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:


The bellboy knocked on my door about 9 pm and said there were some kids drinking in the park across the street, and that I should move my bike. I got dressed and went downstairs to take a look. I asked him where the other choice was and he put this piece of metal on the step at a 45 degree angle and said here. I thought a minute and remembered who i decided to be on this trip and said no thanks, no molestar aqui, or that I wasn´t worried about anyone bothering it.

Drillbit Taylor was on in Spanish, and I went to sleep.

The bike was still there the next morning. The bellboy noticed my front tire was flat i thought it was just because of how it was parked on the edge of the cement. When I moved it back, the front end was very heavy. Another person said it was flat. Ok agreed. Did someone pull a prank and leak it? There was a calling card saying Villamontes taped to the windshield and I thought for sure that´s what happened. I drove away after saying goodbye and a few people wanted pictures. Asked another fellow where some air is, and he motioned for me to follow him. There was a 16 year old on the side of the road with a compressor. I stopped and he was a friendly kid asking all sorts of questions. I gave him 20 bolivianos twice as much as he asked for. Its about 3 bucks.

260 km later, I stop on the road for a break. The tire feels heavy again. Oh no. I remember the tire repair can I bought back in Venezuela and carefully insert it onto the stem. It worked.

I loath going into cities in the evenings but I had to. I got into Santa Cruz about 4 oclock. After several questions around, I found another young guy at a dirty roadside shack, between 4 blocks of roadside shacks. Traditional Bolivian women with two ponytails and long skirts abound. Sexy!

I ask him if he can do it, and he smiles and say yes. How much. Depends. Mas o Menos. 15 bolivianos about 2 bucks. Then the boss comes out a dirty little fellow resembling a bolivian patrick swayze dirt from head to toe, wearing flip flops and a gold tooth. They set to work. The neighbour gets me a coke, although I originally thought he was a halfwit kinda guy. He and his wife ran the shack next to it and were really nice and friendly. Ended up buying the coke he protested I insisted then an empanada banana and cornbread all for 1 buck.

The tire was back on the bike in a little over 20 minutes. This little guy was an artiste with the tire, and he quickly yet meticulously found the leak, and the culprit. Cost? 3 bucks. I doubled it, feeling like Bill Gates in Africa doling out the millions. The culprit? A piece of metal the size of the end of a pencil lead.

On to Cochabamba........

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