HAPPY BIRTHDAY LITTLE BROTHER!

Just wanted to tell Woodrow happy birthday today. He still lives without an address, without a telephone, without internet access, somewhere on the shores of Lake Superior...so if you see him, wish him well.

[Note: he has spent a significant amount of time constructing a gorgeous fence at my house.]

-- luludilly

Tuesday, August 4, 2009 - a memorable birthday

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Make no mistake dear readers, Woody, the prodigal son, has returned! And just in time for our mom's birthday!

He should be writing a final story in the near future, but alas, I have no control over the boy.

Thanks to you all for well wishes and following the stories. We should get more photos up before too long also. I'm so glad you could all share in this journey.

-- luludilly

Sunday, August 2, 2009 location, location

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-- luludilly

Some New Photos

A***** and Wood pre-boarding of the Stahlratte, I believe, Panama Canal; kicking back on the KTM (imagine riding like that for 10 hours a day for seven months.)

Got some new pictures from our Portland connection, and since there haven't been any new stories, I thought a visual might help.

Photos courtesy of A***** (thanks, man.)

-- luludilly

Missing Missing 7/31/9

No, don't worry, Woody is NOT missing. He writes to tell me stories but only a line here or there. Buenos Aires has been nice, good times with A*** and G***** and adventuring about. It is quite a large place and the SPOT, although working has been requiring over 40 minutes of "open sky" time which is hard to come by in a large city, especially when staying on the 9th floor of an apartment building above a busy street. I've assured him that we don't need the updated maps if he is in the same place. I'd probably be more worried if he were standing in Argentinian traffic just to notify us.

You may have seen the recent NY Times article about the fabulous historic district bars throughout the city. Very cool. Pa and I are hoping Wood has tried the delicacies, like blood sausage, canned eel and sweet and sour pork.
check it out at: http://travel.nytimes.com/2009/07/12/travel/12journeys.html?scp=2&sq=Buenos%20Aires&st=cse

Is Woody frequenting these places? Place your bets ladies and gentlemen...

Going back to the days of crossing the salt flats in Bolivia -- he wrote to say that he lost another camera (pretty sure this is number three but truthfully, I've lost count.) I'm going to try and post a picture here:





From Wikipedia:
"Salar de Uyuni (or Salar de Tunupa) is the world's largest salt flat at 10,582 km² (4,085 square miles). It is located in the Potosí and Oruro departments in southwest Bolivia, near the crest of the Andes, 3,650 meters high. The major minerals in the salar are halite and gypsum. Some 40,000 years ago, the area was part of Lake Minchin, a giant prehistoric lake. When the lake dried, it left behind two modern lakes, Poopó Lake and Uru Uru Lake, and two major salt deserts, Salar de Coipasa and the larger Uyuni. Uyuni is roughly 25 times the size of the Bonneville Salt Flats in the United States. Also, Salar de Uyuni holds half of the world's reserves of lithium, a metal which is used in high energy density lithium batteries."

So Woody is bouncing along the flats, apparently keeping his camera strapped to the outside of one of the panniers. A*** and G**** are up ahead and pause for something like a flat, as I recall. Wood looks to take a photo and realizes his camera is missing! Most likely recognizing that I would skin him for losing another one, he decides he better "just run back a ways". Why not bike, you ask? Oh, because he was afraid he'd run out of gas. Wouldn't that be unfortunate? So he starts jogging through the salt (look at those mounds and read the stats, can you imagine finding ANYTHING out there?)

The charmed young traveler crests a mound and what does he see? You guessed it folks, he found the darn thing. It was filled with sand and didn't work for three or four days but has apparently since resumed its functions. What next, I must wonder, SPOT in the toilet, camera in the sand...

-- luludilly

Enjoying the Big City...

Apparently someone somewhere has heard from the guy. He's still in the bustling city of Buenos Aires, Argentina.


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I will try to make things a little more interesting WITHOUT the promised story.

Some things you might not know about Buenos Aires:
Actor Robert Duvall, poet Pablo Neruda and director Francis Ford Coppola ALL LIVED HERE! For those who have crushes on Mr. Viggo Mortenson, Jr. he ALSO lived here.

The state of Ohio (!) is apparently twinned with Buenos Aires, as well as the state of New Jersey and Miami, Florida. Go figure...

The tango (a dance few heavy-Norwegian-bloods have attempted, let alone mastered) was born in the suburbs of Buenos Aires. It wasn't considered respectable until the 20's when Paris society stamped it...now isn't that something. Who out there can picture big oaf Woodrow doing the tango? (Note: if you can, I do NOT want to hear about it.) I guess there is now a style "Finnish tango"...no comment.

So, until the great white man sends another spot...try to wipe some of these mental images out of your mind. I'm going to crank Bobby D. and crack another beer. It's Wednesday after all...

-- luludilly

Buenos Aires, Argentina 7/21

Well, news from Woody is that the Spot might be nearly dried out. He'd find out if he weren't on the ninth floor of a high-rise apartment building that his friends A*** and G**** are renting out. It is pouring rain there and he is whining about it, of course. Tonight's plans include making a Hawaiian dinner for them. I'm sure some of the readers can smell that dinner which we have all been treated to by Wood. Yet another trick he learned from his good life of travels. It reminds me of our little one room cabin, where the fear of fulfilling our father's prophesy of the old brother and sister in the woods, growing old alone, following failed relationships one after another...egad. Typically, in those days, I and the Latvian gypsy would determine and make every meal but maybe once a month we'd be pampered with Woody's cooking -- using every pot in the plumbing-free, one fuse bungalow, and oh yeah, girls, can you wash the dishes...ah, brother. A*** and G**** are in for a good meal.

Other than that, bike is getting worked on finally and he is playing a lot of pool. Okay, I made that last part up; I have no clue what he does with his days -- if he is taking pictures, running for public office, getting in fights with tourists, or saving rare species of turtles. It could be anything. We'll have to hear what he has to say before I make anything else up ----

-- luludilly

Spot News

So...not surprisingly there has been yet another electronic device malfunction/casualty. This time it wasn't a camera (he has had three now!) I do not expect that we will be getting any new location updates for a while --- as Wood's trusty Spot took a swim. Anyone out there remember when he dropped a cellphone in the toilet at the Marion Street house in college? Yeah...I think this was similar, although I'm guessing the toilet was cleaner in South America. Correct me if I'm wrong, but pretty sure that toilet --- servicing eight football players and their numerous friends and party goers --- went uncleaned for four years. I think the scum built up thick enough to flush down every year or so.

Sorry, I just wanted to paint a colorful picture and show why it was difficult for me to advise Woody to send the toilet drowned Spot home for a replacement...

First he is going to try and dry it out for a few days or maybe a week since I kinda doubt this is covered under the warranty.

He is in Argentina, happy and spending time with his friends A*** and G****. Go ahead and give Woody a hard time; he expects it.

-- luludilly

New location as of 7/11/9

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I got a postcard from Woody the other night. It was written before he crossed the salt flats. Seeing his handwriting was too much for this big sister to handle. The habit goes on without notice but missing your brother is that sort of slow ache that never goes away. Here's to safe travels and the KTM staying in good working order for a while.

You are missed Wood, and loved more than you know.

-- luludilly

Location(s) 7/5/9

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-- luludilly

Location 7/2/9

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-- luludilly

...the ending [don't worry, not really!]

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Here we are, the last chapter in the road block story -- it's a good one. If only we had pictures of Wood to go with it. I'm wondering how long his hair is, if he's got a range-y red beard again --- just how scary might he be these days?

