Where the heart is....

There's a somewhat obvious but unfortunate aspect of ripping a moto through the Americas that I wish didn't happen but ultimately I've found to be unavoidable.  It opens way more doors than it closes but at the same time takes away a sensation so unique it feels like a damn funeral when you realize you're missing it.  Becoming accustomed to life on the road, building confidence, settling in, whatever you want to call it has the strange kind of regrettable dulling affect you wish our peanut minds weren't capable of.  We're to good at it, we remember and learn the smallest aspects and calculate the nano risk variables and the data base builds.  What seemed to be a big deal on day one is taken in stride on day 200.  The virginity of those first few days and weeks can only live on in memory, text, and photos.  Ultimately the road is long and the experiences do build on each other and before you know it you've built a damn mansion where once only the shadow of an idea was cast.  The mansion is something to behold, something to be proud of and quite frankly wasn't even a possibility when the idea was in it's infancy, so you reflect and, well you smile like an idiot.  You and only you remember every single brick, how it was laid, how much it weighed, its color, texture, everything fucking detail.  It is every single one of those memories that just flashed through your head and will continue to do so.  It's not going anywhere, it can't.  Yeah man, you definitely finished that bowl of soup in Tacna after you found a sizable maggot in it.....  That one.

Questions set to the backdrop of trails, camp fires, bar-b-ques and beers will have to suffice as the individual anecdotes of my travels, there's simply no point in trying to convey them through this medium.  My writing limitations are the main culprit here, but also there's the need to belt every one of these tall tales with the full-throated, half-drunk story they deserve.  Print just won't suffice damnit!    

Back in search of QT with my people on those trails and in front of those cold beers is where I can be found at the moment.  The winter of S. America more or less tackled me in central Chile making the whole surf/camp/moto thing not as much fun as fun as it sounds so I had to make some power moves.  A few mornings of running across frozen beaches barefoot in Chile chasing waves pretty much sealed the deal.  It didn't take much internal conflict for me to decide that a summer with friends and family was the move.  A quick 3 week stop-over in CR to watch the first two weeks of the World Cup with the Ticos and here I am - HOME.  Fort Collins, CO.

It sure is something to essentially be homeless, I mean quite technically my home has been where ever my eyes and ears took me towards the ocean or mountains, where my curiosity took me down roads unknown, or where Rita decided to breakdown for the night(s).  Home over the past 10 months has been represented by an ever-changing environment of people, places, and experiences that never ceased to amaze, inspire, and humble me in simultaneous fluidity.  The plotting for what's next, what's possible is underway with a leisure few I know enjoy.  I'm aware of that and I know how lucky I am to have such loving, generous people in my life.  I learn and grow more from this down time than just about anything else I've come across.  Kris, Mindy, Jen, my FoCo family you know who you are.  From the bottom of my heart:  Thank you, All Love!

-Will

P.S. - Summer 2018 is going to kick some serious Assssssssss