Life’s journey is not to arrive at the grave safely in a well preserved body, but rather to skid in sideways, totally worn out, shouting: Holy shit…what a ride! – Hunter S. Thompson What a crazy story. A year has passed already since 13 August 2015 when in the early afternoon of a normal rainy day I left Prudhoe Bay/Deadhorse on the Arctic Ocean to enter kilometre zero of the Dalton Highway, a spot considered to mark the beginning of the Panamerican Highway. It’s easy to indulge fully in a
If you’re not facing fear every day, you’re getting weaker, not stronger. – Tony Robbins A few days ago I was on a truck surrounded by Indians of La Guajira, on a strip of desert in the northern most tip of South America – a land divided between Colombia and Venezuela. I was on the truck, instead of on my bike. I was stunned, with one hand and neck that were burning, and stinging bumps in my head. With a smile on my face, I drank a sort of native
Man is the measure of all things: of things which are, how they are, and of things which are not, how they are not – Protagoras Now I am at the latitude of Moscow – and so I am encouraged while on the Alaska Highway by the thought that by now it could no longer get that cold. I knew the climate in Moscow in September. Since the beginning of the journey from Prudhoe Bay in Alaska I realized that more than the kilometres it was important to measure my