I have been traveling for a year. Wondering, drifting, driving my way around the world for over a year.
I looked back at an old entry and remembered an intention of enjoying Tuesdays. For the past 9 months I haven’t had the need, desire, or reason to know what day of the week it is. And recently have found it difficult to keep the months straight.
Time ceases to exist once you start to enjoy the moment and away from quantifiable variables.
The last month has been tough and have said too many times that I am ready to wrap this trip up. I’ve gotten hurt, scared, cold, disappointed, and restless. Things haven’t been as fun as they once were and it’s felt pointless.
Questioning the whole thing and wondering if it was worth it. Not being able to get excited about the ruins or the views.
::record screechhhh:: send a time capsule post card to me a year ago. A snap shot of the moment just after crashing on some frozen mud, lost somewhere in Peru. Dusting myself off with snow landing on my face and yelling at a llama to stop staring.
Response to postcard: what the fuck are you doing in Peru? That wasn’t part of the plan. Is that the KLR?!?!
While the last few weeks have been challenging. Easily some of the hardest riding and been in my head for all of it. How fucking cool. I am riding a motorcycle to the end of the continent and have been roaming the world for over a year.
Dude I did it. I have no idea what I did but I did it. Nothing went as I planned but it has been perfect.
The past year has beat the shit out of me, in every way. I am mentally exhausted and physically strained. But feel rested to take on the world. I’ve lost weight and can’t lift as much as I once could, but feel strong. I blew my budget, but feel rich. I can’t communicate with anyone, but don’t feel lonely. I haven’t gotten a promotion, but feel successful.
Less than two months until I am back in the states and this fairy tale is over. Or Is it just the end of this chapter?
I love the memory hop feature on my photo storage app. I now see I have had super sick times, with great people, consistently for my entire life. Left asking, what the fuck was I complaining or worrying about all this time?
I recalled a journal entry I wrote when I was in college leaving London. Written as a letter to my future self reminding him that once upon a time, he had good times and assuming that since I was older, I had to be miserable.
I’d like to write a letter now in response, “Listen up you little shit”.
The last couple interactions at hostels I see my role has changed and I am now the long term traveler I met in the beginning of my trip. The salty old traveler the new travelers ask questions seeking advice and responding with the same answers I got. Overall vague don’t say much. The difference now being, I can embrace the vagueness and find power in it. Finding comfort in the lack of concreteness I once determined was necessary to quantify in an answer. But a year ago thinking they were intentionally giving me vague answers to hold some sort of seniority.
I know my rambling spirit isn’t satisfied and am already planning my next adventure. But I don’t want that now. I want to build a life in the real world while enjoying the small things. Like noticing how satisfyingly clear water looks in the very clean glass.
Remembering that I won the life lottery and not to waste it. Confident to walk away from situations that aren’t productive or positive. Staying out of my head and enjoying everyday.
In Cusco I rented an airbnb and have been laying low waiting for my mom and Sarah to arrive. The satisfaction of washing clothes and hanging them in a closet is almost divine. I think if I can find joy in household activities once I get back, I’ll be ok.
While I day dream about ordering a pizza on a snowy night in Denver. I am reminded to enjoy these days of chicken foot soup. As far away as ‘home’ feels, these strange places will be further before I know it.
Having a date for the flight home is actually nice. If it was still open ended it would be too difficult to stay motivated. Due to time constraints I am changing my route and skipping Bolivia. Electing to spend extra time in Patagonia. I’m ok with that. Save Bolivia for next time.
A lot of miles between here and the end. And a lot of good times ahead.
The time in Cusco with my mom and sister was great. I can see how much they both have changed. We have all had different experiences since I’ve been gone and now I see two snapshots.
It provided me with a new empathy for how my dad must have felt coming back from his trips and seeing progressive snapshots of us. Not knowing the small day to day stuff that we don’t remember and wouldn’t think to share but have a large impact on our present. A bit frustrating but I’m sure it’s a two way street.
