Tag Archives: motorcycles

Florida Adventure

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(Adventure Vacation Days or AVD)

AVD1 “The Math”

“Aftermath” insinuates there’s a “math” and today’s math, unlike geometric or algebraic conclusions, was more along the lines of elementary math.

Kindie Garden.

Fetal even.

Point the truck south. Mash the gas pedal to the floor. Drive for what feels like…

For. Eh. Ver.

What ensued was a Japanese game show style drive of stopping, gassing, weaving, meat stick eating, caffeine hoovering, pothole avoiding, leapfrogging (I’ll pass you, now you pass me, then I’ll pass you again. We’ll do that for FIVE HUNDRED MILES, ok? Sounds like an excellent time…), narrowly avoiding already road mashed animals and a lot of good conversation.

After approximately 800 miles on the road Brant booked us a hotel and we pulled over in Atlanta.

Booking.com is usually pretty good when it comes to finding a deal but when we arrived at our prepaid, preconceived oasis in the Georgian desert, we felt like Joe & Mer Mer on Christmas Eve cuz they wuz no room at the inn.

They’d overbooked and the waitlist was full but no $&#%ing way was I staying in the freakin horse barn so off we went to hotel II.

The Sheraton.

Where Covid restrictions prevent you from even looking up into the clerks eyes.

  1. You must wear a mask at all times. (Sensible)
  2. Seriously. (Ok, I’m pretty sure I understand)
  3. Even in the shower. (What?!?!)
  4. Between bites at breakfast. (WTF?)
  5. Medical grade filtering underwear in case you “fluff”after Mexican dinner. (I DO NOT “FLUFF”!!!!! …I’m far too manly for that. Noxious clouds hover over cities with less ominous threats than my post Mexican dinner creations)

Leaving our precious scooters on the trailer and parked under the back of the building we made it up to our room and into the welcoming arms of a glass of Kentucky’s finest corn squeezin’s before approximately eleven minutes went by and I was uhhh-sleep.

Goodnight moon.

Unfortunately my travelin’ companion wasn’t asleep before me and the windows rattling due to my tumultuous soft palate kept him awake long after blissful relaxation had claimed me.

When I was awakened much later, I found a Richter scale tipped over on the nightstand next to me with a broken face and my pal sawing his own logs across the room.

Medium sized ones in my view compared to the sequoias I’d been obviously making minced trees out of.

Four cups of institutional coffee and a trip to “see a man about a gator” we’re on the road to Tampa.

Hijinks. Will. Ensue.

***

AVD2 The Olympians

If drinking like it’s your job was an Olympic sport we’d be sporting gold medals.

Instead, we’re sporting colossal hangovers as we hurtle towards Naples with the wind in our hair. (Kidding honey, I have my helmet cinched on)

The bartender “pretended” to be our best friend.

She “reeeeaaaalllly” liked us.

The fact that it was a slow night and we were two of the very few people in the bar had NOTHING to do with it.

She saw an easy mark and took us for a ride like a master.

“Want another?”

“Something else, maybe?”

“You guys must be professionals.”

“Oh, are you done? Pansy…”

“If you were a real man you’d finish that.”

And so forth…

I was unaware that a bar tab for two people could get that high.

Seriously.

Like mountaintop high.

Whatever that guys name is that jumped from the balloon in the stratosphere high.

SNOOP DOGG HIGH.

The credit card was hot to the touch after that vigorous swiping.

***

Anyway, after my head ceased its swelling and my roiling entrails calmed down, I rolled my scooter off of the trailer for a ride across what turned out to be a pretty tall bridge.

I now understand why they call it The Skyway.

(See the Snoop Dogg reference above)

It was only about 20,000 leagues over the sea but at least it was really windy.

I was being pushed around like a nerd in a circle of school yard bullies and I had to concentrate to keep my already delicate balance. If you have some coal and need a diamond, put me on that bridge again on a windy day on two wheels.

My traveling companion had wisely made the decision to drive the truck and trailer to our parking spot in Sarasota because he’d been there before and wanted nothing to do with the Bridge of Eternal Puckering on a motorcycle.

Donning our gear and ready to hit the road we roared off only to turn around because I’d forgotten something in the car then roared off again.

Brant, having not had a lot of highway experience on a big ol’ harley, got a trial by fire on this day and emerged as a Phoenix from the flame.

