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Old 09-26-2012, 10:28 AM   #31
cyberdos
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If there's ever a personification of getting out of one's own self induced comfortable constructs, it's Blake. The spirit which he carries himself with right now is to be admired.

I was happy to host him last night and dig into some much needed TLC on the KLR.



Yet I feel that even though the bike certainly needed the care, to Blake it wouldn't really matter either way. I believe his adventures on this trip and through life itself will work themselves out regardless of the hardships and obstacles which may present themselves down his path.

With a tool kit like this, how can they not be.



Safe travels amigo!
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Old 09-27-2012, 12:51 AM   #32
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It's been a great time in the States

Thanks Chuck, and whaddaya mean green? I've been riding for almost a collective year now
It was a treat to stop by and Lost is very happy with her new innards as well. Definitely enjoyed the route down to Phoenix you showed me!

Meeting Julio was great luck, as there were a couple of other issues (aren't there always) that I'm glad to have caught before getting going on the road. And I know, I know, I always overpack on tools... hehehe

All the riders I've met thus far have been awesome people, it's good to be humbled when you think you're all cool just because you can point the bike South (usually).

Anyway I'll post the latest tomorrow, catch up to where I am eventually but between riding and reporting I seem to do a lot more riding than I can keep up with!
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Old 09-27-2012, 09:36 AM   #33
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Time in transit again. I ride, digest the events of the journey so far, and lose myself in translation as the odometer spins steadily.

A rusty bridge with vines interlaced through the latticed steel beams stirs me from my reveries and off track. Further investigation leads me to discover the Wild Turkey Distillery, and as usual Lost proves herself a more than capable trespasser - barriers made for four wheels mean little to her two.

Some clambering and and wild turkeys later (yeah they actually have wild turkeys wandering around the distillery. In case anyone comes to challenge their cred?) I also found this cool looking thing.

So much to know.

The ride down through the Natchez Trace is dreamlike, the hills roll and the road curves endlessly repeating for 444 miles. I make it a fair way down, but the sun sets on the Trace and I set up the hammock at one of the many nature trails. On one detour I saw a lady selling fresh produce and decided to spice up my menu; for a dollar she gave me a basket of okra, a sweet potato and an onion. Add some of my trusty chile de Coban and dinner is delicious. Fireflies burn crazy neon lines across my vision in the dark, hundreds of them calling out for mates with their bioluminescent dance. I decide not to put up the tarp so I can watch them; the trees will cover me from rain long enough to set it up should I need it.

More of the same beautiful riding takes me down to Natchez, and then I'm riding interstates through Baton Rouge. At one point I notice what appears to be a vine covered mansion through an overgrown drive right off the highway. A U turn later I'm riding through a badly deteriorated estate; dilapidated towers watch my trespass impassively from either side. Pulling in front of what turns out to actually be a rather small property and an old Caddy that clearly hasn't moved in years I look for signs of habitation. Nothing indicates anyone is taking care of the place, but the windows are suspiciously clear. I can't see through into the darkness within. I listen for a reaction to my presence. Nothing. I leave the keys in the igition, on, as I cautiously begin to explore.

The light through the overgrown canopy is just taking on that golden evening hue, and I hunt for the right angle to capture the car and greenery. I can just barely make out someone calling out as I ready the camera. Shit.

I think they're just yelling "hello", so I decide to try the Stupid Tourist routine. "Sorry, I thought this place was abandoned, I just wanted to take some photos, I'll get off your property".

Clearly this place does not belong to whoever is inside. But I'm still not sure I want to meet the current tenants. A small dog comes racing out, yapping furiously. The voice yells "That's fine, take all the photos you want".

What's happening behind those inscrutable windows? Calling for backup? Loading the shotgun? Masturbating furiously?
I decide to risk it. This place is cool, the voice sounded feeble. Real gangstas live in cities with people to push around, we're directly off the highway in the middle of nowhere, and this fellow won't even show himself. I turn off the ignition, but leave the keys in and stay close to the bike just in case. The dog quickly submits to me after I throw him a piece of jerky. Some rapidly composed shots later, I get the hell out of dodge, marvelling at the oppressive presence of an encroaching wilderness that almost seems to say, "Humanity is lost here; soon this place will be alive again". I try again farther down the road, this time there's nothing but golden orb weaver spiders (massive, evil looking demons as big as your face; webs strong enough to catch birds).
I ride on towards New Orleans.

