Mierda Loca

There's nothing to write about.  The trip was booked on three days notice.  The scope limited, the goals modest.  And for as quick as a seven day trip to CR will breeze by like a Sinatra song, it turns out maybe there's more to it than that-

I think it goes without saying that I truly dig my time on the road with a fevered passion for the new and unexplored.  The drive towards scenarios free of direction has led me to some pretty amazing corners of Latin America, allowed me the time and freedom to expand my person and grow through the wisdom and vitality of complete strangers turned close friends.  The pure, raw energy of the unexpected and unknown fuel me like the sun, water, and cocaine.  What a way to charge the machine year in and year out, but as I said this quick shot to Costa Rica was different.  

There wasn't the new this time.  There wasn't the uncharted adventure full of question and anticipation, no this time there was exactly what I said:  Limited scope, modest goals.  So instead of the challenges that face a typical Overbagh, BS, down-south walk-about this trip was an easy breezy seven days to enjoy the company of some of my best friends on earth.  A return to the known, the normal, and the expected.  Like this-

You have seven days to run loose in CR because your crew back home are a bunch of gangsta ass thugs so..........

You kick La Liga ass for the Championship and party in the streets of San Jose til all hours of the morning

You surf big Caldera and scare the shit out of the Tico and yourself, way too big for either of you

You make a point of keeping it cool in Samara with beers, volleyball, and good friends

You surf Cameronal like usual, but it's big this time, fucking big.  Big Monday, bigger Tuesday, and biggest Wednesday  

You paddle around in legitimate 12-14' Cameronal and watch your best friend almost die, a very close call

You digest what it all means

You watch said friend live, love, and grow right in front of your eyes, maybe death was near, but the life, o the life!

You eat the best Ceviche, camp, and drink beers in the pure Guanacaste of Bejuco

You eat bocas on the last day your favorite bar in the world is open for business in the location they have been for 20 years

You eat bocas on the first day your favorite bar in the world is open for business in the location they will be for 20 more

You sow the foundations of lasting friendship with beautiful people, beautiful Anita

You run into Galan and Luis, yeah Galan the horse, and he's still a badass.  They both are

You surf Samara for the first time in years, you surf Buena Vista in perfect, shit conditions

You drink endless ice-cold Pilsens

You barely make your 9 am bus to San Jose

You sleep the entire way 

You rejoin the best group of friends a Gringo could ask for in Escazu for one more night on the town

You share the heartfelt embraces of those individuals that you are proud to say define you

You brown-out the airport experience.... again

You are in love with a life that refuses to slow down

You know that without trips like this to put everything in perspective,          

                                             there would be nothing to write about

--Aaaand here's Mick Fanning making our 12-14' day look like a joke--

the best is still to come

So yeah, that's a wrap!  It all ended about the same way it began.  The giant, and I mean giant smile that swept over my face and the sounds of elation that made their way from my lungs were present first on those back-roads of Costa Rica and then again on that bridge over the Rio Grande.  It's a very genuine feeling when you're that happy, when your emotional state is best described with a memory.  It excites a being that very well may be inside all of us and so seldom do they appear that even in the moment you don't realize where you are or what your doing, you're just that fucking happy, you just feel that good.  Anyway, the trip has that as its bookends.  I guess in reality it has a botched horseback adventure on one end and a 15 hour drive in a rental car full of gas fumes on the other end but that doesn't sound nearly as romantic.  No, we'll go with the standing up on the motorcycle yelling at the wind whilst inviting any and all insects into your grill and not giving a damn version.  I like that one more.....

All told Galan and I put down about 7500 km's over the course of 7 weeks.  I got to spend more time exploring Central America and the south coast of Mexico than I had the tolerance for with Kombi.  I met all of the people I was supposed to meet, they're amazing and I'll see the right ones again somewhere down the road.  The real lessons learned surely pale in comparison to the lessons to be learned from this trip.  I found all of this, all of this from one Suzuki 125 with a bald rear tire and an oil habit similar to my alcohol habit.  The freedom that Galan's reliability gave me is immeasurable, the knowledge of what is possible strikes the same cord.  I think I ended the Kombi blog with something about sitting down to write a short story or some other in depth BS about it and I guess I'll say the same now but it's probably not true.  