"after i rode through that first block, i thought i was probably in the clear. impressed by the effort, however, maybe at least a bit disappointed. however, as i thought these thoughts, the rocks scattered along the roadway seemed to increase, and i was still the only vehicle on the road. well, i was wrong. the next block was larger than the first--more people and more rocks across the road. as i approached i received shaking heads and waving fingers from those walking in the opposite direction. carried however, upon the same cloud of confidence, i reached the the block. greeted by smiles from some, angry eyes from others. i shut the bike off, but because of the angry looks, decided to leave my helmet on. there was no running this road block. too many people, and the rocks piled too high. the conversation started out the same as the first--there is no passing. you cannot go through. nobody can go through. you have to go back to cusco. the thing was, at this point, i had gained leverage. i had been let through the first block, and as i explained this to the man telling me there was no way, his expression changed as he realized that i was telling the truth and what this meant. the rocks piled were blocking the road leading to a bridge. beyond the first row of rocks stood a small group, 5 or 6 people, standing around a tree stump glaring at me. the man i was talking with told me, sheepishly, that i would have to talk to ¨them¨ to see if i could pass through. a younger man approached me, eating jello out of a cup and talking, with his mouth full. as i got off the bike he motioned for me to stay, telling me that he would talk with the leaders. he did and then waved me through. i drove through slowly, smiling and saying ¨gracias¨, which was received with more glares and scowls. but i was through. more rocks in the lanes, followed by many more small blockades--each the same, requiring some patience and the offering of the facts--that i was being let through. nonetheless they each took awhile. it was interesting, as some of these blockades had obvious leadership, and others, seemed to be comprised of only followers. the women were the toughest, throughout. even throwing rocks at me as i drove by, yelling things in qechua--the native language, which, of course, i cannot understand at all. i continued on, growing confident that i would make it through, yet on edge the entire time. i arrived at another large block--the largest yet, and was immediately surrounded by 150 people, some yelling, some smiling. there was nothing that i could do--i was completely at the will of this mob. somebody moved from the front of my bike to the rear, with knife in hand, preparing to slash my tires. i was fortunate. i was talking to the leader--an elder man, and he said, with authority, do not slash the tires. there was nothing that i could have done had he slashed my tires. the thing is, as i learned after i made it into bolivia, that the people at these blockades are staying there 24 hours a day, and drinking most of those hours. it becomes a drunk mob. i made it through, a bit more concerned than before. the rocks on the road continued, now with broken glass dispersed as well. i had no choice to continue on, hoping at each block that it would be the last. eventually i did arrive at the last block. another bridge, but this time with 400 or more people, complete with a stage and a p.a. system. someone speaking passionately up top. again i was surrounded immediately by the crowd, told i could not pass. this time, however, there were many smiles in the crowd, many children and women who were not scowling at me or spitting in my direction. i began talking with two men--one on my left and one on my right. i explained again, that i had to make it to puno, that all of the other blockades had allowed me to pass and had told me that i may pass to puno. they told me that i probably could, in a couple of hours. we kept talking, when another man approached from the front, displaying headbands with words of the cause printed on them. the man on my left told me that i should have one of those, which i received, and then he told me that i should put it on. they were made out of a silky material which was fraying uncontrollably at the edges. i took my helmet off and as i tried to put it on i realized that the strings were too out of control, that i could not very well tie the thing onto my head.....so i reached into my tank bag and brought out a lighter. as i sparked it, i realized just what i was doing. about to burn their flag in front of the mob. i stopped. put the lighter back into my bag and managed to tie the thing onto my head. with strings everywhere i looked up to be greeted by smiles and cheers. the two men on either side told me i could pass immediately, and that they would guide me through. with the engine off so as to not disturb the speech, they, along with some boys, pushed me over the rocks, through the crowd, across the bridge to the other side. the end of the blockades. i stayed there and talked with these men for a bit, and another crowd formed around us. it was a more personal conversation, with some talk of politics and the problems with government, of course. it all ended with smiles, handshakes, pictures, and the exchange of email addresses. i made it through the protests, the blockades, and rode into the night, freezing, but safely in reach of puno. i received an email later that night from the man on my right......it said, 'it was an honor to meet you, good luck to you on your journey, god bless you always.' the road is still blocked today."

I tell you, this is a man-kid destined for politics. Or some other type of persuasive career, talking himself into and back out of just about anything that falls across his path. Impressive. He could be a jury coach in big trials -- get into the heads of the people and make things happen. Personally, I think this is the fall-out of a spoiled childhood. One wonders what I may be able to accomplish had I been the baby bear in the family, always getting my way with blond curls and the biggest bottom lip pout you've ever seen...

Apparently, he's off to the south of Bolivia tomorrow. We'll see what adventures await as this dreadful habit persists into July.

-- luludilly

From Cusco Part II

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More from the Woodman:

"it was good to be back on the bike again, as it had been over a week since fully loaded and rolling down the road. i had a late start due to the stomach--finally reaching the outskirts of cusco at 10:30 am. i was told that puno was 9 hours away by bus, but of course, on my bike, much, much less. we rode out of the city and into the opening valley, which was nearly 13,000 ft. above the sea. the first two hours were smooth sailing--good roads and not a lot of traffic in either direction--it did not hit me at this point, the reason that there was no traffic on the road--i am slow, sometimes, in the mornings and also in general--plus i was operating on some bad information, for i had heard that the the television news the previous night was showing indians and bureaucrats shaking hands and machinery clearing the roads. i, of course, did not see this but heard second or third-hand. i found later that the footage was taken from a road in the north, and a bit later on in the news program, they made it clear that the ¨main mountain road south¨ (that from cusco to puno) was still blocked with no end in sight.

when i encountered the first rocks in the road i thought that they were from a landslide, which are ever so common in these parts. a bit slow once again, i then realized that i was in relatively flat terrain with no cliffs within distance of the roadway. the rocks varied in size--from golfballs to basketballs, and later on down the road, 50-gallon barrels. when i had first heard about the ¨roadblocks¨, i had naturally pictured orange cones and flashing lights, possibly with a few people milling about. as i continued on, i realized that the people were intending on making the road truly impassable. from one lane to the next i wove my way through the rockfields--but there always seemed to be a path and i was still believing that the road, although not clear, would be no problem navigating. i found fuel, continued on to experience de´ja vu as i rounded a corner and came upon a line of big rig trucks, stopped, with no one in the driver seats. i also encountered people walking the road, shaking their heads and waving their fingers, saying ¨no hay pase¨, ¨there is no way, you cannot pass¨. where this immediate confidence came from, i am not sure, but a few months ago i would have stopped behind the last truck in line, waited for awhile, and then slowly edged my way up to the front to see what was going on. this day, however, there was no hesitation in my mind or with the throttle--i buzzed right to the front, turned the motor off, removed my helmet and smiled at the crowd. the block was comprised of the full range of rocks across the entire road, and a small tree sitting on top. the immediate reaction of the people was rather excited--or agitated, more likely. they were not going to let me through. an old woman walked in front of my bike and sat down on the tree, directly in what could have been an escape. for the block was not that tall--only a foot and a half or so--but i had pulled close and she was sitting directly in front of me. i continued to smile and look a bit confused, explaining that i was on my way to puno and i had to get there, that i did not understand why the road was blocked, or, more importantly, why i could not pass through. there were a few boys and a couple men standing next to me, telling me no, but slowly i saw the change in their faces. the women, on the other hand, were set against it entirely and of all the others i would encounter down the road, the women were the toughest, angriest, and most intimidating. finally they agreed to let me pass, but i would have to remove the tree, the rocks, drive through, and then replace all the vital pieces. as i began a man pointed cautiously to the hidden, wicked, cacti which were buried under the rocks. a good thing i didn´t make a run for it. once through, still smiling, i bid farewell and continued south......

continuation soon....

i have insomnia. was up until 3am--"

I know the story has a climax somewhere...it had better be good at this rate!

-- luludilly

Parasites Protestors and Escaping Cusco Part I

Woody has been a bit slow on the stories these days. I suspect it is in part due to the KTM engine troubles, the campaign for his next office in Peru (presuming Colombia does not materialize as anticipated) and oh yes, basking in the serious reverence of Machu Picchu. In any case, I nagged him --- having been nagged by followers --- to produce, produce. What is he up to, what is the story of getting out of Cusco?

