Southerish

Mahi mahi breakfast

Our auto-pilot system

Herve at the tiller during rush hour

Suzi hammering away through a solo

Herve impatiently walking the boat quietly cussing the lack of wind in french

Chris lobster diving

I´ve had coffee in worse places

The resort we could afford

The roads we like best to cross the island

Nassau beach on the way to fish fry

Our traditional home cooked Bahaman meal

Davie Hogan at home in the sand

Bike packing island style

Sorry to leave you all hanging. My little laptop took a lightning bolt for the team and is totally fried.* So I'm at the mercy of finding computers where I can. Bare with me as I belt out this posts with very little prof reading. I've also teamed up with a Don Juan sailor turned bike tourist named Chris. We are currently ever so slightly grounded in Mexico city. It been a fantastic shit show to get here to say the least:

   We worked for weeks on the boat in the ship yard. Finally we got it back in the water fairly happy with the complete retrofit. We tried to set out to open water from Palm Beach but the wind and current had other plans for us. We tried several sketchy times to clear the canal but turned back every time just before crashing on the rocks. We decided to motor south on the intercoastal water way down to the larger outlet in Ft. Lauderdale. Three days and lots of draw bridges later we splashed into the big blue. The wind blew strong in our faces from the Southeast and the gulf stream tried to carry us to Quebec. For a few discouraging days we beat into the wind, sailing non stop around the clock and could still see the Ft. Lauderdale skyline.We could have walked to Panama faster. The plan became to motor\ sail East towards the shelter of the Bahamas and the other side of the Gulf stream. But once again the wind had other plans for us. Like shutting of completely. The ocean became a glassy lake and we became dependant on the severely underpowered little 9.9 Suzuki outboard. The current was so strong to the north that all the motoring we did pretty much just kept us in place. Herve the Captain is probably the most impatient, brash and cheapskate of a man I have ever met.  He screamed and yelled and treated me like a ten year old cuz I'm still learning to sail. But it was he who kept changing coarse, yelling different coordinates and running us in circles. As we neared the first inhabited island of the Bahamas he ran us aground the first time in a haste to get there before we ran out of gas. Good thing were in a Catamaran know for a very little draw and were able to get off that sandbar. Soon I was standing up on the mast spreaders looking out at the beautiful water, pointing out sandbars and bull sharks on the way in. We spent a night, got some gas and sipped beers with the locals on Andros Island. The next day luckily we only kissed one reef with the hull taking off only paint and still managed to make a speedy 25 miles in 24 hours. When finally New Providence and Nassau can into view and we headed for shore. Herve didn't want to pay the cruzing tax or docking fees so we hid in a neighborhood canal, pulling up to an abandon house (or so we thought). We went for breakfast and when Herve pulled some crap saying we owed him and wouldn't pay for his own meal. (we worked 2 weeks of 10 hour days for him in the ship yard with him not so much as buying us food) That was the last straw for Chris and I. We jumped ship.
     We knew we needed to get to immigration and get our passports stamped but... things just started getting in the way. Like exploring the island, swimming, diving, riding and beach camping. So when we went to report to Immigration at the airport a few days had gone by. No big deal, so we though. Instantly were charged with illegal entry and put in custody. Were held all day and lots of accusations and threats were made. Were cuffed together and thrown on a bus. Two Americans in a sea of Hatian, Cuban and South American refugees.We're all thrown into a heavily guarded camp of human squalor. The conditions were pretty brutal.A tightly run black market\ bribery game is the only thing to keep you from starving or sleeping on the filthy concrete with the rats. We made friends though and were treated to sharing a single shredded mattress for the night.  Man, I feel really bad for the good dudes we met that had been in there for months. Next afternoon we were called out and told the news that we would be able to buy tickets and leave right away. If we couldn't buy tickets we would rot till the embassy was able to get us out. We bought tickets. And luckily (with lots of insisting) able to stall long enough to get the bikes on the plane with us. A 35 minute flight for what it took us 5 days on the boat.
   In Miami we stayed with the ever so amazing Federica. A great time followed- celebrating our resent deportation, cheersing beers and laughing at the incredibly defunct way we went about getting so little south for so much effort.
   Resigned to flying we bought  more tickets to Panama City**. Naturally we almost missed the flight and had a mad race across the city and a record breaking bike boxing. It was just so hard to change out of Frederica's underwear (what she offered Chris and I to wear while doing our laundry) and put down our coffee cups.
    We are here in Mexico city on a bit of an extended layover. Panama now requires an ongoing ticket in order to enter the country (as of Sept. 2012 and being strictly enforced). This we don't have for good reason. We had planned to get another boat to Colombia. After much debate they said we could enter if we have $500 cash on us. We made a dash to the ATM but all I got was a travel fraud alert and my account suspended. Our plane went on without us.The fee for missing\ changing flights makes me wanna stab out my left eye but what are you gonna do? freak out? yea I did a bit of that. So we're hanging out here in the airport for a few days till I can contact my bank on Monday. Making the best of it. Man I can´t wait to get back to cycling- what I know and love.

