Ozone In The Air

When I was a youngster I traveled by motorcycle, I didn’t hang out much or congregate among motorcycles because I spent my time riding to go see things, I was always animated by curiosity.  

I didn’t spend  any time wondering if I preferred the ocean or mountains because what I preferred to do was ride and mountain roads were naturally better. I didn’t mind twisting coastal roads but too often they were crowded and jammed so they were slow and boring, for a young man looking for the horizon. 

I was always curious to see new places so I’d visit towns and attractions that I’d heard of and that were played up in the press. I’d see exotica on the page and find boredom on the street, an early sales lesson I suppose. Even  in 1975 Saint Tropez in the south of France was a gnarly traffic jam to get close to the bikinis, but before the Internet the open marshes of the Languedoc with the wild horses were wide open so I tended to end up going where other people weren’t. I found out about stuff from motorcycle magazines or books and I stashed places in my mind asking myself what they might be like. I didn’t have Google street view like I do today, the tool that kept me sane at work while I plotted my escape. I had to go and find out. 

What I’ve found in South America is freedom in my old age and that has surprised me. I wasn’t sure what we’d find and the stay-at-homes always spread the negativity when you announce a plan to drive south. Danger Will Robinson. Instead we travel unmolested, welcomed and encouraged. What a joy. 

We met a couple of surfers at the surf camp yesterday as we pulled into park. They asked if we were staying and then said it was a great spot, quiet and perfectly safe. This place is here for everybody he said when I said I didn’t surf, if that wasn’t obvious. They wanted us to enjoy the beach. 

I was enchanted by their kindness, and the open invitation to feel safe and welcome in their surf camp. We’ve met so much of this attitude all across South America and yet back home there is all too often an undercurrent of fear when inquiring how we like living among people with less money than we have. We don’t see “no camping” signs along the highways here. 

I’ve seen nothing like the stereotypes of corruption and threats and robberies and thefts in thousands of miles of wandering South America where living in a van is seen as eccentric perhaps but entirely acceptable, admired even which I find surprising. I don’t suppose the United States will miss me, the traveler, I’m old and on the shelf and doing nothing of note but knocking as it were at heaven’s door. My productive years are over and the world I grew up in is disappearing to be replaced by something that suits the younger generations. Down here I enjoy being on the sidelines, living off my pension like an old man. The sidelines suit me as they always have; that’s where my drummer beats the drum.  

Layne and I aren’t in a hurry to go home but we do want to finish the PanAmerican by driving to Alaska and we have friends we want to see all over the country. But it’s not time to settle down yet, there’s life in the old traveling dog. We’re Baby Boomers and our time is past they say.  

I’m sitting on a beach in my van watching the tide come in and the frothy white spume is pouring over the black rocks along the shore and rolling back with a continuous roar of thunder. Yes I still like driving the mountains and  admiring the views but this is where I like to be, within sight of tidal waters. It took me driving the Andes to get this clear in my head. 

I’m glad GANNET2 can get parts and service in South America, I wish the ocean waters were warm here but they aren’t, so I can repair  my home even here but I cannot go for an ocean swim. Compared to all the changes at home, the struggles to buy homes to find work in a world switching to artificial intelligence, my struggle to fix my van is nothing much. Now it’s fixed we should be driving inland, one more kite high Andean pass to cross to see the inland jungles of Brazil. But I am enjoying the ozone on the beach and so is Layne.  

I was asked where I expect to end up after driving around and I suppose my long winded answer is: I haven’t a clue except it probably won’t  be the US unless something changes and people learn to get along in my lifetime, but  I do hope wherever it might be, retirement be within sight of tidal water. That would be nice. 

Fortunately there is no imperative yet to stop moving.  I’m told the beaches of Brazil are spectacular. 

I’m curious to see what happens at home in the years ahead, maybe things will calm down and one can always hope for rational thinking to prevail over extremism but I have ocean views, peace and civility outside my door right where I am. I feel lucky to be here.