By the way it was a jaguar.

Currently in Flores, Guatemala - 4134 miles. In serious need of a new back tire and new back brakes. Arrived via boat on the banks of the Usamacinta River-Picante Carnita is illegal as there was nowhere to import her into the country, this could be a big deal when I head to Belize tomorrow. Wish her luck!

To all the ladies - rush out and buy Pauline Croze ooh la la muy romantico.

Taptaptaptaptaptaptaptaptap--- tap---tap---tap-------tap------tap--------tap---------tap-----------------tap-------------------------tap----------ta………, the rain, drumming my tent most of the night with concerto vigor, starts to subside . Its morning. Without the rain distracting, I begin to discern the sounds of the Lacandon jungle surrounding me. Close, steps from my tent, the clear waters of Lago Miramar caressingly lap against the shore; farther, the birds chatter amongst each other, each with their own distinct stories to tell ; farther still, the howler monkeys do just that - they howl (if I didn’t know better I would assume they were forming a posse to come and tear into my two remaining snickers). I peek out my tent and see the sun cresting the horizon pushing itself up into a sky dotted with dark cumulus clouds, and on the edge of the lake I can see the silhouette of a Maya and his dugout canoe leisurely, without haste moving in my direction. Then, everything stops………..the stillness stirs an innate, primeval fear within….. and somewhere deep inside the forest of ceibas, zapote, twisting vines, scorpions, and all that is “the jungle” I hear a deep guttural, LOUD “RRRUUUUUUUUUUURRRRRRRRR”. I have no idea what it is but I feel that fear take over my whole being. If this thing wants my snickers it can have it.

So I have left the coastal waters behind and entered into the land of the Maya, Chiapas. I have been here twice before, but arriving this time was much different. My arrival was physically and possibly (who knows) mentally analgesic. I moved from the steamy lowlands of civilization below and passed through a dense mist making my way up into the highlands. Within the mist, moving through their lives, were Maya indios (Indians) and to be rather straightforward it was dreamlike, and maybe I did think I was in some sort of dream. Maybe…this mist was a place to leave all that minutiae that we have touched on before, that complexity of élan, and move onto a place where simplicity takes over. It was refreshing. And then the dream was over and I arrived in San Cristobal de Las Casas but I felt somewhat cleaner in the soul. Weird.

Ocosingo, Chiapas to Emiliano Zapata (Lago Miramar)

I read about a lake while in San Cristobal that seemed a place where I could really get away from the crowds. A place that to get to you had to fly-there was a road but nobody ever goes down it because it is in Spanish muy horible and to top it off it passes through the strongholds of the Zapatista movement. Perfect! I get a late start because picante carnita needed a little loving (aka new brakes and some tinkering with her battery ((the heat of Michoacán evaporated all the distilled water)) and I ride through the rain for 2 hours to the town of Ocosingo, “Disculpe, cual direcion a Lago Miramar?”, “Lake Miramar, are you serious, you cant go there, the road is horrible at the best of times and it has rained for 3 days, no you cannot go!”. “Its not a problem my motorcycle is strong, which direction is it?”. I ask maybe 5 or 6 people how far it is and where is the road to make sure I am going the right way and under their breath they would say, the gringo is crazy, he will not make it to Lago Miramar, what about the Zapatistas (geez, you’d think I was planning a trip to the moon). Finally I’m on the road and I gotta say this was probably one of the better aventuras pequenas I have had to date. 140 kilometers of mud, rain, jungle (I felt like I was riding through a exotic bird store at times), mountain ranges, two crashes, rivers, stream crossings, and did I mention mud (lodo, lodo, lodo, freakin mucho lodo!). And of course picante carnita was the most popular of the two of us on this trip-I passed through maybe 5 towns (including La Liberdad, el centro de los Zapatistas) and when the children would see the bike they would come running out of their casas screaming “UN MOTO, UN MOTO, UN MOTO, MIRA, MIRA, UN MOTO”. If I stopped within 2 minutes the whole town surrounded me, the whole town! Obviously not so many gringos had passed this way before. The route there took 6 hours. When I left Ocosingo they said 8 hours and then in every town that I stopped in they would actually add more time “how far to lago Miramar, “for you 8 hours”, next town 2 hours later, “how far to the lake”, “the lake? For you 9 hours” , next town 45 minutes later “How far to the lake”, “Oh far, maybe 10 hours”. I arrived in the dark to Emiliano Zapata where I slept with two tarantulas, one scorpion, and a lot of noisy beetles and the next day I hiked to the below lago Miramar through mucho, mucho, lodo! Hoowaaaa! I was only the 3rd person at the lake in the month of January and according to my guide the first ever to arrive on a motorcycle. Alright JD and Jen your turn.