Night falls, I'm riding down the highway, and these strange spindly citadels covered in diamond lights beckon off in the distance. I finally pass one up close. The sign says polyethylene (?) processing plant. It's gorgeous, noctilucent clouds pumping out from tower stacks by the delicate looking structures. It looks like something out of Blade Runner. So I take some shots from the highway, but this deserves more detail. I pull in, ask at the front gate - sure, no problem they tell me.

I've got the tripod set up and am two shots in to a panoramic scene when a security car pulls up. I'm asked if I have any weapons, and patted down with my hands behind my head. "Welcome to Louisiana, eh?" I remark.
The guy is actually pretty decent about it, and I'm cooperating. My stuff is too dispersed to make a run for it, and besides what's the worst that could happen. He explains that this is an oil refinery. Oops.
It's when he tells me I'm going to have to wait for the police to come by and look at my camera that the warning bells sound. Okay, so I can delete the shots of the refinery... but what if he browses back a couple? I have barely taken any shots since passing by these nuclear plants in the mist and taking a ton of shots



. This guy has been throwing around the Homeland security card, like that justifies his treating me like a terrorist. But I can see how things might start to look bad, and remember I also have a bunch of shots of a generating station in Kentucky...

Now, I realize these people are trained, and have procedures, and in all fairness he is being pretty nice. But lets just look at the facts here. I took a bunch of great shots of the facility by standing on their sign by the road, crews rolled right on past me in trucks as I snapped away before coming up and announcing myself. So first of all, anyone could have taken these shots from the highway and just rolled off. And secondly, I am clearly not trying to be discreet here. Making me wait for the cops is a dick move. These are just the kinds of automata I despise - those who prefer to squander their human potential by sleepwalking through templates rather than examining their actions. Such a waste of free will. It's like a cop giving you a ticket for going 5 over. Yeah it's against the law, but the law exists so it can be enforced when it must, not at every possible opportunity. Anyway, there endeth the rant.

Nothing I can do but wait at this point, I don't know the laws here. It's decision time. I've heard you can recover deleted photos from a card... so I erase the whole thing. "Oh, you wanted me to wait until the police showed up? Sorry, I already deleted everything." We've gone through the procedure, and the fellow is joined by another security officer. With no template to follow, a more human conversation unfolds as I tell them what I am doing and where I am going. They have no mixed feelings towards New Orleans. The fellow who stopped me is a cop there also, and their unthinking bias is clear as they tell me to watch out for the blacks, the fellows who hold their guns sideways to shoot, the grifters who will get their big buddies to roll you right on the main streets in public. The cop arrives and it's a straightforward release, I have no information to give him they security didn't already get - I'm a vagabond, no phone, no address. I don't get a hard time about it, though he does insist on getting my dad's number so he can confirm my identity.

He chips in his two cents - "There's a bad part of town you should avoid. It's from the 'Welcome to New Orleans' sign to the 'Leaving New Orleans' sign;" the security folks tell me four of his fellow officers just got shot to death yesterday so I can understand how opinions in their circles may be polarized on the subject of crime in the city. I'm sent off on my way, with a warning not to try again as I'm now in their system.
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Old 09-27-2012, 10:39 AM   #34
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Anyway I'll post the latest tomorrow, catch up to where I am eventually but between riding and reporting I seem to do a lot more riding than I can keep up with!
Take your time. No need to rush. This is your adventure.

Ride on!
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Old 09-27-2012, 08:03 PM   #35
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Catching my breath

Quote:
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Take your time. No need to rush. This is your adventure.

Ride on!

You said it!

Killing time in Phoenix has been productive, however:
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Old 09-27-2012, 08:05 PM   #36
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The second-most posh Hobo Camp in New Orleans

Alright so the last post was photo sparse due to most of the recent shots being corrupted. I was lucky, and the majority of the shots came out, though I lost some keepers for sure.

The Refinery Incident behind me, I make it to a McDonalds and do a last minute websearch for a place to crash, as I'm not quite comfortable urban camping in the city until I've seen it in daylight and my couchsurfing connections have failed to come through. The cheapest place wins, and it looks like the international hostel it is when I show up - heavily bearded dude on an old recliner talking to an asian hipster smoking from a cigarette holder on the porch, scruffy potpourri of characters roaming around the stickerbombed front desk where a weary and slightly indifferent fellow informs me they're booked for the week.
Pity, fifteen bucks is about as cheap as it gets round these parts.

