP" was a very honest man and despite being ordered to leave the country that morning he waited all day until 8pm for us to call so that he could give us back our 400 USD.

Together the 3 of us looked at the map and devised a plan that we'd meet the captain near the Darrien gap, he'd cross the border into Panama and we'd hop into a "launcher" (a 20 foot long and 6-8 feet wide boat) and zoom out to his anchor'd yacht. At this point the plan was to use the boom and its series of pullies to hoist the bikes into the deck and thus get to Panama with no lost time. Grant and I agreed with the Captain that this was the plan and the next morning we headed toward the town of Turbo some 300km southwest of Cartegena as the crow flies. The ride there took 7 hours and involved cruising through heavey traffic and some of the bumpiest dirt road sections that I've ridden for a while.

Alas, we arrived in Turbo. It became immediately apparent that Turbo was the true definition of a back water town (apparently a great town to get robbed, kidnapped by the FARC, shot, killed, Die from Dengue, Etc.) . Grant decided that he'd go for a scouting walk to look for accomidation rather than ride around in the chaotic moras and I'd keep an eye on the bikes. Three young fellows befriended me immediately and I was happy to talk to them. This conversation was different and it wasn't the usual questions about the bike and where I was from. Unfortunately these little boys were soliciting themselves as child prostitutes. It was terrible and I repeately told them to go away which made no difference. It was a really sad thing to see and experience and to know that someone out there is taking advantage of this.

Grant and I checked into the "Hotel Caribe" and planned to look for launchers in the morning. That evening we walked through the slummy neighborhoods along a river that was so heavily polluted with human waste that it was cholking to breathe. Everyone in their homes greeted us with "buenas" or "hola" as we walked through and not once did we feel threatened. This was where families lived and everyone looked after everyones kids. Infact there were kids running around everywhere in the dark and life seemed more safe and normal in this part in comparison to the central part of the town of Turbo.

I did not sleep well the night before because I was freezing and had nightmares all night. When I woke up at 6 am for the ride and felt groggy and hungover, I blamed it on the heat and insomnia. The problem reared it head that night in Turbo when I pulled off my t-shirt and revealed a spotty puffy rash that covered my abdomen and back which was not present that morning. I thought "damn, I'm not getting on any boat until I see where this goes".

All night I froze and tossed and turned. Once morning rolled around I drug myself out of bed and saw that Grant had already went out to check internet regarding the captains plans. I inspected the rash and it had progressed from 30% coverage to more than 80% coverage and I was feeling weak and nervous. I decided to bolt to a Clinic that was located in a garage nearby that had one doctor and a labratory that could do analysis for blood platelets. I was entering a small pannick phase knowing that sepsis can spread fast and not long afterward coma followed by death. I didn't want to be tossed into the stinky river so I B-lined it for the hotel as fast as my staggering exhausted gate could propell me. I managed to meet Grant on the street and when he saw me he literally laughed at my state. I was covered in puffy red bumps, my hair was sticking up all over the place, my eyes looked like two yellow holes in the snow, and I was covered in sweat. He asked how I was feeling and when I replied that I was feeling scared he apologised for laughing. I calmed down now that someone was there to help me if something bad was to happen in the next hours.

Grant and I notified the Captain that I was very ill and that we would not be making the journey out to his boat and that he need not wait for us. I needed to sleep and pretty much slept all day and all night. In the morning after the second night in Turbo my condition had worsened. All I could think about was getting trapped in this small backwater and having no immediate medical attention. I was certain that I had Denge fever but my platelets were still within the normal range but more on the "low"normal range according to the blood test results.

I popped 1000mg of acetominophen (tylenol) layed down for an hour and a half and then summoned all the deepest inner strength possible to get dressed and get on my motorcycle to get the hell out of Turbo. I had a fever of 38.8 according to the disposable thermometer and I was extremely fatigued to the point I was worried about falling asleep on the bike. Thankfully the breeze provided by the highway speeds and the overcast day made for ideal conditions and the 1000mg dose of Tylenol made the difference. Despite feeling the equivalent of being mildly intoxicated (similar to 4-5 beers) I was able to handle the bike like second nature. I guess riding 8-10 hours a day for 7 months makes the machine an attachment. However, I did missjudge a corner and leaned the bike over far enough to burn the edge of my boot on the asphalt...on a dirtbike that's way leaned over!

Grant lead the way for most of the ride and I was happy to mindlessly follow occasionally drifting off to other thoughts and not paying any attention at all. Thankfully we made it back to Cartegena and had a good meal before crashing for the night. I popped 1000mg more tylenol and in the middle of the night I awoke to use the bathroom and realized that I was completely covered in sweat and the blurry outline of my body was stained dark in the light green sheets of the bed. Apparently the fever had broke and I was already feeling a little better. When I had gone to bed I was 95% covered in red, by morning the red was all but gone and only dark purple dots remained near my ankles where the blood had pooled under the skin.

Grant and I are currently looking for new boats and hanging out in Cartegena until one shows up.

Park Tyrona, Colombia

2010-05-26T16:42:00.000-04:00

Peering out from the jungle towards the beach

View from atop a small hill overlooking a sheltered bay

Christmas tree worms living on a brain corral.

Another type of tube worm that was quite common and colorful.

Taganga & Parque Tyrona, Colombia

2010-05-26T14:52:00.001-04:00

Snorkling at a small reef inside Parque National Tyrona, With new friends, Michelle, Maurice and Matt.

The last beach that we encounted on our trek through Tyrona

The town of Taganga from a trail that makes its way to Playa Grande.

Local fish for sale. This kettle of fish was in a wheel burrow being walked to different restaurants that buy the fish as they come in from the sea.

As I rolled into Taganga, Colombia I spotted a couple of folks of the caucasion persuasion standing in front of a dive shop. I stopped and inquired about accomidations and also what the diving course was all about. In the minutes that followed I had a place to stay and a spot booked on a boat for the morning out to a dive location with a diving instructor named Chopper.

I checked into Villa Esther which was run by an 81 year old man that looked like he was pushing 65 at the maximum. Although he was kind of slow when making his way around the hostal guest house he was definately fast at adding charges to my daily bill. Unknown to me there was an Israile hostal right next door that pumped techno music all night beginning at 11pm and playing well into the wee hours of the morning.

I had booked my SCUBA diving instruction through Aquantis, a reputable dive shop in the centre of town. I was pretty excited to recieve instruction and get into the deep blue sea. Chopper began with several basic SCUBA diving exercises at a beach some 15 minutes boat ride into Parque Nacional Tyrona. Several exercises were given which included mask clearing and what to do when running out of air for example. Anyhow, I seemed to really enjoy the diving experience, so much so, that I proceeded to dive 30 times in a row and attain a level of Rescue Diver which complements my EMT training.

The under water environment was a laugh and a half. Actually in my advanced diver course my instructor brough me and my dive buddy Eric from Sweden down to 30 meters where nitrogen narcosis becomes apparent in most people. Eric and I were given simple math problems and also asked to spell the USA presidents name backwards. I forgot to multiply when asked to multiply and Eric amazingly was able to spell George Washington backwards. Unfortunately Obama was the name that we were looking for and we all had a good laugh at 4 Atm pressure 30 meters below the sea. We ascended up to 20 meters where the nitrogen narcosis wore off and I reflected at how dangerous Nitrogen Narcosis really could be and how it alters your state of consiousness. In some people the Narcosis causes feelings of contentment and a disregard for safety. Some people have taken their dive gear off and drown as they were completely intoxicated and happy. Infact I read that the effects of Nitrogen Narcosis is also described as the "martini effect". Meaning that at 12 meters one is influenced similarily to intoxicating effect of one martini, at 30 meters its equivalent to 3 martini's and so on.

After finishing my Open Water, Advance Diver, and then my Rescue Diver I almost considered continuing on to become a Dive Master. I considered scrapping my plans to ride through Central America and just stay in Taganga for another month and a half to complete the apprenticeship and complete 40- 60 further dives. Alas, with much contemplating I barely made the decision to continue on and perhaps do the Dive masters in another year.

On my last 2 day's in Taganga I met 3 American folks that convinced me to accompany them on a hike into the Parque Nacional Tyrona. I was hesitant but I was easily convinced since I heard alot of positive feed back from other folks that went into the park. I was in the company of Michelle from Florida, Maurice from NY and Matt from Hawaii. Together we hopped into a cab and proceeded to the park gate. From here it was an easy hike through the jungle for about 1.5 hours until we came across the first of several beaches that had accomidations that ranged from tents, hammocks, to lockable rooms. Most people opted for the hammocks to take advantage of the sea breeze, but the trade off was the carniverous mosquito population that gorged themselves on the unsuspecting sleepers.

The first beach that we encounted was stunning. The Caribbean Sea was a colorful splash of aqua green and aqua blue with foamy white waves rolling into soft light brown sandy beaches held in place by towering palm trees. As we contined walking I kept thinking how surreal the surroundings were and how I would'nt appreciate this environment until sometime later. We eventually made our way to the last beach in the park that had a great area for swimming behind a corral reef. We all chilled out at this beach for a couple of hours before making our way back out. On returning to the exit we stopped in at one last beach which was one of the most stunning places I've ever been. Here I rented a mask and snorkle from a woman standing under a palm tree. The reef was shallow and had a variety of fish inhabitants and a decient array of corrals. I managed to pop a few under water pics of some interesting christmas tree worms and one of a sea snail common to this region.

The time had come to leave and we headed back to the park gate to rendevous our cab which were arranged prior to pick us up. That evening after hiking we decided to head into Santa Marta and cap the day off with dinner and a few drinks. Here, Maurice befriended a 15 year old kid who looked 10 years old because he was stunted in his grown from huffing gasoline and being malnurished. Maurice brought the young fellow to a grocery store and bought him some juice and a few other items that the young fellow wanted. We thought of giving the kid a ride back to his shanty town but the grocery store owner strongly persuaded us not to go there after dark. We said good bye to the happy young lad and he took off into the night. I mentioned to Maurice that he had a big heart and was very generous. It is hard to imagine what it must be like for a person that is born into a cycle of povery and has limited chance for success.

We all returned back to Taganga and capped the night off with relaxing around Maurice and Matt's pool at their hostal. The evening was great and I was counting my blessings to be so fortunate.

In the morning I open up my e-mail to find a note from a captain regarding a boat to Panama. Apparently there wouldn't be another boat for a while that could accomidate a motorcycle so in a split decision I weighed the pro's and con's and decided that I'd finish what I started and continue on with my Moto to Cartegena and load my bike onto a 45 foot catamiran and sail north ward along the Caribbean Coast to Panama.

MIA Taganga, Colombia

2010-05-22T12:39:00.000-04:00

Beach front at Tanganga

Roberto atop his GS1200

I was warned about kite strings hanging down from powerlines that could potentially slice your neck off, hence Brasillians ride with kite cutters attached to their bikes. Here, however, there were kite strings caught up in the high tension power transmission lines. I wonder how many fried carcasses there were below the lines?

Just before Tanganga there was a hint of the ocean and the beaches ahead. The road from the Venezuela / Colombia border was the most beautiful road. I liked the ocean vistas and riding along the ocean cliffs. Occasionally the road veered inland a bit and I rode through a tunnel like canopy with huge trees towering over the roadway.

As some may have speculated I have been missing in action and enjoying the atmosphere and beach town life of a small Colombian destination named Taganga. I rolled out of Adicora and began to make my way to Maracaibo just 170km from the Colombian border. I decided to spend the night in a hotel that was suggested by the guide book called "Hotel Nuevo Montevideo". Despite its catchy name I believe that it was a love motel that the guide book advertized as an "Old rambling mansion, a tranquil place with high celings and AC" As usual I arrived just before dark and had little option but to check in and accept the dank stale cigarette smoke tinted air and the more than adequate ventilation provided by the multiple cigarette burns present in the bed sheets.

Before this point I had only heard about scheduled power black-outs in Venezuela. I had to wait until 700pm until the power was turned on in this region before I could turn on any lights and log onto the internet to determine currency exchange etc. To find internet on a sunday night I had to go to a five star hotel located on the waterfront. It was here while waiting in a dark lobby for the power to come on that I heard the english accent of a woman say "Grassyas" instead of gracias. I piped up and said hello in english and the woman in her late 40's turned her attention to me. Straight away she introduced herself. When I asked what had brought her to this part of the world she replied she was simpliy following God's orders as she was the chosen one. She began to explain to me that she was a messiah and that she was sent her by God to save the people. She was all over the map and it was very difficult to follow the conversation. At one point she mentioned that her feeling's about human Pride and Ego were self served indulgences and very evil. I decided to add that they were'nt evil but most likely an evolutionary behaviorial trait that somewhere in our ancestorial lineage had been a beneficial mechanism for sucessful reproduction and survial and when used as a tool, pride and ego can be beneficial.

At this remark the woman stood up and began pointing in my face and explaining that she was a doctor and that I was making no sense. I asked "what kind of doctor"? and she replied she was a doctor of everything and that she had a PhD..... in "Computers, Science, "N'other stuff" . The topic took a swing immediately to sexual exploitation of women across the world and how men made all the decisions and have exploited women all across the world. She explained that her own family had turned her back on her and had admitted her to a psychiatric hostital for treatment. She told me that she had spent 3 weeks strapped to a chair with nurses coming in and jabbing needles and drugs into her. Her emotions began to flare and she was beginning to go through cycles of extreme happiness immediately followed by rage.

