MOTOCYCLANDES

Espejo Chico

2009-05-29T13:56:00.000-07:00

As mentioned before, a good ride for me here in 'The Big Paradise' consumes a good portion of the day, not on the bike, but off it; exploring, photographing, and meditationg on the pure beauty of God's grandeur. Less than 100km of road mapped out for the day, and planning the better part of 6 hrs. for the cruise.... Winding up and down the gravely road, on and off the banks of the mighty Lago Traful stopping on occasion to quench not only a physical thirst with the crystal clear waters of Traful, but a spiritual one with the elaborate views, smells, and sounds in this part of Patagonia...

I pass by the last playa of the lake and down into what appears to be an arctic rainforest, (if there is such a thing), and lining the dirt road is a mix of pines (large and small), fern looking giants, and nameless color changing deciduous trees glowing with golden glamour in spots where the sun has burst through the canopy above. This type of forest always seems to give a feeling of enchantedness, thus provoking frequent stops to search for fairytale foxes or just to sit & listen to the sound of fantasy for a while....

Paradise re-encountered....Corrected, I should say a mini-Paradise, within a much greater Paradise, whilst waiting for the ultimate Paradise, encounterd .. Se llama Espejo Chico.... "Espejo" means "mirror" in spanish, and a very fitting name for the glass-faced body of water cleverly tucked back in amongst the bright yellow poplars the middle of this Eden. To my dismay (hah!), the place was vacant except for the owner and the land manager casually raking up leaves in the back yard of a cozy little cabin behind the country store.. After sharing a suitably seasonal relaxed conversation about (what else?) the beauty of such a place, I set off searching for a campsite through the maze of golden leaf covered trails, I could have putted around this part of the trail all day! Finally after much internal debate of which one was 'more perfecter' than the last, I landed on one, and so as to keep par for course, popped a bottle of tinto, strapped on the vest and waded out into the crystal clear freshness dawning a face siezed in jubilation...

...Within the first few casts in the sparkling stream flowing out of Espejo, I had a hit on my fly that I can only describe as being "the big one." After fighting the monster for what I'm sure was only a few moments but at the time had seemed like forever, my rod quickly recoiled nearly puching myself in the face, and I new I had lost him... So, as most tall (fish)tales end, "the big one" got away, leaving me with a hightened sense of determination to land a record trout someday. Frustrated, but not defeated I continued to wisp the weightless line through the crisp mountain air, occasionally presenting a perfect meal for anything hungry enough to munch on flies...I remained under the golden yellows and oranges of the trees lining the banks of the small river mesmorized by the aqua blue/green water, until the sun had found its resting place on the horizon accrossed the lake. Shortly after the suns light had faded, a silver sliver of moon appeared and quickly followed its opposite behind the horizon, the three Marias and southern cross shone like pin holes in a backlit canvas, and all was quiet. I set the rod aside for the morning to come, and nestled up in the tent for another night of splendid slumber here Paradise...... Abba, Padre, estar contigo es una dulce bendicion, gracias por Tu tierra impresionante y este pura vida para disfrutarla. Eres majestruoso, y poderoso, dar la cuenta a Ti, Senor por todo. En el nombre de el grande Jesus, Amen.

Filo Hua Hum

2009-05-20T13:52:00.000-07:00

Leaving the enfermeria at SM was tricky for a couple of reasons. First I was barley mobile, and second, I had found a comfortable companionship with the residents as well as a striking similarity to the Black Hills (home sweet home) in the cerros around the pueblito.. Yep, settling into San Martin would've been easy, too easy, meaning I had to scoot before getting lost in the Argentinian culture for good.

After only a week of recuperation I could hardly walk (more like hobble) and my knee could barely make a 20 degree bend on its own, thus making it very hard to shift gears, let alone sit with it painfully forced into a 70 degree bend for the three hour ride to Filo

Hua Hum, but the move had to be made. Difficult, yeah, but once on the road, the persistant pain was quickly remedied by by smiles of simple solace as

God revealed himself once again in the splendid scenery approaching the lake...

Lago Filo Hua Hum was vacant (no longer that surprising, but still striking me as amazing) leaving me once more with pick of the crop to set up the house for a duration of my choosing...

Four days and three nights of mate sippin', fly castin', and mountain meditatin' had me feeling better physically and mentally than I had experienced in quite some time...It hit me that my time in this paradise was somewhat limited,

thus amplifying the amount of awe-inspiring moments experienced per diem. It is time to thank the Maker.

Prayers of praise before pez on the parilla: Te agredezco Senor por todo, Eres lo mejor, y Tu creacion es magnifico. Gracias por el regalo de vida, en el nombre de Jesus.... Oraciones of ovation before bed: Doy las gracias a ti, Senor, por otra mas dia que fue increible. Bendeces mis amigos y mi familia con corazones grandes para amar, y buen salud para compartir Tu mesaje de amor. En el nombre de Jesus. Amen.

San Martin

2009-05-15T13:44:00.000-07:00

The cruise down from Lago Huechulafquen into San Martin de Los Andes was just as marvelous as the ride up from San Junin de Los Andes. 90km in any other place would be about an hour drive, but given the exquisiteness of the area, it's a sufficient and spectacular days' ride in Patagonia.

Upon arrival in San Martin I searched out a recommended place (Playa Catitre) to set up camp for a few days. Recommended for a reason, Catitre turned out to be one of the most picture perfect sites yet. On the bank of Lago Lacar just outside of the pueblo San Martin lay this splendid little area, and once again, I was awestruck. A daily routine of fishing till sunset, feasting on asado, and falling asleep to the sound of a nearby arroyo kept me bright eyed for the first three days, I felt a wondrous welcome to the spot I would call home for the next couple of weeks.

I hadn't planned on staying that long, but some reckless riding on the third day led to a hospital visit and a self diagnosis of a torn MCL in my left knee. Bummer indeed, but no worries, some amigos I had met the day before offered up their house as a casa de enfermedad when they saw me hobbling down the cobbled street away from the hospital. Prescribing a diet of delicoius food (chefs by trade), and couch sitting, they tended to me like MD's of supreme stature during the week plus I spent with them in SM. I offered up my service of artistic creativity in lue of payment for such hospitality.. Whilst maintaining a strict diet of ibuprofen, ice, and good wine, I decorated the walls of the small house with the aesthetically pleasing, yet simple lines of Nazca, Peru. They were delighted to have a new decor, and we were all mutually pleased to have made new friendships.Daily accompaniments to the fantastic meals and five star friends, were conversations in pure Argentian slang (of which I was able to understand snippets) and busted up english (which made me laugh) while we poked fun of whatever object had most recently provoked such slander. It seems I had found a complementary companionship here amongst Hernan, Nico, El Capitan, Celeste, Sergio, and Alejandro. As they say here in Argentina 'que buena onda'- what good things, man.

Corazon del Pescadores

2009-05-07T13:28:00.000-07:00

The heart of flyfishing here in Patagonia is said to be located in San Junin de los Andes. The rivers and lakes in the surrounding area are remarkable, and even now seem to buzzing with fisherman waiting to hook the one that got away from everyone else this year. I was happy to join them in their hunt.

Malleo and Chimihuen proved some of the best rivers I have fished yet.. Still no monsters, but the trout are getting bigger, and I am getting better. I have faced a few struggles, but none too big to overcome with a little perseverance and determination. There have been times it is too cold for me to wade in up to my waist without those nifty waiters everyone seems to be sporting (keeping me on the sidelines), but it doesn't deter me from getting in at least up to the knees. There also have been times when the wind has picked up (dictating what way my line is cast) and after a few tangles, I have been forced to learn to cast (somewhat roughly) lefthanded (no bites yet, but they´ll come.) By far the biggest struggle I face is trying to choose where to pull over and rig the rod for a few casts... These rivers and lakes are loaded with beautiful sections one can only presume are stuffed with trout, and if not, the experience and scenery alone are well worth the stop.

My three day tour of the area had left me at the end of the road and at the base of Volcano Lanin searching out campsites on Lago Huechulafquen. The gravel road twisting its way up and down and around the shores of the lake is lined with gigantic pines and laden with covert little hideaways to camp or fire up the parilla. A gorgeous lake, with the impressionable Volcan Lanin keeping watch from just a few kilometers away. A breathtaking ride, and once again, the quiet prevails on the north end of the lake where I decide to take refuge on the shores for a few days and let the solitude of this splendor speak its wispers into open ears ....

