Time to go home

It’s done! My trip is over! It’s time to pick up the pieces of a shattered life. How much is left of it? Where to start? Adventures end as fast and spontaneous as they begin. Ten month ago I threw away everything I had- My girlfriend, my job, my life. Travelling the world costs a lot. A LOT! Some stuff I got in return:
• A sore butt from- 6000 miles on a motorbike- crossing the U.S.
• Dirty hands from- Being a bike mechanic in Goa- India
• Terrible headache from- Teaching English in North East Thailand
• Very dirty hands from- Being a shepherd in New Zealand
• Freaking out from- Meeting all those incredible people
And now I sit here back in Austria, on my sore butt, type the last blog entry with my dirty hands and have terrible headache from thinking about my freaking little life :-)

Hi it’s me, Mike, and I am back!

It is time to say goodbye! Thank you for joining me on my way around the world. I really did not expect that so many people would read my blog. Hopefully you enjoyed it as much as I enjoyed my trip. And if not.....get lost :-) I missed my friends and family and I want to see every single one of you as soon as possible. And to everybody I met on my way: Flights are cheap- Austria is fun!
Actually I am back since almost a week now, but I didn’t tell anybody in order to get a chance to calm down. Maybe some of you will ask me if I found what I was looking for. During my trip I was sometimes thinking for days about, what I should do with my life.
The answer is: stop thinking!

And one last thing: Go and do your own trip! Go! NOW! Yes,.....now!!!



By the way: meet me at the frequency festival in St.Pölten! -> 0043 680 2105238 the first three, who call get a beer!

It was good, really!

Walking down those well known streets incognito. Nothing has changed. The cars are the same, the buildings are the same, the people are the same. Still it feels like awakening from a dream. Memories from the past month flash through my head. They feel intense. At the same time they seem remote and untouchable. Those days will never come back. Never! Places appear in my head. Faces appear in my heart. Mixed feelings all around. Those who meant the most to me either don’t even know or I will never see them again. That’s fate.
From the distance I can hear their questions: “Oh you’re back! How was it?!”…. WHAT?! How was it? I cannot answer that and every second that passes feels awkward. What am I supposed to say? “Good” or “very nice” that doesn’t sound right. It feels like trying to tell a whole life in a few words. A sentence comes to my mind, back from India, when we were Bonnie and Clyde on our motorbike and Bonnie said: “We’ll never be able to explain this to anyone.” And she was damn right. It’s beyond all verbal possibilities. A silent minute has passed and my interrogator looks at me like I needed help. Finally I utter the words “It was really great.” Understatement of the year. I wish I had some supernatural mental powers to transfer my feelings about this to the people. They would see, they would understand, they would feel and go: “Really?” Then they would immediately pack their stuff and….. Well, I know it won’t happen. They won’t go. Instead they say: “Oh I am jealous and one day I will!” And then I know that I failed to share my story. I will never be able to share my story. “So, what are you going to do next?” …WHAT?! That question hits me like a sledge hammer. There is a life after?! Who could have expected that? My opponent notices my emotionless and puzzled face and regrets asking. It gets embarrassing. It is smalltalk. It is a way of being polite. But in that case it feels like eating delicate lobster with a dirty rusty spoon.


And then she appears,

After a week undercover, not telling anybody that I am already back home I decide to do something I was waiting for a long time. I decide to see her. I take a shower, decide which shirt to wear and take my “good luck”- flip flops. Getting out the door my heart starts pounding faster. What? Already? That can’t be! But there it is. The distance to her house is approximately 400 meters. I feel every meter right in my chest. Incredible. Standing in front of the door, ringing the bell. I fear that I won’t be able to talk as the sound of this factory inside my heart is just too loud. 1 second, 2 seconds, 3 seconds. Nothing. No movement inside. No sound. Nobody home. I turn and leave. Jesus, that was close. Slowly I calm down. It takes forever until I reach a normal count of beats per minute. I don’t want to go home now. The city is my destination, after that shock I need a beer. The street seems familiar and I feel at home. 200 meters down the road a girl on a bike appears around the corner. Black hair- that movement- within the fraction of a second I know it’s her. She comes towards me. I stop and stare. I take off my shades and stand like a post, not able to move, not able to speak. My feet are out of stone and so is the huge smile on my face. She comes near. She sees me. She recognises me. She smiles. Shivers down my spine. In the middle of the street we stand like school children not knowing what to say. “Hi.” “Hi”- She caught me so off guard that I can barely understand what is going on. Then we stand here for some moments. Neither of us knows what to do or say. Nevertheless I love to be right here right now. “What are you doing here?” she asks “Nobody knows I am here!” I answer -“You are crazy! And I am confused.” We do smalltalk. It is the best smalltalk I’ve ever done. She tells me something about job and travel of hers. I don’t even hear it. Her face tells me other things. We walk back to her house together, then we split ways. 200 meters of pure excitement. What is happening here? What have I done 10 month ago? Things will never be the same again. And that is a good thing.


