Greetings Fellow Nomads, Vagabonds, Ramblers, Dreamers, Riders!



I will use this page to as a link page to articles later on, so as time goes by check the bottom for added links.

Also, if you ever want to see more pics, maps, other writing, or my live location, fee free to visit my website: Alexander Tolchinsky

Where I am Now:Loja, Ecuador
Time on Road: 2 years, 9 months
# of Countries:13
Distance Traveled:54,000km

What the hell I'm doing:
On August 8th, 2011, after a decision made 3 weeks prior, I bid farewell to my cousin, my niece and the last 7 years in New York City, and hit the road on my 1999 Honda Magna VF-750 (to be swapped for a 2005 KLR later ). In the weeks leading up to the day I had given up my apartment, sold most of what I owned, shipped a few boxes to my mom, and said good bye to all my friends and students.

I set out to circumnavigate the globe, via 100 or so countries.
I knew better than to predict how long it would take, or to pretend I knew exactly why I was going. The only thing I was sure of was that I needed to go. My 29th birthday was approaching, I had finally found my calling as a teacher, and also realized that I would never write the books I wanted to write as long as I taught public high school. As much as I loved what I was finally doing with my life, there was no room for writing, not after 12 hours of teaching and planning and grading and just being there for the students. I saw what happened to Frank McCourt (worked 40 years as a teacher, retired, wrote 3 amazing books, and promptly died), and I didn’t want that to be me. I also knew that as I was getting to be the age where I should start thinking about marriage and kids, and there was no way I could ever leave them for however many years it would take to go on this journey. So it was now or never, and I chose now.

With every passing day the purposes of my journey reveal themselves. My writing and ideas take shape, and the stories and messages I want to share with the world become more and more apparent.

The following blog is a record of my journey.

Mexico Starts here, at the bottom of page 3: http://www.horizonsunlimited.com/hubb/ride-tales/around-the-world-long-takes-72622-3

So have you been on the road for two years? It will be great to read about your adventures. Are you still travelling or have you 'made it'?

Welcome and congrats on your first post!

PN

Hi Paul!

I've been on the road for almost 26 months now, and am still at it!
Though currently I am taking a month recovery in New York because the last year has been... ummm, lets just say dengue was involved, and that wasn't all. But I will be back to Georgia (my steed), who I left in Costa Rica, on the 29th of October.

Thanks for asking!!

Why The Motorcycle?
Though a lonely endeavor by virtue of space, motorcycles function to bring people together. It doesn’t matter whether you ride a sport bike, cruiser or enduro, or whether it’s a Honda, BMW or Harley, as long as you ride you belong. On the loneliest road, after hours of solitude you will pass a biker and he will extend his hand in greeting, engulfing you in a wave of warmth and camaraderie.

A thousand unspoken words pass through that hand, and there is only one way to hear those words: buy a motorcycle. Then, as you make your first fall, soak during your first unexpected downpour, blow a tire in the middle of nowhere, have your marrow frozen by the damp and wind, become happily lost on precipice framed switchbacks… then all of you will be shared in the wave and as the other passes he too will know and share your story.

This sounds like owning a motorcycle is an exclusive pursuit, but I would argue that it is one of the most inclusive activities in the world, capable of bringing together people from every corner of the world.

A motorcycle is the cheapest form of mechanized transportation available, and the most ubiquitous throughout the world. This means that rich or poor, 1st or 3rd world, you have access to the club. Doctors will ride next to teachers, and plumbers, and fruit vendors. Unlike so many other pursuits, regardless of whether you are seasoned or a novice, you are welcome in the club, and no grizzly rider of 30 years will scoff at the youth on his first steed when he waves “hello”. The motorcycle is the great equalizer; it eliminates the divergence of peoples that society inflicts on us. The motorcycle also means access. Access to parts of the world where cars cannot reach, access to people who are generally more empathic towards the traveler for whom safety and comfort are not a given. That degree of shared danger, like that of wars or other worldly struggles, creates a bond between riders, and those who understand their challenges.

Invariably motorcycles pique interest, arriving in a town or village on a motorcycle brings out the children and the locals. You are more likely to be invited into a home, more likely to be told stories and dreams of travel. You are therefore more likely to discover the underlying veins of similarity between yourself and the strangers you have met. In that manner a motorcycle functions to create ties of peace and understanding that few diplomats can achieve. You don’t need to go to college to learn how to ride a motorcycle and to understand the people you meet. All you need is an open heart and an open mind. And it is meeting real people which is the best weapon against ignorance and hate.

Futbol (soccer) has had a similar unification of peoples, as has art. But motorcycles offer even more as they bring people together who are further apart geographically, as well as financially or socially, and engage them in a shared struggle and joy which binds them ever firmly together. In the past, war has served as the great unifier, the creator of lifelong friendships. But these ties rarely cross borders, and the world pays a debt of millions dead for those sacred ties. Whereas bikers from every country will meet and share stories of their adventures, and open the door to sharing their lives, and friendships flourish quickly as people discover otherwise hidden similarities. No death, no hate, just a shared love of the road and of our world’s great natural gifts.

