Join my journey to the corners of this world
Orcs! Brutish, aggressive, ugly, malevolent orcs! I’m perplexed at the site of the kill as if seeing a scene taken straight out of Tolkien’s Lord of the Ring. Just look at it. Its ears have been chewed off – probably during an argument with the other Orcs in the clan on who gets to eat Frodo first. I would have said it has a face only a mother could love, but he probably ate her already.
Three young Balinese girls doing the traditional Balih-balihan dance. How beautiful, how exotic, how peaceful. Their proud parents sit in front, all dressed up to the occasion. The tourists (me included) are at the back busy taking tons of photos. This is what many have in mind when thinking about the tiny Indonesian island of Bali. Indeed, this is what the local tourism authorities would like you to picture. Yet, while all of this is happening, less than 50 meters away – in the very same temple – a fight to the death, complete with knives, blood, and gore, is in full swing.
Wanna guess who draws in a bigger crowd?
If you thought your office cafeteria sucks, think again. The snacks on display at the afternoon markets of Phnom Penh, Cambodia would – in comparison – make an overcooked Broccoli seem like a juicy Porterhouse. Caramelized Grasshoppers? That’s for the feeble-hearted! Are you brave enough to try a boiled Chicken embryo – beak and feathers included? Or perhaps a deep-fried Tarantula?
Yes, we’ve tried them all, and somehow lived to tell the tale.
(Perhaps because we skipped the raw bats…)
Your car might handle it, but can you?
It’s cold, and bright, and dusty, and Beige – so Beige. It’s also flat. Apart from two hills in the distance – one of them smoking, there’s almost nothing to break the endless monotony. I read the plaque with the little Spanish I can still master from my days in Cuba. It says the small smoking hill is actually a 5,976 meter-high mountain called Sabancaya. As it turns out, the modest hill also happens to be the most active volcano in Peru. The one near it is 6,300m, but dormant.
Welcome to the world’s highest highway, where the term “perspective” gets a whole new meaning. Its the tallest place on Earth accessible by a standard road car – that is, if your road car engine can breathe at a height of 4,910 meters above sea level, and of course, if you can as well.
The leaves ain’t brown, and the sky isn’t gray. I went for a sail, on a spring’s day. I would be in quarantine if it was today.
Corona dreaming, on Hangzhou’s western lake.
Wait a minute! What is this place?!
Riding a bike on India’s backcountry highways is a dangerous form of art. Actually, forget it! Riding a motorcycle in India is sheer lunacy, the most dangerous, irresponsible thing I’ve ever done in my life! And I’ve done some crazy s*** on four wheels, on two, with an air tank strap to my back, and on foot – you name it. Nothing, I mean NOTHING matches the stuff you have to cope with while piloting a beat-up 1950s Royale Enfield Bullitt 350cc motorcycle. Just ask Om Singh Rathore. That died as a nobody on this very piece of tarmac between Udaipur and Jodhpur, Rajasthan, in 1991. Now he is a local celebrity complete with a personal shrine, a cult of believers, and is more alive than ever. We stopped by to say hello.
I’m leaving Las Vegas. Driving on an endless, empty stretch of the Interstate 15 highway. It’s 7am on a bright Sunday morning and I’m pretty much the only car around. My temples are pounding. A few cans of beer from yesterday’s Supercross races are still lodged in my head as I drive north away from Sin City, towards Zion.
You can ask yourself many existential questions while navigating the narrow road down Tiger Leaping Gorge in southwest China. Can a river cut through a Himalayan Mountain range? Can a tiger leap across a 20 meter-wide torrential river? Can we survive this ride without being crushed by falling debris?
The answer is: Surprisingly Yes. Unlikely. We did, barely.
Now for the details.
It’s a cool January way up in the rain forests of central Mexico. No. Scrape that. It’s cold. Damn cold, and foggy, and drizzling. This is NOT what I had in mind when Continental Airways (Now United) and the Mexican Ministry of Tourism invited me to visit the secret winter hideaway of the Mariposa. Yet, for countless royalties, this forgotten patch of dark pine grove, 3,300 meters high, is the perfect idea of a winter resort. Some of them flew over 7,000 Kilometers from Southern Canada just to get here. I’m just waiting to get back down and into the relatively warmer van. Go figure.
“Damn!” I hit the footwell once-again. “This bike wasn’t meant to lean at tight curves.” Yet, here I am, riding the narrow, beautiful roads on the mountains above Malibu, trying to keep up with two FTR naked bikes just ahead of me. It ain’t easy doing it with as big low cruiser, but it’s Cardo’s honor on the line. I twist the throttle all the way and hope for the best…
