Posts from Bolivia

South American Checker Cab. Many South American's can't afford a car and Tuk Tuks are the primary method for inner city transportation. They're a three wheeled version of a m/c with an enclosed (canvas) passenger compartment. Engine serves as heater as well.

Going to a foreign country, or in our case a foreign continent, gives one the chance to get an insight into how other people live.  South America was a perfect place to do this as its close enough to get to, yet far enough away to be different.   I was expecting to be impressed by the food, dress, architecture, art — the regular stuff of visiting foreign lands.  

But it was the nuts and bolts of their life that stuck with me most after our trip. We Americans live a charmed life in so many little ways.  Our trash is picked up every week, we always have enough electricity.  Paper towels, napkins, and toilet paper are in abundant supply.  We don’t have to memorize three different ways to dial a phone depending on what kind of phone we”re using and where we’re calling from/to.  We have street signs and good maps.  Money is available on every corner as banks and ATMs are ubiquitous.  Want to buy a TV that’s more than you can afford this week?  No problem, put down the MasterCard and pay it off next month or the one after that.

Need a washing machine or TV set? You can buy them in the same store in many towns in SA. Motorcycles are viewed in the same mode as a washing machine -- basic utility. Small m/cs (125ccs and less) are the primary method of personal transportation throughout SA. Probably more so than washing machines and ovens.

It’s these little things that make all the difference.  And so it was that over the 90+ days we were in SA, we became more familiar with the nuts and bolts of life, which gave us a better insight into how people in SA live than any of the regular stuff.

Let’s talk trash, for example. We pay a company/city to pick it up every week.  There’s a system of containers, times, recycling, etc. that happens as automatically as a dial tone on our phone.   It’s not so automatic in small towns in Bolivia or Peru.  Or, for that matter, in lots of places in Mexico.  There’s not much infrastructure to do this because there’s no… (1) tax base to pay for it  (2) no place to put it  (3) no money to pay for it  (4) no containers to use,  etc.

Here’s the rub:  most South American towns/cities that we visited were remarkably free of trash.  So, what do South American’s do?  They do it on a block by block basis;  pickup trucks come by and take the  trash piled on an agreed-to street corner every day.  I assume that these trash picker uppers make their money by selling the recyclable trash, but I don’t know.

Once outside bigger cities, you see dumps that collect trash in almost every village.  Can you imagine having to carry your trash to a dump every couple of days?  And if you don’t have a car, how likely are you to take the trash down the street to the dump?  Hence, many houses create their own mini dumps and eventually burn it.

The lack of high-volume trash processing infrastructure has other affects;  South Americans consume less and reuse more.  Toilet paper is a well-regulated commodity in hotels;  you get one small roll per day.  Napkins?  Paper thin and watched closely.  Plastic soda bottles?  Reused to carry everything from gasoline to water.  After a while, the idea of consuming less becomes a habit, and not a bad one at that.  You need smaller dump sites and Toyota pick ups can handle the neighborhood trash needs.

This house was a five hour drive from Copiapo, Chile. Located in the high Atacama, recent addition of solar panel allowed refrigeration, lights and ... an Internet satellite dish!

Technology is your friend, especially if you live high up in the Andes.   Living “off the grid” is the only alternative in many villages and towns in Peru, Bolivia, and Chile.  Laying electrical, telephone, water, sewage lines isn’t going to happen in our life time.  Remote villages in South America are discovering solar power.  We stayed with a family who had one panel on the roof of their house with a wire strung to a set of car batteries.  This single solar panel gave each room light via a single florescent bulb.  And for the first time, this family could read, or listen to a radio, or look at pictures from gringo tourists at night in their kitchen.

Much like the USA, solar power is made affordable by government grants in countries like Peru.  There are a lot worse uses of tax dollars (or Soles or Bolivianos) as it literally changes lives and living conditions.  Imagine what will happen when the cost of solar and other alternative sources becomes affordable on a large scale in South America?

South American kids aren’t suffering for lack of mobile phone connectivity. Whether in Seattle or Santiago, their attachment to all things mobile is the same.  Every kid had some kind of mobile phone or game and had their head buried in its screen.   Same thing goes for adults as mobile phone use on the road is widespread. Conservation of this critical resource (minutes) is top of mind.  Since there is no monthly billing for the most part in South America, everyone buys minutes from magazine stands and mini markets.  (I’m not sure whether mobile phones can be used as payment vehicles like they are in Asia)  Mobile phone reception was remarkable even in the most remote places.  My Blackberry rarely gave me the SOS indicator.

Even toll stations have Wi Fi connectivity in Argentina. This shot is in the middle of the Pampas at a toll booth, which has a 100 sq ft convenience store and one table. We used the one table to Skype Sam and Ryan to get advice on another road side repair.

We stayed with a family on a remote island in Lake Titicaca, Peru. The kitchen served as living room, dining room and itchen. Floresent lights allowed kids to show pictures from previous gringo guests.

Same thing goes for Internet connectivity; it’s everywhere in most of South America.  Only two hotels in 95 days of traveling didn’t offer Wi-Fi.   Many Argentine and Chile gas stations offer free Wi Fi.  Internet cafes are still going strong, tucked away in every nook and cranny of Cusco, or Arequipa, or Puno.  Everyone has an email address, or a  blog, or a FaceBook page.  Exchanging contact information with people we met along the way meant getting their email address, not their phone number.

Traveling in South America is an audio experience as much as a visual one.   There’s lots of noise.   Trucks grunt, cars  and m/c’s beep their horns, pickups with loudspeakers in their beds blast advertising messages, and even trash trucks play music as they move down the street.  Street musicians and bands can be heard on many city streets.  The Latin stereotype of being passionate people is to some degree accurate, as people in South America tend to speak louder with more gestures than we Norte Americanos.   And, they do it more often with a smile on their face.

On almost any day, but especially on the weekends, Tango dancers can be found on most parks in the San Telmo neighborhood of Buenos Aires. They dance for tips in the day and then perform formally in shows at night. Never a dull moment in BA.

Loading supplies onto the only train that goes through the Sacred Valley. This woman loaded as much, or more, than her husband during the few minutes that the trains was available

Women of all ages are beasts of burden in Peru and Bolivia. They carry wood, crops, food, kids, tools, clothes  and anything else you can imagine on their backs via a sack called Keperina.  It’s common in the Andes to see women and their children walking along a road with their Keperina’s stuffed full, far away from any apparent destination.  These women are strong, as I know I couldn’t carry all this stuff at altitudes of 12-15,000 feet.  What’s more, their faces mask any exertion, as they are  more likely to be smiling than grimacing. ( A side note to illustrate the point.  While we were staying with the family on the Lake Titicaca island, we decided to walk up to a nearby mountain top to take in the view.  OK, we’re not talking about K2 here, but I was huffing and puffing just taking one step at a time.  I look over at our guide — the mother of the family we were staying with — and she’s knitting while she walks.  Evidently, we were going so slow that she could catch up on her stitches;) ) We didn’t see many men carrying stuff as we women.  Karen wondered if the men worked at all.   If not, Peru is on my list of places to live 🙂

Yes, I”ll remember Machu Picchu, the snow packed peaks of the Andes, the thunderous sound of the Iguacu Falls, and the vastness of the Atacama forever.  But I’ve also come away with what I really wanted, which was to get a taste of how other people live.    I’ll never take trash removal for granted ever again.

Did I get it wrong or do you have something to add? We met a lot of people in South America who became our friends and now read TRT.  There’s no way the above can be anything other than a Gringo’s view, so I’d love to know if you think the above is “right” or not, or what else would you add ?