That man is:

  1. Bad.
  2. Ass.

That’s right. I said it.

I looked down a couple times and I was cruising about 85-90mph (I highly recommend the Harley Road Glide. So smooth) and he was right there. I did notice new finger marks in the grips at the end of the day but he didn’t say a word.

The man is legend.

***

Stopping in Naples for a quick bite (grouper, every meal we can get) we looked and found our spot. A beacon shining brightly in the already bright sunshine that said EVERYTHING we needed it to.

“GROUPER & CHIPS”

We pulled over immediately.

Grouper sandwich.

Grouper burger.

Fried grouper.

Boiled grouper.

Broiled grouper.

…and some conch fritters.

I needed a nap.

Instead I got the Everglades.

If you’ve only read about or seen the Everglades on tv, you’re missing out.

There’s an incredible stark beauty about the Everglades and I want to definitely go back.

About every 8 feet or so there’s a sign advertising an air boat ride:

“Best air boat ride ever!”

“Don’t ride on that guys sinking airboat☝🏽…”

“New-ish airboat rides!”

“You may, or may not, get cannibalized on this airboat ride!”

And:

“Live alligator show!” (Because the dead ones just lie there like pre-wallets or a giant boot with legs still on ‘em)

“Have unwanted relatives? Bring ‘em to the live alligator show!”

In reality the Everglades was one of the prettiest rides I’ve been on and I’d like to do it again with just that stretch in mind. There were lots of picnic areas but no warning that they were right ahead and with cypresses and mangroves on one side of the canal and walls of brush on the other they went by quickly with no chance to stop. We’re hoping that a fully floating and non cannibalizing air boat ride may happen on the way back.

More to come…

***

AVD3 Key West

The ride from Key Largo to Key West was epic.

I didn’t realize there were so many keys.

Marathon Key (short ride)

Long Key (short ride)

Smuggled Marijuana Key (I made that up)

Cocaine Key (that too)

and my personal favorite that must have taken much thought and gnashing of teeth…

No Name Key (I didn’t make that up)

800 keys (much like my high school janitors key ring) make up the archipelago with 180 miles and 42 bridges connecting them. One really cool arch bridge and the famous 7 mile bridge which has the old 7 mile bridge rotting away next to it. It’s been left there to show you what you’ll look like if you stay too long in the keys without sunscreen.

Traffic wasn’t too bad and we kept a good pace up.

The local constabulary cleverly put a police car in the driveway of an abandoned lot and just left it there on Marathon and the ruse worked. We all slowed right down but muttered under our breath unkind things when we realized it was empty.

I revved up and took off like a shot because I’d been duped but slowed right down when I saw another cruiser up ahead, the officer pointing a hair dryer at traffic.

I’m guessing they’re underfunded.

We stopped for lunch at a seafood restaurant (so weird right?) and had beef and chicken with a mutton appetizer.

(not true)

GROUPER AND SHRIMP

and some good calamari with a Caesar salad. I don’t actually think I’ve had beef this whole trip. There something about having seafood by the sea.

The smell of low tide and seagull poop really gets you in the mood for feasting.

The little cheeto birds (aptly named by my then six year old son at the pool when the sparrows would hop around looking for chips) cruising for a handout and looking too fat to fly.

The last time I was in the keys it was with my good friend John and my late brother Luke so I rented a Corona Light in his honor. I miss that guys laugh and man did he know how to have a good time.

Screenshot

Back on the road it was nice and easy and we made good time getting into Key West.

Once we got checked into the hotel and freshened up (a spritz of motor oil and grease in our hair. A funny thing because there’s not one hair on my friends head) we were off to Duval Street to make our mark on the town.

By “make our mark” I mean hand them a great deal of our money in exchange for surly service.

It. Was. Excellent.

I will say this. Their vodka works the same as it does in Kansas City.

You know how the saying goes, “What happens in Vegas stays in Vegas”? Well, what happens in Key West stays in Key West but mainly because you can’t remember what happened in Key West.

Stopping wherever they served alcohol, which meant a lot of stopping, we made our way down the street and enjoyed the debauchery of the bar scene.

At one point we stopped for dinner and can’t remember what we ate but at least it was expensive.

I’m gonna have to sell my son off for medical experiments when I get home in order to finance this trip.