 *Sitting in the boat one night while it was up on blocks in the boat yard. I was on my lap top when a lightning storm rolled in and the sky opened up. We hadn't finished patching the fiberglass on the roof and soon the inside the boat was also raining. I was under the only dry spot, when all of a sudden there was a sharp crack and a brilliant flash. An arc of electricity shot through my fingers from the keyboard and I was literally thrown out of my seat. It felt like I just got hit on the tail bone with a sledge hammer and all the hair on my body was standing up. I stumbled out onto the cockpit half expecting the world to be gone but nothing had changed, other than now I have a computer with a friend motherboard.

** If you ask why we don´t just ride? Its cuz I have already pedaled to Panama city and have no real urge to do it again. I´m more excited about finding our way to Colombia and picking up this world tour where I left off.

Sometimes your boat comes in! And sometimes... a boat comes in.

So I answered an ad for "sailboat crew wanted". Florida to Panama leaving ASAP. After almost a month of phone and email mini-golf, finally I set my eyes on the boat. My heart dropped even with my gallbladder. What an absolute wreck. A 1970 30ft Iroquois Catamaran. The last maintenance of any sort must have been back in the 80's. The only positive thing I could muster was that it was floating.
   I'm not one to turn tail on a challenge. I claimed I was gonna work my way around the world. Very well knowing at times, I would be eating those words. For all the flowing descents there are gloppy bogs.

  I parked the bike and jumped in.  I've thrown everything I got at this tub and slowly but surely we have made it a boat again. As much as its been long, hot days of hard work. Its been a great learning experience. I've learned a barges worth about fiberglass, seacocks, skegs and rigging in these last few weeks. I could write a small novel on the life and times of a South Florida shipyard. A full time full gauntlet. This is the little boat that could.
  We should be setting sail at the end of the week.  I'll get some pics up of the boats before and after make over       

Retrospect of a Pal and another glance into "why"

Another time of many but this one sticks in my mind like a blood clot.