Here is the first part. Emphasis on sweets and Danes and oh yeah, Woody's dragon blood ideas of staving off his 32 parasites. We all have them folks, get used to it.

"from cusco to puno. after returning to cusco from machu picchu 3 days later than i had planned, i was ready to head south once again. on monday morning i packed up the bike and ran into my danish friends, ****** and *****. they had just gotten back from machu picchu as well, and were also planning on leaving cusco on monday. we were informed, shortly after seeing one another, that the road to puno and bolivia was blocked. protestors. traveling in south america, one must expect such happenings; inconveniences if you choose to see them in that way. for me it simply meant another day with allan and stine, which would be great, another night in an uncomfortable bed and one more cold shower (when there was water at all). not too bad. so the three of us were off--walking the streets of cusco. lucky for me, both of them have equally large sweet-tooths--those who know me, know i have a hard time resisting anything sweet.....

we ate and walked and laughed and ate and talked and walked. it was a grand day. our time together had ended, as they had been informed that their bus would indeed leave at 7p.m. for copacabana, bolivia. we said goodbye and i went back for my cold shower and too-soft bed. i did not sleep well. around 4 a.m. my stomach woke me up, very unhappy with me. apparently i had indulged in something less than appropriate. i had news later in the morning that the road was still blocked, no passage possible. i walked, stomach rolling, to the market for my morning smoothie made by carmen. she is a sweet lady, standing up high over the aisle, with her mountain of fruit and capable blender, and her little baby sleeping in a make-shift crib at her left knee. it was a daily event for me--and nice to be a ¨regular¨ 10,000 miles from home. on my way there, however, i was distracted by a woman carrying a basket full of empanadas. i followed her up the street, trying to catch a whiff of what might be inside. for some reason, i could not seem to catch up with her, nor did i seem to care that i could not. i turned around, taking a different route to the market, and passing by a bench upon which allan, the dane, sat. their bus did not fly by night, but they were told, once again, to be there at 7 p.m. turns out neither of their stomachs were too happy either, but that did not stop us from walking the streets once again, peer-pressuring one another into a piece of chocolate cake, sugar cane juice, and everything else that looked new, exotic, and possibly delicious. as a back-note, allan and i, during our first day spent together, shared a ¨cuy¨--that is, a guinea pig......yes, a guinea pig just like the one some of you had as a pet--we ate one."

[Sidebar: Bz had a hedgehog that could have been eaten had we known how to prepare. Fortunately we were too young to try such things.]

"we said goodbye one more time in the plaza, and headed our ways. for me, yes, another cold shower, another uncomfortable night. and another early morning with a screaming stomach and the news of a yet-blocked road to puno. i took it easy most of the morning, sitting in the sun, reading, and not eating anything. by early afternoon i had some new information from a nutritionist staying at the hostal, about a possible cure for parasites. so i was off to the market to buy ¨sangre de grado¨, ¨dragon´s blood¨, and begin stomach therapy. after i had found it, haggled my way down to the going rate for the dragon´s blood, i headed back out through the crowd. believe it or not i walked out right behind the danes. our paths, cross, once again. lucky for all of us, it was after 4 pm and their bus was slated to leave at 7pm, once again, so we did not have time (nor the stomachs) to push one another up and down the streets. we settled for a cup of tea and a game of cards in the sun, followed by a short walk to the plaza in order to say our proper goodbye and head in opposite directions. still not feeling too well, i was bound and determined to get on the road, and decided i would take a chance at puno in the morning. the information i was receiving was spotty--no one had solid answers, only guesses. i did a bit of research to find out what the protests were about, and to get a sense of what had happened in the last week and a half.....unfortunately i learned that the indians are angry, and that their anger is at least connected to america--seems as though the peruvian president had just handed down decrees (which were part of a trade agreement with, yes, the united states) which the indians viewed (clearly and justly) as opening the door to the exploitation of their lands and their resources (water, mining, timber) to forest interests (u.s.). so they are not happy, as i learned that 23 police officers and an unconfirmed amount of indians had been killed in the clash in the preceding days. on the road to puno, no less......."

to be continued........

Woody wrote that, not me. Stay calm parentals. He is obviously okay since he has the time and the nerve to remind ME of father's day and being kind to you. Seriously, this kid. He is in the middle of South America and yet, I'm answering to him? The younger brother without a forwarding address.

If he doesn't write the next installation soon, I'll tell the story of his week sojourn to my home for respite and unfettered hypochondria growth. It is funny and it involves the film Dying Young if that helps...

- luludilly

La Paz

From Woodstock, "the stories are coming, later today, i promise. i am in la paz until thursday morning--sort of soaking in this place for a bit, waiting for some things to get done here. another round of bike stuff to purchase in anticipation for the saltflats--i am a bit nervous (along with very excited) as i have heard that the flats are terribly rough on motor vehicles. included in my purchases are two large cans of WD-40 (for a whopping $10 each!) with which i will spray down the entire bike daily (except for the brake discs) to help against the salt.

i have mentioned before ***** and **** from california, no? we have talked and i am thinking that it may be best for us to ride the flats together, in the event of trouble...i am going to have to go to santiago for an air filter before i cross the continent, as i could use a new one now but there is not one in bolivia, for sure...i will write more to you later today (my hotel is rather posh, with free internet and breakfast included, and a hot shower with more pressure than a small waterfall, all for $8, which is a bit expensive for bolivia, but with breakfast, internet, and parking, it equals out)."

I cannot even imagine this, the salt flats, what a wild possibility. And yet, I am not surprised. Here we sit in 110% humidity, no where for peace but the big lake, and Wood, he's heading off across salt flats. Good grief. This brother. This habit. When will it be broken?

-- luludilly

Copacobana Bolivia

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This from Woodstock:

"the story into puno will have to wait until tomorrow. i rode into bolivia today, surrendering $135 for my 5 year visa. i started to have bike trouble on the drive in last night, do not remember if i told you or not--but made it to copacabana this afternoon, riding with xxxxx and xxxx from california on their klr. i started working on the bike this afternoon, but it got dark and cold fast and i was very hungry so we went to eat and i let it sleep for the night. i will work on it tomorrow, possible head out to an island in lake titicaca--can you believe that i am sleeping on the shore of lake titicaca? wild, then onto la paz. hopefully i can solve the bike issue tomorrow, if not, there is a good shop in la paz which is just a few hours away and hopefully they can help there. that is all i have got at the moment."

Meanwhile, we're leaning into the solstice, light until 1o pm and starting again at 4:30 am, muggy heat and humidity and blooming flowers...he really is a long way from home.

-- luludilly

6/17/9 Puno

"just a quick note to let you know that i made it to puno, peru, tonight and all is well. much of a day to get here, and a good story--will have to tell a bit later as i am tired and ready to lie down. will not send the spot tonight, so you know."

I'm hoping and guessing the roads opened and the belly got better, but we'll see.

- luludilly

The Cusco Belly

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A few updates from Woods -- apologies for the delay, I've been sailing, working and preparing for a slow jog on Saturday --

"it is monday, had planned on being in bolivia last friday, and then had planned on leaving for the border this morning. woke up with a soupy stomach, made my way to the market for breakfast, ran into my wonderful new danish friends who were supposed to have left on a night bus last night, but were informed, as they informed me, that there is a strike and the road to bolivia is blocked so they could not pass and neither could i. so cusco for another night and hopefully tomorrow there will be news of an open road...i ran into grace and adam, a couple traveling on a bike from california, on my way to machu picchu. they were on the stahlratte with me. if it works, we will meet up in bolivia and travel together for a bit. could be good as i hear the salt flats are rough and good to have a second set of hands--"

It persisted into Tuesday: "hey deahl--tuesday morning in peru. i woke up yesterday feeling sick, am worse today and do not think i should move..."

Later in the afternoon, he updated me: "the roads were still blocked today, so i am stuck in cusco for another night. in the morning i will go for it and maybe make it all the way into bolivia by night. depends on the border crossing. stomach is feeling a bit better at the moment. cannot believe you have got a blackberry--i think they call them crackberrys in some circles--love you."