MANY more drinks later we wound up at Sloppy Joes, a favorite hangout of Hemingway and an estranged sister to the Sloppy Joes in Havana that I had the chance to visit a few years ago. This one was a lot more boozy than the Cuban version and by the time we were finished with our drinks, we were finished ourselves.

It was time for pizza and a ride home.

The Über driver was kind enough to wait while the pizza place milled the wheat and cultured the yeast for dough (it seemed that way ‘cause it took for eh ver) and we were off.

Back at the hotel it was pizzafest and once we were done, the bottle of bourbon I had so lovingly packed was staring at us from the tabletop so we dove back in.

The last thing I remember was Brant saying something to me and I just turned over and checked out but upon awakening this morning, my glass was empty so apparently autopilot had taken over.

My liver is grateful (a lie)

I feel pretty good (another lie)

I think a Bloody Mary is in my near future (truth)

And some seafood.

***

AVD4

Guess what we had for breakfast?

SHRIMP and grits.

Guess what we had for lunch?

That’s right, more seafood. GROUPER and of course some shrimp and conch fritters.

I’m 100% certain that I’m going to smell fritterly with a hint of fried fish parts when I get back to Kansas City.

I’ll be irresistible to the females of my species (if indeed you can figure out what my species is. I’m a bit “unique” as most of you already know).

They broke the mold when they made me. In fact, the species was forever changed upon my arrival.

Generally, this isn’t a good thing.

Being inappropriate at the most inopportune moments is ONE of my superpowers.

The other is laughing uncontrollably at funerals.

If you have a loved one that needs a sendoff sans stoicism, I’m your guy.

We’ve come back to Irish Kevin’s for the third time this trip and the second time today because they’re having church services and we are DEVOUT.

The bartender was delighted to see us and muttered “…oh, you’re back…” almost under her stanky mask breath but we paid her no mind because WE were delighted to see her. She possessed something we WANTED and it was liquid encouragement.

Three more shots and several vodkas later we walked out and wandered Duval yet again. What was about a mile was now around four.

The difference was staggering.

In fact we were.

Even the drunkest guy I’d ever seen asked if I was ok.

Turns out I’d gone into the men’s room and was looking in the mirror and the drunkest guy I’d ever seen was me.

Soooo…

Back at Angelinas Pizzeria we ordered a whole pie without calling the unsuspecting über driver first and waited while the guys threw one together for us.

I looked in the oven a couple times and those guys were masters. Every square inch of the pizza stones were in use. In between each pizza was a slice of pie heating up. They were in there side to side covering every available spot.

I’m surprised they don’t advertise pizza slivers just so they could use even more of the space in that 500 degree hellbox.

A short über ride and three giant slices later with some serious heartburn on the horizon we were ready to hit the sack but once again…

The. Bottle. Was. Looking. At. Us.

We heard the siy-reen song of the sayouth (sound it out with me: sigh-reeen and sayyy-owwwth) so off to the ice machine my coconspirator went and soon we were sipping on some of Kentucky’s finest mountain dew, feeling fine.

So fine in fact that neither of us finished even half of it judging by the still sweating recycled paper coffee cups sitting on the coffee table and nightstand when I woke up to get some water.

Water which smelled slightly of the whiskey that was formerly in the cup but it was all I had.

(On a side note I’d like to give a quick shout out to my liver. That’s one tough sumbitch to have made it through the last several days and I’m a proud owner. I’m gonna look into a system flush when I get back as a thank you for dealing with my inebriated *ss all week.)

Today has been a short but windy ride back up the coast, stopping briefly at Mrs. Macs Kitchen in Key Largo for some spectacular seafood (Hogfish on the menu today. I’ve only had ones I’ve speared myself so I was excited to hear about the specials) and we’re currently at a little dive called Sams Hideaway in Homestead (after getting a room secured at the Floridian Hotel that looks much like a motor lodge from 1957 but with very nice updated rooms) where I swear I just saw a patron use the hand sanitizer to scrub his armpits. These people are being pretty serious about their safety and since I got a whiff of that guy as he walked by, I’m thankful he’s killed whatever bacteria he was harboring in those hairy havens.

The bartender is super nice and welcomed us right in, doing an excellent job plying her wares on two willing consumers.

The night is young dear readers.

Homestead may be a diamond in the rough…

***

AVD5

This morning is brought to us by the letter “C”.

For coffee.

Because once again we went cray cray.