leaving on a jetplane

Boarding the plane. Business as ususal. Waiting for my set of rows to be announced to board the plane. Entering the plane on those long tunnels that always lead downhill a little and make people walk like they wore skiing boots. I give my tiny slip of paper with my seat number to the stewardess, who tells me that my seat is down there. How pointless is this ritual anyway? First of all I know my seat number and my row because it’s written on my boarding pass. And second the gesture of the stewardess is always the same, regardless where the seat is. Maybe some airlines sell tickets in the cockpit, then she would turn around and say: “Oh, mister you sit next to the pilot.” I’ve never experienced that. Anyway I find my seat being a window seat. I like that. Not so much because of the great view, which at some point is almost the same anywhere, but more because of the little gap between the window and the seat. Stuffing my sweater or a blanket into it provides me with a much better sleeping position then the seat alone. It will take a while until all the passengers are in and we start, so I take my preferred sleeping position.
I must have slept. A roar as loud as a gunshot wakes me brutally. We are already flying - kind of- but the scenery around me is surreal. The plane is moving sideways and up and down. People scream like crazy and a horrible shrill beeping sound feels like resonating in my brain. Babies in the back are crying their hearts out. The passenger next to me is screaming at me with eyes big as plates. The next second he gets shut up by a little Samsonite hard cover suitcase that hits his head. Now he is unconscious and bleeding hard from a big laceration. Everything is happening in slow motion, as I turn my head to the left to look out of my window and slowly realise what is happening. Where there used to be a wing, a burned and shattered trunk protrudes in the air. The explosion of the kerosene didn’t rip me to pieces right away. Lucky me! Another 15 seconds to live. It feels like a ride on a roller coaster, only that the screams around me aren’t out of joy but out of pure mortification. Obviously we didn’t make it very far. Still being overland as the ground moves nearer the plane falls into a counter clockwise spin that pushes me to my bloodshed neighbour. All that blood, it is gross. I hope I don’t get infected with something. Then I realise how pointless this thought is. The only infection that I could get from his blood that kills me before the plane crashes is the poison of the Austrialian fierce snake. Poor guy. One plane crash in a whole lifetime and he misses out completely. I’ve never seen those oxygen masks for real. My ears pop so hard that both eardrums burst. It doesn’t hurt anymore. No sounds, no noise, no fuss. Absolute silence. The lifeless body of the stewardess, who showed me my row flies by and gets wrapped around one of the seats like a rag doll. I look down on my seatbelt. Oh- now I know, what the seatbelts are for in a plane! A glimpse out of the window tells me that it is almost done. There is no fear and I don’t know why. Calmly I lean back and close my eyes. Surrendering I smile and think: “Life is good, and then you die.”
I spring to life and pour the cup of water, that the stewardess reaches to me, on my neighbours lap. Hey you guys are not dead- sweet. They can’t really follow, why I am happy, when I just messed up my neighbour’s suite. Next time I won't watch "Death on Flight 1977" before I get on a plane, I promise!

Una vacuna de fiebre Amarilla, por favour!

