tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-60826683595758380992024-03-19T02:43:14.387-07:00Not The Motorcycle DiariesThe Rowan Brothers Ride Through Central and South AmericaAnonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07823948144928431254noreply@blogger.comBlogger52125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6082668359575838099.post-64101033691245045932010-07-27T13:03:00.000-07:002013-05-06T10:52:09.220-07:00Not The Motorcycle Diaries RepostWell, Not The Motorcycle Diaries has had a bit of a hiccup en route from Guadalajara to Puebla (I’m a bit behind on keeping the blog up to date in real time). We’ve been trying to cut down on costs so we’ve avoided the autopiste (the nice, safe, private toll roads of Mexico) and stuck to the libre roads which are notoriously more clogged and dangerous. <br />
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Nice and subtle foreshadowing.<br />
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Queue music. Dum. Dum. Dum.<br />
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Leaving Enlaces Mexico (aka our friend Jody's business) in Guadalajara.<br />
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En route to Puebla after the second time in two hours Josh's bike broke down.<br />
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The hailstorm was so intensely loud on the tin roof we could shout and still not hear eachother.<br />
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We’d just experienced an intense hailstorm which we had to get off of the road in order to shelter from. It went on for about half an hour as we waited it out in a mechanics shop and then we got back on the road for a while and hit some traffic. We were thinking about turning back for the autopiste but instead we rode the shoulder for quite some time. <a class="g-profile" href="http://plus.google.com/112708895222366378182" target="_blank">+Josh Rowan</a> was riding ahead of me about a mile. The traffic was jammed as far as the horizon with tractor-trailers turning off their engines to wait out what we later came to know was actually quite usual. I was going about 25mph when a red 1990 Jetta pulled out of nowhere perpendicularly in front of me. Apparently a truck had made room for this car to get through and make a turn after having been traveling in the opposite direction of me. I applied the brakes and tried to swerve right in order to avoid him but he was traveling at too fast of a rate and I was hit by the front drivers side of the car. This sent first me through my windshield and then the bike airborne for about 25 feet. The bike and I separated from eachother and all I could think was, ‘This isn’t normal,’ as I flew through the air looking down at the ground as things I recognized spiraled away from me and then landed five feet from the motorcycle.<br />
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What's left of the motorcycle after the crash.<br />
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What's left of the 1990 Jetta that hit me. The black streak is from my left handlebar.<br />
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Probably my favorite photo from the trip so far... Always Smiling!<br />
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Where I went through the windshield. Notice the dent in the gas tank.<br />
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That's where my knee went into the tank before I took flight.<br />
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The realization and the pain start to set in.<br />
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I instantly got up and looked around at all my things and pieces of the bike strewn across the little ravine we had landed in. Then I noticed that the motorcycle was on fire after the dizzy lights in my vision dissipated and started yelling to the people whom had already gathered around for water. ‘Agua, agua!’ everyone began to yell as the flames got bigger and bigger. One of the guys that was in the red car started walking towards the bike with a liter of water and I stopped him long enough to warn him about the dangers of an explosion. A woman then came up and told me to lie down and relax and that she was a nurse. Joshua was still a mile away and I could see that he had stopped and was waiting for me so I began to yell his name somewhat frantically since I knew at some point he’d probably end up being my EMT. I was lying down by the time he finally skidded to a stop five feet from me. I had just noticed that blood was seeping through my left sock and so I tried to reach down and take my shoe off when I noticed a pretty sharp pain up near my right shoulder. I still managed to get my shoe off and then the nurse that happened on the scene took off the sock for me. The top of my foot was pretty much split open. I sat still as Josh checked me for a concussion and vital signs as well as any other damage (a pretty deep bruise on my right thigh where my pen had skid along with me until it exploded) before checking on the motorcycle which had luckily been put out.<br />
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The sweet nurse called an ambulance and the police had recently arrived. They asked some questions as I lay immobile and the three guys from the car tried to help as well. ‘Lo siento, lo siento,’ I told them and one of them replied, ‘Le Valle Madre, lo que es importa es que tu eres bueno.’ “It doesn’t matter, what’s important is that you’re alright.”<br />
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The ambulance finally arrived thirty minutes later. They cut me out of my clothes as they bandaged my foot wound and put me in a neck brace and restraints in order to transport me to the hospital.<br />
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The paramedics said it would take another twenty minutes before we made it to the hospital and offered me a drip for the pain which I declined (don’t really want a needle stuck in my arm in a moving vehicle on Mexican roads). But now my foot is really starting to hurt and the ambulance is going at a very slow rate due to the fact that my situation isn’t grave. As I stared at the lights on the ceiling of the ambulance it reminded me of the only other time I’ve been in an accident and funnily enough it pretty much happened the same way: I was fifteen and riding my friend David Smith on the handlebars of my BMX on the way to soccer practice when we were waved across a four lane highway by a motorist. But it happens that I can’t see beyond the car that has stopped and I start to cross the road and lo and behold we get hit by a car. I went flying for about thirty feet doing a couple of flips and land on my head while my friend David scratches a little bit of his elbow. I refused to allow the doctor to give me stitches since I’d never had any and wanted to keep it that way. This time I was the one asking for stitches to be done sooner rather than later.<br />
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We arrived at Los Angeles Hospital and I was wheeled out and introduced to the doctors and given an assessment by the paramedics. They cut off the rest of my clothes (except the red star Che shirt which I respectively and painfully asked them to take off of me without cutting me) and decided that some x-rays needed to be taken. As the young attractive Doctora was taking down my information it came to whether I was married or single and I answered, Why? with raised eyebrow. Always a good line. She somewhat gruffly answered, ‘Because we need your information.’ Then I explained that it was a broma or joke and she thought that was pretty funny from a guy with a broken clavicle and wide open foot. She and another doctor wheeled me through some gently slopping corridors which brought me back to another dream I’d had before embarking on this trip which was strikingly similar (slowly being wheeled through a sterile hallway and only being able to look at the ceiling and unable to move) in which I am forgotten in a hospital after having x-rays taken. So I start to get a little worried once I’m wheeled into the x-ray room and everyone leaves the room. Luckily the technician kept coming back to adjust the machine to take more x-rays but after twenty minutes of x-rays I started to get a little anxious about the large open wound on my foot and asked my doctor if she knew that I had a large gash on my foot since it was all covered in gauze and a cast. She looked somewhat startled and disappeared for a bit and then asked the x-ray technician to finish up.<br />
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They wheeled me back to the ER and took the cast apart and realized perhaps it was time (about two hours later) to stitch me up. Josh turned up at the hospital before the local anesthetic was stuck into my open wound with a big needle. He’d been at the scene collecting my strewn luggage for some time and dealing with the authorities regarding insurance and carting of the motorcycle to the impound before being given a ride to the hospital by a bystander at the accident by the name of Jose Luis who just happened to own a motorcycle shop. Josh was just in time to shoot this video of the local anesthetic being applied and then the stitches sewing the gash back together and although he said he had to return to Jose Luis and our baggage I could tell that he was getting a bit squeamish from his hurried exit and the words, ‘I can’t stay here anymore.’<br />
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Definitely check out the videos (kinda gory but still fun…)<br />
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They finished stitching me up and went away for a while leaving me alone to ponder what the hell I’m going to do now that I’m maimed and my motorcycle is destroyed. Well, the trip must go on since this is just the first country we’ve made it to. I need at least three weeks of recuperation. The motorcycle is totaled and it would cost more than I paid for it to fix it and that would take upwards of two months to fix so that’s not an option. I could hitch-hike and take buses for a while but somehow I don’t think I could afford that either. I guess I’ll just have to focus on getting better for now because I don’t like where this slippery slope is going.<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi3CCDkHX-KtdaITXDmMuRAp74i3rHRfoGr9wOlQlv7TSkvrSMuqT1mR1s14TqxCSrV_gy-I6odJFFHJuvecWJD9QnHsGgsg3B7ntACbTO3iPBq2_eyuM6o3lEBD4Tvxl07bKcj5xJ25GQ/s1600/Untitled15.png" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5498693209524870098" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi3CCDkHX-KtdaITXDmMuRAp74i3rHRfoGr9wOlQlv7TSkvrSMuqT1mR1s14TqxCSrV_gy-I6odJFFHJuvecWJD9QnHsGgsg3B7ntACbTO3iPBq2_eyuM6o3lEBD4Tvxl07bKcj5xJ25GQ/s320/Untitled15.png" style="cursor: hand; cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 239px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 320px;" /></a><br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjAbu7Ew8gt3XEMd3eOcOo2RB3uw9wzMIjnRZJhU6EGepkSsSQyQRtRd0QaaPn5xU4E_5Un4Yth74aQJ7XpcY3tpBbCWvpSEuy-vFaxXRSqaw4VwUVEtKVamfCEKREWlyzYBsTfX3H7eqQ/s1600/Untitled16.png" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5498693216928119586" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjAbu7Ew8gt3XEMd3eOcOo2RB3uw9wzMIjnRZJhU6EGepkSsSQyQRtRd0QaaPn5xU4E_5Un4Yth74aQJ7XpcY3tpBbCWvpSEuy-vFaxXRSqaw4VwUVEtKVamfCEKREWlyzYBsTfX3H7eqQ/s320/Untitled16.png" style="cursor: hand; cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 157px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 210px;" /></a> <br />
I know, I know, I do look good in scrubs.<br />
<br />
The head doctor, Dr. Vargas, came back in and explained my predicament: from the x-rays I have a 25% fracture of my right clavicle that will take about three weeks to heal with an upper body brace and I’ve received twelve stitches in my left foot which will need to be taken out in ten days while in the meantime I wear what looks to be a snowboarding boot to protect it. And now for the fun part, payday! Josh has returned and is helping me pay and figure out how to get to the hotel that he has sequestered our things in when my Doctora offers to give me a ride in her car since she’s getting off soon anyway.<br />
<br />
We head to the hotel that Doctora Daniela, lo mejor doctorcita en Mexico, as she insists we call her, has never heard of in her town of Queretaro. She and the security guard help me up to the room as Josh heads to the pharmacy for some meds (not any fun ones just an anti-inflammatory, a muscle relaxant, and an antibiotic). Daniela tucks me in and leaves her phone number so that we’re not totally lost in some city we think we’ve never been in before and says goodnight. I dose off as is my want usually when things go wrong or right. Josh wakes me up with pills and food and I gladly partake. We watch a bit of television and turn off our brains for a bit since they’ve been fried by a day of officials and the gravity of hospital situations. The television then scrambles into indecipherables.<br />
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The next day I wake up and Dr. Daniela Juarez Moran is standing in the doorway as Josh mills about the room. He’d called her after she’d offered to show us the old town of Queretero. They hustled me out of bed and I hobbled through the lobby and folded myself into the passenger side of her car not knowing quite what to expect (normally the day after something like what had happened to me I stay in the fetal position in bed for twenty-four hours). As we approach the downtown a series of connected arches come into view and we start to drive parallel to them; turns out its an ancient aqueduct that Daniela tells us a monk built to deliver fresh water to the nun he was in love with. We scoff in a sort of disbelief but then Josh remembers having had our picture taken in front of similar arches many years ago. We get out of the car and walk around the cobblestone streets (a bit difficult with my big slippery boot thing) and sit at the puppy fountain for a while before looking for a bite to eat. Josh orders chamarra which turns out to be the calf muscle of pigs/cows depending on the place. This place being luckily the latter. Turned out to be quite delicious and we all ate a bit of his before heading back to meet up with Daniela’s sister Tania at a bar that they frequent by the name of Rumi’s.<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh9LvZjpFuua7G3q42reB76Kz2E6o-bSqCOXPGLHGdsSmLySyBLYeXT93W5xqZswjRW8VS8t6nX1Ba-A_u2k4OS9AW8fje-z_2_3qLIVYkkAEtOnPtYUnFl1VtPXoRLGeTThAC7LNRnLIw/s1600/Untitled17.png" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5498693224895405474" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh9LvZjpFuua7G3q42reB76Kz2E6o-bSqCOXPGLHGdsSmLySyBLYeXT93W5xqZswjRW8VS8t6nX1Ba-A_u2k4OS9AW8fje-z_2_3qLIVYkkAEtOnPtYUnFl1VtPXoRLGeTThAC7LNRnLIw/s320/Untitled17.png" style="cursor: hand; cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 239px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 320px;" /></a><br />
Pretty happy to be alive and pretty happy about my doctor.<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg6nHEFSF188moD19-TbD6_UHnn_M32vjGGuCnZXsDKZvvX3aOQJQQzoLZ7F3J0kqP11re7Ys0pUXfEnOgqMd3VGpmY7VdChox6xKUoSjypysBP6w5RMWnuagzByIu_TyLqm5OXanf58sI/s1600/Untitled18.png" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5498696794178341138" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg6nHEFSF188moD19-TbD6_UHnn_M32vjGGuCnZXsDKZvvX3aOQJQQzoLZ7F3J0kqP11re7Ys0pUXfEnOgqMd3VGpmY7VdChox6xKUoSjypysBP6w5RMWnuagzByIu_TyLqm5OXanf58sI/s320/Untitled18.png" style="cursor: hand; cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 239px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 320px;" /></a><br />
Me, My Doctor, Her Sister, and La Guerra aka The Blond.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiI8vjSEontACljthGKjN2XeUb6uiUcbDmYPQtXJedGe7CvqiKmMnhcYVJjPtaTrRcOMp6B_btPvktO7v7YXB0VujKKxY-Xx8-N4WJZftpTDQLuENPf-RUBqW7M-l_oGjXTtANp2bJ-E7M/s1600/Untitled19.png" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5498696799461244754" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiI8vjSEontACljthGKjN2XeUb6uiUcbDmYPQtXJedGe7CvqiKmMnhcYVJjPtaTrRcOMp6B_btPvktO7v7YXB0VujKKxY-Xx8-N4WJZftpTDQLuENPf-RUBqW7M-l_oGjXTtANp2bJ-E7M/s320/Untitled19.png" style="cursor: hand; cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 320px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 241px;" /></a><br />
Joshua holding himself back from climbing los arcos, the aquaduct.<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg8W1oRhDUhHmHqaMMIbN3cWv5A9Jqwb6Wx2r01-wcSrE8uNVCr0jyYjCzpA3iHgZxU_YXh4R3tkF0l0Af54mybgIXChEQSzUSARm-ZOtTH9qwhsNliv883cVAAQGRpXCPiWsLu6pfurQs/s1600/Untitled20.png" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5498696820968557794" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg8W1oRhDUhHmHqaMMIbN3cWv5A9Jqwb6Wx2r01-wcSrE8uNVCr0jyYjCzpA3iHgZxU_YXh4R3tkF0l0Af54mybgIXChEQSzUSARm-ZOtTH9qwhsNliv883cVAAQGRpXCPiWsLu6pfurQs/s320/Untitled20.png" style="cursor: hand; cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 239px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 320px;" /></a><br />
All of the girls taking care of my bandages...<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEglTxOpW9MzS6qmuYNr0RCnr8EyM_ZEnqOKRdMbt4fKPDdF8FprgJGlD7S9KrjA4F-jQN20CtNMLxdTc6Rz098xbUQf85ngPtscPwQmMtgMim_A9xOyzFQc8MmpoxHo-2nRorKJUQXrZEI/s1600/Untitled21.png" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5498696836902962114" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEglTxOpW9MzS6qmuYNr0RCnr8EyM_ZEnqOKRdMbt4fKPDdF8FprgJGlD7S9KrjA4F-jQN20CtNMLxdTc6Rz098xbUQf85ngPtscPwQmMtgMim_A9xOyzFQc8MmpoxHo-2nRorKJUQXrZEI/s320/Untitled21.png" style="cursor: hand; cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 320px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 241px;" /></a><br />
Joshua and I enjoying the sights of old town Queretaro.<br />
<br />
This is perfect since it just so happens that these girls love Bacardi Rum and are on their way to becoming rummy’s. Diana, another sister of theirs, is waiting for us along with an assortment of friends including a cousin and her fiancé and the ever present La Guera or The Blond (real name Brigitte and apparently being known as The Blond in Mexico doesn’t have the same connotations as in America). Daniela also comes from a family of four siblings which almost mimics our family of four brother’s ages. We take the party back to the one and only hotel we’ve stayed in for some drinks and a game called Castigo which literally means punishment and involves dominos and booze and punishment. I believe Josh had to do 70 push ups and I did dance along to Ricky Martin for a bit and La Guera did some sort of leg contortionist thing but I don’t think it was part of the game.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj9OrjOaf1gdzX6Y3CtWHvG3M7_pJawDhl_NJeJ-iIClwwjn6zsB5cZBTwh7L-a04GxY3Qb1zDKYxJYpAVeWCjmBa2AFX2OpS4LmLWXeTnHihz3Gy_XEimbHMOCk78VBYhO20WcSLRHgIs/s1600/Untitled22.png" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5498696845097326178" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj9OrjOaf1gdzX6Y3CtWHvG3M7_pJawDhl_NJeJ-iIClwwjn6zsB5cZBTwh7L-a04GxY3Qb1zDKYxJYpAVeWCjmBa2AFX2OpS4LmLWXeTnHihz3Gy_XEimbHMOCk78VBYhO20WcSLRHgIs/s320/Untitled22.png" style="cursor: hand; cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 320px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 240px;" /></a><br />
La Guera striking a pose.<br />
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We wind up the night and Tania and Daniela invite us to stay at their house since we can’t afford to stay in the $100 a night hotel so the next day I once again am woken by Daniela and Josh milling about the room packing up my stuff (please notice the trope). We moved in the next day and had quite an eventful week which I’ll post next and which won’t be too long in the making (please give me one or two days, my clavicle kinda hurts.) That’s right I played the clavicle card.<br />