All of a sudden it tured 700pm and the lights came on in the lobby and I saw that the woman was decked out in jewelery and dressed very finely. Her eyes were wide and scanning me and the room. She was obviously a nut case and I was getting kind of nervous and I was calmly talking this woman down so she didn't explode. As it was mothers day I asked if she had any kids, this bought me the precious time to say that I needed to be excused to call my mom and end the conversation all together. To make a long dramatic story short I did what I needed to do and returned to my flea bag hotel to the freezing air conditioned room in anticipation of crossing into Colombia the next morning.

I was up at the crack of dawn and pulled my cigarette burned sheets away from my body and sat on the edge of my bed. For a minute I began to read the names of all the people that have apparently felt it was of utmost importance to etch their names in the head board of the bed. For a second I thought about photographing the bed graffiti but decided against it as I really didn't want to remember this place.

I rolled up to the border between Venezuela and Colombia and within 18km of Colombia I used my last coins to fill my tank, costing no more than 16 cents. I was really nervous about crossing out of Venezuela but it was the easiest of all crossings thus far. Also I was worried about getting into Columbia, but, this too proved to be a slice of pie. In total I believe that the entire process took no more than 45 minutes ...the fastest border crossing yet!

The road into Columbia quicky entered the mountains and with the change in topography the landscape morphed into lush green fields and canopy covered roads I finally arrived in Santa Marta where I grabbed a bite to eat. I decided that I'd spend the night in Taganga and headed in that direction toward a small fishing village that has become a tourist haven that offers great SCUBA diving and a relaxing atmosphere...erik sweezy sent me here!!

Adicora, Venezuela

2010-05-06T19:46:00.000-04:00

Roberto Sr, and Roberto Jr. Who I befriended at the beach and stayed at their beach house which they generously opened up to me as their guest.

Although the beach had soft sand, you had to becareful of bottle caps and other dangers that you might step on.

Adicora's beautiful waterfront and lighthouse.

Kitesurfers get ready for the starters pistol before embarking on a long distance kitesurf to another town.

I was treated to a typical Venezuelan lunch and came face to face with the fact that I really am a seafood lover afterall.

I rolled out of the historical center of Coro with plans on arriving in the town of Adicora to soak up some sun and try either kitesurfing or windsurfing. The road out to Adicora was a wind swept highway that had blowing sand and salt spray which coated my visor in a white mist. I had to stop a couple of times to clean the visor so that I'd be able to keep a keen eye open for the multiple herds of goats, cows and wild donkeys roaming the shoulders of the road.

I finally arrived in Adicora just before noon and decided to ride onto the compacted beach along with several cars that were already parked there. Apparently there was a long distance kitesurfing competition going on and competitors from all over drove to Adicora to partake in the event.

I was just idleing along in first gear when a white truck pulled up along side of me and a guy named Roberto Andara rolled down his window and introduced himself. Roberto has done several long distance rides on his BMW GS 1200 and is the owner of several motorcycles. As well he is a former enduro racer with many titles and championships. He was hanging out on the beach taking in the kite race when he happened to sight me. Roberto explained that he knew the ropes of travelling and that he was offering to host me for a few days so that I could get a real Venezuelan beach life experience. I scanned Roberto for 2 seconds and decided that he was a legit dude and I followed him to his lovely beach house where I got to meet his father Roberto Senior.

For 3 nights and 2 days I was fortunate enough to be in the company of these two interesting individuals. Roberto Sr. is a retired General from the Armed Forces and served as a military Atache Diplomat. He had several interesting facts and information that he shared about Venezuela that I was completely oblivious about. Roberto Jr. is an active business man that is involved in selling and distributing good to the government. Both of these fine fellows spoke english very well and this made conversation quite easy, although, I really should have been practicing my spanish.

I decided to head out into the little town of Adicora to have a bite to eat on my own one afternoon while the fella's were kite surfing. I tried to strike up a conversation with on eof the locals while buying a beer. Apparently my Spanish is so badly mixed up with Portugese and French that the poor fellow who was mychosen listening victim asked if I was Portugese. I explained to him that I was Canadian and that I was talking Spanish. He simply shrugged his shoulders and stated that he didn't understand.

Roberto Jr. suggested that I try and take an 8 hr kitesurf lesson and become certified with IKO (International Kitesurf Organization). I decided that this was probably a good idea and found a fellow named Christian who was willing to teach me. Christian was a very good instructor, however, he had alot of problems with punctuality. I calculated that I stood on the beach waiting for this guy for more than 5 hours over the two days because when he said that he'd meet me at 10am he showed up at 12pm, when he said that we'd do a couple of hours that evening he didn't even show up. The next day he was supposed to show up at 930 and I stood on the beach until 1pm. There was alot going on around the beach to occupy me but I was kind of excited to kitesurf and this gave me the feeling of anxiousness rather than relaxation. Anyhow, I managed to get 6 hours of instruction out of him but no certification as of yet.

Roberto suggested that I accompany him to Caracas and get to see the infamous city that everyone that I spoke to told me was a nightmare of muggers and theifs. I decided that I really needed chain and sprockets, brakes bled, rear mono shock repaired, oil changed and air filter cleaned as well as battery fluid topped up. I agreed that going to Caracas was a good idea so I back tracked 525km to Caracas following Roberto in his truck to get the much needed work done on the bike. I performed all the work myself with the help of Roberto in the parking lot of his condo complex. As for the mono shock, Roberto has dozens of connections and had a friend repair the shock for less than $50 USD. Infact Roberto is such a good negotiator that when we got pulled over by the police at an intersection, while in Roberto's truck, he managed to talk the police into letting him off of a fine well over a 100 dollars for cell phone use and agreed to hook the cop up with a clothes iron and a microwave. Roberto said that this was just part of living in Venezuela and the next time that he needs a police inspection done on his motorcycle in preparation for a big trip he'll call this policeman and avoid standing in a huge line up at the government office for hours.

I'm currently staying at Roberto's beautiful condo with his wife Erica and 11 year old daughter Marianna who attends school here in Caracas and is quite creative with art. Each day Roberto wife cooks some sort of typical Venezuelan dish and I have encouraged her to come to Canada and open a restaurant. Roberto has gone well out of his way to ensure that I attain everything that I require for the rest of my trip. He has also toured me around the city and introduced me to many people. I think I may have managed to talk him into doing a motorcycle / kitesurfing trip around New Brunswick as we have found out that Shippigan is one of the best kite surfing destinations in Canada.

With all the bike maintenance complete Roberto is going to ride the 525km back to Adicora with me on his BMW GS 1200 so that we can go kitesurfing one more time. We'll stay at his beach house for 2 nights and then I'm off towards Columbia. I'll most likely spend the night in Maracaibo and make my way to the boder town of Paraguachon and cross into Columbia heading towards Santa Marta. I'm still trying to decide whether or not I can swing riding back up through Central America to home and complete the trip. I will look into a boat to Panama and what my time frame will allow.

Puerto Colombia

2010-05-01T10:13:00.000-04:00

I rolled out of Cuidad Boliviar and headed north west towards Maracay which is only a couple of hours from Caracas. The highway there was either really good or really bad with many large potholes waiting to taco my wheels. The traffic became increasingly dense and I passed a few accidents, one involving a flipped over transport truck. The traffic was lined up for kilometers and luckily I knew better than to wait. I Ziged & Zagged my way past hundreds of cars and made it to the accident site where there was a piece of equipment trying to right the upside down truck.

Entering Maracay the traffic was grid lock and I began spliting up through and in between the maze of stationary cars. After about an hour of zooming between cars I was becoming quite proficient at weaving ....that is, until, I accidently misjudged the size of the gap between the next few cars. Unfortunately for them I tore their mirrors off in the process of getting through traffic. I heard the plactic mirrors crack and then bounce along the asphalt behind me. Oops!, I laughed at how bad that was of me.

I decided to spend the night in Maracay in a hotel that isn't worth mentioning within the city centre. I awoke in the morning and decided that I'd try and find a map. This was a lost cause and within an hour I was back at the hotel and loading the bike for the departure to Puerto Colombia. Puerto Columbia is a Colonial smallish town located on the other side of a mountain range on the coast via a 55km road that passes through Henri Pitter National Park. I had to ascend up a single lane asphalt road to an Elevation of 1200m that had several pull-off for those that needed to pass on coming traffic. Along the way I almost got T-boned several times as the drivers on this road have no conscience and drove at dangerous speeds around completely blind corners.

I arrived in Puerto Columbia and checked into Hostal Colonial as suggested by the guide book. It was a nice little hostal with good motorcycle parking and a big open yard and shaded seating. I decided that I'd lather up in sunscreen and hit the tropical beach (Playa Grande) with its orange fluffy sand and clear blue water. The sand was soft and the water warm. The waves crashed on the beach in a white frothy foam that contrasted the orange sand and blue water. The over hanging Palm trees provided shade from the relentless sun and best of all there was virtually nobody in sight. I went swimming for my token 15 minutes and then retreated to the salvation of my t-shirt and broad brimmed hat before becoming crispy and red.

I returned to the Hostal to chill out before embarking on a little stroll around Puerto Columbia. I decided to climb a little hill that had Jesus at the top. Along the way there were crabs scurrying away from me and crawling under rocks or down holes that they excavated in the ground along the side of the trail. The view from atop Jesus mountain was nice and I took a few minutes to sit down and watch the sunset. Returning down the trail it was dark and the really big crabs were out on the trail. It was like a scene out of Harry Potter where by large crabs would slowly retreat down a hole or behing a large tree just out of focus in the distant darkness. There were hundreds of crabs mostly the size of a tea saucers that would start moving toward their hollows. I could only make out their sillouette and it was kind of interesting but also kind of erie.

At the hostal I met quite a few other tourists, Two fellows named Neil and Shaun from England that are travelling around the world and a couple of girls travelling together from Switzerland. I also met a man from Switzerland travelling around with his wife who is native to Venezuela. They were both artists and host events and attend meetings all over the world and are quite active in the art community.

In the morning I decided that I'd head to Coro, a colonial town with a very attractive historical centre. In 1993, Coro was listed as a Unesco World heritage site and attracts visitors from all over the world wishing to stroll its streets and absorb its romantic feel. The streets are cobble and the building's are short and colorful with beautiful wooden doors. I checked into Hostal Gallo owned by Eric and his wife. Eric is originally from France and I believe that his wife is native to Venezuela. Their young son is loads of entertainment and very energetic running around all day in his tighty whitey's believing that he is either Bat Man Or Spider man....who knows.

Last night a group of other tourists from France invited me to see the nearby sand dunes. I decided to hop on a bus with them and head over to the dunes park. As it was a National Park I was suprized that there were so many 4x4's dune buggys and ATV's burning around amung the people that trekked into the park to see the sunset. National Parks here have a slighty different meaning to what I'm used to I guess.

Today I'm heading to the Paraguana Peninsula, its touted as one of the countries windsurfing and kite surfing capitals. I figure that I might partake in a lesson or two and exhaust myself trying to learn a new sport while I'm here.

Spanish Lessons, Cuidad Boliviar, Venezuela

2010-04-25T09:58:00.000-04:00

A look of bewilderment cloaked my expression of excitement when I found out that we weren't coming back to town that night. I definately need to brush up on my comprehension of spanish.

Jorge, Javier, Raphael & I drove in this jacked up Toyota Hilux out to a village some 200km east of Cuidad Boliviar. That being said, the drive there was done with no seat belts, 160km/hr and a truck full of guns. Where we were going, I had no idea, when we'd be back, I did not know, however, the cooler was full of ice, food, and water so I knew that it would be a while. Funny thing was, all I thought about was if my gear back at the Hotel would be safe all night without me.

Land yachts sail and dock in the hilly historical centre.

Sunset on the Rio Orinoco that flows past Cuidad Boliviar

The bike finally rolled the clock at 100,000km, hopefully it'll make the next 3000km to Columbia.

I pulled into Cuidad Boliviar just before dark as usual and pulled into a parking lot to check out my guide book's suggestions for accomidations. I happened to pull into the parking lot of a 4X4 parts and accessories dealer who's owners Javier & Antonio greeted me with open arms. They were asking me all sorts of questions and offering to guide me to where ever I wanted to go. I pulled out the guide book and showed Antionio the name of the Tourist hotel "Dan Carlos". Antionio called the number and ensured me that they had a room available. Meanwhile Javier returned from the store with a premium brand Castorol 10w40 oil for my motorcycle free of charge.

I agreed to return to the shop the next day and carry on the conversation. The guys closed up shop and lead the way to Don Carlos Hotel, a refurbished 500 year old mansion filled with antique german furniture and heavey dark wooden carved animals used as foot rests and heavey chairs.

The next day I spent the better part of the morning looking for a map of Venezuela with no success. I spoke to a military policeman and asked where I could find a map. He told me a whole bunch of jibberish which I couldn't understand. At the end of the conversation the man left me in need of more so I asked if he could cut off the Venezuelan badge sewn onto his shoulder and give it to me. He looked at the badge contemplated the thought for a second, and replied that he had no knife at which point I gave him my pocket knife. He dissappeared into his police hut and returned to the street with the patch. I gave him the equivalent of 3 dollars and he seemed pretty happy about this and simply walked away from his post to the store across the street and bought a coffee and a snack. As I was leaving his partner came out and wanted to sell me his patch, I replied that one was enough and he seemed pretty disappointed about that answer.