I apologize for not finishing the last story a week ago from Michoacán. I floated in the water on that beach, read my book, perused my brain, evicted the minutiae for 2 ½ hours which is how long it took to receive my delicious fish. Upon the arrival of the delicious fish the large, abuelita apologized for the tardiness of my lunch but she had an excuse. This was not a restaurant, but only her house and she thought I looked hungry so she fed me. She charged me 40 pesos, I gave her a 100 peso bill, wherein for change I was given 5 cervezas for the road (she didn’t have any change). Only in Mexico do you receive your change in beer at a restaurant that is not a restaurant on a hidden beach of transcendence. God I love Mexico!

Everybody was kung fu fighting , huuaaa!

"Breedges, we dont need no steeenking breedges" crossing into guatemala, uhhh so your just gonna let me off here on the bank, wheres da road man"

'Cannonball comeeeng, cannonball comin"

La Ceiba

Victor de la Selva, super sueno Lacandon dude

The nice Mexican mujer I traveled with for a few days.

Enrique liked the bike and I promised him I would put him on the blog. He's Lacandon, all thes guys have pelo largo, they're lady killers.

camping with some local Lacandon peeps and the 4 hottest Peruvian girls I have ever seen near the guatemalan border, can u say bikini-holy smokes!

After the jungle I shelled out 20 whole bucks for my own cabana on the river-this place was blinging (Los Guacamaya)

Now these two were a hoot. 2nd place i got food that was not a restaraunt and the old fella talked to me for over an hour. bacon, eggs, coffee 2.25$

picante learns to swim

The "other way" to arrive-takes all the fun out of it, but i gotta say the military escort is a nice touch.

1. trail to lago miramar 2. lago miramar 3. lago miramar 4. 3 days in the jungle and i forgot to bring toilet paper look

These cats look pretty sketchy huh? Try picking the 3 that get to sit on the bike out of 30.

the sign to my left pretty much states "hey, this is a zapatista town and we are zapatistas!"

the road to lago miramar

I’m at that place in my trip where I come and go when I choose. There is no destination, just potential. I’m hungry so I turn down a dirt track that I am pretty sure will lead me to the beach and it does. Now this is when letting time and instinct just happen really coalesce. In front of me is a half-shell beach enclosed by hidden, enclosed towering cliffs, small rocks nudge playfully above and below the surf. The water is that color that you dream water on “your” perfect beach should be. Waves roll in at the pace of four deep breaths. A palapa sits at the west end of the beach and this is where I head. I’m sure its not a restaurant but I’ll give it a shot. A woman, I’m certain she is Nahuatl (Mexica for those in the know, others Aztec) engulfs a chair in the sand (actually she could be hovering she is so large there is no chair to be seen). I ask her if she sales food and she replies in Spanish, “yes I have the most delicious fish for sale”, “I’ll take it”. I peel away my riding clothes and dive into the water and transcend. Yes, here in Mexico when you point your bike down a track that looks as if it goes nowhere, but it certainly goes somewhere it is that easy to find transcendence. Hello that’s why I am here. As I am floating I watch the round woman (everything is round about her, her face, her arms, her fingers, her well your getting the point) pull two fish from a basket and begin to strip them of their scales.

Earlier in the morning I was sitting on the beach watching the sun rise and trying to decide which of the 5 pelicans in front of me was the better fisher bird when a Frenchman came up to me and said, “hello, so yoo ar de one hoo is on dee big moto and sleeping in dee little teent”, “yooo arr a veery strong man for sooch a treep”. We talk for a half hour or so and I ensure him in time that I am certainly not such a strong man in many endeavors, this endeavor maybe, but I have many weaknesses in other areas. He says to me that this does not matter because here I am peeling away the minutiae of life by choice (you have to do the French accent yourself from here on) now when I am still young and I am not waiting until I am old like him. He tells me that he has no regrets in life, but….

I have been floating in the water for maybe 30 minutes now pondering those questions. Which questions, well the ones that you begin to ask when you discard all of the distractions, the minutiae. You begin to ask them in your normal, cyclical life but they are ephemeral , easily put off and for most of the you (us) it is much easier to let them lie (play on words for those not so quick). I take a minute and look toward the palapa, it looks as if the senora is back in her chair pondering her own existence, no worries I am sure my “delicious fish” must be now marinating in its “delicious sauce”.

to be continued

Currently in Puerto Escondido saying hello to Kristine, a good friend from Denmark. For anyone who would like to know there are exactly 226 topes between here and Acalpulco (shithole where all old Canadians go to die).
Somewhere in Oaxaco I had an attempted highway robbery by 3 masked banditos with machetes, I really wasn't in the mood and rode over the pathetic roadblock they had erected. Peace out muchachos, dont mess with a guy jaded by love riding la picante carnita, freaking amateurs. Don't worry momasita, if the pros try and rob me I'll give em a couple bucks. Some good ole vern philosophy coming tomorrow if I have time after I change my back tire.