Who knows; I do know I'm glad to be home, I missed my friends and family here in Fort Collins, I missed Road 34 and the new bar and Sushi.  I missed mountain biking, good times, good red wine, and jazz.  I guess it's just different, that's why I love it.  There's something to be said for constantly gaining perspective and always liking what you see.......

-All Love-

#YOOO

It's my fault for not taking the time to keep this deal updated and this trip well documented.   Believe me, I'll wish I had written more somewhere down the road when I go to reminisce late at night with a coupe of bottles of wine and good company.  It can't really be considered a fault when your days are just too full of the good times to take the time to write about it, I guess when it's all said and done that's why I'm not a writer.  I just have to be realistic with my limits and appreciate that while I may not have the capacity to document everything I sure as hell have the drive to create, and occasionally remember.  So yeah, no posts since like Christmas and you can rest assured that way to much shit has happened since then to even begin to write about it.  There's nowhere to start and as of yet there's no ending so why even try.  Quickly though- I found George and Rachel, I found Patzcuaro, I found mountains, Cartels, traffic, Mezcal, tunnels, friends, Guanajuato, beer, and that my piece can almost become an "innie".  It's fucking cold here man.......   Today was 6 hours and 310km over and through the mountains with a temperature range of some 35-50 degrees.  I don't have the gear for this sort of motorcycle "overlanding" so I'm simply piecing together clothes I score along the way and must look like some sort of thrift store riding a Suzuki 125 on the shoulder of the highway.  But alas I'm only a day or two away from the border and as stoked as ever to get back to the good ol US of A.  Again with a stop at the Chicko's, a quick beer with Mex, and I'll be on my way back to Colorado.  See you all soon!!!!

-Mitch Dodson

 

Some of those times

Part 1 of 2  (written 12.26.13)

Almost......Almost made that mistake again.  Call it what you will but the sense or ability to feel your way through life to know or at least explore opportunity is something of a developed art form.  I'm not saying I'm good at it but I will say that I am pretty much always ready to learn.  Ready for what could happen.  So as I rolled over that speed bump and started to get back into the gas there was a reason that couple drinking beer on the side of the road caught my eye.  I kept on with my throttle and ALMOST didn't think twice, but this time (as with so many others) I got about 500m down the road and did think twice.  I turned my small two wheeler around and set on stopping to see what was pulling me in, why I was drawn to that particular restaurant out of the probably 75 I had passed in the last 100 km.  Same old scene upon sitting down with this couple for a beer: he's drunk, she's getting there.  I order up another big beer for the three of us and before you know it our party blooms to a half dozen, all with beers at the ready.  Turns out this couple is family with the restaurant owners and seeing as it's Christmas they insist on me joining them to the town party that evening.  We're talking a town of maybe 1500 people and this might possibly be the biggest party of the year.  Arrangements are made for my hammock that night on the premises, a quick shower, much more beer, and off we set for the town square.  I'd say the party was typical by Latin American standards but there really isn't such a thing, two live bands back to back, dancing into the night fueled by too much beer and food for any one four hour span.  After all of the antics displayed that night and good times (short stories too numerous to detail) hugs were traded and our party drifted it's way back to the restaurant with a solid dozen or so in tow.  I wasn't really that drunk but F I had eaten so much food between two families forcing plate after plate on me I actually felt sick.  After maybe 5 or 6 more beers it really would have behooved me to make for a secluded area to vomit six or seven times, but in my state my hammock sounded like the proper solution.  Now a better story would have been that I woke up in the mosquito proof hammock and couldn't get out in time and yaked all over myself (this almost happened), but no, I made my way to the outhouse just in time to realize that the window for puking had passed as the food was well on it's way out the other end.  So I've finally achieved the purge I've been looking for on this trip, it's the first time so far on this journey that I've really had one of those good old fashioned explosive, grab the toilet, piss from the butt, make weird noises from your throat that resemble words yet have no real meaning past an expression of worried surprise kinda deals.  It's actually a bit of a relief the time I've spent getting to know this outhouse, feels good, feels healthy, but dammit there's no time to dwell on my deep rooted affection for a good clean-out, my time with the family is growing by the moment......  I mentioned this is part 1 of 2 because as I was getting set to blast off this morning Manuel, the patriarch of the family, informed me that two days from now is the real biggest party of the year:  His daughter's Quinceanera.  It didn't take very much convincing and I'm here in Tapanala for three days and three nights doing my best to stave off drinking with this family; it began again at 8 am this morning.....  I'll join soon enough, maybe one more session with the outhouse and a quick trip to buy another blanket (it was actually cold as hell last night).  I'm half-way home on this two part pare, who knows what will happen tomorrow.....  Who ever knows what will happen tomorrow?