Comments are welcome from everyone, of course.  Karen and I look at TRT as just a place where we can talk with our friends along the way.

This isn't a posed picture. Everyday working people were quick to smile. This is a truck driver in the city of Ilo as he backs his truck up to the fish market.

My hero. This guy has two computers going in a cafe in Buenos Aires. He's using Skype to talk with a customer while using the second one for some other task, all the while sipping a beer. They do business differently in Latin America.

Typical South American dexterity of thought. Jam-packed Internet Cafe in San Pedro de Atacama is combined with a mountain bike rental agency. Makes sense if you think about who uses both services.

Grid or maze? Typical "infrastructure" in South America is not too scalable without access to a Ouija board. Puerto Vallarta has similar electrical spaghetti. Makes for happy workers with lots of job security.

Always time for a cold one. Group of women standing in the street in La Paz, celebrating.... Carnivale.

No mandatory retirement age. Or dental health care. Woman in Ollantaytambo, Peru.

Merchandising in La Paz Mercados and food stalls was immaculate. Pricing of eggs reflects size. Based on the cartons, the customer can individually select which eggs they want.

Counter space? Next time The Little Woman wants to remodel the kitchen, show her this picture. This is a kitchen hut on a reed island in Lake Titicaca. Bucket has water from the lake that is boiled for eating/washing.

Well-used:  Now Voyager and us.

Tell me it isn’t so! How can our trip be over so soon? Just 95 days, 9000 miles, six countries, ten border crossings, four tip-overs, two flat bed truck tows, 45 different hotels and a gazillion bad meals later and we’re on our way back to Los Angeles.   Along the way, there were no accidents of note, no broken bones or other serious injuries, and no robberies.   And we’ll always  remember the help we received from so many kind people who must have felt sorry for two gringos lost on a motorcycle.

OK, maybe the word “just” isn’t quite right.   I knew it was time to go home when minutes after crossing the Brazilian border for the second time Karen walked out of a mini-Mercado with a serious, quizzical look on her face and asked, “What country are we in?” We have been on the road for a long time I thought and re-doubled my effort to get us home as quick as possible.

Here’s the Stat Package of our trip:

Bumps and peaks

This trip is a perfect example of how the best laid plans go awry and you just have to deal with the results in the here and now.  Two years in the planning didn’t prevent everything going wrong from almost the first day in Buenos Aires.  Now Voyager was more than two weeks late in arriving.  Misplaced passports prevented us crossing into Chile when originally planned.  And, of course,  Now Voyager developed serious and multiple over-heating episodes that literally changed the course of the trip.  We found ourselves on the Shit Happens Express and had no choice but to ride it out.

KR and I will always remember “riding it out” as we coasted through a mile-long tunnel, watching the headlights of approaching trucks getting bigger and bigger in the rear-view mirror, knowing if we couldn’t get the silent Now Voyager to the tunnel’s exit, we were probably toast.   “Crouch down!” I shouted to Karen, hoping that we’d make a smaller aerodynamic footprint.  Well, the travel gods were with us that afternoon as we made it out of The Tunnel and two tow trucks later we rolled into Santiago.  After this, the phrase “light at the end of the tunnel” had a new sense of realism for us.

Slowly, our luck started to turn. When NV sprouted its leaking water hose, a fellow Brazilian biker staying in the same hotel in San Pedro de Atacama, helped fashion a fix that would last for hundreds of miles through the Atacama desert.  Then we met the manager of the Hotel El Mirador in Calama who advised me not to try to fix it there, but to go to a BMW expert in Iquique.  It was both excellent advice and a trip-turning encounter with Jorge, Ruben, and Beto in Iquique.  Once Ruben ripped out the thermostat and replaced it with a red Coke bottle cap, he declared, “The Chile Way. Forever.”  We never had a problem with NV after that.  In addition to fixing our motorcycle, Jorge literally drew out our trip plan that suddenly brought my foggy vision into clear focus.

We were lucky with the weather as well.   Yes, for weeks on end we had rain at least part of every day, and it rained often when we were riding.  But it never rained when it would have been disastrous.  Coming into La Paz at night it suddenly stopped raining (a greater power knew we already had too much to handle) and all we had to deal with was traffic, hills, drunks and a city-wide party.  We crossed Bolivia just after the rainy season had left the country soaked to its red mud core.  Somehow we rode the 40 kilometers of dirt in the middle of Bolivia during a two-day dry spell.  Even one hour’s worth of rain would have doomed our crossing as the road would have turned into thick red mud.  And what about seeing Machu Picchu in the mist, just clear and bright enough to give us a mystical experience?

We were lucky with our crashes and near-crashes as well.  My two beach tip-overs provided entertainment for beach goers, but caused no damage.  When we fell over in the middle of making a turn in Arequipa’s traffic, three guys sprinted out in the street to stop traffic, help get NV righted, and push us onto the sidewalk.  Despite KR’s new found fear of skip-loaders, our river crash was tame in damage to us and NV.  Biggest loss was our two cameras and KR’s confidence in my tackling less-than-stellar road conditions.

One of the things I will always remember fondly is South American gas stations. Yes, I said gas stations.  I will never forget sitting in an Argentinean station way out in the Pampas talking with Sam and Ryan via Skype as we tried to analyze and then fix NV’s first overheating episode.  All gas stations and toll booth mini-Mercado’s have Wi-Fi!  I can’t pass a YPD or Shell station in Argentina without wanting to stop and hang around.

Sometimes simple maneuvers can make a big impression.  You’d be surprised at the challenge of getting into and around South American gas stations as ruts, rocks, trucks, cars, dogs, cattle, kids, and any manner of “thing” might be in your way.  In one station a couple days out of Santiago I pulled in and made a perfect arc to the right side of the pump. I remember thinking, “Hey Walti, you’re starting to ride this thing OK.” Two days later, when I brought this episode up as an example of getting into The Groove, KR said, “Yes, I remember that one too and thinking you were really smooth.” This of course begs the question of what I was doing in the other 200 gas station  visits, but let’s not go there.

Certain images leave a lasting impression as well. Talking with a Russian Mennonite, living in Bolivia was one of them.  Our conversation took place way out in the eastern part of Bolivia, at a gas station that was literally ringed with huge rocks and boards preventing any car from entering (remember, in Bolivia finding a gas station doesn’t necessarily mean you’ve found gas as they’re often out of gas).  I swung NV between the rocks to see if there was gas because I saw this Mennonite farmer on a horse-driven flat bed wagon getting two 50 gallon drums filled with Bolivia’s finest.  Apparently, only Mennonites and motorcyclists get gas at that station!  It was good talking with him as he spoke perfect English and seemed to be as curious about us as we were about him.  Not surprisingly, his knowledge of road conditions on Ruta 4 turned out to be wrong, but  what was I thinking asking him in the first place. How far can you take a horse pulled wagon, anyway?

I could go on and on about my fondness for South American gas stations, but I’ll stop.  Full service. Wi-Fi.  Food.  Beer and wine.  Ice cream. And attendants eager to help a couple of lost motorcyclists will be missed.

The Good, Bad and Ugly

For those who would ask, “What would you do differently?  What did you learn?” I offer the Clint Eastwood version.