Bait Beta

2009-05-05T12:41:00.000-07:00

One of the questions I had when I embarked on this new experience was how to find the right fly for the job at any specific fishing hole along the route. I was given tips and recommendations by both Vince and Pablo, but the concern somewhat remained. It turns out, it was´t as big of a problem as I had thought. Upon arrival in lake and river district the answer to this dilema hit me right in the face...literally. The following hypothesis, tests and conclusions I consider somewhat scientific, but mostly just haphazard-we´ll call it `willy-nilly science´ (I get it from pa).

Most roads closely follow the path the river has chosen through the landscape in Patagonia, and they are full of life, big and small.. I tried catching bugs hovering the water with my karate kid set of chopsticks to study the make and model but failed. Sorry Miagi. I then saddled up, hit the road, and a more direct route `haphazardly´ splattered onto the goggles covering my eyes, I hypothesized... The frustration passed from the many quick but sharp `pings´ of pain from the unfortunate airborn insects in my path approaching a fishing hole, and I was able to test my hypothesis . ¿Could I simply peel off the carcas of whatever bug was last plastered to my forehead and match it up as closely as possible with one in my aresenal of bait flies? Sure enough! The results were a success, 8 times out of 10 producing a bite within the first few casts!
I came up with a couple of biased conclusions:
First, I prefer to use the very small, very light `dryflies´, partially because I find them easier to cast-thus easeir to present nicely for the fishies, but mostly because their real-life matches do not sting as bad (coming to this conclusion was rather painful at times--ie: bees, dragonflies).
Second, needless to say, the fish that were hitting the small flies were rather small "fries" themselves (litterally the ¨handful¨ of fish I caught in the first week could have all fit into one hand!)

Regardless of the take, the fishing has been awesome, and I have to thank my dad for such stimulated spontaneous science solving the bait problem. Sorry no keepers this time, but we shall return.... Lookout Patagonia!

A Day In The Life

2009-05-04T13:06:00.000-07:00

I am re-packing the dry gear after a damp evening when a slight breeze kicks up just enough to boost a couple of small golden leaves from their summer homes, and sends them sailing down to find their place amongst the sparingly strewn Quilmes bottlecaps of previous campers. Not a soul within miles...An autumn Patagonian paradise all to myself. The campgrounds are vacant, the fishing holes deserted, and the road empty..The smile is nearly permanent now, it has not left my face for quite some time..I am re-convinced daily that there is such thing as "Heaven on Earth", and it´s called Patagonia.

A quick lunch on the parilla, and it´s down to the crystal clear creek sporting a rigged rod, fishing vest, and a pair of sandals... nothing else neccesary. I slowly stroll up the calm little stream, tanning my snow white buns, exalting in the solitude of this area, thanking God with every step for the flawless beauty that surrounds me.... and for the weee little fish I am able to land. : )

As evening approaches, I saddle up and hit the gravel. Meandering my way through groves of poplars ablaze with yellow brilliance in the last minutes of southern sunlight, around river banks reflecting the luminous landscape in vivid mimicry, doubling the magnificence so abundantly arranged all around me. I am nature drunk and loving it.

I land at a campground and effortlessly build my temporary house/semi-permanent home for about the hundredth time this year, gather some timber for the fire, and sip on the sweet stream water re-living the days memories . The asado is cooking,and it smells of campfire and Argentinian beef. I am watching the full moon rise over the illuminated golden leaves lining the river bank, the traquil sound of Rio Alumine fills whatever void there is inside me and I am happy. Tonight I cant wait to fall asleep, as tomorrow will be another day to enjoy it all over again! : )

First Glimpse

2009-05-02T14:56:00.000-07:00

A few 500km days driving through the middle of this grand country left me just on the outskirts of the famed and highly anticipated Patagonian lakes and rivers district. Finally!! Nothing but giddy grins and out-of -tune singing flowed from my mouth as the moto and I cruised up into the forested area of Primeros Pinos (1st pines). The sweet familiar scent of pine trees coated my nostrils and immediatly I knew this was going to be an amazing next few months.

Climbing up and around the foothills of Patagonia, down into valleys surrounded by arroyos, rios, trees, and the universal/unmistakable smell of fall. The first veiw of the Lakes hit me like Christmas morning, this is the place I´ve dreamed about for years...Lago Matetuwe, close to the much larger lake (Lago Alumine), was the chosen spot for my fly fishing career to get rolling. Unable to hide ear to ear smiles from all the onlooking vegetation I found an area to remove the helmet and like Gambits eyes, let it shine. The "pop" of one of Argentinas finest was heard echoing accrossed the eerily still lake marking the moment of a newfound love. A sound was returned by a screeling chorus of bright green and red parrots (patagonian conures) patroling the area for sweet pine nuts while practicing their ariel coriagraphy in groups of no less than thirty. With underpants rolled up and rod rigged, I waded out into the crystal clear lake casting the bright green float line out little by little, loving the feeling of the first casts over water. I must admit, I was a little distracted by the clarity of the water, resulting in a few unavoidable tangles...It was like peering down through a glass coffee table top, under which I could make out perfectly clear beads of rounded stones and shells resting on the lake floor, incredible. Casting continued under the warm southern sun, and I developed a partial thirst for the crystal clearness I was standing in. As I dipped my hands in the form of a cup and casually sipped on the crisp, sweet water I thought of the immense difference in how water recources are treated here compared to those of Argentina´s northern neighbors in Ecuador, Peru, and Bolivia. I won´t elaborate too much, but I would hesitate to wade into most streams, rivers, or lakes sporting a fully sealed BIO suit in those northern countries, and the fact I can sip from the source out of a straw here in Argentina, is quite a grand difference. Argentina gets an A+, they know what natural recources are and strive to protect them. Buena onda. Contributing to the very slim percentage of pollution they do harbour, I put the rod down for a while, shed my clothing and dove in for my weekly bath. (I guess I´m not that toxifying though, as I have continued to drink the water without falling ill). I flopped about doing my best impresssions of the fish I plan on catching in upcoming weeks, and was startled when a few passing hikers rounded the corner to find me doing some Qi Gong breathing excersises stark naked on a boulder half submerged in the water, oops! I figured it proper to clothe up, and practice a more "socially accepted" activity, in this case flyfishing... : ) No bites on the day, but the pure pleasure of being out there set the bar to a new high. The sun had began to set, the rod & flies put away, and it was time to find camp for my first night in Patagonia. A picture perfect sunset to end the fairytale of a day, in what I have started to call "Paradise"...

Finca Altamira

2009-05-02T14:12:00.000-07:00

A year or two ago a series of rather fortunate events between my brother and one of the owners of Finca Altamira led to and invitation to stay and lend a hand during the harvest of 2009. (It´s a long story and I am a little short on details to get into it, but it involves being rescued from a tinfoil sleeping bag, missed airplanes, and a roadtrip accrossed the US in a VW bus with a dreadlocked computer programer from Chicago).

Anyway, Altamira is an impressive (to say the least) little vineyard outside of La Consulta, just south of Mendoza, and the owners were congenial enough to let a couple of roughnecks from SD stay for a stint. David (a famous English ex-journalist claiming to be allAmerican at heart (which I can believe,but his sense of humor remains clearly English : )) and his son Nelson (a 3rd grader with the intellect of a young Einstien and energy of a howler monkey) were great hosts for the two of us during the short time we spent together at their finca. Activities whilst staying there invloved golfing (in the backyard) and searching for wormholes that would transport us to Patagonia for that BIG fish (Nelson has quite the imagination as well.) In between eating delicious food and drinky tasty wines, conversations varied from the fictitous (for B and me) world economy crisis, to the very real "who done it" in the famed boardgame Clue (it was Plum in the Ballroom, with the knife.)

We were slightly bummed after finding the first scheduled day of harvest was cancelled due to a drunk truck driver and hung over workers- a festival of some sort took place the day before (who can blame em´?.) So, I resorted to swimming, swatting birdies with Nelson (badmitten), drinking more delicious wine, and playing a round or two of golf (again--in the back yard!) Like I said... bummer, huh.

