Viajar

I left in love, in laughter, and in truth and wherever truth, love and laughter abide, I am there in spirit.

[rawsugarflog]

A great man once said 'life will find a way', mind you this was a quote in a movie, but it couldn't be more apt. I had hoped to finish with my previous blog piece, bike sold, two weeks of holiday in Rio and then home... Before I had even left Buenos Aires the issues started; legally I couldn't get the 'Aduana' to reflect the new owner. Two stressful days, a very helpful lawyer and a touch of luck made it so Andrew could ride the bike out of the country (on his return it would be his). Harrowing experiences like being told 'you have to leave the country now' by customs, had us both on edge. So when it was sorted I opted for the luxury taxi ride to the airport and the start of my 'holiday'. As I left the hostel I saw a KLR riding down the road and the taxi driver was playing queen, ballads that suited my mood and the beautiful sunset (I assumed all was going perfectly). When I got the the airport, I handed my passport over to the helpful Emirates counter staff, he handed it back with a smile 'your flight is tomorrow'. I didn't react angrily, maybe slightly disappointed with myself, just turned around and head out to make my next move. Do I go back to Buenos Aires for the night, I'd spend about $100.00 all up and it would be a bit of a hassle (especially as I had no Pesos left), or do I take a taxi to the closest Hotel pay through the nose and relax until the flight. When a dodgy taxi driver tried to launder $40.00 off me for the 5 min ride to the Hotel, I made up my mind to go back to BA by bus. A lovely homosexual ex-Mormon who was there with his vertically challenged Uruguay partner, helped me out and before long I was on the bus (in which the bus driver didn't even charge me). I saw the lights of the Holiday Inn, the closest hotel to the airport and the bus went right by it. I thought it was a good enough omen and hopped off. This was probably my biggest mistake. I had been told by the shonky taxi driver that a night would cost $90.00, this I thought would be a luxury I could stomach. The concierge confirmed the correct amount of $135.00, I was already too far gone and decided to stay. I had a beautiful room and ate the cheapest thing on the menu, I was now out of money but it didn't matter the hotel provided a free airport shuttle. When I got around to checking out, I was shockingly advised that my bill included tax, $165.00 total. Money I really did not have, but nothing compared to the pain of what happened next. I hadn't eaten all day, as a result of spending so much on accommodation. By the time food was served on he flight, I hadn't eaten for 24 hours. I ate every single morsel of food that was put in front of me, initially I felt pretty good. Within thirty minutes I had a little indigestion, by the time I was going through customs I had full stomach cramps and when I was in the taxi to the hostel I threw up. After apologising profusely to the taxi driver, I stumbled into the hostel. The very helpful staff put me on a bottom level bunk, which was useful as I visited the bathroom 15 times each night and the same every day, for two days. I drank 5 litres of water; however, could not stomach any food due to the nausea. The hostel owner was very nice and cautious regarding my need to go to a doctor/hospital. On the third morning I woke feeling a little better, yet still with severe cramps and diarrhoea. I decided to go to the hospital. I went to the private hospital and got some use out of my travel insurance. When I walked in I looked so bad that the nurses asked if I had been to Sierra Leone, obviously I was portraying Ebola victim perfectly. A blood test came back and I was severely dehydrated. I stayed in hospital over night hooked to an IV, I had about 8 litres of saline and other concoctions put into me. In the morning the doctor said my vitals were better and that I could go, they gave me some heavy duty antibiotics to hopefully kill the parasite and set me on my way. Even throughout the harrowing experience, I was developing a feeling for Rio. A feeling of utter admiration. In fact I believe that this is my favourite city on earth. It has everything; beach, culture, character, metropolis city, beautiful people, great food and anything else you could desire. A few days after the hospital visit and I was strong enough to walk around, go to the beach, soak in some sun. It is just fantastic, people congregate on the beaches, friends, family all together just enjoying their company. It's something that happens in Australia, but at a rarity. Here it is a daily occurrence and something I enjoy greatly. Last night I went to a favela party with the human tornado (who successfully accomplished his ride). Once again a bad reputation should be taken lightly, it was an absolute hipster throw down the likes Brunswick could only dream of. Today I went to sugar loaf mountain and overlooked the city of Rio; islands, beaches, nature, mountains and an insane metropolis. I think I'm in love (don't tell Melbourne).

[rawsugarflog]

I rode into Buenos Aires on November 5th and finished a crazy chapter in my life. We had stayed a few days in Rosario and Córdoba, the human tornado and I were both developing strong feelings for Argentinas; however, we both had a stronger feeling, that to complete our motorcycle adventure. So we moved on quicker than desired from the leafy, clean and lovely metropolitan cities and continued South to BA. The Canyonero has not had a hiccup of a problem in the last few weeks and I attribute this to slowing down and not pushing the moving house to her temperamental limits! I only wish I had realised this at an earlier stage, many headaches might have been avoided. Argentina is a huge country and is mostly lowlands, which are inherently boring to ride through. It did give me the opportunity to reflect on my journey; yet I still would have preferred to wrap up the trip on some beautiful asphalt, looping around picturesque mountains similar to the way I had started a few months prior. As I drove into the city limits of the immense Buenos Aires, my heart soared and my self worth cheered. I don't think the trip is something that most people could not have completed, I just know that it was very hard for me to complete. So to pull through when I desperately wanted to stop, has provided me with a shot of self satisfaction equal to the high off any drug I have ever done. The truth of the ride is that 80% is alright/boring/bad, 15% is good/excellent and 5% is draw dropping/tear to the eye/unbelievably beautiful. It's a way of travel that I believe is incomparable. It was the real adventure I have always admired and desired. Yet the whole experience has not fully sunk in; the moment I turned off the bike, when I removed my gear and clothes for the last time or when I handed the keys over the new owner, did not provide a resounding 'final moment'. I think it will be a gradual process, maybe when I fly out of Argentina, South America or back to Australia. I hope it will be a long time from now when I'm in a time of need, maybe my job isn't going well or life had lost its sheen, I can look back on the really challenging days and amazing experiences to help put it all in perspective. I have spent the last few days in BA with the human tornado and Andrew the new owner of Canyonero (or whatever he wishes to call it), it's been a lot of fun - particularly the few days around my birthday - and also a good chance to put my feet up. Things are mostly sorted for the transfer of the bike and the human tornado has headed off to reach Rio De Janeiro (where I will likely meet him again), I have popped over to Uruguay for a painfully quick visit to the country. I'm sort of in two minds about continuing the blog, as it has become apparent to me that my trip will be the motorbike journey. I'll wait and see, I'm sure life has a few more surprises in store for me.

