These thousand hills roll ever on...

I often miss my bike. Yes, it is true, I did sell it. It was a spur of the moment decision that I knew I would have to make at some point anyways. The bottom line is that I was running out of time and money. That, coupled with the fact that Peru was the last country I wanted to see, made it the best way out. I really do wish I could have made it all the way to my doorstep in Brazil, but I am thankful to have gotten as far as I did in a less than perfect world.

I have only just begun to see a slight glimpse of these thousand hills; The footprints of a mighty God, whose creativity rolls ever on. Honestly, I have no Idea what to write about. This is supposed to be some kind of summery to wrap up this story for you the reader. I am at a loss on how to do that, except to thank you one and all greatly for being a part of this experience. I am honored by your interest and thankful for your prayers. You would not believe the number and diversity of people who contributed in a variety of ways to make this a reality. To those who contributed; I extend a deep thanks.

As for the blog itself I would like to thank two people in particular who were backstage making it what it is. Danielle, my fiance, whose encouragement and appreciation of my dull writings were often the only reason I wrote. And, Martha, my sister-in-law, who had the idea of a blog in the first place. She also did all of the creating, managing and editing. Thank you.

What is left of my trip to Brazil will be done by bus and whatever means comes handy at the time. In any case, I will assure you that it will be unbearably boring so I will not write about it. That way, this site will not be tarnished by any lesser means of travel that does not compare to the wonderfully unexplainable feeling of doing it all on a motorcycle. You should try it some time.

What you have read is a hand full of select experiences from the last two plus months. It is certainly not a fully rounded view of reality. If you have any further questions, input, suggestions, or just want to see more pictures, please feel free to comment here on the blog or write me about it. I would LOVE to hear from you.

Well, that is all for now folks...

write to: nathanielshrift@hotmail.com

[Goodbye my friend]

-Shrift

I woke up very rested and feeling quite at home, which made me rethink staying at least for the morning. Breakfast with Alfarito confirmed that I would be staying to see a thing or two. In the meantime I found the root cuase of my useless odometer to be a broken cable.

Alfarito is an old, sickly man who has been part of the fire department for fifty years. He took it upon himself to give me a good impression of his country and to impart wisdom. One of his saying that I particularly liked was " One prepared man is worth two".

(Beach tour)

The beach here is quite famous for it's surfing schools and good fishing. Tangerines at a beachside gazebo provided ample opportunity for him to tell me all kinds of stories. From there we went to see the oldest? or largest? adobe ruins in South America. Due to the fact that the whole city and it's wall were in fact made of adobe bricks made it only a lame representation of the bustling civilization it must have once been. The sheer immensity of it all was quite impressive though.

(Alfarito at the ancient ruins)

Old folks are rarely in a hurry. That coupled with the fact that he found the need to take me out to lunch as well left us back at the station at mid-afternoon. At this point it was rather pointless to pack up and hit the road for a few hours. I decided to take my bike back to the beach and rent a surfboard to see if I had any hidden surfing skills. I don't.

After an hour or so I was shivering uncontrollably as well as being sapped of all energy or desire to keep at it. When I returned my board I found a man waiting for me who looked like a Yanomani version of Robin Williams. He asked me the same question that hundreds of others had asked me over the miles... "Do you want to sell your bike?"
This time I said yes...

-Shrift

As I was packing to leave I noticed a missing nut on my luggage rack, which called for another visit to Hugo. He was glad to see me again and so were some of his long term customers who all knew me by name. A half hour later I had a secure luggage rack, a bottle for extra gas, and advice on how to cross the 200+ km dessert to the next city. I was certainly glad for all of the above as I drove deeper and deeper into the desert. Long, straight, empty roads left me with a lot of time to think about the word "desert". We obviously do not have enough of them in the USA or else we would have several different words for it. As I rode deeper into the desert the terrain went from dry shrubs, to dunes with occasional surface weeds, to huge, sandy, barren dunes, to just flat desolate sand as far as the eye could see. All entirely different kinds of scenery that we just lump under the word "desert".

For the last two months I have not known what time it is, which is good feeling a lot of the times. Days of the week have also become a foreign concept. However, I have religiously been keeping track of my mileage as the only unit of measurement in my life. It often keeps my mind occupied to calculate distances, and estimate time through my speedometer as I ride. I did not realize how much I depended on this constant in my life until I pulled out of the the gas station and noted that the trip odo said 413. When I broke out of traffic an into my long desert I glanced down to find that it still said 413 and my speedometer was pegged on 0. Now, as I faced the most mind numbing stretch of my trip, I was totally stripped of all concepts of measurement. Just desert.