Big moments might accelerate changes in our behavior but it’s a trending trajectory that started sometime in the past.
The time together also showed me how much I changed and didn’t. Remembering that the present is blank and we have the choice to bring the past forward and crowd it.
Now, I understand why my dad wanted to sleep on his chair at home once he got back. I loved that couch in Cusco but sitting on the couch wasn’t why they flew to Peru.
Sometime on my ride to Cusco I started to leak oil. I knew where it was coming from but due to a lack of parts, I couldn’t confirm. Luckily the motorcycle community is close and I was able to get the parts overnighted to my mom before her flight.
Replacing the seals is pretty straight forward but required tools I didn’t have and requires taking off the engine case. I needed to go to a mechanic which was suggested by my friend in Lima.
Arriving in Cusco I picked them up from the airport and they took the day to relax as I ran around town running errands. Our big event for the week was a two day excursion to Machu Picchu. We didn’t have much planned before or after, just the flights out.
Armed with the seals and new tires I headed to the shop. After a few days of fighting ‘South American time’ I got my bike back. He looked at the seals and said that they were dry but didn’t need to be replaced immediately. I couldn’t communicate effectively between my lack of Spanish and his lack of English to explain that I don’t have time to mess with it again. But I left without replacing the seals and adding a thicker oil in an attempt to slow the leak.
We spent the week having nice dinners and touring the sights of Cusco. A very cool little city and a nice place to play tourist. The weather had been hit or miss but we hoped to have clear weather for Machu Picchu. It was funny to watch their disgust as I feasted on Alpaca and watching my moms confused look at the Peruvian way of life.
Leaving early for the train we boarded our carriage making jokes about harry potter. The train constructed with tons of windows for viewing the sacred valley as we made our way out of the city.
After a few hour ride arriving in Agua Calientes where we would board a bus the following morning to take us to the site of the ruins. It was raining pretty good all morning but the tickets are date and time specific which removed any flexibility.
Spending the afternoon of the first day exploring the street vendors for souvenirs and relaxing at a few restaurants taking it easy.
An early morning departure was met by hundreds of other tourists inline for the buses but the line moved quickly and the crowds didn’t feel as heavy at the top. I’m glad we took the bus, I’m out or shape would have been a few hour hike even with following the road.
Grabbing a tour guide at the entrance we made our way through the ruins. Some people elected to wait out the rain but we pushed ahead. The famous view of the ruins is within 20 mins of entering, arriving at the top we had a nice view of the fog, unable to see much of anything. Luckily the wind picked up and gave us a few clear albeit short windows for pictures.
^ Rare behind the scenes footage of an instagram profile pic
^ the llama was too fast for her here
I am very glad we got the tour guide. Even if he’s not a historian it’s nice to hear his version of the probably accurate history and make sense of what you’re seeing. Roaming the ruins took ~2.5 hours which was surprising as I didn’t think they were as massive as they were. Machu Picchu is definitely worth it and the other sites around Peru are not as impressive. It lived up to the hype.
Looking at my schedule and route I realized I was out of time. I had 7000 miles to go and the average speed is about 45 miles an hour. That comes to 155 hours of driving, split into 8 hours a day, is 20 driving days. 20 days of riding in 45 days didn’t allow for much time for downtime or problems.
I decided to leave the morning of my mom and Sarah and make my way to Chile, skipping Bolivia. Figured it was a shame to drive for 7 months only to spend a few days in Patagonia.
I was really happy to spend the time with them and glad it all worked out as planned. We saw some of Peru, caught up, talked about the future and even worked on my resume. I am excited to get back, but after working on the resume and talking with Sarah I am well aware of how disconnected I am from ‘reality’.
Finishing the last of my laundry I left at 5am saying goodbye to them. I had at least 13 hours driving to the last city before the Chilean border. A long day to say the least. Saying goodbye to the last of the alpacas along the way before entering the arid climate of the Atacama Desert. Temperatures starting in the 40s with rain and ending in the 90s and sun.