[rawsugarflog]

Well the last few weeks have been a perfect mix of colour, insanity, good times and great memories. I have successfully altered my mindset regarding the trip, I will now leaving with a positive reflection on my time. I will however make sure that I pay credence to the negative situations that will have made this such an epic journey. A brief rundown of my recent adventures; Valparaiso and Santiago were both fantastic destinations, Valparaiso in particular would be a place I'd call home. My time in Chile came to an end a little earlier than I would have liked, to allow me to get everything sorted on the bike and get a holiday of sorts at the end of the journey. I made my way to Mendoza to partake in the bike and wine tours that I had as a 'must do' for most of the trip. I quickly made friends with three people at my hostel and we were off; the day consisted of many hijinks including being escorted by the police for riding under the influence. One of the members of the group of delinquents is a fellow motorbike adventurer. He is as close to a human tornado as you can imagine, he has previously been an arms trafficker, main line shooter, oil rigger, actor, Hugh Hefner-esk womaniser, drug dealer and I can only imagine numerous other ridiculous things I have now set off for the last few days of riding (with the human tornado). Each new milestone brings me closer to completion and a beautiful sense of accomplishment. The feeling is utter joy and satisfaction, first experienced as I crossed the Andes for the last time and went through my final border crossing with the ole Canyonero. I was going to make a quick run to Buenos Aires and the finish line; however, the opportunity to experience a few days riding with someone is too good to miss. The added days have resulted in a few loose nights - one in which the human tornado took acid and broke down the hostel's front door- and a long ride through a heavy storm. It was something I was thinking I would be lucky enough to miss, yet I'm glad I experienced being soaked to the bone riding in freezing temperatures. I know feel like I have truly experienced it all. A few more days on the bike, most likely with more shenanigans and then I will finish the bike leg of my journey. I couldn't be happier!

[rawsugarflog]

The road to Chile was fantastic, easily one of the best rides/roads of the trip. It was more pleasant due to the company of my mechanic friend for the start of the ride and fellow motorbike adventurers for the later parts. I saw more riders on the stretch of road from Mendoza to Chile than I have the rest of the trip. Most waved or flashed their lights, it's a nice little community and a good way to lift the spirits. The border wasn't too much of a hassle, I spent the time talking with a rider whom had risen from Alaska. He had been held up at gunpoint and slept out side in Uyuni when he couldn't find accommodation (it's well brow zero at night). It was good to exchange horror stories and I now strongly believe that having someone to debrief and deconstruct the days event with would have completely changed my experience. That night I found lodging in another sex motel. The hostess advised 'this is for couples', I assured her that I knew that and I just needed a place to sleep. Because it is a sex motel, you pay for 12 hours at a time. As Chile is insanely expensive compared to its neighbours (almost on par with Australia), I headed off after my 12 hour stay. This was at 6:00 am, so it was cold, foggy and dark. I assumed the fog would leave when the sun came up. I assumed wrong. I was riding in fog and cloud for the better part of eight hours. High and low once again shown in consecutive days. I had a nice few days in La Serena. It is a large beach town; however, the weather didn't allow for me to enjoy said beach. I instead went to a museum and to an space observatory, both were very interesting and rather awe inspiring. In between the museum observatory I had lunch on the beach, I picked a nice looking restaurant and paid the price. An expensive meal which was by far the best thing I have eaten on the trip. The next morning I headed off, I'm ashamed to say that I lost my cool over a very trivial matter, not finding a place to buy oil. It's something that shouldn't have resulted in such an outburst. I had a five hour ride to assess my temperament. I have always had a short fuse, but it is something that I had changed to a regular level, something that had rarely been seen. Now it was worse than ever before, on basically no leash. If I can go from my best meal and stargazing to losing it over not immediately finding an oil merchant, I had troubling issues. Troubling issues that I hope are attributed to the roller-coaster of emotions that I am experiencing on the trip and not something that I will bring home with me. If the only thing that I learn from this trip is how to blow up for no reason, then I will be incredibly disappointed in myself. When I finished my long ride and internal review, I found a beautiful little town on the coast to stay at. I have taken to reading blogs and books by adventure riders, in particular the holy grail 'Jupiter's Travels'. There are words of advice that I wish I had lodged in my brain prior to setting off. 'What happened on the way, who I met, all that was incidental. I had not quite realized that the interruptions were the journey.' It also shows a great gulf between his travels in the '70's and my current trip. For him it was proper adventure; disconnect from all those he loved, immersion in other cultures which were intrigued and excited by his appearance. My trip has been tarnished by my tainted existence, a reliance of technology and the information ages watering down of public curiosity. There is a section in which the author Ted Simons describes five days of travel on a road similar to that in which I had my major meltdown. He had numerous crashes and countless more hours on the hellish surface; however, he brushed himself off and continued. I initially thought he was more man for not being broken by his circumstances. Yet it was his circumstances that kept him going, he was on basically a paid trip and something he had prepared long and hard for. I don't think that I have had a successful adventure, nor do I think I have failed at the adventure either. I have a few weeks left and some long stretches of road to have my own epiphany for my voyage, I hope to achieve this, I hope to return a stronger and happier person than I left. Anything else will feel a personal failure.

