Joe y Sixto en el camino: July 2014

from now on I'm at: joespolidoro@gmail.com

I'm flying home very shortly so here’s my attempt to tie things up and put to rest my blogging days now that the road is sadly no longer.

ready to sail, Valpo, Chile

I saw Sixto off yesterday in a dry port in Valparaiso, Chile. He kicked and screamed and really made me work to squeeze out the last bit of juice from his tank but eventually he realized it was time to call it a day, we crated him up and sent him sailing west towards Hong Kong before we reunite in the spring at the Port of Melbourne, ready to stretch his legs in the Victorian back country. Times will never be the same but I hope together the spirit of this trip will carry on in some way.

To those who have been tuning in from time to time I hope you've enjoyed the reading, it's been a joy to write and update my experiences as I’ve rolled on throughout Latin America, from California to Central Chile indirectly via Louisiana, the Caribbean Sea, Tierra del Fuego, Rio de Janiero and everything in between, taking on 60,455 kilometres of its roads. To those tabloid-style viewers, I hope the photos have painted enough of a picture and to those I met along the way, your chance meeting has in some unique way made the journey all the more richer and fulfilling, it’s rarely been short of a pleasure to share a moment, a drink, a meal, a road, a sunset, a dance floor and a laugh together.

I picked Sixto up back in April 2013 and have tried not to look back for the past sixteen months. In real terms, the time and distance has been long but in lone rider terms, - the sole decision making, being without use of my native tongue and the constant lack of any voice or music but those in my mind for hours on end – it feels somewhat longer.

It's a sad feeling to finish up. These endless months, this land, it’s people and this lifestyle has offered me so much and I will be forever grateful. The spirit of adventure and the thrill of the unknown around the next corner will be sorely missed, having nowhere to be, the long days on the road, not knowing where I’ll be sleeping when the sun meets the horizon, swerving around animals, bugs splattered on my goggles, waving to a passer-by, stopping for a cooked lunch. It's a great consolation, however, to know I'll be returning home to some fantastic things and a certain quality of life only Australia can provide.

bogged near Uyuni, Bolivia

The common themes which have kept my mind ticking over during those many moments are owed to the art of riding motorcycles as well as what it offers between rides as part of a greater journey: to living simply and to enhance the human senses. To travel on the open road on the perfect vehicle and all of your current life’s belongings and necessities tied up behind you one can feel so very light, so in control of his destiny and yet be so vulnerable and susceptible to that around him, that which he cannot control - the obvious vulnerability is the other drivers he shares the road with but the more important one is the overwhelming power of the natural world he travels through and offers himself up to. When vulnerable and open, everything has a stronger impact and a heightened sense of awareness, it pushes the human senses. A downpour in the Amazon will drench you to the bone no matter how waterproof your jacket is. On the wrong day, a Patagonian wind will throw you across the road, regardless if a truck is passing, and a truck passing will only exacerbate the strength of it after its short-lived blocking. A desert sun will quench your thirst and leave you feeling very isolated and small and a high-altitude mountain pass will send a sobering chill through you and leave you nowhere to warm your hands and toes (and nose and cheeks if you’re stupid enough to take them on with an open face). The climate leaves you awake and worn out, something that ensures the next ride is worth preparing for.

When riding turns from hours, to days, to weeks and to months the climate has a way of reminding you that it’s always there and that it owns you but it also tells you where you are, where you’re travelling through, it

battery disconnected at 60,445km's

speaks to you about how beautifully the world is. There’s been so many memorable rides I’ve experienced on this trip, so many that I can see myself daydreaming of when I inevitably get back to the monotonous working day. On the more memorable days, the world has had its way of celebrating its charm and applauding itself. I rode through many of the south west U.S. canyon roads without seeing another soul for hours, it’s enchantment spoke so magically. I took to the gravel cliff-hugging roads from Mocoa to Pasto in southern Colombia, the ‘Devil’s Trampoline’, and took breaks to peer over the edge and into the pits of hell. I rode the Mexican 200 for days through Michoacan and Guerrero, curving into and away from the Pacific Ocean, dodging crabs high above the cliffs and low by the crashing waves. The bike, the lonely road, it reminds you how it feels to be alive surrounded by it all. In the space of a handful of days in Peru, I took in a country with fantastic variety – the sandy deserts of the north which takes you to meet the empty blue ocean, it carries on inland through canyon territory before rising high up into one of the Andes most remarkable sets of snow-capped peaks, descends into the flat and isolated pampa with no civilisation but the wild vicuna’s scurrying into the sunset then down into the forests and sacred valleys of its south. Around Lanquin, in Guatemala where I had my first fall, shows you the rocky mountains, the heavenly valley. The men loitering its villages urged me to stop so I could buy them a round of Pepsi and explain what I was doing there, in the depths of Central America’s best kept secret of rolling hills and fertile land. Around Quilotoa, Ecuador, more mountain to touch and bend around its curves and to hike around the rim of its turquoise lake.