And “C” is for Cuban.

Because our late night munchies took us to a Cuban sandwich shop and we went cray cray there too.

It’s funny because while in Cuba I didn’t see any of those sandwiches but I certainly love and make them here.

We hustled everything back to the hotel and didn’t even sit down. We just leaned over the credenza shoving bites of whatever was handy into our open maws, marveling at how good everything was then passing out once again.

I think I’ve gained about 64 pounds since last week having eaten late night food on many occasions and fried everything seafood related so don’t be surprised if you do a double take because you don’t recognize the new acreage I’ve acquired.

At the hotel in Homestead I saw a lizard that can only be described as “The Business”.

I say business because without their little lizardy legs they’d look like… well… “the business”.

After working for the local farm vet all through high school I saw plenty of animal “businesses” and I can’t get the image out of my mind so regardless of what they may actually be called they’re now aptly named “The Business Lizards”.

An excellent band name should anyone be searching.

The ride back to Sarasota was mostly uneventful but this time rolling through the Everglades I saw MANY of Florida’s famous residences. Alligators in the wild are pretty amazing and look prehistoric. If dinosaurs looked anything like them I’m excited to be well on the far side of their extinction.

Some of the ones I saw basking on the side of the canal were HUGE.

Here’s what I equate them to:

If you took a Dick Cepek 50” monster mudder truck tire and unrolled it then gave it four legs and a 2000psi mouth grip with Sabre tooth lizard teeth, it would be about half of the actual animal.

They even looked like rubber.

Rubber sunbathing meat eating death machines.

They were incredible to see.

We did make a stop in Ft Myers to have lunch with some friends, Pierre and Jennifer, who happened to be on vacation and had been reading of our (mis)adventures on fb.

We met at a hole in the wall place called Cowboy Crab & Seafood and ordered sandwiches and goodies but I saw something that looked like a combo plate for about the same price as a sandwich and it was meant to be mine.

When everyone’s food arrived it was in normal styrofoam to go containers except for mine which arrived in a 2 inch aluminum half hotel pan with a lid on it and some real heft.

Inside was blue crab, what looked like a half pound of shrimp, red potatoes and two half corn cobs in a truly delicious broth and approximately four pounds of industrial minced garlic.

I think I need to be taught how to eat blue crab because judging by the sidelong glances, cracking the legs with your bared teeth is a tad disconcerting but wow, I just couldn’t help myself. The shrimp and crab were delicious and the potatoes dipped in the broth and garlic were ridiculously tasty. I’m certain I looked like a bugs bunny cartoon where you can hear the old manual typewriter sounds when he’s eating corn.

I may be the only one who heard that…

If you’re in or near Ft Myers, definitely go there.

The rest of the ride was good and smooth and Sarasota, along with my comfy suburban seats were welcome sights.

We had ridden 350 miles back to the truck, been rained on a bit back in the keys and had an adventure to incite a lifetime of memories.

I hope you’ve enjoyed making the trip with us and if you think some of these stories border on insanity, you haven’t even scratched the surface 😉

Til next time gentle readers.

Kansas City awaits…

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Dominican Republic 5

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Dominican Republic

Day 5

Puerta Plata and Sosuà

Yesterday we rode to Puerta Plata to see the Brugal rum distillery and a local chocolate factory called Del Oro where they make mostly organic chocolate from local cacao farms.

The ride there took quite the toll on my now tender derrière, who has gotten used to a cushy custom Harley seat, and about a third of the way there I felt like a little kid.

My sore *ss was snot crying “WHEN ARE WE GONNA BE THERE?!?!” and my response as ever was “Do I have to turn this *ss around and…”

I had to stop because the answer would have of course been a resounding yes.

Arriving in Puerta Plata was a lesson in defensive terrorist school driving.

Little motos were everywhere, weaving in and out of traffic, beeping their horns like little toys among the cars and trucks roaring by, belching black smoke and lurching out into traffic with little or no notice.

Traffic lights are a mere suggestion and vehicles are driving pell mell around the town.

This was like an aggressive Sunday drive where everyone wanted to get the hell out of the car as soon as possible, all other drivers beware.

You could normally tell when they were coming out because they’d edge out from the side street or driveway about halfway through the right lane and stop until traffic cleared a bit then they’d honk and start pulling out.

We’d just weave around them and continue on our way.