[rawsugarflog]

It's important to keep an open mind and try to grasp the bigger picture. Well the last few days haven't been a return to existential analysis of where I am. I had headed in the direction That I thought was the most direct to Chile, it was a big day on the bike 400+ kms. Mostly on very windy and flat (insanely boring) roads, I took a turn off to head up into the mountains and after a while traversing the nice roads and drastically improved scenery, a lovely construction worker advised me that I couldn't continue. A landslide had taken out a large portion of the road and unless I wanted to wait a week for it to be repaired, I would have to find an alternative route. On the way back down the mountain I pondered the extra three hours riding that was required for the alternate route. As I was deep in the thought I felt something hit between my jacket and skin, I tried to get it out but it was to no avail. I was stung. This was enough for me to throw the towel in for the day, I went to the nearest town with accommodation. I found a cheap hostel and got the bike up a few stairs for secure parking. I was sharing with a fat and smelly German. I started chatting the German and he turned out to be quite nice, he had a map of Argentina that he showed me. It turns out the route I had decided to take to Chile was less than desirable, parts were gravel and those parts were at 6,000 metres. Needless to say I was very happy that the rockslide/beer sting combo had diverted my path, otherwise I'd be up a very large mountain feeling overly frustrated with myself. The German and I got pretty drunk and cooked up some fantastic steaks. The meat from the butchers here is simply amazing, that's from just any run of the mill butcher. I pondered my predicament while in bed - drunk and full of beer - I'm going to change my route to Chile, I'll take the easiest way (from Mendoza) and I'll take my time. Eat, drink and be merry. I woke early and headed off for another 400+ km day. I felt pretty good about the change in direction and the road repaid me with excellence, great views and amusing sections (rollercoaster type rises/dips and small water crossings). I made my destination of San Juan by early afternoon, as I was making my way through the town to where the Lonely Planet had advised a good hostel was, the clutch cable snapped. I knew it was the clutch cable instantly, as it was something I should have replaced 6,000 miles ago. I took everything off the bike and shoved the 'constant pain in my ass' on the footpath. As it was Sunday, everything was closed. Finding accommodation was hard, not helped by the searing heat and the heavy luggage. I was getting pretty close to losing it when I hailed a cab. I had no Pesos so I knew I'd be paying $20 US for the taxi, I therefore made him earn it. He drove me back to the bike, where I got off everything I could, next to a suitably close and close and relatively cheap accommodation and finally back to the bike. The front desk man spoke no English but I translated that I would be able to get money changed and a mechanic in the morning. The hotel has a pool so I was happy to have a swim and go to bed. I found out in the morning that a man in the next room is a professor of mechanics in Buenos Aires. He overheard me talking to the front desk about needing a mechanic and he came to my rescue. We have spent the better part of the day trying to get the clutch cable fixed. On paper it's an easy job, unfortunately Kawasaki parts are rarer than a 'blue' steak and in Central Argentina getting anything done between noon and 5:00pm is all but impossible (no wonder they're constantly in default). In the afternoon we managed to get a suitable 'bush mechanic' job completed. The mechanic and his girlfriend invited me to a barbecue, which I had all intentions of paying for. The barbecue was for his girlfriends production crew, who go around Argentina performing a government mandated play to promote 'unity'. The barbecue didn't start until 10:00pm, but it was the best barbecue I have had in years and one of my favourite meals. I can only imagine how different this trip would have been if I had made better relationships. Probably should have learnt Spanish. I tried my hardest to pay, yet failed miserably. To top it off I have a riding partner (the mechanic) for a portion of the trip tomorrow. It's nice to be in a good mood again and optimistic before setting out on a long haul ride.

[rawsugarflog]

Today a great thing happened, I sold the bike 'Catch ya never'. I spent three days in my hotel room waiting for the buyer (Andrew) to arrive. I had a mild case of food poisoning; which was unfortunate as I'm finally in a country which has very good food. I attribute it to Bolivia, somehow it's always Bolivia. The time spent locked in the room wasn't as unenjoyable as one would expect. After all I regularly do that exact thing for enjoyment, when I am back home. I rested and frequented the bathroom, I spent sometime cleaning and preparing the bike. Andrew is from Sydney and plans to ride from Patagonia all the way to Alaska (potentially). He's a little older and most likely a little wiser than me. We had a good catch up and I explained the highs and lows, potential pitfalls and what he can expect on a long motorbike adventure. The next morning he came for a test ride and when he returned he informed me it was a done deal. With an immense weight lifted off my shoulders, I headed off to enjoy the last few weeks of my motorbike adventure. As is expected there were some issues with the bike (something in glad that Andrew didn't notice). The backfiring issue had started again, what I assumed was to do with the change in altitude and the carburettor. I made it 300 kms to the next major town and I stopped at the first hotel I saw that was close to a mechanic. I had made my mind up as I was riding, there would be no way I would hand the bike over if it is not operating perfectly. The troubles I have had and the near mental breakdown I've experienced definitely persuaded me to this realisation. The hotel looked considerably out of my price range, but I thought 'fuck it, you can celebrate'. Persuaded once again I booked a room in the three star hotel. With the black market on money exchange (Argentinians love the US Dollar, because there country has been in a constant state of default for many years) everything works out exceptionally well priced. Three star hotel, total cost $25.00 per night. Whereas the room was a pleasant surprise, the mechanic was actually closed for maintenance (funnily enough). I decided to head to the next town, get there early enough and work on the bike. I left pretty late the next morning. I have been continually tired (to exhaustion), which I attribute to still trying to overcome the food poisoning thing. When I made the next town everything was shut, I thought 'Fuck me they're not having ANOTHER holiday'. I pulled out the lonely planet to try and find some information on the area. The first sentence 'You are in siesta country, everything shuts down from noon to 5:00pm'. This turned out to be a pleasant surprise, I found a place (another cheap luxury hotel) and tucked in for my own siesta. The reason that it is siesta country, is due to it being in area that is constantly hot. Really, stupidly hot. Another reason for the constant state of lethargy. When I awoke I rode for a while to find a decent looking mechanic. The same language barrier was there, but I had dealt with it many times before and had worked on the specific problem before as well. So without much more than a 'Put, put, put' while pointing at the exhaust, we were underway. It turns out that the issue was a seal on the exhaust, something that had been 'fixed' in Peru. We gave the carburettor a clean as well for good measure. It's now 11:13 pm and I'm sitting in a packed restaurant waiting for dinner. Ever since I sold the bike I have felt amazing, the extreme swings in emotions appear to have disappeared. As was apparent when I noticed the problem with the bike and didn't resort to screaming profanities at the passing landscape. I have a few weeks and a couple more countries to see, I look forward to spending the time getting back to the analysis of where I am and less on how I'm feeling.