We'll see how today goes, maybe it is one of his parasites again. And yes, they do call them crackberrys, but fortunately I don't know how to use the damn thing so it is not possible for me to become too attached. Besides, the crackberry let me email him from the halls of the courtroom. This from a man with a motorcycle habit who has probably been wearing the same jeans, listening to the same 1,000 songs and certainly wearing one filthy bandana for seven months...

Little brothers!

-- luludilly

location 6/14/9

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-- luludilly

Machu Picchu AT LAST 6/11/9

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(For more, see http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Machu_Picchu)

Not sure how, but Woody finally got a chance to tell us a good long story...sit back and read this one out loud around the dinner table...there's no need for my editorializing. i don't want to ruin the moment for anyone.

"well deahl, i made it to machu picchu. it all started yesterday, as i had spent the night in the pueblo of santa teresa (where there are perhaps the greatest thermal pools in the entire world, save perhaps, iceland from what i heard today) and drove to the hydroelectric plant and the end of the road. from here it is a two or two and a half hour hike, following the train tracks up the river to the tourist oriented town of aguas calientes, in the valley below machu picchu. it was a beautiful walk. i kept on remembering that i was on my way to machu picchu! a world away. i got into aguas calientes with plenty of time to hunt down a $7 hotel, with hot water. it was a mistake. screaming children and loud-talking mothers, and a hallway light that i could read by, shining through the transom.

you see, there are only 400 people a day that are allowed to hike up waynapicchu, which is the northern peak above the ruins of machu picchu. i read that 1000 people visit each day, so there are many who do not get the chance to climb. i had heard varying reports on it--some say it is entirely worth it, and others say that it is too crowded and not to bother. i figured that i would give myself the option. the gates open at 6am, and from there you have to cross the ruins in the pre-dawn to the waynapicchu checkpoint in order to get a ticket to climb. buses start running up the mountain sometime around 5:30 a.m. perhaps, but to be first you have got to walk, which means climbing straight up the mountain, cutting directly through the swatch-back road. because there is so much traffic, i imagine, they have built stone steps the entire way up, making it a bit easier, but also a bit tough on the buttocks and quads. many people begin from aguas calientes at 4:30 a.m., as it is over an hour hike at a solid, long-striding clip. i decided to make a morning of it, getting up at 3:15 a.m. to brew some chai tea for the sunrise, and leaving at approximately 3:35 a.m. it was dark, of course, and cloudy, but with the half-moon there was enough light to walk without a lamp, which made it all the more fantastic. to reach the trailhead it is a 20 minute hike down the road, then begin the climb.

by 4:15 i was drenched in sweat with another half hour to go. ah yes, also i decided to bring my full pack up with me, with clothes, cook kit, etc., etc., and a rock for mom. my thought was that i would return to santa teresa at the end of the day, and by carrying my pack i would not have to return to aguas calientes just to retrieve it, turn around and walk in my footsteps....anyway it was all unnecessary in the end, but the 30 pounds on my back made the walk up extra special.

when i arrived at the gate it was all dark and there was a solitary figure sitting on the steps. i was number 2. i had thought that there would be throngs already squeezing and pinching and pushing. number one was quiet, listening to music with his eyes closed and hat pulled low--not a great conversationalist from the onset. shortly after me, arrived numbers 3, 4 and 5. unfortunately for all, number 4 was a rather loud and unpleasant man from israel, and number 3 was a nice guy from denmark who had been hiking for 5 days with number 4, and who, understandably, was rather tired of number 5´s company. more continued to arrive sporadically, and somewhere within the next 15 arrivals, came most of the rest of the same trekking group which number 3 and number 4 belonged to. for the next 35 minutes i listened, with little interest, to the dramas of the trek. above anything else it made me glad that i did not sign up to walk with strangers for 5 days.

it is unfortunate, this trekking business in peru, as much of the time you are required to go through an agency, have a guide, and pay outrageous amounts of money to walk in the mountains. as the lines grew and the guards prepared to open the gates, i realized, with much concern and uneasiness, that everyone around me had their tickets in hand. i had no ticket. a ticket into machu picchu costs $41, which is ridiculous. however it is worth it and i suspect that the prices will continue to skyrocket, as people will continue to pay, whatever the price. fortunately, my spanish has improved and i was able to talk my way through the gates and to the ticket booth and pack storage, all before they officially opened the gates, thus not losing my hard-earned number 2 spot. whew. relief. i had feared that they were going to tell me i had to return to the village to buy a ticket.....

once they opened the gate the rush was on. it was light enough to see, but the way to the second ticket booth for waynupicchu is not too well marked, perhaps as entertainment, as the path leads you through a maze of terraces and buildings, often unsuredly, to the north end of the ruins. walking through in the early light, i felt transported. i was walking in the picture which i had been seeing since i was a kid--and it was real. i was really there, truly walking through the ruins of machu picchu. we found our way to the waynupicchu gate, and i had retained my number 2 spot. from there it was a 45 minute wait until all the tickets were handed out, only then did the gate open. i liken it to the start of a dogsled race--each person must sign in, which takes maybe 45 seconds, and only one can sign in at a time, thus creating 45 second intervals between hikers. this hike is an hour hike, once again with steps, only these are really old and were built for little incans. they are steep like none other--more like a ladder in places--absolutely incredible engineering.

drenched in sweat for the second time of the day, i was close to the top and the trail split in two. i went straight and arrived at the top just as number 1 did, as he took the other route. we had made the climb in 35 minutes. each of us put claim upon a rock and got comfortable. the next 15 minutes had little traffic and may have been the most incredible of the whole day, i am not sure. the top of waynupicchu has limited space and only a few rocks on which sitting is comfortable and affording a view of it all. the top of the valley. machu picchu. did i tell you that i was at machu picchu today!? i sat on that rock for 3 hours. i will not try to explain what it was like--nor the rest of the day. i spent 10 hours wandering around, sitting, talking to the danish number 3. i even took a half hour nap on my own private terrace. all day i was in partial disbelief. all day i had a bit of a goofy grin on my face and a little extra enthusiasm in my voice as i greeted every single person i met going up or down. the whole day was, well, incredible. i am still smiling, even close to tears as i realize where i am and what i have blessed to experience."

Told you it was good...

-- luludilly

the road to cusco

It just occurred to me that we once had a sleddog named Kusco. I am wondering where that came from or if it was intended to be this Peruvian town. Pa will remember. Woods takes a long time to write stories and he has so many people to talk to when he can get on the computer. Parents often wonder why they don't get the stories. (Likely because they don't act as his personal biographer and editor...) To reacquaint himself, relationships are stated, just in case:

"wood here, your son. i am in cusco, peru, after 4 hard days of travel--from the desert heat to the frigid high plains, and back up and back down and up and down and.....it was a long journey, but good. peru is rather large, but more than that, it is the mountains and the bad roads that make travel so long. on one particular 12 hour day i covered somewhere near 175 miles. that was quite the day....i ended up spending 10 days in a town called huaraz--it is situated in the valley, between the cordillera negra (the old mountains), and the cordillera blanca (the new, jagged, glaciated, granite peaks). i really enjoyed huaraz, mostly, of course, because of the people. there is an excellent coffee shop there, owned by a minnesotan man and his peruvian wife. real nice folks. i was staying at a hostal called, ¨jo´s place¨, which is run by jo, an english ex-pat, and his peruvian wife (seems to be a trend here....)"

ummm, don't get any ideas Woodstock...

"on sundays i partook in the family volleyball game. good fun. hiking, or ¨trekking¨, as they refer to it in the mountains, is endless. being that close to the glaciers and the peaks made me feel like going for the tops--another day, perhaps. also while there in huaraz, chris (the owner of cafe andino, the minnesotan) sent me to meet simon. simon is an english ex-pat (yes, with a peruvian wife) with a restaurant and two ktms--a superenduro and an adventurer. an interesting fellow, simon, with much bike experience in peru. so this is where that 12 hour day began.....with conversations with simon. i was heading for cusco, and the main road runs along the coast, through lima, and then inland and up to cusco. i had no real desire or need to go to lima, as i was able to find a new front tire in huaraz, so staying on secondary roads in the mountains was appealing to me. simon and i mapped out a course, and come bright and early on that monday morning, after coffee with chris in the street below the cafe, i headed into the mountains."