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Part 2 of 2  (written 12.29.13)

Now that's an F'ing Quinceanera!!  I guess I know this is part 2 of 2 and it seems like part 1 was dominated by a signature shit story but since I wrote part 1 I've been vexed by the fact that I somehow didn't get the real point across.  Maybe I just needed part 2 to go ahead and take place so I would have a more clear picture of what exactly it means to come into contact with this family by chance and happen upon two legit parties in three days.  I mean the chances of the whole thing are not only impossible but at times made what was happening in front of my eyes seem surreal.  So I did my best to simply digest the material and really get an idea for what and why I was there.  Part 2 produced fodder for my mental and spiritual.  It made me understand that what I'm really interested in is the real and genuine emotion behind a life so different than my own that I am literally a spectator and have no real ability to take place in this game.  I did, I drank and I helped prepare everything from literally a truck full of meat to the decorations to setting the tables, filling holes in the parking lot, digging post holes, setting the cake display, serving beer, taking pictures, and collecting trash.  In all of those respects I was a "part" of it, but most of that shit lacks the emotion that I found so intriguing.  I lack the words and expressive ability to say how it all made me feel; it made me feel like not getting drunk, it made me want to see and do everything in the world.  The pure emotion that took place last night was that of dreams, books, make-believe, etc, it will not be soon forgotten.  An exercise in life so vivid and real it trumps anything I've read or dreamed.  It's purposefully contradictory and I know that but that's what it was, the whole thing.  I'm not saying the three days in Tapanala changed my life or anything but I will raise a toast to Manuel, Rosi, Julissa, Guillermo, the people of Tapanala and say here's to life!

I suppose I didn't even talk about what "exactly" was going on in those three days but it's filled with all of the stories and good times allowed by law.  Not governed law but the simple laws of nature, it shouldn't get any better than this, but I know it will, it always will.  My hangover driving away from Tapanala this morning had nothing to do with booze or sleep, my soreness and sadness I bore with a smile because I understand what it takes to feel this way and it simply makes me happy.  

Oh and in case you were wondering, the open fire hydrant that was my ass has subsided and we're back on a semi-normal schedule, back on the moto, and back to finding the Nettles'.....  
Merry Christmas everyone, lots of Love to you all-

Will

The Idiot

So I took two different cracks at trying to write about my last 28 hours in El Salvador with almost no success.  I tried in vain to put to paper exactly what the fuck went down there that last night: the first try a terrible attempt at a comedy laden, reverse timeline of events, again trying to be clever when I'm really not and the second just a simple recital of the night.  Upon rereading and proofreading they both sucked.....  So I'll keep it simple and just say that I ended up at a rock show on the beach then the after party at a multi-million dollar mansion of an eccentric dude who was into drugs, guns, tigers, and being the lead singer of said rock band.  Shit got weird, like stories of shooting fish in the ocean from this ocean-side, cliff-hanging villa to how one of his tigers bit his finger off, to how he would get his guards to put beer cans on their head so he could shoot them off with his hand gun.  I stuck to the beers and smoked my share of grass but the rest of the party did not.  No this is El Salvador and this dude is or was VERY plugged into the drug biz.  The throttle was definitely pinned at this point and talk of drugs and guns gave way to thoughtful conversation on live music, regrets, and the US political/ economic influence in Latin America; which I must say produced pride all around when we were done.  A ride home at 4 am in an armored Range Rover brought the night to a close.  As per usual a brutally hungover morning of driving well over the legal BAC limit and 4 hours of astounding bullshit to get into Guatemala awaited me.
One of the things I did do well in one of my other attempts to write about this deal was explain why I truly LOVE a deep, nasty, soul-wrenching hangover.  God dammit it ALWAYS means you shredded the shit out of life last night, it has really made me appreciate the value in those hangovers.  If you can't see that then you're an alcoholic and your body is telling you stop so you should just give up drinking all together.

I'm in Guatemala now and the waves have more or less gone flat so I'll be headed to Mexico tomorrow and hope that some swell works it's way to Galan and I.  Though the surf was more or less non-existent I did find some cool ass beaches and people in Guatemala that will definitely be reason for a return trip some time soon.  Galan got to take a boat trip, I got to get bored and snap some pictures and video ripping down the road.  All times Crunk, Crunk.  With waves I'll be another 2 weeks or so on the Mexico south coast then blast my way through the mountains over to Texas and home.  