A secondary influence of motorcycles is that of natural preservation. The average motorcycle is as fuel efficient than the most advanced hybrid, at a fraction of the cost. The average biker seeks the road to witness in person our glorious mountains and forests and lakes and sunsets. This exposure, this removal from our encasement in houses and offices, makes bikers appreciate our world and work all the harder to see it preserved for future generations. I would argue that if every person on the planet were to spend just one weekend in a place like Glacier National Park, or in the Alps, or in the Serengeti, they would think twice before throwing something out the window, or voting to remove protections on wildlife refuges, or waste water. Bikers are witnesses to our nature’s beauty more often than most people, and if they are not environmentalists at first, they quickly become so.

The travel informs, the struggle unites, and the passion infects. Motorcycling is truly the next step in cultural understanding, the creation of the bonds of peace, the promotion of sustainable travel, and preservation of our planet.




Why The Pen?
It took a long time to figure out that the purpose of my
journey should be discovering the common bonds which
unite us as a people. We always focus on differences, and
even try to “celebrate” them, but we are still so far from
unified. What we have in common is often harder to see,
but I believe that if we can find these common bonds we
can truly start to appreciate the fact that we are all human
beings - beyond race, culture or borders - and respect each other
for that simple fact.

I don’t always write about this in my blog, as it will take me
the world before I encounter most of our cultures and am able
to draw any conclusions, so for now I hope you just enjoy
the ride.


(trying to put a sticker together, any thoughts, suggestions or help is greatly appreciated, as my creativity starts and ends with the camera )

Next up: First days on the road!

Well written Alex!

Thank you for sharing your story and thoughts! Because i`m also looking for a good timeframe to "go" for an undefined amount of time - i`m very interested how do you look&feel about traveling after a good amount of time!

suscribed

Surfy

__________________
About Overlanding, Travelogues, Equipment
Trans-Africa over the west coast

Hey Surfy,
I'm glad you like it! Let me know if you ever have any questions, I will be happy to help any way I can!
-AMT

Steelhorse wonderful to learn about your ride. Do come to India. Be my guest anytime.

Sent from my GT-I9082 using Tapatalk

Thanks Kayjay!! I am certainly coming to India... it will take me a while as I am still in Venezuela, and am very slow (both physically, and mentally is seems).
Thanks so much for the invite! I hope to meet you there... or somewhere else on the road...?

It's not a good day when the camera and GPS, on which you spent your last pennies, break!!
The camera took a fall from Georgia and off Canelo (the actual horse I rode in the plains), and the GPS was destroyed by batteries leaking from the excessive humidity.
Already got lost in the mountains due to heavy fog, and found half of my pictures out of focus.
No bueno.

Off to cross the entirety of Venezuela in pursuit of the last drops from Angel Falls.

Cheers!

Posada Don Carlos is a real nice place to base out of in Cuidad Bolivar run by a German expat named Martin, also has a KLR, he has nice underground parking garage, good place to do any needed maintenance before heading into the Gran Sabana

__________________
www.throttlemeister.net

I hope you get the camera sorted out. You've been taking some amazing photos so far!

__________________
wolfandzebra.com

U must have crossed India too. Incase here be my guest. Am in Gujarat State nx to Mumbai. I shall be very happy to host you.

Greetings fellow steppenwolves!

I apologize for the false start a few months ago, I guess I was not quite ready to face the world at that point. But now, 6 months after her passing, and with the house up for sale, I am left only with time to write as I await the sale and my return to the steed (waiting patiently in Venezuela).

The last few months have seen much, but a highlight I will share is that two bikers, Jayne and Phil, whom I met while riding in Mexico, and who have become good friends, completed their own tour of the Americas, returned to Alberta, and then drove all the way to Minneapolis to help me with fixing up the house. What a community we have!
They too are on Horizons and I hope you will check out their thread.

I will begin posting again tomorrow, I hope you will rejoin me on my journey, and that you have had some of your own!

Kindly,

Alexander

Puebla, Mexico

Mexico City would not let me go without a fight: yesterday I was punished by the Mexican food gods. After joking that Mexicans put lime and chile on everything, I proceeded to squirt lime in my eye… later that night I blew up some powdered chile into the same eye. My eye became a Mexican dish – a burning, burning Mexican dish.

On my way south toward Puebla the mighty Google Maps left me in the soup. All I wanted to do was see Popocatepetl, which I did, from gorgeous angles, but afterwards Google simply could not find its way towards any major road, let alone a highway. It skirted me along the mountain range, on horrible mountain roads, for hours! Every time it wanted me to take a turn, there was either no road, or a road which put me in the wrong direction and google told me to make a U-turn right away. Even when I got out of the mountains, as the sun was setting, and was in a fairly big pueblo, it still kept putting me on the wrong road to Puebla. In the end I ended up driving, again, for about 40 minutes this time, in the dark. I did not like it the first time in Michoacán, and I certainly did not like it now. The bad roads and speed bumps, the oncoming lights, the animals… just a horrible experience – every moment of it.