Saturday the 24th of April rolled around and I decided that I'd head back to my buddies 4x4 store and shoot the breeze. Apparently all the breeze shooting got the guys considering to bring me out to test their guns. I agreed that I'd go with them to shoot a gun and envisioned that we were going to some sort of shooting club, meanwhile I was having visions of uzzui's and other high power guns that I'd get to try.

The guys said that they'd pick me up at 3pm and that we'd head out to shoot shortly after that. I didn't understand anything what they were telling me apparently, as I noticed the city disappear on the horizon. I tried asking what time we'd be returning but that was a waste of time because Jorge kept replying, "tomorrow.....tomorrow"....."...tomorrow"? I kept thinking that he couldn't understand what I was saying until I realised that the back of the truck was loaded up with food and a large cooler full of ice and a 40 litre jug full of water.

In between Raphael and I were a couple of rifles, boxes of ammunition, two huge rambo knifes, and a couple of giant highpower spotlights. There were 4 military check points along the way and we had to cover up the gear and pretend everything was cool. I had no idea where we were going and didn't bring my passport or any ID so I was pretty sure that if we got checked out I'd be Venezuela's newest resident in a local prison.

We bombed down the highway at an average speed of 160km/hr with no seatbelts. I kept prying my hand between the seat cushons trying to find the female buckle but to no avail. Two hours later we arrived in a small community where all the local people gathered around the monster truck, mostly little kids, teenagers, and a few adults. Here is where we picked up 4 more men that all hopped into the box of the truck to help with the killing and to guide the truck through the multiple forestry roads here in this part of Venezuela.

The fellows left me in the village for about 30 minutes by myself and the villagers while they went off to get gas or something. I didn't bother asking why I couldn't go too. A young fellow named Richard pulled up on a little 125cc motorcycle and introduced himself and began speaking english quite well. Richard invited me on a tour of his community which consisted of 3 separated little villages and two schools. He explained that there was a primary school and a highschool and that all the students attended school for 12 years. It was an interesting experience and Richard was a good guide. During the 30 minutes Richard doubled me on the back of his motorbike I met several of the towns people including Richards family, and we got to see a monkey that was best friends with a small white cat. It was a very welcoming village and every woman I met told me that she was willing to marry me if I wanted to! One woman even offerd me a BMX bicycle as a dowery (that one was hard to resist).

Richard returned me to the house where the truck dropped me off. There we 10 or 12 people all standing around me smiling and just waiting for me to say anything and laughing at everything I was communicating. Every few minutes someones mother would get her child to run over to me with a little snack to eat. Sometimes it was a small fruit from a nearby tree and other times it was nuts. I asked to see where the food was growing and the people were besides themselves showing me their way of life. This was definately one of the major highlights of my trip thus far. It is so difficult to gather up the courage to pull into a community like this by yourself, however, apparently it is totally safe and the people are so happy that you as a foreign visitor from another world stopped in just to visit them.

Once all the business was taken care of at the village the cry was made to get into the truck. Jorge motioned me to get into the back of the truck with him and the other 3 fellows from the village. We rolled only about 5 km from the settlement and at once we were in a managed forest. The forest was a mixture of natural dry savana forest and Red or Black Pine Plantation. The truck suddenly stopped and and the guns were pulled from their storage cases. Bullets jingled in their boxes and the "snap and clack" of bolt action and ammunition loading filled the silent night.

The truck essentially became an assault vehicle looking for unsuspecting wildlife blinded by high power night lamps being waived from either side of the truck while guns lay ready in the carpet lined trough of the box liner. I didn't bother mentioning how illegal this type of activity would be in Canada or the fact that we'd all be thrown in jail for months for this type of activity, not to mention huge fines and confiscation of guns and vehicle. Here, what we were doing was the best way to go hunting. Who in the right mind would go out in the middle of the day when the animal could detect you and run away?

The trip up the Amazon and the last couple of days sleeping in a tent and a hammock at the hotel have exhausted me. It seemed like hours had past and finally I decided to check the time. It was only 8:20 pm I calculated that we had 8 hours to go unless we killed something. At this point I knew that it was ethically irresponsible, but, I was too tired to worry. I tapped the light man on the shoulder and took over as animal spotter. I figured that if I could help in any way to get things over and done with and me back to town earlier I'd do anything.

We rounded a corner and the forest type changed and thus the man from the back took over my post. It was good thing as I was getting really tired and beginning to falling asleep standing up. Suddenly the truck stopped and Jorge swung a rifle to his shoulder. The spotlight illuminated the "Candelas" ( the glowing eyes of a deer). I plugged my ears waiting for the shot......BOOM..and the Candeleas were gone. Jorge missed his target and the little deer lived for another day. We pulled over for a midnight lunch before heading to a new quadrant of the forest. While cruising around I witnessed a shooting star that lasted for more than 30 seconds and also happened to notice that Venezuela's clear cuts were among the biggest that I've ever seen, stretching from horizon to horizon under the midnight moon.

Alas, the night wained on, and at about 2am the hunting party began to get discouraged. We called off the hunt and dropped off the guides and proceeded back to Cuidad Boliviar for the next two hours. I couldn't fight the urge to nodd-off and awoke with a stiff neck as we rolled into the city centre at 4 am. Arriving at my hotel it took 5 minutes of knocking and door bell ringing to get the night watchman out of bed to let me in. In the process I awoke the whole hotel and discretely crept into bed in the dorm room situated in a "lean-to like shelter in the open air.

I thanked the fellows for a great adventure and for treating me to a bit of their culture which was similar to my own. They we happy feeling confident that I expressed my feelings and gratitude and especially that I had a good time on their hunting trip which I was invited on specially. I fell asleep immediately among all the antique furniture and indeginous carvings contained within the walls of the 500 year old building for a short sleep until the early morning arrived a few hours later.

A Glimpse at the Gran Sabana, Venezuela

2010-04-25T07:56:00.000-04:00

A shot of a waterfall from the highway that was about 1km away and roughly 100 meters wide.

Looking out over an expanse from atop a high ridge. The road was fast and smooth, however, I took it easy so I could look around and take in the scenery.

A Tepuis in the distance. The largest and highest of the Tepuis was shrounded in mist and fog as I passed. I considered staying the night at a small town in order view it in better conditions the next day....but what were the chances it would clear?

Palm trees dot the southern portion of the Gran Sabana. I thought it was kinda strange to see palm trees growing in a grassland as I'm familiar only with grasslands in Canada which are generally habitat to species like Manitobia maple, willow, alder and other such species.

The secret waterfall that my friend Marcio brought me to. It had a nice little swimming pool at the bottom and had an easy access trail leading into the river.

I pulled out of the camping ground at the Waruri River and headed at a medium pace through the curvy and rolling highlands of the Gran Sabana. People from all the world come to the Gran Sabana to hike the hundreds of Tepuis that dot the unique grassland region. The Tepuis are essentially table top mountains that jut upward and are distinct in a green landscape that has been compared to Scotlands highlands.

I had the road pretty much to myself and I read that the highway finished construction back in 1993 and was one of the best highways in the country (no Pot holes or broken asphalt). I was considering stopping in at various waterfalls along the way and perhaps hiking. The thought of hiking seemed like a good idea but for some reason when the turn-off came I simply by passed the road on route to Cuidad Boliviar.

Country 15, Venezuela

2010-04-23T14:23:00.000-04:00

Leaving Brasil was an easy task but getting into Venezuela was an all day endevor as I had to drive 18km into the country, buy insurance, and then drive back to the border to obtain my import papers.

At 3 cents a litre gas seems almost free. This gift from the president Hugo Chavez Rivas has fueld the continuation of muscle cars and gas guzzlers that flood the roads. I filled up 5 times since I've arrived and have paid nothing more than pocket change, my average fill-up being 20-25 cents USD. (1.70 Boliviars) A plate of food and 3 beers generally costs me 58 Boliviars (8 Dollars USD)

An interesting bridge that I maybe mistaking for the bridge that was designed by the same archetecht who designed the Ifle Tower. (cant spell foreign words)

Marcio, the fellow at the camping ground at the Warui river just 10-15km out side of Sant Elena. In the morning he showed me to a water fall that no body knows about and then fed me breakfast all free of charge. Upon leaving I noticed that his gear shifter was falling off and he explained that it was a trouble that had plauged him for several weeks. I pulled out my supply of metric bolts and fixed his problem, he was so happy he just took off with a smile and left me alone before I took off in my direction into the Gran Sabana.

The Military here shows their presence and their love for pets. Apparently they love cats.

I departed Boa Vista at 900am and realized as I rolled out of town that I'd be arriveing at the border just in time for lunch......DOH! Departing Brasil was pretty easy, however, the woman entering my customs data was slower than a snail. Next, I crossed over nomansland to the border office on the Venezulean side. Here I got my stamp right away and then proceeded to Customs. The woman at the customs desk explained to me that it was necessary for me to ride 18km into town and buy insurance for my motorcycle. What she was really saying, was that I needed to speak with the Polizia seguranca. I understood that I needed to speak with the police to have a security clearance rather than speak to a person about a security policy (insurance policy). Anyhow I rode to the police station who had no clue why on Earth I was there and simply directed me to the transportation police next door. The guys next door informed me that their boss would return to his desk in 3 hours and that I'd have to wait. Finally I showed the fellows at the transportation Police what the woman at the customs office wrote down. They inormed me of the address where I could find the Poliza Matre, beside the police station. At this point I realized that I really didn't know how to speak any spanish.

I arrived in front of the insurance office and saw that the person had already gone for lunch. It was 1145am so I figured that they would probably return at 100pm.....yeah dream on. In the mean time I decided that I'd look for a person to exchange Reals for Boliviars (Venezuela currency) I traded my remaining Reals for Boliviars with a person waiving a fist of bills among a few other men at the side of the road, from here I headed toward the gas station. I decided to cut the line of more than 100 cars waiting in a uniform line for gas. Fuel in Venezuela is less than 3 cents per litre so hundreds of people from Brasil cross the border everday to buy gas for for less than a dollar a tank. Those that get caught smuggling extra gas back into Brasil get their cars confiscated.

I figured that my endevor to buy gas would take all day but my trick of cutting the line actually worked and I had my gas topped up for 24.9 cents...ha ha ha ha...!!! It was now only 1230pm and I decided to grab a bite to eat and then look for a bank machine as the money I exchanged was not enough to get me through Venezuela for more than a couple of days. To my dissapointment no bank machine would work for me. I realized that I was in big trouble, however, as my back up I had a reserve of US dollars.

I waited outside the office for my insurance person until 3 pm when finally the woman returned from her extended lunch break. The insurance process from here was little more than 20 minutes and 223 Boliviars (30 USD). At this point I had to return to the border to prove insurance and then obtain my import papers. The thought of no money plauged me so I stopped at the money changers for the second time and traded a crisp 100 dollar US bill for Boliviars. The guy argued with me about the exchange rate and finally met me somewhere in between. Off I went to the border. I got my papers and decided to ride back into Brasil to a bank machine on the Brasillian side. (As there are so many cars passing through just to buy gas there are only cameras recording who enters and who leaves, its up to you to check in and speak to an official if you are importing or entering the country). Alas, the Banco Brasil would not dispense any cash because it would not recognise my international card. I was stuck with the decision to return a third time to the money changers to exchange yet another 170 USD. The Exchange went pretty easy and I rode back into Santa Elena. I asked a guy on the side of the road for directions to the hotel listed in my guide book. He pointed in the opposite direction down a one way street, thus, I had to navigate the cob web of streets just to get one block back to where the hotel was. I took off and moments later a friendly looking dude waived me to follow him on his motorcycle. I thought "wow the guy who I just spoke to is showing me the way". You see, every one does this formotorcycle travelers here. Next thing I knew the street dead ended..I thought to myself for a second that the guy got lost or something. That is until he placed his motorcycle in front of mine so I had to stop. The guy turned out to be one of the money changers and he strarted going off about the money that I had given him. Apparently I had only given him 150 instead of the 170 he exchanged for me. When I realised that this guy had lead me down a dead end street and was now attempting to rob me I flipped out and pointeddirectly in his face with my finger. My point was clear, I wasn't an easy catch and he backed off for a second. Next thing I knew he was coming in for a second attempt and again I made it clear that he was in as much danger as I was. I considered popping the clutch and driving right over him, or putting the bike on the kick stand and stabbing him with my switch blade that I had convieniently placed in my tank bag within easy reach. Fortunately for him, and me, a taxi pulled down the alley and this gave me the 2 seconds to decide on fight or flight. I decided on flight and gunned it down 3 one way streets in the wrong direction until I found the police. I was shaking like a leaf but in survival mode so I wasn't scared ....it was the weirdest feeling. I told the police that I wanted to find the road north because I exchanged too much money with the money exchangers and now they were looking for me because they thought I was full of money. The police lead me to the exit of town and I blasted up route 10 into the Gran Sabana.