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So, in closing of this momentous post I'd just like to thank everyone that has supported us on this trip so far and as you can see the adventure will continue - albeit I'm not entirely sure how right now but I have faith in the fact that things always turn out right. They have so far.Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07823948144928431254noreply@blogger.comSantiago de Querétaro, Querétaro, Mexico20.5887932 -100.3898881000000120.351002700000002 -100.7126116 20.8265837 -100.06716460000001tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6082668359575838099.post-74617317257837224742008-02-11T04:30:00.001-08:002008-02-11T04:30:59.109-08:00Doctorcita Daniela <a href="http://picasaweb.google.com/ianrowan/NTMDPhotoBackup/photo#5059695065404326818" title=""><img alt="" src="http://lh5.google.com/ianrowan/Rjel8cU4w7I/AAAAAAAABfE/1iYLsuQ_Xl8/IMG_0140.jpg?imgmax=512" border="0" /></a><p style="text-align: right; font-size: 8px">Blogged with <a href="http://www.flock.com/blogged-with-flock" title="Flock" target="_new">Flock</a></p>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07823948144928431254noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6082668359575838099.post-47822494937762558382007-11-01T11:05:00.000-07:002007-11-01T11:06:22.964-07:00Three Blind Mimes @ The Green Parrot<object width="425" height="350"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/7quALgccrEU"></param><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/7quALgccrEU" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" width="425" height="350"></embed></object>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07823948144928431254noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6082668359575838099.post-10339913711596927252007-10-30T11:19:00.000-07:002007-10-30T11:21:32.973-07:00Fantasy Fest 2007 - King KockWhat I've been up to for the last few weeks....<br /><embed type="application/x-shockwave-flash" src="http://picasaweb.google.com/s/c/bin/slideshow.swf" width="600" height="400" flashvars="host=picasaweb.google.com&captions=1&RGB=0x000000&feed=http%3A%2F%2Fpicasaweb.google.com%2Fdata%2Ffeed%2Fapi%2Fuser%2FNotTheMotorcycleDiaries%2Falbumid%2F5126822433261915745%3Fkind%3Dphoto%26alt%3Drss" pluginspage="http://www.macromedia.com/go/getflashplayer"></embed>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07823948144928431254noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6082668359575838099.post-84723204969097873472007-09-25T14:44:00.000-07:002007-09-25T14:45:12.967-07:00Jason's 40th Birthday in Key West<embed type="application/x-shockwave-flash" src="http://picasaweb.google.com/s/c/bin/slideshow.swf" width="400" height="267" flashvars="host=picasaweb.google.com&captions=1&RGB=0x000000&feed=http%3A%2F%2Fpicasaweb.google.com%2Fdata%2Ffeed%2Fapi%2Fuser%2Fianrowan%2Falbumid%2F5114258256229276337%3Fkind%3Dphoto%26alt%3Drss" pluginspage="http://www.macromedia.com/go/getflashplayer"></embed>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07823948144928431254noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6082668359575838099.post-32455768985986703812007-09-20T09:55:00.001-07:002007-09-20T13:49:50.223-07:00The Brit Speaks - Joshua's Ride by Vicky Wade<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjeaV6RUeKpJm0dd1yvoCZflVheoOvB0Iuy4EqQuRB30oAgclI6XO7fSCln_EtMyns0tRBLwgbrHJXMEE0W_Nah-Ky_-qARNghintljtp-nWkzAswKJaRtbtRbjlZyil3xNhiVoVr8jLBo/s1600-h/joshwithcops.jpg"><img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjeaV6RUeKpJm0dd1yvoCZflVheoOvB0Iuy4EqQuRB30oAgclI6XO7fSCln_EtMyns0tRBLwgbrHJXMEE0W_Nah-Ky_-qARNghintljtp-nWkzAswKJaRtbtRbjlZyil3xNhiVoVr8jLBo/s320/joshwithcops.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5112333435569494290" /></a><br /><span style="font-weight:bold;"><br />Below is written by a brit that Joshua picked up by the name of Vicky Wake...</span><br /><br /><a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Yungas_Road"><br />Joshua and Vicky both went down the World's Most Dangerous Road in Bolivia...</a><br /><object width="425" height="353"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/sHc5d8V2j-8"></param><param name="wmode" value="transparent"></param><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/sHc5d8V2j-8" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" wmode="transparent" width="425" height="353"></embed></object><br /><br />Hey - this is the Brit here, i joined this epic adventure in La Paz, Bolivia on the 19th of August. This is my commentary on the following week or so of motor-cross bike riding (rear seat for my part.)<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiIr2Of8Nwy4WhYFUzmvqqcw4GOk1dI27g0E-PnBuiA2umGPaYb7cmhII0dk0DVaaR9plFSxFGcNvnC9z5bPueCe1M2bEHtPzvhTst0snYJm7OBju7igTFURXEtj8_xAytBs6UtZHnCGoU/s1600-h/IMG_2294.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiIr2Of8Nwy4WhYFUzmvqqcw4GOk1dI27g0E-PnBuiA2umGPaYb7cmhII0dk0DVaaR9plFSxFGcNvnC9z5bPueCe1M2bEHtPzvhTst0snYJm7OBju7igTFURXEtj8_xAytBs6UtZHnCGoU/s320/IMG_2294.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5112386774768343330" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgIpboJBhjF1hmCqy0T37DzAOoDYQIIt5rUz_F6cDeOgTfkTphYu7sxKuHWDJvCHLBhIzRjvF0aKyEON7FNrxcXwIviJzNstXTail1TY9UBD3_Gql6ei0woCDOro0neL6b6fMKfc3ZiNQo/s1600-h/IMG_2296.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgIpboJBhjF1hmCqy0T37DzAOoDYQIIt5rUz_F6cDeOgTfkTphYu7sxKuHWDJvCHLBhIzRjvF0aKyEON7FNrxcXwIviJzNstXTail1TY9UBD3_Gql6ei0woCDOro0neL6b6fMKfc3ZiNQo/s320/IMG_2296.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5112386779063310642" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEguXHOzgAN7CkYJ3DTyLrsyF_D95XYCRty_tnq2UYFdP6DNDhSSTecsKIJ1RkGA317VHqo2djqH0uchyphenhyphenOSWRSDr6nwWcQLuit7uO6r00fgvL00aqND1aA7pCKbNkqynXcvR9ZfzEmyoSqI/s1600-h/IMG_2320.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEguXHOzgAN7CkYJ3DTyLrsyF_D95XYCRty_tnq2UYFdP6DNDhSSTecsKIJ1RkGA317VHqo2djqH0uchyphenhyphenOSWRSDr6nwWcQLuit7uO6r00fgvL00aqND1aA7pCKbNkqynXcvR9ZfzEmyoSqI/s320/IMG_2320.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5112386779063310658" /></a><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgXIMh1CkblOsfo1TwEGP_riiLk_FBgM-K6PjjEWlEB78i6nqFavnNpTuHM_UogaVzNBdJNVYadWotTml-DdHyUSdF6L2ZN7hYT3GtiKBsPy2e81bGmq5FgwvmZwzvDwdShw75qamgZ1wY/s1600-h/IMG_2387.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgXIMh1CkblOsfo1TwEGP_riiLk_FBgM-K6PjjEWlEB78i6nqFavnNpTuHM_UogaVzNBdJNVYadWotTml-DdHyUSdF6L2ZN7hYT3GtiKBsPy2e81bGmq5FgwvmZwzvDwdShw75qamgZ1wY/s320/IMG_2387.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5112386783358277986" /></a><br /><br /><br />So we set off from La Paz, Josh having reassured me that he had an excellent sense of direction - we immediately headed to 'Zona Sur,' which was entirely the opposite direction to where we needed to be going to exit the city - luckily Josh isn't shy of asking directions and we promptly headed up to the north of the city and left through 'El Alto.' The first day started well, good roads, excellent views of the mountains and no more getting lost, it wasn't too cold and the bike at that point was reasonably comfortable. This all deteriorated as the day progressed - everything bar the views which were great the whole ride through. So we stopped for lunch at Oruro and changed the oil (documented by film) and investigated the possibility of taking the train down to the south. We arrived at the train station where i proceeded to fall off the bike landing flat on my back, this was both painful and and embarrassing, i think i masked this well by laughing insanely for at least five minutes. Josh laughed heartily and didn't help me up, shock horror! We opted for the road as the train was going to a bit more expensive (and they say that the British are tight with money?!) The roads from here on were pure crap - deep sand, uneven, unmarked and at times almost in-passable! Despite all this we had great views and managed to get some good pics, eating dirt all the way. We arrived at a small village in the dark - we weren't sure where we were, for my part i didn't care i just needed to get off the back and sleep. The place was okay - kind of clean with toilets and hot food, actually a relative oasis in comparison to the thought of camping out in the open for the night. My body had ceased to move in a natural way at this point - my hips felt as if they may never recover - as if i had been riding a horse for the last 6 hours! Josh looked equally as beat, dirty and every year of his age!!<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgpuaBWTCsTwO9IIdBcX8EQEZC_B7Bwg4HCsKGr4aTPG6ataVPtnnzCQVxwcw48TjUzNRRaPTkgHhv3rFC8vnFv6EiZUKSqRlQ7rCvgFCto972gAo1ao0gPqiGF5fWdtp1p8ldPrr_USAU/s1600-h/IMG_2398.jpg"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgpuaBWTCsTwO9IIdBcX8EQEZC_B7Bwg4HCsKGr4aTPG6ataVPtnnzCQVxwcw48TjUzNRRaPTkgHhv3rFC8vnFv6EiZUKSqRlQ7rCvgFCto972gAo1ao0gPqiGF5fWdtp1p8ldPrr_USAU/s320/IMG_2398.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5112389468714146258" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhilr6wZa_DuTjeyEs4dxBTuxAWIN9ltOOoQmOtCa-mqfA2FquXhgX_lu3KcwDKvFHtbnf_O6lkI3pql3XYDfxaNcTghylEoYn3buswvgTQgMf8UaKTVP9SvsDWahMhyphenhyphenZSuP4H5KvrAeXA/s1600-h/IMG_2429.jpg"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhilr6wZa_DuTjeyEs4dxBTuxAWIN9ltOOoQmOtCa-mqfA2FquXhgX_lu3KcwDKvFHtbnf_O6lkI3pql3XYDfxaNcTghylEoYn3buswvgTQgMf8UaKTVP9SvsDWahMhyphenhyphenZSuP4H5KvrAeXA/s320/IMG_2429.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5112389473009113570" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjNUFEvqJQJNc-4D48Lxs85tD3cIElDCuK1Fefv8RANUi6V_Nh-K9iuZlhmV0UPWMJ0NUbu_xsekWJGKvpv5kbDyFQLYcaott_who_Y-WBJz5GSY-hNWqrq571UCUU6g2C9jU114Q28qn4/s1600-h/IMG_2445.jpg"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjNUFEvqJQJNc-4D48Lxs85tD3cIElDCuK1Fefv8RANUi6V_Nh-K9iuZlhmV0UPWMJ0NUbu_xsekWJGKvpv5kbDyFQLYcaott_who_Y-WBJz5GSY-hNWqrq571UCUU6g2C9jU114Q28qn4/s320/IMG_2445.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5112389473009113586" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhj-b7k_wL5g0WSc8JPFJnRfBdz7ZQ_rEFvYZ3wbcZNJZdrnQJynBa9G1kGPecztHULAanTv6JK0_PnFSI470wjPf4FHTPeIEp_t4kSrHSmV7BE0fYGVOBnjBPv24EFacDgczGeI3jcM_o/s1600-h/IMG_2510.jpg"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhj-b7k_wL5g0WSc8JPFJnRfBdz7ZQ_rEFvYZ3wbcZNJZdrnQJynBa9G1kGPecztHULAanTv6JK0_PnFSI470wjPf4FHTPeIEp_t4kSrHSmV7BE0fYGVOBnjBPv24EFacDgczGeI3jcM_o/s320/IMG_2510.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5112389477304080898" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhW-qGyb_u3oWjs9JuAsHklhJyR_gWH4QwXzwBwsyUm1CU3-pI7GX2RWIhnajn8YkWJp5FdEv8_uc6eq9xEgrpmLiTW_paLDfpTw1vKLgzudYXhqenw1TbHAo-KvL6AaBMFlj2sFhGrAok/s1600-h/IMG_2568.jpg"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhW-qGyb_u3oWjs9JuAsHklhJyR_gWH4QwXzwBwsyUm1CU3-pI7GX2RWIhnajn8YkWJp5FdEv8_uc6eq9xEgrpmLiTW_paLDfpTw1vKLgzudYXhqenw1TbHAo-KvL6AaBMFlj2sFhGrAok/s320/IMG_2568.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5112389477304080914" /></a><br /><br />The following morning started reasonably early at 7 ish. We set off with a full flask of mate de coca and headed towards the Salt Flats on yet another fantastically crap dirt road! This didn't last too long and we soon cruised onto the relative smoothness of the Salt Flats , which Josh insisted on referring to as ice. Just how cold this stretch of the trip was i cannot describe in words, i did almost want to cry (but i didn't for fear that the tears would freeze!!) So this wide expanse of retina burning salt was being harvested for sale, used to build hotels on the flats and drawing tourists from all corners of the globe. It was quite a sight - as far as the landscape was flat there was salt covering the ground, ceasing to exist only where the mountains rose up out of nowhere to interrupt the serene whiteness. We encountered an island in the middle of this wide expanse, it's main inhabitants cacti, tourists and restaurants. It was an amazing and most welcome sight to me at this point - very randomly and ingeniously placed. We stopped here for some time and had lunch - well i made an attempt at eating - i had lost my appetite as the journey had started and it had not yet recovered - excellent diet plan i think! <br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh-O4IN6oTrPcDMflfP4KAD3qY6dIEO6SRq2k7veMUioRhQ-TzPVwitLWEWC37fiy1_Lq6wlNX1MwdO-9myHrdi52oIS4elJ0ZRU-_k_fVTUqm-LmpIQHUl1uyBUW235yo9Eq2Pr5lSez8/s1600-h/IMG_2461.jpg"><img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh-O4IN6oTrPcDMflfP4KAD3qY6dIEO6SRq2k7veMUioRhQ-TzPVwitLWEWC37fiy1_Lq6wlNX1MwdO-9myHrdi52oIS4elJ0ZRU-_k_fVTUqm-LmpIQHUl1uyBUW235yo9Eq2Pr5lSez8/s320/IMG_2461.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5112390387837147682" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgUPB1YsXQUmHb9kHECfX5WovtwUTVRENhMdrMWY1kCQ2meDwtqltHPohcaJyHdUI4Et2DUtKaolPbb5fu06YMYxbx4K5cKQi6VWs_ATPbszctfxLjFUxmQFdQqdqVuxQl3-TY9nC0zkeA/s1600-h/IMG_2462.jpg"><img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgUPB1YsXQUmHb9kHECfX5WovtwUTVRENhMdrMWY1kCQ2meDwtqltHPohcaJyHdUI4Et2DUtKaolPbb5fu06YMYxbx4K5cKQi6VWs_ATPbszctfxLjFUxmQFdQqdqVuxQl3-TY9nC0zkeA/s320/IMG_2462.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5112390396427082290" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgjL9_kWDK0ah96ktWjZ_xK5G8wQSK8H0dNw7_RmPp7UBWqx8Re6uh0tbnhYgi96c_5agf-WZQFfiAfBzAeCK5su0m_00CATinST8fow-CkrkSM2orf_EvgShLcXogJOO_BxuFT0L-4vJU/s1600-h/IMG_2473.jpg"><img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgjL9_kWDK0ah96ktWjZ_xK5G8wQSK8H0dNw7_RmPp7UBWqx8Re6uh0tbnhYgi96c_5agf-WZQFfiAfBzAeCK5su0m_00CATinST8fow-CkrkSM2orf_EvgShLcXogJOO_BxuFT0L-4vJU/s320/IMG_2473.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5112390400722049602" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEioEbeVSuMKwGg7e6gE8zu0zB8dj8FyWKQ6DbcsYCXz_oViIavLOZNPAPs0Ccmt_BvJLC6vb_TSB6QELeEPr7l8ApcBIaoWk0SqqL3FPLFLiFemGfu4oxRYSivw_dETmWF9U72ailncbTU/s1600-h/IMG_2514.jpg"><img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEioEbeVSuMKwGg7e6gE8zu0zB8dj8FyWKQ6DbcsYCXz_oViIavLOZNPAPs0Ccmt_BvJLC6vb_TSB6QELeEPr7l8ApcBIaoWk0SqqL3FPLFLiFemGfu4oxRYSivw_dETmWF9U72ailncbTU/s320/IMG_2514.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5112390405017016914" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh5Kvauqhb0PEbQ0TFaqDzJJp7s_aDnAeOXwcy8BsW-uy3eKJWOegpxCIGlEtJaRTcTGNcdQlKYNNYprQpHabmnz2l12PgZsisQNkbxL7nKLRzP1uqW41Ar8HbdA-YxHYcaL4qHtG_QNH8/s1600-h/IMG_2500.jpg"><img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh5Kvauqhb0PEbQ0TFaqDzJJp7s_aDnAeOXwcy8BsW-uy3eKJWOegpxCIGlEtJaRTcTGNcdQlKYNNYprQpHabmnz2l12PgZsisQNkbxL7nKLRzP1uqW41Ar8HbdA-YxHYcaL4qHtG_QNH8/s320/IMG_2500.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5112390409311984226" /></a>So after meeting and chatting with random people and some Italians (if i recall correctly) about the joys of motorcycle trips (i left the majority of this chatting to Josh - he's far more qualified for this kind of conversation than I am) we set off again for the Chilean border. Whilst we had taken the break i decided to apply my scarf to my neck and sore throat, since that day my scarf has only left my neck for the purposes of cleaning my body - I have most definitely appreciated and bonded with my scarf within the last week - i will never disrespect or take my scarf for granted again. So we found the road/track for the border at which point Lechuga decided to give us little a scare and just stop. I think this may have been due to the fact that Joshua had plugged all of his electrically heated clothing into the battery and zapped all of Lechuga's precious energy!! I found the fact that his clothing could do this to the bike and that she had stopped in the middle of nowhere a touch alarming and so laid on the floor for a while. After recharging our batteries and being passed by some selfish arse tourists in a jeep (who didn't stop) we pushed Lechuga down the track engaging all our remaining muscles (which for my part was about 6 i think!) We finally reached the border crossing just as the sun was going down. It was in the middle of nowhere and there was very little going on - as soon as the formalities had been done we found accommodation and settled down for the night.<br /><br />The next morning was much better and as soon as we set off I was feeling considerably better having regained the use of my body overnight. We passed through some mountains and skirted another salt lake after which we encountered a beautiful lake of pink and turquoise blues inhabited by pink flamingos and against a backdrop of smooth mountain peaks and bright blue skies. This could well have been the highlight for me so far, the scene was tranquil, peaceful and infused with the soft colours of nature - untouched by human hands as far as I could see. We continued on the track which steadily got worse and deteriorated into deep sand which at one point almost put us in a heap on the road side. It was of course my sheer strength that kept us upright - Josh may have helped a little :0! We reached the city of Calama by 2pm and stopped for lunch, an oil change and I almost adopted a small white dog (all he needed was a bit of love and a good bath.) But common sense overcame me and we left for the Chilean coast on good roads but with much side wind. We reached Antofogasta in the dark just after 7pm, this was going to be one of the trends of the trip for us - we would without fail arrive into every destination in relative darkness. Antofogasta was nice as far as first impressions went and the sea front was cute with many palm trees - we foolishly attempted to get a room in the Raddisson which was clearly out of our budget even if they had have admitted two dusty scruffy waifs like us into their very flash hotel. We found a place to stay which was nearer the centre and it had hot water in no short supply which was heaven.<br /><br />So the next morning started with a nice breakfast and then a ride along the sea front to take lots of photos. We set off on an inland road in the direction of Santiago - it was both windy and cold and we went very fast it seemed. We stopped for a quick lunch at a small sea side town and then continued again. This day of biking was largely boring - most of it was through a desert but when we reached the coast it was a nice change to see the waves of the South Pacific breaking against the jagged rocks of the Chilean coast. We stopped for the night in a small town inland of the coast and stayed in hostel on the town square. Emailing took first priority followed by pizza and half a bottle of wine for Josh, which had a terrible affect on his personality. He suggested that we order a dessert and then proceeded to steal every piece I had on my fork, I was amazed by his gentlemanly and mature manners. This man never ceases to surprise me. This was followed by him playing hide and seek in the square on our way back to the hostel.Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07823948144928431254noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6082668359575838099.post-5144931558885395012007-09-09T11:20:00.000-07:002007-09-09T12:26:08.287-07:00Broken, Broken Promises<img src="file:///C:/DOCUME%7E1/IANQ%7E1.ROW/LOCALS%7E1/Temp/moz-screenshot.jpg" alt="" /><p class="MsoNormal">I know that the goal for <st1:country-region st="on"><st1:place st="on">Chile</st1:place></st1:country-region> was no hospitals but it seems that I very quickly failed at keeping my promise of avoiding doctors. Seems that since Costa Rica I’d developed what I thought was quite a benign rash – something along the lines of eczema – which turned out to be something quite different (or not since to this day it still hasn’t been definitively diagnosed).