I got a vaccination. As Columbia is seen as one of the most dangerous countries for getting infected with yellow fever, I figured it would be a good time to get my vaccination. Looking for a proper place is the first objective. I really have to improve my Spanish! 15 annoyed people on the streets and one hour later I enter a little white room, where two cute giggling girls in white dresses are waiting for me. At that time I wonder if I asked for the right thing at the reception. And where is the doctor? Now they chat with each other and look at me from time to time and I don’t understand a word. I realise that they are the doctors as they prepare syringes and little bottles. After giving them my international certificate of vaccinations, where all my shots are listed I hope to have made myself clear what I need. They look at the little book like it contains rocket science. Great. Very international! In a one minute monologue in Spanish they explain something to me and I go: “HÄ?!” So I explain what I need in English and they go: “HÄ?!” One minute later I have a needle stuck in my arm and just hope that it was the right one. As I want to pay, they say that it is free. Possibly they injected sugar water into my arm- I’ll find out in a couple of weeks.


Tyrona National park, the beach paradise

After the track to ciudad perdida it is time to relax again- and of course there are some nice places to do so in Columbia. One of them is the Tyrona national park, where the last descendents of the native inhabitants of the “Lost City” live. To get there one has to walk one and a half hours through the jungle. Then the jungle clears up and the beach is right there. It feels like arriving at the movie “The Beach”. Tons of young people having fun in living in little bamboo huts and playing games. So you expect Leonardo DiCaprio to show up every second and act crazy. But the only ones who act crazy are three French guys, who run around like chicken, trying to find an ATM or a place where they can pay with credit card, because they have not one peso cash on them. Poor guys. Later they cross your way again, being proud of managing to harvest 6 mangos, which will be their dinner. Have a nice meal, guys!

Welcome to the jungle

It starts as a nice Sunday afternoon hike. You get to know the group and a light chit chat about origins kills time.
Three hours later.
After the first climb your clothes are soaked from your own sweat. Trying to not step into puddles seems as a pointless task as using deodorant. You walk one after the other through a thick wall of plants. The Green from the jungle replaces the Blue of the sky. It is omnipresent. You smell the trees, the creeks, the animals as it gets mixed with the odours of sweat. Your mosquitobites on your ankles look like out of a childs riddle picture book. If you connect the red dots you see the giraffe. The sun disappears. Why is this place called rainforest again? Oh, yes you remember. Now it is pouring down rain. The rocks you jump on are slippery and you hope you won’t wreck your mosquitobit ankles. The only reason you know where the path is, is because the water is turning it into a creek. So you walk in the creek, rather then anywhere else. You jump from one side to the other- As your landing foot slips away in the mud you hope that there are no rocks in the puddle behind you. Falling right into it seems like happening in slow motion and you find yourself lying on your back like a flipped beetle, covered in mud and water. You get up and keep on walking. The fact that some years earlier a whole group of hikers were kidnapped here by paramilitaries can’t cheer you up. On your way you pass little huts and villages of Kogi Indians, who live here in their tribals ways since centuries. At a higher altitude the scenerey is breathtaking.
At night you get food and before you fall asleep in your hammock, you hear a Russian lullaby, passionately sung by one of your fellow hiking mates, accompanied by the millions of birds, frogs, snakes, insects and hell knows what else, which try to attract females by letting the jungle sound aloud. It sounds like a choir and it’s only purpose is to get laid. 5 minutes later you hear a strange sound, which confirms, that the Russian guy was successful.
Wake up. Wake up. What?! Why wake up?! You didn’t sleep yet! What is going on? A glimpse at your watch tells you that you just slept 7 hours completely dreamless. Your kidneys hurt as you lost half of your blanket when rolling over. Luckily you managed to stay in the hammock. Packing up and getting ready for the hike. You know, what clothes you will wear today- yes- the same as yesterday. And don’t think they got dry during the night. At 5 in morning, the cold morning air surrounds you. You take on your wet, cold pants, socks and shirt. Goose skin. Immediately you are in your smell sphere again. Back on the track. Ten minutes later you find yourself wading through a river, the current pushes hard and the water is up your belly. Needless to mention that this was the first of nine river crossings that day. Nobody bothers to take off shoes or clothes anymore when getting in the water. Everything is soaked and dirty anyway. In the afternoon you find yourself on the first step of 1600 stone steps, that take you somewhere uphill. One step after the other. Another stone, another step. In the heat of the jungle- the humidity is causing you to sweat so much that you didn’t pee in ages. It’s exhausting. The backpack is cutting your shoulders. Your heart beats up your throat. Another step, another stone. Your legs hate you as much as you hate them. Anger arises from inside. You will not take a break. You will not drink water. You keep on till the end. COME ON! GO, GO. This is not some ancient stone construction. This is the freaking stairway to heaven! Another stone, another step- The sun breaks through the green jungle roof. Then you see the destination of the track. The “Ciudad Perdida”. The “Lost City”.
3 days later you are back to civilisation. After a total of 5 days in the jungle you sit with your fellow hikers at a restaurant and have some victory beers. Everybody agrees:
“The “Lost City” wasn’t that impressive- but the hike was fantastic.”