The Good

  • I would buy the same bike and configure it in the same way.  BMW has enough dealers that you can find someone to help.  Honda and Yamaha dealers are also plentiful enough.  But anything else, like a KTM, Kawasaki, Ducati, or  Suzuki and you better be able to repair it yourself with parts you’re carrying as there just aren’t that many dealers.   Now Voyager, a BMW F650GS,  is a good answer to our motorcycle challenges (height, weight, double-up, third-world travel destinations, etc.).  Those of you who want to talk more about this, just let me know.
  • I would run a knobby front tire and a on/off rear for a great combo of off-road directional help (the knobby) and highway endurance (the rear) again.
  • The spare gas tanks were heaven to have and to use.
  • We took the right stuff and had a pretty damn easy packing system.  For those who accused me of taking too much, I say: YOU travel with your wife for three months!  Parts and tools in the left pannier.  Electronics and admin stuff in the right.  Two Wolfman wet bags for our clothes and a top box as junk drawer.  Packing and unpacking was pretty much hassle-free even though we had to do it at least once a day.  KR bought a bunch of travel zip-up bags that we each used to organize our clothes and they made all the difference.  On reflection, I would probably get a bigger top box: )
  • My riding suit (Revitt) worked great.
  • The Starcom intercom worked flawlessly the whole trip.   I replaced two headsets and one connecting cord.  I would bring more spare parts for this next time.
  • The money strategy of ATM card, two credit cards, and a stash of cash is the only practical way of going.
  • Electronics were a go! A computer for each of us meant that KR used her computer to do travel research.  We started out with three cameras (a G12 for KR, a tiny Cannon for me, and a video camera for the bike).  Makes for some significant battery, charger and connector requirements, but it was worth it.
  • Footprint’s  South American Handbook was excellent.  Considering we only have one book for all of SA, it was terrific.
  • We were prepared paperwork wise:  copies of all necessary docs, fake wallets, fake registrations, etc., etc.  We never needed to make a photocopy or get a passport photo.
  • Finally, and definitely most importantly, we were connected to friends who helped us with all our problems along the way.  I had a Technical Team (Ryan, Bruce, Ron), a Map Team (Sam and Dan) and the All Around Figure Anything Out Man – Sam Hershfield.   Then there were the on-the-ground friends who helped locally: Jorge, Nacho, Fede, Jorge Hernandez, Edson too many more to mention.

The Bad

  • KR says she would do more pre-planning than we did.  Considering we did NONE, that wouldn’t be hard too do.  When you’re moving every day, it’s difficult to keep up with new destinations coming up in terms of hotels, what to see/do, etc.
  • Maps.   We needed more and better.  This goes 10X for the Garmin, which was actually useful when it had a map of the area.  Putting old maps into the GPS in South America is just inviting trouble as it made the Garmin a questionable resource for most of the trip.  Garmin’s MapSource software is one of the least intuitive applications that I’ve ever used, which shouldn’t be much of a surprise given their website and product user interfaces.
  • Entering big cities (it’s relative again) at the end of a day is tough as we inevitably got to our hotel tired, stressed and cranky.  Our best strategy was to stop on the outskirts, grab a coke/beer, and plan our entrance.  When we did this, things turned out well.
  • Getting out of big cities is as challenging as figuring out how to get in, maybe even more so given that we needed to find our way to a certain highway.  Remember, no street signs, no highway numbers, dirt roads, etc.  The only solution we found was to ask local sources for directions prior to lift-off.
  • The Touratech panniers were both good and bad.  They may be ugly, but the things are sturdy after four tip-overs.  The locks and everything worked well enough.  Yet their mounting system is designed in such a way that the panniers tend to get loose and as a result one pannier fell off entirely because the system failed.  This forces a pannier check twice daily.  Also, they’re nowhere close to being water proof and necessitated wrapping everything in double plastic bags.
  • The concept of multilayered riding suits is hilarious.   Both our suits had inner layers designed to break the wind and keep the rain out.  Think about this for a moment, you’re riding along and you get hit by rain.  Quick – pull over, take your pants and jacket off (and boots), zip in the rain liner, and put them back on again!   All on the side of the road in the pouring rain?  Impractical.  We both tossed both inner layers (warmth and rain) and just layer our way to warmth/protection.
  • Rain suits generally don’t keep out the rain.  My two-piece BMW rain suit let rain in all the pockets and the crotch.  KR went through two suits (one by___ and the other by North Face) and still ended up wet at day’s end.
  • Nolan helmets.  Once again, great idea (flip up, built-in sun shade, comfortable) but poor execution.  My helmet was NOISY, pieces kept falling apart, and the mechanisms stopped working when sand got in via the wind.
  • I brought too much of the wrong clothes and not enough of the “right” stuff.  I basically wore one pair of shorts or one pair of pants the entire trip.  I had two shirts that I alternated.   But then I had way too many back-up shirts, t-shirts, long-underwear, etc.  We were close, but I’d rethink the specifics.
  • South American food was generally horrible.  Not in the sense of “be careful what you eat” (which you should) but in the taste and health sense.  Granted KR and I aren’t the most adventuresome people so it’s partly our fault we didn’t like the food.  But most of the food is from poor ingredients, with heavy use of fats, and either fried or grill-fried.  Now, before all our friends and hosts in South America email me with threats, there were lots of exceptions to the above generalization.  But the majority of the hundreds of meals we had were less than memorable.

The Ugly

  • The Spot Satellite locater is a piece of shit that never worked. Their support folks don’t understand that you might be calling in from a far-away place (“Mr. Walti, we’ll mail your warranty papers to you).  If life wasn’t too short, I would hassle this company no end.
  • BMW Service’s reliance on their computer diagnostic system.  While I understand its purpose and reason for being, ALL the BMW mechanics I encountered in South America relied exclusively on it to diagnose the problem. If the computer said “no problem,” then there was no problem.  Even if you’d just been towed 100 miles because of overheating.
  • BMW’s lack of a global, by-model knowledge base of technical issues that could be shared by BMW mechanics.  This is simply mind-blowing that ALL of BMW’s technical experience is held only in its local mechanic’s heads.   If you’re local mechanic happens to have experience with the same problem you’re having, you’re in luck.  If not, you’re out of luck.  Trying to get access to some of the technical brains within BMW corporate proved to be a joke.   And yes, I know there are a bunch of rider forums who do an excellent job of trading technical information, but try and search that info and get your local mechanic to act on it when his computer is saying “no problem” is just as much of a joke.  BMW should be ashamed.
  • I got educated on how to ship a motorcycle the hard way. I paid just about $4K all-in to ship my bike to BA and just under $1100 to ship it back.   What changed?  Just about everything, but the biggest difference was Federico Testa (email: handled everything going back and therefore I wasn’t double charged by multiple forwarding agents.  We also used the roll-on, roll-off method which eliminates the need for crating (my crate cost $750 for the trip down).  As for timing, I would never, ever ship a m/c by sea if I needed to get it somewhere by a specific date (i.e. the Dakar) unless I targeted an arrival date  a FULL MONTH ahead of time.  Paying customs warehouse storage fees are a small price to pay to avoid the delays we experienced.  Finally, I opted for as little bike-prep as possible, which eliminated the air freight option (taking the front wheel and cases off, draining all fuels, etc.)  When NV finally arrived in BA and the crate was opened, all I had to do was stick the key in and start him up.

What’s Next?

Having not just fallen off the Turnip Truck, I haven’t broached the subject of our next trip to KR just yet.  I’ll be curious as to whether our “motorcycle around the world, one continent at a time” strategy is still operable given the soreness of KR’s butt and back.  I suspect she’ll try to modify it with a different vehicle or destination.    In the meantime, KR is anxious to get to PV to reunite with the love of her life (Lilly) and to prepare Corona and Little Big Sur for any of you folks who can find the time and means to get to Puerto Vallarta.  All are invited.

My immediate tasks include finding a more permanent place to stay in Los Angeles and getting back on the horse to help Neal at TPG.  There are some pretty exciting opportunities popping up and I have a feeling that TPG is about to reach a whole new level.

