This blog's for ME

Almost 25 years old, asking my parents if I can sleep in their bed with them. I had thought I was going to be the 25th Prime Minister of Canada. Things had changed. 10 years later, I was still a scared little boy. The time had come to slap myself awake. One Saturday morning, November 19th, 2009, I declared to the world I would be riding my 10 year-old motorcycle from Vancouver, BC Canada to Rio de Janeiro, Brasil, and back.

The official departure was August 28th, 2010. A group of well-wishers saw me off at 8:03 am.

I arrived in Rio de Janeiro around 6 pm March 1st, 2011.

My return to Vancouver came on July 5th, 2011 about 2:00 pm.

Drug & alcohol abuse, ADD, social anxiety, health, chronic pain, night terrors.

So many concerns. But I am far more interested in this question: Do I have the capacity to make this trip despite all my shortcomings?

My mission: To inspire myself to face my fears, enlighten myself on how all living things can peacefully co-exist, enjoy every moment, and see the world as plentiful and generous.

Go ahead. Call me crazy. Call me anything you like.

I'm out to save my world.


Questions, comments, concerns, threats? Contact me:

I've Been Here Before

One, massive, black cloud hovers over Great Falls, Montana. It was in the middle of winter, when I was in Grade 6, when a bunch of crazy parents decided to take a couple hockey teams from Stettler down here to have a little competition. We ended up taking both trophies back home with us, as well as memories to last a lifetime. The last time, I had kidnapped my best friend in '94 as a spontaneous decision to bring up some male bonding. Canada had lost miserably in the Olympics, and his girlfriend (now wife)has just recently forgiven me for it. We paid off the state trooper for the speeding ticket, an experience resulting from singing Billy Idol accapelo at the top of our lungs.
From Taber, Alberta to here, the bike was tilted consistently at 15 degrees to compensate for the heavy winds channelling through the Rockies. I must have resembled a bobble-headed doll, my massive helmet on my skinny neck catching every gust as if it were a wind chime. There has been several warnings of dangers in Mexico, but as I suspected, the dangers are much closer. I had stopped to take a self-portrait in the river valley south of Taber, only to have a truck with flashers honk at me shortly after I returned to the camera to grab it. "Hmmm," I thought. "Another closet motorcycle fan giving me his support." Suddenly, a house drove by. Watching him as he drove by, I realized he had to drive in the opposing lane just to give me way. Noone thought of this as a probable danger to consider surely. It dually made me appreciate life, and the marvels of human ability. Thousands of pounds hoisted onto the back of a machine to be transferred safely to a new location. It seems the photojournalist needs to work harder for a better shot, or at least practicing riding a motorcycle and camera simultaneously. The rig turned off before I could.

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Videos of my journey