[rawsugarflog]

I haven't been doing a lot of filming. I think I got to a point where I emotionally just wanted to absorb the trip by myself and where I needed my full concentration on what I was doing. This has resulted in me missing the worst road, the best road and the craziest road. I think it is a shame that I didn't capture these; however, as they were such extremes in the categories of worst/best/craziest, I know that I will remember them forever. I do have some footage of the first day I entered Bolivia. I think it perfectly sums up my time in Bolivia, beautiful one moment and unbridled terror the next.

[rawsugarflog]

The road was perfect. It wasn't a perfect road, but it was just what I wanted; relatively smooth, mostly deserted, beautiful views and fun corners. I made excellent time; the six hour journey I was advised of, I completed in three hours. I had my last meal in Bolivia and it was close to the best I've had here as well (all for a costly $2.00). As Bolivia tends to do, the day took a turn about 90 km away from the border. It started to rain, then hail and all the time there was the relentless hammering of lightning to the landscape. Normally in an aficionado of lightning, the raw power and the beauty generally keep me very entertained. Unfortunately I was pretty much the highest point as I was riding and the lightning was so frequent that I had the very real fear of being struck. Every time hail hit me somewhere not very protected I thought 'this is it'. I mean how would my trip be complete if I wasn't struck by lightning. Praise to Zeus, I made it to the border unscathed (soaking but unscathed). The clouds and rain stopped directly above the border, I would be more shocked if I wasn't expecting it. What else would you expect for your last experience of Bolivia? The border crossing was a bit of an ordeal, it was the first time that customs has checked my belongings. Here I was thinking I could get away with smuggling drugs throughout South America. 'Argentina' *shakes fist* When I headed into Argentina I was overcome with joy, I had made it from Colombia to Argentina. Sure it's only the top of Argentina and I still plan on going to Chile and Uruguay, but I made it. This insane rollercoaster rise of highs and lows is almost at its completion. I had these thoughts flooding my consciousness as i ventured south from the border. Long straight roads that are well maintained, this is my current situation and I couldn't be happier. In the next few days I'll clean and prepare the bike for sale and try to shove as much wine into my mouth as possible. Life is good.

[rawsugarflog]

Three days on the highest and largest salt flats in the world, were just what the doctor ordered. The first day is spent on the salt flats and the following days are the surrounding areas, these being my favourite. My eyes were constantly being overawed with every colour splashed in large portions over a beautiful backdrop. You could be forgiven for assuming that you had ventured to another planet, somewhere that is populated by flamingos! Why they choose to live in this harsh (boiling during the day and freezing at night) and unforgiving location is beyond me. I had a rather good group of people on the tour and I made sure to have as much human interaction as possible. I made some good friends who will hopefully cross paths with me in the next few weeks. Adding to my erratic personality over the last few weeks; I set off from Uyuni to Potosi on a beautiful sealed road, which is currently sitting as the best road I have ridden. Long straights, forgiving corners, beautiful (mind-boggling) scenery and no traffic have taken this ride up to the top of the list. I couldn't help but think how apt it was, that after my lowest day and worst ride of the trip I have taken the best ride while feeling insurmountable better. It pretty much sums up the trip, highs and lows. I've climbed to the top of volcanos and dived the depths of the oceans. It sums up Bolivia as well, it's an insane country. The people are immensely nice or bitterly sour. The country can be beautiful and inviting or harsh and unforgiving. I only hope I can learn from the experience. Ideally I'd like a greater understanding of my emotional limits; the highs are easy enough to appreciate, while the lows are something I'd hope never to recreate. Today I head for Argentina, I have been told that he road is good and/or very bad. I dearly hope that it is the first option. Either way I will start the journey with an open mind and a positive outlook.

[rawsugarflog]

After a well deserved good nights sleep, I feel better and have a clearer understanding for the reality of my dilemma. Loneliness. I haven't been closed to new relationships and as a whole I'm generally seeking them. However; I have not had a decent connection in a long time. Every time I make any connection my demeanour improves, as was apparent a few days prior when I met Linus. With a traveling companion, the motorbike issues would be something that could be commiserated over. The motorbike crashes could be laughed at, as we would both be going through the same situations. Having no one to talk to, is something I am more new to than I am to South America. I had some idea about what I would encounter on the trip and on the bike, but I was clueless about the effects of having no one to talk to. I have tried my best with maintaining contact via social media and the occasional phone call; yet the truth very rarely comes out. Knowing that loneliness is a major factor in my current emotion, do I stay or do I go? I have asked around and been advised to my dread that the road from Uyuni is just as bad as the road I took coming in. So I know that if I continue I will have a similar experience to what I just encountered. I will be moving forward and not quitting. I think that is the major emotion for me, no quitting. It's not something I will normally do and I don't have a desire to do it now. "Travel, especially solo travel, is more than the seeing of sights; it's a change that goes on, deep and permanent, in the ideas of living." After reading this quote and viewing multiple YouTube videos of fellow adventure riders, I have decided to continue. I will however backtrack, I will head back into Bolivia where I will find paved road. I'll then take paved road all the way to Argentina, at least that's what my internet research has suggested. From there I can decide if I want to hear to San Pedro de Atacama or stay in Argentina. I feel that this will relieve my safety concerns, help me avoid a treacherous route and hopefully get me to the finish line. Tomorrow I will visit the salt flats and try to invite some positive energy back into my life.

