So the bikes have been doing pretty well...

Mine hadn't been running right, and I changed to the second clip on the blue needle and also replaced the spark plug and it seems much better and doesn't stall so much anymore.
Matt's bike just ran into a problem today on the way to Acapulco, where it sputters at high rpms while riding, not while in nuetral. At the same time, his headlight goes on and off randomly, and works most often while he's stopped. I'm thinking some electrical ground issue is doing both, any ideas?

We get thumbs up everywhere!! People love our bikes, especially the hotties that work at gas stations here. I'm serious.
We've already taken a couple chicks for rides on them in La Paz...
Matt's bike is so freaking loud though I need to keep at least 100yds behind him or stay in front!
Anyway, the trip is kicking ass. We keep falling behind schedule from late starts and delays, but we're on track. I posted a GPS link if you wanna see where we're at.
We've had some luck so far...

Regarding your electrical gremlin, check the stator. Make sure the bolts aren't backing out, its been known to happen on these bikes.

That is one of the fixes we didn't have a chance to do before leaving... Could that be causing these symptoms?

tiernanturner said:

Yeah, I think it can.

Mexico took much longer than expected. When we were planning looking at the map, we’d expected to cross through texas, which would have brought us down the East Coast, and we would have saved some time. As it was, we rode nearly three thousand miles of Mexico! (including Baja). Before going there, I had made up my mind that I just wanted to get through. I had thought of Mexico as a means to an end, and didn’t expect to find much that I liked there, and also had it in my head this would be the least American friendly place. I expected that since the country has enough money to have a taste of what we have, they’d want more, and to take it from us. I definitely expected haters… When we landed in Mazatlan, it started to fell like “real” Mexico- the city obviously wasn’t run around tourism. Right after getting off the ferry, we stop in front of a motorcycle shop and I tell the guy my chain “tiene sed.” He greases mine, then the other three adventure riders we were with from the ferry. They don’t ask for any money, but we tip them out a couple of buck each.



From there we got our first taste of riding in a group, and it feels pretty good. The group soon splits, and three of us take the free road while the other two rock the Couta. Then we lose our bunkmate Anthony when he doesn’t want to ride at night, and Matt and I press on to Puerta Vallarta, where we meet our couchsurfing host Rolando.



He speaks excellent English, and tells me my Spanish is basic. But I was so proud of my skills! I get a shave from an old man, who makes my mustache look just like his that he’s had for 40 years and also tells me my razor is ruined from letting Karem try to sharpen it with another knife when she wanted to rid the world of my ‘stache. Oh well.



We get a late start out and head to Manzanillo after an impulsive stop bungee jumping on the way out...



I had taken a screenshot of the map of the Mismo Sol Hostel, which takes us into a neighborhood where kids are playing soccer in the dirt streets with no shoes on, and nobody has heard of this hostel and can’t imagine why we don’t just want one of the roach motels down the street. We roll around looking for
awhile, and finally hear and smell the resemblance of a Bob Marley concert.



We meet Buffalo Don, who lets us pull our bikes inside the gate, and we kick it with him for a bit.



He tells us how the medias exaggeration of Swine Flu has nearly put him out of business. This reiterates what Rolando had told us in Puerto Vallarta. Common story here: how the general public eats up stories of danger and fear. This is also why most people think this trip of ours is dangerous. It’s up to us really to figure out what’s true. What’s the credibility of the source of information? Like our Aussie friend says. “Mom says Russia is dangerous. ‘When’s the last time you were there mom?’” I only listened to people who’d done similar trips, and they all agree it’s safe and cool. But if you’re closed minded, and prone to believing fear-inducing stories, you’ll always remember someone who told you about someone they know who was robbed. If you believe everything you see on television, you’ll only turn the world into something George Orwell or Aldus Huxley might have imagined. I guess critical thinking isn’t for everyone though…



We didn’t make it too far from there after a late start, and tried to find a hotel at a random town, which was pretty basic. We take a wrong turn and wind up on a beach in the middle of nowhere that uses solar power only. We hit on the girls working there, whom are 22 and not allowed out at night without their family. They hand us off some beers, which we take to the beach and jump in the warm ocean water then cool off and get a beautiful timelapse of the stars and palm trees there.

