No prep. No Spanish. No experience on a motorcycle.

Riding alone from Detroit to Argentina.

Follow my story.

Racing death to Argentina.

Learning to ride a motorcycle, speak Spanish and not die.

Yeah, but when I do finally die - it's going to be spectacular.

  • We don't have helmets. I'm a new rider. It is dark. I'm not sure about the wisdom of riding with two women on the back of my motorcycle on these dangerous jungle roads.

  • I wondered where all the "drugs, rapists and some good people" were, that I had been hearing about on the news for the past year. Not even one person tried to sell me fentanyl. "Lame."

  • The "pastor" presiding over my aunt's country-fried Arkansas wedding is from the Church of the Flying Spaghetti Monster. He's wearing a tutu and quoting from the Princess Bride movie like it is his Friday night stand-up set.

Follow my story.

No prep. No Spanish. No experience on a motorcycle. Riding alone from Detroit to Argentina.