The next day, as it turned out, our two pairs of hands were´nt exactly needed once again as more than 60 workers showed up to snip & pick the purple fruits dangling from the vines surrounding the palace. Still, a fun experience watching the men and women hustle to fill as many bins as possible in the short time it took to gather the entire crop of Malbec & Cabernet grapes growing from the fertile soils of the Altamira Finca. Unfortunetly, we would not hang around to see the rest of the crop gathered later that week, it was time for us to move on, and, in hindsight, we never got to be that much of a help around the place afterall. On the other hand, hopefully our South Dakotan charm left enough of a good impression to not lock the doors to any bike bearing rednecks in the upcoming future....especially if they conspire to let the father/son team relive their triumph over the midwestern bros on the linx.....Hasta Entonces..

Mendoza and the Archers

2009-04-25T09:33:00.000-07:00

The road approaching Mendoza was tough...Well not so much for me, but for Bro. Included in the 100Km+ stretch ly a good sized pass, and terrrible road conditions (resembling those of Southern Ecuador or Northern Peru). As I said, this is no longer a problem for me, but for Brent riding on cracked rims (!), it was a tough stretch. I once again provided the "mule" for some of the heavier equipment hopefully preventing a rim blowout, and we rolled into town safely around sunset.

Awaiting our tardy/smelly arrival in Mendoza were some friends I had met one for one short moment at our church (FUMC) in Rapid City a year or so earleir. The Archers (Vince, Ruth, & Isaac) have an inspiring story of how they´ve come to be where they are are do and what they do. No doubt God works wonders in each of our lives, but they are a family who´ve nurtured these blessings to further His ministry and love around the world, and most recently in Mendoza. (more on this in future posts)

So, stinky(me) and tired(B) we throttled/pedded up to the door and were greeted by Vince and fam with bright smiles and friendly hugs. They had arranged a beautiful place for us to stay in an old country "castle" looking house turned hostle B & B as urbanization spread over the years. Showered and jived up on coca (cola) we returned to the Archer residence for excellent eats and superior conversation. The next couple of days we were adopted by this great family enjoying the presence of such family(er) people (having similar ties to the Dakotas.) Vince being our personal tour guide of the city, we also were able to handle a few items of impotance- including new shoes for Bro, new rim-also for B, and a new smell (laundry) for the both of us... Vince, as it turns out, was also the missing link in the fly fishing chain of thought I had started to construct a couple weeks earlier. He contacted a good friend of his (Pablo-maestro of flyfishing), and they set me up with all the neccesary equipment to get started...I should mention that Pablo hooked me up with gear (including his hand tied flies) for an incredibly good price, as well as providing a map and beta for some of his favorite rivers, streams, and lakes in the Patagonia region. !Muchisimo gracias hombres¡

Vince and I practiced my flycasting in a mall parking lot the next day, and with a few more tips I was off for Patagonia with a huge grin on my face and only one minor stop along the way....Finca Altimira.

26 (I think) and counting----

2009-04-15T10:16:00.000-07:00

Meeting with brother Brent was timed well, quite well, two days before my 26th birthday in fact. Its always nice to have some family around that time of year... As he put it- "birthday´s don´t need to be some huge event, just memorable", this was one I will not forget...

We spent the day basking on the beach outside of Rodeo on a beautiful lake surrounded by landscape resembling the badlands of the Dakotas. We ate a family sized asado, swam, read, and reminisced about our adventures on our South American tour .

Nighttime came and an ad-lib birthday bash took place in a campground in the town of Rodeo. I set up camp, and Brent scooted off for some undercover preperations. He returned and we were joined by three French mochileros (backpackers) and Prince Charles (a greyhound looking dog that adopted us for the night.) Dinner that night was light due to some stomach aches from the huge meal that afternoon, so cake was the main course for the night. It (the cake) was an average pastry, but the toppings were well, different (and memorable), complete with steel ball bearings and fireworks! A chorus of "Cumpleaños" echoed accrossed the campground and complete with wine, cake and presents, the festivity continued into the night...Indeed a very happy 26th...Thanks Bro.

Finding Brentasaurus

2009-04-14T10:34:00.000-07:00

After Santiago (seems like forever ago), the moto and I took to the road in search of the ever-so-rare, bicycle bearing Brentasaurus. The route inbetween the two counties (Chile and Argentina) lie thirty some switchbacks, a lengthy tunel, and South America´s tallest mountain (Aconcauga- 6959 meters) - in that order. Somewhere cruising through the tunnel burrowed into the high Andes I crossed into Argentina, and when I popped out again the beast of a mountain peered down on me as if were perched on my shoulder. Intimidating. The smiles of Argentinos at aduanas (customs) were abundant and warming after the chilling view of the snow capped giant.
A different feeling here than in the northern Andes of Peru, Bolivia, and Ecuador; casually winding through the highlands on asphalt highways, rather than twisted two-track neverknowifyourgoing tofindyourwayout dirt roads. Also, never far from the comfort of fresh water, hot food, or nice lodging. It´s never been this easy to access the high country--not better, just different.
Down into Argentina..I have recieved plenty of information about this country from several sources along this trip such as; "the people are pretty", "the food is fabulous", "the parillas are plentiful", "the camping is in credible", "the trees are tremendous", "the phishing is phenomenal"," the wine is wonderful", and "Patagonia is perfect!"...I have been in this country for more than a month now, and I can attest-- all are truths... All are awesome!
Thanks to our little friends "spot", the search was not a search of the entire country (thankfully, even a Brentasaurus would be hard to find in such a large country!) His "spot" has corresponded with my e-mail narrowing his location down to the San Juan region of northern Argentina...Off I go, through large pampas and scattered oasises, enjoying my fair share of Argentinian beef (the best!) and wine ( a bottle of premium for under ten dollars!) -planning my route and tuning my camping saavy along the way. I was preparing for an encounter of the pre-historic kind(as it would´nt be our first encounter, as pre-history can prove.)
Throttle time provided me with ample thinking space for my continuing journey through South America, and I started to ponder what exactly I could do to make the most of Patagonia and the three remaining months I have here. The idea of fly fishing popped into my head as banked around a gravel turn overlooking a beautiful little stream. Yeah, thats it! Its gotta be...fly fishing in Patagonia? Can´t go wrong! Thanks to my personal Financial Bailout Plan (my folks) I have ample money to purchase the needed gear to take up a new sport. (thanks again guys!) I now have a waxing giddyness for the Lake district that awaits down south..But first, my giddyness to find the Brentasaurus has elevated, as it does when I sense we are close.
Buzzing into the town of Jachal around mid-day, I passed a municipal campground. A familiar scent found its way through the faceguard of my helmet, and I suddenly felt the urge to whip around and check out the area. (Campgrounds are known resting grounds of Brentasauruses.) As I rounded the corner, peering through rows of trees, picnic tables, and parilla´s (barbecue grills) something caught my eye...There, half naked, holding something resembling a pair of pants, stood the giant. I slowly turned, popped the clutch, swerved around a few tree trunks, and came to a skidded stop in front of the bathroom sink grinning at the familiar face in front of me----Brentasaurus!
Re-united once again, the Sorensaurus Rex and Brentasaurus will travel the great landscapes of Northern Argentina drinking the fruits of the vine and feasting on the flesh of the bovine. Upon different steeds we ride, but with the same grin of kin we provide!!!!

AGGGHHHHH! whew

2009-04-14T10:25:00.001-07:00

Frustration followed me throughout the country of Argentina, fortunetly only in the form of technology. After struggling profusely, I have finally figured out how to post some pictures! (not as many as I would´ve liked to as I still have some figuring out to do) --Please check out the new albums (Norte de Argentina, Vinolandia, and Patagonia #1), as they took me a few grey hairs to get them posted! whew! thanks for waiting -besos

esperame

2009-03-20T10:27:00.000-07:00

As technology would have it, the computers here in Argentina have not been kind to me, thus the lack of updated photos, be assured there are many. As for the posts, I guess I´ve just been a little pre-occupied with the here-and-now, and have yet to write anything about the last months happenings. If the handful of readers that I have are curious, my brother will no doubt be posting here shortly and since I have been with him for the last few weeks, he will be able to put our experiences into words I could only dream of fabricating, see for yourself....BICYCLANDES, check the link.

I do hope to post something here in the next week so stay tuned, but as life would have it, I am in Patagonia now, and the trout are calling. Only a few weeks til´ the snow starts to fall and the fish stop biting ( at least on my novice line), so instead of in front of the computer screen, I am choosing to be out there in Gods´ country with my new fly rod and well, we´ll see what else He has to offer!... chau for now...heeeeeere fishy fishy fishy!