At about 10 km into the Gran Sabana I was flying over a hill into a sharp dip when I saw lone man standing in the middle of the road with his hand up. I whizzed right by slowing only to about 50km per hour as my mind was focused on escape from town, because in my mind the money exchangers were following me. Fortunately for me, I looked over my shoulder and saw the man adopt a shooting stance. I immediately nailed the brakes and pulled a u-turn recognising the man as military. I was directed to a parked unmarked truck where an official military man checked my documents. I asked the gunman how many more meters before he would have shot me. He replied that I had until the second cone before he shot me right in the head. To prove the point further came came over and poked my helmet and made a poof sound with his lips. I knew he wasn't joking but I laughed anyway and thanked him for not shooting. My sense of humor kinda got me off the hook and after I was asked where I was going before they set me free.

Not 3 km down the road I saw a camping ground and decided to pull in. It was only 30 minutes until dark and I needed to set up camp. The guy working at the camping area charged me 3 USD 20 Boliviars for the night. The black flies were horrendous and referred to as the Plauge directly translated from spanish. There were two lovely big german short haired pointers that roamed the campground all night barking. I was happy to be tenting in the Gran Sabana with my guard dogs looking after me, shortly after almost being robbed and nearly shot in the head by a military gun man.

Bob & Weave to Boa Vista, Brasil

2010-04-23T11:32:00.000-04:00

Highway 174 from Manaus to Boa Vista was a nightmare. The jungle was so dense on either side of the road that it cast shadows which cloaked the malicious pothe holes. Some of the pothe holes were the size of bathtubs and just as deep. I nailed a couple of them dead on and bottomed out my suspension with the deathly thud. I was keeping my speed under 50km per hr most of the time however a safer speed would have been about 20km per hr.

After about 400 km the jungle began to dissapate and the forest transitioned to Savana. It was here along the roadway that I saw a hockey stick. Luckily the perculiar shape caught my eye and I realized that I had arrived at the Equator. I stopped for a photo and the urge to pee suddenly overcame me. I walked a few meters to the side and urinated on the line dividing north from south. I figured that here was a perfect place to mark my spot and back on the bike I wondered which way my pee would flow.

The majority of the trucks here on the highways are European, consisting of Mercedes, Scandia, and Volkwagon semi`s. As the road was so terribly bombed out with holes, everyone was navigating their rig all over the road in no particular order. Oncoming trucks were in my lane and I was in theirs. Everyone was simply making their way in their respective direction and navigating through the holes in the roadway . Navigating was more important than keeping to your side of the road! Alas, I had double duty to perform while trying to miss holes that would debilitate any motorcycle and at the same time avoid becoming hamburger on the grill of an oncoming truck. Biggest has the right of way down here!

Several pretty ponds and lakes dotted the highway to Boa Vista (God only knows what lives in that black water). The total trip from Manaus to Boa Vista was about 785 km from the dock in Manaus. Along the highway one had to pass through the Waruri Indegenous reserve. The highway along this stretch of road was only open to traffic between 6am-6pm. I was on my bike in a hotel parking lot at 630am and made my way to Boa Vista arriving at 5 pm that evening. Along the way I was treated to several maccaws flying overhead and several Toucans flying by like bullets through the forest.

A good stretch of the highway that shows the shadows which occluded the tretcherous potholes looming in the darkness awaiting a tasty motorcycle to devour.

I had the bike completely loaded at 0555am and walked to the front desk to ask if it was ok for me to start eating 5 minutes early as all the food was prepared and resting on a table in the middle of the dining room buffet style. The guy informed me that it wasn`t ok and that I`d have to wait 5 minutes. I was already sweating buckets and I simply laughed at the guy in an arrogant sort of way that only I could detect. I simply waited until one minute after 6 am and miraculously the door opened to the dining room and the lights were flicked on. I sat down for a gormet breakfast of scrambled eggs that had been cooked hours ago (maybe the night before and a bunch of bread products like pizza pockets and other stuffed paistry`s. I sipped a cup of super sweetened coffee and then decided that enough was enough.

I straddled the bike and off we went towards Boa vista. The highway quickly narrowed after about 100km and I definately realised that I had entered the deep Jungle. The road was terrible and the pothe hole threatened to devour my motorcycle. A few times in the 400km stretch I nailed deep holes which completely bottomed out my suspension and dislodged my speedometer from its mount.

Overhead along the way I happened to see several pairs of blue and beautiful yellow Maccaws flying over head. It was a very pretty and rewarding sight to behold. Several other species of birds were continually cross crossing the road as I made my way through the jungle and Warui indeginous reserve which included my favorite birds: ``Toucans``.

After about 500 km the Jungle began to dissapate and the further I headed from the Amazon the drier it got. At about 200km from Boa Vista the forest cover was replaced by Dry Forest and Savana. Boa Vista was on the Horizon and I arrived at roughly 5 pm. I was looking for accomidations when I decided that I`d pull out my guide book. I rode over to a Yamaha dealer and asked for directions to the hostal I was looking for. The guy simply hopped in his motorcycle and brought me right to the place I was looking for.

The hotel that I checked into (Hotel Monte Libano) was less than half what I paid the night before but smelled like mold and served no breakfast. There were cigarette buts gathered in the drain of the stand up shower and several cigarette butts resting on the window sills. I was in no shape to look for another hotel after 800km of riding so I simply walked around town looking for ice cream, and a good supper. I hunkered down in my rat hole and awoke the next morning for another early start to Santa Elena De Uairen, 18km inside the Venezuela border.

Arrival Manaus, Brasil

2010-04-23T10:47:00.000-04:00

Port of Manaus, a city of 2 million people. I departed the boat in search of a hotel but it was difficult to navigate the city as there was a building on fire near the port and the streets were traffic jammed. The temperature was 38 degrees and 100% humidity I was suffering on my motorcycle while continually stopping at brothels which I was mistaking for hotels.

1/4 side of beef being off loaded from a 5 tonne truck and onto the boat. Everything here is done by man power (people power in North America, but still done by men)

Farinia, a type of flour that the locals love sprinkling over their beans and rice. I grew to enjoy it however it was an aquired taste.

The hold of the Amazon Star was loaded with edible goods and hard goods that ranged from onions, eggs, meat, shrimp, flour, etc...to tiles, broom sticks and other supplies needed in Manaus some 1400km inland shipped in via the Rio Amazonia.

The River Amazonia for the locals was the life blood of the community providing food, transportation and a means of trade. I caught only a glimpse of these peoples lifes and thier culture will remain a mystery to me for ever.

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We arrived in Manaus at 1600hrs only 2 hours before dark. I asked the Captin and the main woman in charge of cooking and cleaning if it was ok for me to spend the night onboard the boat rather than head out looking for a hotel. Both agreed that it was ok for me to stay and that I didn`t have anything to worry about, although the woman was less happy about the decision.

Arriving in Manaus there was a black smokey cloud from a burning building blowing directly in the direction of the boat and into my room. I decided that I`d off load the bike while the tide was still high. Yeah..the tide affects the river 1400km inland!!!!! as the river is that huge!!! I decided to head into town and go to a hostel that was recommened by my guide book. Upon arrival I found that the hostal had no secure parking for my motorcycle and I was left searching for another hotel in the area. I stopped into several hotels and found all of them to be hoar houses. The one place that looked fine turned out to be the worst of all. When the owner opened the door to the room the T.V was on, volume full blast, with a graphic porn video playing. At this point I bartered with the guy for a better price but he would not budge. I was getting annoyed and tired as the 38 degree`s and 100% humidity was testing my patience. I returned back to the boat passing through security without stopping because «i figured that it would be better to beg for forgiveness than ask for permission to re-enter the port. The port police were in hot pursuit (on Foot) and found me on the boat. The captain explained to the port police that it was ok for me to spend another night on board. The police left and then the happy nice people who were employed on board who seemed to be my friends while sailing changed their attitudes. I was no longer allowed in my room and I`d have to pay for a night. I was told that I`d have to sleep in my hammock in the open with all my gear unsecured at port and also buy some fat dude a couple of beer. At this point I reloaded the bike kind of weary and also disappointed. I eventually found a hotel for twice the price of the hoar houses which provided peace of mind.

The traffic in Manaus, the heat, humidity and overpopulation of the city was too much for me to handle so at 530am the next morning I decided to head north and simply skip Manaus all together. I don`t care how cool it is that every brick laid in this city was transported here 1400km via the Amazon River, I was tired of cities and the open road was calling.

Amazon Star Sails to Manaus

2010-04-23T10:02:00.000-04:00

The ``Amazon Star``. She had a capacity for 700 passengers, however I think that only about 400-500 people we on board when we sailed. Despite the number of passengers the boat felt deserted most of the time as the locals mostly hung out in their hammocks all day below deck out of the sun.

1400km from Belem, the Port of Manaus. The infastructure here in this city of 2 million people was literally sailed up river by boats beginning in the 18th century during the rubber boom. Manaus is in the middle of the Amazonas with only river transport as a means of supples.

Below deck locals escape the burning sun and wait out the 6 day & 6 night sail from Belem to Manaus. I opted for a shared cabin so as to ensure security for my motorcycle gear. I`m sure that everything would have been fine but for 75 extra dollars it was merely peace of mind.

A Sailing deck hand aboard the Amazon Star who over looked loading and off loading of goods at various ports along the way up river. Several stops along the river were made and I always took the opportunity to buy whatever the local people were selling for food and snacks. 50% of the time the food was tasty, the other 50% portion I gave away to someone local on deck who seemed happy to accept the half eaten portion which I simply could not stomach.

I was suprized that children who looked no more than 5 years of age were allowed to paddle out to the Amazon Star, then toss a grapple on deck in order to board. The kids would then climb aboard the boat which was sailing up river at 8 knots per hour which seemed totally risky and scarey as their boats were literally waterskiing along side the massive ship. They would then walk around deck asking for money or other hand outs; sometimes they had merchandise to sell. Eventually when they were done the little kids were several Km up river and had to paddle home. In Canada, I remember my next door neighbor not being allowed past the big stone in our cul-de-sac at the age of 10. Here kids at the age of 5 were working for their family and contributing their part.

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I Rode the motorcycle down to the port at 10 am as directed and passed through security which seemed really strict and really disorganized all at the same time. Initally I wasn`t allowed to pass security at all. Then I was directed to show my boarding pass and then forwarded on to a bunch of men standing on a corner across from the security fence protecting the port entrance. I showed 5 different people my boarding pass and then just waited in silence for about 5 minutes while the guys chatted about something. I then realised that these guys weren`t even paying attention to me anymore so I started the bike up and roade back to the security fence and guard at the port entrance. I really don`t know what went down or why I had to go over to those guys but now for some unknown reason I was allowed to pass security with no problem and no security search. (All other locals had to pass a metal detector and have their baggage searched).

The men on the Amazon Star laid out a plank for me to ride across bridging the gap between the dock and the boat. It was pretty easy despite what I read from other people`s accounts stating that loading was difficult.

I was showed to my room on board and handed a key. The next mission I was about to embark on was to gather up some snacks, water, and cash. I had read that the boat was a miserable trip and that additional snacks, water, etc was essential to confort. I apparently seem to be a ``hard ass individual``as the added junk food that I brought for snacks was unwarrented, and I found the food on board to be delicious & nutricious. The boat ride was advertized as a ``no luxury cruise`` boat, however, I enjoyed every minute of the sail. I constantly made laps around the upper deck taking in the sights along the river, while at the same time chatting to the locals and improving my portugese.

I was lucky to meet a couple of english speaking people onboard from all over the world. There were two girls from England (Charlie & Lindsay) one dude from the U.S (Clint) A woman from Austrailia (Ingrid) and another dude that shared several travelling stories from around the world from Belgium (Nico). It was nice to paly some cards and share and hear other peoples travel stories while passing the day away in my mother tongue.

After 6 days the boat arrived in Manaus. I was partially happy and partially sad that the sail was over and that I`d be leaving my new friends behind for the solitude of the bike and the road. Maybe someday I will see them again in another land.

Shelling Out the Last Minute Details. Belem, Brasil

2010-04-13T12:46:00.000-04:00

Today I spent the better part of the day touring around the city tieing up a few loose ends. I needed to pick up some bed sheets for the boat, a Hammock, Sunscreen, rope to tie up my hammock on board the boat, Toilet paper, etc. I also paid a visit to the Venezuelan consulate today to enquire about a "Tourist Entry Card" and also investigate a rumor that I might need a visa. Neither were required and they ensured me that I'd have no problem with the border crossing. Tomorrow I will pick up water and snacks before the boat leaves and load the bike midmorning. The "Amazon Star" is scheduled to sail at 1800pm so I have a whole day to kill again.

A bunch of grain & different types of flour found down in the markets by the docks. The market was divided into sections selling fruit of all sorts, dried & salted fish, grains and flours, and prepared food. There were hundreds of vendors and the place was bustling. Apparently the site as been an early moring market for more than 360 some odd years beginning back in the late 1600's.

Old buildings dot the entire city and narrow streets lead you through all sorts of adventures around every corner, music is loud, people are everwhere and the air is filled with smells both good & BAD!

I popped into a historical fish market where everymorning at the crack of dawn fishermen return to dock side to off load their nights catch. There were several types of species of fish both large and small at each vendors counter, some looked like catfish and others like carp.

