33, Behind and Ahead

    I’ve been thinking about writing of late but have done little of it (other than the considerable amount required for my classes). However, watching the clock strike midnight, in a very cold Economics lab, I grow older, 33 to be exact, and I’m taken by an overwhelming urge to tear words from within, if only a few.

    Looking back over the time that’s passed since my trip south was interrupted by school, there have been some ups and downs. Readjusting to school life took a bit more time than anticipated but I’m now, more or less, back on page. My issues with court were resolved on the 10^th appearance. What I was told would be a trial had become yet another plea deadline. Unwilling to miss anymore class for such crap, I took a deal which saw four charges (including aggravated assault on an officer and felony reckless endangerment) dropped while pleading no contest to disorderly conduct (30 days unsupervised probation with all court cost taxed to the state, ($1,500)).  When Judge Robert Cupp asked the criminal court DA, Dennis Brooks, why all the charges were being dropped (while itemizing them) he responded that after listening to a copy of the preliminary hearing,(in which I represented myself and, though persistent in asking, have never been provided with a working copy of its audio), he had come to the conclusion that I wasn't guilty of any of them. Indeed, I was not, nor was I guilty of disorderly conduct, but fighting them was costing my GPA and it couldn’t stand their assault. This concession has left me a bit discouraged but school keeps me moving, so I don’t think too much about it.  

  
                                       Looking Forward to my Return to Argentina,
   I eagerly anticipate the start of this year’s Dakar Rally http://www.dakar.com/index_DAKus.html , which I have found begins on January 1^st,, just south of Buenos Aries. There is perhaps some opportunity in this and I am trying to use my blog to help secure a press pass. The Rally lasts 14 days, passing through Chile and concluding in Lima, Peru. Following and documenting such an event could be an extraordinary thing and I hope to make it happen.

   Here is to 33, I made it.                                                                                                              –Izzy

P.S.   There is much footage from the trip in need of editing, for which I have not the time, but here is a brief video consisting of snippets taken from 10 odd minutes in Peru, ending with what was likely the closest death came while on the road. Be warned, there is some profanity, but you will understand once you see the video. 

Hitchin' a Ride

Here is a brief video from Colombia documenting the easy way up a mountain.

The trip continues.

    Following a 24 hour, 1,200 mile marathon finish of a Latin American journey I found myself boarding my flight with only minutes to spare, leaving the BMW wrapped with a tarp in the airport parking lot . What had spanned 2 months and covered 13,000 miles was at an end and I was ambivalent in my emotional response. What was I leaving and to what exactly was I returning? These questions still weigh heavy in my mind as I scurry around the campus of UTC attempting to meet with professors and straighten out schedule conflicts. The precipitous shift in setting is somewhat overwhelming and I'm uncertain whether I am happy or discouraged to be back home. Though I wrestle with my current state of reality in these familiar but somehow alien surroundings, it's clear that this place hasn't changed at all, I, however, surely have. 
    Maintaining this blog has been a great source of comfort for me during the course of my trip. Seeing the followers and hits grow helped reinforce belief in myself, a belief which at times in my life has faltered. So, being as there is still much yet to say and show of my trip, over the coming days I will carry on sharing parts of it with you. I hope you will continue following my exploits, for although my nearest motorcycle is 8,000 miles removed, my uncertain ride continues.

In too big a hurry to elaborate

My trip is ending with a bang, several actually. Argentinian police fired several shots at me yesterday for crossing the border without proper insurance. It was all on camera but alas after I got away and stopped they took the SD card and erased it.
This is a long story which must be told at a later date. I am in the midst of covering 1,200 miles over 27 hours in order to catch my flight home. 350 down 850 to go.

The Bolivian Death Road

   After arriving in La Paz, a city with a serious lack of signs, on Saturday, I struggled to reach the Northeast side of town and the route which leads to the infamous Bolivian Death Road. Following two hours of navigating city traffic, which was heavily constricted do to the vendors which had encroached onto the streets (often 3 lanes had been narrowed to 1), I was out of town and heading in the correct direction. It was getting late, but I thought I might be able to finish my ride by nightfall.

   As has oftentimes been the case during this trip, fate held alternate ideas than my own. I drove off the Altiplano and the clear weather gave way to thick mist as I descended into heavy clouds. The moisture was dense and though it wasn't really raining I was soaked. In wet darkness I saw some heavy road equipment parked to the side of an abandoned school. This seemed to be a good spot to set camp. There is always a security guard for the valuable equipment in Latin America, and the school, with its busted front doors, offered sanctuary from the abysmal weather.
    The following morning I was a bit dismayed to find that the dense cloud cover hadn´t subsided in the least. I packed up my motorcycle in a rather lethargic manner and headed out into the haze. In departing, I communicated with the fellow guarding the Caterpillars and found that the entrance to the death road was a further 10K. The fog was thick, and the going slow, but after 15 minutes of following a poorly tuned diesel truck I found a precipitously sloped road branching off to my right. It was marked "Cola del Diablo" which isn't Death Road, but Tale of the Devil was close enough.
   The path down was obscured by clouds, however, the foggy conditions had subsided for the return. This offered a better view of the deep abyss lingering beneath the road's edge. The winding route is indeed deadly if you fall. Fortunately, remaining on the road is quite easy. Overall its condition, though unpaved, was pretty good. The only tricky part was passing large vehicles.
 The remainder of the day was rather fruitful and my return trip through La Paz was more orderly than the first. Eventually, I found myself 150 miles south of the Capital with a suitable place to camp, once again amongst construction equipment.
  I have 5 days to reach Buenos Aries, about 2000 miles away. 400 miles a day isn't that much, however, there will be lots of sandy paths between here and there. East Bound and Down is playing in my head. I'm always ready for a challenge.

Into Bolivia

  Following a prolonged fix for the bike I departed Arequipa late in the afternoon, just in time to catch a desert sunset. The stretch between Arequipa and Puno is about 200 miles. The bike still possessed a slight vibration which I found disconcerting, however, it seemed to me that stopping to check it was no longer an option so I continued across the desert. The cold night eventually saw me make it to Puno but in reaching the town it was was impossible not to notice how run down and filthy it was, so I kept riding. As I curled southwest along the edge of lake Titicaca I periodically passed through little resort towns, each more decrepit than the last, and my search for a safe place to stay was a difficult one.
   After a total of seven freezing hours on the bike I found myself in yet another desolate town on the Peru/Bolivia border. High pressure sodium bulbs were casting a dingy orange light on the deserted streets. The only thing preventing me from getting into Bolivia were two lengths of chain stretching across the road, both of which I could have easily bypassed. The first of these was mounted out front of a very abandoned looking National Police Station which a black lab had claimed as his. The perro negro barked in protest as I dug through my luggage, as if to say, "I'm the only stray sleeping here tonight". I imagine his dismay was great as I produced a tent from my left side pannier. Overwhelmed with sadness he rose and lumbered slowly down the road while offering up a couple of half-hearted howls. I made camp and at 3AM I was asleep in front of a police station on the Bolivian border.

There is video of the marching band which awoke me but the posting will come later

A special meal : Part II

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