Santiago señoritas

2009-03-02T08:55:00.000-08:00

Sitting amidst the presence of five baby aloe vera plants on an east-facing sixth floor balcony, I can make out snow capped mountains of the Andean Sierras seemingly worlds away through the slight haze resting above Santiago. The constant buzz of traffic, buildings upon buildings rather than rock upon sand, and the scent of city are a far cry from the tranquility of the coast and desert. Such intermissions in tranquility mean initiation into festivity. From my perspective, Santiago appears a

nice place to be festive for a stint.

I had met a group of friendly Chilenas while in San Pedro, and quite timely was offered refuge in their apartment when and if

I arrived in Santiago. After a couple of weeks camping and hostel jumping along the roads and pueblos of northern Chile, with a mild case of monkey butt and a convincing appetite for fiestas, the "offer" grew into an unrefusable proposal.

Claudia (second from the right) has been especially welcoming and seems to have connections everywhere in this city. She

hooked me up with her mechanic, Daniel (two time Chilean moto

cross champion), and we worked on the bike for a few hours, chatting about the beauty of motorcycles and wrenching on my fortunate machine. We´ve been to the cinemas- for free, barbecues with her family- incredibly generous people and phenomenal chefs as well. Beach combing, ocean swimming, river rafting, and of course dancing (free entrance to one of the best clubs in Bellavista). With such close proximity to both the ocean and the mountains, it has been easy to zip off to the beach or up to the high country for a couple of days here and there. My frequent trips to Parque San Cristobal and the pool (overlooking all of Santiago) during the last couple of weeks have offered the opportunity to meet a few influential citizens, namely, the lifeguard who waved the entrance fee (12$) every time I arrived after making his acquaintance. Ahhhhhh,

my sub-conscience is trying to get my body to soak up all the warmth it can get before venturing further south into the cold, the rain, and the snow.

Taking these top-knotch chicas up on their offer has meant dropping a few habits picked up on the solo road of bachelorism. Not at all a bad thing, as regular was

hing & grooming of oneself is considered to be the norm for most of society today, but nonetheless, different from the daily world of a touring (motor)cyclist. I happily traded a few "manly" routines for a bit, whilst enjoying the kindness and generosity of my Santiagan friends, and have been in here for more than two weeks now. I can feel a strange comfort starting to settle in, and that, in my book is a cue for me to move on. The festivity in Santiago has been impressive, the people have great hearts, and the road out of town will once again be accompanied with a longing to return someday.

symphony for the soul

2009-02-27T11:35:00.000-08:00

Desert beauty, coastal solitaire...Winding through roads of evenly surfaced hard gravel (quite similar to pavement when dry), banking into turns as frequent as color changes in the earth. This is grin-full/tension-free riding, provoking thoughts and memories of the deserts in southwestern US; I am happy to be in country like this. The air moving accrossed my face feels good as I casually cruise from the desertscape to the rock and sand of the Chilean coast. Different colored, sized, and types of rocks, and up & down through hills and valleys, this is a desert geologists dreamscape. I am tempted to stop and crack a few random rocks, but when I dismount the moto, the warmth of the sun is so strong that to remain off the moving moto for too long doesn´t appeal. Anxious to see the coast again (altough its only been a matter of hours) a picture or two will have to do for now.

On the coast the temperature suddenly becomes cooler. The oceanfresh crispness of the air feels good, its is OK now to rest off the bike for awhile. There isn´t much traffic on this road, most commuters stay inland on the paved highways- fast, but straight and boring. I prefer this route-slower, but quiet (except for the crashing waves), beautiful, and offering an endless blue nothingness to gaze out on meditatively.

Decided to stop in the quiet, bayed town of Tal Tal to gear up for camp (tonights cuisine: soup.....water, onion, tomato, carrot, garlic and a pepper to go with some pasta, bullion, oregano, salt and pepper stashed on the back-in remembrance of Bolivian menu), and throttled off in search of a suitible site for the night...

The hundred or so possible campsites passed en route the 10km to mine were all equally beautiful, with small spots of sand woven into the maze of rocks and boulders on the beach. Groups of families/friends in two, three, and four tent "pueblitos" were scattered thinly about the coastline, and yet still plenty of hiddenbeach-treasurespots for one to claim as home for an evening. Out of site & out of mind-if one preferred, which I do this night.

I followed a two-track sand path down to an unnocupied stretch of coastline just before sunset. One thing Chile is not short of is coastline. Built the tent & firepit, and combed the rockbeach for oceanic treasures, bathing in the last bit of salty sunshine. Sipping soup to the animate sound of the waves in a sort of "breathing" pattern reminded me that even in my solitary state, I am never alone. To relay this message in a more barefaced way, I decided to start a fire to let my presence be known among the few other far off campfires glowing along the coast. The warmth given off by the fire below and by the stars above embraced me with a suggestive good night hug, and I was off to dreamland, in this land of dreams.

Antofogasta

2009-02-27T09:27:00.000-08:00

I can feel tuning fork like vibrations in my hands and fingers after running the bike at high speeds for such a long time. Purely pavement today, hot sun and pavement. The motorcycle cants into the wind as if it were programmed to do so by the honda engineers, and I can smell the ocean air as I approach Antofogasta.

Only 8km out of town & sight of the Chilean coast, and I pick up a sixteen penny nail in the shape best described as a loch ness monster or an angry cobra- erect and ready to strike. Strike it did, leaving me in a side to side skid at 75kmph. As the skids grew bigger, the only option was to lay the bike down... Thankfully not in front of any oncoming traffic or other hazards, doy las gracias a Dios that I am OK. After hobbling accrossed the highway back and forth carrying boulders big enough to stand the bike on to remove the tire, I was rescued by a passing veteranarian and his friend. Luckily he had no passengers of the perro species in back, so the three of us lifted the bike into the van, and buzzed off to Antofogasta and the coast.

Ahhhhh, the ocean....................

No chance in fixing the tube, blown into pieces, and I have no spair. The search for a moto tube on a Saturday afternoon in Antofogasta is something someone should give a prize for finding . I like prizes. The owner of the tire repair shop and I ended up cruising the whole town in his old beat up chevy truck looking for one. No luck at the tire stores, all the motorcycle shops were closed, we even checked the local version of a Target in the "supermall" thing. Last stop before I´ll have to stick it out the weekend, we checked a friend of his´s used tire shed/repiar shop, and laying in the back used and dirty, but hole-less, an 18 inch motorcycle tube. Sonrisas y rubber to the road...

On my way out of town on the coastal gravel road, I met another couple of friendly local Antofogastans (Miguel & Patrick-toilet cleaner and chemical engineer :) I decided to stop and sip a beer with them and enjoy the beautiful vista del mar. One beer turned into two, and then three, and I was starting to think riding on wouldn´t be the best idea. Neither did they, and I was invited to stay at Patricks apartment for the night. Seems karma has a way of presenting opportunities to repay kindness; on the way into town, Miguel blew a tire and he had no spare tire, and no tools to change it even if he did. A cousin of thiers was called and with the few tools I had and the only spare tire they had, I managed to jimmy rig the different sized wheel onto the axle (minus a few parts) while they watched in awe of this gringos mechanical ablity (which isn´t much) and we hobbled back into town. Miguel & Pat----------------->

As if a bed in his daughters´room for the night wasn´t enough to repay me for helping them, I was intvited to a BBQ, and out for drinks that night-all gratis (free).

