When I left Tahsis, I told my friend Bruno that I would simply keep the water on my right, and that I would not get lost. For the last 15,000 km or so, that strategy has worked, more or less. While I have been downright lost and confused on more than one ocassion, the rule of thumb has helped as I travelled Southwardly. It seems that given a few discretions for mountains and jungles, the rule of thumb will work as I travel north. Yes, I have run out of land, and I have reached the end of the Pan American Highway.
Today, January 28 is the anniversary of my Mom's birthday, and it is significant to me that I have arrived at another milestone in my life on such a day. My Sister and I will both remember the times when we were able to celebrate a birthday with Mom, and how she loved to party.
As I have mentioned before, riding motorcycles (and I am sure the same is true of bicycles) affords one a lot of time for thinking and pondering the mysteries of the universe. Usually this thinking time is more productive when one is facing 200 kilometers of the Atacama Desert or a similar distance on the plains of Patagonia, as opposed to the curves of Guatemala or Ecuador. This helmet time has allowed me to come to realize at this late stage in my life a number of profound truths, universal realities, and simple but inexorable rules for living. These "aha' moments can happen just as a guanoco appears on the horizon, a condor scopes out the bike for an early breakfast, or when the electrolyte level in my brain is at at all-time low and I am cranky and bitchy as a nine and half month pregnant woman... The downside to all of these great and wonderful life-changing thoughts and ideas is that they are as fleeting as the mileposts which fly by, as intangiable and elusive as those buzzards who circle road kills at a mile high..There is no doubt that the experience of riding the moto from my home to Ushuai has been a profound and singularly life-changing experience. The problem and regret is that it is extremely difficult to capture and document all of those thoughts and feelings that the road engenders.
When my parents passed away, I was present at their bedsides in both cases. For the past years, there has been a room in my mind where those experiences, while separate and distinct, lived. On the surface the death of ones' parents is life changing, and I rememember a friend at my Mothers' funeral asking me how I felt, now that I was an orphan, and that reality of no longer having parents is certainly a feature of my thoghts around that experience. A deeper and more telling feeling that hss remained with me, and the ride has afforded me an opportunity to thin about it, is that pain and sufferring that both Mom and Dad endured as they slowly passed from this Life. I think that I have come to terms with the tremendous guilt that I have felt for not somehow having the courage to find a way to end their suffering. From those experiences, it is clear to me that I would much prefer that my life end quickly and without delay. Of course, we have no control over our end of life circumstance, but we can be clear that it should not be prolonged unecessarily, and that I am adamant that I do not want my children to participate in any bedside vigils..I know they love me and that is sufficient for all time.
I would say that I have passed at least one hundred different riders who are on bicycles and heading for that magical mystery of Ushuai and the end of the road. I cannot fathom the drive and tenacity that it takes for these people who are undertaking this ride. When I see couples who are riding together, and facing incredible headwinds and huge mountain ranges, I think that there is a marriage that will last, or a relationship that will endure. On the other hand, riding a bicycle to Ushuai seems, to me, almost masochistic, and I eally wonder what motivates these folks when the going gets really tough. The upside of this is that these riders are prime examples of the beauty and uniquenss of the human race, in that we all have different hopes, dreams, and desires, and are living in a time and place where those individual dreams and asperations can be acted out, even if it causes one to shake his head. On the other hand, I see all sorts of normal people riding motorcycles and happily pushing their way south and north, through persistent headwinds and unrelenting ripio. These folks are completly adapted and fit into my world view without any problem.
What each group has in common is a willingness to face the unknown and to ride into the face of Life with a certainty that they have never been around the next corner, and that they will probably sleep in a place where they have never been before, and meet people that they have never met before. This willingness to offset the familiarity of day to day routine and the predictablity of normalcy is a common theme for the travellers, whether they are on motos or bicycles.
I have encounterd on at least 5 different occassions a different kind of traveller, and I have to admit that I have not stopped to explore these folks' minds or motivations, because they are quite frankly, a little scary. Of whom do I speak? They have all been single men, and I have driven by them in the absolute middle of nowhwere, which seems to change according to my circumstances and the amount of gas that I have in my tank. I remember passing by a walker, not a hitchhiker, in Nevada. I swear that I was at least 100 km from the next gas station, and I have no idea what he was doing out in the middle of nowhere; heading north while I was beating my way south. I had a similar experience in the Baja, and again I felt that I was out in the middle of nowhere and on the opposite side of the road is a walker, heading along without a glance or acknowledgement that he sees me. Besides being men, these loners are typically burned black by the sun, and most look like they haven't seen a barber in years. Now, one might suppose there is an element of WASPish guilt in the telling of this tale of the walkers, and I suppose there is. It was clear to me that they did not want to have anything to do with me or anybody else, and that whatever mission they were on, it was straight in front of them. These guys were not of the Forrest Gump category, and I think that perhaps in order to satisfy my curiosity and perhaps salve my guilt, I will pay closer attention to walkers as I head north, and perhaps even gain a little wisdom......
Torres del Paine....
I am watching you, watching me, watching my girls....
Torres .......
Charles E. Condor thinks that a yellow BMW would make a fine breakfast, until he sees what is sitting upon said meal....
Blondy hanging around Purto Natales...
Mother ostritch and her chicks, except they are not called ostritches down here....
That's Toronto, Canada.....
You are here......and the wrecks are there.....
Too many Argentinians died over the Falklands...
Pedro and Jackob, I know where you live, and I know how to speak Spanglish......
Pretty tall sign, eh???
(Amazing phtoshop work, from my desk in Tahsis. It has been a long winter..)
Some old guy from Isreal decided to get in on the celelbration too...
Congrats, Dave. as usual, a great read.But, I am still curious as to your route back and if you are actually riding back up. Drop me a line.
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Congratulations Dave ! love the pictures, maybe i will see you in Sudan or ethiopia ? Garth
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