Soggy sky,
Fog and mud,
Mountain pass,
Another rut.
Land Cruiser,
Bikes on roof,
Brazilian driver,
And a dirt road that wanders.
Six with driver,
All cramped inside.
Hours of driving
Relentless ride.
A lot of dozing,
Engine droning,
And a Pink Floyd song
Floats through the speakers.
A dream, he wonders?
Over the crest
And then we stop.
Unload the bikes,
Attach the wheels,
To Sorata we ride.
No need to pedal,
It’s mostly down,
But check your brakes,
Control your speed.
Intriguingly,
We’re riding a fine line,
Between old world and new.
Muted colors of the Altiplano,
Wool Ponchos, and Fedora’s.
Brilliantly contrasted
With lightweight bicycles,
Colorful jerseys and helmets.
Soon, the town appears
In the valley below.
No surprise- the map said it would happen.
So, on down we go.
Get to town,
Find the hotel,
Unload the stuff,
Take a shower.
But there’s no water.
So,
Take a nap,
Wander the hallways.
Consider the snake skins,
Along with some maps.
And then it happens,
The water comes back.
Wash off the road,
Break-out the wine.
Finally, it’s time to tell the tales.
While there was nothing gruesome,
Or crashes that day,
There is still so much that remains to say.
Ultimately, it’s off to sleep.
Quiet time to wonder, ponder, and dream.
About the things to yet unfold.
Some will seem profound, others trivial,
Many unexpected, and all amazing.
And each with a story
That begs to be told.
For what it’s worth
A word of advice…
Embrace the unknown,
Hang on for the ride,
Travel the road,
Make adventure your guide.
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