[rawsugarflog]

I want to go home. The difference a day can make. How I learned to be honest with myself. I stayed in La Paz for two days. This was the place I had said that would be my home for a month, at one stage during the trip. Instead I made it to La Paz and decided against doing the Amazon and hiking some of the mountains, as I had done these things already. It is far cheaper in Bolivia and the hiking would be second to none; however, I had already made up my mind. The last thing was 'death road', which I was considering doing on the motorbike to save money. I tried to get in contact with Linus to see if he would be keen. There was no reply. So I was in my hostel, which was virtually empty (save for those coming back from tours who were overly tired) waiting to meet someone. Hoping to find someone that I could tag along with on a death road tour or at the very least go to some bars. This didn't eventuate and I'm not -or have ever been - a go to a bar by myself type person. So after two days I woke and decided to ride death road and then head off to the salt flats and out of Bolivia (the finish line was in my sights). I had been suffering pretty poorly from altitude sickness in La Paz; blood noses, headaches and an inability to sleep. So when I woke in the morning I felt horrible. It was the closest thing I have experienced to a panic attack. Tight chest and obvious stress, which I attributed to a mix between the altitude sickness and genuine nerves for the ride. I decided it wasn't worth my worry. I'm constantly chasing the adrenaline rush, just by riding normally; crazy drivers, weather, animals, roads, etc. I was worn out from the constant altitude sickness and decided to leave La Paz. I left with one extra day paid for in accommodation and three days more paid for in parking. I didn't care and the tight chest eased as I left the city. Things were looking up. Even being pulled over by the police for speeding and having to bribe them, didn't stop the relief. I was taken a little aback by the police and bribed them more than required (still only about $70). I made it to Oruro (a bland mining town) in pretty good time. I had decided to skip the capital Sucre and just so the salt flats before leaving to Chile (finish line in my sights). I drank a bottle of wine that night to celebrate and woke the next morning feeling pretty rough. I left early as I wanted to get to Uyuni at a reasonable hour, book the salt flats for the next day and then be heading for the border the following day (finish line). I was half way there, I had made excellent time. The ride was boring; however, I was half way there so I felt pretty good. The only road to Uyuni was having major roadworks completed. When I pulled onto the service road that was built for the roadworks, I thought that the work would only go for 10 - 20km. There was no indication of anything to the contrary. Uyuni was 200km away. I should have turned back when only a few metres in, I encountered sand. The adrenaline rush that you get on the death road is nothing compared to having a moving house feel like it's going to slip out from under you or Ito you. That is the joy of sand and mud, the front tyre digs in or slips. Leaving you with your feet flailing wildly to balance you, while your upper torso tenses to extremes as you try and steer the bike out of the danger zone. I didn't turn back. Something I will always regret. I instead continued along, believing, hoping that the service road would end soon and I would be back on sweet, sweet bitumen. After 5km the sand subsided (to my joy), it was left with corrugated mud. It was like riding over a cattle grid constantly. The bike (I can't even be bothered to be cute with a name anymore) was shaking to bits. After 50km I encountered the first real hurdle and another point where I should have turned around. A river crossing. This is something I had been avoiding the whole trip. I should clarify here; the corregated road, the sandy patches, the muddy patches and the river are all amazingly fun obstacles if you are dirt biking. When you are moving a very heavy object with all your belongings, any situation where you could potentially drop said heavy object are horrific. So I initially tried to cross via a railway track that was located nearby. This was a failure as I would have surely dropped the bike, due to the large gaps between the sleepers (leaving me once again turned over in the river). I had rode up to the start of be railway bridge and now had to back up, which I couldn't muster under my own strength. Luckily a very helpful man gave me a push and advised that there is an alternative route a little way back. The alternate route was over a footbridge, which I was more than happy to take. It was after the river crossing ordeal that my nerves began to wear out. I snapped. Screaming, swearing at be continuing road works. The continuing corrugated road (which at this stage had dislodged two bolts from the windscreen). I wanted it to finish. It was too stressful, it was too much. One thing after the other. What came next was the small water crossings and the large amounts of mud. This feels just as bad as sand and I couldn't avoid the water sections. I had been advised by the previous owner that in these situations to apply the gas, this would lift the front wheel up and allow momentum to get you out of trouble. And it did work, for the 20 mud/river crossings. However, each situation was driving me closer and closer to losing it. After 100km more of the corrugated, muddy and sandy road. The sandy part became the major issue. It was a constant concern that I might lose the bike. The speed up technique had worked well on a lot of sandy situations, so when I turned a corner and was faced with what appeared to be a deep sand box, I held down the throttle. As soon as I hit the deep sandy I lost control. I tried to give it more has to straighten up and get out of the situation, but I was fish tailing out of control and nothing could stop the inevitable. At about 80 kph I crashed into the sand bank. I slowly got up, my legs were smashed up again and my everything was tensed and sore. The main thing though, was that I was slowly starting to lose it. I could feel it happening; I very slowly took everything that I could off the bike (to allow for me to actually lift it), I managed to get it started again and moved it to a better location (not on its side against a sand bank). The damage to the bike is not severe, just a few more pieces of metal bent out of place. Just a few more reasons for me to struggle selling it. As I began to place my items back on the bike and start strapping everything down, it began to rain. Sure why not? What else? Well the rain turned to hail. And as I was trying to hook one of the straps, in the hail, on the road that is by far my closest experience to hell and while still recovering from the accident, the strap slipped and smashed me in the head. I began to cry, only for a brief moment. This I don't understand, as I feel like I could have cried for hours. Maybe it was my anger or my desire to get the hell out of the situation. I stopped crying and got on the bike. I was heading as slowly and safely as I could to Uyuni. The rest of the trip last two hours, two hours of more correlated road (causing the windshield to detach) and two hours of deep sand. It gave me plenty of time to think and scream and swear. Why did I go travelling? Why did I leave my friends and family for an extended period? Sure I had always wanted to see Central/South America, but after the first two months (and definitely after three months) I felt like I had completed a thorough trip. If I went travelling to meet people and to experience other cultures, well that wasn't happening. Especially since I bought the bike. Yes I have seen a lot of parts of South America, parts I wouldn't have seen without the bike. The vast majority of the places are not worthy to be stored in my memory banks. They won't be stored. It's the farce of Facebook and Instagram, what people see is an amazing trip. However; in all honesty, these are the vast minority of my trip. I have had two accidents, a million close misses and constant headaches with the bike. I regret getting it. I regret not coming home months ago, when the thought has first come to mind. What have I achieved since then? I hadn't made any life long friends and barely any serious connections. I had stressed out considerably more than I would have wished upon my worst enemy. I am going through serious mood swings (as is evident from this blog). I would never have fully snapped like I have - twice - on this trip. Due to the strain and stress, I'm not enjoying the places I see as much as I should (as is evident by La Paz). The accident happened a few hours ago, I have since found accommodation, had a shower and calmed down a bit. However, I'm still struggling to shake the feeling like I should just buy a ticket and get the fuck out of here. I don't care about not selling the bike. What cost can I put on my mental and physical health? I'm going to take a few days to ponder and reflect . I do know this, I have never felt as drained as I do now.