I follow his recommendation through the winding one-way streets and start to get a feel for the character of the town. The patchwork neighbourhoods have no architectural cohesion whatsoever - I'm passing by artfully wrought balustrades and slate-tiled roofs one block, low slung bungalows with taped up windows the next. I can't tell which is the "bad" neighbourhood. What would be considered trendy housing back home is backed up right against what any Northern American could easily identify as "ghetto", although the beads and gaudy props arranged even in some of the shabbier looking joints might be better classified as "ghettofabulous". Clearly this city has some complex levels to parse.

I make it into the recommended joint and go through some strange process where I have to prove I'm an international (we don't allow US citizens) so I can get into my room full of Americans (???). Whatever, it feels amazing to shower and shave, Jason the hilarious ubergay host entertains me as I cook up the last of my fresh produce and rice and befriend the cute girl in my dorm. The morning proves delicious - pancake buffet! I'm thinking this might not be too shabby a place to spend a couple of days when I'm informed the whole place is booked for the next few days - get out.

Oh well, I head out with Jean, a nice quiet asian guy from Houston and we check out the place Jason recommended. When I see the place I can't believe Jason calls his little outfit the "Ritz Carleton" and this the "Motel 6". It's a massive property with a pool and intricately curled French iron balconies, a local artist's magnificent woodcarving on display in the main hall; apparently it was originally an orphanage.





Well the faįade quickly fades as we're shown into our dorm. The TV is on it's face on a dusty shelf; the majority of the bunk beds have been partitioned off by wrapping sheets around to form mini apartments - the fellow next to us has taken up four beds with his makeshift home. As we lay our stuff down in silence, contemplating our sketchy surroundings, a shirtless fellow in the bed across from us starts making noises. He gets up, "Enh! Enh!", his scrawny shirtless form shuffles in a rough circle, he faces us and rubs his nipple absently while his abnormally large tongue fumbles awkwardly around.

I'm quickly back at the front desk.

"I realize I've already paid, but - what's the deal with the guy in our room? You know, the one who would make me come back here trying to get either a good explanation or his money back?" I don't mention the hobo camp.

The lady at the front fixes me with a look, and explains that his name is R. and he just happens to be a good person with a speech impediment who sometimes bites his tongue, and if he spits on you trying to talk it's not his fault, and he's a man like any other who will pee on the seat.

I reflect on this. It's clear that with tourism down and beds to fill they're allowing any crusty character to just set up shop. On the one hand, I feel that if I'm going to pay twenty bucks to sleep with the same transients I could share the underside of a bridge with for free, I'm not getting value for my dollar.
On the other hand, I'm actually a little pleased to patronize an establishment that isn't too proud to provide for the city's less fortunate. You'd normally expect a joint that caters to tourists would turn away these sorts simply to maintain their reputation.

Of course, it could be a matter of "money is money" (and very likely is, at least in part). But considering they dropped the price 5 bucks without me even trying and the look of my ragged roommates, I'm going to go ahead and assume they're not raking in the cash from these motley folks. I also noticed that one of the "staff" sleeps in my dorm. I suppose it's just the sort of pragmatism the confluence of Katrina and New Orleans style openness encourages. I doubt I'd find these inmates here in the high season though.

So I go back to report to Jean. We concur that one night of this will be acceptable, I'm just glad I have my belongings in locked cases bolted to the bike. Long as the bike stays in place...
No photos of the dorm itself - it just felt too personal, intrusive.

Well, today I have a little fun planned. The bankrupted Six Flags didn't leave just one amusement park to be reclaimed by nature and vagabonds...



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Old 09-27-2012, 09:55 PM   #37
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Yes, Arizona seems to be the place for upgrades before crossing over the border. Stick around another couple weeks and I'm sure we can get you a proper spring rate for that rear shock. One of the upgrades you got here in Flagstaff...688kit .

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Old 09-28-2012, 10:26 AM   #38
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...One of the upgrades you got here in Flagstaff...688kit .
Nice, Aprilia.
I was wondering where all those shavings had come from when we did the oil change.

We added a little bit of preload to the forks and some heavier fresh oil so it should be firmer up front at least.
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Old 11-05-2012, 09:47 AM   #39
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Tragedy and love in Mexico

No, the dearth of reporting is not due to my heart being stolen by one of the many beautiful ladies this country has to offer, though they sure as hell are trying.