In anycase, I used up my spare jug of gas and ran onto my reserve tank and still could not see an end in sight. That was a bit bothersome, especially since I had no idea how far I had come or how far I still had to go. I didn't die, just in case you were wondering.

By the end of the day I made it to Trujillo and, through standard routine, found the Bombeiros. After a sitdown interview with the Chief I was granted a night's stay. Richardo gave me the tour of the place in English! This guy had done a bit of travelling himself, mostly the US and Canada. He also is a huge fan of bluegrass, jazz, old country music. Quite a rare find in a South American. Among other things he told me all the reasons why I should stay around a bit and see the sights of Trujillo.

-Shrift

Hugo is a motocycle mechanic who also happens to be a firefighter for the city of Piura. He was my contact person for getting my tire changed out and the ferring work done. I spent most of the afternoon at his shop just watching him work. He, along with his helper Andres, are in high demand. His popularity comes from being a good, honest mechanic but also due to the fact that most of the motorcycles here are "made in China" as oposed to the high quality of Japan. Hugo told me that the average life span of a motorcycle here is three years! At any given moment there are at least three customers hanging around his shop waiting for their bikes to get worked on. On top of that, about once every fifteen minutes another person will drive up and get a quote or consult on a problem. That does not include the folks that drive by and yell out the window asking when project x will be done. Despite all this "stress" he is still very good natured and has time to chat with buddies who happen to be walking by or help out a travelling American.

Late in the afternoon I followed him into a "stratta one area" -Wayne Gibson, where we had dropped my ferring off to get restored the day before. I was thoroughly impressed by my new ferring, which was incredibly solid and had peices of high temperature insulation off of a welding machine attached to the underside to buffer against the muffler. Hugo, on the other hand, was appalled that the guy charged me eleven dollars for work that he claimed was only worth seven or so. It does look pretty ghetto, but it is exactly what I need, and it works. I thanked Hugo and company warmly and headed out with much confidence in my new bike upgrades.

(Ghetto ferring job)

Most of my time in Piura was spent shooting the breeze with firefighters or hanging out at the mechanic shop. However, I did manage to wander the town a bit and admire the old architecture. The plaza's in these cities are all unique and well kempt, but they share much in common. Invariably there is a Catholic church or an old government building that commands significant attention. A central monument or statue is also a must for a South American plaza. Either a famous conquerer or a nameless nude are among the favorites for the statue option. As for the park benches, they see three basic people groups every day. In the morning hours middle class men reading the paper and getting their shoes shined dominate the scene. The heat of the day brings out the beggers and bums who have an eagle eye for anyone who looks semi wealthy. At night these places belong strictly to couples perfecting mouth to mouth CPR.

-Shrift

The same staunch officer who was slow to let me in the night before was quick to get me out this morning. It was no skin off my back. I got what I came for - a safe night's sleep.

Desert, desert, and more desert pretty much sums up my ride today. Rather boring if I don't say so myself. In the early afternoon I came to the city of Piura. It was time for a break for me. I was getting tired of carrying my spare tire from Bogota and I also needed work done on my muffler ferring (the rotary girder was shot and the halogen fluid was low as well). As for the ferring, it is not a big deal, just a piece of plastic that covers the muffler. The problem is that my saddle bag rests on it and when I lean aroud curves the weight of the saddle bag pushes it into the muffler. The muffler natually melts the plastic and my saddle bag along with it. Three words for the whole situation, no-bue-no.

I found the Piura bombeiro with no problems. The captain was pleased to take a break from his computer game to call his buddy, who is a mechanic. I spent the afternoon on the street getting everything all squared away. The ferring would not be ready till three pm the next day. I welcomed the chance to skip out on another day of riding.

-Shrift

Getting my bike out of the bombeiro station in the morning gave me a cracked mirror. Now I have a nice blind spot in between the two halves of my mirror. Perfect.

Straight roads through banana plantations were a beautiful sight to eyes that had seen only mountain curves for weeks. Another downpour kept me nice and soggy for most of the day. All of me except my feet that is. My boots have been wet for several days now. It is nothing but pure joy to put them on every morning.

By mid afternoon I was at the Peru border. Three things about this boarder set it apart from other boarders on this trek. The first is that there is no city anywhere around, just desert. Second, there is a little monument with both flags and a welcome sign. I had hoped early on to get pictures of the welcome sign into each country only to find out that most do not even have one. Thirdly this crossing only took me 30 min!!! No copies to be made, no slow typers, no lines, no grumpy officers, no crowds of schemers... It was hard to believe.