[rawsugarflog]

The last few days have been a drastic change, for the better. I arrived in Puno, on the banks of Lake Titicaca. It's not the prettiest place and it is as cold as Tony Abbott's heart. Nevertheless I located my hostal and managed to squeeze the bike in the front door. One of the young lads that was working was a big help and managed to source the bolt I required, well at least pointed me in the right direction. I took a tour out to the floating villages, which have remained unchanged for thousands of years. There was a property near our old house in Upwey, which had a pond out the back, the pond was full of reeds and you could walk on them. The floating villages were basically like that, except older and better. It boggles me that the people remained out there. When I arrived it was raining and freezing cold, I barely wanted to leave the boat. Each to their own I guess. Their freezing, no technology, floating hell, own. I ate my last proper meal in Peru, it was a rather horrid attempt at a mushroom pasta. It was a slight shame as Peru has some excellent food, it's been the best in South America. After a well earned sleep in, I decided to give the bike a nice clean and proper look over. The boarder wasn't far away so there was no rush. For the first time since my first day on the bike, everything was working as it should. The bike looked great and I felt excited; excited for riding on Canyonero operating as she should! The boarder crossings were very easy, easier than Ecuador-Peru. When I pulled up to the Bolivian border, I noticed a small Honda with a backpack strapped to the back (I thought it must have been a locals, as it was so small). While waiting for my stamps, a young lad walked up and told me that the vehicle processing was taking ages. It was his bike. He purchased it brand new in Chile for $2,000 and has slowly rode most of South America. I was very impressed and excited. After three months I had met someone going the same way as me. It had been the same for him, three months and no one to share it with. After the processing of our bikes, we headed to Copacabana. This is another pretty miserable town. The scenery is beautiful, but the actual town is rather depressing. It appeared to be solely occupied by vagrant hippies trying to sell 'cocaine? marijuana?'. It's weird, I'm so over being asked if I want to buy drugs. But if the same thing happened back home, I would be over the moon. Linus (the Honda rider) and I talked for hours about the crazy and wonderful things that we had both experienced. Many of them the same; beautiful locations and abstract realities. In the morning I left for La Paz. I'm in a bit more of a rush than Linus, who will stay in Copacabana for a few days. We will meet up in La Paz and work out a few rides we can do together (albeit a lot slower than I normally go). The ride to La Paz started amazingly. I was in utter awe of what I was seeing; Lake Titicaca's sky blue waters, surrounded by rich maroon and orange earth and with an amazing backdrop of the snow capped Andes. Not to mention the gum trees that lined the road (I don't know how they were introduced, but I love whoever did it). I caught a ferry over the lake, which was an exciting and harrowing experience. Gracefully on the other side, the situation took a turn for the... Worse, no, surreal! There were man made road blocks (rocks, rubbish, burning tyres) all the way to La Paz. I can only assume there was some dispute with the local people, as they were all surrounding the road blocks. Some were angry when I tried to pass, others had huge smiles on their faces. Getting around and over the road blocks was something I'd rather not have to do again. I reconfirm my dislike for loose surfaces and add a new substance to the list, mud. Nothing gets the heart pumping like feeling your moving house begin to slide out from under you, especially when there are 30 disgruntled locals watching you. Despite the many obstacles, I made it to La Paz in one piece. I'm having a week off the bike, time to rest my bum and enjoy some other activites!

[rawsugarflog]

Just to try and provide a better snapshot of the multitude of things I experience each day. Good and bad.

[rawsugarflog]