<span> </span>It could have come from swimming in a ‘seemingly’ pristine pool created by a waterfall in <st1:country-region st="on"><st1:place st="on">Costa Rica</st1:place></st1:country-region> or just the drinking water.<span> </span>Or it could be the remnants or a parallel bug from my bout with Dengue Fever but whatever it was it wasn’t going away anytime soon.</p> <p class="MsoNormal">While Tara was in the hospital in San Jose, CR I had one of the doctor’s look at it since it seemed to be spreading and he diagnosed it as a yeast infection and gave me a cream (one of many ‘creams’ that are promised to do the trick).<span> </span>It seems to abate and Tara was recovering from her surgery and had decided she wanted to go home forthwith so I continued on to <st1:place st="on"><st1:city st="on">Santiago</st1:city>, <st1:country-region st="on">Chile</st1:country-region></st1:place> in order to meet up with Joshua for the last leg of the trip into <em><a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Ushuaia">Ushuaia</a></em>.<span> </span>It seems that Josh neglected to specify which Monday he’d be pulling through <st1:city st="on"><st1:place st="on">Santiago</st1:place></st1:city> and so I waited a week for him.<span> </span>Finally he pulled in which a Brit on the back of the bike and they relayed their woeful stories of the freezing cold rain and road in some sort of Scared Straight program against me getting on the motorcycle with Josh to head into <em>even</em> <em>colder</em> climes.</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><a href="http://notthemotorcyclediaries.com/wp-content/uploads/2007/09/dscf1299.jpg" title="dscf1299.jpg"><img src="http://notthemotorcyclediaries.com/wp-content/uploads/2007/09/dscf1299.jpg" alt="dscf1299.jpg" height="577" width="433" /></a></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><strong>Santiago from San Cristobal Mountain</strong></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><a href="http://notthemotorcyclediaries.com/wp-content/uploads/2007/09/dscf1342.jpg" title="dscf1342.jpg"><img src="http://notthemotorcyclediaries.com/wp-content/uploads/2007/09/dscf1342.jpg" alt="dscf1342.jpg" height="343" width="457" /></a></p> <p class="MsoNormal">While I waited for them I made sure to take advantage of <em>Santiago</em> (a gorgeous city), <em><a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Valparaiso">Valparaiso</a></em> (how come port cities always paint their homes garishly different tropical colors?), and the <em><a href="http://www.conchaytorousa.com/index.html">Concha Y Toro</a></em> vineyard and estate (well, one of them since they own something like 250 sub-brands including<em> <a href="http://www.conchaytorousa.com/wines/diablo.html">Casillero del Diablo</a></em> and <em><a href="http://www.conchaytorousa.com/wines/melchor.html">Don Melchor</a></em> which recently received 94 points from <a href="http://www.banfivintners.com/BANFI/REVIEWS/REV_CTDM.HTM">Wine Spectator</a>) and I also took it upon myself to go to a Dermatologist in the hopes of actually identifying the jungle rot and prescribing something for it.</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><a href="http://notthemotorcyclediaries.com/wp-content/uploads/2007/09/dscf1519.jpg" title="dscf1519.jpg"><img src="http://notthemotorcyclediaries.com/wp-content/uploads/2007/09/dscf1519.jpg" alt="dscf1519.jpg" /></a></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><strong>Valparaiso, Chile and it’s Colorful Hilltop Homes.</strong></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><a href="http://notthemotorcyclediaries.com/wp-content/uploads/2007/09/dscf1541.jpg" title="dscf1541.jpg"><img src="http://notthemotorcyclediaries.com/wp-content/uploads/2007/09/dscf1541.jpg" alt="dscf1541.jpg" /></a></p> <p class="MsoNormal"> <a href="http://notthemotorcyclediaries.com/wp-content/uploads/2007/09/image2330.jpg" title="image2330.jpg"><img src="http://notthemotorcyclediaries.com/wp-content/uploads/2007/09/image2330.jpg" alt="image2330.jpg" height="391" width="521" /></a></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><a href="http://notthemotorcyclediaries.com/wp-content/uploads/2007/09/image2337.jpg" title="image2337.jpg"><img src="http://notthemotorcyclediaries.com/wp-content/uploads/2007/09/image2337.jpg" alt="image2337.jpg" /></a></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><strong>The Devil Guarding C y T’s Finest Wines…</strong></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><a href="http://notthemotorcyclediaries.com/wp-content/uploads/2007/09/image2326.jpg" title="image2326.jpg"><img src="http://notthemotorcyclediaries.com/wp-content/uploads/2007/09/image2326.jpg" alt="image2326.jpg" /></a></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span></span>I took a walk over to the <em><a href="http://www.med.puc.cl/">Universidad Catolica de Chile<span style="font-style: normal;"> hospital</span></a></em> and went looking for someone possibly versed in tropical infectious diseases since this is what I was convinced it was by this point (it’s not getting any better from the ‘cream.’)<span> </span>Nope.<span> </span>But I saw a dermatologist by the name of Dr. Marco Pereira Moya who immediately knew what it was.<span> </span>It was a bacterial infection and he had me throw the cream I had been using in the garbage right then.<span> </span>‘<em>Siete dias con eso y se <st1:city st="on"><st1:place st="on">quito</st1:place></st1:city>.</em>’ Seven days with <em>this</em> cream and it’s gone.<span> </span>Great.<span> </span>I can rest easy.</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><a href="http://notthemotorcyclediaries.com/wp-content/uploads/2007/09/dscf1533.jpg" title="dscf1533.jpg"><img src="http://notthemotorcyclediaries.com/wp-content/uploads/2007/09/dscf1533.jpg" alt="dscf1533.jpg" height="361" width="479" /></a></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><strong>Bobbycakes and I in Valparaiso.</strong></p> <p class="MsoNormal"> <a href="http://notthemotorcyclediaries.com/wp-content/uploads/2007/09/dscf1553.jpg" title="dscf1553.jpg"><img src="http://notthemotorcyclediaries.com/wp-content/uploads/2007/09/dscf1553.jpg" alt="dscf1553.jpg" /></a></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><strong>Fine Chillean Wine Drunk Rowan Style.</strong></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><a href="http://notthemotorcyclediaries.com/wp-content/uploads/2007/09/dscf1466.jpg" title="dscf1466.jpg"><img src="http://notthemotorcyclediaries.com/wp-content/uploads/2007/09/dscf1466.jpg" alt="dscf1466.jpg" height="394" width="523" /></a></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><strong>Waiting at <a href="http://www.andeshostel.com/">Andes Hostel</a> in Santiago for Joshua.</strong></p> <p class="MsoNormal">Josh and Vicki spend the weekend recuperating from their trek (<em>café con piernas helped</em>) before Vicki heads <a href="http://picasaweb.google.com/Jibrowan">back to Peru</a> and thereafter those fabled isles of empire while Joshua and I stay to began the task of repacking the bike with all our worldly belongings.</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><a href="http://notthemotorcyclediaries.com/wp-content/uploads/2007/09/dscf1582.jpg" title="dscf1582.jpg"><img src="http://notthemotorcyclediaries.com/wp-content/uploads/2007/09/dscf1582.jpg" alt="dscf1582.jpg" height="417" width="553" /></a></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><strong>The <a href="http://www.carabinerosdechile.cl/">Chillean Motorcycle Carabineri </a>let me take their Bike for Ride.</strong></p> <p class="MsoNormal">Come Monday morning we’re ready to set out even though the infection/rash has become exponentially worse, so much so that it has become very difficult to walk.<span> </span>But with the four layers of clothing needed to actually stay warm whilst riding the bike I decide to brave it.<span> </span>I have sworn off hospitals for the remainder of the trip while Josh swears off booze and women since he has a problem (kidding, he swears off motorcycle mechanics shops since he’s averaged more than two per country).</p> <p class="MsoNormal">And we’re off.<span> </span>Well, kindof.<span> </span>Seems that we need a certain type of oil first so we go to three different lube places before getting the right kind.<span> </span>Then we’re off.<span> </span>Our goal is to make it down to the Isla de Chiloé.<span> </span>Of course we only make it less than halfway (three hours of Josh driving and two with me at the handlebars) before Joshua notices that the bike is acting up (engine is cutting out while we’re riding as if it’s out of gas but it isn’t) which has in turn but undue pressure on the chain and sprocket which sends us directly to a <em>Taller Mechanico de Motocicletas</em>.<span> </span>The chain was so dangerously worn that he needed not only a brand new chain but also new front a rear sprockets in a country that doesn’t really have a <st1:city st="on"><st1:place st="on">Kawasaki</st1:place></st1:city> presence thus a minimum of a two day wait.<span> </span>Off to a hotel with all of our bags.<span> </span>And since this infection has gotten worse I take it upon myself the next morning to see another doctor.<span> </span>At this point I can’t even walk; I resemble a ninety year old man slowly and painfully walking up and down the streets of Chillán searching for the elusive dermatologist due to a plethora of faulty directions (you get used to it).<span> </span>Dr. Miguel Torres Ramirez takes a look at was has become a very disgusting wound of a rash and is pretty much freaked out – but also certain that it’s possibly a bacteria infection and puts me on an antibiotic and has a lab due a culture of the sample but the results will take 48 hours.<span> </span>I wait for two days of pain in the hotel room bleeding continuously with no sign of it getting any better and then revisit with the doctor who now has the results; negative for a bacterial infection.<span> </span>But Dr. Torres doesn’t take no for an answer and decides to do <em>another</em> culture.<span> </span>This means another 48 hours of no idea of what this is and absolutely no alleviation but rather deterioration of the infection.<span> </span>I decide to seek a second opinion; Dr. Raul de Mendoza Vera is a less of a quack but is similarly stymied.<span> </span>He opines that it looks to him more like some sort of tropical disease and that practically no one in Chile is going to be able to diagnose it and certainly not in the small town of <em>Chillán</em> and he suggests I hoof it back to Santiago to the <em><a href="http://www.med.puc.cl/">Universidad Católica Hospital</a></em>.</p> <p class="MsoNormal">And so the next day away I go (oh, Josh has already left two days previously since he’s on a bit of a schedule and needs to make it thousands of kilometers to <em>Tierra del Fuego</em> in a little over a week) gingerly walking to the bus station and going back to where I started.</p> <p class="MsoNormal"> <a href="http://notthemotorcyclediaries.com/wp-content/uploads/2007/09/image2398.jpg" title="image2398.jpg"><img src="http://notthemotorcyclediaries.com/wp-content/uploads/2007/09/image2398.jpg" alt="image2398.jpg" height="368" width="490" /></a></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><strong>Josh Leaving Me All Alone in Chillan</strong></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><a href="http://notthemotorcyclediaries.com/wp-content/uploads/2007/09/collage9.jpg" title="collage9.jpg"><img src="http://notthemotorcyclediaries.com/wp-content/uploads/2007/09/collage9.jpg" alt="collage9.jpg" height="205" width="340" /><br /></a></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><a href="http://www.stlyrics.com/lyrics/austinpowersthespywhoshaggedme/justthe2ofus.htm"><strong>Share My Hurt and My Pain.</strong></a></p> <p class="MsoNormal">Of course at the <em><a href="http://www.med.puc.cl/">Universidad Católica</a></em> the next day they say, ‘Nope, we don’t have any specialists like that.’<span> </span>What to do?</p> <p class="MsoNormal">Book a flight to <st1:country-region st="on"><st1:place st="on">Panama</st1:place></st1:country-region> that night at take off the next day to seek out someone who perhaps knows what this tropical infection is, perhaps someone who actually lives in the tropics.<span> </span>Dr. Alfredo Cantón Martínez (Infections Specialist) of the <em>Hospital Nacional </em>takes a look and is at a loss; he has never seen anything quite like it, doesn’t know what it is, and suggests hospitalization as well as the same culture I’ve had done twice now as well as a biopsy.<span> </span>I think that since this infections specialist in the tropical country of <st1:country-region st="on"><st1:place st="on">Panama</st1:place></st1:country-region> doesn’t know what it is than the chances of it being diagnosed here are just as slim.<span> </span>Let’s go back to <st1:place st="on"><st1:city st="on">Key West</st1:city></st1:place> since I’m already halfway home and let Dr. Whiteside, a tropical infectious disease specialist, take a crack at it.<span> </span>And if I need hospitalization I’d rather be at home (and I’d rather have insurance but that’s another point).</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><a href="http://notthemotorcyclediaries.com/wp-content/uploads/2007/09/image2430.jpg" title="image2430.jpg"><img src="http://notthemotorcyclediaries.com/wp-content/uploads/2007/09/image2430.jpg" alt="image2430.jpg" height="531" width="400" /></a></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><strong>Not Actually in Old Town Anymore but we won’t Hold That Against Them…</strong></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><a href="http://notthemotorcyclediaries.com/wp-content/uploads/2007/09/image2431.jpg" title="image2431.jpg"><img src="http://notthemotorcyclediaries.com/wp-content/uploads/2007/09/image2431.jpg" alt="image2431.jpg" height="505" width="381" /></a></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><strong>Whiteside and his internist prescribing something.</strong></p> <p class="MsoNormal">So with the dueling doctors of Whiteside and Covington in Key West chugging along on the diagnosis train I’ve been on a barrage of anti-biotics, anti-fungals, anti-viruses, and anti-parasitics over the past few days sans hospitalization and, although there has been no certain diagnosis, seem to be healing finally (let’s just say that it got pretty gross there for a while).</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p><a href="http://notthemotorcyclediaries.com/wp-content/uploads/2007/09/image2420.jpg" title="Medicine Table"><img src="http://notthemotorcyclediaries.com/wp-content/uploads/2007/09/image2420.jpg" alt="Medicine Table" height="386" width="512" /></a></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><strong><span style="font-size: 11pt;">[ Here is a fun list of all the medications I’ve been on or currently am on: Mebendazole 2 tablets by mouth three times daily ($100), Levaquin 1 tablet per day($236), Lortab 2-3 times as needed ($16), Doxycycl Hyc ($20), Ketoconazole ($11),<span> </span>Clindamicina, Flucloxacilina, Valacyclovir, Trofodermin, Bactroban, Lotrimin, Cipro, Cutamil, Neoyod, and my favorite; Supracalm. ]<o:p></o:p></span></strong></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><strong><span style="font-size: 11pt;"><o:p> </o:p></span></strong></p> <p class="MsoNormal">So, as I lay in my sickbed Joshua has finally finished the trip that we started together (and that I wanted to finish with him) at <em><a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Tierra_del_Fuego">Tierra del Fuego</a></em> where today he went swimming in <a href="http://maps.google.com/maps?f=d&hl=en&geocode=&saddr=santiago,+chile&daddr=chillan,+chile&sll=-33.708347,-70.534973&sspn=1.882585,5.141602&ie=UTF8&ll=-53.054422,-69.98291&spn=5.442767,20.566406&t=h&z=6&om=1">Antarctic waters just to finalize things</a>.<span> </span>He made it 30,000 kilometers without a flat, which he was gleefully celebrating, when 300 kilometers before <em><a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Ushuaia">Ushuaia</a></em> he had a spoke go through his tire and left him stranded in <st1:place st="on">freezing cold <em>Patagonia</em></st1:place> for half a day and night.</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><a href="http://notthemotorcyclediaries.com/wp-content/uploads/2007/09/joshua-tierra-del-fuego-nude.jpg" title="joshua-tierra-del-fuego-nude.jpg"><img src="http://notthemotorcyclediaries.com/wp-content/uploads/2007/09/joshua-tierra-del-fuego-nude.jpg" alt="joshua-tierra-del-fuego-nude.jpg" height="420" width="559" /></a></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><strong>Tierra del Fuego the <em>au natural</em> Rowan way.</strong></p> <p class="MsoNormal"> <a href="http://notthemotorcyclediaries.com/wp-content/uploads/2007/09/img_29431.jpg" title="img_29431.jpg"><img src="http://notthemotorcyclediaries.com/wp-content/uploads/2007/09/img_29431.jpg" alt="img_29431.jpg" height="420" width="559" /></a></p> But the journey is not over.<span> </span><a href="http://www.amazon.com/Two-Wheels-Through-Terror-Motorcycle/dp/1884313493">Glen Heggsted</a> of <a href="http://strikingviking.net/">Striking Viking</a> fame gave us some words of wisdom in <em>Mazatlán</em>, ‘Only pussies go one way, you have to go down and come back up to make it legit.’<span> </span>So it looks like once I recover I’ll head down to <em>Ushuaia</em> and pick up the remnants of the bike (post flat tire, oil-guzzling, and rear tire needing) to start up the eastern coast of South America.<span> </span>Hell, I might even rig a raft around the bike and run a propeller for the ride up the Amazon!Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07823948144928431254noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6082668359575838099.post-62300604344561452302007-08-24T16:58:00.000-07:002007-08-24T17:04:00.622-07:00Reunited: NTMD<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiCJrVZnPDhWMDbLXayDU6K7bvmG0Ypt27p3E1lQd5MHMTPCP9_ZqAgLs8R33AOtu2EhLZ20BtovwEAFVpFQIjKol4jZquuj0Sv7TdD4VuDeyC8NS074My7dWUBU1T6VMAglXanrReYhS8/s1600-h/Image2188.jpg"><img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiCJrVZnPDhWMDbLXayDU6K7bvmG0Ypt27p3E1lQd5MHMTPCP9_ZqAgLs8R33AOtu2EhLZ20BtovwEAFVpFQIjKol4jZquuj0Sv7TdD4VuDeyC8NS074My7dWUBU1T6VMAglXanrReYhS8/s320/Image2188.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5102421246619312754" /></a><br /><br /><br />Josh just arrived in Santiago, Chile where I have been waiting for him for a week (he said he’d be here by Monday but neglected to mention which Monday). He’s carrying a brit with him for now but soon I’ll take the backseat for the rest of the ride south to Tierra del Fuego, et al.<br /><br />I’ve been exploring Santiago and the surroundings including the picturesque port town of Valparaiso and the dark cellars of the Casillero del Diablo cellars of Concha y Toro and will upload some pics soon.<br /><br />Stay tuned for actual updates and actual adventure; now without accidents (hopefully) and tropical diseases (it’s too freaking cold down here for them to survive!).Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07823948144928431254noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6082668359575838099.post-55647813868656153882007-08-13T16:36:00.001-07:002007-08-13T16:36:43.762-07:00Ostional to Quepos - Roadtrip ReduxOstional to Quepos - Roadtrip Redux<br />Posted by ian under Tidbits , Realtime! , Dengue Fever , Costa Rica , Tara Rowan , Nicoya Peninsula , Ostional , Manuel Antonio Park(edit this)<br />[2] Comments <br /><br />After taking leave of the Bensons and their amazing hospitality (once again thanks Sarah and William) I decided to rent a car for the week in order to be able to travel down the Nicoya peninsula without being punished by the two and a half hour bus ride to make 20 miles over the bad roads. So I got a little Ignis and ignored the remnants of the bonecrusher fever and took off on sweet, sweet pavement. This lasted until Samara, a pleasant coastal surfer haven about midway down Nicoya, and then turned north up to Ostional to hang out at Aaron Snell´s pops surf shack. I had to fjord some rivers with this itty bitty four wheel drive before making it to the Ostional Wildlife Refuge and the Dutch caretaker that is watching the house for Craig.