Btw, speaking of weaving around, domesticated animal tag has taken on a few other aspects. I’m now up to:
11 cows
1 horse
1 almost chicken (wiley little suckers)
1 almost pig (the owner raised his switch at me so I veered away)
1 dog
2 tour busses
2 semi trucks
1 Daihatsu pickup filled with limes
And…
2 high fives. One from a street vendor and
one from another passing motorist.

It’s been a pretty fun made up game.

The trucks, busses and high fives were added on the way to Sosuà just because it was hilarious and aside from one irritable tour bus driver, no one seemed to mind.

Puerta Plata started with a trip to the parts store and installing a new trunk on the back of Johns bike which turned into finding and fixing an oil leak on Todd’s bike which led to me spending too much time at the parts counter where
I made an amazing discovery.

Little. Bitty. Cargo. Nets.

We’d been buying and losing bungee straps the entire time we’d been in the country, stopping in the middle of the road to pick up our backpacks and search for the strap.

I’d taken to tying mine down with a piece of rope I’d found at Johns house but now we were in BUSINESS!

I could ride now without reaching back every four seconds to see if my bag was still back there although it took me the entire day to stop doing it.

I still do once in a while though.

It made riding in the traffic a lot easier because you really need both hands on the handlebars in that city.

I’m a seasoned rider (SPG for me. That’s salt, pepper & garlic for the unseasoned out there.) and even I was still a bit nervous.

Hence, fewer pictures of this particular excursion.

Traffic there was like watching one of those videos of Taiwan or New Delhi where every car in the city tries to make it through the intersection at once.

It’s a lesson in opportunity.

Once we were away from the parts store we stopped once again at the storefront for the omnipresent Predisdenté grande at the Tam Tam club.

A very nice lady rushed out and escorted us to a table and we eagerly swilled cold beer like there wasn’t going to be cold beer anymore.

I got a few pics and looked around where I spied something egregious.

The Harley Bar.

Having not seen a single Harley in this land of sweet mini bikes I couldn’t believe that such a thing existed but once I got closer I saw what they’d done.

Some nefarious mofo had stolen the Harley name, opened a bar, PUT A MINI BIKE ON THE SIGN then promptly closed the bar.

Presumably some toughs from the Sons of Malarkey had shown up and given the proprietor the what for.

(Point of fact- the closest thing I’ve seen to a Harley was a Kawasaki Vulcan Classic I saw roaring down the street in front of the honorable empanada guys shop.)

I laughed, snapped a pic for the record then giggled off.

Deciding to rub my protesting hiney the wrong way once again, we got back on the road, looking for the boozery and the chocolatier.

Which we never even saw.

When the town suddenly ended we realized we’d missed both of our stops and pulled over where John announced…

“Let’s go to Sosuà.”

So we went.

And immediately pulled back over because I had a flat tire.

There’s a ubiquitous place in the DR called a Gomeria and all they do is fix tires.

They’re everywhere.

They’re like the Dunkin Donuts shops on the east coast. You can see one from the front door of another like flies on a (tagged) cows patty.

Anyway, while we waited for the gentleman to fix my flat ($3 US) we walked across the highway to another local joint and bought beers from what looked to me like a twelve year old bartender and relaxed with a cigar then, getting a wave from el mechanico, we were once again back on the road.

Sosuà, as it turns out, is a super touristy town where shopkeepers will hold you down and pile stuff on top of you until you hand over your child’s college money.

They also have some amazing (and old) hotels and some pretty good places to sit with a drink and people watch.

If you’re out later in the evening, the streets fill with younger people out for a rowdy time and, as with most Island countries I know of, women of negotiable affection. (Thank you to Mrs. G for that wonderful phrase)

It was fun to watch but I wanted nothing to do with that version of fun and I was ready to get back to my room for some air conditioning and a soft bed.

We’d found the Hotel Piergiorgio which looked amazing and were promised air conditioning.

After walking around the hotel grounds earlier, I told the manager we wouldn’t book unless I could jump off the hotel balcony into the ocean and he readily agreed so we handed him our money.

$35 whopping US dollars each.

The room came with breakfast and what turned out to be a bottomed out bottomless cup of coffee.

1.5 little cups to be exact.

It was enough though because the beer, hot Mamajuana shot, hot Jaegermeister shot, hot tequila shot, vodka drinks and misc other liquids had left me a bit, how should I say…

Barphy.

