Tupiza, Bolivia, was a welcome respite from the arid environment I had been riding through since Uyuni and the salt flats. In a green valley along the Tupiza river, dramatic red rocks formations jut upward to the sky contrasting with the coarse dry terrain I was accustomed to the past hundreds of miles. It was a little earlier than my usual arriving time to stop and spend the night, but the next city of importance was according to my gps 209 kilometers away, and a whopping 4h30 driving time. So be it, I strolled the main street slowly and found a great looking hotel in the center of town. This city seemed to be overran by tourists and hikers, many blond heads in shorts with huge backpacks walking by ascertained this notion…. My room was surprisingly cheap for the 4 stars they claimed, parking, wifi and included breakfast, what a deal! A good dinner nearby, it had been a great day. Now I started to wonder why it took 4 and a half hours to Tarija a mere 209 kilometers away…

At breakfast I chatted with a young friendly couple of Québécois, they are overlanders, travelling on a modified camper truck, returning north. They stayed in this hotel, the first time in days, because as the young lady explained, they were in pressing need of showering! I was happy to have a conversation, in French mind you, that was the first dialogue, other than with myself, I had for a long time. They recanted their adventures in big slices, and warned me about the police in Bolivia. They had a minor fender bender with a taxi a few weeks ago and the police impounded their vehicle for a week, they paid a huge fine to recover it and it was a serious headache that costed them plenty, good to know I sympathized. I spend the rest of the morning typing up a story that you probably read a few days ago, and was on my way to Tarija.

Everything was cool and dandy, beautiful weather, I took off my jacket and pullover and was smiling away beatifically. When suddenly the turn off to Tajiar appeared, but there was no road! This was a trail of dirt, pretty flat at first, my phone indicating that there was 167 kilometers of it! Damn, but you know what? I have no choice, and America is made for it, remember the Copper Canyon, this looked way easier, so let’s press on. I took a few little videos to remember this section of off-road traveling, the scenery was mind boggling beautiful, this reminded me of the Burr Trail in Arizona, near Lake Powell, where I once led a group of French Jeep dealers way back then. Mountains, lots of them, as far as the eye can see appeared and the trail started to incline, and turn, and descent, not so easy after all. Looking at my speedometer I was averaging 25 kilometers an hour. Rapid mental math scared me a bit, at this pace I would arrive at my destination way into the night… I increased my speed, terrifying myself a few times. The path was quite narrow at times, and sheer plunging cliffs below justified the now numerous small little houses, one foot high with crosses on top, flowers and garlands, honoring the foolish drivers who perished in these corners… I was cautious but my heart was beating a little faster than normal I think. Frightening moments when truckers were charging the other way, incredulously oblivious of my tiny presence, forcing me to be too close to the edge, I was cursing like a mad sailor at them, they didn’t seem to care.

And then, boom! I was hit by a bus! In a very hairy hairpin curve, I was near the middle of the trail, on my side, when this huge red bus slammed into me! At that very second when I saw it coming so fast into me, I thought, shit! This is it?! I could see the bus driver eyes at my level, crash! I was thrown out and landed on my right side away from the wheels of the bus and saw parts of plastic fly out of America’s body. But I am alive! Now I’m hoping for the best for my loyal monture. I’m on my back, feeling like I’ve just been hit by a bus, and the bus driver comes out screaming and swearing saying its all my fault and talking non stop at high volume and speed, I’m ignoring him and dislodge America with the help of a few passengers from its entanglement with the bus front bumper. America is right side up and I examine the damage. The windshield is broken, the protective lens protector supposed to save the expensive LED headlight bulbs did its job, but its broken in 3 pieces, most importantly the whole gauge system, a square box indicating everything, the speed, the gear you’re in, the fuel reserve, the odometer, is fractured and non functioning, major expense I think. The handle bar is now crooked to the left, but everything else seems fine. The luggage behind stayed put, and I’m pushing the bike to the side, something is lodged in the front wheel and it clicks badly, I remove a long piece of clear plastic from the stokes. The front wheel seems ok, the back part of the bike was untouched. I try to restart, nothing, no light, nothing. I turn off and on a dozen times. No noise, no trying to start indication, no response, I’m devastated, thinking this might be the end of the trip… She’s dead in the water! All the while, the driver is screaming and I can hear Policia, Policia and Seguro (insurance) he’s asking for my passport, I refuse to show it to him, we’re at an impasse. Meanwhile, the traffic behind me and behind the bus increases and is stopped, honking everywhere. I’m frantically searching for anyone to speak English, or French, or German? Nothing.