Filling up along the way I realized the oil loss was accelerating, a lot. Using the rest of my oil before the end of the day. An amount that would normally last me 2500 miles. I used in half.
Realizing I had a big problem developing, I bought more oil in preparation for the long deserted drive through northern Chile.
Crossing into Chile was no problem and no surprises, a bit strange process but most are unique. The road follows along the chilean coast and the views are amazing.
On the right the beautiful blue water, possibly the most blue I have ever seen the ocean. On the left enormous sand-dunes like mountains seemingly endless on the horizon.
Crisscrossing the coast I started to grow more concerned about my oil consumption. I was riding a lot of highway, which will burn more oil, but it’s not a 1/2 bottle habit.
Arriving at the first and last big city in Chile and 1000 miles north of Santiago, I learned about a shop that was familiar with the big bikes. An old Harley guy runs a hostel who gave me a bed and showed me where to go.
At the shop we discuss the problem and how to fix it. I have a manual written in English but the diagrams transcend language. They have the tools and knowledge, I had most of the parts. The part of the procedure I was most nervous involved a nut on the shaft which drives the water pump. Nervous because of the stories I’ve heard concerning breaking the shaft due to over tightening. The remedy involving splitting the engine and replacing a part that I couldn’t get in South America. Potentially trip ending if done incorrectly.
If I didn’t replace the parts I risked the oil and coolant mixing which could ruin the engine, again ending the trip.
So we put the bike on the stand and got to work. Draining, and removing all the parts in order to access the seals. Once exposed, seeing the worn oblong seal. It was clear why the engine was leaking oil. Carefully replacing the seals and reassembling the motor. Lacking the gaskets electing for silicon and creating our own.
The job wasn’t by the book but in theory should work.
Making good progress entering the afternoon after lunch one of the mechanics noticed a problem. When removing the nut, from the shaft, it snapped removing the last few threads. A version of the worst case scenario had happened. The possibility keeping me awake for weeks once I knew I had a problem. I was living my nightmare. My heart hit the floor and I dropped to my knee holding my head.
The shaft wasn’t available in Santiago and would take 45 days to get one shipped. I have a flight home in less than 45 days. I was presumably dead in the water.
Assembling the motor we see by a stroke of luck the remaining shaft had enough threads to hold a nut. We weren’t dead yet. Damaged sure but it would hold and should work. Finishing the assembly the engine starts and holds oil for the tests.
I was feeling good and thankful to be able to get back on the road. My plan was deviated but I wasn’t done yet.
Leaving early the next morning I planned on cutting north to reach the border crossing with Argentina. After I would ride the famous Ruta 40 south for a few days cutting back to Chile once reaching Santiago.
An hour outside of town was a famous landmark which would be my first destination for the day. The bike was running well with the temperature gauging holding steady. It felt like a success as the miles accumulated and my worries disappeared.
While parking my bike for a picture I look down and see my boot is covered in something. It’s wet but I didn't notice anything riding. Trying to convince myself that it was probably from a puddle and rejecting the logic that I was in the desert, and there were no puddles. The oil looked fine and decided I would continue on determining it was a freak thing.
Humming along down the road the worries started to creep back. Peeking at my boot every few mins as the oil stains became more frequent. Stopping every 45 mins to top off the oil which I was now running low.
When the oil would get low I could tell, the temp would rise and the engine would hesitate. Running an engine with no oil was gross negligence.
Stopping on the side of the road, somewhere in the Atacama desert, it occurred to me that I might not make it to Ushuaia. It was a real possibility that my trip might end right there in the middle of nowhere Chile.
Previously I had pondered how I would feel if I didn't make it all the way. If I crashed or the bike died, what would be my next step. Deciding that it was a hell of a ride and happy to have gotten so far. My tune had now changed, I was too close. I would rather burn this thing on the side of the road after seizing the engine than give up.
Calling the mechanic from the previous day he told me to come back to town. Comparing it to a proverbial cross-road. I knew it was more desolate ahead but turning back would drive me too far off course for my plan.