Speaking of barphy, let’s talk about Mamajuana for a minute.

Here’s my take:
Some medieval genius was out chopping wood and decided “Hmmmm, I think I’ll take these wood chips, shove them down the neck of this throwed out Martini & Rossi bottle then pour last years cranberry juice I found behind the seat of my donkey cart and some of the cheapest rum I could buy at Wallmart (pic attached) over it then microwave it until the glass bottle begins to melt then forget it on my shelf for 68 years.

Then I’ll share it with everyone.

If there’s one word I could use to describe this amazing elixir it would be…

Don’t drink this.

Ever, ever, ever, ever.

(Ok seven words.)

The hair will fall out of your scrotum (If you have one. If not you can probably find one at Wallmart.)

Am I painting the mostest, horribliest picture yet?

We have yet to scratch the surface of that liquid freak show.

At Flip Flops, the tourist bar we stopped at, after the woody, hot liquidy horror shot, I had a damn fine mohito and we ordered some chicken wings and fries from the fun and sassy bartender (one of my favorites so far) and it turned out that the wings were pretty good.

We got bbq and buffalo.

I asked for as hot as I could get and from what I could tell so far in the DR, hot sauce isn’t a big commodity.

The wings however, had a nice burn and would be considered “hot” but not “really hot” in the US.

We then roamed the town seeing the sights and if you squinted your eyes just right, you’d have been in any tourist beach town in the US.

Lots of tchotchke shops, restaurants and actual bars instead of beer closets, hotels everywhere and a brisk trade in taxis and rental scooters.

Whenever we’d asked about “all inclusive” at any hotel we were informed that indeed no, the room rental does not include breakfast.

Apparently in Sosuà all inclusive means you get toast.

In all, it was yet another excellent day in the Dominican Republic.

People all over the world are friendly and most have a good sense of humor (thanks high five guys) and are ready to laugh, especially with eager, fun loving and inquisitive visitors, at any given moment.

Sometimes a smile is all you need but a little gratuity helps. 

😉

Playa Cambiaso

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The road to Playa Cambiaso

This morning began as have the others with a recap of the day before, highs and lows, much coffee, a wonderful cigar and plans for the day.

Johns friend Dennis, a local expatriate from Florida was leading us to an obscure beach called Playa Cambiaso and we were taking the back way.

It wasn’t far in miles but much like a sh*tfaced bar patron,a few steps can actually make up a mile when you add the staggering.

We met at Dennis’ house that he’s owned for a couple years and was actually a failed restaurant that he bought and turned into an amazing bed & breakfast with one incredible view.

We were joined by Peter, another transplant who turned out to be originally from Wales. I commented that I was surprised because I could actually understand him and found out he’d lived all over the place and came most recently from Australia.

He also said this is the last place he’ll ever live and after just a couple of days here I can see why.

If you have even a modest income you can live pretty nicely here. If you can’t afford to own a house, rent is only $30-$40 a month for a decently sized place. So many structures are abandoned but still owned by people looking for anything they can get out of them.

After some pleasantries and a fill up on water we were once again off to the races.

Dennis has been a prolific explorer and was excited to show us the back ways and secret spots on the way to Playa Cambiaso so he led the way.

Once again the boulder roads proved rough but drivable and like drunken sailors we weaved our way along, stopping occasionally for a chat or a picture.

Once in a while I’d race ahead and get some shots of the pack coming up the road. It reminded me of when I was a kid and my neighbors Todd & Ty taught me how to ride dirt bikes in the pastures of central Kansas.

In all honesty, the faster I went, the smoother the ride but I knew at any given moment I could hit a crater and it’d be lights out for moi.

It didn’t happen though and I got some great shots of the group.

Our first stop was an abandoned golf community where the developers were trying to carve out a high end exclusive golf course and housing project but were thwarted by local environmentalists and then left behind.

The road to the communal “hut” was a bit tricky and steep but we made it with minimal fanfare.

As we arrived at the top, the road opened into a wide flat area that looked to me to be a helipad with a gravel palm tree inlaid into the dirt and nothing else.

The view though was incredible so I could see why they wanted the land and the project.

We walked through the woods to the community center where apparently there’s still a group of locals taking care of the property and conserving the former project for some unknown reason. The thought by my companions was that it had been turned into a nature preserve.