I’m covered in dust and limping from the shock, my rib cage is hurting, I’m sitting down, a nice lady passenger of the bus offers me water. The driver seems to have calmed down, he is still saying its my fault, I was driving too fast. In my poor Spanish I retort that he was in the middle of my freaking lane, if there was one, he didn’t honk or slow down in the curve, I could have died! Somehow the temperature of the conversation lowered, he’s telling me that he has to continue on, he has a schedule, he’s offering a solution and takes me apart from the crowd. He says obviously I cannot stay there with a dead damaged bike in the middle of nowhere, the nearest town is where I came from, Tupiza it is 70 kilometers away. Give me 500 dollars to fix the bus damage, it’s true that America did a good job at destroying his bumpers, and no Policia, we put the motorcycle in the bagage hold and you come with us to where we’re going, Villazon, it’s a big city, a border town, 5 kilometers away from Argentina, it’s bound to have a taller de motos (moto mechanic) there…

I’m recalling the horror story I heard that very morning from the Canadians, the fine, the impounding of the bike maybe, all the passengers seem to be on the side of their driver, bastards! The honking persevered louder, tensions are high, it’s damn hot… I agree with Pedro the bus driver, and a few men helped us to slide America into the bus bagage area. It took us a good half an hour, pushing and shoving, but as I was partaking in the huffing and puffing, shoving and pushing and pulling, I don’t where or how, but I managed to puncture my left palm and badly scrape a few knuckles. I’m dripping beautifully red blood all over the cargo hold, I can hear Pedro grumbling, he pushes me away to go bleed outside. I foraged into the bags I had removed and find my first aid kit. I’m trying to put a large bandaid on the wound, but its too wet, it doesn’t stick! I waste a couple more bandaids when a little schoolgirl of 9 or 10 pulls out of her Minnie Mouse backpack a roll of scotch tape, her mom helps me put the band aid secure with the sticky tape, it works! I tell the girl that she’s very intelligent and will be a great doctor some day, she shies away in her mother’s ample green skirt, beaming. By now America is in the hold awkwardly on its side, but fuel is leaking out, a drizzle, but still, its gasoline man! We put a huge spare bus tire under the bike’s engine, that’s took a lot of efforts, but it stopped the leak, yeah! We’re good to go. An hour or so later we’re back on the pavement and on our way to Villazon.

During the 2 hours bus trip I’m imagining all kinds of scenarios, can I tow the beast to a large city where we may find a dealer, repair shop? What if it is terminal? What if she’s totaled? Would my travel insurance help me to bring me back home? I’m trying to visualize the best outcome, but it looks bleak at the moment… I discreetly remove 300 hundred dollars from the secret zipper pocket of my belt, 2 crisp Benjamins and 5 Jacksons, that’s all I’m prepared to pay / bribe the greedy bus driver…
We arrive at the bus station, all passengers disembark. Pedro disappears to his manager’s office.
I remain on the bus, waiting, he finally comes back and says that he doesn’t know of any moto mechanic in this town. He’s got service on his phone, I show him how to look for things, there is a general mechanic shop 1.2 kilometers away, it’s still daylight, let’s go!

This place looks like a horror movie location, old tires all around the shop, bits and pieces of engines strewn all over the sandy ground, and I’m still locked up in the bus, while Pedro goes talk to the mechanics. He comes back and set me free, there are 6 or 7 men in dirty grey overalls milling around, they’re all covered with grease all over their faces and they all look kinda ugly and they have this retarded look in their eyes, but I’m being facetious… Well first thing first, they all climb in the cargo area and push come to shove, America is out, standing up on its stand. I’m heartbroken but can look more closely at the damage. OK, the whole front is messed up, but the rest is unscathed. I turn the key, the lights come right up! I’m trying the turn signals on, they all work, well the right one is broken, but even the brakes light work, I try to put it in neutral, a sad little green light shows up in the broken screen, this works too. I push the starter button, and whaddya know! It starts right up! She’s actually purring, I’m crying with happiness! I jump on it and make a few rounds around the yard to the applause of the grease monkeys! She runs fine, clunky noises from underneath but nothing seems to infer with her rolling around, I’m elated. One of the men runs to his car and comes back with a roll of packing tape. Quickly the broken windshield is re-affixed somehow crookedly but this works. I think we can continue on The Trip…

Now I’ve got to work with Pedro, I take him aside and plainly but firmly I tell him in my Spanglish that I don’t think the damage is worth more than 2 hundred dollars, besides that’s all I have on me. We go back and forth for a while, I’m imploring him telling him that that is all I have in the world, I shove the 2 bills in his hand, he threatens to call the police. This goes on for a while, then I take my metal wallet, I show him that I only have this money left, I have the 5 twenties and a bunch of Bolivian bank notes totaling a couple of hundred bobs, I know, that the name of their currency, Bolivianos something. I invent a story that my lovely wife is waiting for me in Rio and that’s all I had left, he doesn’t buy it, so reluctantly I give him another 60 dollars and he then shakes my hand, I feel we both won something. He admonishes me once more, telling me I could have died, and to be careful and goes back to his driver seat. He turns his bus around and screams while driving away for me to not forget to pay these guys for their help in getting La Moto out of the bus! Put on the spot I give 40 bobs to the tape man and another 60 to the rest of the guys to grab a beer on me! I put the bags back on and leave as quickly as I can waving Mucho Gracias to all. The ordeal is over.