Day - I have no idea anymore, all I know is that in the last four days I have been on a roller-coaster of emotions! Sometimes it is hard to get my thoughts to paper. Particularly hard considering I am using my phone to write. I had written the previous post prior to taking some of the photos. While sitting in the house of the old mechanic in a town I had no desire to visit, I began to appreciate the situation. Not that I was accepting the poor work from the previous mechanic. That I was enjoying my time with this old mechanic in the town I had no desire to visit. All the locals would pop in and say hello, I would try my best to speak Spanish and they would try their best to understand me. When I eventually left, I had made friends with at least 15 people. It was exactly what I had needed. I was feeling good again. It was when I put the previous post up - knowing very well that many mind set had changed - that I began to think of a sentence to sum up my abrupt change of heart. If you survive the storm, you will be rewarded with the warmth of the sun. Or something to that affect. However; as is expected on travstrippytrip, the next day my mood changed again. I'm beginning to feel like someone with bipolar. I had ventured to Ica, as it was meant to be a 'must do'. There was sand-buggying and sang boarding. I had previously done volcano boarding and I must have hit my head pretty hard, because sand boarding sucks. I cannot begin to describe how worthless it is. You can't stand up, it's impossible in the sand. You have to go on your bum; however the boards are designed to stand up. So I injured myself, which was a good start to the day. On a lighter note, the sand-buggy was fun, albeit not as fun as the motorbike. So after washing out at least a small dunes worth of sand, I got back on the bike. Feeling optimistic about the days ahead. I filled up the tank in Ica, aiming for the 95. I skimped on the 98, but u thought 'hell, what could the difference be?'. After about 60 miles I realised what the difference was. Canyonero began to start to fell 'NQR', I thought that the cause would be bad fuel or an air intake problem. This was after all the day after I had ridden through an intense sand storm. This was also the third consecutive day in which something was going wrong with the bike. Needless to say, I was not happy. In fact at that stage I was verging on shock, outrage and amusement. I was driving past the famous Nazca lines (not that special. Intriguing, but not that special) and I thought that I would push on as close to Arequipa as possible. This would make the following day easier. As I rode the problem became worse, I would have the throttle down full in fifth gear and the bike would not rev any higher. As the miles wore on, there would be periods where the bike would being to cough and splutter. This was what made me think bad fuel. We were on the coast for the vast majority and the wind was like nothing I had experienced before, I was leaning heavily to the right hand side to stay upright. The bike thought this would be suitable time to slowly die. I dropped gears and revved high, trying to clear out any bad duke. All to little affect. I began to think that maybe it was the air intake, the high winds and the sandstorm the day before may have caused a dirty air filter. The bike puttered along and I searched desperately for a hotel. The kilometres ticked passed, with nothing but insane landscapes and the ever present gale to keep me company. The first hotel was far further than I would have liked and I was considerable worried that the bike may implode. It was down a dirt road about 2 kilometres. It looked abandoned and for the first few minutes I was there, it was. Firstly a very angry dog came to inspect my presence, this luckily alerted the owner. I was the sole occupant, this didn't translate into a huge discount as I had hoped. To my surprise and joy, I had stumbled upon an old inca port. This was the main fishing port for the inca empire. Seafood caught here was run (yes run) via a sort of relay to Machu Picchu. Do yourself a favour and look at how large the distance is. The inca and their descendants are legit crazy. Not mumbling to themselves at the train station crazy. Like finding a plant, eating the plant, dying from the plant and then deciding to eat the plant in other ways, until they find a safe way of eating it.. Ala the potato. As the sole inhabitant of the inca ruin, I had a wonderful opportunity to visit and enjoy a site without hordes of tourists. It was amazing, the scenery looked like something from a horror movie, the incas building were spectacular in design and the constant sound of the crashing waves was an ominous yet warranted soundtrack. I left early in the morning, I wanted to make Arequipa and have the bike looked at (what was wrong with it now?), my simple mechanical work or looking at the air filter (it looked alright) and changing the fuel filter (braking the old one and having fuel spurt everywhere) hadn't fixed the problem. I was advised that the ride from where I was to Arequipa was rather dangerous, in particular there are rocks that are blown off the cliff walls. The constant high winds will blow off a chunk of rock, which will settle nicely on the road. When an unsuspecting tyre comes along.. Pop! So I headed off; the GoPro was useless due to the contact sea salt being layered on it. I thought it would be nice to simply remember the journey for myself, and I wish I hadn't. I wish I had enough battery power and memory to record the whole trip. It was like nothing I have ever seen, encountered or imagined before. Equal parts enthralling and horrifying. I believe the best way to describe it would be to start with the landscape; If you were to film a fake Mars landing, this is your place. If you had filmed a fake Moon landing, this would be where it was done. Then you would leave outer space and find an entire mountain made of sand. How? I have no idea, these mountains were huge, absolutely huge. Which brings me to the most important part, the road is perched on a cliff face. A cliff ranging from 60 to 120 metres high. So what I was dealing with was; Little to no visibility - if it wasn't the sea salt, there were clouds that would provide absolutely no vision. Shards of rock - similar to police spikes; if you hit one, your tyre will be no more. Cliffs - if you make a mistake, then it will be the last thing you ever do. Wet roads - with a brand new rear tyre, which should avoid slippery situations until worn it. Crazy trucks - as you would guess, yes they are overtaking on blind corners with no side rail (did I forget to mention no side rail.. No Fucking Side Rail). And a bike that sounded like it was on it's last legs - I didn't know if the engine would seize on a corner and I would be left to try and jump off before the bike plummeted to the ocean below. But seriously, fuck sand boarding. Snowboarding is the only form of boarding that is suitable. 'But they don't have snowfields and want adventure' I here you say. If they want adventure, with nothing but heart in the mouth adrenaline pumping insanity. Ride that road! I'll compare to the 'death road' in Bolivia; however, I struggle to think anything will match it. When I was younger I drove down a road in Albania, the road was being built and was also perched on a pretty nasty cliff. After myself and my friend had survived the road, we both said that if there is a hell 'that road going on forever would be that hell'. I have finally found something to add to my personal hells. Needless to say, when I finally completed the tortuous stretch of freeway I was feeling pretty good. Not long after I went through a 'Zona de Neblina' (Zone of Clouds), which was also rather enjoyable. I was cold, wet and couldn't see a thing (please remember that motorbike helmets do not come equipped with wipers). After about 40 minutes riding through the fog of death, I exited into the desert. The sun hit my face, the warmth engulfed me body. I was exultant, complete overawed with the whole journey. It was crazy and beautiful. I had completed it and now it was just a short journey to Arequipa. Apart from a running out of fuel scare, I made it to the immense Arequipa in one piece. I was exhausted. There were so many things playing on my mind. The research I had done advised the problem could be either my carburettor or fuel pump. Either one of the issues I didn't have the know how or will power to deal with. So my plans changed again, I would stay in Arequipa and wait for the bike to be repaired. Hoping beyond hope that this was the last thing that would need to be repaired for the rest of the trip. I couldn't sleep last night, I was worried about fixing the bike, having enough time to see all the countries, being able to sell the bike and finding a place to watch the Grand Final (AFL). I haven't been kept awake from stress in a long time. It is something that I don't enjoy, especially on 'holiday'. Today I will try and find a mechanic to do the work, I hope it's quick and I hope it's cheap. The only silver lining that I can see, is that I have my health and I will be home with a few months.

[rawsugarflog]