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We get to Acapulco and Matt’s headlight isn’t working, so we share a lane as best we can, which is really hard entering Acapulco from the north, where the roads are windy with heavy traffic and there’s no patience from any locals. Matt almost takes a digger after trying to pass a bus on the right in the sand! Nice save, thank P90X. We find our way to a hostel in the center of town on the beach. The bartender/laundry cougar hits on my mustache for a little while, but it’s not enough to coax me into giving her a ride home on the bike. “Lo siento, pero ya he tomado.” Acapulco is a night of dance party, where the local dudes aren’t too happy to see Matt and I getting attention from the hottest girls there. **** em, we checked the girls ID’s what else do they want from us? I also met some very cool guys that night too, but they weren’t form Acapulco. I find more locals in tourist towns represent this group of people that I expected more of in Mexico- haters that see what we have and think it’s not fair. The girls take us for some really dank midnight tacos.

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We’re out of Acapulco by 11am on three hour’s sleep, and head out for about a half hour until we realize Matt’s bike isn’t running right. I noticed he wasn’t behind me, so I waited on the side of the road until he finally shows up 20 minutes later. I guess his bike is sputtering at high RPMs… Coupled with the headlight, I’m thinking this must be electrical. Anyway, the bike’s good enough to make it so we just ride it as is. We roll into Puerto Escondido, again with no headlight. At least we’re not in a big city. Again with the screenshot of the map, we’re lost in the town of people who don’t know what a hostel is. As we’re navigating the dirt streets, Steve rolls up on a moped and tells us to follow him to the Twin Bridge Hostel. He takes us out that night to meet some Americans hanging out with a Ed, who exports Mezcal from Oaxaca, and I enjoy the company of some chilled out dudes who share a passion for cold beer, warm weather, and motorcycles. Some of the guys live there, some just visiting. It’s interesting to meet the Americans who’ve decided to leave their homeland and live in Mexico- especially when they don’t speak Spanish!

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We stay there for another day and I go “swimming with turtles”, which should go by the more accurate term, “molesting a turtle in the ocean.” I basically held on to an unhappy turtle in the water for a minute while he’s hogtied with a rope. The best part of that one was watching our man Felix bellyflop into the water trying to grab them as soon as he’d see them- fthird time’s a charm. I’m on sunset timelapse duty, but I might have boned the shot practicing my Spanish with a friendly server who makes a point to drop me her email.

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Find out what the electrical problem is before your in the middle of no where. The SPOT Link is awesome....Be safe guys....Costa Rica is the NEW DIRT BIKE MECCA. If you guys go through there find a bike shop & see if they can help you with the electrical problem...

Turns out his chain was hitting the wiring just above the front sprocket... And some poor wiring work at the headlight... and the exhaust wasn't sealed from last time it was taken off... Just coincidence with the spuddering, backfiring, and headlight deal at the same time.

Have not heard anything for awhile. How is it going?
Fg

creamcheese said:

Hey Forrest, If your on FaceBook there is a whole webpage devoted to their ride. They are always updating it. :thumbsup: http://www.facebook....9851783?ref=sgm

I'm going to write a blog and post pics of South America later this week; it's got to be before Rio otherwise I'll be too loaded.

Basically it's been great since getting to S. America. Culture, women, the good life. Oh yeah, and the occasional breakdown on the road. Chain change. Police... Rainstorm. 8 inches of sand for 20 miles... Manbearpigs... Portugese! New friends everywhere-

Tiernan

That's too cool guys, trip of a lifetime - if I'd have known earlier I would of tagged along to help with the Portuguese. Rio in time for carnival (starts Friday)...how freak'n great is that!