Good bye United States

Today I left the United States, with it’s vast diversity in cultures and nature. A continent in which everything can be found from native Indian tribal life to the vibrant hectic rush in the cities like New York and San Francisco. The US made it possible for me to do my cross continental trip on a motorbike and I am very grateful for that. But more that riding along the Route 66 it gave me so many new friends, that it is quite hard to say good bye.
Thank you, United States!

It starts with a plane.

Every adventure on my trip started with a plane. The routine of checking in and wandering around alone on the airport makes me feel like a lonesome wolverine looking for his partner. Reading a book in the corner on the floor and watching people chatting, waiting, looking forward to reaching the destination they chose to go. Usually I fly in shorts, flip flops, my hat and no hand luggage. All I need for enduring a flight up to 15 hours can be stored in my pockets easily. Two books ( a travel guide and the assault on reason), some napkins, my passport, ATM and credit card and mp3 player. The only disadvantage is that it takes me minutes to reassemble myself after security screening. I had a nightly 10 hours stopover in Florida. So I slept on a park bench at the Fort Lauderdale Airport using the books as a pillow, the hat as a blindfold and getting protected by the police, which had it’s standby spot right next to me.
Thinking back on the stories that I found so far on my trip makes me melancholic. Someone asked me once if it’s not boring to go alone on vacation for so long. I think it would be boring if it actually was vacation, but the truth is that the fundamental difference between travel and vacation is that travel is not always fun. Ups and downs mark my way around the world. The fact that nothing is fixed and nothing is organised seems like an expression of pure freedom. But at the same time there is no place to call your own. And the absolute lack of stability can get to you deeply. To overcome all these kinds of strange situations and to cope with challenges, that is travelling. And the outcome must be to be able to appreciate what you’ve got from life on a deeper level. And it all starts with a plane.

Where are you now?

Oh, by the way, I just arrived in Colombia. Imagine you arrive at Bogota airport and notice that you just looked up how to say “my name is” in Spanish. You are sure that at some point in time you learned this nice language for 3 semesters, but your brain doesn’t care about that fact at all! The immigration officer asks you if you speak Spanish…in Spanish “no” is your answer but your counterpart tells you all the important immigration information in the same language. 5 minutes later you are on the street. Once again in a country where you are practically deaf, numb and illiterate. As you climb into a taxi and play charade with the driver to get downtown, you realise: Next destination: SPANISH COURSE!!

Hitchhiking and other bad habits

On the road again

Since nearly one month I travel with a friend I met in New York. We went to Boston and Martha’s Vinyard together and had an incredible time! His name is Mike too. And he is 26 and American. After leaving the little island of Matha’s Vinyard we decided to go on a hitchhiking trip up north to Quebec. We camped in the wild as the campgrounds cost up to $40 per person and night. We made our way through Cape Cod to Portland, where we tried to find a nice place to camp next to the freeway. As we walk towards a bunch of trees we hear a voice. “Stop, where are you going?” We turn around and see a homeless guy sitting under a tree. “This place is occupied! GO AWAY!” Then we realise that we stepped into the territory of a bunch of homeless people. So we decided to get away from there and find an unoccupied tree for ourselves.

Some funny facts about hitchhiking in the United States

When you hitch at a traffic light your mind starts to play tricks on you. After one hour all cars that stop in front of the traffic light seem to move backwards.

It is a myth that you get a ride easier, when it is raining. In fact we’ve been waiting in the rain for over 3 hours in a little town called Bingham. People don’t feel mercy for you, they are afraid that their car might get wet.