We had gotten in through a small gate in the barbed wire fence with a small tip and a handshake by the “guard”, an older gentleman with gnarled and calloused hands from years of obvious labor.

Heading down the path to the lower section of the property the path was a little more challenging with some sandy spots that frankly made me a little incontinent.

You’d never have known though since it was so freaking hot that any liquids leaking out of me would have evaporated immediately.

On second thought, maybe I should have peed on my own feet like the vultures do out on the Kalahari to keep cool.

Kinda gross though and measures were not that desperate just yet.

Some of the sandy spots were deep and most likely are filled with quicksand when the rainy season comes around.

As we made it past the last of the deep sand, you could see the ocean through the trees and what was once a tee box for the golf course. It looked out over what I can only assume was a challenging par 3 and I’m positive there are MANY golf balls at the bottom of the sea there.

What was an ancient lava flow has turned into some amazingly sharp rocks and some of the best fossils I’ve seen in a long time.

There was one spot where you could see the backs of the fish that had been caught in the tidal pool then frozen in time in the sand, the remains of their dorsal fins still sticking out of the rock and the impression of sea flora still embedded for millennia to come.

With the cry of “MOUNT UP!” Coming from back in the woods, Dennis was ready to move on so we got back on our bikes and headed out.

Now, back in the states I’m a prolific motorcycle rider and I don’t know about Todd but my fundament was getting pretty tender with the beating it had taken over the last couple days and I was a bit reluctant but as I had no freaking clue where I was, I had no choice but to either die in the rocks and become a fossil myself or get my tender *ss in gear and get a move on.

I opted for the latter and we were off.

Arriving in Playa Cambiaso approximately four hundred *ss beating years later, we gladly dismounted and glanced around for an open bar.

We were the only ones there.

Being greeted by a gentleman who very nicely put a flat stone under each of our kickstands so we wouldn’t find our motorcycles flat on their sides when we got back, we went in search of cervesas frias.

Another kind man put out a table and chairs for us and ran approximately seven light years away for cold Presidenté as apparently everyone had given up on visitors for the day until we happened upon their little burg(o).

Seeing John emerge from one of the little buildings on the beach I sauntered over to change out of my shorts and skivvies only to be met at the doorway by a husky and irritated woman who’s house it apparently was so I hustled back to the table and changed once more out in el pública, this time making sure my friends weren’t subject to my glowing posterior.

Walking sedately to the shoreline, my pace quickened and became an outright sprint once I figured out that what looked like sand was actually beige flames and the soles of my feet were becoming blistered empanadas only not so nice this time.

Finally making it into the water I waded out, turned around and was treated to one of the most pristine sights of my (very few and youthful) years.

Palm trees waving in the wind, sandy beach unmarred by footprints, beautiful aquamarine water and a local riding his horse down the beach.

He was carrying an armload of pure white towels with a glowing smile on his face.

As I splashed happily out, he rode up and without a glance, rode right by me and into the woods.

Sometimes I’m an idiot.

Sometimes I’m not though and remembering the sands of pure hell I jumped back into the sea and waited for the garçon to arrive with our beers.

We only had one there at one Playa Cambiaso as it was more about the journey than the destination and we were off once more.

Turning off of the blissfully paved road, Dennis led us up a hill to yet another spectacular sight where we could see Luperón, the golf community where we’d just been, the marina where the sailors berth their boats and the amazing shoreline as far as we could see.

Far below were several resorts and incredible beaches and the view (and the wind) could literally take your breath away.

The landscape of the Dominican Republic is dotted with abandoned projects and empty houses and the local expatriates know it as the land of broken dreams.

Riding back through Luperón and down by the beach at Playa Grande there was an empty 400 room hotel that was apparently open as recently as 2012.

Fenced off and empty is was a lonely sight and I could see in my mind families enjoying the beach and meals being prepared in the restaurant, plans being made for excursions and children excited to build castles in the sand.

With Dennis leading the way, we went back to his place by yet another rough riding route down a road I had previously wondered about but hadn’t gone down then jumped in his pool to cool off with the ubiquitous glass of rum, looking out over the valley that seriously looks like the Serengeti with acacia looking trees and cows that from that distance could have easily been wildebeests.

A few giraffes and a rhino or two would have made the landscape perfect.

All in all it was another incredible day. Thanks again to John for the opportunity and Dennis for the good sense of direction.