Keeping up foreign relations with a donkey I met in the desert near Monterrey, Mexico.

Taking a break on the road into Monterrey, Mexico.

My bike, “La Barra.” This is just over The Mexican Border, outside of Nuevo Laredo, where I experienced my first serious motorcycle repair.

Maria. My wildlife guide in Monterrey, Mexico.

Back at my campsite I realized that the riding skills competition was over and now it was time for the strength and endurance test.

I'm frenzied and manic and starting to make bad decisions. I alternate between laughing, crying, and swearing.

It is true that I have never ridden before. But is it true that I'm going to ride this motorbike all the way to Argentina?

I am feeling very strange. For the first time in my life, I got out of bed in the morning and left without a destination.

I didn't bother setting up my tent last night and instead just spread blankets on a trampoline out in the yard. It was a glorious night's sleep in the open air, face-up towards the stars. 

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.

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. “Yeah, let’s do this.”