No matter where, when and how, I intend to chart our own course in life from now on.    I feel that we’re mid-stride in our Rewire Project to reconfigure our life for more control and fun, less restrictions and responsibilities.  I will let you know how the next step goes.

A Lesson from the Enterprise bus driver

Last night the driver of the  Enterprise Rental Car bus reinforced a message that we all know is true, but few of us really act on.  After chatting for a few minutes on the way to the lot, he said in response to our trip summary:  “You gotta enjoy your life! We only got one!” He said it with such conviction and enthusiasm that I thought he’d just come back from a 90 day m/c trip.   We then launched into a discussion of our favorite South American foods (few) and he responded by giving us a detailed blow-by-blow descriptions of his favorite Honduran dishes.  By the time we got to the Enterprise lot, all three of us were hungry!  I got off the bus and thought to myself, life is what each of us make it, whether we’re a bus driver or management consultant.

And so I resolved to enjoy whatever days we have left to the best of my ability.  Whether working or playing, I’m going to try and enjoy it.   I wish all of you the same.


If it’s a Fiat 600, we must be in Argentina. This has to be the world’s most tricked out Fiat

Quick, if a town has an impressive gate, what country are we in? Mail in your answers for a big prize

Technical innovations are the key to survival on the road. I bitched that KR bought a hair drier, but it was both a boot-drier and the primary therapy for my six weeks of hip problems.

Beef baby, and lots of it! If you want a great steak, Buenos Aires is your town.  Cows seems somewhat less than enthusiastic about participating, though.

How could you not love this woman? KR stuck it out for 9000 miles and countless “encounters.” Good looking glasses were a special present from me.

Devilish things seem to follow us no matter where we went. Here Jim Hyde goes with the flow in an all-out New Years street party in Palermo. We celebrated Carnival in both La Paz and Cochabamba on successive weekends. Then as soon as we cross the border into Brazil, we meet up with a bunch of guys celebrating their fishing accomplishments one night around the pool.

JH and FW await vehicle arrival news.

The Rented Iron Duke and KR outside our Buenos Aires apartment on the first day we get on a motorcycle. KR must be psychic as she's getting visions of what's ahead. We end up riding the RID for 1900 miles while we await Now Voyager's arrival.

Even the second time around, seeing the Dakar was breathtaking. I was thrilled that KR got to experience a couple of days of the race. She wasn't shy in getting close to the action to get her shot. She didn't believe me about the crowds until we were greeted by tens of thousands of people on our way to Purmamarca.

Famous Dakar racer signs autographs for fans

We met lots of nice people on this trip, none nicer than a group of Brazilians on a motorcycle vacation to Argentina and Chile. We tried to keep up, but NV wasn't up to the task (yet).

Argentina gas station: Wi Fi, a cold drink and a/c to get away from the 106 temperatures. I miss them already.

I quickly found my Inner Peruvian Self. KR refused to sit at the same table with me...

NV's overheating problems were a bummer in so many ways, but also a learning experience. I know more about cooling systems than I ever wanted. I feel much more confident in out-of-the-box road repairs having seen some pretty amazing fixes applied. And, of course, who's to say how often flatbed truck loading can come in handy.

Santiago was two-faced for us. One face was the fear, hassle and anxiety that goes with trying to figure out how to fix NV. Once we did that, we hit the reset button and spent a week exploring several alternative Santiago neighborhoods.

Valparaiso was drop-dead gorgeous during our couple of days there, though we never found our (its) groove. Physically, it was the most beautiful city we visited, yet we were never comfortable there as everyone we met warned us to be careful of getting robbed. Caution is a good thing, in moderation, and this place seemed to be too on edge.

Our spirits were on the upswing by the time we got to Lago Verde on the San Francisco Pass over the Andes. We spent an entire day exploring the Andes in a 4X4 and it was a wonderful experience. Lago Verde needs to be put on everyone's South American list.

Hey dude, nice hat. San Pedro de Atacama was like living in a time warp from the 60s. I felt right at home among the Reggae and dreadlocks. I could have warn a tank top too, but I didn't want to intimidate anyone...

Rescue crew. Beto, Jorge, and Ruben and fix NV "The Chile Way." It was indeed, forever. Thanks guys.

How can you not love the people of Peru? This lady was proud of her daily fish offerings, taken off the boat just behind that wall. Fresh, you want fresh?

We were repeatedly warned about protests and work stoppages in Peru and Bolivia. Didn't see any of that, but we did see a lot of street marches supporting candidates or complaining about some issue. Seemed to me that the people of Peru and Bolivia were really into their newly functional democracies. We all could learn something from this type of street level involvement in government.

The Atacama. We spent weeks riding through this ever-present, but constantly changing desert in Argentina, Chile and Peru. During much of this time we were unsure of NV's ability to withstand the heat, thus focusing my mind on "what if" rescue scenarios.

Yet we came across valleys like this one in the middle of the Atacama. Fed by a river carrying snow runoff, these valleys were a lush green that's hard to capture unless you're there.

On our way to Cusco in the Andes, Karen finds some new firends. It's hard not to have a good time among the people of Peru. Always quick to smile at two crazy motorclyists.

Dinner anyone? Guinea pigs are fattened in the kitchen of a restaurant high up in the Peruvian Andes. KR and I could not bring ourselves to sample the delicacy...

We spent two days exploring the Colca Valley in the Peruvian Andes just east of Arequipa. Valley is 70+ miles long and famous for its terraced fields that are a thousand years old. It was a great place to see, but two days in a bus is about 1 3/4 too many.

Real Men (and Women). We met a number of fellow bike adventurers along the way. None were more adventurous than Q & Shu who were on a nine month journey from the Middle East, through Europe, South America, Central America and North America. We met them in Cusco and had a great dinner and shared lots of tips. Their bike, a BMW F800GS, had just suffured a broken yoke and they were about to put it on a truck for the two day trip to the BMW dealer in Lima. They made it and continued north. Last we heard, they were thinking about extending their trip...

Why? Time and time again a complete stranger stepped in to save our bacon. This is the local Cusco family's VW bus that we followed to find our way out of Cusco. Sounds easy, does it? You try and find a particular road in a town of no stop signs and numerous road closures. Anyway, we were helped by the kindness of complete strangers in La Paz, Santa Cruz, a small town in Bolivia (whose name I forget) which is notorius for its bad traffic, Santiago, and Mendoza. See, there are advantages to appearing to be clueless.

There is simply nothing like it. Machu Picchu was BY FAR our most stunning excperience. Even in rain. With lots of other people around. It was worth the 20 year wait. GO!

Recycling. I was often surprised at how inventive South American's are in meeting their transportation needs. We American's are totally spoiled in this manner. This is a VW Bus reconfigured as a train repair/parts carrier.

This will not make CNN's headlines: we went into more than our fair share of bars and restaurants that might be classified as "Iffy". This was probably the most bizarre and coolest one. Located in Ollantaytambo, Peru, it was housed in a thousand year old Inca structure featuring Bob Marley motif and a pole for quick escape from the second floor. Oh, and how could I forget the fireplace coming out of the Mermaid's womb?

The Incas were unbelievable craftsman, especially when it comes to their stone work. It's no wonder that the Spaniards built their houses/churches/palaces on foundations created by the Incas whenever possible. Here's what's most amazing to me: their buildings were architectural, engineering and craftsmanship marvels that even today make us wonder, "How did they do that?" Yet, they had no written language and left behind a legacy of mystery and guesses about who they were and what they did. Strange.

