I'm flying home very
shortly so here’s my attempt to tie things up and put to rest my
blogging days now that the road is sadly no longer.
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| ready to sail, Valpo, Chile |
I saw Sixto off yesterday in
a dry port in Valparaiso, Chile. He kicked and screamed and really made me work
to squeeze out the last bit of juice from his tank but eventually he realized
it was time to call it a day, we crated him up and sent him sailing west
towards Hong Kong before we reunite in the spring at the Port of Melbourne,
ready to stretch his legs in the Victorian back country. Times will never be
the same but I hope together the spirit of this trip will carry on in some
way.
To those who have been
tuning in from time to time I hope you've enjoyed the reading, it's been a joy
to write and update my experiences as I’ve rolled on throughout Latin America,
from California to Central Chile indirectly via Louisiana, the Caribbean Sea, Tierra
del Fuego, Rio de Janiero and everything in between, taking on 60,455
kilometres of its roads. To those tabloid-style
viewers, I hope the photos have painted enough of a picture and to
those I met along the way, your chance meeting has in some unique way made
the journey all the more richer and fulfilling, it’s rarely been short of a
pleasure to share a moment, a drink, a meal, a road, a sunset, a dance floor and
a laugh together.
I picked Sixto up back in
April 2013 and have tried not to look back for the past sixteen months. In real
terms, the time and distance has been long but in lone rider terms, - the sole
decision making, being without use of my native tongue and the constant lack of
any voice or music but those in my mind for hours on end – it feels somewhat
longer.
It's a sad feeling to
finish up. These endless months,
this land, it’s people and this lifestyle has offered me so much and I will be
forever grateful. The spirit of adventure and the thrill of the unknown around
the next corner will be sorely missed, having nowhere to be, the long days on the road, not knowing where
I’ll be sleeping when the sun meets the horizon, swerving around animals, bugs splattered on my goggles,
waving to a passer-by, stopping for a cooked lunch. It's a
great consolation, however, to know I'll be returning home to some fantastic
things and a certain quality of life only Australia can provide.
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| bogged near Uyuni, Bolivia |
The common themes which
have kept my mind ticking over during those many moments are owed to the art of
riding motorcycles as well as what it offers between rides as part of a greater
journey: to living simply and to enhance the human senses. To travel on the
open road on the perfect vehicle and
all of your current life’s belongings and necessities tied up behind you one
can feel so very light, so in control of his destiny and yet be so vulnerable
and susceptible to that around him, that which he cannot control - the obvious
vulnerability is the other drivers he shares the road with but the more
important one is the overwhelming power of the natural world he travels through and offers himself up to. When vulnerable and open, everything has a
stronger impact and a heightened sense of awareness, it pushes the human
senses. A downpour in the Amazon will drench you to the bone no matter how
waterproof your jacket is. On the wrong day, a Patagonian wind will throw you
across the road, regardless if a truck is passing, and a truck passing will
only exacerbate the strength of it after its short-lived blocking. A desert sun
will quench your thirst and leave you feeling very isolated and small and a
high-altitude mountain pass will send a sobering chill through you
and leave you nowhere to warm your hands and toes (and nose and cheeks if
you’re stupid enough to take them on with an open face). The climate leaves you
awake and worn out, something that ensures the next ride is worth preparing for.
When riding turns from hours,
to days, to weeks and to months the climate has a way of reminding you that
it’s always there and that it owns you but it also tells you where you are,
where you’re travelling through, it
speaks to you about how beautifully the
world is. There’s been so many memorable rides I’ve experienced on this trip,
so many that I can see myself daydreaming of when I inevitably get back to the
monotonous working day. On the more memorable days, the world has had its way
of celebrating its charm and applauding itself. I rode through many of the south west U.S. canyon
roads without seeing another soul for hours, it’s enchantment spoke so magically.