Seja seguro (be safe).

It seems like since trading photobucket for picasa, I need to relearn formatting for each site I post on each time I post. I recommend paying for photobucket if anyone out there is considering the switch...

Anyhow, this update can be found HERE and HERE.

Matt's been back in Vegas since last Thursday, and he's donated his bike to our couchsurfing host here in Rio in hopes that Diogo will himself take a similar journey north this year.

Through much agitation I finally got a reasonable price to ship the bike back, I'm going to Miami tomorrow and so is the bike. I should be back to Vegas by next Wednesday. I'll write up my Brazilian experience in a week or two.

Nice! I followed the write up on ADVRider as well. Nice trip. I wish I could have done something like that when I was younger.

BRAZIL REALLY LIKES ME, AND SHE’S FUN, BUT IF I STAY ANY LONGER AMERICA MIGHT FIND OUT AND NOT WANT ME BACK AND THE TRUTH IS I LOVE AMERICA


Entering Brazil was a little exiting, considering it was the last country of this journey. Finding the border was easy from Puerto Iguazu, and people understand Spanish in Foz de Iguacu. Plus, the border police had really awesome uniforms.

The first problem we have is at the first toll, where we wind up spending an hour to change some Reals.


Finally we stop in the first city we find, Cascavel. We find a roach motel, and a 65 year old woman in a mini skirt jumps on my bike to guide us to park the bikes.

We go out for dinner to a place where a guy who speaks Spanish asked us to return to and promised chicas would be present.

The scene was a little scary, you know, all these blood sucking dangerous Brazilian theives around…

It sure is dangerous for us little white guys in Brazil…

There we meet some ambiguously gay guys, and one of them returns to take us out for the night. On the way our host hits the car in front of us while staring into Mateo’s eyes. We wind up at a very cool bar, and our friend walks us around, stopping each girl saying in Portugese: “These guys are from Las Vegas. Eh?”, until a group of about six young girls attach themselves to our company.

Ten minutes later we realize two of the girls are 15 and we’re feeding them beer (well our friend is we don’t pay). One girl starts licking my ear and grabbing at me until she finally leans in for the kiss while I practice my limbo skills, or impersonate the Matrix bullet-dodge.

We call it a night, and on the way home see one guy in a Volkswagen Golf carrying all six of the girls, who are sticking out of every orofus of the car screaming at the top of their lungs with the electronic music turned all the way up.
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Fun night.
The next day we plan on making it half the distance to Sao Paulo so we can meet our internet friend Paulo for a Sunday supermoto ride. The farmland is an array of colors that appear more vibrant than anywhere else I’ve seen.
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My bike makes a loud POP noise, and isn’t running.
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Mateo doubles back within a half hour, and I’m taking off my carburetor when a guy with a pickup rolls up and offers us a ride to Londrina. What the hell, I’m kidding myself if I think I can fix this one. Or even troubleshoot.

The ride lasts over an hour, and I speak Spanish and Marcos speaks Portugese. Its very difficult since it’s my second day exposed to the language, but not impossible. This reinforces the idea that even with a language barrier two people can communicate, but only if each person genuinely wants to. Also, it was a great way to learn Portugese. I started figuring out some of the consistent differences with Spanish, of which there are several.
By the time we get to Londrinas, Suzuki is closed so Marcos takes us out to dinner with his family at a nice restaurant, buys us a couple of beer missiles, then won’t let us pay!


At the end of the night his six year old daughter holds my hand on the way to the car and now I want one. Marcos keeps my bike at his house for the night and drops Matt and I at a hotel.
Marcos is at our hotel with my motorcycle at 8:30am and we’re at Suzuki speaking Spanish to Brazilians by 9.

Julio shows up around 10, and he speaks some English.

Apparently a friend of his, Louis from Sao Paulo, called and told him there’s two Americans he’s been following on the internet who are stranded in Londrina, would he please find and help us out? **** yeah Louis!