A happy young fellow who sold me some delicious Brazil nuts for 50 cents, hand shelled using a small machetee. In Canada, I don't think kids are allowed to have knives at his age! However, he was fast and skilled at shelling and had me a bag ready in minutes.

Soaking up Belem, Brasil

2010-04-12T11:35:00.000-04:00

Alex, his wife Fabiani (as I call her) little Jolli and myself posed by my bike while out visiting Alex's friends place by a small river good for swimming. Alex owns Moto Mania here in Belem a motorcycle repair shop and parts dealer. He greets all motorcyclists traveling overland and is a tremendous help for us southern riders. Alex is also a huge supporter of his community with his biker group the "Expedicionarios Do Para" who bring medical aid, tools, health education and food to communities in the amazon.

A beach outside of Belem up the Amazon river. Notice that the tide affects the river by many feet each day as displayed by the seaweed like deposit at the high tide line. The river is so wide that you can't see the other side and I was very suprized to see giant freighters sailing up and down the river the same size as the ones docked in the Saint John Harbor.

Old colonial buildings dot the city of Belem making for great city touring. I am going to regret not staying longer here I know it.

Down at the historical port a man cleans fish and tosses the guts down into the water where black vultures await a slimy meal.

Low tide down at the port, its really quite scenic and I would have liked to take more pictures but, I was scared to continually pull out my camera while touring the narrow alley ways solo down at the docks as I was unfamiliar with the area.
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I have been in Belem for 5 days now and I have managed to get virtually nothing done on my to do list besides tour around with Alex and his friends. Brazillians in general have been great people as far as friendship and hospitality. I emailed Alex to let him know that I arrived in Belem Thursday afternoon and the next thing I knew he showed up in the pouring rain in his Honda Civic with his wife Flaviani and puppy Jolli at my hotel to take me out for dinner. Alex said that each year roughly 100 motorcyclists pass through Belem and he greets everyone of them with open arms and hospitality.

The next morning, Friday, I decided that I'd hit the city streets and try and book my own boat and passage up the Amazon River to Manaus. I grabbed a city map and with my minds eye focused on the direction to the waters edge I took off without orienting myself as to the proper direction for me to walk in. Alas, I walked in the opposite direction that I needed to head in. Belem being a semi-sort of penninsula jutting out into the river like a finger, I ended up walking to the northern side of the docks and had to make my way out to the east and then continue walking around the shoreline to the south. To me I was walking in a stright line but no, I was walking in a huge semi-circle that took me 3.5 hours to walk.

Not all was a loss however, I managed to walk through some pretty tough looking slums and see first hand some direstraights living conditions with people calling derelict beached boats their home. People were swinging in hammocks for beds as the boat was resting on its side in the sand. The locals really didn't take anynotice of the sunburnt dude wearing oakleys staring in at them. At one point I had to ask directions and chose my victim carefully. On the corner was a kid, maybe 17 with braces and a draftsmen square in his bag. I asked how far the "Terminal Hidrovaria" was from there. He replied in broken engilish that it was very far and that I needed to get on a bus or take a Taxi because I was in alot of danger. I looked around and arrogantly laughed and asked him exactly what was going to happen to me. He simply shrugged. I continued walking now worrying about my camera which was stuffed into my pocket. I had my fake wallet and expired cards on me so that part was taken care of but my camera was a bigger concern.

At about 3 hours I managed to walk right past where I was trying to find and ended up talking to a port security official who directed me back towards a dodgy looking corrigated sheet metal building. I walked inside and was immediately greeted by a dude claiming to be a representative of the ships that take passengers up river. Eventually after about 45minutes I handed over the cash and purchased my ticket. I was totally exhausted and needed to find a cab because there wasn't any way I was going to make it back in my flipflops. I barganed with the cabbie and got what I thought was an incredible deal. Within two minutes I was at the hotel, puzzled I was. I clued in that I walked the wrong way and I was virtually only a 15 minute walk from the dock side....Doh.

The next day, Saturday, Alex arranged for his friend and fellow motorcycle club member, Ivan, to take me on a little tour to the outskirts of Belem to a river beach town called Mosqueiro. It was a scenic place with beautiful soft sandy beaches which were all public and very clean. All along the beaches were little restaurants with plastic chairs and tables where people could wander up to, have a snack, drink, and relax under the shady trees which secured the shoreline. I jumped in for a swim and I was suprised at how warm the water was. The water looked very muddy from far but while in the water it was somewhat clear for about 1 meter before going opague. Ivan brought me to a place for fish that served a very tasty dish with token beans and rice. I have been loving the Brazillian food since I have arived. After eating, Ivan and I arrived back at Moto-Mania and I hung out until Alex closed up shop. Together we motorcycled over to Alex's friends place which was located in the heart of the city. His friend ran a tattoo shop and the two of them tried talking me into a tattoo to signify my trip. Unfortunately, I had my motorcycle and thus I had to limit my alcohol consumption or else I may have awoke the next morning freshly inked.

Sunday rolled around and I was informed that I'd be accompanying Alex, his wife and Jolli (the Pug puppy) out to one of Alex's friends and club members house to hang out and go swimming. For the better part of the day we swam and just chilled out by a small river in the heat of the day. It was necessary to keep dunking yourself into the river to cool off even while in the shade of the banana, and other fruit trees growing in the area. Just as it was time to head out the thunder began rumbling and the rain began to pour down in buckets. I got completely soaked on the ride back into Belem. I headed back to my hotel and Alex yelled over to me that he would come and pick me up in about an hour. I hopped in the shower and watched the white tile floor flood with red silt that had dried to my skin from the river water, now slowly make its way to the drain.

Alex showed up and away we took off in his car to see a reggae band. It was only 7pm and when we arrived it was dark and cars filled the streets. We found parking and headed into the nightclub which was essentially a giant warf built out into the river with a roof over top and surrounded by barbed wire to keep people from swimming out and climbing in to avoid paying cover. To enter one had to obtain a ticket (free) walk over to a hole on the wall, shove money in, out came tickets and change, from there you went to a person who accepted the tickets and forwarded you to a person that patted you down and did a through frisk to ensure no-one got in with weapons. Then off to get drinks, it was nearly the same procedure. The bathrooms were essentially a giant wall that you just let loose on with a drainage basin to collect all the urine.

The band was very interactive with the crowd and there were all kinds of group dances where all strangers simply held hands danced in lines, circles, people formed human arm archways that eveyone huddled under and shuffled through etc. It was actually a heck of alot of fun. Everyone was dancing and having a really great time. I sort of bobbed to the music as the 3rd wheel to Alex and Flaviani which did not go unnoticed and I was continually whisked into dancing, twirrling and stepping on Brazillian women's feet. I was a pretty good dancer at the end of it all but very tired.

Moday, Alex asked me what boat I managed to book on my own and when I showed him the reciept for "Cliva" he looked at me with concern and told me that this was a terrible boat. I laughed at his comment because I totally thought that he was joking, but he was not. He opened his cellular and a friend of his came to meet me and to bring me to the docks in order change boats. While with Alex's friend it was very confusing because he had no idea how to talk slow and rifled off all kinds of jargon which I began to get frustrated with. We were just kind of standing around and talking to people who showed me all sorts of numbers, prices and dates. All I needed to know was how much, what time? This was very difficult to have answered because they were trying to explain fees and all kinds of other crap and I was getting tired. Finally I got what I needed and figured out that 14 meant April 14, 13 meant 1pm, 18 meant 6pm, 300 meant my passenger fee, 300 was my old bike fee, 500 was my new bike fee and 800 was my new total and 500 was my old total. All these numbers were scribbled all over my hands and the other guys hands and the sales persons hands and with everyone waiving their hands while talking I was near to having a epileptic seisure.

Alas all was worked out in the end and I figured that I would make the most out of my extra day and get down to some bike maintenence. I washed the bike, changed the oil, fixed my mudflap and put my 7th new rear tire on. Tomorrow I must find a hammock, bed sheets, sunscreen, camera memory card and a few other odds and ends including a tourist entry card from the Venezulean Consulate in preparation for the 6 day and 6 night sail aboard The "Amazon Star" for 1400km up river to Manaus.

Heading to Belem, Brasil

2010-04-07T19:34:00.000-04:00

I was crowned an honorary Moto-taxi member after chatting to this group of Moto-taxi employees who take passengers around town for half the price of a cab. To hire a cab here is almost impossible as the moto-taxis are cheaper and faster and dominate the market.

I didn't get to save this guy, I think it was poisonous as it had a triangular shaped head typical of venomous snakes. I dragged it off the road nonetheless by its tail keeping well away from its mouth.

Who says dumb as an Ox? These fellows were well trained and obedient, towing loads and never complaining a bit.

Cresent dunes that migrate with the prevailing winds.

Green in the dunes, In a couple of more weeks the dune valleys will fill with water withthe arrival of the wet season here in Brasil. The reflection from the blue sky and the contrast of the white sand will give the landscape a surreal blue and white pattern that is candy for the eye.

Nothing too exciting to report today other than the the rainy season has begun. I was riding through some intense winds and trying to outrun a passing cloud that was black as octupus ink. The cloud was thundering, and lightening was coming down. I really didn't take much notice as I was more concerned about keeping dry and out running the storm.

Alas the road had a bend in it which directed me into the storm path. I decided to don the rain gear in the 35 degree heat and the minute that I zipped up my coat the rain began pouring down cats and dogs. It was so intense that it reduced visability to only a 100 meters. I've noticed that as long as I keep my speed up around 100km/hr the windshield directs the majority of the water over my head.

I was concentrating on the road when I felt a lifting feeling. All of a sudden I felt my skin crawling, a jolt of electricity and a bright flash filled the front of the bike by my right hand. Apparently the charge grounded out of my right index finger through the front brake lever. Suddenly there was a huge CRACK, and I looked up cringing on my bike milli-seconds after beging electricuted and saw the black cloud above me still light up. It took a few seconds to register that I just got struck by lightening!

I was on the leading edge of the storm and apparently I made for a good ground for the storm cloud to discharge. I think, however, that the lightening strike went upwards from me to the cloud though, but that may just be because the sound was slower than the flash off my right hand.

For a while afterward I was wondering if I'd have some sort of super power like Powder did in that movie about the albino guy.....but no, I had no super powers to speak of. To add insult to injury I wasn't even able to talk the hotel owner down in his asking price tonight.

Dunes

2010-04-07T17:41:00.000-04:00

I think the intense color is a signal not to touch!

Boats docked outside of my beach house.

This fellow was friendly only when I had a banana for him.

The dunes

Toyota land cruiser that took us into the dune land.

Lencois to Lencois in 5 days, Brasil

2010-04-05T18:48:00.000-04:00

A new friend that I met along with a whole group of people that really wanted me to stay in their town to celebrate Easter with beer and food, Alas I had to keep going.

Making beef jerky the old school way, drying in the sun at the gas station.

A whole family with a few friends that fed me, and chatted to me at a gas station on Easter
weekend.

Luckily for me this generous family let me pitch my tent in their dirt yard when I rolled into a beach town that wouldn't give me a room for only one night. The hotel owners insisted on a 3 night minimum and charged outrageous prices that I just could not afford. It was dark and I panicked but luckily this family took me in.

Prata do Forte, at 630am, beach deserted.

After heading out of Lencois, I have managed to cover nearly 3000km into another town called Lencois way in the north of the country adjacent to Sao Luis. On the way here I headed east towards the coast. I left the beautiful lanscape of theParque Nacional Chapa Do Dimiantina Lencois situated in the cooler mountains to make my way into the town of Parta do Forte. This town boasted fluffy white beaches and was home to a turtle release sanctuary. I arrived just before dark and found a hostel which charged a reasonable rate for a dorm room from where Id base myself.

I headed out into the streets and discovered that Prata do Forte was kind of like a walking outdoor shopping mall which had a strip of beach...but mostly restaurants and gift shops. Despite the shopping, tourists, vacation package, feel I headed out to the beach under a full moon to discover a deserted beach that was lined with palm trees. I decided that Id jump in for a swim before heading somewhere for food. The water was bathtub warm and very crystal clear. I was bobbing in the waves when I felt something tiny bump into my arm. At first I though that it was probably a small fish, stick, or what ever floating in the surf. It was then that I recalled that night fishing on a full moon was apparently great fishing because its a higher tide and fish of all sizes tend to get into a feeding frenzy. I began thinking...are these shark infested waters? Should I be out in the Atlantic ocean in the Tropic of Cancer at night when predators hunt? Should I get the hell out of the water? In my mind, I was floating chum and the best decision was to get out of the water. Talking to some folks later, I discovered that I was very dumb for getting in the water at dusk or at night because of sharks. Yeah yeah...just like grizzley bears in parks right!

Prata do Forte wasnt quite my cup of tea so I hit the road the next morning north along some tiny back road highways along the coast. I managed to make it to Capricorn, a dinky little town that looked as though it was solely supported by tourism. I pulled into a hotel called... Hotel Laguna Surf.... I thought great, Ill stay here for the night. Not so, the guy informed me that he was taking guests only for the entire easter weekend and that a one or two night only room wasnt available. The place looked kinda empty but maybe he was expecting crowds on friday and didnt want to change the sheets on good friday .....meaning hed have to work. It was getting dark now and I continued looking around town for a place to stay. I opted for riding down the highway only a kilometer or so to a sign on the road indicating a hotel. I pulled into the place and a dude laying on a couch simply looked at me like he couldnt care in the least who the heck, I was. I asked about a room and he rudely replied that It was a 3 night minimum....take it or leave it...! I broke down and said sure, ...what ever, and asked how much it would be. He replied that it was going to cost me $400 R! I typically pay $25-49 REAL per night so this was a deterring price. I told him that Id sleep on the beach for that price and he pompously replied that he hoped I enjoyed the night.