Awoke to HelloKitty wallpaper, with slight reccolection of how and when we arrived back at Patrick´s place and the events of the nightbefore... Laughter... Coronas... Meat... Buenas Ondas... Discotecas... Dancing... Whiskey... Comatose............. Damn whiskey´ll do it . Happy, but huuuuuungover. I remembered from days in Hawaii & Bali alike that the best cure for a hangover of this sort was a nice dip in the ocean...I did just that, and the healing powers of the Pacific came through once again. I was ready for another day in the saddle. My fellow nerds, thanks for everything. ;)

smelly site

2009-02-27T08:59:00.000-08:00

Reluctantly left the border town of San Pedro at 2pm, looking forward to great pavement and looking back on a barren desert and the snowcapped volcanos and mountains of Bolivia. Rolled into Calama, and decided to service the bike. New fluids and filter only took about half-an-hour, but trying to convince the girl at the shop that I was excited to camp in the desert took another hour or more. She knew plenty about motos, and seemingly more about the Chilean attractions one shouldn´t miss.... Camping in the desert wasn´t one of them. I felt overwhelmed by the sheer number of sites and conviction with which she spoke, but peculiarly satisfied with what I have already explored/discovered/experienced. After failing to convince me to stay in Calama for the night, I motored out to find a site to camp. In retrospect, she couldve been right... By the time the sun had started to set, I wasn´t finding much to block the gusting winds from butchering my tent, so I set up behind the only windshelter I could see. Beautiful sunset illuminating everything in a desert red glow. Not-so-beautiful piles of poop equally illuminated everywhere around the shelter. It seemed that the only area for a guy to get out of the wind and camp was also the only place for commuting traffic to get out of site of traffic to pinch one out. In the desert, there isn´t much to hide you from the traffic... or the wind. In my case that night, less wind = more poop. I think I will plan more time to look for a site out of the passing poop route next time, or just deal with the wind.

Bienvenido a Chile

2009-02-27T06:55:00.000-08:00

Chilean economy made itself apparent as soon as I crossed over that invisible line we like to call "la frontera" or "the border". Smooth pavement, lane lines not only visible but shouting "PASS\DON´T PASS", and emergency SOS phones every 5K or so lined the road dropping into the Atacama desert and San Pedro. I sit back and relax.

To my delight, a freindly smile and a not entirely true explanation of why I didnt have papers from Bolivia, were all it took to get me through the Chilean customs with the only problem being my twelve inch Dundee knife on my side (my security system in the previous countries), easily stowed for passage...

Relief.

Bienvenido a Chile...

San Pedro de Atacama is an oasis in the middle of the Atacama desert-apparently the second driest place on earth behind Antarctica. A tourist trap, but beautiful nonetheless, offering tours to some of the deserts unique & amazingly beautiful attractions. Everything seemed a little closer to home. The people, cars, shops & soccer fields, and even the dogs seem more "well to do" here. Sitting on the first street I cruised looking for a room for the night was a familiar face. Cesar, from Columbia and whom I´d met in Huaraz, was relaxing in the shade of tree out of the desert sun, working on some of his jewelry for the next days´artesan fair. Random aquaintences don´t seem very random at times, more driven towards something bigger. He introduced me to his Chilean friend whom he´d been staying with for the last three weeks, Fernando, and the two of them decided to give me a proper introduction into the Chilean lifestyle of a street artist. The name sounds a little cheezy, but these guys are the real deal. Handmade everythings like leather purses, jewelry of all materials, stone carvings, and even tables and chairs lined the street in front of them the day of the fair- the only day of the week its legal to sell on the street. The rest of the days they spent working, preparing delicious BBQs, and drinking whilst waiting for the night, and the illegal displaying of goods on street to tourists while keeping an eye out for the policia (my job). Cervesas and vino led to conversations of truth and spirituality on a few occasions over the four nights spent in S.P. and the rest of the time joking around and just chillin out was a great way to come to know Chile.

Two very good amigos, time very well spent, and a town very well remembered...

Southern Bolivia

2009-02-20T07:13:00.000-08:00

Back on terribly sandy roads full of unevenly spaced washboards. Not quite the picturesque riding as found in the salar, but the incredible countryside I was riding through made it worth the chattered teeth and shaken brains. The first night out, the only ¨city¨ within one hundred plus miles, happend to be the ¨City of Rocks¨.... Literally a city full of sandstone boulders creeplily staring down at me in odd shapes one could easily find representation in whatever theme you prefer. To me they appeared as a variety faces beckoning to be climbed on, a paradise of boulders. After sending a few of the easier routes I could find, the tent went up, dinner started, and gazed out meditatively into the seemingly neverending sunsets found in southern Bolivia. That night I parted from the tent for a good ol midnight relieving, and looking up from 12000ft, the stars have never appeared brighter-a real visual symphony. God does great work.

Back in the saddle the next day and the roads were even worse, but as I have experienced, that only means the scenery gets better.True again. The highlands of the National park were unlike any territory I´ve seen yet. Entering the park, I was going to practice the art of drive-by-control-check-without-paying as its worked in the past- all I ve gotten was a stern whistling at, but the two gentelmen in charge were onto me, and the gate was down, their guards were up. The thirty Bs. fee was paid, and after sitting down for some friendly conversation and info gathering, I was invited to join them for almuerzos (lunch). Freshly prepared soup and llama meat, well worth the entrance fee. After lunch we made a few pratical joke calls over the two way radio in the control tower, and I was off to explore the Park.

First stop Laguna Colorada:
Red and pink water, white twisters of salt dust, and pink flamingoes were all in excess here, not to mention the surrounding 5000+ meter peaks in all dierctions. Very neat, so neat in fact that one of the flyers given to me at the control check was a ballot promoting votes for Laguna Colorada to be one of the new seven world wonders!

Up and over 15,000 ft on once again, "carreteras duras" (rough, gravely roads) with winds blowing snow in the form of needles at 40mph-stinging any part of skin exposed. This felt like a martian world- reds, yellows and multiple shades of grey in every direction, snow, wind, and sunshine rotating in twenty minute shifts... I sensed some martian activity going on, and followed a two track down and around a few hills and volcanic float to discover some geysers and a short hundred or so of bubbling mud pits. No dinosaurs...or martians. The blistering hot steam coming from the pits, warming the cold air around it got me excited for my next stop, and hopefully camp spot for the night- the Polques hot springs.

Down from the pass, fingers started to warm, the land showing similarities of Earth, and life began to show its face again in the form of more flamingos, an occasional emu, vicuñas, and of course llamas. That evening I watched the sunset from a thermal bath looking over a saffire blue lake observing the eating habits of flamingos, very impressive. Set up camp only 1km away. Two plus hours of mineral moisture soaked bones wasn´t enough for me, I had hopes of a sunrise soak as well! With that thought in mind I whipped up some soup and tea, took in the brilliantly bright stars for a while, and slept like a baby.

I awoke twenty minutes before sunrise, tent covered in thick frost, water jugs partially frozen, and moto facing the hot springs instead of toward the way I would be heading out on. Threw on the boots and headed over to the pool. Beautiful sheets of steam covered the landscape as flamingos continued to graze in the warm mineral streams surrounding the lake. I plopped down into the pool just in time for the sun to rise- a miraculous minute of beauty, a great start to what would be my last day in Bolivia, and hopefully my first day in Chile.

On my way to the border I stopped by Laguna Verde, known by its´green water. On this particular morning, a green cloud hovering above the lake was annoucing its location. By the time I reached the lake, the cloud was gone, but two volcanoes were exposed - both in this world and in the relfective world of the lakes´ green water. I did the dance(meat paste) , had some lunch, and gave my farewells to this gorgeous country.

Bolivia will always remain in my heart as one of the most beautiful and remote places I´ve been blessed to experience. Graicas a Dios. Chau Bolivia.

Desert of salt

2009-02-13T07:08:00.000-08:00

The road south of Oruro wound its way through the altiplano leading us to a phenomenon unlike anything I´ve ever experienced. The salt flats of southern Bolivia have been becconing us since we started planning this trip back in early 2008. The first of the two we encountered, Coipasa, is much less traveled and about half the size of the better known Uyuni to the south. Riding onto Coipasa gave me a feeling of giddyness similar to what I remember experiencing on the first day of snowboarding as a child. The great white expanse in front of me baffled me and everything I knew of familiar lanscapes. It took me a day or so to shed the fear of falling through the layer of salt below me, such similarities to a frozen lake back in the midwest. Fear soon led to expierementation and curiosity. Exploring how long I could ride with my eyes closed, seat surfing, or recliner rididng filled time while waiting for Brent who was somewhere out there in the great white void.I had loaded my moto with food, water, and supplies to last the two of us for four days and three nights, the bike looked like a rig made for a touring clown. Our approach was fairly simple, we would pick a landmark in the far distance and I would ride ten, fifteen, or twenty km towards it and set up a sun shade using tent poles and a tarp.. Brent would arrive an hour or so later, and we would eat lunch and chillout for awhile out of the white hot sun. Our lunches consisted of an unusual substance we came to call "meat paste"- a mashed bologne substance that provoked a rather odd dance every time we mentioned it..yummy. The winds at sunset would try and mold my tent into a sculpture seen only in a modern art museums, but once the sun went down the winds calmed and it was the moon turn to shine.