Focus

Sorry for the delay folks, not that people are exactly blowing me up with questions as to where and how I am, but this deal definitely deserves an update.  I'm not sure why I haven't been inspired to write about this trip very much or why I feel like this is kind of even not really noteworthy but all of that is directly represented by the lack of activity on the blog.  

So yeah, since I bought the moto some four weeks ago and gave up on the horse gig I was basically in search of what to do with my time and how I could best use the remainder of my trip (a month).  Naturally I began to get antsy driving around CR and soon thereafter started making the preparations for a haul north back to the USA.  I've driven a similar route with Kombi but knew very well that where Kombi lacked in off-road ability the moto would surely be ready to kick ass.  And there it is, I made my way through Nica over the course of 9 days with great surf and what I hope to be a successful venture into some property there..(maybe, big maybe) And I am currently drifting through El Salvador on my way north to Mexcio to hook up with George and Rankin somewhere around Puerto Escondido sometime around xmas.  Then it should be a haul up through the mountains of Mexico and into Texas to meet up with Chicko in Austin again.  Same old shit right????  Hahahaha, sure thing, just on a Suzuki 125 this time.  Man the highfives and goodtimes that have been had so far have been amazing.  Shit I think the only thing that has become an issue at this point (aside from the astonishing amount of oil Galan drinks) is breaking off the conversations every time I stop for fuel, a beer, oil, or food.  Everyone just wants to know what the hell I'm doing on this moto with this surf board, heading north?  I makes no sense till we talk it out, laugh it out, drink it out.  Then it makes sense....  

I did finally sit down the other evening and write out a lot of what it is that drives me to travel.  Kind of a big deal to be able to put into words what it is that drives my stoke.  It's long winded, obvious, and thoughtful so I won't bother with posting it, but if you want to talk about it sometime feel free to ask.  I'm not much of a talker and all but I'll find the time...  Word up party people, I'll be seeing most of you sometime around the new year.  Cheers!!!

Surfing Nica and such

Hmmmmm......  Where to begin.  Well I've made my way to Nicaragua at this point and have been trying to settle an internal battle with myself as to what direction to head next.  

I know it's been a couple of weeks since my last update, but to be honest I haven't been doing all that much.  I mean as far as I'm concerned I'm killing it and each and every moment has been exactly right.  Exactly why I came on this trip to begin with.  But as far as what you guys might find entertaining not so much.  Futbol playoffs at Saprissa stadium, a couple days in the mountains with Barrett and family, ripping Galan all over CR and into Nica.  Shopping for property in the middle of nowhere.  Surfing and lots of beer.  Incoherent, abbreviated blog posting.  Nothing to write home about I suppose.  Way to much fun to explain.
So as for which direction I'm going  -  North
Oh and I got barreled twice in the last two days, there's that..........

Motorcycles are the new Kombi's right??

Getting back to square one is often a feat in and of itself.  I have learned this many times over in my life and have even come to consider it a great success given certain circumstances.  Thus far I can soundly say I'm more than happy with the way this trip has unfolded because, simply put, I only do this shit for the adventure along the way.  There's never really a destination and so by all measurable points this has been one hell of a success and one hell of an adventure.  So here we are, me and Galan, back at hotel Sueno Tropical with Bert, Jose, and Joanne contemplating what the first real day of this next trip is going to be like.(tomorrow)  Who knows how far we'll make it, shit if it all goes well I'll be seeing you guys in Colorado in no time (4-5 weeks).  The waves were small last week but they seem to be picking up so the timing of my departure south to San Miguel is perfect.  Just F'ing prefect!!!  Dammit I'm so stoked I can barely hold it in.  Jesus Christo Mae, what a great damn life!!!  Everybody......  Meet Galan: 

it made sense to everyone but me

I may as well get this down on paper while it's still fresh in my mind.  As I said in the previous post I have this distinct feeling that Galan and I were destined for failure from the outset.  I knew from the very earliest stages of planning that the likelihood of success on this particular endeavor was somewhere in the single digit range so I guess that makes the current smile on my face reasonable.  So it didn't work, whatever, no big deal, but why didn't it work?