Bewildered by the rude....er, um....man, I rolled the bike only 20 meters to some guys front yard and explained the situation and politely asked if I could pitch my tent in his dirt back yard. He replied ...of course you can! His whole family came out to talk to me so I pulled out my lap top and gave them a slide show of my trip through Brazil thus far. The family liked the photos and this allowed me to get my tent set up. The man of the house showed me to an outdoor shower under a palm tree. It couldnt have been a better place to stay. I offered to pay him $40 Real but he declined three times until I insisted because I was screwed with out his help.

I hopped on the bike and rode back into the town to find a place to eat. There was one restaurant and I ordered a spagetti dish. I asked to wash my hands and when the guy showed me to the bathroom I discovered that it smelled like urine and feces. If youve ever been into a mechanics wash room and seen the greasy black sink youll appreciate the discription of ...black, ... when I say the sink was black! I poured the dish detergent from the plastic water bottle into my hands and rinsed them clean and tried to use only one finger to close the faucet. I sat at my table confident that my chef never washed his hands ...but that the spagetti would probably be good...and it was!

It rained for most of the night and the temperature went through cycles of a cool breeze followed by intense humidity after the rain stopped. I awoke when the sun rose and packed the bike after I hung the tent up to dry on the famlies volley ball net. I continued further north, but, more inland to avoid the tourist beaches and rude people found in and around there.

I Pulled into a desert town called Patos, about 300km east of Jaoa Pessoa. Here, just as I imagened I found very friendly people. Eddy, the hotel owners son called me on the hotel phone ( first in a long time, maybe since the states) he told me that he could speak fluent english and that anything I needed, translations etc, he would go out of his way to help. I ran down to the lobby and greeted Eduardo and we chatted about the usual stuff, where I was from ...etc.

Alas I didnt take Eddy up on his offer to party in his town to celebrate Easter and opted for the open road covering 800km which landed me in a highway side town 250km north east of Teresea (famed as the hottest city in Brasil). I travelled all day in overcast and occasional rain which thwarted my expectations of sweating buckets. I was actually feeling kinda chilly at 27 degrees which was a full 10 degrees cooler than normal. In the highway town (i'll fill in the blank when I get my map) I found the VIP Hotel. It was not my first choice for a hotel but it would have to do. The room was basic, a towel, no soap, no windows, but yes, an airconditioner. I headed across the road to a pizza place and I was greeted by very friendly staff that fed me very well and talked to be for the better part of an hour. On leaving I inquired about an internet cafe (my hotel had no connection). The guy that worked there had his apartment above the pizza joint and escorted me into his house and loaded up the computer free for me to use while he returned back to work. It was a very kind gesture that I was very grateful for. When I was finished the staff at the pizza place took their turns getting their pictures taken with me on their cell phones. I unfortunately did not have my camera with me for a picture of the event.

The town drunk happened to be a woman about my age who yelled in a rhaspy voice all night. At one point I opened the door of my room to look out to see what all the comotion was about. Alas, the bike was safe so I went back to sleep. In the morning I was fed sugar mixed with coffee and gooey white bread. I supplemented the breakfast with a piece of old pizza and hit the road to Sao Luis and then detoured to the Park Nacional Lencois do Marenhensis.

Parque Nacional Lencois Do Marenhensis is home to some amazing dunes inland of the Atlantic ocean. I took a 4x4 tour in the back of a Toyota Landcruiser out to the dunes which in the rainy season from May to August fill with crystal clear blue water in the valleys between the dunes.

While we were there the water was shallow and lacked the color but the landscape was interesting and beautiful nonetheless. Our tour group walked barefooted over the dunes for more than 6 km between dunes, along the ridges and ocassionally to swim in the warm clear water.

In the morning I will head to the ocean via a river boat to view mangroves, more dunes, bird life and other aquatic creatures native to this unique region.

Gruta Azul (Blue Cave) Lencois, Brasil

2010-03-30T20:11:00.000-04:00

Great views were had from atop this mountain outside of Lencois

Just at the entrance of the Gruta Azul I saw this fellow who was actually the side of a volley ball, Thankfully I was bigger than him because I think he was sizing me up for dinner.

Gruta Azul, I donned my mask and flippers and entered the cave for a swim with the fish.

Looking out to the light from about 100 meters within the cave.

A pretty flower that was common along the river walk to the Devils Pool.

After yesterday afternoons disaster of adventure I decided to go into an official tour guide office and book a one day tour to see a couple of sights in the area. I managed to tag along with a couple from Germany named Erik and Barbara. The guide picked me up at the Pousasa on time at 830am and the 4 of us headed out of town in the smallest little car that Ive ever been in. It was a tiny Fiat and Erik and I were way too tall to be crammed into this thing. Nonetheless we still trundled off with visions of a great day.

The first order of the day was to visit a beautiful waterfall and river at a famous pool called the Devils pool. Apparently back in the 19th century slaves were used to construct aquaducts that channeled water to areas that diamond miners worked at and used the water to wash the rock in search of diamonds. Devils pool was given its name because of the amount of slaves that died in the process of trying to divert water from the river and from diving to great depths in the pool to locate diamond containing rock. The pool is a natural place for diamonds to accumulate due to the current and abrasion of swirriling rocks and sand. The Devils Pool nowadays is a great place for all people to come and visit and to swim in the beauty of the surrounding cliffs and river valley.

Off we went to check out a cave. I really had no clue where we were going as the agency simply showed me a few snap shots of where the tour lead. We headed along a huge cliff along a river escarpment and descended into a river valley 60 meters below. The cliff walls were redish brown in color and were composed of many striations as this area was once under the sea. Around the next bend we saw the mouth of the cave. This was a huge dry cavernous cave through the earth with an entrance and an exit at either end of the cave. Id say that the roof was a solid 40 feet high and 80 feet wide. The stone in the area was composed of Calcium carbonate limestone and once upon a time a river had flowed through the earth at this site and carved this huge beautiful cave.

Inside there were many interesting geological features including stalactites and stalagmites, and deep rimmed pools formed by precipitating calcium carbonate. The cave was an 840 meter long walk and was most impressive just based on its size. Continuing onward with caves we headed off to cave #2, the Gruta Azul (Blue Cave). Here the water was crystal clear and vibrant blue from the mineral deposits on the bottom as well as the minerals that were in solution. We donned swim fins and snorkle gear and were allowed to enter the cave. Again, as with Bonito, we were not allowed to let our feet touch the bottom so as to prevent stirring up sediment. Venturing into the watery depths of the cave was an experience in itself. The darkness quicky took over and the guide handed out waterproof flashlights from his rubber dingy. This allowed us to kinda see where we were going but I think the point of the swim in was to experience swimming into a dark cave. The swim back out was better as our eyes had adjusted to the darkness and alot of fish were visible that ranged from minnows to about 15 cm.

The trip was not yet over and we took off in the Fiat to a mountain range where we drove most of the way up a mountain and then hiked up a pretty easy trail to the summit from there. After yesterdays experience with Ameoba I wasnt complaining too much about the difficulty of the hike. The scenic vista from the top of the mountain was very beautiful and we gathered there for the better part of 45 minutes to watch the sunset. (Although it was overcast and we could only tell that the sun had set because it got a little bit darker).

The day was much more successful than yesterday and I felt pretty good about doing something in an adventure based town like Lencois. I figure that I could almost move here and enjoy the natural beauty of this 105 sq Km national park and surrounding natural protected areas with the thousands of caves and hundreds of hiking trails all of which were pretty much deserted.

Tomorrow I head my way to Salvador and then about a 145 km north from there to find a smaller beach town on the coast.

Lencois, Diamondville, Brasil

2010-03-29T18:21:00.000-04:00

My New Amigos in Aurora

Mountain that I hiked in Lencois

Colorful buildings in Lencois

Lencois Archeticture

I Rolled out of Aurora Do Tocantis and headed about 50 km up the road to a short cut. The short cut was a powdery, red & dusty dirt road that cut through farming fields. The scenery was pretty for the first bit, but, then kind of got boring for a while. I was definately passing through an agriculture based landtype. After about 60 km the asphalt began and I ramped the bike back up to my cruising speed of 95km/hr. I rode all day & when I decided that it was time to stop for the day I checked the clock, it was only 130pm. I stopped for a road side trucker buffet which is a very common way of eating here in Brasil. The woman asked me what I wanted but I couldnt make out what she was saying over the blasting T.V. up in the corner of the room. I regretted taking my earplugs out and considered putting them back in while I ate. I eventually just pointed over to the table beside me and said that I wanted a small plate of what ever that person was eating . Unknown to me she understood that I wanted everything on the table that the three people sitting at the other table were eating. Out came a dish of 3 steaks wih onions, a plate of squash, a plate of spagetti, a plate of rice, a plate of beans, a bowl of stewed roast beef chunks, a plate of sliced tomatoes and onios. I was sitting there feeling bewildered like I was being challenged to complete a complex chinese math problem.

I decided that Id begin with the veggies. As soon as I ate the last tomato the woman came back and asked if I wanted another PLATE OF TOMATOES! I politely said no and she looked kind of disappointed. Anyhow, I managd to eat as much of everything as I could but still try and avoid overeating.

Back on the bike, I saw a sign for Lencois and remembered that I had circled it on my map as a place that I wanted to stop and visit along the way. It is touted as an adventure base hotspot where people book tours and guides for outings into the Parque Nacional Da Chapada Diamantina.

Lencois is a 19th century diamond mining town and is one of the most quaint and picturesque towns that Ive stopped into. It is situated in the mountanous surroundings of the Park with wooded forests covering the hills. The last 20km before Lencois was pretty amazing and I saw many of the mountains that are famous here for hiking.

As usual I checked into a pousada just before dark opting for one that my guide book suggested. It was kind of hard to find as I had to navigate the cobble stone streets and pass many colorful buildings. I had to stop and ask for directions before finally finding the place. My Pousada is the nicest hotel that Ive stayed in this trip. It has a balcony in the trees where I watch monkeys swing from the branches ( no Joke) and a hammock which I lay in and read through my guide book while listening to the jungle birds.

This afternnoon I was feeling like doing something but the price of the tours and some of the duration of the tours is a deterrent. On my way back to my Pousada after touring the town for a bit I was called over to a little restaurant. The guy there asked if I was going up the trail along the river. Actually, after I dropped off my wallet etc. I was! He suggested that he guide me to a few waterfalls and interesting places. I agreed to pay him the 20 reals he requested.

Off we went with his girlfriend who accompanied us only to a great swimming hole along the river. From this point the guide (Ameoba), Yeah.... I should have known by the sounds of his name, took me up some very steep and rocky terrain. I asked before I left if the crappy sandles I was wearing were good enough for the walk and he replied .....yes of course!

The rock formation in the area was a conglomerate sandstone with baseball sized rocks inbedded in sandstone. The area had been mined by hand here for diamonds and that had provided the wealth to the area allowing the construction of all the beautiful archetecture. Now, however, I was getting weary about looking down on the beautiful archetecture from high above in terrain that warrented hiking boots.

Near the summit we came to a crevace that was about 6 feet across and about 60 feet deep. The Guide just jumped across in his bare feet. I was thinking that this was getting sketchy but jumped across easily as well. I was thinking that Ameoba had incredibly tough feet! We were now in a drier climate at a higer altitude mostly barren of vegetation with cacti growing in the cracks in the rock. Again, we encountered a place where the earth was split and required a long jumper to clear the gaping crevace. I was getting worried once I noticed the guide double back on the trail that he was scouting for me. The next place we encountered required slipping down a ridiculiously step rock wall and then making a 10 foot drop onto a ledge being careful not to fall onto the 20 foot deep adjacent crevace. I was nervous about his one, but, made it with out a problem as I lowered myself chin up style..... down to about 4 feet off the ground. The guide grabbed me around the waist to cushon the rest of the fall. At this point I knew there was to turning back. I had made a huge error and only realized it right at that moment as the next place we had to navigate was a huge drop, a steep rock face and also a huge gap to jump across. It might have been pretty easy in boots but I was in bare feet now because the rock face slope was too steep to wear sandles, and the jump too far to risk loosing the sandles down the crevace. The guide jumped first (crazy bastard) bare feet and all....I heard the thud of heel bones hitting the cobbles inbedded in the sandstone. I knew we were lost and now in potential trouble. I tossed my sandles down to Ameoba and he laid then on the rock below. I took a few seconds to focus, like I was about to launch a cliff or ride a huge ramp on my snowboard like Ive done so many times. I leapt and didnt take my eyes off the sandles. It all worked out, luckily for me, and I landed both feet right on the neoprene sandles.

At this point I demanded that we get to an easier trail and go somewhere safer! He said yes,that we were heading that way but he wanted to make sure that I got to see the panoramic views of the city....yeah yeah... Im a huge pussy. Im a pretty athletic guy and not much shakes my confidence but in a strange land with no-one knowing where we went that day we were in trouble....no food ...no water...huge potential for disaster...and my moto trip in jepordy....too much for me.