The full moon we were priveleged enough to experience was another oddity, as the great white expanse turned into a glistening pale blue ocean of salt in every direction. Mornings came earlier than expected, and after coffee and oats it was off into the salt for another day of nothingness and simplicity. Ride straight. Ok, close your eyes and throttle down for a while. Stop. Set up the sun shade. Make some goofy pictures. Ride straight. Set up camp. Sleep.
A few landmarks in the form of islands made for good rest points along the route, and provided cool refreshments (cervesa 1L bottles) much to our admiration. Smiling ear to ear led to sunburned gums and tounges,and the uncomfortablness of rubbing sunscreen inside my nose was overcome by the pain of burnt nostrils. Eyes closed riding, and flavoring meals with literally the "salt of the earth" were once-in-a-lifetime experiences. Eventually, saltier than weve ever been, we splashed our way out of the Uyuni six or so days later, and into the town of Uyuni to enjoy the likes of pizza and people. ¨ Nothing compares to nothingsness¨-Brent Sturlaugson

Gonzalo

2009-02-13T05:16:00.000-08:00

My Bolivian homey... For the last couple of years, I have been sponsering this little guy in Bolivia through Christian Childrens Fund- a very reputible orginization, and one of the most organized outfits I´ve encountered in all of South America. From what I´ve been told meeting one´s sponsered child is somewhat of a rarity, so I felt extremely priveleged to have the opportunity to finaly meet Gonzalo. Gonzalo hails from a small pueblo in the countryside, where little spanish is spoken, and busses only run one day a week. In La paz I arranged for us to meet in Oruro the day before his eighth birthday, unplanned but very convienient, as I had been toy shopping for a few days for Gonzalo before I knew of his cumpleaños.

He was joined by his extremely humble father and Anita (a rep. from CCF), and the group of us spent the day in the town visiting churches, museums, and eating our fill of ice cream and pizza. We went to the big screen to see Madagascar (a first for him and his father too) and played soccer in the park. In between timid smiles, we briefly chatted about where he lives and goes to school. His understanding of spanish was up to par, but he was very shy to speak, thus conversations were kept fairly short, but the smiles were abundant for all throughout the day. The day ended with more pizza and ice cream and we said our good bye´s- Gonzalo´s dad claiming I will be always known as ¨tio¨(uncle) Soren. An incredible experience for all involved, such a blessing it was to meet Gonzalo. Gracias a Dios.

The Peace

2009-02-12T07:16:00.000-08:00

La Paz, the city I had the highest hopes for, turned out to be better than imagined. The "highest" capital city in the world lived up to its name (the peace) in a country of slight unrest and unfair treatment. The feeling I had in the city was just that-peaceful. Not so much in the calm/quiet sense, but as a feeling inside. Everything I experienced from the city streets, to the peoples/travelers attitudes, and even the San Pedro prisoners appeared at ease with themselves and one another.

The city offered up its finest attractions for the few days we spent there including a very impressive hostal that acquired its uniqueness from the micro-brewery located on the main floor and bath tub of beer in the sky bar (supposedly good for the skin?). Other interseting attractions included the infamous Routa 36 club- if you´ve been there, you know what I´m talking about, and the San Pedro prison.

The prison is a one of a kind place, it acts more as a neighborhood than a correctional institution There are countless women and children scurrying about, stores, pool halls, and fountains giving the place the feel of a normal barrio in any other pat of the city. Adventurous tourists can pay a fairly steep price for a guide and body guard to acompany them inside the guardless prison while explaining the ins and outs of the place. .Quite a unique experience- well worth it in my book.

Nights out in some of the most attractive clubs, mornings with all you can eat pancakes, and afternoons visiting museums proved a nice break from the desolate and shabby towns of southern Peru. Over all, La Paz gets my vote for favorite capital city in South America so far. The time spent there and it´s memories will continue to entice me into returning someday.

La Paz and beyond

2009-02-04T07:04:00.000-08:00

Just a quick note for now as I am short of time- as unimaginable as that is - I gotta hit the road to catch up with little bro. After getting out of jail free in La Paz, we joined some newly acquired friends for a fun party that we found around every corner during our short weekend there. It is an incredible city, full of good people, and as tranquillo as they come(big cities that is.) The road after La paz led to another town named Oruro, where I met the little guy I´ve been sponsering for the last couple of years.. We spent the day before his eigth birthday together engoying a number of firsts for him including pizza and a movie on the big screen. It was a very special day for all of us involved... More on all that later as Brent and i are off to navigate the largest salt flats in the world. It should prove a very incredible time of reflection and relaxation out in the middle of what I hear fells exactly like nowhere...

Patience & Non-Permissable Passage

2009-01-27T13:42:00.000-08:00

The "adventure" crossing the border from Peru into Bolivia truly tested my patience-not one of my stronger traits....

The test started at the Loka border crossing, probably more well known as Copacabana-thank you Barry Manilow. Taking my sweet time around Lake Titicaca ended up costing me precious minutes at the border. I had configured an average of five different times local Peruvians had told me that the borders closed, but forgot to take into consideration the one hour time difference from Bolivia to Peru, thus putting me there just fifteen minutes late. Sadly singing Copacabana to myself, I rested my head in the nearest Peruvian town that night.

The next day was the worst... After waiting in lines for 2 plus hours for my passport stamps, I found out at customs that I needed additional documents allowing my Peruvian motorcycle passage out of the country. After a bit of ranting and raving, I realized I could not talk my way accrossed. The customs officials kindly sent me on my way to the next border crossing 100km down the road to try my luck there. At Desaguadero it only took two, maybe three minutes for the officials to tell me I couldn´t pass without first obtaining the correct documents from "that building right there"-which happened to be closed for the next two days. At this point in the game frustration was taking over, I started entertaining thoughts of crossing the border illegally in true Butch Cassidy fashion. I decided I could wait it out, in hopes of legally entering Bolivia with my motorcycle. In the mean time.....reconnaissance.

Desaguadero is a border town on the southern shores of Lake Titicaca. I spent the next two days there waiting, perched atop the hostal, people watching and planning an escape from Peru. The border itself is a massively dirty, and fairly large river- dark at night, and only patrolled by one officer, at all hours. There are three bridges that gap the river. One for all foot traffic, foriegners and locals alike-heavily guarded by officers on both ends 24/7. Another, securly locked at all times-not possible with moto, and one for all big truck and trailer traffic-lit by streetlights and guarded by two officers on each end 24/7. Incredible thunderstorms swept through the town each night on thier way out to the darkness of Titicaca. Crowched on the balcony, I watched bolts of lightning illuminate civilians and policia alike scurrying for shelter- the best moment for illegality.

Decision day.. I awoke monday morning, practiced up on my pity speech, and headed out hoping this would be the day I would become Bolivian bound. No such luck with the Desaguadero customs office, as they told me the same thing everyone else had told me- "no can do... go to the next office". I wanted to become a terrorist for a moment. According to the aduanas (customs) office at the border, 200 km to the north lay the customs headquarters, and I would no doubt be able to get the correct paperwork there. So, after cooling off with a glass of manzana quinoa I figured one last attempt to make my passage a legal one could be worth the effort. Off to Puno via Peruvian packed bus, only to be denied again, first at the Minestry of Transportation, then again at the "fort" better known as Aduanas Central in Puno, Peru. My quest to cross legally, it seemed, would have me on the next bus to Lima, over 25 hours north of Puno. Instead, I hopped the next bus south, back to Desaguadero, my feathers flustered but not yet plucked.

I was starting to get a hold of this patience thing, and, since it was no longer up to anyone else, I felt a little relieved to Butch Cassidy it over the border-one way or another.

After returning to Desaguadero and explaining my situation to the only person who seemed to listen, suprisingly, the owner of the hostal I was staying at offered directions to a dry river crossing south of town 7 or 8km without a control checkpoint. He claimed it was where he would send his nieces and nephews if they were without paperwork, and needed to go to Bolivia for whatever reason. This sounded like money in the bank. It seemed things were starting to favor Butch and his faithful steed.

I would drink to my last night in Peru that evening with a couple of local teenage bike-taxi drivers, all to eager to share the suds of my Cusquena cerveza. We secretly dicussed the different possibilities and risks of an illegal crossing. Secrets soon led to jokes and laughter with my new amigos, and I felt a new wave of hope flow through my bones. Phone numbers and e-mails were exchanged- just in case, and I strolled off toward my bed, anxious for the next mornings adventure.