  I had just turned 18, Caleb was still 17. We had a couple dollars between us, skateboards and backpacks jammed with sleeping bags. About a week earlier we had skated out of Santa Cruz, California in the middle of the night. We we're bound for Baja, Mexico. Little did we know then, it would be the best and the worst adventure of our lives.
 The evening was cool after a blistering and arid day of skating and hitch-hiking. We were sitting on a stone wall above Mulege, over looking the Sea of Cortez. It was a rare, still and tranquil moment in this out of control and turbid time. I can still see it so clear. The sun was low and lit only the tips of the distant rocks. Rooster crows and muddled voices carried from the village below. So much had happened in the last week and we were seething with the experience. To see us then, we would be dirty, happy and wearing shit eating grins. We swore out loud to the cactus, rocks and the twilight. A hand shake and an honest pledge: "We'll do this forever!". I knew I wasn't joking when I made that promise, naive as it was.  All it simply meant was- Lets always live to chase down the good times in this short life. Wander free and far experiencing the unexpected. Pitch ourselves into the wind and see it all at face value. Charge into the unknown and feel its embrace when we crash through the other side, intact and euphoric. Never would we sit idle, afraid and lazy. We could do anything and go anywhere.
    Caleb and I did a lot more traveling and stupid things together. Maybe one day I'll put it in print. But life happens, years went by and we went on to do our separate things. We always hung out on the occasion when I was in town. He became an auto mechanic, had a wife and some children. He was a good dude, always meaning well and loved by us all.
   When he passed away, that old promise was seared all the deeper into my heart. That simple oath said without description between two pals. 20 years old now but a part of my everyday life. For all that I do, in search of those magical and epic moments. He is right there, with the same blissful shit eating grin.
  

When you ride south on a leg eventually you arrive at the foot.

So I'm now at the bottom of the country and looking to make a jump to the next. Somebody looking to do this the easy or quick way would have been on a plane already. I on the other hand am floundering about looking/ waiting for a sailboat to Central or South America. Having a pretty good time in this lull but am more than excited about plowing on.  

  The Supply box for the next leg has arrived! Replacement parts, emergency supplies and things to get shipped further ahead.

 Somebody has some damn awesome friends!

 Paul and Lynne have just been amazing. We started out as strangers with a common interest/ obsession with bikes and riding but have grown to feel like old friends. Their niceness is truly unbelievable.

 Davie Hogan at the end of boot camp. He came through his probation and shake down with flying colors. This bike is a man now. A culmination of years of touring and the want of something more has been funneled into this dude. I have enjoyed every pedal stroke of our first 2500 miles together.
   I plan on heaving us into some seriously rugged country around the world, and I feel he and every main component of him is up to the test.

  Tire wear is my biggest concern. But after 2500 miles (rotated front to back in North Carolina)  These Origin8 (VeeRubber) "ultra light" series with 120tpi/ folding bead  have held up fantastically. With a whole sale hook up these are stupid affordable. I won't be carrying spares with me but I will be sending replacements ahead. That said. You my see from the pics that I'm running the old school Large Marge rims (65mm wide). Man, I had to search high and low for them in the discontinued 36 holes. Anyways I can seat any 26x2.2 and up. So in an emergency case like a sidewall gutting, I can throw on any basic 26" tire and keep rolling towards my replacements. 

 My hand-made (by me) racks and bags have been awesome. No peeps, mumbles or wiggles. Totally rock solid.

My lucky number is four billion. That doesn't come in real handy when you're gambling. Come on, four billion! F*k, seven. Not even close. I need more dice! Four billion divided by six. At least. -MHB

Thankfully its not all Disney World.

That bastard needs a diet

Its not so bad when the traffic is wild flowers

That blurry thing that looks like a rock is actually an armadillo at full gallop

Like a raft to a ship wrecked victim.

Florida might be largely flat but it sure ain't boring. 

Can I cross? Or do those yellow stripes mean NO? 

I'm not gonna say exactly where I've been riding, but there is a certain narrow strip of land that runs the length of Florida. A fatbikepacker's dream! We'll one of them.


 A means to escape

Gainsville, a hidden gem for mountain biking. The trails are nicely layered like a worm infestation while shooting out in all directions like a klepto octopi.

My first bike trip of a decent length was 10 years ago from California to Florida. Nevada City to Gainsville actually. Now having rode down to Gainsville from Maine its like the golden spoke of sorts. Two points meeting in my spiderweb of tire tracks. This makes the 6th time I've ridden across the U.S. from one point or another. It felt welcoming, strange and sentimental to be back.

This trashed out and neglected spot is where I used to live 13 years ago. (yep, in the shed)

A metal roof I installed in 99, before I made a living fiddling with bicycles.  

A bunch of Great dudes (and Isis). Thanx for the everything. 