I still don’t know who Louis is, or which website he found us on, so please comment so I know who you are!
Anyway, Julio takes Myself, Marcos, and Mateo to his place for a nice BBQ.

Julio has a 20 year old son, Murillo, who says he’ll take us out for some Londrina nightlife (it’s Friday).

We go out with him, and find all of his friends are 19 year old hot women.

We’re introduced to Bife do Parmeasana, and Caipivodka. Needless to say, I get wasted and hit on girls.

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I even smoke, just in case…
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The next day we’re awakened by Julio, who takes us to a community BBQ, where we put away some serious quantities of meat.
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Julio writes us up some amazing directions to Murillo’s place in Sao Paulo. We get back to the hotel, and soon after are picked up by Marcos, who takes us to an afternoon BBQ at a farm.
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There we meet Ivan, who lived in America and has a hot 23 year old sister. We also meet a Brazilian Policia Militar who speaks some English and is very cool. That night we all go out.
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We catch the end of a Salsa act, which is really cool. Mateo has been taken over by Ivan’s sister within ten minutes of arriving, and the Policia hooks me up with a hot Morena, whose mere silhouette would keep me happy to look at for some time.
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The next day Marcos takes some time from work to pick me up for lunch, then later in the day Matt and I for a pool party/barbecue.
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We’re still not tired of this business.

Finally, my bike is finished. Apparently when I changed the spark plug way back in La Paz, Mexico, I hadn’t tightened it quite enough. The result was it backed out slowly, over 8 thousand miles, until finally some gas must have exploded where it shouldn’t have, and stripped the threads of the spark plug in the cylinder head. Now I’ve got some new threads and I’m on the road.

We’d planned on making it to Sao Paulo in two days, since we heard how it is to navigate. The problem is we couldn’t find any roadside hotels on the way, and the town we pulled off at didn’t have any either. We took our chances, and followed Julio’s directions, and without one wrong turn wound up at Murillo’s place.
Murillo, of course, had a hot 19 year old hanging when we got there. An hour later we’re outside a club, and an hour after that we’re hanging at a rich guy’s house with a bunch of hotties. Pure playboy in Sao Paulo.

The next morning a hot friend of his turns us on to a brown hash breakfast, and that night we meet more hotties to escort to one of the most exclusive nightclubs in town.


They use this system in Brazil where you get a hard plastic card at the door, to which you charge purchases. I guess it cuts down on theft from employees you’d find in a cash system, but the problem is you don’t really know how much you’re spending. I guess I should have known when there’s no price listed, that usually means those items are for people to whom money is no object. Long story short the tab was R$387 for Matt and I for three each Vodka Energetics. Oh well, you can only be a Sao Paulo playboy once I guess.
We stayed in Sao Paulo for a few days, during which time Murillo introduced us to his lady friends, who were plentiful.

We also got to see how they haze the freshmen there. First they cover them in crap, much like in the film Dazed and Confused, only they also shave men’s head (but only random parts, like they were hit by Steve-O or something). Then, they take them to the streets and have the freshmen beg for money in traffic, so that later that day they can spend the cash on a big street party.



We finally get to meet Paulo, who’s been following us on Supermotojunkie.com.

Murillo really went out of his way to show us a good time in Sao Paulo.

Finally, it’s time for Carnaval.

The last part of the ride to Rio was a pretty nice last day of riding for the trip. We had to decend a twisty, two lane each way, mountain road. I got hit by a semi passing on the inside of a right turn; my wheel was scraping the curb on the right and he hit my handlebars and tripod on the left while I hugged the brakes, balls in throat. No real damage other than being shaken up for a minute and a bent sideview mirror, which is actually at a better angle now! We hit Rio by sundown, then spent four hours trying to locate our couchsurfing host’s house.

Finally at midnight we show up knocking at the door. His mother comes out in her nighty and tells us he’s not there, but wait outside and she’ll call. Two minutes later this funny Brazilian rolls up on a 49cc moped and is exited.