"it was, indeed, the most beautiful scenery that i had yet seen. we began climbing (on dirt, of course) and didn´t stop climbing until we had reached nearly 16,000 ft. this was, and still is, the highest i have ridden. the road was all dirt, and not necessarily good, and the switchbacks were gruelling. i started to lose power around 13,500 ft., with the slow speed and heavy load. to get around those corners i was having to rev high and ride the clutch--not good and it had me worried the entire way up, enough to think about turning around. but finally, after 100 hairpins, we made it to the top, crested, and began descending. soon after beginning the descent i realized that one of the bolts connecting the two sides of my pannier frame, had sheared off. some adjustments, zip-ties and wire, and we were off again. 20 minutes later the other bolt sheared off. so i got a bit more creative with some rope, and the problem was solved for the time being. it was already, at this point, after noon. thankfully i found some fuel before i got to the bottom of the valley (climbing really sucks the gas), and we continued on, finally reaching the valley floor and thawing out a bit. by now it must have been 3pm, and judging by the gps, huantar, my destination for the night, was only 40 miles away. i didn´t truly understand what this meant at this point, as i was enjoying the scenery, watching the road, and basking in the sunlight. shortly after 3, i came around the bend to find a number of buses and vans parked, and an old man on the side of the road waving his finger and shaking his head. landslide. i moved up to the front to see a covered roadside and a mountain that was still throwing rocks down from above. there were people removing the big ones, always with one eye looking up the slope, ready to run when anything more than a pebble came into speeding view. i parked and walked through the rubble, beginning to help and dodging when necessary. the people on either side of the slide were constantly watching the mountainside, and constantly yelling ¨cuidado¨(careful!) so began what was similar to ¨crying wolf¨, which as we all know, is not a fun game to play. it was after the 20th time of hearing ¨cuidado¨, that i stopped paying close attention to the yelling. you can guess what happened next. the wolf came down the mountainside; a rock roughly the size of a large footstool. i picked my line through and ran, and as i looked over my shoulder i saw the boulder fly by and land, with a dull thud, in the grass below. so with that out of the way, apparently the road was clear enough for travel."

"my bike is unlike anything most people down here have seen, and because of this, they believe that it is a super machine capable of super-machine feats (like flying, i am convinced). when i ask for directions, i always ask in duration of hours, as distance means little. the answers are always the same--on a bus, 5 hours, but on that bike, 1 1/2 hours. so being that my bike can fly, it was only logical that i go through first--and as i have learned, it is best not to think very much at all before attempting something difficult on a motorcycle. over-thinking brings bad results. so i straddled, started, and began. the stretch of slide was about 60 meters in length, with rocks varying in size from small to basketball sized, making moving difficult. i got hung-up at one point, with my rear tire behind a big rock and my front behind another--all the while, looking up the mountain, watching small rocks tumbling. we made it, though, to a cheering crowd on the other side. onward. climbing once again, i ran out of fuel and stopped to break out my first reserves--3, 1 liter, msr fuel bottles. there were roughly two hours of daylight left, and at this point, according to the gps, huantar was 18 miles away. recall what i wrote earlier, that distance means little.......shortly after this stop it began raining, and then hailing. i was, however, warm and dry inside the aerostich suit, and sure that i would make it to huantar before dark. once down in the next valley, i entered a large town that was not on the map or gps. i had to ask many people for directions out of the town, and when i asked for huantar, there seemed to be a bit of confusion on faces. finally out, however, the road was paved for the first time since 8am, however it was in terrible shape with large sections missing. and now it is dark. as i continued on following the river and heading in the direction of san marcos (a town near huantar), i knew i was getting close. gps was telling me 5 miles. suddenly, out of the darkness, came the first sign all day, with an arrow for san marcos, and an arrow for huantar. so we began climbing once again, this time, running out of fuel half way up. to reach my other reserve tank (the 4 gallon), i have to unpack the entire bike. i really wish that i would have bought the big aftermarket tank for the bike before i left, lesson learned. i was so tired at this point, that i did it very slowly and without much aggravation, after all, huantar was close and there was a nice hotel, simon had told me, on the west end of the plaza. when i had reached the top, i arrived at a dark archway; and upon entering, was greeted by dark streets. i found the plaza but there were no lights and certainly no hotels. i pulled up next to a kid sitting on the sidewalk, eric, and asked him what the story might be--apparently there are two huantars in peru, and i was in the second. before long there was a small crowd around me, and people offering help and directions to a hostal and a secure place for the bike. in conversation i learned that i was the first gringo in this huantar since 1982......you just never know where you might end up."

wow, what a day....and to think Woody wasn't born until 1981.

-- luludilly

News and Stories

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Wood has gotten some time to give us a story or two, here's an update for now, the story of the great mountain climb by KTM and rockslide should be up tonight...after I try not to fall in the big drink during sailing.

"made it to cusco this afternoon, after two days riding from the coast, which was, without a doubt, the most beautiful ride to date. starting in the desert at 6:30 a.m yesterday, climbing the foothills. by 10 a.m i was freezing and had to stop to strip down and put on my long johns. at 11 am i was back down in a valley and sweating over cold lomo saltado and lukewarm instant coffee. some people get it, some people don´t. after disappointing breakfast, we climbed up again, just under 15,000ft. we rode on like this for hours, as it is high plains. moonscape. cold but good road and no traffic. some lakes, llamas, vicunas, and a few hearty folks walking from nowhere to somewhere. ran out of gas once up there, but found some low octane to prevent me from having to unpack to get at the reserve tank. descended, on empty once again, and landed in a warm, green valley with a big healthy river. found fuel and continued on down the valley. the road went on for 120 km, beautiful tarmac, crisscrossing the river. such a great ride. finished up by climbing back to 10,000 ft and sleeping for the night. slept in a bit today and then finished the ride to cuzco, climbing back up to 14,000 and back down, and back up, and back down a bit. and here i am. so many ¨fancy¨ (by this i mean ¨western¨) restaurants, cafes, and shops. gringos and gringas everywhere. after being brought to a $13 a night hotel and turning it down on the grounds that it was too nice and too expensive and more than i needed, i found a $5 hostal that is empty, with a garage for the bike. almost tipped her over, as the street up to the hostal is very steep, cobblestone, and narrow. all was fine except that the old girl struggles up steep grade with the load i make her carry, and without speed we get into trouble. had to unpack at the hostal to finish the climb to the garage, and at that point, she shifted and started to tip. lucky i saw it and stiff-armed her from the downslope side and saved us some scratches and embrassment. planning on spending tomorrow investigating this old city, then on tuesday head for macchu picchu. sure are a lot of white folks around here."

Ah Woody...the large Norwegian Viking that he is...now noticing the skin color of the tourists and wayward journeyers.

"there is a biker bar here in cusco, i went there today but the biker owner wasn´t around. apparently he is from the states. i hope to find him tomorrow to talk. maybe he has got some knowledge. i imagine that i will be out of peru by the end of the week, and into bolivia. i have got a route worked out, (which included the town where butch cassidy and the sundance kid met their ends.) sounds like bolivia is a bit crazy, with a lot of protests and such, and roadblocks--could get held up, hopefully not at gunpoint. plus the roads are all bad, from what i hear."

This might sound a little scary to the readers, but believe or not I was held up at gunpoint. In Minneapolis, Minnesota. And I lived through it. And I'm not nearly as charmed as my little brother. This habit of his may be nervewracking for the parents out there, but he's a smart kid and this is the dream he wants to be pursuing.

