In the last couple of years I have climbed the high peaks of Colorado in wintry storms, ridden a motorcycle through the scorching and desolate Peruvian desert, and melted the rubbery soles of my shoes from scalding hot rock broiling from the lava beneath my walking path. I have embarked on a journey to satisfy my thirst for adventure and I hope to share and inspire you through my past and future journeys. My name is David Crothers and I grew up in Morrisville, VT. Through the good times and the bad, this community has supported me in every direction I have taken. I am not sure I would be where I am today without this small town support. Whenever I am home to visit, or run into someone I haven't seen in a few years, they are always fascinated with what I have been doing. With everyone so interested in my travels, the News & Citizen has given me an opportunity to share with you my experiences of being on the road. Thanks to Mickey and J.B., the first piece I would like to share with you is about an event from my motorcycle trip I was on last year. I was with a friend also from Morrisville, Brendan O'Brien, traveling through the cold and unforgiving mountains of the Peruvian Andes. Here we are:   We have been trying to make it to Caraz, Peru for over a week now, but with rough roads, torrential rain, and getting lost, getting there has been a daunting and seemingly impossible task. We have taken bad falls from exhaustion, while trying to muscle our way through soggy rugged roads. The cold rain and snow seems to never end, making the journey that much harder. The roads are like quicksand; once my front tire hits the indistinguishable mud, Brendan and I are thrown to the ground. This happens consistently and without warning and picking the bike up loaded with gear for two people is like trying to move a whale. Brendan, at this point, has taken the liberty of walking, and pushes me when I am stuck. He moves at about the same pace I do on the motorcycle. We are both muddy, tired, and the bumps and bruises are the least of my worries, getting out of this heinous weather is all I can think about. We are a big deal up here to the locals. Everyone stares at us and at times they laugh at our misfortunes. We are not a pretty sight, caked with mud head to toe. People take a step back when I approach for directions. But the amusement can't help but be shared. Smiles and grins are exchanged and I do all I can to see the sunny side of the situation. The motorcycle has run out of gas twice, we've managed to completely rip off one of my touring boxes attached to the side of the motorcycle, and have fallen over several times crossing rivers and streams, leaving all our clothes and contents soaked. We continued the misery down twisting and winding dirt roads, when somewhere along the way we made a wrong turn, and got lost only to wind up about three hours from where we had started the day! We made a huge circle in the mountains, and ended up in the middle of a religious festival in a small Andean mountain town.  |  Latin America is full of festivals, every month is the start of something new to celebrate. April just so happens to be a holy month. They celebrate with ear-piercing indigenous music, dancing, and parading around drunkenly – though most don't drink, you do get some sour apples. We landed ourselves in the middle of these festivities at night and with nowhere to park, I had no option but to park in the middle of a huge crowd. They were all standing under canopies out of the rain and we were surrounded by people just as dumbfounded as we were. You could almost hear people trying to catch their breath. Brendan and I quickly dismounted the bike and ran for cover. But it was obvious after only a few minutes – no one was willing to help a couple of smelly, wet, muddy gringos. We were forced to mount the bike once again in the rain and head for the next small town and seek shelter there, with only my motorcycle spotlight to negotiate the mud.  On our way out of town we saw someone walking along the road but I could barely make them out. He was dressed in a full black trash bag that was keeping him dry (typical rain gear in small town Peru). I pulled alongside him and shouted over the rain and motorcycle engine "Hola, Buenas Noches! Cuanto tiempo hasta el proximo pueblo?" (Hello, Good Evening! How long until the next town?) He told us about three or four hours. I asked if there was a place to stay any closer so we could get out of the cold rain and he offered us his house. It was pretty amazing to dry off and warm up in his home with his family. He insisted on giving us food and warm soup, an offer we could not decline. Out of exhaustion, we could not cook for ourselves. We slept well after talking with his curious family and the following morning the clouds broke showing a bright, but brisk, sun on us. We eventually found our way to Caraz and onto another adventure into the Andean Mountains.  |
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Andean Mountains on a MotorcycleCold Andean Mountains on a Motorcycle by David Crothers |