I had contacted the mechanic prior to get back to Lima. He assured me that the work would be completed by the time I arrived and I would be able to leave on Saturday. When I arrived my bike was sitting outside, untouched and dirty from being in the elements for 10 days. He advised that the bike would be ready to go by 2:00pm; so I waited patiently, confused why they were not working on it. As 2:00pm passed and no work had started, my irritation levels rose. I spoke up and work slowly begun; however, at 6:00pm that night it was clear the work would not be completed that night. Their priorities were fixed on preparing their bikes for a race the following day. I told them to focus on their bikes and that I would be back on Monday and hoped to leave by lunchtime, the mechanic confirmed that this would happen. When I arrived at 10:00pm on Monday, the bike was not being worked on. The clutch cover had been left off all weekend - I'm no mechanic, but I would hazard to guess that this is bad practise. I was told to wait until the owner arrived. I used the time to purchase the items that were required (new back tyre, brake pads) as this appeared too hard for the mechanics to manage. At lunchtime I asked the owner when the bike would be ready? He assured that I would be ready by 2:00pm. At 4:00pm the bike was put together and cleaned meticulously, I was happy it was ready to go. I thanked them all greatly. I had waited an extra three days more than I had wanted, but I was so happy to be back on the road I didn't care. I was riding out of Lima, the traffic wasn't too bad, the bike felt fantastic and I had the last few months of my trip ahead of me. I was beaming with good energy. However; as is the case in my life (anyone who knows me would confirm with great joy), my luck was soon to change. I thought I would treat myself to a meal, as I hadn't eaten since breakfast and was planning on riding late into the night to reach my destination (Ica). I pulled over at a nice looking restaurant. I looked at my clean bike, I was unpleasantly surprised by the amount of oil surrounding the clutch plate and undercarriage. I contacted the owner/mechanic and spoke with a far kinder tone than I had planned, mainly due to the fact he could simply hang up and I would then be left with a leaking bike and no help. He advised that it was potentially some loose bolts around the clutch plate, as this was all that had been touched. He asked me to try to tighten them and contact him if the leaking didn't stop. I put my minimal mechanical skills to work and tightened as many bolts as I could. I ate my food and I left, hoping beyond hope that the slight tightening would solve my problems. About 30 kms away - in the pitch black - I pulled over. I had another car pull over behind me and all I could think was 'here we go', all I need was to be hijacked. Thankfully they pulled away. I got my head torch out and looked down, as expected the leaking hadn't stopped. I tried to contact the mechanic. No answer. I sent him a message. No reply. I hopped back on the bike and decided to get away from the rabbies infested dog across the road and head to the nearest motel/hotel/sex room thingy that I could find. It was probably about two minutes into the rid; as I pondered whether the engine would seize, as my glasses became useless due to a thick covering of salty sea air and as I became increasingly nervous about riding in the night, that I snapped. 'FUUUUUUCCCCKKK' so loud and long my vocal chords might have snapped. 'CUUUUUNNNNTTT'.... 'WHHHHHYYYYY????' I wanted to dump the bike right there, catch a taxi to the airport and board a plane home. Home to my warm bed, loving parents and fantastic friends. I don't know what stopped me doing it, probably the loss of money. Being tight kept me going. I drove on, assured that I would be up for another mechanic fee (which I would incur, despite not being at fault). The first hotel was ages away, I was the tensest I had ever been. A seized engine would be the icing on the cake. I paid an exorbitant amount to stay at the hotel and I didn't care. I woke up early and headed into the town. I'm now sitting with a mechanic, in his house. He speaks no English and I still speak little to no Spanish (well done me). He has located two leaks; one appears to be where the previous mechanic bent a seal/bush thing and the other is coming from the gear lever (something that wasn't happening prior to the stop in Lima). I'm feeling pretty low right now; the exchange rate is killing me (cheers Tone), the constant travelling issues are eating away at me and I'm forever conscious of how little time I have to see half of the South American continent.

[rawsugarflog]

Cusco is the nicest looking city I have visited in South America. It is very much run for the tourists who frequent Machu Picchu and the other Inca ruins; however, it doesn't feel like it has destroyed the soul of the city. After spending a few days acclimatising to the altitude I set off for the inca trail. I had a good group of people, unfortunately some really awesome individuals went on a different trek. The Inca were bat shit crazy, they built insane structures in the toughest of locations. They would move huge stones via a method of ramps and pulleys; however, I legitimately cannot fathom how they managed some of these tasks. The first few days of the tour are easy, they build a nice false sense of security. On the third day you attack a huge incline. I am proud to say that I was first up the mountain and continued this pace until we reached Machu Picchu. Unlike my exuberance regarding the climb, I was struggling with sleep. You would think that hiking all day would tire you out and you would be correct. Altitude has a knack of creating issues with some people's sleep, I am one of these lucky people. I also made the savvy decision to not invest (the price of two beers) on a -15 sleeping bag, instead opting for the +10 rag that I had borrowed in Australia. Needless to say, I was a human icicle. So no sleep and huge days walking, I resorted to using prescription medication (for which I had no prescription) to get me by. With these types of drugs, you sleep, but you don't sleep well. So by the time we had reached Machu Picchu, I was five days into either limited, no or inadequate sleep. As special as the ruins are and considering the effort it took to arrive, I didn't spend as much time exploring as I probably should have. I instead ventured to a restaurant to try and get some sleep on a couch. I managed a forty winks and was energised enough to have a rather large night out in Cusco. Overall it was a great trek and added to the really enjoyable time I have had in Cusco. A few days to rest my weary legs and sort out my credit card woes (resulting in nothing being sorted out) and now I'm back on the road to Lima to meet up with Canyonero. I don't have long left and I have an immense amount of land, activities and culture to experience.

[rawsugarflog]

A tale of two cities. Lima is chaotic, with some of the worst traffic I have ever experienced. It is a bustling metropolis with close to nine million people living in or making the journey in daily (I would expect at least two million make there way in). I dropped my bike off, the mechanic didn't have the parts that I had requested (looks like I'll be getting less for the bike than I had hoped). It was a Friday afternoon so I headed for a hostel and said I would meet up with the mechanic on Monday morning. I stayed in gringo land, which was a nice change. Bars and eateries abounded. I spent the weekend eating; there was a South American food festival, it was immense and the good was spectacular. I cooked spaghetti bolognese on Sunday which I shared with some guests at the hotel, they were chefs visiting the food festival. They said they were very impressed with the spag bog, but they could have just been being nice. I partied with the guests on Sunday, which was nice. Especially considering most didn't speak English. There was substantial regret in the morning when I had to go to the mechanic. He didn't have the best news, it would take a few days to do the required work. I nodded and decided to head straight to Cusco, leave the bike there and when I'm done with the Inca Trail I will be able to head back and set off again. I went straight to a bus depot, booked a luxury bus (this thing was the best, personal tv, reclining bed sets and food) and was on my way. 21 hours later I arrived in Cusco. It is a visually stunning city, surrounded by mountains which have the remnants of the old inca society still emblazoned on them. The city is very touristy and this would be the only negative; however, I'm loving it. Currently eating at an Australian owned restaurant, Asian stir fry (no meat just delicious veggies). Tomorrow I set off on the Inca trail; I'm excited for the challenge and a little nervous, mainly due to the lack of any exercise in the last two months. Fingers crossed I make it, I need to take the obligatory Machu Picchu photo and change my Facebook profile to it pronto.