the hunt

It started as many hunting trips do- early in the morning, with a long drive to the hunting grounds. I found many differences and a few similarities to the hunts I sorely miss back home in South Dakota.

Differences noted during the ride:

• no eager anticipation from Pa in the front, building my enthusiasm for the upcoming hunt


• missing the highly comedic, and mildly raunchy jokes from Bob Sr., also in the front


• no cat naps, re-configuration of sitting/sleeping positions, and no sneaking of little bits of cope from Bob Jr., Toby, and myself in the back
  

Similarity:

• the guy in front of me having a very animated conversation one minute, and, aside from a little snoring, completely lifeless the next (Mark)

Upon arrival, there were´nt many smiles around, as I am accustomed to on the hunt. Maybe it was clarity of the air, the constant buzz of traffic and people (Lima, Peru- pop. 7,000,000 vs. Kenebec, SD - pop. 284), or maybe, just maybe, I was the only one hunting.

I think its time to mention that I was not hunting for the usual game birds I´m used to, fighting through slews, shelter belts, and corn rows..No, i was fighting my was through slews of cars, building belts, and people rows, hunting for a motorcycle. This would be my new mode of transportation as I continue my journey through the rest of Peru, Bolivia, Chile, and Argentina.

Back to the hunt...This was no point and shoot game. I really had to search for the right moto, because on this particular hunt, the limit was one. After four days of searching through numerous makes and models, being cautious not to let trigger happiness get to my finger, BANG! The decision was made, and the trigger pulled. My trophy, a Honda Tornado XR250.

new beginings

I have cycled the Andes...Not all, but some. I was following my younger brother Brent from Quito, Ecuador to Huaraz, Peru, via the Andes. He is a cyclist, and I, not so much.

For my brother, cycling seems to stir the ¨Sopa de Vida¨ within him; positivity, creativeness, and cycling-on equal heartbeats. For me, after 2500km of peddling, my thinking began to mimic my riding- repetitious & slow. My brother and I know first hand the bitterness brought on by negative thoughts, and I did not want to promote such pessimism.

This is not an easy task, peddling three-hundred pounds of flesh and steel up five-thousand meter passes, but Brent succeeds with joy & anticipation for the next, while waiting for me far behind. He is a leader, a leader of the sort I want to become. To become such a leader, required me to cease following. It was time for a change. My inherent need for which prompted a break in companionship, and a swapping of transportation.

Excellent were the days of braided tire tracks, but now I seek to venture off on my own with eager anticipation of what´s to come. This was no means an end, merely another beginning.