I forced my mind to a halt for a brief moment and smiled at how incredible it is that I was walking down that dirt street in southern Argentina having ridden a motorcycle thousands of miles thru over a dozen countries from the doorstep of my home to a place in the world many only ever dream of knowing.

This journal entry was jotted down while waiting for my chicken and rice in a man’s home-turned-restaurant in a tiny town nestled in the endless, towering mountains between the coast of Peru and the eastern border Peru shares with Brazil and Bolivia.

I have just over $100, 3 beers, half a bottle of orange juice, a full tank of gas, and enough pasta for 1 full day of meals so I hope the tiny beach hut tattoo parlor won’t charge me too much for whatever I scratch into my skin later today.

Apparently riding alone from America to Patagonia on a motorcycle wasn’t hard enough for me…

How to describe a day that left me with a smile I haven't worn in some time.

A smile of contentedness with a day shared only with myself.

A smile of pride at having pushed thru doubt to reap the rewards of venturing into the unknowns of the world around me.

A smile of humbled awe at the beauty, both in people and places, that sits all around me every day.

As soon as they saw me, two men pulled the rope tight while 2-others ran out on either side of my motorcycle to block the path as I rapidly downshifted and came to a stop…

The first night I had the bike back… the wind in my hair, the streets nearly empty, the feeling of the bike responding so perfectly to throttle input…

Hell yeah.

The full truth is that my time in Panama and now Colombia has been one hell of a trying period.

a tiny cafe down the street.

a tiny feeling of desperation for human connection.

In an instant, everything changed.

From peaceful and smiling, to stunned and sick to my stomach.

The crunching sound of his motorcycle tumbling down the slope echoing in both our ears.

I wish I were a little bit taller, a baller, maybe not so stuck in mental squalor.

*drops mic* *looks around to see if anyone sees the glow coming off this scruffy, smelly, motorcycling lyrical genius*

If I can’t love myself, who can?

Beautiful landscapes slide by without notice.

Frightening close calls, sketchy situations, unsettling moments all come and go.

The bright eyes and warm smiles of the people I meet along the way stick in my mind more firmly than it all.

I’m not the smartest, the most capable, nor the most adaptable.

I make more mistakes than I’d like and I often don’t meet my own standards.

I struggle with the most basic of necessities like feeding myself and finding places to use the restroom.

And because of all of that, I continue to push and stumble forward and onward to see if I can learn, grow, and become a better person along the way.

I wanted to quit just hours after crossing the US/Mexico border.

There is no easy way to put it. No sugar coating to beautify the ugly truth.

I am weak and I nearly crumpled and let fear and anxiety carry me away before I had even let the sun set on my first day in Mexico; my first day on this journey to Patagonia.

Is this the worst mistake I have ever and will ever make?

Is this the best decision of my life and one for which I will forever be grateful?

Will I make it?

I am 5-days away from paradise.

5-days away from hell.

Five days away from nothing and everything.