(Border crossing)

I rode in with a whole road to my self. This is really the boondocks. Just desert to the left and ocean to the right. The downside to being out in the middle of nowhere is that there are no Bombeiros. I was forced to try the police department. They begrudgingly let me spend the night out in the patio with the mosquitos.

(A lonely road)

-Shrift

This day was not all that great on many levels. When I asked for coffee they brought me hot milk with instant coffee power. I am quite ignorant in the ways of instant coffee so I helped myself toa good sized scoop. Well, now I know better, and as for that coffee, it might go down as the worst cup of coffee I have ever had.

We spent our first 20 miles of the day's ride working through Quito. When asked for directions everyone had the same thing to stay "derecho". That would help for a few blocks until we came to another round about or a "Y". Now what? Feverishly looking for clues as to which way was more straight or more travelled while dodging people, trash, and taxis made the matter quite stressful. Horns never stop blaring and lanes of traffic are never straight. It is each man getting to his destination by whatever means seems right in his own eyes. About the only thing the occupants of these streets share in common is the smogg they all produce. Next time I do this trip I am going to get an air purifier installed in my helmet.

We finally conquered the city just in time to meet a wall of rain. Depressing.

Down into the lowlands life got better when we were just wet, not wet AND cold. Our paths parted when we hit Santo Domingo. Mark would head out to the beach for a day or so and I would head south. Striking out alone is kinda like looking at the chaos in your house after a big party. What you are looking at is a far cry from home and you are left to deal with it...alone. Ventanas bombeiros took me in for the night and even included me in their game of cards.

-Shrift

Leaving Colombia was bittersweet. On the one hand, leaving means making progress, but at the same time it is hard to leave such a cool place. It certainly has a bad rap with the press, but then again, when is the last time the news painted an acurate picture?

The boarder with Ecuador was the simplest crossing to date. A bit time consuming, but simple. No swarms of buzzards making jabs at your wallet through various schemes was a welcome change. We would have been through in half an hour if it were not for the one and only customs man being distracted to other duties 80% of the time. Also, if he had taken a typing course our stay there would have been significantly shorter.

Into Ecuador the most evident difference was the price of gas dropping from 4.15 to 1.40 a gallon. Other than that not much changed. Comparable views and the same old afternoon rains characterized our first day of Ecuador.

Naviagating mountain passes in the rain brings riding to a whole new level. Sneaking a peak at the passing veiw is suicidal. Slick roads, mud washes, poor visibility, blind curves, falling rocks, ( I almost got hit by a football sized one), and missing portions of road are just some of the obstacles. When you throw being cold and wet into the mix it really makes for an exhuasting day. Mark and I found it ironic that when we crossed the equator we were both wet and freezing cold.

(Mountains as far as the eye can see)

-Shrift

Mark had a flight out of Quito, Ecudor, and I have a wedding to get to, so neither of us had the option of waiting around with Chad for two weeks. I felt kinda dirty leaving him behind with a broken bike. Perhaps that is what the coyboys felt like when they had to shoot a horse with a broken leg. It is just something you have to do. He wanted to study Spanish for a few weeks in Quito, but Popayan with have to do. I am not worried about him in the least. I'm kinda jealous, actually. My spanish could use a lot of help.


(Leaving Chad)

Riding with Mark is a challenge in and of itself. First of all, he has a KLR, which is far more in tune with tour riding than my XR. Secondly, he is an incredibly skilled rider, which is not the case with me. We made it as far as the border with Ecuador through many hours of rain. The day was not all grey though. The rain let up for a little while just in time for us to stop by a famous cathedral built over a canyon. Santoario Las Lajas is a popular pilgrimage destination evident through the number of people there even on a rainy day.

(Santoario Las Lajas)

(Mark)

-Shrift

I was barely awake when Chad asked me to join him in facing the mechanic. We rode together to a place that seemed to be of reputation to get an official word on our dilema. The man politely listened to our explanation of what had happened. Much like a doctor listening to a patient with a cough and a runny nose, he knew exactly what was wrong from the get go but was gracious enough to hear the whole useless backround. When we were done our spiel, he informed us that the top end was starved of oil for some reason and the whole top end would have to be rebuilt. In fifteen minutes they would have a parts quote for us. Well, that fifteen minutes lasted a good four hours, before we were sent away at noon with promises of it being ready at three pm. The three pm appointment served only to reschedule for five pm. Aside from wandering through the town and enjoying a cup of coffee, the day was pretty much gone. Like it or not, this place would be Chad's new home for at least two weeks while his bike got a makeover.

(Last coffee together)

-Shrift