<br /><br />68cr_ostional_turtle2_hq_web.JPG<br /><br />Another tired sea turtle finally laying her eggs.<br />She found a mattress for me to sleep on the the living room floor. Aaron said I could borrow one of his boards so I promptly hit the beach to get back to some surfing (the last time being in the North Sea of Scotland which wasn´t conducive to comfortable or even enjoyable surfing). Turns out that it´s a lot easier in warm water but still pretty difficult. But what was even more interesting were the hundreds of turtles crawling up and down the beach laying eggs. I would later learn that it was the Arribada, the time for three types of sea turtles to come back to this beach that they were born and lay their eggs for another generation, which is somehow regulated by the moon methinks.<br /><br />The town of Ostional is organized into a cooperative that for a few hours all the townspeople go out during the Arribada and dig up thousands upon thousands of the eggs in order to sell them throughout Costa Rica as an aphrodisiac. Although the place is ostensibly set up as a refuge in order to ´save´ the turtles hatchery it really operates more as a base for storing the ´harvested´eggs before sale. They have a giant building with 24 hours guards for collecting the eggs while they also have people walking the beach in order to patrol for those nasty other people that happen to not live in the town but also want to ´harvest´the turtle eggs, or poachers.<br /><br />61cr_ostional_turtleeggs_web.JPG<br /><br />63cr_ostional_turtleeggs1_web.JPG<br /><br />The townspeople and the collection of the eggs.<br />In the meantime I met one of the volunteers, Tara, who was getting somewhat fed up with the blatant hypocrisy involved with this turtle refuge and was eager for traveling a bit more in Costa Rica. Since I had a car and was taking off sooner rather than later I invited her along. She promptly accepted and now we´re in Quepos after a four day sojourn down the Nicoya peninsula, a night in Samara before crossing the peninsula and making our way, slowly, to Playa Naranjo to pick up the ferry for the coast and Puntarenas. Another night there and on down to Jaco and Quepos (the contra plane restaurant and bar - thanks Greg) where we´ve been having a great time literally frolicking on the beaches and tomorrow are heading into jungles of Manuel Antonio National Park.<br /><br />That´s it for now.<br /><br />full-central-pacific-map.gifAnonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07823948144928431254noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6082668359575838099.post-26814169535108407202007-08-13T16:22:00.000-07:002007-08-13T16:26:06.672-07:00Medivac of Tara: By Boat, By Air, and By Pancho<object width="425" height="350"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/db0lmMJ1amw"></param><param name="wmode" value="transparent"></param><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/db0lmMJ1amw" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" wmode="transparent" width="425" height="350"></embed></object><br /><object width="425" height="350"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/qCCwl3VTENw"></param><param name="wmode" value="transparent"></param><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/qCCwl3VTENw" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" wmode="transparent" width="425" height="350"></embed></object><br /><object width="425" height="350"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/LK0b4wKg8sk"></param><param name="wmode" value="transparent"></param><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/LK0b4wKg8sk" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" wmode="transparent" width="425" height="350"></embed></object>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07823948144928431254noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6082668359575838099.post-9803489003555739362007-08-06T14:32:00.000-07:002007-08-06T14:36:04.836-07:00Some Photos from Nicoya Peninsula on down to the Osa in Costa Rica<A HREF='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjUeGKCOArKVBeJS3bDCqU40KegjFRpjduj0EfqtNCuZXwaSU2w7xE8pqisjp5-HnR2wspJS1OjRgNsVz0JvY3ODv1Kt3ml68VBZRg-hTm9J93uNh3vYds8p3RPhkzzu-rwXqrjTQt0FD8/s1600-h/Image1702.jpg'><IMG SRC='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjUeGKCOArKVBeJS3bDCqU40KegjFRpjduj0EfqtNCuZXwaSU2w7xE8pqisjp5-HnR2wspJS1OjRgNsVz0JvY3ODv1Kt3ml68VBZRg-hTm9J93uNh3vYds8p3RPhkzzu-rwXqrjTQt0FD8/s320/Image1702.jpg' border=0 alt='' id='BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_' style='clear:both;float:left; margin:0px 10px 10px 0;'></A> <br /><A HREF='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiwS951KP6itXCQDUYBfZOsWSjNdo3n99lx7WRoreP2YOtCv8fciF9UYDXCzkGWtqiiRLWGMfyKb2j43FKZ9HxePsHK_YKYHxulB_QaKcjmeJFY82j9b0lh1b6m1_1nqG_O_Z9BuJsr9H0/s1600-h/Image1703.jpg'><IMG SRC='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiwS951KP6itXCQDUYBfZOsWSjNdo3n99lx7WRoreP2YOtCv8fciF9UYDXCzkGWtqiiRLWGMfyKb2j43FKZ9HxePsHK_YKYHxulB_QaKcjmeJFY82j9b0lh1b6m1_1nqG_O_Z9BuJsr9H0/s320/Image1703.jpg' border=0 alt='' id='BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_' style='clear:both;float:left; margin:0px 10px 10px 0;'></A> <br /><A HREF='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgiZ6FVUbqxNRMlpzNMZnE8SjmXCGFZnc4Rro6YxUU0ZT2rXXpndLjefFYP-58Iv06I7WT_pOAiTP_7vG0k6rgN1q2f7osJF_NfzgD0HDYTR3Hvq6FaDBL_sUaeZJQNDPsD9z2H5X3NouE/s1600-h/Image1720.jpg'><IMG SRC='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgiZ6FVUbqxNRMlpzNMZnE8SjmXCGFZnc4Rro6YxUU0ZT2rXXpndLjefFYP-58Iv06I7WT_pOAiTP_7vG0k6rgN1q2f7osJF_NfzgD0HDYTR3Hvq6FaDBL_sUaeZJQNDPsD9z2H5X3NouE/s320/Image1720.jpg' border=0 alt='' id='BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_' style='clear:both;float:left; margin:0px 10px 10px 0;'></A> <br /><A HREF='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjRgtBEoM3rxMLBH84PPNzUpLR5yaIxrOhQEJPEJ3UoxSRZDBBH3okvWJiXTjpb4Cxs67ziFMKfXy0f3iNZW8wSdJLer5wAnJuJc2GjsFtU-X996EC5F7G-0MOSzlrGPOgM05tdrCdPpnw/s1600-h/Image1740.jpg'><IMG SRC='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjRgtBEoM3rxMLBH84PPNzUpLR5yaIxrOhQEJPEJ3UoxSRZDBBH3okvWJiXTjpb4Cxs67ziFMKfXy0f3iNZW8wSdJLer5wAnJuJc2GjsFtU-X996EC5F7G-0MOSzlrGPOgM05tdrCdPpnw/s320/Image1740.jpg' border=0 alt='' id='BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_' style='clear:both;float:left; margin:0px 10px 10px 0;'></A> <div style='clear:both; text-align:LEFT'><a href='http://picasa.google.com/blogger/' target='ext'><img src='http://photos1.blogger.com/pbp.gif' alt='Posted by Picasa' style='border: 0px none ; padding: 0px; background: transparent none repeat scroll 0% 50%; -moz-background-clip: initial; -moz-background-origin: initial; -moz-background-inline-policy: initial;' align='middle' border='0' /></a></div>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07823948144928431254noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6082668359575838099.post-84871383212255343752007-06-07T15:03:00.000-07:002007-06-07T15:03:40.742-07:00Semuc Champay<A HREF='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgdcUFCLcogOZHFEBzJlyOvslHcnqoMzCfRl-N9ADMD6gUOJYeB8mneDuzHWn9W9v6-RthJnnvF1QFxWGJ_yFSc0ToWZwHCX81iG6rRzVdyshM9e04jsDj3PD7rQ6OE6UgaQgQF6KJ8it4/s1600-h/collage7.jpg'><IMG SRC='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgdcUFCLcogOZHFEBzJlyOvslHcnqoMzCfRl-N9ADMD6gUOJYeB8mneDuzHWn9W9v6-RthJnnvF1QFxWGJ_yFSc0ToWZwHCX81iG6rRzVdyshM9e04jsDj3PD7rQ6OE6UgaQgQF6KJ8it4/s320/collage7.jpg' border=0 alt='' id='BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_' style='clear:both;float:left; margin:0px 10px 10px 0;'></A> <br /><br />Just now heading for Nicaragua but still don't have much of a clue where Josh is... I think he's trying to go to the Galapagos Islands though.<br /><br />Apologies for not posting sooner or anything longer but the internet is muy despacio in Guatemala. Very, Very, Slow.<br /><br />So, here's a picture pile of Semuc Champay - one of the most beautiful places I have ever seen.<div style='clear:both; text-align:LEFT'><a href='http://picasa.google.com/blogger/' target='ext'><img src='http://photos1.blogger.com/pbp.gif' alt='Posted by Picasa' style='border: 0px none ; padding: 0px; background: transparent none repeat scroll 0% 50%; -moz-background-clip: initial; -moz-background-origin: initial; -moz-background-inline-policy: initial;' align='middle' border='0' /></a></div>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07823948144928431254noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6082668359575838099.post-7742610452937706162007-05-17T14:57:00.000-07:002007-05-17T15:05:22.811-07:00La Isla Bonita - San Pedro, Belize<a href="http://youtube.com/watch?v=SjwCAifhoPY">Where I'm At... Right Now!</a>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07823948144928431254noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6082668359575838099.post-15679635940489076112007-05-14T16:17:00.000-07:002007-05-14T16:19:18.346-07:00Just Slide....<embed src="http://lads.myspace.com/photoshow/slideshow.swf" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" quality="high" scale="noscale" wmode="transparent" flashvars="userID=155880390&bgColor=10079487&bgColor2=10079487&transitionSpeed=20&transitionStyle=a&showCaptions=1&albumID=913210" width="995" height="500" name="slider" align="middle"></embed>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07823948144928431254noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6082668359575838099.post-67326421181129696902007-05-14T14:14:00.000-07:002007-05-14T14:20:41.386-07:00Four Wheels Through Mazatlan<p><img style="width: 504px; height: 315px;" id="image349" alt="mazatlan1.jpg" src="http://notthemotorcyclediaries.com/wp-content/uploads/2007/05/mazatlan1.jpg" /></p> <p><span style="font-weight: bold;">An Aerial View of Maztlan near where we stayed.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"> </p><p class="MsoNormal">Four Wheels through Mazatlan March 14-18<sup>th</sup> 2007</p> <p class="MsoNormal">The next morning we left Topolobampo and our Polish friend Pietras Remigiusz at the train station and headed south towards Mazatlan. We rode through corn swept vistas controlled by <a href="http://www.monsanto.com/monsanto/layout/default.asp">Mansanto Corporation </a>(the nefarious evildoers of crop genetic mutation) for hours before I ran out of gas while riding behind Josh. Needless to say he was pissed off when I finally caught up to him. Earlier we had been contacted through <a href="http://www.monsanto.com/monsanto/layout/default.asp">Adventure Rider</a> by someone named Glen who invited us to stay at his place when we passed through Mazatlan. We made sure to give him a call before we came like good kids should.</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><img id="image324" alt="p1010003.JPG" src="http://notthemotorcyclediaries.com/wp-content/uploads/2007/05/p1010003.JPG" height="401" width="535" /></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><strong>Glen and Josh giving the thumbs up for readers of NotTheMotorcycleDiaries.com</strong></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><img id="image325" alt="p1010004.JPG" src="http://notthemotorcyclediaries.com/wp-content/uploads/2007/05/p1010004.JPG" height="400" width="534" /></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><strong>Glen said that the finger was for <a href="http://www.advrider.com/">AdvRider.com</a>!</strong></p> <p class="MsoNormal">He gave us directions thusly: “Go to the <em>Malécon</em> and look for the tallest building. I’m in that one.” So we did. It was a fifteen story condo right on the white sand beach that stretched for 180 degrees. We made our way to the gates and were let in. We parked our bikes by a BMW R1200 GS Adventure with the website <a href="http://www.strikingviking.net/">www.StrikingViking.net</a> written on it.</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><img id="image326" alt="pic_0004.JPG" src="http://notthemotorcyclediaries.com/wp-content/uploads/2007/05/pic_0004.JPG" height="407" width="543" /></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><img id="image327" alt="pic_0002.JPG" src="http://notthemotorcyclediaries.com/wp-content/uploads/2007/05/pic_0002.JPG" height="409" width="546" /></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span>We rode the elevator up and found Glen Heggstad waiting for us. He welcomed us to his home and offered us a couple beers which we took him up on even though it was pretty early in the afternoon. Glen had made <em>Mazatlán</em> his home a few years ago after one of his motorcycle trips around the world he realized that it was the only place he wanted to go home to. So he’s been living and working from his condo in-between rides <a href="http://www.amazon.com/Two-Wheels-Through-Terror-Motorcycle/dp/1884313493">south through America</a>, trips around the world, or talks at various BMW dealerships since they sponsor his travels.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal">Although I’d heard of <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Glen_Heggstad">Glen Heggstad</a> and had even seen <a href="http://www.amazon.com/Two-Wheels-Through-Terror-Motorcycle/dp/1884313493">his book</a> when I bought my jacket at <a href="http://www.longbeachbmwmotorcycles.com/">Long Beach BMW</a> I wasn’t quite prepared for the man: over six feet high with sandy blond hair, a smattering of tattoos, and the physique of a giant his moniker Striking Viking is entirely appropriate. The youngest member ever to be inducted into the Hell’s Angels, a third degree black belt, and practically self-published his best-selling book about his travels around the world Glen is the definition of an adventure traveler. His book, ‘<a href="http://www.amazon.com/gp/reader/1884313493/ref=sib_fs_bod/102-6953450-4868931?ie=UTF8&p=S00J&checkSum=aj01NlKybxjN4niBm9p6owA6cGxblgnir94VJKqov6c%3D#reader-link">Two Wheels through Terror</a>’ begins with this passage, “Warriors claim that the battle is won in the preparation,” and boy did he have a battle. On his ride from California down to South America he passed through Columbia and while his was on a desolate stretch of a highway the road was shut down by the Marxist guerrillas and he was taken prisoner by a band of shotgun and machete wielding soldiers. For the next five weeks he was sequestered in the mountains in a small rebel camp. He was forced to run up and down a mountain all day and then interrogated and tortured at night. He was released into the hands of the Red Cross at the end of his ordeal but there’s a lot more in there so read his book! <strong><a href="http://archives.cnn.com/2001/WORLD/americas/12/13/colombia.kidnapping/index.html">Here’s a video that ABC did soon after his release</a> <a href="http://www.cbsnews.com/stories/2002/04/02/48hours/main505187.shtml">and article.</a></strong></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><img id="image309" alt="image286.jpg" src="http://notthemotorcyclediaries.com/wp-content/uploads/2007/05/image286.jpg" height="428" width="571" /></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><strong>The Motos parked on the Malecon in front of the gym.</strong></p> <p class="MsoNormal">The first night he took us into his routine of working out at a little gym on the <em>malécon</em> so we rode down there and I decided to work out my legs since they needed some strengthening for the trip. This turned out to be a mistake. I could barely walk for the next four days. But luckily I could relax by the infinity pool and write in between hobbling to and fro.</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><img id="image331" alt="pic_0064.JPG" src="http://notthemotorcyclediaries.com/wp-content/uploads/2007/05/pic_0064.JPG" /></p> <p class="MsoNormal">Glen was working on his new book so it kept him pretty busy so we stayed out of his way or helped him with his new computer in between him showing us <a href="http://striking-viking.smugmug.com/">pictures of his travel</a> and regaling us with stories from around the world including the interminable days and nights of his imprisonment. He told us of one instance in which he was teaching the younger soldiers (from ten to eighteen…) Jujitsu moves and self-defense. All of the children had put down their rifles or machine-guns and were being guided by Glen in a similar formation as his classes in California when he noticed that they were all unarmed now. He could run over and grab one of the guns and pretty much mow them down and make a run for it. But they were kids. Could he really live with himself killing unarmed children who for all intents were innocent? He couldn’t and so he continued the lesson and endured the nightly beatings and torturing for another few weeks. Ya gotta love kids.</p> <p class="MsoNormal">We rode around town with Glen a few times, he on his bright yellow BMW with custom <a href="http://jesseluggage.com/">Jesse Luggage</a> saddle bags, and Josh and I on my bike (funny that Josh continuously ridiculed me for getting a BMW yet always chose to ride it rather than his own motorcycle whenever he could) and I was amazed but not surprised at his riding style; very aggressive but in a safe manner that bespoke of his many years wielding his machine through treacherous jungle or urban jungle as is the case in many third world cities. He would push through intersections and practically run a few cars of the road if they weren’t giving him enough space!</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><img id="image335" alt="pic_0148.JPG" src="http://notthemotorcyclediaries.com/wp-content/uploads/2007/05/pic_0148.JPG" height="279" width="372" /><img id="image334" alt="pic_0140.JPG" src="http://notthemotorcyclediaries.com/wp-content/uploads/2007/05/pic_0140.JPG" height="277" width="370" /><img id="image333" alt="pic_0087.JPG" src="http://notthemotorcyclediaries.com/wp-content/uploads/2007/05/pic_0087.JPG" height="491" width="369" /><img id="image332" alt="pic_0084.JPG" src="http://notthemotorcyclediaries.com/wp-content/uploads/2007/05/pic_0084.JPG" height="276" width="368" /></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><strong>Some pics of the Malecon that stretches for miles of Mazatlan.</strong></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><img id="image336" alt="pic_0160.JPG" src="http://notthemotorcyclediaries.com/wp-content/uploads/2007/05/pic_0160.JPG" /></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><strong>A great photo if I might say so myself.</strong></p> <p class="MsoNormal">After a few days of relaxing and sightseeing around <em>Mazatlán</em> it was time to head south for <em>Sayulita</em> just north of Puerto Vallarta. We rode away from my first ever stay at a condo and headed to the historic downtown for some coffee before we got under way. It turned out to be a festival day and it was getting late so we found a little room and spent the night enjoying the nightlife with some college students we’d met that we ran into again as well as someone who lived at Glen’s condominium. An organization had set up a movie screen on a small street near a bar and a cross-section of <em>Mazatlán</em> society came out to watch ‘Cinema Paradiso’ so we grabbed some beers and joined them. It was the first time Josh had ever seen the film and since it was in Italian with Spanish subtitles Josh was somewhat lost at times. There wasn’t a dry eye in the house, I mean street, at the end. We then took a tour of a great little hotel on the plaza with our friend Guy and were given the history of the gazebo (some mayor had replaced the ornate classical metal one with a concrete modernist take on the gazebo which everyone in the city hated, it was then taken to the mayor’s hometown where they hated it but they were stuck with it, <em>Mazatlán</em> then had a new one made to look like the old one but got it all wrong). After the long history lesson we decided to call it a night so that we could make the next day an early one of riding.