We now began our descent down a talus slope comprised of brick sized talus. It would have been difficult walking in boots, let alone, trying to keep your sandles on and feet free of crushing tumbling rocks. I could see the jungle below and asked again to get to a safer trail. The guide lead me to a wall of vegetation so thick, it was inpenetrable. I asked a dumb question ...how we gonna get through this huh..? He simply started pushing his way through it. It was ridiculious...or perhaps Im way to much of a wimp. The vegetation was kinda like ferns and vines and dusty leaves which made me sneeze. I kept loosing my sandles in the intertwined mess of vegetation. It was like trying to crawl through a bail of loosely compacted hay. I asked if there were any cobras. (name for snakes here) No response...... I was happy that there was no response because what did it matter if there was anyhow!

Finally after another 20 minutes I could see a river below which the guide book described as having a nice trail to walk on. Alas, we made it to the destination (I guess he knew where we were going the whole time afterall!!!!!!) Here there was a waterfall that you could stand on a rock and take a shower. The was water was cool but, not cold and I happily showered off all the dirt and dust that was clinging to me while I washed out cuts on my hands and feet.

I asked to return to town so we meandered our way back along a path. I was so happy that I forgot how much of a jerk this guy was for taking me on such a tretcherous hike that. When we got back to civilization I paid him his 20real.

I returned back to the hotel and opened the guide book and there in bold print it stated that only professionally accretited guides should be hired here. It stated that if you could name it .... it has happened here and when deciding on a guide you should keep in mind that you are potentially trusting your life and wellbeing in that persons hands. The guide book was smack dab on that one.

If anything I was caught off guard after being treated so well in Auroa. The guide meant well but he had no experience and just wanted to make sure I had a good hiking adventure...well it definately was an adventure but more of a game of risk as the hike itself sucked and it was more of a gamble with my safety.

Perhaps Ill stick with motorcycling as it seems to have less risk involved

Amigos Abroad

2010-03-29T17:55:00.000-04:00

The Blue Maccaw, that was with a flock that flew in for breakfast, the others remained roosted in the trees above with the flock of toucan, it was amazing.

The buttes, crests and mesas that were very common for about 200km.

The house on the corner with my Amigo just before I headed out of town.

The Rio Azul where the spring gushed water from the underground at an astonishing rate forming a whole river.

I rolled out of Pousada Do Sol at 1000 am and rode through some of the most interesting scenery. The hills were comprised of what looked like pillars, similar to that of columnar jointing characteristic of volcanic basalt, like that of the Giants Causeway in Ireland. However, the rock type here was not basalt and more likely formed from erosion of the softer undersoil with the more erosion resistants crusty upper layer formimg a nice hat which protected the less erosion resistant underside from water. This has resulted in crests, butes, and mesas that are typical in desert environments.

At about 2pm with only about 275km covered I rolled into the town of Aurora do Toucantis. There I stopped at a small restaurant (the only one that looked open) that had a bunch of guys between the ages of 30-40 yrs sitting around a couple of tables. (footy bal players)

I parked the bike and asked for something to eat and was informed that they were'nt open for food, only drinks. They told me how to get to an open restaurant around the corner but first I'd have to sit down with them for a drink. I complied, and 6 dixi cups were filled from a 600ml bottle of beer. Everyone shares here compared to what I'm used to, usually where I'm from everyone gets their own bottle.

I was told that I wasn't leaving that day and that they were going to show me around their town and that I'd have to stay the night and leave in the morning. Another guy peeped up and said that I'd be sleeping at his house and I wasn't allowed to pay for any beer. It was all too good to be true. As it turned out the guys were genuine and I found myself following them to a river front establishment that was nestled in among the trees and then to another and then finally to a famous fresh water spring that gushed blue water at an astonishing rate. The water pouring from the spring was crystal clear and warm enough to go swimming. A set of concrete steps were built at the site and it was obviously very popular for swimming with all the locals. The Rio Azuis, which is formed at the spring is apparently listed in the Guiness Book of World Records but I have not determined why as of yet. (I'll do that afterwards).

It was well past dark now, getting on about 830pm. The guys began gathering themselves up at the Blue Spring and we rolled out back to Aurora Do Tocantis. On arrival we sat down at a table that was placed out beside an outdoor BBQ. I ordered up a few plates of food for the grand total of about 3 dollars and we sat and ate a variety of BBQ'd meats including sausages, poultry, red meat, rice and a bunch of weird vegetables.

It was now 930pm and I was exhausted from all the hiking and sweating from the day before, not to mention spending all day in the sun with my new buddies. I got up and informed the bunch that I was outta there. They all stood up and surrounded me and said that there was no way that I was getting a hotel. One of the fellows took the lead and showed me the way to a beautiful house on the corner with a room filled with 3 beds. I could'nt have asked for more. The place was completely tiled inside and very clean. I crashed out, although, I was sweating perfusely in the midnight heat. At about 3 am I was awoken by the sound of screeching metal and a motorbike engine whining outside my bedroom window. I instinctively jumped out of bed to see if it was my bike in my sleepy delerium. It was not. However, there was a guy laying on his side looking through the open bedroom window back at me. He slowly got up. The poor guy had to kick start his flooded bike, and rode off. It took me until 5 am to fall asleep again and this made me very tired for the next morning. I was up at 7am and had the bike completely packed by 730. I woke up my host and said good bye and thank you. He told me to call him someday from Canada, so I probably will to practice my Portugese.

My destination was 875km to the east, it was going to be a big day and I had no idea what lay ahead.

Parque Nacional Dos Veadeiros

2010-03-29T16:53:00.000-04:00

Here they don't want you to run over the snakes.

And finally I found one of the snakes, this was a big Rattler about 8-10 years old according to the amount of rattles on its tail.

The Vale de Lua ( Valley of the moon, lunar landscape in the river valley)

One of the water falls in the park that made a nice rainbow when the sun came out , notice the moon in the background.

The most spectacular waterfall I've ever seen. (Rio Preto Falls II, 120meters.)

It was time to roll out of Goias and hit the road with quite a long distance to cover before reaching Alto Pariso and the Parque Nacional Dos Veadeiros. From what the guide book described, the park was host to scenic vistas, waterfalls and canyons comprised in a 66,000 square Km mountanous protected area. The terrain is situated in a high altitude cerrado with 30% of Brasils biodiversity living in such habitat as found in the unique dry forest.

The highway there was plain with intermittent views. At one point I was daydeaming and I zoomed right past a log on the road that seethed backwards as passed. I glanced back over my shouder and verified my imagination. There in the middle of the road was a huge rattle snake the size of two baseball bats layed end to end. I spun the bike around and parked it on the road so that the lovely reptile wouldnt get run over by the oncoming cars and trucks. My tactic worked and the the vehicles unhappily drove around me and the snake. I was doing my best to keep distance between me and the snake but still close enough to scare it off the road and into the tall grass on the shoulder. I almost forgot to take a picture because of my excitement and fear of the deadly serpent. I essentially didnt want to take my eyes off of it even for a second...but I did and got a meadiocre picture nonetheless.

I found a great little pousada (hotel) In Alto Pariso called Pousada do Sol (hotel of the SUN). It was a great place to relax with garden trails meandering all throughout the property. It was very noisy with buzzing and chirping and whining insects all evening. I went out to a restaurant as per the hotel owners recommendation and ate the most delicious chicken curry...ha ha.

The next morning at the crack of dawn (Im crossing time zones to the east and get up early everyday) I found myself loading the bike and heading to the Park for hiking and god knows whatelse. The first stop along the way was a river valley known as the Vale da Lua (moon valley). From my limited study of gelogy I determined that he valley was a sort of fine grained sand stone that through the processes of erosion has formed many crater like indentations on the valley and along the river bed from swirriling currents and sand abrasion. Indeed one could determine that it looked like the moon. At this particular hiking trail no guide was required but, there was a guy at the entrance of the trail who lived in the park house who charged a 5 Real enterace fee.

On ward along a dirt road for 18km I rode further to the town of Sao Jorge. Sao Jorge is a small town at the gate entrance to the park that is dependant on tourism and the prices of the hotels reflected this. I opted for riding to the gate and spoke with the guides and security who agreed to watch my bike all day while me and my hired guide entered the Chapada Dos Veadeiros.

I was given three options for a hike and as it was midday. I had to hurry with my decision and get going immediatly with the guide to make it in and out of the park in the daylight. I decided on the canyon tour becaude I thought that seeing more waterfalls would be more of the same. The park official and I decided that 60 Real was a fair price and the guide (DeDe) and I headed out into the dry forest of the cerrado. The soil was interesting as it was mostly one inch square blocky aggregate of quartz crystals. I had seen a few cartoons in town showing a space ship crashing into the mountains and aliens etc...but didnt understand the significance. Apparenly in the past (50 yrs ago) this was a rich quartz mining area that was mined by hand for the purposes of jewelery and the other for military. Apparently the crystalline clear glasslike quartz was used in Bombas...BOMBS. Yea, the military loads about 1Kg of crystal into a bomb as an antipersonal weapon which explodes and cuts the victims to pieces.

Onward we walked at a brisk pace, a little too fast for my liking as I wanted to soak up the surrounding but I understood that we needed to make time as I arrived later than the usual departure time. The trails were all quartz stones which made for white paths to follow. Along the way DeDe showed me plants, trees, termite mounds, and many birds and explained everything in portugese. I pretended that I understood because I could kinda understand it from knowing a little french, and a little spanish. I pretty much got the just of what he was saying for the most part.

The temperature was cooler than in the lowlands as were were at about 1100 meters (3300ft). However, I was still sweating buckets because cooler meant that it was only 33 degrees C. I noticed that we were decending and in the distance I could see a huge canyon. In my minds eye I thought that we were going into a small canyon...not a Grand Canyon. The descent kept getting steeper until we were walking down stone boulder steps and grabbing trees and branches for stability. At about midway down I could hear the rumble of tremendous amouts of water cascading over a ledge. We rounded a corner and to my astonishment I witnessed the most impressive waterfall I have ever seen. The river (Rio Preto Falls II) dumped over a 120 meter drop into an impressive pool in a wild display of bluewater and white mist. At this point I thought that the trip was over and this was the climax of the endevor. Onward we walked. We decended to the top of the waterfall just before the water dropped off the ledge and continued along the rocks and shoreline to yet another smaller but very impressive water fall called Rio Preto Falls I. The guide, DeDe, suggested that I go swimming here so I tossed the T-shirt and boots and walked up to my knees into the water. There were several 4 and 5 inch long red colored fish in the tea colored water that began nipping at my legs and toes. I hurried out of the water and told the guide that the water was too cold. He said that it was warm and motioned me to get back in. I walked out half way to my knees and a big fish grabbed my baby toe.....that was enough!, I told the guide the truth and he laughed his head off while I sheepishly put my boots and t-shirt back on.

We got going again and the guide sugessted that we see a couple of more falls and I agreed that I still had the enery to make it. He sugessted that we Jog to the next falls so off we went jogging together. The next place was equally impressive as the first although the water poured over a large escarpment like water flowing through the fingers of an open hand, palming a stream of water. Still further we pushed through more dense forest then before on trail that looked like it was only used by animals or a few select people. Along the way I asked how many other Canadians he had guided in his 20 years as a guide. He simply explained that I was the first person ever to arrive by motorcycle and that everyone else had arrived by plane and bussed it to the park. I felt great about that comment. The small trail opened onto a barren bed rock plateau. I could hear water and neared the edge of a very deep canyon that was only about 5 meters wide and about 40 meters deep.

The sights were increadible and I enjoyed every moment. It was going on 6 hours of walking and darkness was encroaching. I was worried that we were going to see another sight but luckily the guide informed me that we were heading back now. The terrain was flatter now and the trails were of white sand (tiny Quartz crystals). The guide stopped at a brook and filled his water bottle and suggested that I do the same as I was out of water as well. I tried to explain that I couldnt but he didnt understand. To humor him I took a gulp and the water, it was plesant, I love drinking from brooks although I try to keep it to a minimum.

We returned to the base and I pulled out my wallet to pay. It was then that I was informed that I owed him 120 Real. I tried explaining to him that we agreed that it was 60. He was playing the oldest trick in the book of ripping off tourists. Bring the client back after hours and demand a higher price because its just you and him and youve got no one to help you. I stuck to my guns and simply told him that I was going to tip him 20 real but now I was getting ticked off. He quickly backed down and shook may hand and smiled and apologised. I was still kind of angry and the joy of the experience was now cloaked in disgust at this man. I gave him 80 Real and busted back out of town back to the Pousada Do Sol in total darkness while looking at the stars.

I checked back into my room and in the morning I rolled out of bed at my usual time of 630 am. I could hear this cawing noise and all kinds of birds. I walked outside to see a flock of Toucans land in a tree that also had two Maccaws roosting among the branches and making alot of racket. I quickly ran to get my camera and when I returned the owner had put some banana and sun flower seeds out for one of the more brazen Maccaws. The colorful bird landed and began eating only a few meters from where I was standing. It was an awesome experience and a great photographic opportunity. Next I had to plan my day to Lencois (Means "bed sheets") some 1000km to the east.

