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:


At the onset of that long stretch of Southern Baja California desert, I decided to stop to take some photos of the magnificent vegetation. Within a couple of minutes a large white Dodge Dually pickup stops by, and a mean-looking white haired man exits. For some reason I'm feeling fear, and decide to face it head on. "Ola! Como estas!" I offer. No response. "Where you headed to?" he asks, and by now I'm thinking he's some landowner, or someone looking over these parts. I explain what I'm doing, and he softens. He mentions he's from Canada, not knowing where I was from. Turns out he's from Red Deer, about 45 minutes west of my home town.
Lee has been living in La Paz for awhile now, and holds citizenship in 3 countries. I gathered he was a pilot, and certainly fit the bill, with his clean crew-cut, and aviator glasses. He was heading to San Diego to see his daughter, and was forced to drive with only 4 gears, as he had just recently lost his 5th. Our conversation was interesting, and he enlightened me on several topics including flying in Mexico City (high elevation, very difficult), circumventing foreign ownership laws (the bank holds title to your property only as a national representative), and drug cartel business dealings (plata o plomo, which, literally translated means 'silver or lead', or do business with us, or die from a bullet).

He left me saying he had simply stopped to water a plant. "Which one?" I asked, thinking "What a nice man! He must be making a memorial for a fallen friend or something." "Oh, I just go out in the bush, and find one, probably that big one with the apples on it" Finally, I realize I've been away from Albertan humour in a while, and abashedly mention I wouldn't be eating any of those apples. We part ways with a giggle, and he comes over to the bike to offer some more advice on the upcoming windy road.

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Videos of my journey