</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><img style="width: 398px; height: 299px;" id="image345" alt="pic_0286.JPG" src="http://notthemotorcyclediaries.com/wp-content/uploads/2007/05/pic_0286.JPG" /><img style="width: 399px; height: 299px;" id="image344" alt="pic_0275.JPG" src="http://notthemotorcyclediaries.com/wp-content/uploads/2007/05/pic_0275.JPG" /><img style="width: 398px; height: 298px;" id="image340" alt="pic_0188.JPG" src="http://notthemotorcyclediaries.com/wp-content/uploads/2007/05/pic_0188.JPG" /><img style="width: 397px; height: 298px;" id="image339" alt="pic_0187.JPG" src="http://notthemotorcyclediaries.com/wp-content/uploads/2007/05/pic_0187.JPG" /></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-weight: bold;">The ‘Restored’ Gazebo of Old Town Mazatlan. Very European, no?</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal">Ever Onward!</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><img id="image346" alt="pic_0290.JPG" src="http://notthemotorcyclediaries.com/wp-content/uploads/2007/05/pic_0290.JPG" /></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-weight: bold;">Mmmmm Sayulita.</span></p>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07823948144928431254noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6082668359575838099.post-11789481641504565162007-05-02T16:40:00.000-07:002007-05-02T17:10:59.244-07:00La Paz to Topolobampo aboard Baja Ferries<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjCLkX007S4uMS_zm779I1qDJ4jmj3osEYs8vn8gT4y8oB8MnFthKhonZGGs-5rXCjfVA6T65nDltn_idbltdu5WdT7JB4yQq38mUgG0tZ8kWFFWSpBCreQdJFvABcbKP_A0KRCKn-y3Qg/s1600-h/BajaFerry.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjCLkX007S4uMS_zm779I1qDJ4jmj3osEYs8vn8gT4y8oB8MnFthKhonZGGs-5rXCjfVA6T65nDltn_idbltdu5WdT7JB4yQq38mUgG0tZ8kWFFWSpBCreQdJFvABcbKP_A0KRCKn-y3Qg/s320/BajaFerry.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5060119799015202706" border="0" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh1JB_zBDIYYLqquiecBGuBJ8ItKnulMp4HcTyjfGB-KcSQSDScJQt8g4HKF5JOCsPkFk-tvEuhBat9BSytxCaYdkzAMEKqliqDk6P4c3uNqi1WHuZJ3eXEx0YlcUFgdGJt8hX7SJ1zs-A/s1600-h/sea+of+cortez+from+space.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh1JB_zBDIYYLqquiecBGuBJ8ItKnulMp4HcTyjfGB-KcSQSDScJQt8g4HKF5JOCsPkFk-tvEuhBat9BSytxCaYdkzAMEKqliqDk6P4c3uNqi1WHuZJ3eXEx0YlcUFgdGJt8hX7SJ1zs-A/s320/sea+of+cortez+from+space.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5060119799015202722" border="0" /></a><br /><p class="MsoNormal">March 2007</p><p class="MsoNormal"><br /></p> <p class="MsoNormal">Disheveled and tired we made it back to our apartment in <em>La Paz</em><em> </em>and I decided it was apropos to partake in the local custom of <em>siesta</em> – an all day <em>siesta</em>. Josh went about some sort of business and it was decided that we should leave the next day, a Sunday, for the mainland via either the ferry to <em>Mazatlan</em> or the more fun to say <em>Topolobampo.</em> It being a Saturday night when I awoke from my <em>siesta </em>I didn’t take too kindly to waking up supremely early and dealing with immigration/customs/and ferry personnel. So I reasoned with my brother and told him I wasn’t leaving the next day (I know that’s not reasoning but that’s how things work with Josh) and he said that he was and that he’d meet me in Mazatlan. We were in accord, at this point we needed a bit of space from each other anyway.</p> <p class="MsoNormal"> </p><p class="MsoNormal">Josefina and Juan were throwing us a going away party that night so we made our way over to their house after Josh had packed up his kit (that’s for all of our British/Kiwi/Aussie reader’s out there). They’d prepared a feast of <em>empanadas, tacos dorados, taquitos</em>, <em>guacamole</em> and salsa, and a celebratory cake. <a href="http://picasaweb.google.com/ianrowan/GoingAwayPartyInLaPaz">Even more of the family </a>came this time as spouses and cousins and their kids came to meet the gringo part of the family before they left. Everyone was ravenously starving and as soon as the big cardboard box soaked from the grease of the <em>empanadas</em> arrived it was gone in a matter of minutes. Everyone was very happy to have seen us again and made us promise that it wouldn’t be another twenty years before we, or our parents, returned. As the cake was polished off Marisol invited me to go out with her friends to the dance club – I told her I would join her later once my hands were colder (<em>mas mano fria)</em>. As the party winded-down Josh and I made our gracious exit and headed home; he for sleep and me for a change of clothes.</p><p class="MsoNormal"><object height="350" width="425"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/NxQdOyzxNl4"><param name="wmode" value="transparent"><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/NxQdOyzxNl4" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" wmode="transparent" height="350" width="425"></embed></object></p><p class="MsoNormal"><br /></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><img alt="pic_0016.JPG" id="image312" src="http://notthemotorcyclediaries.com/wp-content/uploads/2007/05/pic_0016.JPG" height="373" width="498" /><img alt="pic_0013.JPG" id="image313" src="http://notthemotorcyclediaries.com/wp-content/uploads/2007/05/pic_0013.JPG" height="375" width="497" /><img alt="pic_0015.JPG" id="image314" src="http://notthemotorcyclediaries.com/wp-content/uploads/2007/05/pic_0015.JPG" height="371" width="496" /></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><img alt="Pretty Great Photo Huh?" id="image315" src="http://notthemotorcyclediaries.com/wp-content/uploads/2007/05/pic_0034.JPG" height="361" width="482" /></p> <p class="MsoNormal">I walked the mile to the <em>malécon</em> and the row of bars that included <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Carlos%27n_Charlie%27s"><em>Carlos n’ Charlie’s</em></a>, The Jungle, and some other <a href="http://imdb.com/title/tt0345950/quotes">third thing in this list</a>*. After a very uncomfortable swing around The Jungle in which it was difficult to move at all let alone dance I found Marisol with her girlfriends in the VIP section under the cover band’s stage. I crossed over the velvet rope and tripped- an excellent entrance if I do say so myself. She was with five or six beautiful girlfriends from school that were <em>muy agradable</em> (very friendly/agreeable). We sat and yelled at the band in between songs – they knew the singer so it wasn’t obnoxious – to play a cover of Radiohead’s <em>I’m a Creep</em> which he didn’t do. So we drank and danced to the tunes that he was choosing – Guns ‘n Roses, U2, some Mexican song that included, “Chinga Los Gringos” (Fuck the Gringos) – until closing time came around and Marisol’s curfew was coming up. But then their friend Juan, the singer, began the opening bars to <em>I’m a Creep</em> and everyone left in the bar started singing along with the unity that only a song that asserts the singers own debased nature, non-belonging, and wish to be something special when in reality he is merely a creep. Very-sing along. As the last bars fade away and Thom Yorke intones, ‘I don’t belong here, I don’t belong here,’ the bouncers nod in agreement and we file past.</p> <p class="MsoNormal">The next morning by the time I woke up Joshua had left for the ferry terminal outside of town so I meandered about my daily tasks free from the confines of having anyone to tell me what to do or by when to do it. I spent part of the day walking around the streets near our old house before making my way over to the kindergarten that I went to and hanging onto the fence for a while. It was strange to think that I had been confined in this little rectangular building and the tiny playground replete with tractor tires painted bright colors for a formative year twenty years ago. I didn’t remember the days spent inside so well since Joshua and I would cut school just about every day to go and play in the streets or at the beach playground. So the nostalgia was short but sweet.</p> <p class="MsoNormal">I crossed the street to Humberto and Betty’s house for an early supper and some <em>mano fria</em>. We were all sitting at the table on the front porch discussing Joshua and I splitting up for a bit and how he’d fared with the ferry when Marisol came home from school and said, “I just saw Joshua’s motorcycle on the <em>malécon</em> in front of a coffee shop.” So we decided that we’d all hop in a car and go down and surprise him on his ‘ferry trip.’ We piled into the aunt’s <em>Volkswagen Bora</em> with the girls and headed for a cruise down the main street (not unlike Duval Street with the endless supped-up cars driving back and forth all day since they have nothing to do) but the girls weren’t ‘dressed’ for the <em>malécon</em> so they refused to get out of the car lest they be seen by the bevy of boy suitors. So I hopped out of the car to find Josh coming out of the coffee shop with a smile: “It’s Sunday, it’s very hard to do immigration things on a Sunday in Mexico.” I smiled too and we laughed like at the end of a cheesy sitcom.</p> <p class="MsoNormal">Monday seemed like a better day to deal with these <em>cosas</em>, things, so we headed back to <em>Casa del Diablo</em> for a bit before saying our goodbyes since we’d be leaving early in the morning. The next day we went looking for the immigration office – harder than it seems – to finally have our passports stamped and receive visas for our stay before heading to the ferry terminal. We found the office and started the proceedings which involved Joshua walking for half an hour to a bank in order to pay the fees, me going to a small <em>tienda</em> a few blocks away to buy the necessary papers to fill out, and asking for our passports to actually be stamped before we were able to race the five miles to the terminal to be able to check-in in time.</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><img alt="image252.JPG" id="image301" src="http://notthemotorcyclediaries.com/wp-content/uploads/2007/05/image252.JPG" height="391" width="522" /></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><strong>Buying the Immigration Papers from a <em>tienda</em>.</strong></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><img id="image302" alt="image253.JPG" src="http://notthemotorcyclediaries.com/wp-content/uploads/2007/05/image253.JPG" height="397" width="530" /></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><strong>Securing <em>Las Motos</em> for the trip across the Sea of Cortez(notice Elmo).</strong></p><br /><p class="MsoNormal"><img id="image310" alt="image255.JPG" src="http://notthemotorcyclediaries.com/wp-content/uploads/2007/05/image255.JPG" height="400" width="534" /></p><p class="MsoNormal"><object height="350" width="425"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/-kvAlMUJtNw"><param name="wmode" value="transparent"><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/-kvAlMUJtNw" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" wmode="transparent" height="350" width="425"></embed></object></p><p class="MsoNormal"><object height="350" width="425"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/ght91Qm7zh0"><param name="wmode" value="transparent"><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/ght91Qm7zh0" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" wmode="transparent" height="350" width="425"></embed></object><br /></p> <p class="MsoNormal">After a very fast and beautiful <a href="http://maps.google.com/maps/ms?f=d&hl=en&saddr=topolobampo,+mexico&daddr=la+paz,+mexico&ie=UTF8&t=k&om=1&msa=0&msid=100972158738320790436.0000011220ce5ed281687&z=4">ride we made it to the terminal</a> in time to see sixteen other motorcycles being readied for the crossing. After a few <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/SNAFU">SNAFU</a>’s like the power going out, we received our Temporary Import of a Vehicle certificates and made our way to buy tickets to either <em>Mazatlán</em> which was going to take eighteen hours or <a href="http://www.apitopo.com.mx/"><em>Topolobampo</em></a> which was more of a straight-shot on a <a href="http://bajaferries.com/">newer ferry</a> and would take seven hours. We chose the one with the better name. After securing the motorcycles in between the other sixteen motorcycles, <a href="http://www.bmwmotorcycles.com/bikes/bike.jsp?b=r1200gsa">BMWs</a> incidentally, we made our way to the passenger decks which were seriously opulent. They even had a pretty good fish/chicken taco buffet that was included with the crossing. As we pulled out of the harbor; a large task since this ferry was probably carrying upwards of 250 tractor trailer trucks, we were waved away by a lone seal basking on one of the channel markers.</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><img id="image303" alt="image254.JPG" style="width: 510px; height: 382px;" src="http://notthemotorcyclediaries.com/wp-content/uploads/2007/05/image254.JPG" /></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><strong><a href="http://imdb.com/title/tt0367279/quotes">A Loose Seal named Lucille</a> Wishes us a Bon Voyage.</strong></p> <p class="MsoNormal">We made friends with a family that was traveling home in their van to a small village north of Guadalajara as well as befriending a polish guy who was traveling for the first time in his life and had randomly chosen Baja California as his destination but we made sure to avoid the other biker’s since then it would just be talking shop and that’s not usually the most interesting thing to talk about… I taught the family’s youngest son, who was skating around <u><a href="http://shoes.about.com/od/athleticshoes/p/heelys_shoes.htm">with those shoes with wheels on them</a></u>, how to count to one hundred, say his ABCs, and tell his mother and father that he now speaks English for a while and Josh was on the deck for a whale of a whale sighting: for more than an hour a whale had been jumping fully out of the water and then ‘sailing’ with one fin out of the water behind the ferry. <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-kvAlMUJtNw">All I saw were some jellyfish</a> and a <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ght91Qm7zh0">lone sea turtle when I went on deck.</a></p> <p class="MsoNormal">The ferry pulled into the pitch black harbor with only the smallest of a sliver of moon surveying the wind whipped bay. I walked out onto one of the decks that housed the rescue boats which were lined up and ready for a sinking and sneaked in between a couple and watched as the deft dance of docking took place. <em><u>Pangas</u></em> scurrying from mooring buoys to pilings as lines were thrown to them from the deck and they puttered out to secure them. It was slow motion until all the points met and everyone began to line up at different exit points. Since we were on motorcycles we were told to go first since they put them in the commercial traffic hold so he headed for our line and told the Polish guy that we’d meet him outside and give him a ride to town since it was five miles away. We headed into the container hold and took off all the tie-downs that we’d strapped around them and made our way out to the mainland of Mexico. Josh and I switched bikes since I didn’t want to ride someone else and we met up with the Polish guy to give him a ride to a hostel. We figured that we might as well share a room for the night to keep down on costs.</p> <p class="MsoNormal">After a hellish ride on Joshua’s motorcycle that really doesn’t have much by the way of a headlight we made it to a hotel by midnight but there wasn’t any off-street parking which meant; unsafe for motorcycle in big city. So we looked around on foot until we found another around the corner which would allow us to park the two motorcycles in the lobby (a tiny, tiny lobby). We maneuvered them into very tight spots and asked about a taco stand in the vicinity.</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><img id="image305" alt="image270.jpg" style="width: 498px; height: 374px;" src="http://notthemotorcyclediaries.com/wp-content/uploads/2007/05/image270.jpg" /><img id="image304" alt="image268.jpg" style="width: 502px; height: 377px;" src="http://notthemotorcyclediaries.com/wp-content/uploads/2007/05/image268.jpg" /></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><strong>Our Motorcycles in the Lobby of the Hotel. (Later in the morning when Josh moved his bike outside<a href="http://picasaweb.google.com/ianrowan/Elmo"> Elmo was stolen</a> within minutes off of the back.)</strong></p> <p class="MsoNormal">We went and had some <em>vampiros</em> and <em>gorditas</em> with <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Jamaica_%28drink%29"><em>jamaica (haa-my-kah)</em> </a>juice and learned that the Polish Gentleman needed to make the one and only tourist train in Mexico the next morning at the <em>Statione de Ferro Carrils</em> on the outskirts of town. Early in the morning. I decided that this was a job best dealt with by Josh so I was polite at six in the morning when they woke me up to say goodbye and Josh rode him to the train station for the next leg of his journey.</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><img alt="image276.jpg" id="image307" style="width: 495px; height: 371px;" src="http://notthemotorcyclediaries.com/wp-content/uploads/2007/05/image276.jpg" /></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><img alt="image277.jpg" id="image306" src="http://notthemotorcyclediaries.com/wp-content/uploads/2007/05/image277.jpg" height="391" width="523" /></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><strong>Our Polish friend leaving for his <a href="http://www.theculturedtraveler.com/Archives/Nov2003/Print/Mexico.htm">Grand Tour through the French Riviera.</a></strong></p> <p class="MsoNormal"> </p><p class="MsoNormal"> </p><p class="MsoNormal"> </p><p class="MsoNormal"> </p><p class="MsoNormal">*The one and only reference to the <a href="http://imdb.com/title/tt0345950/">Spongebob Squarepants Movie</a> and the best joke in it.</p>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07823948144928431254noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6082668359575838099.post-52475846739449375272007-04-30T17:21:00.000-07:002007-04-30T17:22:39.536-07:00New Map thingy<div><embed quality="high" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" src="http://www.frappr.com/ajax/yvmap.swf" flashvars="host=http://www.frappr.com/&origin=blogger&lo=1&mvid=68720207789" salign="l" align="middle" scale="noscale" width="500" height="300"></embed><div style="width:400px;text-align:left;"><a href="http://visitor.frappr.com/?sig=visitor_map&src_mvid=68720207789&origin=blogger" target="_blank"><img src="http://frappr.com/i/gyo.gif" border="0/" /></a><a href="http://www.frappr.com/?a=constellation_map&mapid=68720179642&src=flash_map&sig=visitor_map&src_mvid=68720207789&origin=blogger&ct=seemore" target="_blank"><img src="http://frappr.com/i/s.gif" border="0/" /></a><a href="http://www.frappr.com/?a=constellation_map&mapid=68720179642&src=flash_map&sig=visitor_map&src_mvid=68720207789&origin=blogger&ct=pendingpins" target="_blank"><img src="http://frappr.com/dyn_map/68720179642/origin:blogger/p.gif" border="0/" /></a><a href="http://www.frappr.com/?a=feedback&type=vm" target="_blank"><img src="http://frappr.com/i/h.gif" border="0/" /></a></div></div>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07823948144928431254noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6082668359575838099.post-25601147389371070092007-04-30T16:58:00.000-07:002007-04-30T17:03:00.335-07:00Cabo Wabo San Lucas<p class="MsoNormal"><a href="http://www.bajainsider.com/baja-california-travel/baja-destinations/cabo-san-lucas/cabospringbreak2007.htm">Spring Break 2007!!!