One of the reasons we liked Peru so much was that many of their people dressed in traditional "costumes." It was nice being in a country in which of its citizens still valued a way of life their ancestors enjoyed. Bolivia was very similar. Not so Argentina, Chile and Brazil.

We spent almost a month in the Altiplano at elevations of 10,000 feet and above. It was beautiful, especially in Peru, as much of the Andes were in a Sound of Music green. It was difficult to adjust to the altitude despite having all the drugs and a lot of time to do so. We never got sick nor really encountered bad headaches. Rather, we had trouble sleeping, physically doing things, and most importantly -- it was COLD, especially on the bike when it rained. For a two weeks stretch KR and I never felt warm. We finally wimped out and beat a retreat to the tropics of Bolivia and Brazil.

KR found her styling groove on an island made of reeds in Lake Titicaca

The evening we spent with a family on an island in Lake Titicaca was by far our most memorable personal encounter with Peruvians. Our family seemed pretty damn happy to us despite not having what most American's would describe as basics.

Beautiful children. Even an old grouch like me was charmed by them.

Unknowlinglhy, we rode right into the middle of Carnival celebrations in La Paz on one Saturday night. What's more, we somehow found ourselves in THE neighborhood celebrating the hardest. I think Karen an I will always wonder how we survived that night without a crash. Next morning we awoke to this as the party just continued...

We encountered remarkably few dirt roads, but the ones we did were challenging for two-up riding. This stretch of dirt road lasted two hours and occurred in the middle of the Bolivian tropics.

The Iguacu Falls were scary powerful when viewed up close. The day after we visited two Americans were killed when their tourist boat capcized upon hitting some rocks.

There are some real advantages to riding a motorcycle versus a car. Motos were always allowed through toll stations for free. We were always ushered to the front of a border/inspection station line. And, in the case of long lines caused by a huge truck accident (above), we rode past miles and miles of waiting cars and trucks to the point of the accident. We quickly figrued a way around and were on our way while the rest of the four+ wheelers sat and waited in ignorance.

Blue on blue. 9000 miles later and we're back in Buenos Aires at La Casita de San Telmo. Two days later we're on the plane home.

The customs guy in BA rides Now Voyager onto the ship for the trip back to LA

They're not shiny new anymore, nor might I add are we. But we'll all be ready to go when the gun fires at the next start line.

Follow me! And we did. We encounter a couple of hundred brahma bulls on Bolivian Ruta 4. We follow a cowboy closely to thread our way through the herd. By this time, potentially getting stomped by a ranging brahma bull didn't seem so out of place.

Eleven days in Bolivia are simultaneously too much and not enough

We never gave Bolivia much of a chance to impress, though it certainly did. La Paz during Carnival is wild.  Cochabamba is a rocking town.  The mountains between Cochabamba and Santa Cruz reminded us of the Sierras.  Dropping down from the Altiplano into the lush tropical jungle was like heaven.  Miles and miles of jungle split by an almost perfect piece of asphalt makes for unique motoring.  And the people, oh the people, they were terrific: curious, helpful, and warm.

Yet, we know we didn’t see Bolivia at its best.  We couldn’t make it to the Salar de Uyuni because the rains washed out the roads.  We didn’t have the time to go into the Bolivian Amazon or to really explore La Paz and Santa Cruz.   We never even made it to Sucre and Petosi, reportedly two of its most interesting cities.  And, some of the scenery is a blur as we motored through it with haste.

We never found all the things we were warned about.  Overwhelming poverty?  Poor yes, but India’s level of poverty, no.  Terrible, impassable roads?  Most were pretty good, considering the HUGE amount of rain Bolivia just received.  Crime?  No, we just lost one camera stolen out of our hotel room in Santa Cruz.  We never felt afraid on the streets.  Political protests blocking the road.  Huh?   Bolivians and Peruvians take their politicking seriously, so there were frequent rallies in the cities.

So, just eleven days after entering Bolivia, we leave it for Brazil.   Too short, for sure.  But powerful none the less.  My strongest memories will be…

  • The visual shock of seeing La Paz for the first time spread out below us as we enter via the Autopista.  Its size, its redness, and the way it just fills the mountains and hills.  Breathtaking.
  • Riding right into the middle of Carnival 2011!  On a Saturday night and into the neighborhood for partying.  Crazy.
  • Anxiously awaiting the fresh rolls for breakfast at our hotel in La Paz.   The only hotel we’ve encountered where one of the girls picked up fresh rolls on her way to work every day.  She was inevitably late : )
  • The dim, bleak hotel in Oruro.  No Wi-Fi, no Internet, five cable stations, and depressed attitudes.  We beat it out of there post haste.
  • The cold, beauty and rain of more than 30 days on the Altiplano (both Peru and Bolivia).  All the time spent at 10,000+ feet, most of the time at 12.5, and at least a half-dozen times at 13-14K.  Clear, crisp, green and cold.  Rain at 38 degrees is ruthless.  I don’t think KR and I ever got warm the entire time we were up there.  Not being able to sleep as a byproduct was the pits as well.  But pretty, and oh so green.
  • Cochabamba!  A three night stay in the finest hotel we’ve been in since Santiago.  A rocking middle class.  Another Carnival celebration complete with street parades.  And really nice folks at Masters BMW who worked all day on servicing Now Voyager.  Cochabamba was great.
  • The mind-boggling change that occurs in the course of an hour as we ride over, and then down, the mountains going south from Cochabamba toward Santa Cruz.  All of a sudden, we’re in the tropics!  80 degrees.  Jungle vegetation.  Houses built on stilts because of water and various animals.  Eastern Bolivia is a vast jungle.
  • One of the best moments of the trip:  sitting on the curb under the canopy of the only gas station that was working west of Santa Cruz.  KR is looking at The Book (Footprint’s South America Handbook) trying to find us a place to stay in Santa Cruz.  We’re tired, but have a coke and beer.  Then the sky opens up with a monsoon style rain storm.  We sit there “safe” and watch the rain crash down and about.  Of course, twenty minutes later we had to ride into this storm, but we felt safe for a few minutes beforehand.  An admittedly weird great moment.
  • Being on Now Voyager, running straight and fast east on Bolivian Ruta 4.  The road is so smooth because its perfect cement. KR comes over the intercom and say, “Wow, stress free riding!”  Five minutes later the road ends abruptly with a hand painted detour sign.  This commences a two hour fight down a dirt road connecting the western and eastern part of Ruta 4.  The most stressFUL riding we’ve been in 🙂
  • Making our own coffee in a restaurant in Carmen.  The proprietor also sold us some gasoline.  We sat there and made coffee and somehow communicated with Johnnie and took photos of him and his kids.
  • The last 200+ miles to the Brasilian border on Ruta 4.   Cement smooth, fast, and the landscape was stunning.  Had to hold NV back at 85.

Riding with risk

When you’re flying along, running fast and smooth, one has a lot of time to think.  Any motorcyclist knows what I mean when some of my clearest thinking occurs at these times.  Seventy-five days on the road is a long time to be riding a motorcycle (for most people!  for some reading this this post, it’s just a short stint).

Both KR and I are tired.  Strangely, not from the physical effort, which is much, much more than I remember.  Nor from the hassle of packing and unpacking everyday.  We’ve got that down to easy to assemble modules.  Nor is it from the few really scary situations we’ve been in.  Or the sometimes very long days in the saddle.