The more expensive a car, the more room inside a car, the less likely it is that you get picked up by it’s driver.



Blame Canada, Blame Canada

On our way north on the 201 in direction of Quebec we got a ride from a young guy to the Boarder. By the time we reached the boarder to Canada it was about 7 pm. The Canadian Customs started to search through our bags and the Immigration officer undertook the usual questionnaire. One hour later, as we started to wonder why everything was taking so long, we got told that Mike was not allowed to cross the boarder to Canada. Thunderstruck we asked for the reason and learned the following: Mike is not allowed in Canada because he was found sleeping drunk in his car with the keys in the ignition over 7 years ago. Under shock we get escorted back to the United States and get handed over to the US Customs. There we are at 8 in the evening with no food and no water 15 miles from the next town in the middle of nowhere. So we started walking with half an hour of daylight left. We tried to hitch but not a single car stopped for us. Not knowing what to do we decided to flag some cars down. “We have no food and no water and it is getting dark- we give you $10 if you bring us to the next town.” Here are some answers we got:
Rich couple from Quebec: ”No, sorry we don’t have enough time.”
Guy in a SUV: “Yes, I go to the next town, but on my own!”
Guy in another SUV: “I am sure you will find someone.”
Not believing what we just heard we had a decision to make. Being aware that there are moose and bears around we tried to find a sensible spot to camp. It should be a kind of clearing which animals would not access, somewhere a bit away from the wood. And then we found our camping spot for the 8th of July 2009. A graveyard in the woods. A small sign told us that dead children were buried here. As the sun went down everything seemed to be a little more frightening then before. The air temperature lowered fast as darkness encircled us. Strange noises from the woods completed the scenery, that could be out of a cheap horror movie.
That night we slept like dead.
The next day we kept on walking, trying to find somebody with a heart to pick us up. After 2 hours walking without food or water a car appears from a side road. “Would you take us to Jackman- we are stranded since yesterday.”- “I go fishing” he says. “Yes but we have no water and walk since two hours with 20 kg backpacks each.” “Yes, but I go fishing.” And away he drives.
Half an hour later a car pulls over for us: The US Boarder Patrol, gave us a ride to the next town.




Dirtbiking and Whitewater Rafting

After getting rejected by the Canadian Boarder we decided to spend a couple of days at West Forks, which is a wonderful place for camping, rafting and having fun. For the first time in my life I went Rafting and Dirtbiking.

after New York

Business as usual on a rainy day in Harlem.

Living in hostels usually is quite fun. You meet many nice people from all over the world, who have the same goal as you- Explore the city and save money. Sometimes you face a rainy day and think, that this is a perfect day to relax and get away from all the hassle of doing tourist activities. So you sit on the porch have a nice conversation and watch a guy running down the road like a wild boar. “STOP, THE POLICE”- Five policemen run after him struggling with the pace. The facial expression of one of them says: “I hate that f...ing job!” Ten minutes later a police bus passes by with the guy in the back held down by two cops.
Business as usual on a rainy day in Harlem.





Martha’s Vinyard

This tiny island located south of Cape Cod is a true rich mans getaway. What to do if you are not a rich man is explained fast. You meet some awesome people who let you spend some nights in their place and have a good time with them. And after that?
Here is what happened, and this is no joke or imagination:
Sitting in a small gazebo at the pier of Vinyard Haven, hiding from the pouring rain not knowing where to go next. The hostel and the hotels on this island have prices that are just beyond the range of an average backpacker. You sit there for hours contemplating how nice it is to have a place on your own sometimes. Where you have privacy and don’t depend on anyone.
Out of the blue Morgan comes along. She is a woman in her thirties, asking where you come from and where you’ve been so far. Then she offers you to stay in her house. You agree.
The next day she gives you the keys to her house and tells you she will be gone for a couple of days. There you are in your own house on Martha’s Vinyard on the coast with ocean view and sunshine for a week. Sometimes things just happen and you don’t know why. Wishes and dreams do come true.