</a></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><img alt="cabo-map.jpg" id="image297" src="http://notthemotorcyclediaries.com/wp-content/uploads/2007/04/cabo-map.jpg" /></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-weight: bold;">We essentially did the loop of La Paz, Todos Santos, Cabo San Lucas and back to La Paz.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal">The next day we decided to go for a day drive down to the<a href="http://www.bajainsider.com/baja-maps/baja-california-map.htm"> tip of Baja to <em>Los Cabos</em></a> but since Josh wasn’t currently enjoying the deafening noise of his broken muffler we stripped mine of panniers and doubled up for the ride. After long and involved deliberations and planning meetings with <em>Humberto</em> and <em>Betty</em> and any other friend/family member that happened along we were told to head down to <em><a href="http://www.bajainsider.com/baja-california-travel/baja-destinations/todos-santos-baja-california-sur.htm">Todos Santos</a></em> for breakfast/lunch depending upon departure time, then down to a surf town by the name of <em><a href="http://www.mexonline.com/pescaderosurf.htm">Pescadero</a></em>, then go through <em>Cabo San Lucas</em> for dinner before booking it back to La Paz. What ended up happening is an altogether different story: we left late which is always my fault, we cruised through <em><a href="http://www.bajainsider.com/baja-california-travel/baja-destinations/todos-santos-baja-california-sur.htm">Todos Santos</a></em> without even stopping <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=27X3ULqXe1A">(but we did appreciate its palms and oasis-like character and artsy shops before accelerating out of town</a>), <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=7_-IeTxqRt8">we totally missed the turnoff for the surf town which we could see would have been delightful</a>, we pulled over at<a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=JgYJFSblgVc"> some point for a solitary beach walk</a> which ended up trying to be very careful to avoid the multiple RVs parked on the beach, then down and into <em><a href="http://www.bajainsider.com/baja-california-travel/baja-destinations/cabo-san-lucas/cabospringbreak2007.htm">Cabo San Lucas<span style="font-style: normal;"> </span></a></em>for lunch and trouble.</p><p class="MsoNormal"><object width="425" height="350"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/27X3ULqXe1A"></param><param name="wmode" value="transparent"></param><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/27X3ULqXe1A" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" wmode="transparent" width="425" height="350"></embed></object></p><p class="MsoNormal"><object width="425" height="350"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/JgYJFSblgVc"></param><param name="wmode" value="transparent"></param><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/JgYJFSblgVc" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" wmode="transparent" width="425" height="350"></embed></object></p><p class="MsoNormal"><object width="425" height="350"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/7_-IeTxqRt8"></param><param name="wmode" value="transparent"></param><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/7_-IeTxqRt8" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" wmode="transparent" width="425" height="350"></embed></object></p><p class="MsoNormal"><br /></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><img alt="pic_0058.JPG" id="image290" style="width: 563px; height: 422px;" src="http://notthemotorcyclediaries.com/wp-content/uploads/2007/04/pic_0058.JPG" /></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><img alt="pic_0060.JPG" id="image289" src="http://notthemotorcyclediaries.com/wp-content/uploads/2007/04/pic_0060.JPG" height="406" width="542" /></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><strong>A Fancy photo of Josh and I (solely in reflection but at least I’m in color…)</strong></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><img alt="image158.JPG" id="image291" style="width: 572px; height: 429px;" src="http://notthemotorcyclediaries.com/wp-content/uploads/2007/04/image158.JPG" /></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><strong>My turn to do a reflection photo but this time we’re all in color.</strong></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><img alt="image168.JPG" id="image281" style="width: 571px; height: 428px;" src="http://notthemotorcyclediaries.com/wp-content/uploads/2007/04/image168.JPG" /></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><strong>Josh being pummeled by the waves he once mocked.</strong></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><img alt="pic_0086.JPG" id="image292" style="width: 556px; height: 417px;" src="http://notthemotorcyclediaries.com/wp-content/uploads/2007/04/pic_0086.JPG" /></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><strong>Approaching Cabo San Lucas through industrial wastelands.</strong></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><img alt="pic_0110.JPG" id="image293" style="width: 548px; height: 411px;" src="http://notthemotorcyclediaries.com/wp-content/uploads/2007/04/pic_0110.JPG" /></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><strong>The Fishing Fleet coming back into port after a terrible day not catching any fish.</strong></p> <p class="MsoNormal">We pulled into town in the early afternoon and went directly to the marina and the breakwater entrance for some quick reminiscing before heading to a restaurant. It was twenty years ago that we’d pulled into this harbor and dropped anchor. Our parents went ashore first in order to check in with the customs authorities before coming back to get us to go exploring. But when they came back they didn’t look very happy; they climbed on deck and addressed us all at once. “It seems that we’re not allowed to bring in five people because Mexico is limiting how many people they want in the country. They’ve only given us permission for four so we’re going to have to leave one of you behind. We’ve decided to let you three determine amongst yourselves which one stays here.” At that point Joshua and I, the youngest, were pretty much scared shitless about being left behind. Noah ran off for some thinking time while Josh and I started trying to decide the criteria that would determine which one of us would be voted on by the other two, ‘well Noah and Ian still wet their beds, Josh is a terror most of the time, Ian’s still a baby so who needs him, Noah’s the only one who’s old enough to make it on his own… etc.’ Then Noah ran back into the room and started laughing <em>at</em> us. It seems that it happened to be April 1<sup>st</sup> and we’d just been fooled. To this day I think that’s quite an extreme prank to play on your kids: “We don’t want one of you anymore. Decide amongst yourselves which one it is. Then we leave you.” But I suppose it’s really just close to the truth since at one point Josh was put up for adoption when he was younger but it never went all the way through. Obviously.</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><a title="pic_0115.JPG" class="imagelink" rel="attachment" id="p294" href="http://notthemotorcyclediaries.com/?attachment_id=294"><img alt="image169.JPG" id="image282" style="width: 583px; height: 438px;" src="http://notthemotorcyclediaries.com/wp-content/uploads/2007/04/image169.JPG" /></a></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><strong>Showing our dislike of Cabo San Lucas Spring Break 2000-fucking 7!!!</strong></p> <p class="MsoNormal">We had some lunch and then walked down the beach towards loud music. As it happened we were there during the height of Spring Break 2007!!!! Woooo Hooooo! Yeah! Tequila shots! All around, all night, alright! We tried to take it but could only handle an hour- impressive, I know – before running away. But the sunset was gorgeous as we ran down the beach and it reflected off of the calm sea and the mountains running into the sea and the famous natural arch cut out of the cliffs at water level.</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><img id="image283" alt="image171.JPG" style="width: 586px; height: 439px;" src="http://notthemotorcyclediaries.com/wp-content/uploads/2007/04/image171.JPG" /></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><strong>You have got to be kidding me.</strong></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><img id="image284" alt="image172.JPG" style="width: 578px; height: 433px;" src="http://notthemotorcyclediaries.com/wp-content/uploads/2007/04/image172.JPG" /></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><strong>The man in the mariachi hat has two gun straps slung around him full of shot glasses, in his dual holsters</strong> <strong>bottles of tequila.</strong></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><img id="image295" alt="pic_0118.JPG" style="width: 576px; height: 432px;" src="http://notthemotorcyclediaries.com/wp-content/uploads/2007/04/pic_0118.JPG" /></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><strong>My friend Lauren is working on one of these yachts in the bay.</strong></p> <p class="MsoNormal">The two of us got separated for a while before we ran into each other again and decided to go to the major club called Squid Row and try to join the Spring Breakers instead of beating them. We ended up having a great time as crazy as this sounds with a young Canadian girl’s* mother who was visiting her daughter for a week. She was so lovingly disapproving of all the kids gyrating close together that she built a giant stick out of four oversized straws and began hitting a young couple to separate them. This went on for an hour as we took turns hitting people that were ‘too close’ together to be civilized; then we found out what the oversized straws were used for and ended up getting quite drunk. Josh and I were merely on a day trip so we had no plans on staying in <em>Cabo </em>for the night but then it was four in the morning and the club was closing and we had to find a place. We jumped in a taxi with a bunch of other kids and went on the rounds dropping girls and boys off at different hotels until it came our turn and we asked the driver, “What is the best place to sleep on the beach?” He told us to get out.</p> <p class="MsoNormal">*This girl had an interesting job as a problem solver/cleaner not unlike <a href="http://imdb.com/title/tt0110912/quotes">The Wolf </a>for a large resort; she takes care of all the issues that come up when one of the guests somehow dies on vacation, i.e. drowning, cliff diving, or alcohol poisoning. Luckily we weren’t staying at her hotel or drinking there…</p> <p class="MsoNormal"> </p><p class="MsoNormal"><img id="image287" alt="image178.JPG" style="width: 587px; height: 440px;" src="http://notthemotorcyclediaries.com/wp-content/uploads/2007/04/image178.JPG" /></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><strong>I’m sorry but it’s true; we went to <a href="http://www.loscabosguide.com/squidroecabo.htm">Squid Row</a>.</strong></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-weight: bold;">I believe this is the equivalent of going to <a href="http://www.sloppyjoes.com/">Sloppy Joe’s in Key West</a>.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><img id="image286" alt="image183.JPG" style="width: 572px; height: 429px;" src="http://notthemotorcyclediaries.com/wp-content/uploads/2007/04/image183.JPG" /></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><strong>Our Canadian mother chaperone for the evening and her castigating straw below.</strong></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><img id="image288" alt="image181.JPG" src="http://notthemotorcyclediaries.com/wp-content/uploads/2007/04/image181.JPG" height="415" width="554" /></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><strong>That’s the couple that is dancing too close together and this|| is the straw that pried them apart.</strong></p> <p class="MsoNormal">As we were making our way down to the beach we noticed a hotel construction site that looked like it was easy enough to climb the fence and just sleep on the floor of one of the incomplete rooms; Josh hopped over first and I stumbled over second. He had turned on his flashlight and was climbing the first story when I heard a blood-curdling scream and Josh came running back out. It turned out that he had woken the night watchmen/construction worker who was living there who thought we were robbers or trespassers (we were the latter not the former) and had come at Josh with a club. We told him that we were just looking for a place to sleep and hadn’t meant to startle him and of course now we’d leave. He followed us back to where we had climbed the fence and we said goodnight. We laughed a bit as we walked down to the beach and looked for some comfortable spot to curl up on. We didn’t find one but we did pass out until dawn.</p> <p class="MsoNormal">This was a very painful way to wake up; still chilled from the night before, sand mixed with alcohol in the mouth, clothes caked with I don’t want to know what, and a nice hangover headache to top it off. Let’s go ride a motorcycle everyone! Josh drove in the morning as I was tending to nod off on the back of the bike before we made it to <em>Todos Santos</em> again and had to stop for some breakfast to soak up the booze and coffee to caffeinate the sleeper on the back of a motorcycle (this is a really dangerous form of somnambulism). After three cups of coffee I was still really tired but decided it would be best if I drove since I wouldn’t be able to nod off that way. Turns out I was dangerously right but right nonetheless.</p>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07823948144928431254noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6082668359575838099.post-180528329133295692007-04-26T19:38:00.000-07:002007-04-26T19:39:22.039-07:00El Diablo and the Pelicans<object width="425" height="350"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/LL-qAIq4guA"></param><param name="wmode" value="transparent"></param><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/LL-qAIq4guA" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" wmode="transparent" width="425" height="350"></embed></object>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07823948144928431254noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6082668359575838099.post-26849962348243598742007-04-26T19:36:00.000-07:002007-04-26T19:37:19.753-07:00La Paz Continued<p class="MsoNormal">Late February - Early March?</p> <p class="MsoNormal">We’d settled into the apartment next door to the house that we used to live in (and by house I mean garage next to the house) for a few days when <em>El Diablo</em> decided to take us out in his <em>lanchita</em> for a view of the harbor. He wanted to see if we’d remember where the boat had been anchored as well as show us around the giant harbor and get a different perspective on <em>La Paz </em>(which translates to The Peaceful Place). So we went over to <em>Casa Quiroz </em>for an early lunch that consisted of simmered chicken breast marinated with Coca-Cola, fresh tortillas, rice, and jalapenos before we loaded the little tin dinghy into the back of his truck and drove the two blocks to the boat ramp.</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><img alt="image199.jpg" id="image278" src="http://notthemotorcyclediaries.com/wp-content/uploads/2007/04/image199.jpg" height="418" width="559" /></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><strong>Pollo’s Fiery Red Truck that is driven by El Diablo which hauled the <em>lanchita</em> to the harbor.</strong></p> <p class="MsoNormal">We launched her after purchasing a couple of<a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Caguama"><em> Caguama’s </em></a>(literal translation is sea turtle but it actually refers to the big beers, you know, the big one’s?)* to keep us cool in the midday sun. We loaded the gasoline and mounted the 7.6 horsepower engine on the transom and puttered out into the harbor; we’d made it maybe three hundred yards before <em>El Diablo</em> noticed that the engine wasn’t pissing out water which meant that it wasn’t being cooled which also meant that it was about to overheat and conk out on us. So we turned off the engine and Josh and I grabbed the two tiny oars and began to row back to shore to see if we could fix the problem.</p> <p class="MsoNormal">Once she touched the beach we hauled her up a bit and set about searching for some wire to clear the blocked water intake; a local fisherman helped us out and we spent a hot ten minutes trying to jam wire up the engine before putting her back to sea. She cranked up on the first try but still wasn’t pissing. So Josh suggests that he and I just row us around the bay for a while. I suggest that he row us around for a bit. But somehow I have to put my <em>caguama</em> down and start rowing into the wind for the next half hour. Great idea. <em>El Diablo</em> sat in back yelling at his while lauding his new two horsepower engines rowing in the front (<em>dos caballos de caballeros)</em>. We’d almost made it to the other side of the harbor when we happened upon one of the anchored sailboats with a lone person onboard who saw our predicament and offered help. “Oh no, we’re just out for a leisurely row. Don’t worry about us,” Josh flippantly replied as behind him I motioned the international call of distress.</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><img alt="Pinche Fucking Motor" id="image272" src="http://notthemotorcyclediaries.com/wp-content/uploads/2007/04/image190.jpg" height="481" width="643" /></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><strong><em>El Diablo and his pinché fucking motor</em>. </strong></p> <p class="MsoNormal">But we did notice that the boat was registered in <a href="http://www.google.com/maps?q=Molalla,+OR,+USA&sa=X&oi=map&ct=title">Molalla, Oregon</a>. Now this is quite a coincidence since our boat was built in Mollala and since it’s a tiny, tiny town in the MOUNTAINS of Oregon that doesn’t see much of the build-a-sailboat-in-the-mountains-and-sail-around-the-world-on-it zeitgeist. Our father spent twelve years building our sailboat in a shed near the log cabin we lived in miles and miles from the nearest neighbor (technically our boat is registered as Trout Creek, Oregon because that is the name of the creek that ran by the shed and the cabin and emptied into the Molalla River twenty feet away but that’s neither here nor there) so if someone else had been building a sailboat or even planning a similar voyage then they probably would have known about each other. So we quickly asked him if he was the owner and what the story was but it turned out that he was just watching the boat for the captain and that he wouldn’t be back until later. We vowed to come back at the appointed time. And then we didn’t so we’ll never know. Kinda disappointing, huh?</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><img id="image277" alt="image187.jpg" src="http://notthemotorcyclediaries.com/wp-content/uploads/2007/04/image187.jpg" height="458" width="611" /></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><img id="image274" alt="image198.jpg" src="http://notthemotorcyclediaries.com/wp-content/uploads/2007/04/image198.jpg" height="458" width="614" /></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=LL-qAIq4guA"><strong>You can watch <em>El Diablo</em> trying to commune/catch with his bare hands these pelicans.</strong> </a><br />We loaded up the <em>lanchita</em> and headed back to Casa Quiroz but not before picking up some <em>Tecate</em>. Once we’d put the dinghy back in the backyard and walked into the house Marisol and Betty couldn’t help but laugh and say, <em>“Manos Frias.”