No, we both agree that most of the weariness comes from not knowing something(s) key about the day ahead.  (Note:  this is not a complaint as its also the source of much of the thrills).   Most days, we don’t know at least one of the following:

  • Where we’re going the next day?  Week?  Month?
  • How far the next night’s stop is
  • How do we get there?  What route will be best?
  • What’s the road condition.  Is it passable?
  • What’s the weather going to be like?  How much rain will we get?
  • Where we’re staying
  • Will we have enough gas and will the gas stations be operating
  • Where do we get local currency when we need it
  • Some part or aspect of NV is questionable and needs attention.  Will I — or whomever — be able to fix it?
  • How much is this all going to cost?  How are we going to pay?

There have probably only been a handful of days in the past seventy-five that haven’t had a mixed collection of the above.  Sometimes they’re really minor and just take up a small amount of our “worrying capacity.”  Others consume our attention for days at end.  Should we take the “New Road” from Cochabamba to Santa Cruz? The bridge is supposedly out.  Or, maybe the “Old Road” is passable now?  It’s longer, but maybe we can get trough…

Once again, none of this is a complaint.  This is exactly what KR and I signed up for.  If we wanted it any other way, we would have signed up for a tour.  Yet, there ARE days that a tour sounds pretty damn good 🙂

Another note about logistics:  money

It’s true that one can go through much of South America on an ATM card as cash machines are in most decent-sized towns.  The best offer both local currency or dollars.  Yet, a couple of notes of caution here.   First, your ATM card will not work with all cash machines — especially in Bolivia.  If your ATM card is a Visa bank card, most of the ATMs won’t work.   Secondly,  ATMs are scarce when one really needs cash — small towns.  Most establishments only take cash.  This is especially true of gas stations.  Only hotels in sizable towns take credit cards.

Dollars are a decently traded currency in Argentina, Peru and Bolivia.  They are the only currency Border crossings take from Norte Americanos.  Chilians won’t take  a dollar even if you wanted to just  it to them as a present.  For that reason, I would always recommend keeping a stash of dollars with you as a fallback position.

Exchange rates and bank charges vary widely and its difficult to decipher how much you’re getting f___ed.  For example, hotels and such apply a really low currency exchange rate (low as in lower # of their local currency to each dollar) if you ask how much something costs in dollars.  But they always charge your credit card with the local currency, which means your credit card institution is the ultimate decider of the exchange rate.  I’ve found that they’re usually much better than local cambios and this advantage often offsets their 3% “international transaction” fee.  Same principle applies to ATM machine commissions, which are charged in local currencies.

And aside from exchange rates, what do things cost?  Varies greatly by country.  Most expensive is Chile, then Argentina, Peru and finally Bolivia.  We just entered Brasil, but I’m afraid it will be on the top of this list.   Hotel rooms in Peru and Bolivia are $30-$40.  In Argentina, $50-$75.  Chile you can easily spend $75 and we were hit for $160 in Santiago.  Also depends on whether you’re in-season or not (evidently, we were in season in Chile and the off season in Peru).   Wine is consistenly cheap.  Food can be, but we got screwed with really expenisve meals in Chile a couple of times.  We unknowingly spent $55 for lunch in one out-of-the-way Chiliean resort.  And it was horrible: )

Gas?  Between changing currencies and converting litres to gallons, I don’t have the slightest.   But, gas won’t be a budget buster on a bike anyway.  I miss the Altiplano where I got great gas mileage enabling us to go more than 300 miles with all our on-board gas.  Down at sea level, I’m lucky to get 200+.

Here are the videos

We shot some more amateur-hour video while in Bolivia.   Sorry, most of its on the road. And I still haven’t figured out how to adjust the camera’s brightness settings.

#1. Bolivian mountain road:  Deep in the heart of South America we discover… pine trees and the Sierras!

#2. 26 miles of dirt:  A clip on riding in mud and dirt of a Ruta 4 detour.   Although it was just 26 miles, it took us a full two-hours to get through.  Both KR and I thanked our lucky stars that it hadn’t rained for a day or two, or we would not have made it

#3.  FW comments on 26 miles of dirt:  Look closely and you can see my riding partner give me the thumbs up with a different finger.

#4. Welcome to New Mexico — not! KR and FW riding on Ruta 4

#5.  FW in the middle of the jungle and New Mexico: Ruta 4 is ever changing

#6.  Ruta 4 at speed. The Bolivians have spread miles and miles of glass-smooth concrete on Ruta 4

Here are the pictures

Wherever we go,there's a party. One week to the day after experiencing Carnival in La Paz, we experience Carnival in Cochabamba. This time we spend an afternoon watching the parades and celebrations jammed in with all the Cochabamba(ians). Great people watching.

The only thing nice to say about Santa Cruz is that they have a very neat church. My camera stolen out of our hotel room -- a first for the trip.

Seeking advice and gas from a Russian Mennonite in Bolivia? The only reason we got gas here was that we saw this gentlemen's horse-drawn wagon getting his barrels full of gas. Gave us the lowdown on the road ahead. Not surprisingly, he was wrong.

Great ass. NV is starting to look and act like an adventure machine. We kept hoping that around the next corner pavement would await. For two hours we fought clay, mud, dust, rocks, ruts, and the occasional cow. Trucks and buses that broke down built camp fires to signal oncoming (night!!) traffic to be aware. We knew if we broke down, we were cooked.

This is the reward for poor planning. No money. One hotel. No bar. I bought the combo meal from the only food vendor. I couldn't super-size because we didn't have enough money.

The proprietor of said fast food restaurant took great pride and fun in sitting on NV for his friends and customers.

The best thing I (OK, Ryan actually found them and installed them) put on the bike were the spare fuel tanks. Practically eliminated the risk of running out of fuel.

But not completely: ) Here we buy some gas from a restaurant owner in Carmen, Bolivia.

We had a great cup of coffee in Johnny's restaurant. He insisted on getting his picture taken with and the picture of his son on the wall.

I know we're talking a lot about gasoline on this post, but its mother's milk to NV. This station was manned ONLY by Bolivian police. They kept close watch on NV's gas consuming requirements.

The easy part: going through Immigration, Customs and Policia on the Bolivian side of the border. Difficulty began when we went 100 yards up the road to the Brazilian entrance...

Quick, what does this look like? Whatever your answer, it's wrong. You're looking at the Brazilian Consulate's office in Puerto Suarez, Bolivia. Tough to find in a town of dirt roads and no road signs. Tough to get them to do anything in real time. The problem? We couldn't purchase Brazilian visas at the border. Sammy Hershfield told us this two weeks beforehand, but we ignored his sage advice.

It took us a total of 27 hours to get through the border. Here, KR waits in the Brazilian Immigration line.

I told you wherever we go, a party follows. First night in Brazil and we crash a party of friends and relatives on a three day fishing vacation. All welcomed us warmly and we danced, sang, ate and drank together like we were old time buddies. Very, very nice people. Only one person spoke English. We're beginning to realize that Portuguese is going to be a real foreign language...

We thought getting on and off this ferry would be the major challenge ofthe day. Boy were we wrong.

The longest day:  175 miles of thrills, near spills, high anxiety, confusion, Carnival celebrations, and ultimate survival

After getting through a three-hour, three-bribe  border crossing on our way to La Paz , we thought everything would be downhill from there.   Then, when we muscled our way on and off a rickety wooden ferry without falling into the lake, we were ecstatic to be on solid land again. We just knew it would be smooth sailing into La Paz, just 70 miles away.  After we were led through the worst traffic of the trip on the outskirts of La Paz by yet another good Samaritan to our intended hostal, we thought we were minutes away from a cold one in said hostal’s in-house brewery.  Not so, but two hours later KR came back with good news from an on-foot reconnaissance trip :  we had a hotel just down the street.  Wow, we  had beat the zero occupancy of Carnival weekend!   Forty minutes later I had bobbed and weaved my way through traffic to make it the five blocks to our hotel only to be confronted by… a garage entrance that was smack in the middle of this neighborhood’s Carnival celebrations.   With KR holding back the the traffic, I felt like an Indy 500 winner as I successfully charged between two street vendor’s stalls, jumped the curb, and dissapeared through the door down into our underground hotel parking garage.  High fives all around as we had somehow made it through this day with no new scratches to person or machine.  We celebrated with a glass of vino at a pizza shop (pizza is Bolivia’s favorite type of restaurant) 13 hours after leaving Puno.