I had seen some tall and nice looking modern hotels near the bus depot and I’m looking for them, longing for a hot shower as I’m still covered in dust, grime and blood. But I get lost and can’t find the bus station. But as I’m driving around I come upon a more modest looking hotel and I gladly pay the rent for a room with no private bathroom, luckily my remaining Bolivian cash allowed me this room and a comfy dinner nearby, a hot soup and some fried trout, I could even afford a cervesa ! I could have hidden this whole episode to the lovely wife and wait until I was back home to tell her the tale, but a few years back I vowed to not lie anymore ever, that’s crazy I know, but I only use little white lies now, like sure honey this looks great on you, just kidding!! It was nice and comforting to have this conversation, I needed the sympathy and the love. People are saying I must have a good gardian angel, but I disagree, she must have been on a break or taking a nap otherwise there would be no bus accident at all. I guess she was sleeping on the job and rudely awaken by the shock, suddenly saving the day, ok let’s make sure he doesn’t die first, then let’s salvage the bike, ouf, this guy makes me work!!

The morning after was rough, I’m limping and holding my rib cage, but I’m all right, I’m willing it. Now I am 5 minutes away from Argentina! I had decided to skip that country all together, planning ahead to fly to Buenos Aires with the lovely wife on a future communal trip to the highlights of South America. We’ll also fly to Chile, rent a car and go to the end of the world together in Patagonia. The road to Brazil goes east through Paraguay. Sure it was a direct route from Bolivia, but they don’t have paved roads going that way. I had enough of dirt, and now that I am at the door of Argentina I’m zooming in with satellite view on the itinerary provided by google maps. There’s pavement on all the roads I can take to my next destination, Asunción, so here we go, another country to explore!

This was by far the most unpleasant border crossing of all since the beginning of this journey. I arrived at 9:30 am and was through at noon! The Argentine custom lady was as lovable as a prison door, she made me take all my bags out and inspect content even after I had to put them through the scanner machine! What a bitch! Then I had to go purchase a motorcycle insurance in town before she would let me in the country, keeping America hostage. I only had 10 Bolivianos left, fortunately the taxi driver didn’t care which currency worked and he knew where the insurance office was. He took the cash and dropped me at the place. She sold me a policy, but didn’t take credit cards! 10,000 pesos, about $29 but the policy covers me for 30 days in Argentina, Paraguay and Brazil, I wont have to worry about this for the next 2 crossings. I still had a hundred dollars in twenties in my pocket so to the Pharmacia I go. They would only take 80 dollars because one of the bills had a small tear on the side! Laughable but that’ll work. Another cab fare back to the border patrol, and it’s freedom time! Took long enough! But the prison door lady didn’t want to accept my receipt as proof of insurance, the insurance gal had told me it would take five hours for me to receive the actual policy by email… I asked for the supervisor, real Karen like, but the man was understanding and stamped my entry visa in my passport, giving a dirty look to the beeatchh, yeay!

I forced myself to ride 4 and a half hours to the little town of Perico. Every thing seemed fine with America, except from a clunking noise… Every so often, I checked the chain, and it looked quite loose actually, I swore to take care of it at my next destination. Driving blind with the cracked screen did not bother me too much, after all America and I are very much in sync, I don’t need no sticking screen to tell me what gear
I’m in, I can sense it! Furthermore, I dont need to know how fast I’m driving, hardly anyone is on the road, I can be the speed demon I want to be. Now the gas situation is a little more tricky, I know I can get about 350 kilometers if I’m not speeding the whole way, but there’s no markings now in front of me… I fill up with gas often, sometimes it only takes 5 or 6 liters, I’m baffled but I played it safe on that first day in the new country.

I arrived at twilight, nice little hotel and I’ve got a whole garage to myself. I take my tools out, and yes, I did adjust the chain all by myself. I’m sending mental thanks to my mentor, Steve, who taught me how to tighten the chain to the right measurements, I even greased the chain as he showed me, I was pretty proud, me with my two left hands,
I did it! I took her for a ride, no more clunking! Allelouyah! I had a nice talk with the lovely wife still worried about my condition, I’m fine, I promised, I’m exhilarated that I can go on and finish the trip. I took 2 aspirins and slumbered in a dreamless night….