Well as I said, for my part it was simply just not being prepared.  I don't have the knowledge or the supplies to make a serious run at camping on horseback for 30 days or any trip resembling such a thing.  I had no idea just what it took to keep Galan happy and in fact did not even recognize the most overbearing trait of most every horse in the world that eventually doomed the trip on the whole.  By the minute, hour, and day Galan had only one thought: getting back to that farm.  So over the course of the five days we traveled together he made every effort to get free from the fences, ropes, bridles, whatever, and break for the finca.  He managed to free himself two times total with the second being around 9 or so at night outside of a bar I had ridden to to have beers and dinner.  With the help of the bar owner and his moto we tracked Galan down in the pouring rain and proceeded to corral him with limited success.  Thirty minutes later through jungle and swamp we finally pinned him enough to throw a rope over his neck and get the bridle and saddle back on him.  Holy shit man, that was the last straw.  Galan was risking himself in a very major way just following his instincts all the while taxing the shit out of me and draining the life out of this gloriously romantic horseback, Guanacaste, surf, camp, soulfind.  So that was it, I resolved to return to camp that night in the pouring rain, with a couple of beers for the ride, the following morning had a stellar surf, packed my shit up and rode back into town to return Galan to safety.  Luis the farm owner was more than relieved at my return as he said that Galan had in fact lost considerable weight, but shared his sincere surprise that I was actually with Galan when he made it home.  His guess was that Galan would show up at his place one morning and leave me high and dry.

Anyway, sorry for the long-winded BS but I figure a couple of people might want to know the deal. Crazy thing was that when we were actually riding together we kicked serious ass.  We got to where we could full out run when we wanted and I had full command over our actions in total.  Back to the drawing board, I'll do it again someday down the road.  It'll be with my own horse and a shitload more experience.  I can still raise my beer to toast Galan, we had a blast man...

By the numbers-

5 Days
4 Nights
44 Kilometers covered
3 Surf Sessions
4 River Crossings
2 Escapes
0 Falls
0 Broken Bones
1 Broken Heart
200 Or So US Dollars
Countless Lessons big and small
Countless New Friends
1 Hell of a good story.........


So the trip has taken a turn, I'll update this deal as soon as I have a little clarity on the real direction this deal is going to take...  Time to surf mae

Kenny Rogers.....................

It was all headed toward this.  Maybe it's because I knew that from the outset, maybe I F'd myself by not seeing the end of the road where I wanted it to end but rather where all signs pointed.  "Look at the line you want to ride, not all of the shit you DON'T want to hit."  That's what we always say about riding a mountain bike fast.  So yeah, in more ways than one this conclusion is my fault.  I was starring it down from day one.  I mean in the end Galan's irreversible instinct to go home was what sealed our fate but the fault does not lye squarely on anyone's shoulders but my own.  I simply wasn't prepared for this deal, I didn't have the supplies or the knowledge to execute whatever lofty plan I may have concocted.  Nor did I figure in any of the complexities that swarm attempting to travel, camp, surf, live via horseback.  My abilities to put out fire after fire were pushed to their end and eventually the whole motherfucker just simply burned down.  Ashes and memories, knowledge for another day, a handful of friends along the way, the beauty in failure.  The only thing better than playing and winning; is playing and losing.....  

I'll elaborate on just how we arrived at this point later, but rest assured I'm safe and Galan is home at his finca for good.  Just in the nick of time

Going for broke.... Somehow this makes sense

(written 11.20.13)


One aspect of this deal that has been working like hell to wear me thin is the fact that at each and every opportunity Galan tries to turn for home.  And I mean for real, like I stop to feed him and after the first few bites he starts to trot home.  Each time I stop him, turn him around, and explain to him that this trip has only just begun.  On top of that he keeps trying to get loose at night and trot home.  He's only succeeded once and I luckily tracked him down, but the really fucked up part is that each time he does this there is a part of me that wants to give in, wants to say he's right and that this whole thing is just a ridiculous idea that should be put out of it's misery.  But alas, each time I turn him back, away from home, towards whatever is next and down a road that has at times seemed like well, a waste of fucking time.  Who knows, I may wrap this trip up and find that Galan knew what was best all along and I should have just hitchhiked and surfed.  It's hard to say, but as I camp here at Camaronal tonight I know that tomorrow will bring perfect waves and hopefully a little clarity to push me on.  We did take a ride to the bar in El Camren 3 km away this evening, it was a  damn good time, two plates of food, 4 beers, 2 more for the road(3km ride back to camp, pitch black night), and a drunk guy who left early and wrecked his car.....  Perfect Guanacaste, Perfect Galan, Perfect Guaro, Perfect.......