Stars and Stripes or the 4th of July

1984 by George Orwell is one of the few books that ever meant anything to me. As it is written in the year 1948 it is considered as a fiction book. It predicts how society will be like for future generations. For those of you, who didn’t read the book, read it! It describes how Big Brother is watching you. The speciality of this book is that although it is a fiction book you can actually take part in the plot and feel how it is to live the life of Winston Smith, while Big Brother is watching you. Where? Here, in the United States of America. It is ridiculous how everything described in the book is actually happening right here right now.

There is the invisible enemy on the outside of the country, which is always there and always a threat of life and death. In 1984 it is called Oceania. In US it is terrorism. It is a threat that is permanent and that can strike anytime anywhere. So be afraid of it, this way you are easier to govern.

Big Brother is watching you in 1984. There are no telescreens in the United States. But therefore you are under constant surveillance everywhere. Even your own neighbour can spy on you if he gets some supplies in so called “Spy Shops”. I’ve actually been to a Spy Shop in San Francisco. So your own neighbour could give you away in case you do something strange. So you should better not trust him or her. Be afraid and suspicious. This way you are easier to govern.

No free health care for the sake of keeping people afraid of ruining themselves in case of a major health problem. Being afraid makes you easier to govern.

No free education for the sake of keeping people from thinking for themselves. This way you are easier to govern.

Great great media, that keeps people brainwashed. Everything is there like in 1984: The interviews with veterans from war. The reports from the front. The display of the enemies. And all the rest. Look it up in the book- it is ridiculous!

There is an opposition to the government. In 1984 it is called the brotherhood. Here it’s either the republicans or the democrats. In reality it doesn’t really matter. Both of them are part of the system that is corrupted itself. You can join the opposition and believe in so called “conspiracy” theories. Then you are one of “those” people, who believe in these things. People have lost the ability to understand what a fact is. A fact is that 2 and 2 is 4 and not 5. But these days everything becomes a matter of believe. Meaning that you can believe in “2 and 2 equals 4”, but you don’t necessarily need to. Here are some more facts: It is a fact that the climate changes. It is a fact that the government of the U.S. messed with the laws of Geneva against torture for applying it in Guantanamo Bay. There is nothing to believe- it is there! This leads us right to the concept of Doublethink. My spell correction doesn’t even mark that word, which makes me think even more. Doublethink is the ability to believe in two contradictory facts at the same time. For example, to believe in the fact that you live in a democracy and believe the fact that Bush won the elections 8 years ago. There are hundred examples like these. But again: You can believe it but you don’t really need to. It is your choice.

Welcome to the year 1984.

DONE!!!

I reached New York in one piece. After riding 5800 miles according to the odometer I am happy to cross the finish line. Back to real life. Back to be just another tourist in a little hostel in New York City. It feels damn good.
I want to thank everybody who supported me so greatly during my USA-trip. Every mail and every message means a lot to me! Honestly.
And I want to apologize to my butt, which had to carry my weight and endure all the potholes I hit during all those miles.
I sold the bike today, and got enough money back to keep on travelling for a while.

Where to go next?
What to do there?
Which continent?

I have no idea, but today I go and get wasted!!

P.S.: There will always be a reason not to do something, get over it!

Trip log:
Day 1: 370 miles to Santa Barbara
Day 2: 150 miles to Los Angeles
Day 3: 300 miles to Las Vegas
Day 4: 1 mile to the Casinos
Day 5: 270 miles to Williams
Day 6: 230 miles to Page
Day 7: 300 miles to Gallup
Day 8: 330 miles to Santa Fe
Day 9: 350 miles to Amarillo
Day 10: 350 miles to Oklahoma
Day 11: 150 miles to Tulsa
Day 12: 200 miles to Springfield
Day 13: 290 miles to St.Louis
Day 15: 350 miles to Chicago
Day 19: 300 miles to Flint
Day 20: 320 miles to Toronto
Day 25: 100 miles to Niagara Falls
Day 26: 330 miles to Albany
Day 27: 250 miles to New Paltz
Day 35: 150 miles to New York

almost there!