I guess he’s been online watching us make wrong turns all over Rio on the spot tracker since we’ve been here, and it’s been very dramatic since we’d apparently passed through some of the bad favelas. The six other couchsufers at his grandmother’s apartment are blonde Europeans, and they can’t wait to meet us. Let’s go party at Lapa.

Our first night is really funny. We go to the house of some girls he’s been talking to online, and I accidentally see her roommate naked. In an hour that girl is wasted, and gets upset when I don’t want to buy her tequila or an hourly love motel for something that’s illegal in several states. Oh well, that’s not why I’m begging my family for money! We’re home around 9 or 10am.

The next day our cameraman and buddy Mark shows up to the bus station. I have the bright idea that Diogo ride with Mateo on the back to the station, since he knows where he’s going. Diogo likes the torque, and likes even more so the obnoxious sound Mateo’s DRZ makes. I almost have a hard time keeping up… Diogo rides with little respect for either his or Matt’s life, passing between cars, busses, and other motos at high speeds. He also runs red lights, uses the shoulder, bus lanes, and anything he can to get ahead of as many people as possible. He revvs the motor so as to announce to the cars ahead they need to move. I think it’s pretty dumb since the horn is designed to project sound forward, and also that’s the common etiquette in Rio so drivers actually know how to react. Anyhow, Matt’s a little shaken up when we get to the bus station. Matt and I smirk and suggest Mark ride with Diogo, but I don’t think Mark really understood what he was in for until Diogo punches first gear and Mark nearly falls off the back (we’ve got it on camera). Diogo pushes even harder with Mark now that he’s built some confidence on the way there, and I have a hard time keeping up with Matt on the back. Finally we get back, and Mark looks like he’s just been raped.

With a certain pride, Diogo tells us he felt Mark shaking during the ride.
We spend the next two nights much like the first night in Rio: we go out around midnight and return at daylight.

Rio is absolutely filthy during carnival. There’s no low against littering or urinating in the street, and people exercise these liberties with zest. There’s puddles everywhere and it hasn’t rained in weeks. Everyone is in full party mode, and ice-cold beers are about a buck each on the street, with any vendor willing to negotiate.

The other couchsurfers, Diogo’s couchsurfers of choice, all blonde women, try to hang with us for the nights. It’s a constant struggle to get away from them. They say they don’t feel safe because the Brazilian men grope them. Well, they are 6 blondes in slutty outfits during Carnival. I didn’t bring them, and I want to meet a nice Brazilian girl that works out, so they’ve gotta go.
We really want to see the parade, but can’t afford the tickets to the drome and Diogo for some reason won’t take us to the free one. Our last night there we just try to get near it and look inside. The other guys want to sneak in, which I think is ridiculous. To think that security hasn’t been worked out by now to keep the likes of us out? Turns out I’m wrong, and the fact that Mark has the camera out helps us as well. One of the outer gates has a wire tie holding it shut, and we get that undone with a leatherman. As soon as we’re in we avoid eye contact with security by talking to the camera as we walk backwards towards the next level of security, which is directly where the dancers are exiting the drome. We get through there, but soon after are approached and kicked out of that level. The best we can do is steal some used costumes and hit the party in style.

So we go to meet Matt’s friend, who waits for us at a huge outdoor gay party. There we are, standing in these costumes, in the middle of a mostly shirtless gay party. The costumes had to go. Eventually we’re tired of the street party and head back to Diogo’s grandmother’s apartment in Sao Goncalo.