I took to the gravel cliff-hugging roads from Mocoa to Pasto in southern Colombia,
the ‘Devil’s Trampoline’, and took breaks to peer over the edge and into the
pits of hell. I rode the Mexican 200 for days through Michoacan and Guerrero,
curving into and away from the Pacific Ocean, dodging crabs high above the
cliffs and low by the crashing waves. The bike, the lonely road, it reminds you
how it feels to be alive surrounded by it all. In the space of a handful of
days in Peru, I took in a country with fantastic variety – the sandy deserts of
the north which takes you to meet the empty blue ocean, it carries on inland
through canyon territory before rising high up into one of the Andes most
remarkable sets of snow-capped peaks, descends into the flat and isolated pampa
with no civilisation but the wild vicuna’s scurrying into the sunset then down
into the forests and sacred valleys of its south. Around Lanquin, in Guatemala
where I had my first fall, shows you the rocky mountains, the heavenly valley.
The men loitering its villages urged me to stop so I could buy them a round of
Pepsi and explain what I was doing there, in the depths of Central America’s
best kept secret of rolling hills and fertile land. Around
Quilotoa, Ecuador, more mountain to touch and bend around its curves and to hike
around the rim of its turquoise lake.
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| battery disconnected at 60,445km's |
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| friends in the unlikeliest of places |
The riding
is a lesson in geography, how it feels to breathe the cold air when chasing the
clouds or above 3000m and how it affects the bike too, struggling to take in
enough oxygen, a slight choke in its breath. How rocky the roads can get near
volcanoes, how dusty the air near canyons, how thick and humid the air in the
rainforests, how heavy it’s moisture, how clean and swift in the open
plains.
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| breaking the waves, Nicaragua |
Of course,
the times I spent with backpackers and many friends I made were always a fun time and full of laughs
and riding with other bikers created an exciting element and brought new ideas
to the table. The thrill of the unknown however is most present when waking up
free and able to make spontaneous decisions as they presented themselves giving
me every chance to live simply and enjoy the moments. Of times where I was
rushed to reach somewhere at a specific date I would inevitable have to miss
somewhere interesting or a kind gesture on the way. It made me so much more
approachable by hesitant onlookers. It opened up opportunities to make friends
in the unlikeliest of places, meeting people in restaurants in the smallest of
towns and sharing a table and a long conversation about local life, Australian
life and travelling. Then there’s getting to know the woman who proudly cooks
lunch and snacks by the roadside, ‘You have a beautiful horse’, they say, ‘Why
are you traveling alone? Why aren’t you married? What do your parents say? The
questions from the men are more often about the bike and my job and how I can
afford to travel for so long. 'I come from a different world', I begin to explain.
Pulling over
of a dusk to ask permission to set up my tent in a front yard and sharing
dinner, music and a warm embrace. Taking a break to work on farms for as long
as it felt comfortable, to live with a local family, share in meal
preparations, work with the land and learn how the farm operates and what makes
it really work, spending down time taking in its grounds, wandering in the nearby
rivers and mountains. Living simply struck a strong chord one late afternoon in
Lago Puelo, Argentina where I had been working on plastering adobe onto a
timber hut, the sun was shining brightly but was only moments from reaching the peak
of the nearby mountain and hiding for the night, I was finishing off my last
bucket of mud, having worked it through my hands over a long afternoon,
appreciating the sun on my back and the fresh breeze coming over. Diego had
returned and was inside the house, he opened the doors and windows and began
playing his guitar, playing his own music very well which sat perfectly within a
brief moment of paradise.
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| the most important of history lessons, Potosi, Bolivia |
The key
really, together with having time and being able to act spontaneously was
taking the decision to put faith in humanity, unquestioningly and without
restraint. To trust people from just their immediate expressions and attitudes,
to be open to their kindness and accept it with open arms when it comes
genuinely and respectfully.
Without
faith in humanity, we blur the lines of fear and danger, two very different
things which we too often convince ourselves that are the same. Yes,
places can be dangerous, being in the wrong place at the wrong time can happen,
however unlikely it is, but it’s really fear that’s so much more powerful, once
we choose to except fear it will control us and take away any chance of adventure, of
spontaneity, of opportunity, of breathing that moment and tell us we are acting to prevent ourselves from
danger, something that very often does not exist.