Trip log:
Day 1: 370 miles to Santa Barbara
Day 2: 150 miles to Los Angeles
Day 3: 300 miles to Las Vegas
Day 4: 1 mile to the Casinos
Day 5: 270 miles to Williams
Day 6: 230 miles to Page
Day 7: 300 miles to Gallup
Day 8: 330 miles to Santa Fe
Day 9: 350 miles to Amarillo
Day 10: 350 miles to Oklahoma
Day 11: 150 miles to Tulsa
Day 12: 200 miles to Springfield
Day 13: 290 miles to St.Louis
Day 15: 350 miles to Chicago
Day 19: 300 miles to Flint
Day 20: 320 miles to Toronto
Day 25: 100 miles to Niagara Falls
Day 26: 330 miles to Albany
Day 27: 250 miles to New Paltz

The Falls

I left Toronto to continue my trip to New York. After having 5000 miles behind me I wanted to finish my trip. So I went to Niagara Falls. This place is like a little Las Vegas, Casinos, colourful billboards and hotels everywhere. Oh and by the way, there is a nice waterfall too. Learning that only a third of all water is actually feeding the waterfall and the rest powering huge turbines, designed by Nicola Tesla himself, was very impressive.


Another day another exiting story

I left the falls behind and found myself one day later at the Americade. A massive Motorbike Expo with tons of chrome, deafening engine sounds and Harleys. Cheeky as I am I showed up with my Japanese Suzuki, a huge backpack strapped to the backseat and no licence plates. I met some very nice Canadian bikers, who refused to belief, that I even crossed the boarder to Canada with that set up.



The Catskills and The Centre for Symbolic Studies

The Catskill mountains are a fabulous place to ride. Beautiful hills coloured in green for miles and miles. I decided to find a place, where I could stay for some days to do nothing but riding and reading. And there it was- out of the blue I found the Centre for Symbolic Studies. I think I am not eloquent enough to explain what is done here so I’ll provide a link (http://www.symbolicstudies.org). Basically it is about altering the collective unconscious by injecting myths into it. Still doesn’t ring a bell? I told you- Check out the website. I got to use my little tent and found out that it is not waterproof :-) Since then I stay in a cabin, without electricity and running water. But therefore I met some really interesting people. I really enjoy the long discussions with them.

Chicago

Status Project Route 66: DONE
20 days- 3800 miles 8 states. Another dream fulfilled. The Route 66 ends in Chicago and it was an incredible experience. I saw so many great places along the way, which I am really grateful for. Having a sore butt from riding all those weeks I was rewarded by meeting some really nice people here in Chicago. Now taking some days off from riding I can enjoy the city and plan the rest of my trip towards New York. After all Project “Cross the US on a bike” is still running.






A ticket to ride
I rode almost 4000 miles without getting pulled over by the police. Then I visited Buckingham fountain here in Chicago. The only downer to all that is that you have to pay 25 cent every 8 minutes parking. Even for motorbikes. The meters are obviously high end machines, which need maintenance quite often as some guy is running around checking them all the time. After a little small talk he adjusts the meter to 4 hours free parking, smiles and sais: “Have a save trip to New York.” Great- time to see the fountain, the harbour and navy pier. Arriving back at the bike I find a ticket telling me I had to pay 50 $. But it was not for parking- I have no licence plate. Actually I have the best licence plate ever - it reads “I fix your computer for bed and breakfast .com” The really annoying thing is that they stick the ticket on to your bike with superglue. It took me at least half an hour to scratch the remains of my glorious ticket off my tank.



“Health care in US” or “dying is free”
Since Michael Moore and other documentaries people are mostly aware of the health care situation US citizens life in. But experiencing it first hand gives it much more quality. Staying here with some lovely friends in Chicago gave me a little insight to that. Waking up in the morning I overheard a telephone call between Debbie - my couchsurfing host, and her mother. Debbie is sick since several days. Her sinuses are swollen and blocked and she is coughing all the time:

- Hi mom
- I really don’t feel well.
- I been at the doctors yesterday and he gave me these pills against sinus infection. But he said it could be pneumonia (Lungenentzündung) too he can’t tell.
- Because he would need X-Rays to be sure. (now she is crying)
- No, mom I can’t afford to get X-Rays (coughing) they are incredibly expensive. I am supposed to be at work this evening at 6. I can’t go there. I am too weak. I don’t know what to do. (pure desperation resonates her voice as she cries on the phone)