friends in the unlikeliest of places

The slow going along the Carretera Austral in Southern Chile, its stunning lakes and pristine temperate rainforests. Riding over high bridges at San Francisco Bay and the Panama Canal. Chasing waterfalls and springs around Ometepe Island in Nicaragua. Riding out in the dust beneath the clear blue skies to partake in the vicuna shearing ceremony in Sajama National Park in Bolivia, later cruising its hills from Potosi to Uyuni. Finding secluded beaches off the path on the Brazilian 101. Reaching deep into the Ecuadorian Amazon before a personalized boat ride upstream for four days in the protected reserve. Across the isolated plains of northern Uruguay. Tasting the many climatic zones whilst riding up and over the width of the Oaxaca region of Mexico. The highlights, the smells, the sounds and visions of these memorable days and many more won’t go far I hope. The stirred senses remain open.

The riding is a lesson in geography, how it feels to breathe the cold air when chasing the clouds or above 3000m and how it affects the bike too, struggling to take in enough oxygen, a slight choke in its breath. How rocky the roads can get near volcanoes, how dusty the air near canyons, how thick and humid the air in the rainforests, how heavy it’s moisture, how clean and swift in the open plains.

breaking the waves, Nicaragua

What really made this trip was owed to riding solo – importantly, having my own transport and free to move at my own pace and mood, as slow or fast as the day asked and as simple as the location and its people allowed.

Of course, the times I spent with backpackers and many friends I made were always a fun time and full of laughs and riding with other bikers created an exciting element and brought new ideas to the table. The thrill of the unknown however is most present when waking up free and able to make spontaneous decisions as they presented themselves giving me every chance to live simply and enjoy the moments. Of times where I was rushed to reach somewhere at a specific date I would inevitable have to miss somewhere interesting or a kind gesture on the way. It made me so much more approachable by hesitant onlookers. It opened up opportunities to make friends in the unlikeliest of places, meeting people in restaurants in the smallest of towns and sharing a table and a long conversation about local life, Australian life and travelling. Then there’s getting to know the woman who proudly cooks lunch and snacks by the roadside, ‘You have a beautiful horse’, they say, ‘Why are you traveling alone? Why aren’t you married? What do your parents say? The questions from the men are more often about the bike and my job and how I can afford to travel for so long. 'I come from a different world', I begin to explain.

Pulling over of a dusk to ask permission to set up my tent in a front yard and sharing dinner, music and a warm embrace. Taking a break to work on farms for as long as it felt comfortable, to live with a local family, share in meal preparations, work with the land and learn how the farm operates and what makes it really work, spending down time taking in its grounds, wandering in the nearby rivers and mountains. Living simply struck a strong chord one late afternoon in Lago Puelo, Argentina where I had been working on plastering adobe onto a timber hut, the sun was shining brightly but was only moments from reaching the peak of the nearby mountain and hiding for the night, I was finishing off my last bucket of mud, having worked it through my hands over a long afternoon, appreciating the sun on my back and the fresh breeze coming over. Diego had returned and was inside the house, he opened the doors and windows and began playing his guitar, playing his own music very well which sat perfectly within a brief moment of paradise.

the most important of history lessons,
Potosi, Bolivia

The key really, together with having time and being able to act spontaneously was taking the decision to put faith in humanity, unquestioningly and without restraint. To trust people from just their immediate expressions and attitudes, to be open to their kindness and accept it with open arms when it comes genuinely and respectfully. Without faith in humanity, we blur the lines of fear and danger, two very different things which we too often convince ourselves that are the same. Yes, places can be dangerous, being in the wrong place at the wrong time can happen, however unlikely it is, but it’s really fear that’s so much more powerful, once we choose to except fear it will control us and take away any chance of adventure, of spontaneity, of opportunity, of breathing that moment and tell us we are acting to prevent ourselves from danger, something that very often does not exist.