Meanwhile back at camp I think that fourth shot of Guaro might have done me in.  My thoughts are pretty much exclusively on the matter at hand here.  All of my dealings with Galan, he hates this shit and I'm doing my damnedest to make it at least tolerable for him.  We're heading south tomorrow, further from home.  I'm not sure how far this trip will take us, it's literally day-to-day at this point.  At times I feel like we're finding our stride but I also know I could wake up tomorrow just to find him gone, sprinting for home....  This whole horse thing is so god damn new to me it is testing the limits.  Needless to say in all good ways, the test is legit and the endeavor noble(if not stupid), it will produce the results we're looking for.  Just takes time.....

Caballos y Gringos..... Mala Mierda, Buena Mierda

Yeah yep, so I pretty thoroughly fucked this one up...  I mean there's something to the spot I'm in.  There's got to be something to the plans I've made and the retarded preparations I thought I had put so much thought into, right??  Well shit, sometimes a guy has got to know when he has simply barked up the wrong tree, and dammit if I could really get into the details of my first hours with this horse you would understand that this is not only the wrong tree but I can't bark to begin with...  That kinda makes sense...  This whole fucking thing only kinda makes sense....................................

I set out from Samara with my overweight back pack, surfboard, cowboy boots, cowboy shirt, cowboy jeans, cowboy booze, and a pure country (the movie) cowboy attitude.  I simply had to get to this horse and load it up with my shit and ride away into the sunset right.  Easy breezy, I've seen Clint, Tom, and Brad do it.  Shit Chevy did it.  It has to be that simple, just be in command and ride the damn horse.  

I think it's pretty obvious where this going.  With my backpack falling off the horse and my surfboard partially on the back of the horse then under my arm and then on the back again I managed to more or less walk and ride my horse for about 10 km through and around the town of Estrada, Costa Rica.  Remember that this is a Sunday and the only thing other than the local futbol game happening on the small plaza field to watch is this pale, sweating, confused gringo with a horse and surfboard falling all over the street.  You didn't forget the great "cowboy" get-up did you?  Yeah well I guarantee they haven't either.  Holy shit what a sight it must have been and so day one unfolded in such a way that my first reaction was not to shed ego but to start shedding gear.  First I handed my surfboard to a perfect stranger passing by and asked that he keep it safe for 4 weeks until my return from this epic journey.  Then as I reached the river I realized that I had to get rid of the rest of my gear, all of it, save the essentials.  The trip must go on!!  As planned!!  

Nope, nada, hell no...As the reality of my sure defeat sank in I decided not to dump everything I owned in an effort to continue but to simply give in to fate.  I had seriously fucked this thing up..... DAMMIT!

After a small window of digestion, I turned back with my head up, a big smile, and a whisper of an ego.  I began my 4 km walk back to the farm from which my day had started.  Without the board the walk was a touch easier, but the shear reality that I had grossly underestimated this project started to weigh pretty heavy on me. It was over before it began.  I managed to find the address where the surfboard had retreated and found the place to be pretty damn top notch.  A quick beer and chat had my bag stored with the board so it was only left to me to return the horse.  Such was the true low point of day one, with no gear still having to walk to horse 3 km back to this farm because,....... well because, I don't know how to ride a horse.  SO lame

Some thoughtful conversation with the guys here at the lodge as well as a solid pat on the shoulder from Cody and Amber(via Skype) had me feeling better about my failures later that night.  I had arranged to get my money back the next morning and resolved to simply put my thumb out and begin a hitch-hiking surf trip around the Nicoya.  I know how to do that shit so let's roll, it'll be fun and I'll shred and it's on.  Different sure, but F it, I can ride horses in Colorado right, I can only surf here.  With all of my lessons learned and resolve to ride horses upon my return to CO I got pretty cocktailed Monday night with the guys here at the lodge. 