The love here is an overarching love for this country in general, itīs people and culture. This is a great place, and the fact that I have spent far more time here than originally schedules vexes me not one bit.

I am vexed at the twin tragedies of my lens and laptop, the former which was shattered in a moto crash andthe latter which was stolen in Chihuahua. I spent 11 days in the copper canyon, in which time I actually managed to draft up all my updates up until about a week from current time... but those are no doubt erased now, my laptop in the hands of some dude in Chihuahua who canīt believe what a good deal he got on the computer.

I will take some time while the bike is repairing to rewrite a few, photos on hold since without a computer I canīt convert them proprly from RAW to jpeg. I need to catch up, if only to thank the people Iīve met on my journey, without whom it would have been twice as fast and half as enjoyable.

Cheers riders, hope those of you North of the border are enjoying a beautiful fall still.
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Old 11-05-2012, 12:17 PM   #40
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Been wondering where you were. I was glad to hear you bumped into some friends over there south of the border and saw some pics which indeed looked like you were having a great time. What did I tell you about the chicas in Mexico? Bummer about the lens and laptop.
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Old 12-22-2012, 10:40 PM   #41
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Time to perform some necromancy on this thread

Christmas is coming, and with it my first family reunion in Guatemala in years!

Conveniently enough, I have commissioned a laptop delivery. Updates to resume, I'm excited to get back into writing again. My little agenda is absolutely stuffed with detail, the adventure just keeps getting better and weirder.

Coming soon: New Orleans and Riding Through Hurricanes (I'll save the disappointment now and state that I just like exciting titles and didn't actually ride through Isaac), A Trespasser's Guide to Not Getting Shot in Texas, Riding To The Top Of The World, Utah and Other Planets, and the Rebirth of Frankenbike!

Not to mention Mexico...

I'm in Belize now, I'll have to search the forums but I feel I must have met a few people from the boards on my ride, hopefully I can catch up!

Cheers from an oasis of comfort in Belize, the report soon to be back rebuilt better than ever!
Or at least updating more or less regularly...


Construction Almost Finished, Thank You For Your Patience While We Build a More Radical Internet
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Old 01-07-2013, 05:31 PM   #42
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New Orleans; it might as well be Mos Eisley for the reactions I've gotten from people when I tell them my explorations take me there. A local girl I contact makes reference to a surplus of axe murderers. The local tongue-in-cheek rag runs a piece on Sudden Bullet Death Syndrome.

Still, reputations have a tendency to collect momentum and outgrow their origins, and I had to find out for myself. This is what I repeat to myself as I park my motorcycle at the Walgreens in the East end of town, ready for a first pass at the infamous abandoned 6 Flags / Jazzland park.

Getting in proves to be easier than I had imagined, despite me having to casually walk onto the highway by a cop writing a ticket at the turnpike and almost having to tread through a swampy moat before finding a proper path farther along the perimeter.

My heart is pounding with excitement and I sprint despite the sweltering heat. The gravel tracks are overgrown, it doesn't seem like anyone has been down them in a while. Nonetheless I take a minute to slow the pounding in my ears, stay sharp as I begin to wander through.



I spy some fellow delinquents atop a small coaster and sneak up on them to assess their group. Satisfied from afar that they're just bored teens, I sneak up on them and yell out "WHAT ARE YOU KIDS DOING HERE!?" in my best Official Cop Voice. I almost really regret it when a head pops out from the top of the coaster and some kid nearly loses his balance but their stunned silence gives way to chuckles when they realize it's just me. I ask them about the place, apparently they have been around a couple of times before but never run into anyone. As I suspected, it's pretty out of the way.

Before I depart they point out a set of four 180 foot high white towers in the distance, uncaged ladders extending to the top. They tell me no-one has ever been all the way up, and the graffiti ending around the 30 foot mark seems to corroborate. I have my goal for sunset.

Heading out to explore on my own, the first thing I do is head back to explore the Batman themed set they pointed out to me. Graffiti on the buildings, crumbling structures, empty spaces where rides have been reclaimed for material, and everything - everything - is climbable. There is just too much to shoot, climb, explore, and I revel in the overwhelming stimulation.

I especially liked this one when I noticed the Heller quote on review:


As the sun approaches the horizon I can't contain myself any longer and head for the white towers. The pathways are choked with overgrowth, wild vines with thorns that catch and tear. It's only skin. I pick the tower that feels the least exposed, but the truth is from the highway I can be seen from any of these towers unless I wait for dark.

