“C’mon leg!” My dad motivates his travel-stiffened limb to make it over the motorcycle seat with the same determination every time. Most times he makes it. This time we’re in Loja, Ecuador. A typical lunch of legumes and potatoes made up lunch, and now we’re back on the road. Gotta make it to Quito for […]Read More And all the adventures to come
Wild creatures rise with the sun. Except when they’re hungover. By the time I am dragged into grudging consciousness the hammock is a stifling oven and all I want to do is turn on the fan. This model only comes with rain-proof tarp and regret-resonating headspace, so I get out and get on the […]Read More Day of the Dead
Coastal Roads. On a motorcycle those are are special words that hold the promise of a journey with no need for final destination. Everyone said I absolutely have to go to Sayulita, so of course I crossed it off my list. But the enchanting roads hemmed in by lush tropical jungle put me in a […]Read More Revolución del sueño
Mazatlan serves me a series of strange serendipities. A last minute request lands me a stay at Yesie’s house – latino pronunciations make connecting names to their gringo counterparts a fun game. I arrive at night in a small suburban neighbourhood. Typical beat up streets and smoking taco stands, small bungalows castled behind iron bars, […]Read More Doesn’t mean it can’t believe in you
For riders, the best part of getting high is coming down. But come down too hard, too fast, you may never be able to enjoy it again.Read More The holy grail is filled with acid
It’s curious how convenient my disasters. I’m riding into Durango, making my way through the city center in heavy traffic. Some guy yells something at me from the sidewalk, but I’m uninterested in whatever he’s selling. Then another one points at the rear of the bike and yells “Agua!” What? I turn around and see […]Read More The wrong way to the right path
I will never forget the sensation of my helmet scraping against the asphalt, moments stretching on for infinities as that grinding overwhelms my ears and I slide completely beyond control. I recall in this time outside of time, with odd detachment, a recently naive me. Confidently contemplating my recent relatively low-speed crash on gravel, imagining […]Read More I’m still alive
Leaving Batopilas is just as scenic as entering, but several orders of magnitude easier. I’ve been given directions on how to find Korareachi, and hopefully complete my Quest for that delectable lechugilla. Lost and I snake our way up and down the canyonsides, the gravel road progressively improving. I too have improved, I’m pleased to […]Read More Sometimes you really should just stay down.
Fun is a relative term. That’s why some people’s favourite roads are what others would call “bad”. The road, to use the term loosely, to Batopilas from Urique is one of those roads I think everyone can agree is bad, no matter how much fun you have on it. I have never dropped my bike […]Read More Icarus Complex
I am quickly adopted by Cecilia’s sister Adriana and her friends, Oso, Junior, and their wives Adilene and Adilene. They tell me about the local tradition of “stealing” girls – when a man wants to declare his intentions he takes the girl away, either to another village or to somewhere hidden up in the barranco, […]Read More Small towns are the beating heart of human nature, exposed.