One little reminder for everyone, Wood says:
i am not here because it is easy, nor for it to be easy. ¨if it were easy (bulldog football) every swingin´ dick on campus would be out here.¨

Nothing like a Steger quote to end a post...don't let the bastards grind you down, man.

-- luludilly

KUMD in Peru 6/5/9

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Finally a little news from the road. A two hour story was prepared for the parents only to have the computer kick it...so this is what we've got.

"i am listening to KUMD right now--pretty cool that i figured out how to do it, and makes time on a computer a bit better. by the way, i am in nazca, peru today--traveled hard out of the mountains early yesterday, hit the desert once again, and on south. nazca, of course, is the desert of the famous nazca lines. i saw them today--from an observation tower on the roadside--made me feel far away from home, and, though there was nothing to do but look, i felt a bit as if i had made it to some sort of unmentioned, unmarked checkpoint. maybe because i have seen pictures of the lines all my life.

i am heading for cuzco tomorrow, don´t know if i will make it all the way in one shot--a couple days there, then bolivia is not too far away. not sure how long i will be there, but i hear that the roads are bad, so traveling is slow. i will stick to the west, through la paz and on south to uyani, the salt flats, which have been in my mind for two years--once i hit argentina, the roads should be good and the days will be long as i make for santiago. this is my tentative route."

I'll let you know when I know.

-- luludilly

In the Middle of Somewhere

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As Pa says --- he's out there. Yet, interestingly enough, I got this message yesterday afternoon:

"hey deahl--have not heard from you in quite awhile and i am wondering
if all is well--it is tuesday afternoon, you must be working. write if
you get a chance, just to let me know that everything is alright. love
you deahl.

wood"

Good grief. You've got to be kidding me. He's in the middle of nowhere, been gone for months and months, not even trying to kick the motorcycle habit, and I'm here still working, still walking the dog every morning, still shoveling snow and mowing the lawn, and oh yeah, keeping up his blog, plotting his routes...all in a very safe community mind you, and he's worried about ME? That brother...

He is now on the east side of Parque Nacional Huascaran. [Read about it here: http://translate.google.com/translate?hl=en&sl=es&u=http://es.wikipedia.org/wiki/Parque_Nacional_Huascar%25C3%25A1n&ei=eWkmSub4EqLuMpfV8IQF&sa=X&oi=translate&resnum=1&ct=result&prev=/search%3Fq%3DParque%2BNacional%2BHuascaran%26hl%3Den%26client%3Dfirefox-a%26rls%3Dorg.mozilla:en-US:official%26hs%3DAkp]

I can only imagine the climbing dreams he is having...

I hope we can get a story or two out of him once he stops worrying about his very capable, self-sufficient, older sister who is now building her own garden, no thanks to the handyman brother. I'll be re-siding the garage before you know it.

-- luludilly

Peruuuuuuu

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Woody is still basking in the Huaraz atmosphere. If you click on the link for the original map site and look to the left side of the page, you'll see pictures (posted by other travelers) of the area. Pretty neat. But man, I wish W could figure out how to connect the camera to the computer with that hi-tech device we spent $270 mailing to him....

Just kidding, Bone, it is worth the wait, I'm sure.

For the motor heads, check out the fuel pump, at least, that's what I think it is...it's been in and out and replaced possibly more than any other part on the KTM.

-- luludilly

at home in huaraz

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More from Woody. We'll see where he ends up going...

"i have had an interesting couple days, which i shall soon fill you in on. i am not seriously going to move here to huaraz, but i could see myself here, living. i am going to spend a few more days here, and then move slowly through the mountains towards cuzco. this is, of course, the gateway to macchu picchu, which i feel as though i need to see, being that i am down here. it will depend on the cost, however, and i do not think that i can afford to do the inca trail, which is a four day hike to macchu picchu, but i do not think that will break my heart. from cuzco, bolivia, i think. however that is going to be pricey as well, as bolivia requires american travelers to have a visa, which is in the neighborhood of $135. bolivia has had a draw on me since the start, however, and i would not feel right about by-passing it because of the cost of entrance. we will see. i need to remember that i may never be here again in this life.....

it was a tough week or so, prior to getting into huaraz. it is good here though, and much of that is because i have been here for four days. you have got to spend time in a place for it to feel right. it is that simple. blowing through towns is lonely--i have met some great people here; genuine, friendly, helpful, entertaining. more on all that later.

so is santiago, chile, the destination city? i am hoping to go further south, actually, to bariloche, argentina, which is probably 1200km south of santiago, from what i have been told. santiago is, from what simon told me, exactly 5000km from here--i assume that to be a rather direct route, which i am not on nor will i be."

My bet is we hear that Woody is shifting from South America to Africa or back to Australia...lucky boy, but gee, I do miss him, and I have a fence that isn't getting built on its own.

Love you little brother, with the damn habit and all.

-- luludilly

huaraz steals a heart

"i am in huaraz, as i have mentioned, and i am quickly and easily falling in love with this place. there is excellent coffee here, and chai tea that is as good as java moose in the days of lisa. incredible." [this must be something as W has not drank chai for seven or more years after realizing that most coffee shops pour it out of a box.] "the city itself is busy, somewhat crowded, and a bit dirty....but, there are pockets and gems throughout and the backdrop is stunning. the valleys stretch out and meander through the snow-capped peaks. i have been doing some maintenance and general errands and have not yet ventured into the greenery, but soon i shall." [one must ask, what errands could he possibly have to do? certainly not buy groceries or mow the lawn or pick up mail...I'm curious about these obligations.]

"did you know that yesterday was bob dylan´s 68th birthday? i only do because i attended a birthday party for him, with a latin bob dylan and friends playing his songs. they were good, and the latin ¨bob¨, actually resembled bob in the low-light. pretty awesome. i saved my ticket." [ah my brother...so aware of my esteem for mr. dylan...here I sit in the hills of old duluth, miles and miles from latin "bob" and my little brother...] "so this place, huaraz, is a bit of a climbers mecca, and has, from what i saw last night, a decent sized international/ex-pat community of climbers and livers. the place that i am staying, ¨jo´s place¨, is owned and run by an english ex-pat, jo, who stopped by here on a world trip about twenty years ago. he never left. looking out at the peaks in the mornings is drawing my interest and curiosity, bit by bit. this is a place where i could stay and live. there is so much to explore. anyhow, i have got to go meet up with simon, who runs motorbike tours here and his a ktm enthusiast."

For the record, I tried to get Woody into climbing. My dad bought him climbing shoes, which he did use in Joshua Tree. He took class in school, but it didn't seem to stick. I had a live-in climber he could have learned it all from. He did not. This would be the sort of move that would make me so green with envy I'd have to self-medicate. Again/more. Ridiculous brother. Ridiculous sister. Where oh where did I go wrong with my life choices? I will be returning the office tomorrow. Woody will be exploring the greenery...

Note: if we could get Woody to learn how to upload pictures from the road, we'd have some shots of this scenery. Anyone with ideas should post or email him.

-- luludilly

Map and Photo

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Here is what I hope to be a link to Woody:
http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_1DTtHTvYzxo/SgYIENWNN2I/AAAAAAAAAEA/MpK8wCHjdKI/s1600-h/IMGP1027.JPG

If that doesn't work, go to preparation, a blog of andrew's and scroll down to Saturday, May 9, 2009.

http://andrewlinker.blogspot.com/

Check out the new tattoo! Maura Rose will love it...

-- luludilly

Border Crossings

Woody sent a quick note about his crossing into Peru; I guess he is free from the swine flu...of course, there are the rest of his citizen parasites to worry about. Woody has gotten a few posts lately and maybe another follower or two. The fans are calling, man, send us a story.