That's when IT happened.  Drunk, disoriented, and purely exhausted I lay there in bed through the night not wanting sleep in the least, my thoughts were buried in the depths of just where I had gone wrong.(All of it)  And I came to the conclusion then and there that this cannot be the end of my horseback surf trip.  Just think it through a bit Will.  And so I'll save you all the bullshit heroics of how I got to where I am now(I leave tomorrow morning around 7 on horseback for who knows what on the Nicoya)  It's still just me and my horse, we're kinda cool now, kinda.  I'll do my best to elaborate but this post is already way to long, certainly to long to proofread.  Suffice to say that it has all come around and as always I have one hell of a story to tell.  Signing off for now, much love.  Rolliam

Luis, Jose, Bert, Gary, Christian, and most of all Galan....  Dudes, Thank you SO much!!  

Here we go again...... again

It's been a while, almost two years ago I suppose.  Kombi and I wrapped up a truly epic journey from the depths of South America to the comforts of her home now in Road 34.  That trip set the bar pretty F'ing high for both she and I. For her part I think she has continued on with the ass kicking and has partied pretty damned hard with Markixxx while holding down the duties of sound engineer booth at 34.  For my part, well I think I held up my end of the deal.  It's been a profound couple of years filled with unexpected personal growth via the most amazing people, friends, family, relationships, business endeavors, walkabouts, booze, and booze any one man should ever be blessed with.  But alas it's time to get back on the road again.  Sure it's a little different this time - Kombi is a horse....  But a Kombi's a Kombi's right??  At the end of the day it's always been about the people, and this time I plan to meet them all.      ALL  OF  THEM!!!!!

Round whatever...  As it turns out I have the great fortune of taking one hell of a variety of different trips year in and year out.  No matter whether they are with friends, family, or solo they all seem to have their own personality and take on a unique meaning by the time it's all said and done.  So as I embark on this latest fiasco I'm left sitting here in seat 25D UA flight 1594 wondering just how this trip will be different and just what it means to take off by oneself in search of an objective so vague and so questionable it makes the first weeks with Kombi seem so distant.  The lessons learned then are in my full conscience now, the good times and break-throughs harder to find,  I know now that it's on and I mean sure the last trip of this nature started almost identically but with a 1300 cc motor on three cylinders and this time I will literally be relying on a one horse power motor.  But really does the mode of transport define the trip that much???  

Well, I'm off to find out, for as much a I loved seeing 30,000 km of Latin America with Kombi I am sure that a mere 200-300 km on horseback will produce exactly whatever it is I'm in search of.  

Did I mention I don't know a single fucking thing about horses?  

On Shred Nettles, On Shred....

At least my back pack is ready

Better Late Than Never

***  So I just found this post I had written and never published when I was down in southern Colombia.  I left it intact and unchanged for accuracy.....  It was written sometime around 12.13.11


Colombia has been quite the country and quite the challenge thus far. Today was one full of some of the best and some of the worst. Kombi is officially broke the F down and after a full day of wrenching on her the problem, what ever it is, still isn't fixed. I did manage to limp her over to an electrical mechanic that seems to have his shit together with the proper tools. After a couple of hours even he has no idea so she's there for the night and I'm here at what amounts to a pay-by-the-hour hotel in Palmira, Colombia for the night. So you may ask what exactly was the good today, what exactly was the up? Well for one I picked this cat Kael up yesterday morning in southern Colombia and he's been a hell of time to talk to. He's been hitch-hiking and walking around S. America for three years now and he really has some intuitive, pointed ideas about topics and problems I'm really interested in. We've had great conversation with little time for silence between the two of us. With his help we met this dude Angel who helped me out with running around for parts so much it's crazy today and he wouldn't take a dime in compensation. I did buy he and his homies a round of cold beer while we wrenched on HIS car for a while. I also learned that I'll now he headed to Buenaventura to try and sort out a boat to Panama instead of making the trek north to Cartagena. A difference of a few days, a lot of miles, and a hand full of money. Hopefully I can fix Kombi in a timely manner tomorrow morning and blaze for Buenaventure to figure out if the rumors of boats that you can travel with your vehicle to Panama are true.

And literally as I type this IT begins. IT. The sounds of prostitutes having their way with gentlemen of stature and visa versa. The night begins for us all, some different than others.