</em> “Cold hands,” which refers to one whom is often seen partaking of the pleasures of a cold beverage of the alcoholic variety thus permanently having frigid hands, or an alcoholic. Not the first time nor the last time we’d hear this refrain. <em>El Diablo</em> then invited us to a men’s gathering that evening at a club for Baja 1000 racers. The girls all laughed and warned us not to go but we couldn’t refuse so we headed back to the apartment for <em>siesta</em> and agreed to meet back at the house around seven.</p> <p class="MsoNormal">The night turned cold after sunset and we arrived bundled up for the drive to this ‘club.’ First we stopped off for some beer as is customary. Then we pulled up to what looked like a mechanics garage and walked into the back yard where a bunch of chairs and coolers had been set up across from a tent and tables with a smoldering grill being readied for <em>carne asada</em> (roasted meat). Everyone was slowly trickling in and we were introduced around to the fifteen or so gentlemen that were at hand. Some were government officials including the head of Baja California tourism and others were more directly involved in the races either sponsoring or racing. One guy that we met races against his wife who has her own dune buggy while others raced solo or by motorcycle (probably the most taxing way to go) and everyone was quite excited to hear about our trip by motorcycle down to <em>Tierra del Fuego</em> so we got talked up a bit by the government officials who then introduced us to the editor of the monthly Baja Races newspaper. He was so excited about the trip that he called up his lead reporter and had him come over right away to do an interview with us. We waited until he arrived by partaking in some more beers and then the <em>carne asada</em> was ready so every dug in as the <em>saboya</em>, grilled onions, were passed out and the salsa’s were readied for consumption. Everyone fought over the meat like cavemen until there was none left – some scraps were left for the kids that had attended for some sort of <em>man</em>datory induction into the world of machismo racing.</p> <p class="MsoNormal">Finally the star reporter arrived and we were ready for the interview which was mostly Spanish sprinkled with Spanglish as Joshua and I took turns explaining the impetus, planning, and adventures so far. They took some photos and I told him to feel free to use any of the ones on the website and we wrapped it up. We had a few drinks with the author and he offered to translate NTMD into Spanish for free, we said sure. So the next day I bought the domain <em>noeslosdiarosmotocicleta.com</em> just so that we could be an equal opportunity vicarious traveler site. Of course translating how much I’ve been writing for the blog would be an arduous undertaking especially gratis so nothing has come of it. Yet.</p> <p class="MsoNormal">Everyone at the ‘meeting’ proceeded to get ever more drunk until the guitars were broken out and a great big <em>banda</em> singing circle was started. One of the gentlemen was the class clown of sorts, a bit of a <em>loco</em> who had been chatting with Josh for quite a while and things had gotten out of hand. He had a slight dislike of Americans as well as the normal Mexican antipathy to homosexuality which Josh had riled up with constant calling of him as a <em>joto</em> or fag which Josh thought funny. It then became some sort of joke in which Josh sold him my ass for 300 pesos which apparently was a bargain. He then came over to me (having no knowledge of the joke) and started pulling out his wallet and trying to grab me. Obviously I was nonplussed. I started protesting and pushing him away slightly violently which only made him more aggressive. I looked over to Humberto, <em>El Diablo</em>, for help and an explanation which he gave by coming over and protecting me from this crazy man and explaining that he’s a crazy man and to take no notice.</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><img alt="image154.jpg" id="image275" src="http://notthemotorcyclediaries.com/wp-content/uploads/2007/04/image154.jpg" height="403" width="538" /></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><strong>The Mexican Gentlemen’s Baja 1000 Club Meeting(with gringo guests).<br /></strong></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><img alt="image155.jpg" id="image276" src="http://notthemotorcyclediaries.com/wp-content/uploads/2007/04/image155.jpg" height="400" width="535" /></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><strong>The crazy man that was trying to buy me for 300 pesos. <em>300 pesos!</em></strong></p> <p class="MsoNormal"> </p><p class="MsoNormal"> </p><p class="MsoNormal"><a href="http://imdb.com/title/tt0113537/quotes">*Reference to Noah Baumbach’s Kicking and Screaming. </a></p>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07823948144928431254noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6082668359575838099.post-66374865632034694912007-04-26T16:21:00.000-07:002007-04-26T16:24:18.085-07:00Dulce Doctorcita Daniela Sing-Along<object width="425" height="350"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/Humip9VO65A"></param><param name="wmode" value="transparent"></param><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/Humip9VO65A" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" wmode="transparent" width="425" height="350"></embed></object>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07823948144928431254noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6082668359575838099.post-69399909002703929552007-04-19T14:44:00.000-07:002007-04-19T16:16:45.767-07:00Querétaro Continued<p class="MsoNormal">We spent the next few days being chauffeured around by Doctorcita Daniela to various municipal offices taking care of official business. What would normally take an hour usually ended up taking six which is par for the course down here. At one point the power was being turned off every ten minutes because some electricians were fixing the lines for the office; this meant that we had to wait three hours for one document to be printed and signed. Luckily our insurance covers third party liability so the car that I hit was paid for but unluckily enough I have no insurance for myself nor the motorcycle and needless to say the other car had no insurance so I’ll be paying out of pocket. On the day of determining culpability we were supposed to meet with our appointed lawyer at eleven on a Monday but after we arrived on time (big mistake) the woman in charge of the proceedings asked if we wouldn’t mind waiting three or four hours since they were kinda busy at the moment. This turned out to be alright since our lawyer didn’t show up until four hours later.</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><img id="image266" alt="image811.jpg" src="http://notthemotorcyclediaries.com/wp-content/uploads/2007/04/image811.jpg" height="434" width="579" /></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><strong>What’s left after the fire in broad daylight.</strong></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><img id="image268" alt="image825.jpg" src="http://notthemotorcyclediaries.com/wp-content/uploads/2007/04/image825.jpg" /></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><strong>My knee did that!</strong></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><img id="image267" alt="image816.jpg" src="http://notthemotorcyclediaries.com/wp-content/uploads/2007/04/image816.jpg" /></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><strong>El Changa’s car in the <em>huesero</em>.</strong></p> <p class="MsoNormal">We hung out with the three guys that were in the car as they had been waiting even longer than us for some sort of closure and an estimate on the damages that the insurance was going to pay for. One of the guys was nicknamed La Chango which brought up a few jokes about him being a transvestite since for some reason he took the feminine form for the word monkey. He even had a belt buckle especially made for his hermaphroditic nature. We finally finished all the paperwork and were ready to head to the <em>coche huesero</em>, or car graveyard, to pick up the remnants of the motorcycle. But it turned out to be an hour drive away so not today.</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><img id="image257" alt="image791.jpg" src="http://notthemotorcyclediaries.com/wp-content/uploads/2007/04/image791.jpg" /></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><strong>El Changa is Angry! He’s about to smash my foot. </strong></p> <p class="MsoNormal">Instead it was the weekend of <em>Semana Santa</em>, Easter to the non-Mexican, and so Daniela and Tania invited us to their parents place in <em>Texco</em> which was about an hour and a half drive out of town. We loaded up the car Saturday morning and made the drive on the same dangerous libre roads that the accident happened on but other than a few crazy close calls (for some reason Mexicans prefer passing on blind corners) we made it to their hometown in the early afternoon. Their father and mother, Benito and Olivia, were waiting at the house to greet the two anachronistic gringos who had shown up somewhat randomly into the lives of their family.<strong> </strong> They immediately welcome us into the family just as their daughters had and we settled in quite quickly.</p> <p class="MsoNormal">Each weekend the family of twenty one cousins and their parents get together for a giant lunch at grandma’s house and games of football, poker, dominos et. al. So after sunning for a while with the girls as they did their nails next to the indoor swimming pool that the mother had decided needed to be drained years ago and the father had decided that it might be a good place to install a well-stocked bar in the deep end we all headed over to grandma’s for the feast.</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><img id="image255" alt="image786.jpg" src="http://notthemotorcyclediaries.com/wp-content/uploads/2007/04/image786.jpg" /></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><strong>The Entrance to Grandma’s House.</strong></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><img id="image253" alt="image785.jpg" src="http://notthemotorcyclediaries.com/wp-content/uploads/2007/04/image785.jpg" /></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><strong>The Bar at the deep end of the drained pool.</strong></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><img id="image240" alt="image733.jpg" src="http://notthemotorcyclediaries.com/wp-content/uploads/2007/04/image733.jpg" /></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><strong>The Table is ready to go (notice the bottle of Coca-Cola as centerpiece… it’s a new marketing ploy that pushes for Coca-Cola to be a part of dinner that’s been pushed pretty hard)<br /></strong></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><img id="image242" alt="image737.jpg" src="http://notthemotorcyclediaries.com/wp-content/uploads/2007/04/image737.jpg" /></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><strong>The Sangria being made by Daniela’s Aunt and Uncle.</strong></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><img id="image241" alt="image735.jpg" src="http://notthemotorcyclediaries.com/wp-content/uploads/2007/04/image735.jpg" /></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><strong>The Paella that our household brought over; we ate leftovers for the next week.</strong></p> <p class="MsoNormal">After three courses of different types of <em>ceviché</em>, (shrimp, octopus, and fish) the main course of <em>Paella</em> came out in deep, deep dishes. We sat at the overflow table, aka kids. After dessert and coffee a very competitive game of soccer began that devolved or evolved into daughters versus mothers. Surprisingly the mothers kicked ass after being quite hesitant about playing. The daughters came off of the field with bruised egos and bruises.</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><img id="image260" alt="img_0260.jpg" src="http://notthemotorcyclediaries.com/wp-content/uploads/2007/04/img_0260.jpg" /></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><strong>Mothers versus Daughters in the Thunderdome!</strong></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><img id="image261" alt="img_0252.jpg" src="http://notthemotorcyclediaries.com/wp-content/uploads/2007/04/img_0252.jpg" /></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><strong>For a six-year-old he was awesome and actually one of the leading goal-scorers.</strong></p> <p class="MsoNormal"> </p><p class="MsoNormal">A big game of Texas Hold’em was started while the parents played dominos and the girls discussed plans for the night (after playing tug-of-war with the garden hose). [For some reason I was the first one out of the Hold’em game seems I’m a bit rusty or it’s hard to bluff beginners, either way it was slightly embarrassing.]</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><img id="image243" alt="image749.jpg" src="http://notthemotorcyclediaries.com/wp-content/uploads/2007/04/image749.jpg" /></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><strong>Me losing at Texas Hold’em.</strong></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><img id="image250" alt="image780.jpg" src="http://notthemotorcyclediaries.com/wp-content/uploads/2007/04/image780.jpg" /></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><strong>Impressions by La Guera.</strong></p> <p class="MsoNormal">After some more drinks everyone decided upon a late afternoon siesta so we headed home to get ready for the evening in the plaza.</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><img id="image262" alt="img_0270.jpg" src="http://notthemotorcyclediaries.com/wp-content/uploads/2007/04/img_0270.jpg" /></p> <p class="MsoNormal">Once the girls were showered and dressed we walked to the plaza and hung out at grandma’s pharmacy on the corner as the family gathered slowly. We went over to the church and listened to mass in the overflow tent that was set up at the entrance before looking for some street fare (<em>gorditas, vampiros, quesadillas, and tortas</em>) was partaken. Then it was decided that we should go to the only bar in town which wasn’t in town but ten minutes outside so we all piled into a giant SUV and scarily began to drive at night in Mexico on a holiday; you are pretty much guaranteed that every driver is speeding, angry, and drunk. We get to the ‘bar’ which is really a converted mechanics garage with some speakers and lights set up around some tin fold out tables and chairs. You can either buy a box of beer or a bottle of rum and the girls always chose the latter. By the time all the cousins trickled in we had become quite a large and boisterous group of about twenty.</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><img id="image263" alt="img_0275.jpg" src="http://notthemotorcyclediaries.com/wp-content/uploads/2007/04/img_0275.jpg" /></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><strong>The cousins gather for some underage drinking if there is such a thing in Mexico.</strong></p> <p class="MsoNormal">One of the cousins by the name of Aldo is prone to fights (probably protective of his hot girlfriend) so he went over to another table and started punching a guy repeatedly into a wall. The guy didn’t like this. After a rush to separate them the other guy was taken outside and word got back to our table via his friends that he’d gone to get his gun from his car. Since we are with the family of Aldo, aka the target, it was unanimously decided that it wouldn’t be good to hang around behind him nor would it be a good idea to stay at the bar so everyone was rounded up and escorted out to the cars. Luckily the other guy was nowhere to be seen and so it was decided we’d had enough ‘excitement’ for the night and headed home.</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=5PJrFiEdP28">The next day we awoke for a day excursion by <em>panga</em> through the local reservoir.</a> We trespassed on an exclusive bungalow hotel island for a little while and then got the boot after the manager let us know that it costs 75 dollars per person per night. Then we made our way back to the boat launch where we ran into the friends of the guy that Aldo beat up who were idling around the <em>tienda</em> drinking beers twelve hours later. They bought a couple of six-packs and we all chilled in the shade and shot the shit about the night before. Turns out that Aldo and the other guy regularly get into fights but it’s quite irregular that the other one goes for his gun. I guess we just bring the good luck with us.</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><img id="image245" alt="image765.jpg" src="http://notthemotorcyclediaries.com/wp-content/uploads/2007/04/image765.jpg" /></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><img id="image265" alt="img_0292.jpg" src="http://notthemotorcyclediaries.com/wp-content/uploads/2007/04/img_0292.jpg" /><img id="image249" alt="image777.jpg" src="http://notthemotorcyclediaries.com/wp-content/uploads/2007/04/image777.jpg" /><img id="image247" alt="image774.jpg" src="http://notthemotorcyclediaries.com/wp-content/uploads/2007/04/image774.jpg" /></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><strong>Being kicked off the private bungalow island hotel-thingy.</strong></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><img id="image264" alt="img_0281.jpg" src="http://notthemotorcyclediaries.com/wp-content/uploads/2007/04/img_0281.jpg" /></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><strong>Josh is funny.</strong></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><img id="image246" alt="image771.jpg" src="http://notthemotorcyclediaries.com/wp-content/uploads/2007/04/image771.jpg" /></p>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07823948144928431254noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6082668359575838099.post-68655504210454252952007-04-19T14:28:00.000-07:002007-04-19T14:30:09.911-07:00NTMD really becomes NOT The Motorcycle Diaries<p class="MsoNormal">Well, Not The Motorcycle Diaries has had a bit of a hiccup en route from Guadalajara to Puebla (I’m a bit behind on keeping the blog up to date in real time). We’ve been trying to cut down on costs so we’ve avoided the autopiste and stuck to the libré roads which are notoriously more clogged and dangerous… dun dun dun.</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><img alt="Leaving Guadalajara and Enlaces" id="image217" style="width: 595px; height: 444px;" src="http://notthemotorcyclediaries.com/wp-content/uploads/2007/04/image589.jpg" /></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-weight: bold;">Leaving Enlaces Mexico (aka our friend Jody’s business) in Guadalajara.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><img alt="image601.jpg" id="image216" style="width: 594px; height: 444px;" src="http://notthemotorcyclediaries.com/wp-content/uploads/2007/04/image601.jpg" /></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-weight: bold;">En route to Puebla after the second time in two hours Josh’s bike broke down.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><img alt="image607.jpg" id="image221" style="width: 600px; height: 450px;" src="http://notthemotorcyclediaries.com/wp-content/uploads/2007/04/image607.jpg" /></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-weight: bold;">The hailstorm was so intensely loud on the tin roof we could shout and still not hear eachother.