Thinking back, I can't believe all that happened on the last day of February. After an early breakfast of croissants and fresh fruit (Yay for Continental Breakfasts) I checked out of my hotel. Today was going to be a full day- and even more full than I had planned. A bit frustrated by the dizzying pace I would have to take to have any hope of reaching Costa Rica in time to meet up with a friend, I decided I would take a few hours and check out some ancient ruins in the area.

I hit the road shortly after sun up- headed for the ancient Mesoamerican ruins at El Tajin. The state of Veracruz is beautiful, but the roads are not. Massive, man eating potholes turned the road into a nightmare, and in places the pavement simply stopped and gave way to the worst roads I'd seen in all my years of riding. After about an hour of not managing better than 10 kilometers an hour, I made it to the entrance to El Tajin. The entrance was essentially a market, full of street vendors and booths selling everything from dried chiles to handmade bracelets. I parked next to a stand selling t-shirts, locked up the bike and walked through the stone gate that marked the entrance to the ruins.

The slow pace and terrible roads had left me frustrated, wondering if the detour had been the extra time and energy. But as soon as I rounded the corner my doubts were put to rest. The ruins at El Tajin were one of the most incredible things I'd ever seen.
Nestled in the rolling hills towards the southern end of the Sierra Madres, El Tajin is one of the most important ancient sites in all of Central America. Bordered by rain forest and banana fields, only a small percentage of the sites 150 structures have been excavated and restored. But the structures that are there are massive and beautiful. I felt like I'd walked onto the set of an Indiana Jones movie. (But more temple of doomish, and less last crusade-esque.)
Since I clearly know next to nothing about the site, and have fallen to dated pop-culture references in place of actual information, I'll let the pictures speak for themselves. I will say it was an incredible experience to walk through a piece of history. It seems that experiencing distant places and pieces of the distant pass have the same humbling effect. It reminds me that in spite of what I think, feel, or claim- the world doesn't revolve me me...And it never has...
After my detour to El Tajin, I aimed to make up time. Speeding through Southern Mexico, my jaw dropped when the road took a sweeping turn to the East, before straightening again-right along the Gulf of Mexico. Palm trees and small beach towns blotted the landscape, but for a solid hour I had a nearly unobstructed view of the ocean. It was incredible. This was the first time the entire trip that I'd seen the ocean, and I was thrilled. After a few minutes of yelling in my helmet, I had the clarity of thought to take some pictures. Drink it in Cincinnati! But ruins and beaches were not the only thing I'd experience today. About two hours north of Veracruz, I passed two Harley Davidsons on the right side of the road... I assumed that they were having bike trouble (I would insert a Harley joke here, but my BMW is currently in pieces in a foreign country so....) Stopping to see if they needed help, I found that what I'd stumbled on was in fact a father teaching his son to ride a motorcycle. After five or so minutes of talking with Anrejo (and Anrejo jr.) they invited me to follow them to their home for dinner. Hungry and eager for some human interaction, I readily accepted.
Their home turned out to be about 30 minutes away, and the ride there was beautiful. Let's have a moment of honesty here-My Spanish is awful. I mean really atrocious. And while neither of the Anrejo's spoke English particularly well, it's amazing how much can be communicated across the language barrier.

After arriving at this family's beautiful home, they actually took me out to a restaurant a few minutes away from their home and treated me to a fantastic meal. At that point we were joined by Anrejo's wife and daughter. The wife (whose name escapes me at the moment) made up for her complete lack of English by vigilantly keeping ever micrometer of space on my plate filled with authentic Mexican food. The entire meal was served "family style" and every moment I ate a bite she was poised ready with more goodness to fill the space left by my last bite. I was spoiled in a way I haven't experienced since my own mother passed away a few years back. Even in the moment, thousands of miles away from home, with a family I had just met, this woman reminded me of my own mother in a way that was uncanny.

After dinner, I gathered my things to get back on the road heading south. I only had about an hour and a half left of sunlight, and the second detour of the day had put me well shy of Veracruz, my destination for the evening. Anrejo and the family's hospitality was incredible- and they nearly begged for me to stay the night at their home. And while I really wished that I could, felt like I needed to push on. In compromise, they would escort me the 30 minutes back to the coastal road where I had met them. I smiled, and nodded my acceptance. This was the first time I'd had people to ride with since I left home.
And it was a beautiful ride- sweeping turns, smooth pavement (an unusual treat for Central America) and beautiful views. There was a comfort in my new found companionship. It felt familiar-almost like riding with my brother back home. (minus the military checkpoints!) As we reached the coast, we pulled off to say our final goodbyes. Hands were waved. hugs and spanglish were exchanged. But as I donned my helmet, Anrejo senior told me in broken English that I would always have a home in Mexico.
I don't know If ever I'll ever return to this small town in southern Mexico, but if I do I know what will be waiting: A beautiful family. Incredible hospitality. And an openness and acceptance that I hope to learn from. As I donned my helmet and prepared to let out the clutch, my host reached to shake my gloved hand one final time. And while I wouldn't have thought his broken English could carry the weight of what he was trying to communicate, his meaning came through loud and clear-hurdling over the supposed language barrier as easily and gracefully as a trained pole vaulter- "Mexico is your friend" he said. Knowing that he meant it with a sincerity that his words shouldn't have been able to carry, I grasped his hand tightly before clicking the bike into gear and rolling the throttle gently backwards. As I pulled away his words echoed in my mind and I knew that it was true. Mexico is my friend.

