Like this:

On my way to La Paz, I stopped by some town whose name I forgot (Buzz, fill me in here), which turned out to be an absolutely beautiful town. I don’t know if anybody recommended that I stop here, but I’m glad I did because I met one of the nicest and wackiest characters evern there. I was getting off my bike and there stood this tall, heavily tatooed dude, wearing a sleaveless Harley Davidson shirt, and an American flag bandana. It was hard not to hit it off with the guy. He was super nice and extremely personable. We began shooting shit and I told him I was starving, so he recommended a restaurant nearby, and we walked over.

Now get this shit, Buzz had seen this picture of another Round-the-World (RTW) rider, Glenn Haestagg (a/k/a the Striking Viking), standing beside a highway sign in the Middle-East: the sign indicated something to the effect of “Baghdad ABC Kilometers,” “Damascus XYZ Kilometers,” and so forth. Like any self-respecting adventure rider, Buzz immediately thought to himself, “I gotta a picture beside that sign — WITH MY HARLEY DAVIDSON!” So, he did. Also, he told me he wanted to find out “why the fuck these people hate us…I wannted ride my Harley there…” and presumably break their balls or something. Anyway, amongst the many crazy stories from the Mid-East, he told me of one where a bunch of “insurgent looking types” along with a woman who spoke English stopped him. He thought he was dead for sure. The men asked him what he wanted there and Buzz answered (I’m sure he was shitting himself at this point) “my TV tells me you guys hate us…your TV tells you we hate you…I don’t believe the fucking TV…I’ve come to find out for myself.” I thought that was brilliant. It probably saved that brother’s life. I really dugg Buzz.

After lunch and a couple of cold ones I had to force myself to get back on the bike. I was having a lot of fun just hanging out with the Dude, but I had to haul ass to La Paz to catch the ferry the next morning. Buzz refused to let me pay the tab; he simply wished me farewell. I love that kind of shit. Buzz, thanks for lunch and sharing those great stories. I hope you hit me up if you’re ever in the Bay Area. Peace brother. Keep on living life fully and completely.

That night I got to La Paz. It turned out to be quite the foo foo town — not really what I expected, but it was nice change of scenery. Foo foo shops, wealthy tourists, a sexy boardwalk where all kinds of romantics strolled, artists drew charicatures, and families socialized. Plus, the place was full of hotties. Too bad they were the ambitious bourgeois type and I looked like either Robinson Crusoe or a Taliban leader, depending on how much literature you consume. I needed to shower and shave pretty badly; so what do I do? Get a hotel? Shit no. I skipped town and found a beach I could bum on between La Paz proper and the ferry terminal. I camped out on the beach, let my beard grow a few more millimeters, my skin build yet another layer of sweat, and my ass ‘n balls develop a whole new variant of last night’s rash. Chillin.

The next day, I showed up at the ferry terminal, documentation in hand, all ready to board, when the attendant royally pooped my party. The guy asks for my “tourist stamp” and I say “what tourist stamp?” He says “the one they gave you when you came into Mexico.” I say, “they didn’t stamp my passport…in fact, they didn’t even look at my passport…shit, they waived me through the boarder while I was wearing a tinted visor” (I shit you not folks, the customs guy didn’t even see my face — my visor is pitch black — and he let me through. Now that’s homeland security!). Anyway, as things go in Mexico, dude indicates that I have to go the immigration office, which of course is not conveniently located at Ferry terminal, but rather some 25 KMs back in La Paz; AND, like the Ferry terminal, it’s only open until 1 PM. It is now Friday at noon and the Gobernerio office won’t open again until Monday morning. I said fuck it, I’m not gonna stress it because I was actually enjoying the beach I stayed at. Playa Tesoro was family owned and run, had a twenty-four hour security guard plus three dogs to hold down the joint. I decided I would camp out there for the weekend.

I went back to the Playa made a deal with the owner to get some water for a shower and to have them watch all my equipment so I could hit up some of the beaches people had recommended on the other end of the peninsula. How much did this cost me? $50 pesos a night for the palapa (about $4 USD) plus two bucks for the shower. Loved it.