Trip update

Trip log so far:
Day 1: 370 miles to Santa Barbara
Day 2: 150 miles to Los Angeles
Day 3: 300 miles to Las Vegas
Day 4: 1 mile to the Casinos
Day 5: 270 miles to Williams
Day 6: 230 miles to Page
Day 7: 300 miles to Gallup
Day 8: 330 miles to Santa Fe
Day 9: 350 miles to Amarillo
Day 10: 350 miles to Oklahoma
Day 11: 150 miles to Tulsa
Day 12: 200 miles to Springfield
Day 13: 290 miles to St.Louis
Day 15: 350 miles to Chicago

It is a Canyon and it’s Grand....what else?
Riding a bike is in itself a fun thing to do. But every now and then one is happy to have some sights along the way to get distracted from the long and winding roads. When fatigue was about to set in I stopped at some “scenic pullout” as these spots are called where you’re supposed to see some beautiful sights. Many times it turns out that you just look at some old rocks. This time it was different. I pulled over and stopped. 20 seconds later my eyes were filled with tears. (no joke!) The Grand Canyon is one of the greatest works of nature I’ve ever seen. Posting the picture below is anticlimactic as there will never be any kind of document, neither written, videotaped or narrated to explain what I felt when I was there.




Caught in the rain
English people do it all the time. People on bikes too. Talking about the weather. Since I left San Francisco the weather forecast is my personal horoscope and I take it very serious every day. I became sensitive for every kind of weather information. Reading clouds is one of my favourite activities while riding. Unfortunately one can not always be lucky. I was riding towards Springfield, when I saw some clouds, that just didn’t seem right. Too dark and too big. At this point I hoped that the road will turn left or right, but that was not happening. It led me right into the dark. I stopped to adjust my gloves and to put the rain covers on the backpack and saddlebags. Actually there is no rain cover for my backpack so I took an old white (telering) rain poncho and fixed it half assed on the backpack. As I moved forward, still hoping that the rain might feel mercy for me, I heard the first drops hitting the visor of my helmet. And then it began. Storm and spray hit my face as I ride with an open face helmet – great decision, Mike- everything is grey and I felt water everywhere. My pants and shoes are soaked. When shifting gear upwards I can feel the water in my shoes running backwards to my heel, when shifting down it runs to my toes. I look down and see water coming out of the ventilation holes of my incredibly unsuitable footwear. I grit my teeth and keep on moving. Now it pours down so hard that I can’t see anything. The rain poncho on my backpack is torn to rags as it flapped too close to the exhauster and melted. I ride down the freeway like a shooting star, red bike in front and pulling a white “rain poncho”- tail right after me. Must have been a great look. 10 minutes later the sun came out again. Two hours to Springfield. Awesome!

Sir Peter
In Austria we sometimes have the phenomenon that frogs, hedgehogs and deers come across the roads. Here in the Mid-east of US are other animals to find. I found many armadillos(Gürteltiere), foxes and suricates (Erdmännchen) smashed to pieces. But mostly I see turtles trying to make a run for the other side of the road. Bloody evidences prove that they don’t succeed very often. So being a good Samaritan I stopped and picked up Sir Peter. Sir Peter is a turtle- explorer, who tried to find out what the other side has to offer. After all the grass might be greener over there. By the way don’t ask why his name is Sir Peter! I just made it up. Sir Peter took a little ride with me on the route 66 (to the other side of the road) and really enjoyed it. Keep on exploring the other side, man!



Acoma Village
Many native Americans live in national Reservations, which are self governed and self organised. So do the Apaches, the Comanches and the little tribe of the Acomas. I visited the Acoma village to see what is going on there. The first sign of Acoma village greets you with the words: “Attention visitors- Taking pictures only with picture permit” I was still on the freeway wondering what I should take no picture of. Arriving at the visitor center of Acoma village I found the actual village placed on the top of a mesa ( a plateau). A guided tour that took me up there with a bus taught me that the Acomas are a little Indian tribe, which got molested by the Spanish Inquisitors pretty badly. They had to abandon their native religion and become roman-catholics instead. They found a way to cope with their past- they practice both religions. Why even fight for religion anyway?



Austria is just around the corner



The route 66