It's hard to believe I've been on the road for nearly a month now. Somehow it feels like it's been much longer, and much shorter at the same time. The last month has been all about developing a "new normal." Without going into too much detail, I'll give an example. As I write this, I'm stranded in Costa Rica with a very, very broken motorcycle, unsure if the bike's engine is going to be salvageable at all, and in desperate need of replacement parts that can't be found anywhere Central America. So here I sit. And wait.

But a big part of the "new normal" is learning that time, along with most things, are not under my control. I live in time's world, and must bend to it, never it to me. So even as the first few weeks demanded a speed and focus that I wasn't sure I was capable of, I now find myself with nothing but time. So here I sit, watching "Man on Fire" (probably a terrible thing to watch while traveling anywhere in Latin America) trying to capture my experiences and reflections from the first before I forget them forever. So here I go.

Leaving Monterrey was an incredibly sobering experience for me- It felt as if the full weight of what I was attempting settled in as I let out the clutch and eased on the gas. There's something that happens when honest fear and sincere excitement mix that's...indescribable. Seconds after waving goodbye to new friends, I rolled on the throttle and let out the clutch- unsure of where I was going or what the day would hold.

When you're in a situation like that- when you're so completely aware of the world around simply because it's all so new and uncomfortable, life is full of little adventures- tiny successes and failures that come your way. Even getting gas, or finding an ATM, or asking for directions (something I literally do about 20 times a day) feels foreign and challenging. It's an exhausting way to go through your day- but only because you're so aware of all of the unknowns that lay before you.

(Here's a video from my trusty helmet-cam as I pull out of my friends house.)


After filling my fuel tank at the corner PEMEX station (the only kind of gas stations in Mexico as they are all owned by the government) I hit the open road. Eager to get underway I didn't bother stopping for breakfast-or Lunch. I reached Tampico (my goal for the entire day) at around 1 in the afternoon. Little did I know this would be the ONLY time during the entire trip where I arrived anywhere early.

After a brief break to look at my maps and get a quick bite to eat at Pollo Loco (yeah the Crazy Chicken), I set out again-this time for Tuxpan, a smaller coastal city. Rather than spending time talking about the ride, which was wonderful other than being lost in Tampico, I'll focus on what I found when I reached Tuxpan.

Tuxpan sits right at an inlet on the gulf of Mexico. It's a beautiful, older little town, and I arrived just as the sun was setting- A beautiful sight as I drove along the water. Excited about my first day on the road, I splurged for a nice hotel, quickly unpacked, showered, and headed out to check out the town.

Tuxpan was really a beautiful little town, centered around an old Cathedral, with narrow bustling streets full of shops with names I won't bother trying to pronounce. Well after dark now, I wandered around aimless and content. Stumbling on a small town square a few blocks from my hotel I sat and watched as people filled the small square. Some bargained with the street vendors for small trinkets, some ate or drank coffee at the little outdoor cafe, others played with their children or just talked.


I could not have felt more like an outsider, and I couldn't have been more okay with it. There was no one to talk to, but at this point I don't think I would have had much to say even if there had been. There's a certain kind of humility that comes with traveling- the realization of how differently the rest of the world walks through their day- and of how small a piece of the puzzle my own experience is. It makes you both hungry to see and experience more- as well as thankful for what and where you come from.

Well that's it for now. I have a lot more to catch up on, but it's 1:26 am...And I have some traveling to do tomorrow... More to come!

It's hard to believe I've been on the road for nearly two months now. Somehow it feels like it's been much longer, and much shorter at the same time. The last month has been all about developing a "new normal." Without going into too much detail, I'll give an example. As I write this, I'm stranded in Costa Rica with a very, very broken motorcycle, unsure if the bike's engine is going to be salvageable at all, and in desperate need of replacement parts that can't be found anywhere Central America. So here I sit. And wait.

But a big part of the "new normal" is learning that time, along with most things, are not under my control. I live in time's world, and must bend to it, never it to me. So even as the first few weeks demanded a speed and focus that I wasn't sure I was capable of, I now find myself with nothing but time. So here I sit, watching "Man on Fire" (probably a terrible thing to watch while traveling in Latin America) trying to capture my experiences and reflections from the first half of the trip before I forget them forever. In the interest of time (and the amount of stuff to cover, I'll go quickly- offering only snapshots (in words as well as pictures) of my experiences thus far.... Buckle up, vámonos, y'all.

When we last left our hero, he had just visited the ancient ruins of El Tajin and experienced the incredible hospitality of some Mexicans met on the side of the road...

The following day was a long, hard day's ride to Coatzacoalcos- not a particularly nice or pleasant town, but I was honestly just too hot, hungry, exhausted, and lazy to go any further. I had spent most of the day lost, and was frustrated at how little progress I had made. Coatzacoalcos is a pretty major industrial hub- not touristy in any way. A shower raised my spirits some, and I headed out into the town to look for some grub.