Bolivia had always been on my “be careful” list, as in be careful of the lack of good roads, of rain, of street protests, of poverty, of the gasoline, of their corrupt officials and petty and not so petty thieves.  KR was worried too and had been combing other motorcycle  blogs for road conditions for weeks prior to our going to Bolivia.  Yet none of these worries proved to be too challenging.   Yes, the roads weren’t terrific, gasoline stations were few and far between, it rained as often as the sun shined.   Moreover, we had searched for, received and taken all the advice we could get about how to handle Bolivia.  None of these efforts and cautions were worth a damn.  As we know so very well, sometimes shit happens and you just need to deal with it…

  • We went off the main route to an out-of-the-way Peru/Bolivia border crossing because we were advised that it would be deserted, quick and hassle-free.  Not so fast for us.  After convincing a Peruvian immigration official  that our lack of tourist card could be remedied with a $20 bill, and helping a Peruvian police official agree that a digital proof of insurance card would be acceptable (it wasn’t stampable) with another $30,  and paying $270 for a Bolivian visa, and waiting 90 minutes for the Bolivian customs office to open after lunch, and finally agreeing with a Bolivian police officer that he indeed deserved financial remuneration ($3), he lifted the  bar blocking the road and we rolled into Bolivia.  A scant three hours later 🙂
  • We were also advised that this alternate route would be shorter, faster and more beautiful than the normal Panamericana Highway route.   It would also avoid all the traffic of Julicaca. a well-known traffic nightmare.  The only hitch would be a short ferry ride across the lake to the north side.  The road was indeed wonderful and the view of Lake Titicaca shimmering below as we rose to 14,000 feet was awe inspiring.  We were encouraged as we came off the mountain and saw a small flotilla of ferries scurrying between shores.  This was obviously a water transportation system.   That proved total bull shit as we were hurried past all the inspectors and were directed toward an awaiting ferry.  As I approached said ferry,  I  was surprised mid-way through the curb jumping that there were significant gaps in its floor boards — gaps large enough to swallow an entire wheel.  Somehow I avoided falling into these gaps only to notice one of this ferry’s most notable features — unlike every other ferry we’d been on in the world, one had to back up to get off the ferry instead of simply driving forward.  So, after wallowing across the channel, KR, the “captain,” his mate, and I muscled NV back and up the ferry’s deck, once again avoiding all gaps, jumping the exit curb, and maneuvering down the ramp without dumping said vehicle in water or on the ground.  Relieved doesn’t describe how we felt having met this latest challenge.  Although it was getting on toward 4:00PM, we were comforted that La Paz was just 70 miles away, all on terafirma.
  • About 10 miles outside of La Paz it started to rain hard and the traffic started to slow. This made it difficult to see while lurking along in the stop and go.  Instead of getting better, the traffic just got worse as we got closer to the city.  There was a lot of partying going on next to the road (heck it was happening in the road too) with people dancing, bands playing, and people getting totally blitzed.  Pretty impressive neighborhood party we thought, having no idea or sense of time/date.  Traffic was now a real-time nightmare.  One side of  the divided highway had been closed off for the party’ers, squeezing all traffic on just one side.  Which side was open to traffic alternated every few blocks, making  kamakazi kinds of lane switching into on-coming traffic a frequent occurance.  We couldn’t see an end to this mega-jam as we were squeezed in between buses, trucks, cars, taxis, SUVs, ambulances, police vehicles and anything else that would move.  A red SUV with a family inside jerked up along side us.  “Where are you going?” I think he said.  “La Paz” we answered.  Duuhh!  He motioned for us to follow him and, not having a better plan or other option, we tried to do so.  For a couple of miles we swerved through traffic, down little back streets, and made a couple of U-turns to arrive on a wide divided highway high in the mountains.  As we entered the highway, there spread out below us was La Paz — a huge city built over dozens of hills at 12,000+ feet.  Our good Samaritan pulled over, suggested we take a picture here (we did) and then offered to take us to our intended hostal.  Five minutes later we were in front of the hostal and our friends in the red SUV were waving and driving off. 
  • KR walked out of our intended hostal with a frown on her face. Did you know it was Carnival this weekend? They don’t have any room!” Hell, I wasn’t entirely sure what month it was, let alone remembering that Carnival was the first week in March.  More specifically, this Saturday night was the big Carnival celebration in La Paz. We had no pre-selected hotel alternatives, it was closing in on 6:00PM, and we didn’t have the slightest idea of where we were since we had no map of La Paz. We got a couple of recommendations from the folks who turned us away, so we tried to erase the disappointment of no brewskies yet and began to navigate to the alternatives using a small advertising map of the local area. One thing needs to be emphasized here: La Paz is built in the hills and mountains. There are few flat stretches, most roads are going up, down or jagging across steep, steep hills. For the next 60 minutes we ride up and down these hills (executing two perfect U-turns on steep, steep hills in the process), without finding our intended targets. Finally we get a tip that a hotel across the canyon has both a room and a garage for NV.
  • It was now dark and the city was afire with Carnival celebrations. The traffic, or more accurately the cut and thrust of anything with wheels, was beginning to make Kathmandhu’s look tame. Horns honked, buses rumbled into too-small spaces, pedestrians drunkenly played chicken, taxis stopped at any moment to take on or disembark passengers, fireworks shot off from all directions , bands were playing in the street and … into the middle of this we plunged, just trying to find a street sign, an address, or a hotel sign. For once, I was calm inside without the usual OH-SHIT anxiety that comes from dangerously slow-speed muscling of NV in crazy cities. But on this night, at this time, I was on my game. Making moves that were unthinkable just weeks  before, we avoided buses, people, taxis, man-eating potholes, and everything else that could be thrown at us. I approached everything matter of factly.   Bus about to run over my left foot? No big deal, hit the horn, lift the foot, and hit the throttle to spurt in front. Need to make a U-turn from uphill to downhill after hitting a dead-end? No big deal, KR’s gets off and helps guide us back down the hill to make a perfect Y-turn. On this day and at this moment, we were good.

So, on this “short” 175 mile day, KR and I had earned another Adventure Guy stripe. It wasn’t like we had waded through rushing rivers, or swagged our way through a jungle, or plowed mile after mile down a sandy wash. No, for us, we had simply survived everything that had been thrown at us and handled it. It wasn’t always pretty, it certainly wasn’t done with bravado, but we handled whatever “it” was with a calmness and a resoluteness we didn’t have two-plus months ago.

Geez, I need a drink just thinking about it.

After successfully getting through Peruvian Immigrations, Customs and Police offices with just two bribes, we thought it would be all downhill on the Bolivian side. The police officer taking this picture was smiling too as we had just contributed to his kid's college education.

KR descends into the Bolivian Immigration, Customs and Police stations. We were done a short 2 hours and $270+ dollars later.

The fleet of ferries looked professional from afar...

KR holds Now Voyager steady as we roll across the straight.

Our captain uses modern equipment to keep our vessel pointed in the right direction.

The road from the border to La Paz was scenic and made for easy riding. La Paz is near the snow capped peaks in this picture.