Diogo takes us to a secluded beach in Niteroi, where through conversation Matt decides to leave Diogo his motorcycle. Aside from the cost and hassle of sending his bike back, he wants to pass the torch and give back something he’s gotten from the trip. There’s no way Diogo would have the means to buy a bike capable of the trip otherwise, and Matt realizes this is about the best gift he could ever give anyone. Diogo agrees to take the bike on the condition that he promises to take the bike back to Vegas, and help me ship my bike back and return to the US after Matt leaves. Diogo promises to do anything and everything Matt says as the keys are handed over; time will tell whether or not Diogo has what it takes to get it done…
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Even Diogo, who has huge holes in his shoes, is embarrassed by my underwear at the beach!
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Mark has some buddies out in Cabo Frio, a beachtown about two hours ride from Sao Gonzalo, so we head out to stay with some Vegas locals and relax from the Rio party scene by hitting the beach with some beer and sunglasses.
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It’s nice having Mark around to shoot… All I’ve got to worry about is offloading the memory cards now…
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As soon as we roll in I can feel that good beachtown vibe.

It’s like Rio, but cleaner, and reminds me more of the town where we accidentally ran into the Carnaval in Argentina.

Mark’s friends set Matt and I up each with a bed at no cost, and we get some decent rest, though not very long.
The beach is great!

There’s seats that are free so long as you buy some beer.

Not to mention the agreeable water…

And plenty of other activities…

I almost commandeered that paddle and…
It’s also a great place for families.

Or an afternoon nap…

The beach is full of beauties, including one that takes an interest in me.


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She’s got the most beautiful body I could dream of, including the bunda I’ve been looking for all my life. Later that night she confesses to me she’s not free. Sigh, and I thought she liked me! Oh well, she was actually decent company so I promise her I won’t tell my friends and she can hang out with us. I had to explain to her why I don’t get do this sort of thing, which is my fear of disease, which was an awkward thing to tell her!
We spent an afternoon interviewing their buddy Mike, whose an expatriot in the middle of building a house there in Cabo Frio. I give him a ride on my bike, and it turns out he’s wrong about the helmet rule there.
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I get shaken down at a police stop, and since I left my paperwork at the hotel they threaten to sequester the motorcycle for weeks and hundreds of dollars in fees until I pass them R$100, at which point they wish me well and I take off. Unfortunately, my camera had just filled a memory card and Mateo and Mark weren’t around to help capture the moment!
Our last night there was a little, uh, funny.
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Myself, along with Mark and his buddies go out. We kick the night off by watching the soccer game with a large, rowdy crowd in the streets.
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Afterwards we hit a night club, where I meet a very nice and good looking mechanical engineering student from Rio. She speaks excellent English, so I’m pretty distracted from what Mark and the gang are doing. Suddenly Mark tells me he’s being thrown out, and soon after Jeff is telling the bouncer with enthusiasm what a “****ing dick” and “****ing asshole” he is. Though I doubt the bouncer understood the exact meaning of the words, he did not appreciate their understood meaning and intention. He proceeds to shove Jeff and Jared out the door, and though I didn’t see, I could hear that sound of a fist hitting a face real hard. I break from my potential ex-wife and try to run out and offer whatever help I could, and the entire staff, now in the doorway, hold me back and then realize that I’m with them too. So as I’m being thrown out, my would’ve been baby Mama translates for me to explain everything. “Your friend tried to sneak out without paying.” “What?! Haha, we’re Americans. That would never happen. That’s ridiculous, we have money, hahaha.” “You need to pay and leave now, it’s R$26,” she says. “Um, hehe, you’re not going to believe this, but I’ve only got R$22.” The next morning I find out that yes, Mark tried to jump from the second floor and sneak out as a joke. His bill was R$13, like USD$7. Jeff’s face is lumped up, and it turns out Jared had run since he was getting it from several dudes at once. He wound up running into a neighborhood where security escorted him out with a gun to his head for about 15 minutes.