Ten kilometers south of town I located a small gravel road heading east toward Bolivia. Foot paths and creek crossings were abundant in the muddy marshland south of town passing through what I thought to be the last minutes of Peru and the first moments in Bolivia. I named one particular creek ¨the one¨, and proceeded to shed all gear and clothing-save for my boots (for comfort), goggles (for style), and underwear (to keep the vampire catfish out), and ¡YIPPIE KAY YAYED! my way back and forth accrossed the muddy creek- one time for each day I waited for this moment. I spent and hour or two basking in the Bolivian sun, enjoying my success, and planning my route to La Paz. After scanning the marsh ahead for control checkpoints with my newly gifted binoculars, I decided to saddle up and hit the road. Smiles crested my face for the next half-an-hour or so, then both my motorcycle and happiness came to a swift halt when I crested a hill looking down on a very familiar sight- Desaguadero. In hindsight, this wouldn´t have been all that bad if I had been looking down from the Bolivian side of the river, but I wasn´t. I was still in Peru. This was no longer a game, it had become a battle.

I solemnly strolled back into town to the nearsest phone booth, and dialed the number given to me the night before. I was out of options. I needed advice. I needed a way accross. My friends from the night before-Edwin and Wilbur, had contacts. They were happy to meet me and discuss the in´s and out´s of border hopping by boat. A couple of hours later the plans were confirmed, and we were on for later that night. I would either be in a Bolivian hostal by 9 or a Peruvian jail by 10, only time would tell.

Eight o´clock, and the rain began to come down as if on cue, gracias a Dios. We wound our way through the empty & soaked streets of Desaguadero, three going-to-be fugitives on our way to the boatman down by the river. Huddled behind a small shack, we watched each others slightly nervous & criminaly eager faces light up with each strike of lightning above- smirking in anticipation. The signal was given, and we pushed the bike, fully loaded with gear, down to the muddy bank below. It took all four of us to heave the weighted bike into the tiny row boat, and after a confident nod from the boatman assuring we wouldn´t sink his vessel with such a load, we pushed off. Suprisingly, it only took a few thunder-filled minutes for the three peruvians, motorcycle, and leather clad gringo to reach the Bolivian bank. Our grunts lifting the bike out of the boat were drowned out by the sound of thunder and rain, and a brief scan of the shore above revealed no policia for the moment. I gave the capitain quick handshake and payment of 100 Bolivianos (equivalent to about $14) and he set off back to Peru, the two Peruvian teens and I into the Bolivian streets smiling in pure joy of a succesful mission. Finally, I was in Bolivia. My amigos had to return to their bicycle taxis in Peru, so I thanked them immensely, and they were on their way. I slept incredibly well that night, and woke the next morning eager to start the Bolivian Motocyclandes chapter.. First stop after the stressfull last week in Peru-The Peace (La Paz) for a celebretory weekend with Bro B.

Family(ar) Faces

2009-01-27T06:45:00.000-08:00

Having my dad and uncle join Brent and I for a week in southern Peru certainly made up for any lack of laughter & fun I might have suffered in the last couple of months. It was a needed dose of familiar faces in a time of minute homesickness.

Four Sturlaugsons´- two pairs of bros from two generations turned loose on southern Peru. A sight not unnoticed by numerous street vendors pushing any & everything on our crew of 6ft tall gringos. Brent and I, having over 5 months of experience with this culture , were able to ward off most unwanted proposals, and arrange our tour without the added expense of someone else´s help. Dad & Craig each found their own nich in the Peruvian culture as well. Dad-hailing taxis and seaching out cervezas, and Craig (in true uncle Craig fashion)- bargaining better than any local Peruvian at the markets, each without real knowledge of the language- impressive.

Trains, buses, and taxis provided transportation to two of the most impressive sights in Peru- Machu Picchu and Lake Titicaca. Lack of leg room and sleep could not prevent the molecules of our party pants from gyrating us into good humor and energetic conversations throughout our travels. Da boys handled both the altitude and culture difference very well, and thanks to 1 liter bottles of medicine found at any store or restaurant, no one got sick or sad. The week seemed to fly by way too fast, as good times are said to do, and after saying our sianara´s- I mean hasta luego´s, we sent them off on a plane back to Lima and eventually the twin cities of Minnesota. Days packed full of sight seeing and stomach aching laughter with Bro and Driver were exactly what the doc ordered for Brent and I mid-way through our travels in South America. Thanks again guys.

Colca Cañon

2009-01-20T11:12:00.000-08:00

To pass time whilst waiting for dad and uncle craig led me on a beautiful ride to Cañon del Colca- the second deepest canyon in the world. The route to the canyon took me through a few ruins including the one-of-a-kind Rakqui site. Its uniqueness comes in the form of construction combining both Inca stone and adobe/rock in the same structure- the only known site to incorperate the two materials in one building. The site includes 40´walls making up the main temple area, rock corridors weaving through cornfields and flower beds , circular houses in quantities enough for thousands, and the ever-so-delicious Inca baths. Quite an impressive area, well worth the $2.50 entrance fee.

After Rakqui, the road turned from nice pavement into rough dirt and gravel. Twisting and turning all the way up to an unforgettable campsite overlooking Lago Langui Layo. After failing to find flat land atop a well overgrown powerline road, I decided to post up next to a cemetary on the horizon of the lake. The view of the lake was spectacular out of my vestibuled front porch, but dreamlike views soon led to a dreamless/sleepless night. I must not have fed the spirits resting there enough leftover pasta, for the landscape I had chosen for my tent (flat at the time) was transformed into a minature version of the Andes over the course of the night, leaving me sore and tired for the long push to the cañon the next day.

After cresting mountain passes, crossing flooded river valleys, and paying a few ¨propinas¨ (tips) to local kids filling the countless pot-holes in the road, I found myself in Chivay- a town at the mouth of the canyon, and home to a spectacular hot springs. Well, maybe not that spectacular compared to some of the greats around the world, but to me being submersed in hot mineral water for the first time in six+ months was nothing less than spectacular. So, after soaking and steaming for a couple of hours at the hot springs, I lodged up awaiting the drive through the canyon the next day.

I recieved some good advice from the owner of the hostal about when the park officials were to take their lunch, thus not being alert to motorists wanting to pass without paying the steep entrance fee. So couragously, I blew past the fee station and into the incredible gorge below. During one of my many breaks to take in all that there was to see, I was greeted by a fellow motorcyle tourist-Gilles, a Belgian on a BMW G3 circling South America. The two of us decided to ride the cañon together, doubling the oohs and awes echoed by the canyons´ walls below. Gilles´s route would have taken him south, out of the canyon toward Nazca, but after convincing him of the blissful enjoyment I experienced at the hot springs the night before, he re-evaluated his route, and we ended up back in the baños termales that night. The tubs in Chivay sparked what would end up being a three day tour of the areas many hot springs. It seems two cold, & road ragged bikers will gladly change plans in order to take in a hot bath or two along the way. The baños tour eventually lead back up to Cusco, where I was again succesful in convincing Gilles of touring something that was not on his original itinerary- Machu Picchu. It seemed odd that one would choose to ride through Peru and not see the famed site, but not having seen it myself, I couldn´t judged. I joined him for the awesome ride through the Sacred Valley down to Ollantaytambo, acting as tour guide through the area I have come to know fairly well. I held up in Ollantay, while he took the train down the valley to M.P. His expectations of a not-worth-the-expense park turned out to be just as costly as imagined, but very impressive, thus well worth the price. After exchanging information about our favorite rides, the two of us split ways the next day, him north, and myself south. Suerte mi amigo.Travelling with a comrade has sparked thoughts and hopes of a future tour of Brazil with my dad, if he´s up to it. So whaddya think pa?

Año Nuevo

2009-01-20T07:44:00.000-08:00

New Years must have left its mark, as it´s taken me this long to write something down since then. After ¨practicing¨for the new year with a group of very fun San Fransiscans in a heated game of borrachan pictionary, the time had come to welcome 2009. (or was it 6007 Brent?)