It’s very easy to decline coldly, dismiss this kind
of offering as sketchy, unplanned, with a bad vibe, but to embrace it always
comes with its rewards on both sides. Fear really is overrated when out in the
quiet, beautiful landscapes of Latin America with its gentle and kind
communities offering help without hesitation. To speak someone’s language, showing that you’re wanting to speak it as well as possible, to
approach confidently but on level ground will always give someone an easy and
curious way to start a conversation. Taking on what presents itself and putting
faith in those you come in contact can offer so much and enrich the travels. I
approached a village off the highway in the Peruvian pampa one afternoon, from a
distance it looked so isolated and curious. I followed the gravel road and
hoped to just bask in the sun and eat the bread and cheese I bought that
morning. The village was preparing its monthly general meeting in the main
square with a long table of important people at the front, a flag raising,
eight gun salute followed by a speaker’s
forum. They welcomed me in, asked me to introduce myself in front of everyone
and invited me to stay for the ceremony.
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| sandy roads along the Caribbean sea, Mexico |
I met Caleb,
a fellow rider while filling up at a gas station on the Yucatan one afternoon,
I stayed at his place for the following few nights, met the local biking
community, was offered discounts for new tyres, and was put in contact with
Marco further south, another apartment to stay at and fantastic home cooked
Mexican food by his mother. I approached Jose in the mountains above Lanquin in
Guatemala for assistance in storing my bike for the night to avoid the steep and slippery ride
through the evening storm. His reaction gave me all the assurance I needed, the
most innocent of faces and eagerness to help from a beautiful man whose life
was his children and the coffee and cardamom he grew on the slopes behind his
tin shack home. A twenty minute connection with him and his father-in-law was enough
to understand what life was all about in this part of the world and what it is
that we really need and should be striving for.
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| and they say that motorcycles are dangerous |
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| the Patagonian Autumn, Argentina |
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| between central and south America |
To the hard times. There weren’t really any
hard times. There was bad days, days where the riding just didn’t feel right,
usually a result of bad weather, having slept on a hard ground or just having a
late night, light head and an empty stomach. Things wouldn’t go as hoped many
times but not much could be done but to persevere and patiently work through
it. I ran out of gas on three occasions. The most frightening was the first
time, on a hot day in the Northern Mexican desert. A man eventually came to the
rescue, somebody is always willing to help if you’re willing to wait. There’s been
falls and damage to Sixto. The worst was the slip and dislocated shoulder in
Southern Bolivia on a miserably damp day. That taught me some good lessons. I
could have been in a lot more trouble on this occasion, many hours of a painful
dislocation had Alfredo not arrived when he did and in a
pick-up truck to mount Sixto in. I’ve learnt that when things did turn to shit
or I felt unlucky or unfairly treated from the universe, the occasion could
have always been worse. Having an opportunity like this, it’s hard to take the highs
for granted and be bitter about the lows for too long.
I’m
not sure how to finish writing this, I’ve very mindful of the different life I’m
returning to, I’m not bitter to end this as enjoyable as it is, I just hope the
feelings remain and translate into that comfortable, privileged world I’ll be
immersed in, where it’s very easy to be distracted from what’s important, to
make silly excuses of being too busy to notice the beauty all around us, or
forgetting that the simpler we live the more beauty we are likely to notice –
climbing a mountain, baking bread, eating vegetables in season, feeling the
earth between your fingers, sun on your back, going to sleep early in a tent
and waking with the first light, smelling the flowers, noticing a new but
subtle sound from my motorcycle engine, drinking from a shared cup, embracing a
head wind, predicting what the clouds will bring, being open to the generosity
of strangers, having faith in the human spirit, drinking and washing your face in
a flowing river. I hope to wake everyday to the reminder that time is the real
capital and that real wealth can only be found in experiences, in knowledge, in
connecting with people and the environment and all it takes is some risk taking
and nothing more than your five senses, and maybe that sixth sense of making
things happen.
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| tropical deserted islands, San Blas |
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| building with adobe, Argentina |
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| lunch stops, Mexico |
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| good times with Jenn, Bolivia |
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| Amazonian thirst, Ecuador |
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bike buddies, ferry to Tierra Del Fuego
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| Michoacan woman, Mexico |
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| Lake Atitlan, Guatemala |
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bad day, southern Bolivia
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