"i made it to the border in good shape, prepared for a quick exit and easy entrance--the exit was smooth, except for the health screening in the mobile command vehicle--this was on the ecuadorian side, and actually it only took 10 minutes. apparently i do not have the swine flu. [who does?] with all stamps stamped, all that was left was the paperwork for the bike on the peruvian side. i was informed, however, that i had to go across the road to the ¨ministerio de salud¨--the health department on the peruvian side, before they would do my paperwork for the bike. so i walked across the road, put my face against the barred window, offered a friendly greeting, which was returned by silence. great. back across the road the official told me that i would just have to wait, the health officials must be at lunch. an hour and a half later, still no health workers. i am standing, sweating, in the hot sun. trying not to attract a crowd, which i am failing at. i did my best to look politely frustrated by the inconvenience, [what is polite frustration in a 6'5" white man with a fully loaded ktm? I don't think such an emotion can exist] and made certain that the official on the porch saw me. i was beginning to wonder if i would make it to piura in the daylight.....

as i stood, looking pitiful, the national policeman whom i had spoken with earlier, approached me and asked if i had gone through the health screening on the ecuadorian side, and after i responded, ¨yes¨, he relayed that, assertively, to the official on the porch. ten minutes later i was shaking hands and revving the motor. it could have been all over in 20 minutes......

more later, i am tired. i am in casma (?) tonight. i am still in the desert, and it is a wasteland. tomorrow i will head back into the coolness of the cordillera."

Ah, such a small inconvenience for the man with nowhere to go but follow the habit and the open road. I'll post the map location of where he is tonight and try to link to a fabulous shot of him en route to the stahlratte. Bear with me...

-- luludilly

Peru

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He made the crossing.

"i am in peru--another long day riding. i am going to hit it hard again tomorrow and try to get out of the desert that i drove into. cannot write much more, as this f-ing keyboard is impossible."

The day before was more rain and looking for yet another fuel pump:

"just got into loja, ecuador, in the pouring rain again all day. but a good ride. met two germans on 650 bmws travelling north. real nice. talked on the side of the road in the pouring rain for 20 minutes. never got their names......anyway, peru tomorrow unless i wake up with a cold and it is still pouring rain.

i can´t believe it is still so cold there, although, it is getting to be cold where i am as well, and i rode a few mornings ago in what had to be below freezing. it was the morning, however, that i was feeling especially lousy, so much of the thought that would have normally went into the cold, went towards how lousy i was feeling and whether or not i was going to be able to ride for the next 6 hours."

Hopefully we'll get more stories soon. I'm not sure if he is camping in the cold or finding lodging elsewhere...

-- luludilly

Bogota and a New Leader

So Woody is stuck in Cuenca tonight; I guess it is pouring rain (better than our late May snow) and seven hours before he can stop again. This means we get to hear the promised story of socialist revolutionary party in Bogota, Colombia...and boy oh boy is it a goodie! Warning: you will experience fear, disgust, joy, humor and "you're shitting me" all in one story, and it is long.

"as it were.....i traveled through most of colombia with three other riders; two from the u.s., and the third, from canada. however, wading through such dynamics is always difficult, so when my motorcycle went into the ktm shop for a valve adjustment, the split was natural. i found myself in the ¨old city¨ of bogota, after a painful, confused, hour long taxi ride with a driver who had no idea where i wanted to go and little idea how to operate a manual transmission. he was burning his clutch right up climbing the hills, and we were crawling at times. i arrived however, at ¨hostal platypus,¨ and immediately met two adventurous norwegian travelers with whom i shared stories for a few hours. they had some good ones, which i will not share as i may intend on attempting similar travels and my friends and family need not know about them until they are safely over. onward."

[side note: my brother is the king of double clutching for maximum speed. He loves to criticize me shifting in heels or flip flops -- both of which are troublesome. Also, I love how he tells us that there are travel plans that we would object to --- this, while I'm still funding his sorry excuse for an adventure, okay, okay, so it is a good adventure. Still, I'm older and wiser and do not intend to start sending money for new cameras, bribes or better yet, bail, while he makes questionable choices. Point made, I hope.]

"the next morning, may 1st, started out like many others. i walked the streets getting a sense for this new city in this much feared country. as i walked, i happened upon a parade. interesting. i watched. so i can be a bit slow, especially in the mornings before i drink coffee, and it took a solid 10 minutes of watching before i truly realized that it was a protesting march as opposed to a happy parade. of course the signs were all acronyms so i didn´t yet understand......i watched a bit longer then wandered on down the sidewalk, where i sat down to read and watch the people streaming by. it was interesting, viewing the faces of the passerbys--happy, confused, enthusiastic, outright disgust...the reactions varied greatly. a couple enthusiastic colombians cruised by smiling, and asking me, ¨estas listo?¨ -- ¨are you ready?¨ oh boy. ready for what?"

[parade...typical, backwoods, small town homeboy brother...Alboroto, Woody, alboroto!]

"i continued on walking, finally finding the elusive coffee house actually serving colombian coffee (apparently more than 95% of colombian coffee is exported, making it truly difficult to find a cup in-country). sitting on the second floor, overlooking the sidewalk through enormous plate glass, i was really enjoying the coffee when i heard the first explosion. enough to shake the glass a bit. i immediately looked to the faces of the people on the street below, and my stomach dropped a bit as i saw fear registering on their faces. many began to quickly move away, looking back down the street at something i could not see......i guess that perhaps this is where the adventure of may 1st begins.....i became incredibly curious. out into the street i went, heading (cautiously, of course) in the direction of the explosion. shortly after came the next explosion (closer this time...), and more people shocked and moving quickly away. i continue in the same direction (cautiously). from around the corner comes a stream of motorcycles; two-up, the driver in ordinary police-dress, the passenger in full-on riot gear complete with shield, shinguards, and shotgun. i counted over 50, and as i counted, a number of the passengers dismounted and began pursuing punk-rockers on foot (okay, so they were anarchists, but i bet some of them listen to punk rock). i didn´t witness much brutality......"

[Sitting on the edge of your seat? Marveling at how he has made it this far with such slim common sense? Me too. Who walks into explosions?!]

"so i continued on into the heart of the old city, hearing sporadic explosions (which were tear-gas grenades, my lungs can attest to this...), and coming upon dozens of smashed building fronts and graffittied walls. around each corner i would come upon a group of riot police, and usually on the other side of the street, in a lingering sort of procession, the anarchists. some great mohawks in this crowd. the stand-off seemed to be occurring all over the city, and moving slowly towards the center.....

finally i arrived at the central square to see thousands of protestors before a stage set up in front of the president´s mansion. as fate would have it, i came across an older gentleman who was dying to talk to someone about what was happening in his country....and fortunately, for both of us, he spoke some english so between the two languages he was able to explain it all to me. i can sum it up very simply for everyone: corruption at the highest level of government. we stood and talked for an hour, all the while the crowd was shrinking slowly. apparently the stand-off was over; there would be no all-out riot. the tear-gas was still lingering....

as our conversation was coming to its end, i was approached by a middle-aged woman who was accompanied by an elderly woman wearing a crown and a sash, declaring her the queen of something. the queen had a tape recorder, and she stuck it in my face after she asked me what i would do if i were the president of colombia. well.....i began. you can imagine the rest."

[oh good lord...somewhere in norseland, a crotchety father is muttering, 'serenity now, serenity now.']

"i was encouraged along with nods and smiles and eyes full of revolution. my interview lasted only a few minutes, but by its end a crowd had gathered and i began to sweat a little. many more questions from many more intense faces (thankfully the recorder was turned off at this point, as my platform promises had been properly documented). somewhere in the midst of the barrage, the middle-aged leader, calling herself ¨luz¨, which means ¨light¨, asked me if i was hungry. starving, i was. political turmoil, protesting, and rioting has a way of draining....so off we were, a rag-tag group of about a dozen, bound for some backdoor with luz leading the charge."

[That's right, following fictiotious/delusionial queens -- who, granted, feel you may have what it takes to be the next President of Colombia -- terrific plan, wonderful idea, and you wonder why we all worry...]

