There is something humbling about pushing a motorbike. Regardless of where, or when, the act of pushing something ( in my case a Kawasaki KLR 650 motorbike) that is meant to be your protection, transport and valiant steed, is undeniably humbling.
So far, in the some 6000 miles I have travelled, I have had to push my bike in a number of fun locales;
In the 10pm sunshine of northern Alaska, way past the arctic circle, (where the nearest tow truck is over 150 Miles away and call-out fees are around $5 a mile).
In the near torrential rain in Canada, where bears sat calmly watching me by the side of the road. Laughing. ( I assume they were laughing, bears are smug bastards at the best of times).
Last, but not least, Venice Beach, Los Angeles found me broken down, at 2am in the morning, running along my bike as I worked my way to the nearest mechanic.
(I would later discover that this particular breakdown was due to a combination of a vacuum issue, connectors to the battery and a blown fuse, but these precious pieces of knowledge were a good 11 hours away and one irritated waitress at a 24 hour diner )
My name is Al, and I have taken a year out of life to ride a motorbike from Alaska to South America. That’s about 29,000 miles or 45,000 kilometres. There are a number of reasons as to why. If you’re the cute bartender I just met, I will tell you it’s because I got bored one sunday. If you’re the hardcore bikie from Texas, I’ll make some wisecrack about shaming people who ride Harley Davidson’s.
The real reason I am doing this trip though is that I will regret notdoing it. That is the litmus test for pretty much every choice I have made. Call it Generation Y’s Fear Of Missing Out (FOMO) or a delightful mix of stupidity & stubbornness, this is my year, and now that I have had 2 months or so to settle into the road, I hope to share my thoughts and experiences along the way.
Welcome & wish me luck.