Our La Paz traffic nightmare begins about five miles out. This is one of the few "action" shots as KR was too busy looking at maps and giving me real-time directions. Oh, and she probably had her eyes closed most of the time: )

We had no idea that the San Pedro neighborhood that we drove into was party-central for Carnival. Streets were jammed with revelers for days and nights.

This shot is taken from NV as we're parked waiting for KR to come back from a hotel scouting run. A continuous stream of taxis would pull up, their passengers would pop out and run into one of the stalls pictured here, and return with arms full of booze and ice. It seemed that we had parked on Liquor Store Row with stall after stall of booze. I looked on jealously.

La Paz's Carnival reminded me of Mardi Gras as groups/clubs/teams would dress up and dance in the streets. This guy kind of looks like the Joker, while

these folks were dressed more traditionally.

Some of us didn't have to dress up to scare anyone. Most of the time people looked at us like we were from another world anyway.

Police officer appears to be saying, "Are you going to walk the line or not?"

Even huddles of more "Mature" women got into the spirit of things. These women were passing around large bottles of beer.

This is shot from our hotel room on a SUNDAY morning..

The target. The brown double door in the center is where I had to put NV through at night, with the street jammed with people, stalls, cars and bands.

The first thing one notices when crossing from Peru to Bolivia is that building materials change from the stone/adobe of Peru to big, solid red bricks in Bolivia. This shot of a La Paz hill is typically dominated by red brick structures, giving the entire city a monotone look of dark red.

There are lots of colorful markets in La Paz. Here one of the sellers takes stock as a potential customer approaches

What is it? I didn't ask nor did I volunteer to taste.

Given its monochromatic background, La Paz's streets are wildy colorful at ground level is colorful stalls, food, flowers and dress.

La Paz won't win any "most charmingly beautiful" city awards. Most of what we've seen is either red, really ugly, or downright weird. This shot is typical. Aside from aesthetics, La Paz is a vibrant, kind of gritty big city that feels much smaller because it fills the mountains/hills nearby. The neighborhood we're staying in -- San Pedro-- is a weird combination of San Francisco's Haight, NY's Little Italy, with the outdoor market feel of Mexico.

Is he real or made of wax? KR's growing collection of Peruvian and Bolivian children is amazing.

About 10 miles outside of La Paz it started to rain hard and the traffic started to slow. It made it difficult to see while lurking along in the stop and go.  Instead of getting better, it just got worse as we got closer to the city.  Pretty soon we noticed that there was a lot of partying going on next to the road (heck it was happening in the road too) with lots of people dancing, bands playing, and many people totally blitzed.  Pretty impressive neighborhood party we thought, having no idea or sense of time/date.  Traffic was now a real-time nightmare.  One side of  the divided highway had been closed off for the partiers, squeezing all traffic on just one side.  This side alternated every few blocks, making  kamakazi kinds of lane switching into on-coming traffic a frequent occurance.  We couldn’t see an end as we were squeezed in between buses, trucks, cars, taxis, SUVs, ambulances, police vehicles and anything else that would move.  A red SUV with a family inside jerked up along side us.  “Where are you going?” I think he said.  “La Paz” we answered.  Duuhh!”  He motioned us to follow him and, not having a better plan or other option, we tried to do so.  For a couple of miles we swerved through traffic, down little back streets, and made a couple of U-turns to arrive on a wide divided highway high in the mountains.  As we entered the highway, there spread out below us was La Paz — a huge city built over dozens of hills at 12,000+ feet.  Our good Samaritan pulled over, suggested we take a picture here (we did) and then offered to take us to our intended hostal.  Five minutes later we were in front of the hostal and our friends in the red SUV were waving and driving off. 

Follow their trail using the Google Earth. You will need to have the Google Earth Plugin installed in your browser for this to work! See the system requirements below….

Here are some directions about using this map:

  1. Use your mouse to click and drag anywhere on the globe
  2. Drag to the middle of South America to start following them
  3. Zoom in, either by double clicking your mouse, using your mouse wheel if you have one or using the vertical slider on the screen’s top right
  4. Look at all the legs and places where they stayed each night
  5. Click on any leg to see date and length in Kms and Hrs
  6. Zoom in all the way in with the slider or holding down your wheel and moving your mouse forward or backward the angle will change so you can see altitude and terrain
  7. Use the  “compass” on top right to rotate around a place, city or route

Need the plugin? Go here
If you are having trouble with the plugin, uninstall the plugin completely. Return to this page and follow the directions that appear within the Google Earth View below.

More Information on Machu Picchu
3D Modeling of the site

System Requirements from Google:
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  • Firefox 3.6 and later (for Windows, Mac, and Linux) Download
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“Working the Problem”

You know something has changed inside when you really believe that riding a motorcycle around the world is no big deal.  You begin working the problem rather than being overwhelmed by the complexity and risk.  A scene from the movie, Apollo 13, comes to mind when the Flight Commander demands of his team, “work the problem people, work the problem!”  Riding a motorcycle around the world is no moon-shot, but most people view them with equal survivability.

Once we crossed into the “work the problem” mode, relating to other people became harder for all concerned.   The poor souls from Jonestown probably felt similar before drinking the Cool Aide, “What’s everyone worried about?” I suspect that friends quietly wonder, Are Fred and Karen OK? As our ”disease” progressed, we found ourselves seeking out a different type of friend, much as a cancer victim might seek out survivors to gain knowledge and empathy.  In our case, we wanted to talk to  people about the best way to ship a motorcycle around the Darien Gap, or what countries were safe to camp and which were not, how much should you pack, what types of clothing to take for three months rather than three days.  Talking tools, spares, and gizmos all night long is a good thing.

We crossed our personal Rubicon in the summer of 2008 when we attended our first Horizons Unlimited (HU) meeting in Colorado.  HU members are the real deal when it comes to motorcycle adventurists, made up of hard-core travel types who ride to far-away places, regularly.   Rugged and independent, most HU members gather around a tire-changing seminar with the same joy and concentration as a fantasy footballer studies the injury report.   No pretences here and no need to hide; we’re among friends.

After three days of “seminars” on how to travel to faraway places on a motorcycle, KR and I came to the same conclusion.  Like most important things in our life, KR was the first to voice our collective thought, “We can do this.  We’ve done a lot of this kind of traveling already.  We know more than most people here.  We can figure this out.  We can survive!  This is no big deal.”

To be honest, it was a lot more than three days of seminars that got us to this point.  No, it was a couple of decades worth of trips to Alaska, Mexico, every state in the US but one, Nepal, Argentina, Chile, India, a few places in Europe, Puerto Rico and some others I can’t remember.   Not all of these were by motorcycle, of course, but they contained enough “shit happens, we dealt with it” episodes that we’re comfortable with the unknowns of what lies around the next blind corner.

The Modified Plan

I knew the likelihood of getting KR to go around the world on a motorcycle at one time was less likely than the aforementioned moon-shot.  So our first modifier was “one continent at a time.”  We were both up to traveling for an extended period of time – say a continent — but then coming back to a home base for some period before heading out again.  Through a series of back and forth discussions, we generally agreed that the sequence of continents would be South America, Europe, and Africa.  Somehow we’d also find time to explore Mexico and probably dip down to Central America as well.  Asia, South East Asia, the Middle East, and Australia/New Zealand are not sequenced yet.

So, in the summer of 2008 we made the decision to start making this idea a reality, causing a two-year series of consequences chronicled in Rewired, Journey to a New Life.

We have relatively low expectations for this trip; survival, go to some far- away places, meet interesting people, experience! as much of the world as we can, and share it all with our friends.

We’ll keep in touch.