On route to Goias, Brasil

2010-03-23T19:50:00.000-04:00

Sunset shot of a typical building lining the streets near the historical center of Goias. This building had a 1755 plaque on the corner of the structure.

I couldn't resist but to pull a u-turn for this one...I don't know how I saw it.....but I did, Obviously this guy hates windows and doors.

Apparently the wet season here has alot of rain fall. Perhaps they can fashon the old bridge into a boat launch...which is what I thought it was from a distance.

I have been super lucky so far at splitting through the middle of cloud bursts....this time however the rain was imminent, so I suited up in rain gear at 36 degrees. As soon as I got dressed I was wishing that the rain would come sooner so I could cool off. Sweating perfusely defeats the purpose of the rain suit.

For the heck of it I asked the owner of the gas station just how many motorcyclists has fallen into the oil changing pits by accident when rolling into the station for a gas fill-up. He replied that he had seen more than 20 motorbikes ride right into the pits. Another great reason to slow down and not ride at night. I love South America, nobody blames anyone else for stupidity. If you mess yourself up, its your own fault...slow down dummy, You're accountable for your own actions.-

The past few days have been both scenic and tough as I have been riding straight roads on near perfect pavement with the occasional bombed out section that lasts for a km or two. The kitchen sink sized pothe hole's are important for keeping me sharp when I'm off thinking about weird stuff both past and present.

As I was coming into Campo Grande I was passed by a couple of dudes on bigger motorcycles who pulled over at the next stop and waived me to pull in. I figured what the heck and flipped my visor up. They were pretty excited to chat to me and help me trip plan for the next day while looking at my maps.

From Campo Grande I made it east to a town called Cassilandia, I pulled into a simple but nice hotel for the equivalent of 15 dollars which included a great breakfast. (Brasillians don't cheap out on breakfast!) For supper that night I walked over to a forno oven pizza joint on the side of the road and ordered the largest "small" pizza I've ever laid eyes on. I was able to eat only two pieces of the eight, so, off I walked in the street until I saw 3 young men hanging out in a yard. I yelled for one of them to come over. They were very reluctant and said they did'nt want the pizza or anything I was offering. (They were scared of me actually.) I began talking jibberish..... "Me Canada, too big of pizza, very full now, no refridgerator in hotel, Pizza will go garbage!" ........ "Pizza will go garbage" was the golden word and the locked gate now opened.

Once inside I was ordered to eat yet another piece of pizza from a plate that the host supplied. I knew that I'd pay for it with a stomach ache from gorging myself but, I understood that they needed to know that it was safe to eat. We began chatting and I ended up staying there in the simple home made out of brick for the better part of an hour. The 3 fellows were all cousins and with a limited vocabulary and schades we made ourselves understood. I crashed into bed to rest upfor the next day.

I was up at the crack of dawn and on the road at 830am. I'm now on Atlantic standard time and still about 1500 km west of the coast. The riding days are getting shorter as I climb back to the equator. Currently I'm at 16 degrees south in the Tropic of Cancer. The sun is very intense and I get the idea of how this latitude got its name.

I pulled into the colonial town of Goias (founded in the 18th century) just before dark and took a short stroll around the cobble streets and met a German fellow (Eric) who has lived here in Brasil for 25 years and owns a hotel and a farm here. Eric, and I poured over my maps and circled several important places for me to stop and ponder over on my way to the north.

I am taking a day off the bike tomorrow and getting some much needed laundry done so I'll surely have more pics tomorrow.

The Pantanal (The Swamp) Brasil

2010-03-21T18:39:00.000-04:00

An alligator that Max (our guide) pointed out, otherwise I would have just passed by it without noticing.

Black vultures, with giant rodents (which I currently forget the name of) on the side of the road

Never thought I'd do it...but yes I jumped into the river with the snakes, alligators & pirhanas...no big deal.

A king fisher, among the hundreds of birds that I saw while we went out by foot and by boat.

If you look closely you can see the "squiggle" marks left by the alligator.

From Bonito I definately stumbled upon a gem hidden in the Pantanal. The "Lontra Pantanal Hotel" (lodge) where I was staying included 3 square meals a day and all day excursions either by foot, boat or truck and our guide Max was increadible.

The first day that I arrived I found the bridge to the Park National Pantanal to be washed out, no matter though as there was a convenient ferry waiting to charge 10 reals to get you across. I love ferrys so it was a treat, however, there is only one way on and off the ferry so getting the bike turned around down here is always a pain because of the planks they use for the boat bottom.

I didn't really know where I was going once I off loaded so I looked around and decided that the most expensive looking lodge of the 3 close by the ferry dock was where I'd go. It happed to be the most expensive as well, and it turned out to be a great choice. The difference in price meant that there was one guide for 2 people and the chances of seeing wildlife was much greater. As for the accomidations, I had a shared room for 6 people, however they stuck me in with only one other fellow named Lauriano from southern Brasil.

I happend to get there just in the nick of time, as soon as my gear was off loaded from the bike we were off in a 20 foot aluminum boat heading up stream into the Pantanal. Almost immediately we began seeing birds. Some of the birds we saw (I'll never remember all their names) included the Cackarachi, 4 species of King Fishers, some type of hawk, night hawks, Toucans Etc. The trees were filled with animals and birds and we were delighted to see howler monkeys and some other species of monkey hidden way up in the towering trees of the Pantanal which grow in the drier areas.

We came back to the lodge in the darkness and had a buffet style dinner and headed to bed early in the 38 degree 100% humidity heat. I was sweating in the shower and went to bed without toweling off so that I could enjoy being cool for 10 more minutes. I was sweating so perfusely that my eye sockets were filling up like two small ponds, so I was forced to tilt my head for drainage.

Lauriano and I were up at the crack of dawn. You see, Brasil is different, people get up early here. I walked outside at 0530am and I think that I was the last one up. Breakfast was already on the table, buffet style and fruit filled the plates.

Our plan for the day included a "Safari", essentially we hopped into the back of a pick-up that had a shaded bench in the box and headed some 37 bridges up the road further into the Pantanal. There were some farms that dotted the land in this area and the road provided the only access into the park and dead-ended at 110km from the park entrance.

We were equipped with fishing poles and steak bits as bait because, first we were apparently going Pirhana fishing! I tossed the monofilament line which was tied to a 9 foot bamboo pole baited with raw meat into the water with wild visions of boiling water and fish jumping onto shore to drag my body into the depths. No so......after about an hour I was done. It was now about 1000am and again 38 degrees with not even a bite. The walk to the fishing spot was an adventure in itself however. I would never walk bare footed through dark water and ankle deep sludge anywhere in Canada. But, here, where there are worms, snakes and alligators...I had no choice, I had to follow the guide. Besides, I'm not used to the terrain and I was completely lost in the jungle. I tried to guess which way to go and asked the guide Max if I was correct. He simply said No...with a confused look on his face like he was thinking how utterly helpless I was.

We returned back to where the truck had dropped us off and stopped for lunch at a farm. The meal was simple but good and tasty,of beans, meat, tomatoes, salad. We took a break for about an hour...a seista. I shared a mate with Max and the other two people who were at the farm. It was a different kind of mate than what I was used to however. It is usually served hot, but, here in the 38 degree heat we sipped it ice cold.

Max rounded Lauriano and me up and into the back of the truck again. Our driver took the 3 of us to a jungle spot where we hopped out of the back of the truck and ducked under a fence and into the darkness of the palm tree canopy. The photo's did no justice, however, there were several animals, including, white tailed deer (tiny ones compared to Canada), Armadillos, Moncoons ( As Pete Wedge calls them), Alligators, & Some type of Stork etc...etc... There was one disturbing thing that made me wonder. While we were walking we came upon a dead horse that was still warm, it had struggled to the end, apparent by the arcs left in the dirt from its hoofs as if it was galloping while laying down on its side. Its eyes were still clear and wet. Max said that it most likely died from a snake bite because they tend to step on them while grazing and the snake bites them on the nose. After that I watched where I stepped more closely.

We toured around the jungle for more than two hours, I sweated off all my mosquito repellent and I was getting eaten alive mostly on my back and shoulders, bitten right through my T-shirt. I have thousands of tiny pin holes...looks like I layed down on a bed of fine nails.

Soaking wet with sweat and severly bitten, we loaded back into the truck and encounted the largest rodents in the world, they were huge, as big as pony's. Max informed Lauriano and I that after dark we'd go for a nigt boat tour. I was pretty tired and the thought of a night boat tour almost seemed too much. I wasn't going to miss the tour however so I took a nap for 1 hour before heading out. Max fired up the outboard and equipped with a million candle watt lantern we sailed up the river. It was easy spotting and we got very close to many alligators, birds and monkeys that had all settled in for the night. I had my little flashlight and was shining it into the eyes of a Night Hawk. He didn't like it and came right for the light. I ducked and forced myself not to scream, luckily he landed right back on a branch that I illuminated for him back on shore. At one point Max killed the motor and the lights and we just floated down the river listening to all the insects, birds and animals while looking up at the star filled sky which was reflected off the water. It was a complete surreal experience. It was time to head it back and time to eat again before heading to bed early.

This morning I was up at 0600 and sipping some coffee when Max came into the lodge and announced that we were going tubing. I was thinking that I'd just pass and get on the road early. Thank goodness that I didn't however. We took the boat up river again to a fast flowing section and tossed the tube into the drink. I leaped from the boat onto the tube in the silty red/brown river trying not to get too deep in the water where I imagined the nasty critters live. It tured out that the tubing was quite a highlight of the trip. Max kept off at a distance and I was left alone in the water to drift silently near the shore to view wildlife up close without them even noticing that I was there. I saw monkeys, Toucans, and a variety of other bird species that typically flew away when we came near with the boat. The tubing was a great experience, and the water was bathtub warm.

We returned for lunch and I packed my gear. I considered staying for one more night, but time was of the essence and I had to get going. I was sad to leave as it was the best place that I found this whole trip for experiencing animal viewing. Alas I left and paid my bill only to find myself 350km down the road in Campo Grande in a hotel that charged 2/3 the price for the 3 nights and 7 meals that I had at the lodge.....doh...can't have my cake and eat it too I guess.

Making my way to Belem to catch the boat to Manaus along the Rio Amazonia.

The Pantanal

2010-03-21T18:25:00.000-04:00

Sunrise on the river at 0548 out front of the Lodge

Max & Lauriano in the yellow at a pit stop where Max said we could swim. I was like yeah right.....but when Max got in and did'nt get eaten I could'nt resist and got in as well. The water was luke warm and pleasant. I over came my fear and just got in and I didn't want to get out either.

The dining room of the Lodge where they served buffet style meals that were all very tasty.

The rustic ferry that got you across the river

Sunset on my first night in the Pantanal

Bonito, Brasil

2010-03-18T21:20:00.000-04:00

The good part road to the farm where I booked a river snorkling tour. I heard a squaking noise and thought something was caught up in the bike. It turned out to be some birds in the near by grass. They were quiet once I dismounted the bike and I did not get to identify them. Not much farther after this a large green paraquete the size of a pigeon flew into my chest. My jacket was zipped down so I thought it went inside. I looked for him afterward but he was tough enough to fly away, even after bending my mirror over. Good thing my mirror took the initial brunt and also good thing it didn't hit my face as my visor was open!

A sort of vegetarian fish that was very common in the pools

Large trout like fish called something like the word "durro" Apparently a great sport fish

A colorful butterfly that happened to land close by after the swim.

I was told that the farm was really easy to find and that it was close...only 52 km away. I decided that I'd give myself alot of extra time to get there and left a half hour early knowing that anything could happen.

I followed the directions, however, the directions did not indicate that 12km out from the town of Bonito the road turned to a rutted out and sandy dirt road that I could barely ride 60km/hr on. I did my best in panick mode thinking that I'd miss my trip weaving bobbing excessively now that my Progressive suspension monoshock is completely blown.

I ended up at the farm at 10:55 am and found a person right away who worked there and pointed to the map and asked if I was at the right place. Unknown to me I had my finger on the bird reserve 7 km down the road further. He started pointing back to the highway. I said in english.." You mean there are two river tour operators?" He had no idea what I said and smiled and said what everyone who doesn't understand says...."yes". I hopped back on the bike and rode to the bird reserve. I pulled into their santuary and immediately noticed that there weren't any snorkles or wetsuits hanging around. The woman who was working there was very helpful and phoned over to the farm to tell them that I'd be there in a few minutes.

I re-arrived feeling anxious, but I was aware that I was in for a good trip and didn't get to excited about the rigamoral. I was issued a wet suit, signed a waiver...(that's a first in a long time) and hopped into the back of a pick up truck toward the river.

To access the river we first had to navigate a path through the jungle for about 2km. From that point we entered the river and we were instructed not to let our feet touch the bottom so as to avoid stirring up silt in the crystal clear waters. (everyone got it except one dumb dude boomer age who kept standing up to unfog his goggles instead of rolling over onto his back like he was instructed..don't worry I told him).

The fish were very abundant and there were thousands of them ranging in size from minnows to monsters about a meter long. It was a pretty cool experience and the fact that it was a river environment I had a keen eye open taking notes as to where the big ones were hanging out for when I return to fly fishing again.

Tomorrrow I head into the wetlands to book a trip to the Pantanal.