It’s very easy to decline coldly, dismiss this kind of offering as sketchy, unplanned, with a bad vibe, but to embrace it always comes with its rewards on both sides. Fear really is overrated when out in the quiet, beautiful landscapes of Latin America with its gentle and kind communities offering help without hesitation. To speak someone’s language, showing that you’re wanting to speak it as well as possible, to approach confidently but on level ground will always give someone an easy and curious way to start a conversation. Taking on what presents itself and putting faith in those you come in contact can offer so much and enrich the travels. I approached a village off the highway in the Peruvian pampa one afternoon, from a distance it looked so isolated and curious. I followed the gravel road and hoped to just bask in the sun and eat the bread and cheese I bought that morning. The village was preparing its monthly general meeting in the main square with a long table of important people at the front, a flag raising, eight gun salute followed by a speaker’s forum. They welcomed me in, asked me to introduce myself in front of everyone and invited me to stay for the ceremony.

sandy roads along the Caribbean sea, Mexico

I met Caleb, a fellow rider while filling up at a gas station on the Yucatan one afternoon, I stayed at his place for the following few nights, met the local biking community, was offered discounts for new tyres, and was put in contact with Marco further south, another apartment to stay at and fantastic home cooked Mexican food by his mother. I approached Jose in the mountains above Lanquin in Guatemala for assistance in storing my bike for the night to avoid the steep and slippery ride through the evening storm. His reaction gave me all the assurance I needed, the most innocent of faces and eagerness to help from a beautiful man whose life was his children and the coffee and cardamom he grew on the slopes behind his tin shack home. A twenty minute connection with him and his father-in-law was enough to understand what life was all about in this part of the world and what it is that we really need and should be striving for.

and they say that motorcycles are dangerous

So much of the time Sixto was key in making a connection with men by the roadside. I won’t forget the countless men in their 60’s and 70’s who approached me throughout the U.S., and parts of Mexico, Argentina and Uruguay who stopped me at gas stations, outside restaurants and traffic lights to tell me about the Bonneville they had many moons ago. To see their eyes light up when they reminisced on their youth was a real privilege, to chat away on comparing the bike spec’s, their excitement was contagious.

the Patagonian Autumn, Argentina

When the riding became tiring there was always ways to tread lightly off the road – camping days on end in national parks to hike up mountains, over rocks and glaciers and swim and drink from the rivers, or there was pulling over for an afternoon to climb an active volcano, surfing in the Pacific, watching a parade or roadside festival, feeding the wild dogs while camping at a secluded campsite. The simplest times, the simplest human connections and the vacant wilderness were really the most precious moments of all.

between central and south America

To the hard times. There weren’t really any hard times. There was bad days, days where the riding just didn’t feel right, usually a result of bad weather, having slept on a hard ground or just having a late night, light head and an empty stomach. Things wouldn’t go as hoped many times but not much could be done but to persevere and patiently work through it. I ran out of gas on three occasions. The most frightening was the first time, on a hot day in the Northern Mexican desert. A man eventually came to the rescue, somebody is always willing to help if you’re willing to wait. There’s been falls and damage to Sixto. The worst was the slip and dislocated shoulder in Southern Bolivia on a miserably damp day. That taught me some good lessons. I could have been in a lot more trouble on this occasion, many hours of a painful dislocation had Alfredo not arrived when he did and in a pick-up truck to mount Sixto in. I’ve learnt that when things did turn to shit or I felt unlucky or unfairly treated from the universe, the occasion could have always been worse. Having an opportunity like this, it’s hard to take the highs for granted and be bitter about the lows for too long.

I’m not sure how to finish writing this, I’ve very mindful of the different life I’m returning to, I’m not bitter to end this as enjoyable as it is, I just hope the feelings remain and translate into that comfortable, privileged world I’ll be immersed in, where it’s very easy to be distracted from what’s important, to make silly excuses of being too busy to notice the beauty all around us, or forgetting that the simpler we live the more beauty we are likely to notice – climbing a mountain, baking bread, eating vegetables in season, feeling the earth between your fingers, sun on your back, going to sleep early in a tent and waking with the first light, smelling the flowers, noticing a new but subtle sound from my motorcycle engine, drinking from a shared cup, embracing a head wind, predicting what the clouds will bring, being open to the generosity of strangers, having faith in the human spirit, drinking and washing your face in a flowing river. I hope to wake everyday to the reminder that time is the real capital and that real wealth can only be found in experiences, in knowledge, in connecting with people and the environment and all it takes is some risk taking and nothing more than your five senses, and maybe that sixth sense of making things happen.