"it was upon this march that i randomly ran into g**** and a***, a couple from california traveling on a kawasaki klr, whom had been aboard the ¨stahlratte¨ with me. all i could tell them was that i had just met these people, we were on our way somewhere, and i may have just become a candidate for the colombian presidency...after a coup......i was glad to see them, nonetheless. we arrived at a metal door leading into an inner courtyard, greeted by, no, stopped by a man who made it his business seeing that his will was accomplished. we were not going to get into this party. but luz charged forth, seeking a face in the crowd and returning with him--an organizer of some sort. she made him look at the faces of each of the uninvited guests, and somehow, he nodded with satisfaction and we were granted access. the flurry began. i was seated, brought beer and plates of cuban food, and looked upon intently by each set of eyes in the circle. [well, of course, you're the latest presidential nominee...] many questions, many struggled, muddled through answers in spanish. all the while g**** and a***, who were receiving similar treatment, would look up at me from across the circle, confusion flooding their faces but all the while being overcome by a smile.....this is why. why we travel. why we leave home for unknown, unsafe (so they tell us), far-off destinations, where truly God only knows what lies ahead each day.

the courtyard quickly filled up and the cuban guitarist had begun. early on i was cajoled into dancing, being passed around from one to the next, fumbling for the elusive rhythm that each partner had no difficulty discovering. it was a blast. i couldn´t believe any of it, and continually looked around trying to understand how i had gotten there. i was introduced to dozens of people, and each one was genuinely interested in me; where i was from, what i did there, and how i found colombia and colombian people to be. it was somewhere in the middle of all of this that i realized the answer to this last question, and i gave it enthusiastically to each and everyone: the best."

[For those who have danced with Wood, you can imagine the experience --- clumsy, strong, lanky, aggressive -- it must have been quite the sight next to the South American rhythmic movers. Ha. Serves the fools right for selecting such a hero; I bet there was at least one dislocated shoulder. And note, that last line, "the best". Remember that other travelers told him that months ago; piqued his interest and I guess they were right.]

"my favorite and most frequented dance partner was the 80-year old ¨queen blanquita¨. we danced most of the night, and she, at random moments, would simply start yelling. i have no idea what she was saying. as the night boiled on, the dancing only increased. between each song, the time was short, i was introduced to someone else. soon enough my notebook was being passed around and people were writing down phone numbers, addresses, and notes telling me that if i needed anything, anything at all, call them. g**** and a*** were long gone so i was finally enjoying the title of: ¨the only white guy here¨. with invitations for the rest of the week, i was ready to head back to the iguana, but.....the hospitality did not stop. luz and queen blanquita, along with luz´s daughter and her boyfriend, invited me to come back to their house. i don´t think that i could have said no to the invitation and not felt terrible, honestly. moments later i was squeezed into the backseat of a taxi, headed somewhere, once again......

i was welcomed into the home, given more food and orange juice, along with more questions. queen blanquita took me down the street to meet her son and his family, after which, luz took me walking further down the street to show me some points of interest in the neighborhood. bogota is huge and i had no real idea where i was in the city. it was late, aye, later when we finally got back to the house. i was shown to my bed and wished goodnight.

the next morning i was nearly choked with hospitality, and the question of the motorcycle arose. i was to pick it up from the shop and be ready to head on south, to meet up with the other riders. it took much convincing as luz and blanquita gave me a dozen options on where i could put my bike so that i could continue to stay at their house, one option that luz gave, as she did not understand the size or weight of the bike, was to lift it up onto the roof. three stories. lots of space up there, no doubt. i finally did break away sometime afternoon, headed for the shop and the unfortunately expensive bill. it took me the rest of the day, and half of the next, to process all of what had gone on.

oh, i failed to mention earlier, though i knew immediately upon entering the courtyard, that it was a socialist/communist gathering to which i had been invited to as something of "guest of honor". it was a week later, my last night in colombia, when i saw luz on television passionately speaking on a political rant. i listened for my name, but since ¨woody¨ is impossible for latin-american people to say, i wouldn´t have heard it anyway.....and my spanish is not quick enough to put together what she kept referring to....all i heard was, ¨.....big, tall, white, and motorcycle...¨ alright deahl, that is bogota. love you, gotta go."

Yeah, well, all right THAT is Bogota, and that is Woody...the next leader of the aft-feared Colombia, a country which, remember, he promised he would not enter under any circumstances. Thank god he didn't tell me this until he was through customs. I might have had him arrested.

-- luludilly

an aggressive tire & promises of riot stories

This in from Woodstock (no idea what a more aggressive tire is --- heavier tread?):

"i found a new rear tire at the ktm shop in cuenca, ecuador. it is a bit more aggressive than i would have liked, but it was the only one they had and it was only $95, which is less than half the price of what i was figuring on having to pay. i also found a camera--it was a hair under $200, so cheaper than the one in colombia. this is absolutely the last one. [I really feel like I've been told this before.]

the ride yesterday was perhaps the toughest yet--i was looking for miles for a grassy place to take a rest, but i never found one. there are no shoulders on the roads here, and what is worse, where the shoulder should be, there is a foot and a half deep gutter which you cannot drive over or through, thus blocking the ditch. it was rough, but i am glad that i made it here. i am thinking that i will cross into peru on wednesday--i will keep you posted.

alright, more later, more stories. i have one from bogota that you will not believe....it involves a socialist revolution party and riots......"

Naturally he waits until he has gone through Colombia to scare us silly. Never mind that we're all hoping he will go back through there again one day...and then what? We try to forget socialist revolution party expressions of dissatisfaction? Brother, brother. Wood was battling stomach issues again not too long ago but is apparently feeling better. I can't wait until he has time to tell me more on his theories of parasites (yes, apparently all Americans host many of these devils, as in dozens, all the time, everywhere...he studies this stuff, to scare himself, to make me into more of a hypochondriac, I have no idea why...) I wish we had some pictures of the roadway and planetary topography, but alas, we have not yet mastered getting photos from camera to computer to sister. Heck, he can barely get photos TO camera these days!

Let's rally for Wood, post here with notes of support or reasons why he should not be missing home (a good one may be that there are still snowbanks on the north shore, for example). He is all on his own down there and has been for quite some time. I think lonesome blues can lie dormant...sorta like those nasty parasites.

We're thinking of you, Woody.

-- luludilly

cameras cameras

Woody wrote Saturday to tell me news about his new camera. It is hard to believe, but not really considering I've also gone through an inordinate number of cameras in my thirty years. I think they just don't make them like they used to. Others claim that I'm "jerky" with things due to my "work hands" --- go figure. Since we have nearly identical sized hands (his may be a little thicker, and be more calloused) I'm guessing my brother has similar issues with delicate, technical devices. I can't recall if I reported that he got a new camera to replace the not-so-indestructible version I got him, and this was maybe a week or two ago, at most, but...

"some terrible news on my new camera. don´t freak out, [like I freak out! -- give me some credit here] or do as i am not there to hear it. it broke. i did nothing to it. honest. i took it out to take a picture of a pig in the dirt, snapped the shot, and then it said, ¨lens error, restart camera¨, which i did, but it continued to give me the error--so i pushed the lens in and it really broke then. good news is it is definitely under warranty, as i specifically asked about it before i bought it (good for me), but bad news is that i bought it in colombia and have to send it to florida (according to the guy who sold it, he gave me the warranty company, as of course it is not canon directly), so......i am in the market for a new camera. ridiculous. i was eating breakfast with some people who knew the story about my first camera, and they immediately mentioned the fact that perhaps i am not supposed to take pictures--i thought about it, but i have got to. anyway, that is the story of the new camera--i am holding onto both of them and i intend on being a satisfied customer upon returning. alright, now the kids are loud and getting to me in this cafe. i am still heading out tomorrow, but i think i am going to camp along the way, near the place where i sent the Spot this afternoon. it is like mars. or the moon. silent. cold. absolutely beautiful. wish i could take a picture. really."

Oh brother...

Well, the north shore sun finally came out in suburbia so I'm going to look at my tulips, mow the lawn and feign important work.

Here's the current location that we will never have a picture of...


View Larger Map

It helps if you look at the satellite view.

-- luludilly