The night greeted us with a BANG! Well, more like hundreds of thousands of bangs, as we joined the masses in the Plaza de Armas, Cusco for an unforgettable New Years party. Fireworks. Everybody´s got em´, nobody respects them. The downpour couldn´t prevent an onslaught of misguided malpractioners from lighting massive amounts of ¨fuegos artificiales¨ in every direction, at any moment. Nothing like a little chaos in the name of fun! We decided to join the anarchy with five foot long roman candles, and some Big Tom Thumbs of our own. Luckily the Man upstairs continued to soak the city, preventing Cusco from going up in one big ball of fire. After a change of clothes, swapping wet party pants for dry ones, we inevitably ended up in a bar dancing to an un-named band, saluting random Peruvians and gringos alike, and sipping champagne-in true New Years fashion-straight from the bottle. The town, reminiscent of Christmas, continued to pop and bang for the entire night and into the next morning, where we found ourselves reluctantly welcoming the dawn of a new year, tired and hung-over, ready to announce of resolutions of never drinking champagne like that again, or at least until 2010 that is.

Amigos

2009-01-20T07:06:00.000-08:00

In foreign countries friendships seem to form at a very rapid pace when ¨not so foriegn¨aquaintences are made. Whether it´s a similar ¨traveler¨ mindset, the simplicity of slang and humor, or just the lack of language barrier, it plays true for many abroad. For Brent and I such has been the case with numerous ¨gringos¨ since departing from Quito six months ago. Fellowship has found its way into our lives in plenty of grand occasions: It has been fellow cyclists joining forces to tackle a stretch of Andean roads long forgotten about by modern constructionists. It´s been gathering together for ad'lib jam sessions on the top floor of Caroline´s. It´s been camping trips, pictionary battles, dance parties, and drinking games. Its been deep conversations, prayers & meditation. Its been soaking weary bones in mineral baths after not having bathed for several months on end, and most of all and most important- its been laughter. I feel blessed to have met many good people I can happily call friends along the journey, and anxiously await the next encounter with each of them. A big shout out to all we´ve met along the way, and a future shout out to everyone we will meet down the road. Thanks for the memories- Salud!

two-up traveling

2009-01-02T12:45:00.000-08:00

Surprisingly, with only 250cc´s, the bike handled the two of us very well. It provided us with the freedom to explore a few mystical sites off the bus-beaten path of most tourists. A fun thing about traveling two up on a motorcycle in this country is that the passenger gets to enjoy the openess and assimilation of all the sights, sounds, and smells passed along the way. On our second day out I got the urge to experience this freedom, and asked Brent if he wanted to drive for a while. With a sore tucas and the option of driving the "beast of a bike" (compared to his bicycle), he gave the green light for a switch-aroo.

We spotted the outskirts of what looked like a fortress of ruins on top of a neighboring hill, and after a couple of minutes practicing with the clutch, we took off into the unkown. We were doing just fine until the dirt road turned into mud, and the flat surface became littered with pot-holes. Unsure on how to react to such obstacles with a large bike, Brent lost control, and, very peacefully, put us down on the muddy road, rather than over the cliff to our left. Bravo. Niether of us were hurt, as our rate of travel could´nt have been more than 10kmph. So, thankful that it wasn´t any worse, we laughed, scraped off the mud, Brent humbly gave up the driver position for the rest of the day, and we started off again to explore the ancient traces of an Incan civilization, shaken but not stirred.

The ruins we saw during our two-up outing were amazing, and mysterious. The towns we passed through were cozy and welcoming. And the company we kept, witty and inspiring. The loop of road eventually dropped us back in Cusco, where we await the coming of the New Year.

¡Feliz Navidad!

2009-01-02T11:27:00.000-08:00

Chistmas in Cusco this year. I admit, I´m a little homesick during the holidays down here..I find myself recalling past holidays spent round the Christmas tree, tossing presents at Mom, Dad, Brent, and Dayne, listening to Manhiem, and stoking the warm fire, while it snows bright white flakes outside...ahhh famil(y)arities, sniffle. Well, it´s not really that lonely down here ; ) The owners of the hostal we were staying at had plans themselves for the holiday, so they left us the keys to the place and parted for a few days with a "¡Feliz Navidad!". So, Brent and I spent Cristmas eve cruising the markets buying fixins for Christmas dinner, and fun presents for each other. Accompanied by a decorated pine limb- for our Christmas tree, a few big beers, some cheap champagne, a fish dinner with sweet potatoes and pasta, and each other, we were´nt alone.

Christmas day consisted of nothing more than a marathon of Christmas themed movies- dubbed in spanish, hot cocoa, and paneton. Inbetween movies, we planned an excursion for the next two days that would take us out to some ruins and towns in the Cusco region, via moto, two-up.

carreteras

2009-01-02T10:07:00.000-08:00

On the road again, this time at my kinda pace. With a fresh paint job and a custom-made rack to accomadate my bicycle panniers, I was re-discovering the Andes with a twinkle in my eye and a windswept smile on my face.

The route to Cusco took me through some stunning country via several roads I had nearly forgotton about. The roads in the Andes are as freestyle as the mountains themselves, offering their fair share of obstacles that seem to appear rather unexpectedly, and quite often. The obstacles come in a variety of forms. It could be any combination of the medley of animals out and about (bulls, goats, cows, sheep, llamas, alpacas, dogs, pigs, chickens- to name a few of the more frequent encountered species), it could be an unsuspecting pedestrian (normally colorfully clad, so fairly easy to spot), or it could be the condition of the "carretera" itself (housing a variegated combination of slicks, boulders, and potholes the size of bathtubs.) By far the most precarious of all hazards is the stunning scenery in all dierctions, beconing to the viewer to glance away from the ribbon of road ahead.

These rural roads may not prove to be the most comfortable or fastest routes to travel, but they minister to this travelers´soul, offering amazing vistas, genuine and fascinating people, and glimpses at the true heartbeat of a culture. After a week of treasuring and battling all the elements the Andes are known to bestow, I found myself looking down on the town of Cusco. Somewhere in this maze of narrow streets, churches, and tourists, my brother awaits my timely arrival, two days before Christmas.

HUARAZ

2009-01-02T09:01:00.000-08:00

Leaving Huaraz was bittersweet...Sadness gripped me for a bit leaving the city, as Brent and I had come to know a family to the point of being family... La familia Rojas, dueños (owners) of Caroline Lodging, and "corazones grandes". Together we enjoyed daily, delicious Peruvian cuisine prepared by one of the best Peruvian chefs-Anita Rojas. We shared many laughs during fiestas of all sorts, including three birthday parties, Halloween, Thanksgiving, and numerous Peruvian holidays (seems to be two or three every week). Teo Rojas even arranged for me to stay with his folks for a few days in Lima, to ease process of integrating into the "big city" life, during my hunt for a motorcycle. They treated us like a part of their family from the day we arrived, through the many "wannabe" departures (only to return to warm smiles dawning broken bikes, sickness´, or faulty tires), til´ the day we parted ways for good.

Huaraz is home to a very positive energy that includes not only the people, but the surrounding Cordillera Blancas as well. The view atop Caroline Lodging provides an incredible vista of the surrounding mountains of the Cordilleras, and Huascaran (the tallest mountain in Peru 6768m) Many mornings have been spent there gazing out at these monsters of mountains, enjoying a warm beverage, delighting in their presence. The town prides itself as being the "base camp" for The Cordilleras, and hosts countless tour agencies willing to take you out on what is sure to be the climb, ride, trek or summit of your life. Precaution and patience are neccesarry if you want to expèrience these mountains with a seasoned veteren. On one occasion, as we´ve heard, unknowing tourists got swung on a not-so-good-deal with one of the "wannabe" guide agencies. They found themselves carrying their own gear, not because they prefer to, but because their "porter"- an undernurished, overworked burro, collapsed of exaustion and died. This story is a rarity, as many come back with nothing but positive tales of their adventure, and it is definetly not imperative to have a guide in these parts. We found sufficiancy with a detailed map of the area and young enough bones to handle carrying our own gear on treks of "extreme" nature. (see Cordillera Huayhuash in BICICLANDES)

Huaraz tops the list on my favorite places in South America thus far because of the incredible family we´ve met there, and because of the unlimited amount of things to do in the beautiful mountains surrounding the town. Yep, saying goodbye was bitter, but how sweet it is to hit the road once again after encountering such a miraculous place. Gracias a Dios.

the hunt

2008-12-16T09:36:00.000-08:00

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

2008-12-16T08:49:00.000-08:00

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.