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><img alt="image605.jpg" id="image220" style="width: 586px; height: 438px;" src="http://notthemotorcyclediaries.com/wp-content/uploads/2007/04/image605.jpg" /><span style="font-weight: bold;"></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal">We’d just experienced an intense hailstorm which we had to get off of the road in order to shelter from. It went on for about half an hour as we waited it out in a mechanics shop and then we got back on the road for a while and hit some traffic. We were thinking about turning back for the autopiste but instead we rode the shoulder for quite some time. Josh was riding ahead of me about a mile. The traffic was jammed as far as the horizon with tractor-trailers turning off their engines to wait out what we later came to know was actually quite usual. I was going about 25mph when a red 1990 Jetta pulled out of nowhere perpendicularly in front of me. Apparently a truck had made room for this car to get through and make a turn after having been traveling in the opposite direction of me. I applied the brakes and tried to swerve right in order to avoid him but he was traveling at too fast of a rate and I was hit by the front drivers side of the car. This sent first me through my windshield and then the bike airborne for about 25 feet. The bike and I separated from eachother and all I could think was, “This isn’t normal” as I flew through the air looking down at the ground as things I recognized spiraled away from me and then landed five feet from the motorcycle.</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><img alt="image612.jpg" id="image222" src="http://notthemotorcyclediaries.com/wp-content/uploads/2007/04/image612.jpg" height="381" width="511" /></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-weight: bold;">What’s left of the motorcycle after the crash.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-weight: bold;"> <img alt="image617.jpg" id="image225" style="width: 500px; height: 374px;" src="http://notthemotorcyclediaries.com/wp-content/uploads/2007/04/image617.jpg" /></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-weight: bold;">What’s left of the 1990 Jetta that hit me. The black streak is from my left handlebar.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><img alt="image610.jpg" id="image223" style="width: 502px; height: 374px;" src="http://notthemotorcyclediaries.com/wp-content/uploads/2007/04/image610.jpg" /></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-weight: bold;">Probably my favorite photo from the trip so far…</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><img alt="image623.jpg" id="image227" style="width: 507px; height: 379px;" src="http://notthemotorcyclediaries.com/wp-content/uploads/2007/04/image623.jpg" /></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-weight: bold;">Where I went through the windshield. Notice the dent in the gas tank.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><img alt="image620.jpg" id="image226" style="width: 504px; height: 376px;" src="http://notthemotorcyclediaries.com/wp-content/uploads/2007/04/image620.jpg" /></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-weight: bold;">That’s where my knee went into the tank before I took flight.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-weight: bold;"><img alt="image611.jpg" id="image224" style="width: 504px; height: 376px;" src="http://notthemotorcyclediaries.com/wp-content/uploads/2007/04/image611.jpg" /></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-weight: bold;">The realization and the pain start to set in.<br /></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-weight: bold;"><img alt="image621.jpg" id="image228" style="width: 508px; height: 380px;" src="http://notthemotorcyclediaries.com/wp-content/uploads/2007/04/image621.jpg" /></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-weight: bold;">The damage to the left cylinder and carb/fuel injection from the fire.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"> </p><p class="MsoNormal">I instantly got up and looked around at all my things and pieces of the bike strewn across the little ravine we had landed in. Then I noticed that the motorcycle was on fire after the dizzy lights in my vision dissipated and started yelling to the people whom had already gathered around for water. “Agua, agua!” everyone began to yell as the flames got bigger and bigger. One of the guys that was in the red car started walking towards the bike with a liter of water and I stopped him long enough to warn him about the dangers of an explosion. A woman then came up and told me to lie down and relax and that she was a nurse. Joshua was still a mile away and I could see that he had stopped and was waiting for me so I began to yell his name somewhat frantically since I knew at some point he’d probably end up being my EMT. I was lying down by the time he finally skidded to a stop five feet from me. I had just noticed that blood was seeping through my left sock and so I tried to reach down and take my shoe off when I noticed a pretty sharp pain up near my right shoulder. I still managed to get my shoe off and then the nurse that happened on the scene took off the sock for me. The top of my foot was pretty much split open. I sat still as Josh checked me for a concussion and vital signs as well as any other damage (a pretty deep bruise on my right thigh where my pen had skid along with me until it exploded) before checking on the motorcycle which had luckily been put out.</p> <p class="MsoNormal"> </p><p class="MsoNormal">The sweet nurse called an ambulance and the police had recently arrived. They asked some questions as I lay immobile and the three guys from the car tried to help as well. “<em>Lo siento, lo siento</em>,” I told them and one of them replied, “<em>Le Valle Madre, lo que es importa es que tu eres bueno</em>.” –It doesn’t matter, what’s important is that you’re alright.</p> <p class="MsoNormal">The ambulance finally arrived thirty minutes later. They cut me out of my clothes as they bandaged my foot wound and put me in a neck brace and restraints in order to transport me to the hospital.</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><img id="image230" alt="image628.jpg" src="http://notthemotorcyclediaries.com/wp-content/uploads/2007/04/image628.jpg" height="407" width="544" /></p> <p class="MsoNormal">The paramedics said it would take another twenty minutes before we made it to the hospital and offered me a drip for the pain which I declined (don’t really want a needle stuck in my arm in a moving vehicle on Mexican roads). But now my foot is really starting to hurt and the ambulance is going at a very slow rate due to the fact that my situation isn’t ‘grave.’ As I stared at the lights on the ceiling of the ambulance it reminded me of the only other time I’ve been in an accident and funnily enough it pretty much happened the same way: I was fifteen and riding my friend David Smith on the handlebars of my BMX on the way to soccer practice when we were waved across a four lane highway by a motorist. But it happens that I can’t see beyond the car that has stopped and I start to cross the road and lo and behold we get hit by a car. I went flying for about thirty feet doing a couple of flips and land on my head while my friend David scratches a little bit of his elbow. I refused to allow the doctor to give me stitches since I’d never had any and wanted to keep it that way. This time I was the one asking for stitches to be done sooner rather than later.</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><img id="image229" alt="image629.jpg" src="http://notthemotorcyclediaries.com/wp-content/uploads/2007/04/image629.jpg" height="399" width="535" /></p> <p class="MsoNormal">We arrived at Los Angeles Hospital and I was wheeled out and introduced to the doctors and given an assessment by the paramedics. They cut off the rest of my clothes (except the red star Che shirt which I respectively and painfully asked them to take off of me without cutting me) and decided that some x-rays needed to be taken. As the young attractive <em>Doctora</em> was taking down my information it came to whether I was married or single and I answered, “Why?” with raised eyebrow. Always a good line. She somewhat gruffly answered, “Because we need your information.” Then I explained that it was a <em>broma</em> or joke and she thought that was pretty funny from a guy with a broken clavicle and wide open foot. She and another doctor wheeled me through some gently slopping corridors which brought me back to another dream I’d had before embarking on this trip which was strikingly similar (slowly being wheeled through a sterile hallway and only being able to look at the ceiling and unable to move) in which I am forgotten in a hospital after having x-rays taken. So I start to get a little worried once I’m wheeled into the x-ray room and everyone leaves the room. Luckily the technician kept coming back to adjust the machine to take more x-rays but after twenty minutes of x-rays I started to get a little anxious about the large open wound on my foot and asked my doctor if she knew that I had a large gash on my foot since it was all covered in gauze and a cast. She looked somewhat startled and disappeared for a bit and then asked the x-ray technician to finish up.</p> <p class="MsoNormal"> </p><p class="MsoNormal">They wheeled me back to the ER and took the cast apart and realized perhaps it was time (about two hours later) to stitch me up. Josh turned up at the hospital before the local anesthetic was stuck into my open wound with a big needle. He’d been at the scene collecting my strewn luggage for some time and dealing with the authorities regarding insurance and carting of the motorcycle to the impound before being given a ride to the hospital by a bystander at the accident by the name of José Luis who just happened to own a motorcycle shop. Josh was just in time to <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=7bd5GskGgYQ">shoot this video of the local anesthetic being applied</a> and <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=9a0zU7L2MD4">then the stitches sewing the gash back together</a> and although he said he had to return to José Luis and our baggage I could tell that he was getting a bit squeamish from his hurried exit and the words, ”I can’t stay here anymore.”</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><img id="image231" alt="image631.jpg" src="http://notthemotorcyclediaries.com/wp-content/uploads/2007/04/image631.jpg" height="421" width="564" /></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=9a0zU7L2MD4"><strong>Definitely check out the videos (kinda gory but still fun) </strong></a></p> <p class="MsoNormal">They finished stitching me up and went away for a while leaving me alone to ponder what the hell I’m going to do now that I’m maimed and my motorcycle is destroyed. Well, the trip must go on since this is just the first country we’ve made it to. I need at least three weeks of recuperation. The motorcycle is totaled and it would cost more than I paid for it to fix it and that would take upwards of two months to fix so that’s not an option. I could hitch-hike and take buses for a while but somehow I don’t think I could afford that either. I guess I’ll just have to focus on getting better for now because I don’t like where this slippery slope is going.</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><img id="image233" alt="image642.jpg" src="http://notthemotorcyclediaries.com/wp-content/uploads/2007/04/image642.jpg" height="390" width="521" /></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><img id="image232" alt="image639.jpg" src="http://notthemotorcyclediaries.com/wp-content/uploads/2007/04/image639.thumbnail.jpg" height="208" width="278" /></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><strong>I know, I know, I do look good in scrubs.</strong></p> <p class="MsoNormal">The head doctor, Dr. Vargas, came back in and explained my predicament: from the x-rays I have a 25% fracture of my right clavicle that will take about three weeks to heal with an upper body brace and I’ve received twelve stitches in my left foot which will need to be taken out in ten days while in the meantime I wear what looks to be a snowboarding boot to protect it. And now for the fun part, payday! Josh has returned and is helping me pay and figure out how to get to the hotel that he has sequestered our things in when my <em>Doctora</em> offers to give me a ride in her car since she’s getting off soon anyway.</p> <p class="MsoNormal">We head to the hotel that Doctora Daniela, <em>lo mejor doctorcita en Mexico</em> – as she insists we call her, has never heard of in her town of Querétaro. She and the security guard help me up to the room as Josh heads to the pharmacy for some meds (not any fun ones just an anti-inflammatory, a muscle relaxant, and an antibiotic). Daniela tucks me in and leaves her phone number so that we’re not totally lost in some city we think we’ve never been in before and says goodnight. I dose off as is my want usually when things go wrong or right. Josh wakes me up with pills and food and I gladly partake. We watch a bit of television and turn off our brains for a bit since they’ve been fried by a day of officials and the gravity of hospital situations. The television then scrambles into indecipherables.</p> <p class="MsoNormal">The next day I wake up and Dr. Daniela Juarez Moran is standing in the doorway as Josh mills about the room. He’d called her after she’d offered to show us the old town of Querétero. They hustled me out of bed and I hobbled through the lobby and folded myself into the passenger side of her car not knowing quite what to expect (normally the day after something like what had happened to me I stay in the fetal position in bed for twenty-four hours). <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=z8WkScXAlGs">As we approach the downtown a series of connected arches come into view and we start to drive parallel to them; turns out its an ancient aqueduct that Daniela tells us a monk built to deliver fresh water to the nun he was in love with.</a> We scoff in a sort of disbelief but then Josh remembers having had our picture taken in front of similar arches many years ago. We get out of the car and walk around the cobblestone streets (a bit difficult with my big slippery boot thing) and sit at the puppy fountain for a while before looking for a bite to eat. Josh orders <em>chamarra</em> which turns out to be the calf muscle of pigs/cows depending on the place. This place being luckily the latter. Turned out to be quite delicious and we all ate a bit of his before heading back to meet up with Daniela’s sister Tania at a bar that they frequent by the name of Rumi’s.</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><img id="image238" alt="img_0140.jpg" src="http://notthemotorcyclediaries.com/wp-content/uploads/2007/04/img_0140.jpg" height="370" width="495" /></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><strong>Pretty happy to be alive and pretty happy about my doctor.</strong></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><img id="image237" alt="img_0162.jpg" src="http://notthemotorcyclediaries.com/wp-content/uploads/2007/04/img_0162.jpg" height="371" width="496" /></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><strong>Me, My Doctor, Her Sister, and The Blond.</strong></p> <p class="MsoNormal"> </p><p class="MsoNormal"><img id="image236" alt="image657.jpg" src="http://notthemotorcyclediaries.com/wp-content/uploads/2007/04/image657.jpg" height="683" width="513" /></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><strong>Joshua holding himself back from climbing <em>los arcos.</em></strong></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><img id="image235" alt="image659.jpg" src="http://notthemotorcyclediaries.com/wp-content/uploads/2007/04/image659.jpg" height="427" width="570" /></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><strong>All of the girls taking care of my bandages…<br /></strong></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><img id="image234" alt="image653.jpg" src="http://notthemotorcyclediaries.com/wp-content/uploads/2007/04/image653.jpg" height="742" width="558" /></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><strong>Joshua and I enjoying the sights of old town Queretaro.</strong></p> <p class="MsoNormal"> </p><p class="MsoNormal">This is perfect since it just so happens that these girls love Bacardi Rum and are on their way to becoming rummy’s. Diana, another sister of theirs, is waiting for us along with an assortment of friends including a cousin and her fiancé and the ever present <em>La Guera</em> or The Blond (real name Brigitte and apparently being known as The Blond in Mexico doesn’t have the same connotations as in America). Daniela also comes from a family of four siblings which almost mimics our family of four brother’s ages. We take the party back to the one and only hotel we’ve stayed in for some drinks and a game called <em>Castigo</em> which literally means punishment and involves domino’s and booze and punishment. I believe Josh had to do 70 push ups and I did dance along to Ricky Martin for a bit and <em>La Guera</em> did some sort of leg thing but I don’t think it was part of the game.</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><img id="image239" alt="img_0156.jpg" src="http://notthemotorcyclediaries.com/wp-content/uploads/2007/04/img_0156.jpg" height="605" width="454" /></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><strong>La Guera striking a pose.</strong></p> <p class="MsoNormal"> </p><p class="MsoNormal">We wind up the night and Tania and Daniela invite us to stay at their house since we can’t afford to stay in the $100 a night hotel so the next day I once again am woken by Daniela and Josh milling about the room packing up my stuff (please notice the trope). We moved in the next day and had quite an eventful week… which I’ll post next and which won’t be too long in the making (please give me one or two days, my clavicle kinda hurts.) That’s right I played the clavicle card.</p> <p class="MsoNormal"> </p><p class="MsoNormal">So, in closing of this momentous post I’d just like to thank everyone that has supported us on this trip so far and as you can see the adventure will continue - albeit I’m not entirely sure how right now but I have faith in the fact that things always turn out right. They have so far.</p>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07823948144928431254noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6082668359575838099.post-71877251106340035712007-04-11T20:25:00.001-07:002007-04-11T20:25:10.762-07:00josh in San Miguel de Allende<p class="mobile-photo"><a href="http://photos1.blogger.com/x/blogger2/7571/742513227487284/1600/z/272484/Image879-710765.jpg"><img src="http://photos1.blogger.com/x/blogger2/7571/742513227487284/320/z/708962/Image879-710765.jpg" width="320"/></a></p>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07823948144928431254noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6082668359575838099.post-11553130021993112602007-04-01T22:37:00.000-07:002007-04-01T22:37:35.181-07:00Jody's zen garden<div style="TEXT-ALIGN: center"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjKBiXWd_qclzWI1X87LLcaOq_U6MdsgK_AKuSQ9AGMcRTcrSDWWzhW98QNHZavVg51QaqMKoj_LF30wiQYfuv_wNffUQHI6g1rNK8pGKqkrqKPRnxYFVi5XrLQQKmZ8iF2KJX8Ujagk7U/s1600-h/Image585.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjKBiXWd_qclzWI1X87LLcaOq_U6MdsgK_AKuSQ9AGMcRTcrSDWWzhW98QNHZavVg51QaqMKoj_LF30wiQYfuv_wNffUQHI6g1rNK8pGKqkrqKPRnxYFVi5XrLQQKmZ8iF2KJX8Ujagk7U/s320/Image585.jpg" border="0" /></a> </div><div style='clear:both; text-align:CENTER'><a href='http://picasa.google.com/blogger/' target='ext'><img src='http://photos1.blogger.com/pbp.gif' alt='Posted by Picasa' style='border: 0px none ; padding: 0px; background: transparent none repeat scroll 0% 50%; -moz-background-clip: initial; -moz-background-origin: initial; -moz-background-inline-policy: initial;' align='middle' border='0' /></a></div>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07823948144928431254noreply@blogger.com