Pondering my decision on the shoulder a Venezuelan biker couple and Brazilian biker stop to see if I need help. I describe my problem and my situation. They tell me the town isn’t as far ahead but I don’t have the mechanic there, the last town is further but I know a mechanic. It was my decision and they leave me with a pocket full of candy and a granola bar.
I turned back and used the last of my oil arriving in town. The mechanics preemptively ordering the parts we could get in Santiago anticipating my return. Looking at the bike the silicon gasket isn’t leaking but the water pump is leaking again.
With the water pump leaking again there are only a few reasons. 1) the seal was damaged on installation. 2) the seal was faulty. 3) the bearings on the shaft are going bad causing the seal to rip again.
Without the parts and without opening the engine again, it was anyones guess. I was leaning toward #3 because of how the first seal looked when we removed it. The oblong shape would make sense as the shaft oscillated.
The mechanics didn't think the oil leak was that serious and told me to relax. I couldn’t accept this because I knew the bike and something was off. Sending me on my way with an extra quart of oil.
Altering my route again I decided to get south asap. If the bearing was the issue, I didn't have that much more time before the engine destroyed itself. Knowing that once the seal was completely destroyed the engine wouldn’t be able to hold oil.
Reaching Santiago in two days and arriving 2 bottles of oil lighter with their contents splattered on the bike and my boot. Pulling into a famous biker hostel spending hours describing my problem to the others.
It’s the last chance to get parts and started making calls. The well known mechanics had some of the parts but not all of them. Kawasaki had the same parts and would take 45 days to get the others from the states.
Exhausting all of my avenues I decided on a solution that no one would ever suggest. It involved a rubber tube, some silicone, an oil bottle and a plug. Designed to allow me to collect the leaking oil, refill it into the engine, and in the event of complete seal failure, plug the hole. Plugging the hole was the final step. Once I plugged the hole it was a ticking time bomb of engine failure. BUT it might make it to the end, or it might get me a few miles outside of town. It felt similar to the basecamp hike, I was ok with failure as long as I exhausted all possible solutions.
I was teetering on the Hero/Idiot line. If it worked, I was a hero. If It didn’t, I was an idiot.
After buying all the parts and before performing surgery I went to a BBQ. There I met a Swedish guy who had recently shipped his bike with a German guy who lived in town. This guy had a friend from Spain that imported all the Kawasaki parts for Santiago.
As a Hall Mary attempt we went over and he acted as a translator. He had the parts and calmly said he even had the ones to replace the bearings should that be the case. Assuming something was lost in translation I couldn’t believe it. He could work on it after the weekend and I left my keys with him.
Taking a few days to relax and cross my fingers, I waited for the call on Monday. Monday afternoon it was ready, finding that the seals were damaged in installation. WOOOOO!!
No more leaking oil and I was back on the road. I didn't expect to spend so much time in Santiago but it was worth it to have a fixed bike. The peace of mind was worth it and relieved I didn't have to use my Frankenstein solution. Now I can go without worry and see the areas of Patagonia I have always dreamed of exploring.
The region of Patagonia starts ~1000miles south of Santiago. There isn’t much along that stretch and decided it would be a nice excuse to cross into Argentina for a few days to ride Ruta 40.
Approaching the border finally it was green, it looked exactly as I was expecting and waiting. The mountains arrived and everything looked alive. The lakes reflecting the snow capped mountains in the distance. I had finally arrived and it was just the beginning.
Finding a farmers house along a deserted road he gave me a bed for the night close to the border. His two dogs were friendly and we drank coffee as we watched a Spanish cooking show.
In town I met a few guys who flew helicopters working on a hydroelectric project. Inviting me to visit them the following morning on my way to the border.
It was a cold rainy night with some hail and was glad I didn’t camp even though the spot by the river looked perfect that afternoon.
Taking off early after some coffee and watching the news I stopped by my new friends and watched them get ready for the day. Giving me a tour of the helicopter as they went through morning checks.