Unknown to me, there was actually a festival going on that day. What must have been half a mile down the beach was street vendors, dancers, and general carrying-on. I sat down at a restaurant and asked the waitress what she would recommend. I ended up with "pastor con queso," which although I'm still unsure exactly what it was (maybe pork?) it was incredible... seriously- like life changingly good.

The restricted time table on this trip has kept me from visiting a lot of places I would have liked to see. But it's also forced me to stop and see places that no tourist would ever go. (For example, at this festival of a few thousand people, I was literally the only white person there) The non-touristy destinations have given me a chance to see a better picture of daily life than I would have had otherwise, and I'm thankful for that. In the interest of moving quickly, I'll leave this entry brief.

Where to even start- Since leaving on the 20th, I’ve ridden over 6000 kilometers through 7 amazing countries, seen Mayan ruins and experienced Montezuma’s revenge, eaten amazing food and eaten bad food, experienced incredible hospitality and my camera stolen, been lost and been slightly less lost, experienced phenomenal generosity, and if I’m not mistaken, padded a border official’s wallet…

The miles covered over the last few weeks have offered me a lot- They’ve given me solitude. They’ve given me time to think and time to reflect. They’ve afforded me opportunities to experience incredible joy and incredible frustration. But it’s all been different- and that’s what I came here for. I’ve been given more than I know what to do with- Opportunities to see places that look less and less like home- And chances to see faces that look less and less like my own, yet share a common ground that I feel less and less capable of articulating.


There’s more to see than I’ll ever be able to write or even remember- The horse-drawn carriages laden with either dried palm leaves and fresh fruit or old engine oil and transmission parts. The aged women in the traditional Mayan dress carrying massive baskets of clothes on top their heads into their homes in the mountains. The orange groves that stretch for miles up terraced hills gradually disappearing into the mountains. Children with dirty faces begging for money on the side of the road just as they do day, after day, after day… I’ve seen wonderfully modern cities and blink-and-you’ll-miss villages that look as if they haven’t changed for generations. It all has a certain National Geographic familiarity to it, a familiarity that comes from images and pictures caught while flipping between channels over the last 25 years of my life. I have to remind myself that this is something I am actually experiencing, and not just watching on an informative cable TV special.


One of my favorite songs has a line in it that says, “Alone in Miami, and yet here I am, it’s funny how life seldom turns out how you plan.” While I’d have to change the name from Miami to some other city name I can neither spell or pronounce, the sentiment holds true. This trip has looked nothing like I had planned or expected. It’s been infinitely more stressful, difficult and exhausting than I could have imagined, and rewarding in a way I never could have hoped for. But I suppose that’s the nature of an adventure like this.

Thank you for bearing with me as I collect my thoughts. I do promise I’ll get to the details of my adventure, with stories of the people I’ve met and the places I’ve seen, but wanted to put up a framework for what was to come, like a doorway through which to experience the images, video, and stories from my trip thus far. This has been one of the most physically demanding, mentally taxing, and emotionally draining things I’ve ever done, and I wanted to make sure I captured my thoughts in broad strokes before I concerned myself (or you all) with the details.

While It's been a few days since I left Monterrey, there's still a lot to say about my time there. As I've said previously, I stayed at Back2Back, an organization that helps resource and facilitate orphanages in Mexico (and in Nigeria too!) It's a beautiful area, nestled in a valley of the Sierra Madre mountains. The people there have amazing hearts for kids, and it was really a joy to be around people that give so much of themselves.


Pulling into the gates of Casa Hogar Douglas was a huge relief. The cold, wet, confusing, and stressful ride into Monterrey left me exhausted, but I was immediately thrust into the middle of some more chaos-except this was the kind of fantastic chaos... A pizza party for 60 orphans. It would be difficult to describe the noise, excitment and general din associated with that many kids in a small room eating Domino's. (Yes, there's Domino's in Mexico. Subways too...kind of disappointing, really...but I digress.)


The next day was spent at Rio 3, the nickname for an area on the outskirts of Monterrey. Apparently the land bordering rivers is owned by the government, and the poor have claimed it as their own, setting up shanty towns. Trash literally fills the streets, and at times the smell is overwhelming. You can see where those few that are fortunate enough to have electricity have stolen it via makeshift cables off of the main electrical poles. Homes are built of unpainted cinderblock and whatever else happens to be laying around.


But as ugly and awful a place as it was, the people were incredible. The kids were some of the most sweet, and energetic little people you could ever hope to meet. Even living in a place that to me looked like hell, they wore smiles that were bigger than the tears in their jeans or the stains on their shirts.


We spent the day handing out food, groceries, and clothes. It was really an incredible opportunity to spend time one on one with some amazing kids.




All in all, it was a pretty incredible opportunity to meet people who live in a world that is so completely different from mine in most every way. Even as I was experiencing it, I wasn't sure it was real. It felt like I was living out someone else's memory or watching someone else's home movie. So much so that I asked a friend to take this picture. So I could remember that I was there, and that this experience belonged to me, and no one else.