Mark and I are both hung over, and Matt is well rested for the ride home.
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Their flights both leave Rio this night. There’s stop/go traffic for about 50 miles into Sao Goncalo, and Matt takes it on like a champion. He’s got both Mark and the tripod, making his ride heavier and wider than mine, and it’s raining a little. This is truly telling of how far he’s come as a rider since we began. The first day we left he said he wouldn’t even split lanes or ride 2up, and now here he is kicking ass through Brazilian traffic, and not even stopping to take notice when he rips off some part of a truck that connects to the wheel and pisses out gas when taken off. Mark’s not feeling too well, and I can’t imagine the feeling of puckering your ass to keep it all in on a thumper while your genitals are kept warm by Mateo while riding in the rain through some close calls in traffic. Haha, poor guy. At the end of the day I suggest Matt ride his bike with Diogo, for the hand off of the bike, so I ride with Mark. Now I’ve got the tripod, and Mateo loses me in traffic on the way to the airport. We don’t find them until Matt had already went through security. So, we missed the goodbye’s on film, oh well. What I’m upset about is that since I don’t have a debit card (remember one was stolen in Nicaragua and the other expired in Jan), I have no way of getting cash. My AmEx won’t give me cash down here as far as I know (as if I’d want to pay the 30% or whatever it is on that anyway). So Matt was supposed to give me all the cash he could get from his then leave me the business credit card (visa). I say goodbye to Mark and race Diogo across the bridge back to grandma’s with R$7 and my almost maxed out AmEx. It turns out they take it at the gas station, which is good since I need to buy Diogo food and gas. Time for a good night’s sleep with air conditioning. At least I have Diogo to help me get home.
I wake up on Friday with the hopes of finding a way to ship the bike. Here’s my assessment of this business: People in Rio are very lazy, generally speaking. They often don’t go into work until 10am, take an hour and a half lunch, and leave before 5pm. They don’t understand the concept of urgency either. Diogo’s attitude suddenly changed as well, and when I asked him to call some companies for me that don’t speak English his response was “you need to relax, this will take weeks. This is Rio.” Friday is a bust, but I learn a little about the laws of customs here and why I can’t deal with an airline direct. Plus, since it’s Friday nobody works past 4 really.
Diogo and I party it up on the weekend, and I try to enjoy the free abode as much as possible. I now have my own room with AC, and my only expenses are food and gas for both Diogo and Myself. I didn’t realize that I’d have to pay for all of Diogo’s expenses until there I was, filling Mateo’s gas tank and buying food and drinks that he couldn’t get one of his six girlfriends or mother to buy for him.
He takes me to the bunda party of my lifetime: the Castelo das Pedras in Sao Goncalo. It’s basically a warehouse full of young women doing the booty shake. I’m simply intimidated, and don’t know what to do with myself. I look around smiling. A couple of girls start to back it up to me, but I’m simply too stunned to take action. It’s everything I’ve ever wanted in a woman right there in my face and I’m too ***** to know what to do. Oh well, at the end of the night Diogo and I take the bikes to the front of the club and pose.
I spend a couple more days making phone calls to cargo agencies and get quoted minimum $2500 airfreight to Miami, or $3500 to LAX, or $2500 seafreight to LA. My morale has really sunk, and even with conscious effort I can’t find my happy place. Finally, without Diogo’s help, I go solo to the airport cargo terminal direct and start asking around in person. Thank you Cargo Clan, along with my man Iedo of Continental Cargo, for hooking me up $1700 airfreight to LAX. We removed the front wheel, and put the bike on a small pallet, so I was only charged around 270 kilos, as opposed the 420kg I was charged from Panama City when they put it on a huge pallet. Anyhow, Diogo takes me to drop the bike off, then we ride back to Grandma’s in the rain since the flights are too expensive same-day. I buy Diogo a tank of gas and head back, where Grandma has finally returned from vacation, ready to ream us out a then kick us out of her place. We stay at mom’s.
The next day Diogo decides to keep the gas I’ve bought him and mooch money from his mother to buy me a bus ticket to the airport. **** it, if that’s how it is oh well, all I can do is write about it.
My bike is a day late getting to LAX, but I don’t mind. I’m enjoying good food, Speaking English, hot showers, decent coffee, friends… It’s good to be back in America!