Climbing up the pass the temperatures dropped and snow covered the landscape. Concluding that from now on each day would take at least an hour longer to accommodate stopping for pictures.
The Chilean customs station at the top of the pass offered amazing views of the lake.
Once inside the border station the guards put my papers aside and told me to jump over the counter. Like I was a dog with them motioning ‘you over the desk’. Confused I sat on the desk and slowly swinging my legs over waiting for their approving nods.
The one agent had English homework and told me to check his answers on a test he was about to submit.
Honestly, he probably failed with my help. After debating a few answers they were done with me and stamped me out of the country.
Entering Argentina I knew it would be desolate and remote and had a plan for resupply. I had gas but wasn’t full. Arriving in the first town it was closed due to a funeral.
70miles of stone gravel later I was running low. The back up gas station was cash only and there was no bank yet. The next bank was 5 miles away, which I had plenty of gas to reach.
Arriving at the ATM my card didn’t work and my sim card was dead so I couldn’t call the bank. Someone in town told me the next bank is 25 miles away. 55mile round trip back to the gas station would be close for the fuel I had but left as I didn’t have an option.
Along the paved road it was getting late and it dawned on me I had made an error in my calculation. I screwed up the KM to M conversion and I had ~35 miles of gas. Thinking that if I could get cash I could probably find gas in town.
At the ATM, with ~10 miles of fuel left, my cards still didn’t work. One gas station is 30 miles back, 70 miles ahead is a town that has a bank and a gas station.
Stuck in the middle without enough fuel and no money I sit on the ground. A guy sees me and tries to help. Asking if there was a place that could change money from my Chilean pesos to Argentinean Pesos. No one is biting but I see a casino attached to a general store. The store opens in an hour so maybe they know.
The store opens after a 5 hour siesta and it’s three Chinese brothers who run it. I don’t know if they were more surprised to see me or me them.
As they are turning on the lights and getting ready the smell of weed is wafting out of the upstairs and back rooms. They speak minimal Spanish and no English. So here I am trying to ask three stoned Chinese brothers for money and gas in the middle of the Argentina desert.
The oldest one, who looks like a combination of a villain in Jet Lee movie and the Gangnam Style guy, approaches me smoking a Marlboro red.
Using some translation app he speaks into his phone and the phone speaks back to me in English using a British butler accent. He won’t trade me for Chilean Pesos but once learning I am American he is interested in my US dollars. In my wallet I have the twenty-five of the rattiest dollars but he takes it and gives me a very fair exchange rate.
Next the gas, the little brother helps me with this part and says one of their employees knows where someone sells some but won’t be in for an hour. Also apologizes as that they are new in town and don’t know many people.
Sitting on the curb a guy in a mechanic jumpsuit exits the store and I ask him if he knows where to buy gas. He says the guys who work for the city have some and I might be able to buy some at their depot outside of town.
Departing with this new bit of information and $25 in Pesos I find a truck depot outside of town. Covered under a tarp, in the back of a dump truck sits a few huge drums full of gas. They sell me 1.5 gallons for 3x the standard rate which I happily pay and merrily make my way to the next town.
It’s big country down here and the landscape reminds me of Colorado. I drove 7 months across 12 countries to find out it looks like my backyard. There’s a joke there but I’m not smart enough to make it.
I am happy to have decided to spend more time down here. There is so much to see and I haven’t even gotten to the “good stuff” yet.
In Argentina I stayed in a little mountain town and discovered fly fishing here isn’t limited to the $1000 a night lodges. It’s just those tours that get a lot of attention. All the fly shops run day tours and am planning on doing a few days at a rate that is cheaper than in Colorado.
I am back in Chile now relaxing at an unreal motorcycle traveler specific hostel. This place is seriously amazing and will be hard to leave. But I am happy to have found it and recharge a bit.
One month exactly until I am on a flight back to Denver. Lots more to see and fingers crossed it’s smooth sailing until then.