My honorary ride with the Velo Vixens

We made more than a few stops by Volta for these.

I spent a week in the G-ville.  Truly great to see Dru again (the only old friend I found from back in the time) and traipse through the old spots. It still had the smell and feel of what made me stay those years ago. Good town, super folks. Its also saturated in bike shops and there is a lot of buzz in the air of making and building the cycling infrastructure. You can find yourself made of velcro in that fuzzy place. 

The only blurry shot I got of a fantastic night ride

This is what I call a "Go Bag".


  A huge and fat Thanx to David! It was a fantastic pleasure to hold down the Ranch!  And to both  Lauren and Dustin, your tour/ trail guiding and dirtbag adoption is unparalleled. 

Back in the office.

 I'll have a catch up report filed shortly.

Once...

This morning I stumbled upon this word:.

kis·met

  [kiz-mit, -met, kis-]  

noun

fate; destiny.

This is what came to mind:

   I must have been in first or second grade. The first term of the Reagan administration and the heyday of New Wave. We lived in Redwood city, California and I went to Clifford elementary school. Everyday at the end of class, my older sister, twin cousins and I were picked up by my mother. We would wait at the edge of the parking lot and she would drive up in a yellow VW bus. One day she was running late, so my little buddy Alex and I decided to walk home. It seemed no big deal. I told my sister to just tell mom that "I'm walking" and I'll be home later. Despite her protests we set off.
   I knew the way. I didn't think twice about getting lost. Alex and I took the creek instead of the road, sword fighting and hunting frogs along the way. I imagined that it was the way we lived and we had to survive. Balancing fences between back yards, sneaking water from garden hoses and diving in hedges. Finally the adventure was real and not just daydreams and back yard imagination. I was in a zone, it all made sense. I was never more sure of what I was doing and in complete bliss.
   Our house was about 2 1/2 miles across town from the school. Though first I walked Alex home, to a area  I had never been to. On the way back, I remember, I stopped to ask directions. The person at the pet store I went into seemed perfectly fine with a muddy seven year old asking street directions. Like it happened everyday. Once back on familiar territory it was just a simple jaunt home. It was dusk when I rounded the corner of our block.
    I had just had the best day of my young life. Little did I know then how much it would effect the rest of my life. It was the freedom I felt, but more, that point when I was in total control and so at ease in my unknown surroundings. I could see the rhythm. I could feel and taste the experience. I thought that I could mold the earth and time as I needed. I could get anywhere I wanted by just going. From that day on, I was a traveler.
  And, that day- I got in a lot of fuckin trouble. When I saw our house and saw friends and neighbors cars all parked there, I thought we were having a party. Yea, it was the recent return of the Kurt search party. I walked in the door wondering what was going on and if I could walk home everyday. After my mother was done crying and hugging me I found the answer was clearly- NO. The "journeys" would have to wait a few years.

  Word manglers note: I wrote this as the start of a small series that should help to explain "What started all of this" question.

Gainsville priorities/ Taking care of buiness

Meet some great people. Drop bags. Go Mountain biking, do a little more Mountain biking. Drink some coffee and go Mountain biking. Man, I love this town.

Snow to Sand. One melts in your oatmeal, the other... doesn't.

Like a clumsy kid in a play falling off the back of the stage. We've butt plopped off the mountains and are squishing our toes in the flat, sandy South East. Traded in the snowflakes for mosquitoes and shivers for sunburn. As sure as my cheese is now oily I'm happy as an oven mitt to be out here rolling in the warmth.
   A Fantastic clash of dude, bike and swamp just went down in the Okefenokee. Davie Hogan (my bike) and I cleaved through victorious and are now just a day er so from good ol' Gainsville FL.

From snow straight into sand these oinkers earn their keep

no traffic to speak of at this roadside campspot

where Pac-people retire from the maze

The begging of Okefenokee swamp  

The swamp living up to expectations

Not exactly 5th and Broadway, NYC.