We have been busy this last year. Between school, ultimate, church, friendships, family, jobs and this trip we have very busy indeed. We have pressed our noses to grindstones, burnt candles at both ends, gone the extra miles and pulled our weight and more. Like a man trudging through a thick forest. His head bent in exhaustion, the path ahead obscured by task tress. Rooted in responsibility, nurtured by obligation and weaned on necessity they grow thickly and conceal the path ahead. In this trip we hope to have a moment to catch our breaths and take a panoramic view of our lives. To orientate ourselves once more before God. We are eternal creatures and have lost that perspective. -JF
Bozeman, May 8
We leave our house in Bozeman with all the pomp and circumstance of a weekend trip. “Do we remember everything?” As it turns out, no. “Are you ready to go?” Than asks me as I adjust my gloves. We are off. Two blocks later we stop for gas and to check the tire pressure. It takes me several seconds to find the proper inflation pressure on the tire’s side. Ok, now we are ready. We drive for 2 hours to Billings where we spend the night. Our trip is starting slowly. Easing into the frigid waters of international travel and self reliance. Or more aptly, perceived self reliance. -JF
One of my favorite things about going on this trip is people’s reaction. Specifically, the first things people recommend we should bring or ask us if we have packed. The thing they consider indispensable to our survival and safety. Or perhaps just the first thing that comes to mind.
- “Will you have a cellphone?”
- “Do you have good waterproof boots?”
- “What about diarrhea medication?”
- ”Are you taking a gun?”
- “Have you thought about chaffing?”
- “You’re bring bug spray, right?”
Well, yes, sort of, not yet, what!? should we? and no. Than and I have talked that there are a hundred things we need to bring and another hundred we could bring, but in the end they would only weigh us down. -JF
Southern Wyoming, May 9
Than sits on the wet gravel beside his bike, loosening the rear axle bolt. I hunker behind his bike trying to stay out of the wind and looking for our 12mm wrench. We are parked on a pull off somewhere before Cheyenne in the 70 mile gasless gap in southern Wyoming. A few minutes before, in the midst of the rainstorm with wind strong enough that we barely could stay on the road, Than’s chain slipped. Now, in the wind and the gale-force wind, we shiver, because all our layers are on the bottom of our panniers since we didn’t think we would need them until Argentina. Than tightens his chain, then mine, since it is loose as well. I look up as we collect the tools. I hear bird song. The storm has passed. The sun is shining, blanketing everything in golden light. We are standing on a slight rise and the entire vibrant green prairie spreads out before us. The towering storm clouds are on one side, being pushed further east while the sun trails towards the horizon in shining benevolence. As we start our bikes back up and set out I can’t help but grinning from ear to ear at God’s creation.
When you first buy a motorcycle and hit the open road you discover a few things. First you experience the freedom of being totally exposed to the elements. It’s pretty exhilarating to cruise along a small country highway or drive through an afternoon thunderstorm. There are no walls to block all the wind and no roof to protect you from the rain. There is no A/C, no heater, and no radio to play with. It’s just you and the road, and a whole lot of time to think.
Another thing that you’ll soon realize is that you’ve just joined a brotherhood. Just by owning a motorcycle you’ve earned the respect of thousands of bikers. When one rider passes by another there is a silent recognition of this respect. It’s expected that you extend your left arm out in the customary handwave. I go back and forth between thinking this brotherhood is totally awesome and other times thinking it’s absolutely ridiculous. The fact that someone thinks differently of you because you own a motorcycle is frankly hilarious. On the other hand, it’s super fun to connect with other people out enjoying the road from the seat of a bike.
-NW
Colorado, May 12
The front tire glides over the pavement in the darkening twilight. The asphalt still holds the heat from the day and the air as it rushes past cools pleasantly, not yet chilled enough to be brisk. The road is enclosed on each side by green hills and craggy cliffs, following the twists and turns of the river. For 11 miles the roads, each curve flows into the next. For those 11 miles we reach something approaching serenity as the bikes lap up the turns. -JF
Texas, May 14We got our butts kicked today. If today was a fight, we got knocked down by the first punch. Then we stood up again, got bludgeoned for a few rounds and K.O.-ed. We needed to ride 600 miles between Midland and McAllen Texas. We woke at 5 and left the house at 5:30 stopped at a gas station and then promptly got lost. We couldn’t figure out how to get out of town. We ended up in some dirty suburb getting chased by dog. So, back to the gas station we went to buy a map. Then it rained, not a pleasant light rain, but a torrential downpour. After that, nothing went according to plan. We were late, lost, sopping wet and with the bikes in need of repair we stopped in San Antonio for the night, nearly 250 miles from where we planned. But that is what this trip is all about. Than and I learned in Africa that nothing goes according to plan. So, we'll roll with the punches and keep getting up. If you can't be smart, be tough.
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