Ponytails and Budweiser

It's funny because I had a plan for Kombi all along that I thought was not only gangsta as shit but would put Kombi right where she's always belonged. She deserves all of the praise and questions and fondling that comes with being the centerpiece of Road 34. So there she is. Kombi is the proud new home of the sound engineering booth at the music venue and place we call home, Road 34 Deli and Tavern. So far the questions are numerous, but mainly, How did you get that in here? When I parked her a year or so ago in Lima i did a rough measurement of Kombi's width using my own wingspan across the front of her (which doubled as a goodbye hug and kiss) and the first thing I did when I got back to 34 was measure that same span, the same way. By my best estimate I figured I had 5-6 inches to spare. Wrong, Very wrong.  After we had taken that little roadtrip from Lima to Fort Collins and we went to push her into 34 we literally had about 1/4 inch on either side! My confidence in getting her into Road 34 may have been a little too robust but guided true nonetheless. She knew where home was and I'll be damned if she was gonna be to wide to fit in the front door. There she'll stay until someday in the future when I decide to put a new motor and fuel tank in her. Hell maybe even drive her back to Peru in 15 years, who knows, stranger things have happened, but damn it's nice to be home....

Right here, Right now.

Back when Kombi and I rolled out of the last hills in the Andes of South America and into the bustling port of Cartagena, Colombia my emotions and soul stirred with what we had just accomplished. At that point we had just covered more or less the entire continent of S. America and taken every challenge head on at whatever pace ensured Kombi would pull us to the other side. I equated it to Ali/Frazier. The bar we had set and eclipsed was nothing short of incredible and truly nothing short of miracle. Over the next month or so we encountered a series of challenges that made me deeply consider the value of my affair with Kombi and what exactly I was really committed to with this ol girl. At various points along the way people and circumstances attempted to stop our passage, pushed Kombi and I to our limits. In the moment it terrified me at the prospect of abandoning my love, but more-so I think I had a mortal fear of failing in my mission to drive from Lima to Fort Collins. No one likes to fail and maybe me more than anyone loathes the idea of not crossing a finish line. Coach Sours taught me the real value of that many years ago. His consistent message of learning, finding value win or lose lead directly to making those moments, when all seemed lost to an outcome other than Kombi at Road 34, so F'ing valuable. Being rabidly conscious of time spent at borders, police/military checkpoints, repair shops, shipping offices, moments of despair---reality, are the real meat of this whole damn thing. Those minutes, hours, and days are the true value that I've taken from this trip, only then was I forced to understand the In's and Out's of possible failure, at times, of actual failure. Only then was it all very clear to me that this is life, Right here, Right now, know William, that you'll never be more aware of the good, the bad, and the ugly than this, Right here, Right now. All beautiful and all right. It makes more sense now, it sure as hell didn't some of those times along the way, and by "along the way" I mean this life, all of it, but it does now more than ever.

Kombi is now safely in my garage and in desperate need of repair, but residing at 1455 S. Taft Hill Rd., Fort Collins, Colorado nonetheless. She made it where we knew we had to go. She drove to and visited Mexi's grave under her own power, we had our moments and kicked back a few beers with Chicko and Mexi like old times. Another mission accomplished.  Starting out on our last push to Colorado she said enough about 30 miles north of Austin. When she stopped this time I knew she was serious, without pause I understood that this was not a time for roadside fixes and patch jobs, this was simply time to go home. (there was also a three quart pool of oil under the engine compartment) One call to the local Uhaul dealer had her loaded on a dolly and on a fast track for some 1,000 miles to Fort Collins via the back roads of Texas, Oklahoma, and Kansas. I figured at that point there was no reason to cheapen the nature of my trip by using U.S. highways and interstates, stick to the Kombi route and just go home.

Ali/Frazier seemed appropriate at the time but now it seems like the analogy of Ali THEN Frazier is more in sync with how this whole thing has played out. I asked too much from the 1981 VW Kombi that I bought on a whim in Lima (the only one I even looked at) and all she ever did was deliver. She fought hard and delivered me to all of the people, mountains, countries, troubles, destinations and eventually finish lines that I asked her to. Not always without delay, but always. We did it, we're here and I am literally the most fortunate man in the world to have all of those individuals that make such a fiasco possible. Most importantly those people at Road 34, my people here in Fort Collins, and around the U.S. who without their love, dedication, and trustworthiness all of this is impossible. And on a much broader scale to all of those who made up the personality of this trip, those faces and souls in the restaurants, gas stations, fruit stands, and Via's that populate my memory with some of the most interesting and diverse recollections one can imagine. I love them all.

I figure at some point I'll have the time and mental stamina to get all of this into one concise short story but for now, Right now, well I'm Right here. Who could ask for anything more?