One thing I've learned from my explorations is people just aren't paying attention, and those who are generally find themselves too busy to care. At least this is how I explain how I get away with shenanigans like this. Perhaps I'm just lucky; my recklessness will soon catch up to me.
In any case, the shadows are long, I start to climb.

I'm marking my progress watching the parallel set of towers across the fen, so as to not waste energy holding on and leaning out to get perspective. Energy is very important when it's the only thing keeping you from impromptu flying lessons. Around the halfway point I'm getting tired so I try to rest on the rungs by locking my legs in - no dice; I waste more energy just trying to keep myself balanced. The towers across are linked by a catwalk a few feet from the summit - I'll just keep going to the catwalk.

Hand over hand; a trancelike state as the rungs continue endlessly; repeated movements becoming automatic.

The trance is broken by a wave of vertigo. This is weird, very weird - I don't get vertigo. I'm commited; three quarters the way up. Not the place to develop sensitivity to heights.

The wind blows, and the vertigo comes again.

Looking down, it hits me. I haven't developed vertigo, the tower I'm clinging to at bone-shattering height is actually swaying. I'm relieved that my senses were correct, and wonder what this would feel like in the famous storm winds that ravage this part of the world. Shouldn't be long now, I'm almost parallel with the catwalk on the opposite towers.



In all fairness to me, I am just overloaded. The visual stimulation of this place's slow decomposition and reclamation by nature overwhelm the senses, and I'm flooded with adrenaline from a day hanging off the exposed skeleton of the various rotting structures.

All this to say, I might be forgiven for only having truly registered that the towers I was climbing were not identical to the ones I was marking my progress with across the overgrowth.

Still, I wasn't in a very self forgiving mood when, muscles tired and excited for a rest, I decide I'm close enough to the top that I'll be able to roughly gauge how far away the catwalk is by wasting some of my remaining muscle power on leaning out and looking up.

Oh, look at that.

There is no catwalk.

I look at the top, the challenge, probably twenty meters up.

My muscles burn.

The wind blows and my camera oh-so-gently nudges one of the rungs, releasing the lens cap to fall, fall, fall to the ground below. I don't even hear the sound it makes as it hits.

Screw it.
Time to climb back down. I'll be back, next time properly fed and hydrated.
As I reach the last 30 meters I almost slip on a rung I forgot was missing, and as I adjust my grip I hear the roaring of engines. They grow louder and louder, and shortly a pair of ATVs rip through the track around me. I try to grab a hurried shot, but I know the pole is swaying, it's dark, and the shots are blurry. I've been hanging on for fifteen minutes catching shots of the sunset and waiting for the riders to pass again when I remember I'm supposed to be tired and getting down to ground level.



Transported back absently as I savour the giddiness of mischief well managed, I find Lost waiting for me in the Walgreen's parking lot and ride in a fugue down the I-10 back home.
And as I crest the overpass the jewels of the city at night spread out before me. I reflect on the day, and decide I am not leaving tomorrow. Police lights flashing in the rear view, I smile and pin the throttle.

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Old 01-08-2013, 10:09 AM   #43
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Old 01-08-2013, 11:16 AM   #44
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Holy shit, has anyone told you that you are absolutely F'ing insane?!?!? I LOVE it! You are experiencing the kind of raw, adrenaline-induced adventure that I will (willingly) go to my grave having never experienced! I wish I had half of the balls and twice the brains that you do!

One question, it seems that you reference a lot of photos that I don't see in the ride report - such as the photos of the scary old place off the highway with the voice that never showed itself.

Is there somewhere else that you are storing these photos that I could explore? I don't want to miss a thing - this is AMAZING!
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Old 01-09-2013, 09:27 AM   #45
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Hahaha actually several people, for a while there I was keeping track of how often people told me I was crazy.
I take it as a good sign to be poorly adjusted to a broken society, so thanks!

I had my encounter with the law in Louisiana I lost a bunch of photos, and unfortunately the creepy disembodied voice's house was one of them.

I do however upload all my shots in bulk to my google plus account, thought it is completely disorganized and I think there are some doubles. I just use it to have links since I can't upload here.
https://plus.google.com/u/0/photos/1...74620418854961

The quality shots go to my flickr account: http://www.flickr.com/photos/elexplorador/

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Is there somewhere else that you are storing these photos that I could explore? I don't want to miss a thing - this is AMAZING!
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