Because the shop I went to in Mexico City, to install my new shocks and tires, left a number of small, but significant, details unattended, which put my riding in jeopardy, my first stop in Puebla was at another shop. I met a wonderful mechanic, Carlos, the recommendation of Alex Chacon. From the very first words out of his mouth I could tell he was a real mechanic and a decent human being (a sadly rare combination). Carlos fixed it all up quickly and we spent the rest of the day just talking. And then when it was time for me to go he did not charge me a peso. Yet another instance of kindness which takes me from the depths of doubt and into the strata of gratitude.



I spent the next few days discovering Puebla and some surrounding villages with Ivan and Boris. No, they were not Russian, rather the sons of old time commies who longed for the days of Frida Kahlo and Trotsky hiding out in Mexico. We played chess, appropriately, ate fried grasshoppers, drank sour traditional libations, and walked for endless hours. Puebla, or at least the center, is very lovely – if you like colonial architecture. The fact that the native residents sided with Cortez against the Mexica, not only saved them from murder and destruction, it also put them in the good graces of the Catholics who built more than 70 churches here.

]

The iron work, the ceramic tiles of the building facades, the intricate plaster work… all very colonial and pretty, but all scream of the Catholic rape of the Americas. I really can’t stand it. They replaced ancient wisdom and a relationship with the earth which is the foundation of balance and harmony, with a dogma of fear, and a healthy dose of persecution, extortion and abuse. I see the people in the churches kneeling and crossing themselves – because it is ingrained in them, because they do not know another way, because the education is shit and will not release them from the bounds of the papacy. But how can they still be so blind, after all these years, how can they not see the egregious fallacies and abuses of the church? How can they give to a church which clothes its priests in silk and puts rich foods on their tables, while the people wear threads and eat the simplest foods? How can they, after the fear of death had been lifted, and knowing how the Catholics destroyed their culture and civilization, continue to “believe” and abide?
A note on the churches themselves: I don’t care how catholic this country is, there is no comparing the cathedrals of Italy, France or Russia to these. Some here even have curlicues and rosettes painted on the ceiling for lack of actual stone or plaster work! It is despicable! Yet another way to rob the people of their donations.

Though my hosts were further examples on how wonderful Mexicans are, Veracruz and the promise of Carnaval would not let me linger. I packed poor Georgia until the new shocks groaned under the weight of camping gear, enough spare parts (including tires) to build a new motorcycle, and my fat taco stuffed ass, and headed for the mountains of Veracruz.

Orizaba, Mexico

I know most of my stories are not about actual riding, but that is because I stay for so long in a given place, and therefore have a lot to tell you about the people, the culture, and the fascinating things I encounter while uncharacteristically stationary. But, after the Carnaval story there will be lots of riding again!

Heartbreak in Orizaba

The night I arrived in Orizaba, my host Miguel, his girlfriend’s family, and I, went out to eat. Afterwards the women went shopping and Miguel and I went for a walk. I saw a mass for the first time since arriving in Mexico 4 months ago. We observed the observant and spoke of architecture, the arts, and the beauty of the surrounding valley.
As we were walking back to meet the ladies, we saw a girl on the street making toy grasshoppers and lizards from long green leaves. The little animals were very nicely and skillfully made. The girl, who looked to be about 10 years old, was sitting in a corner of a shuttered store front, cutting the leaves to make the next toy. I could not tear my eyes away.
She worked with precision and confidence, and if someone from the gathering crowd asked a question she would answer with the surety of a proprietor of a handicraft store. I realized almost immediately that she was an exploited child. Most kids in the street work with their parents, she was alone. Whether sold into slavery by her parents, or kidnapped from them, or taken from a group home, or drugged on the street – I don’t know. But it was all I could do to hold back the tears. Unlike drugged children carried around by their “mothers” to solicit help as if they were sick, this girl was… like Oliver Twist, except creating as opposed to stealing. I wanted to grab her and run; ask one of my rich friends in Mexico City to take her in, give her a home, schooling, a future… happiness. I wanted to do it and be confronted by the man who was exploiting her so I could run my Gurkha across his throat.
The sad reality, however, is that it is harder to help these children than to prosecute the exploiters. The mob pays off the police so they do not bother their “pimps”. And that’s it – that is where it ends. But if I wanted to help her, there is an almost impossible process of adoption. And if she is discovered in the care of a citizen trying to help, before the papers are done, she is taken away and placed into unknown circumstances, and the person trying to help is heavily fined and possibly arrested.
I have never felt so impotent and angry. There was in fact nothing, especially because I don’t live here, that I could do. Damn it! Poverty is one thing. A person in poverty can still have friends and family – the most important things in life, but slavery is something else entirely. What were her days like? What kind of food could she eat? Did she have books, some sort of education, friends to play with, at least some knowledge of her parents…? Was she destined to become yet another child prostitute in Veracruz? Was the unthinkable already being done to her tiny, malnourished body?
The image of her burned into my mind. The next day, though I was set to climb Pico de Orizaba, I walked around town looking for her. I didn’t know what I would do, but I desperately wanted to find her. Of course I could not, who knows where she was stashed during the daylight hours. I left to climb the peak overwhelmingly despondent for my inaction and impotence. And even the crisp and rejuvenating air of the mountains failed to rid me of thoughts of this girl - thoughts I still carry to this day.