Its always easy to find good help in Mexico.

Was looking for the perfect campsite this night and found it in these peoples front yard. me pueda acompar aqui por diez pesos? si! perfecto!

So I pass this guy right before the sun is setting somewhere in the middle of no where Michiocan (sweet twistys JD, i was eating them up)and I'm thinking OK I gotta hear his story. I turn around and stop and ask him where he is going and why. Now every time I capitalize the letters it is Larry's voice raising in pitch and decibel. "I been WALKING all the way FROM the border man" long pause "for six MONTHS man, I'm FROM CHEE CA GO!" Larry mis amigos was freaking nuts but what a hoot to talk to. The last thing I asked him was why are you walking so far and he replied "I'm running from the US GOVERNMENT man..." "what you running from?" I think about it and say, "women, well maybe just one woman." He says "You better get a faster bike." That kept me laughing for a couple days.

Larry FROM Chicago

OK mom, I'm right about here since you were wondering.

The best and only biker bar i have found in mexico, bahha de navidad.

Pancho, I'm telling you hombre one trip is all we will need.

Currently in Mazatlan, 1992 miles, 380 miles on dirt,13 days, 11 beaches, 6 free campsites, one brothel hotel, 39 beers, 6 margaritas, one bottle of tequila, one crash, one almost crash with a small cow (when finding out the ex has a new boyfriend do not take it out on windy corners in baja, Im talking probably 10 inches from el big crasho, no mas verno), one chicken dance, 1,000,098 cacti- give or take, a lot of freaking tacos, and one slowly but surely Vern returning into being Vern.

chicken dancing all over the tropic of cancer, booya!

mis maestras de espanol, these girls are more my speed, can you say cute and 5 hours of hablando rapido con los ninos en la lancha

picante carnita does not like to sleep outside alone

Note to self: When you get off the ferry from La Paz do not take advice from the guy hanging out at the taco stand at 12 midnight for the best, cheapest hotel in Los Mochis.

Note to self #2: When you ask the guy at the hotel how much the room is he quotes you not by the night but how many hours you will use it maybe move on to option #2.

Oh yeah ladies above you will see the sweet suite Hotel Popeye, notice the personal pool with accompanying skylight and dancing pole, bedroom with yes another accompanying dancing pole and HOOWAAA little sister a mirror on the ceiling. 10$ for 8 hours, come on you wish your boyfriends and husbands could only dream of bringing you to such a place. YUCK!!!!! but hey it was cheap. Picante carnita loved it she had her own personal garage.

sunrise with a cup of coffee

end of the road, once the largest mission in baja but the locals realized hey we dont need that big church, lets blow it up , use the rocks for houses

road to san javier across baja east to west 45 miles of desert and nobody, sweet shizzle drizzle

whale tail

1. grey whales in scammoons lagoon. 2. man with a hammer 3/4 road to san borja. 5 bahia de los angeles xmas day

I was eating lunch today in a small poblado in southern baja pondering nada and I looked up from my 5th tamale and saw an old ranchero staring at me from across the street. Blue skies, brown rolling cordillera mountains shading darker as they roll past the skyline, cactuses (of course) standing tired and very not erect behind and amongst him. Dust swirled around as if it was part of him and followed him wherever he went. His pants were cinched up with a rope, he wore a sweat stained cowboy hat and he blended into that backdrop as if he was just part of the picture. He was supposed to be there. He stared from across the street for maybe 5 minutes and then kind of limped, yet not really a limp (can you limp without limping, cause that's what he was doing) over toward me, stopped in front of me, maybe 8 feet away and looked at me. But to be honest he wasn't looking at me, he was reflecting his years upon mine and he was contemplating our circumstances. His yesterday was as is his today which will be as his tomorrow. I would have given all the money in my pocket to know what his perception of me was and how that perception could but probably wouldn't change his life (the old fella also could have just been wondering how anyone could eat two burritos, five tamales, and an empanada, wonder how that will change his perception in life).

So here comes the philosophy kids-I remember writing a few years ago about what I thought wisdom was and it always came back to the decisions one makes. I always throw out that saying "...everything you do, you touch, you smell, you think, you hear, etc.. affects you by a factor greater than zero" and I am still sticking to that, but wherein wisdom stirs is how these things change your perception or if you let them. When your perceptions change a decision you would have made before, you might not make now. So my new theory of wisdom is that it is experience, which changes your perception, but only if you are paying attention. Did I mention it feels good to get out of that fucking office so I could eat burritos, dodge burrows on my moto, and contemplate the meaning of life through the eyes of old rancheros south of the border. Feels fucking great!