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World Travelers World Travelers Brazil‘s Amazon Jungle It’s been said that what we do defi nes us. Yet perhaps it’s as much about what we do, as it is what we endure and what we learn from? We fi nd out who we really are only when we’re pushed The Dark Side of past what we thought were our limits, when, during those wretched times, we discover we have greater personal reserves than we’d ever imagined. Text: Simon Thomas Adventure Riding Photography: Simon & Lisa Thomas In those pivotal moments the haze less than ten neighboring countries. North and in the distance, the beaches of Iof life lifts, and we can see and feel of Sao Paulo, we wind our way around Copacabana and Ipanema glisten as who we are, what’s truly important to the dizzying coastline of the world’s fi fth thousands of oiled and bronzed bodies each of us, and what we’ll fi ght to hold largest country. Brazil’s curvaceous bask in the day’s building heat. The on to. Such was the case for me and switchbacks have us leaning our bikes conical shape of Sugar Loaf Mountain for Lisa, and the trip to Brazil’s Ama- at outlandish angles, before we shift looms like a Brazilian exclamation mark, zon Jungle, which defi ned a very large our weight in anticipation of the next. emphasizing Rio, as if it needed it! part of who we are today. Make no To our right, the tar stops at the cliff’s Weeks pass and we’re in Belem mistake -- if you’re hoping for a warm edge only to plummet hundreds of feet city, near the northern tip of Brazil. We and fuzzy touring article, you proba- to the warm blue waters of the Atlantic wander between the ticket kiosks, nego- bly want to fl ip the page right now. Ocean. Our senses are buzzing. Wild tiating the cost of a boat and the week- coffee grows by the side, pruned only long journey, up the mighty Amazon, A New Continent by the speeding traffi c. The broad leaves to the jungle city of Manaus. After 40 countries and 30-months of banana trees skim our helmets on Two days later we anxiously roll of ride-eat-sleep, repeat, Lisa and I the tighter turns, their branches heavy our bikes from the dock side and onto swap Africa’s arid east coast for the with the chandelier style fruit. thin wooden planks that straddle the lush steamy tropics of South America’s 40-foot drop between the safety of the northeast coast. We ride the smooth fast Redemption in Sin City dock and the rusting boat deck. Four tar north of Argentina’s metropolitan We stand at the feet of the Christ the crew members help with our bags and capital, Buenos Aires. I’m on my BMW Redeemer statue, almost touching the the bikes for a pre-arranged fee. As R1100GS. Ahead of me, Lisa’s BMW clouds, perched high over Rio de Janeiro. night descends, we lash the bikes down, F 650 GS exhaust barks healthily as she Our eyes strain to take in the incredible our beloved machines barely visible applies a handful of throttle, leaning view, as the milky horizon blurs the line among hundreds of bags of onions, deep in the fast corner, her bike seem- between sky and sea. The Redeemer’s the ships main cargo. Climbing the ingly none the worse for our two-week- iconic outstretched arms cast a protec- steep rusting metal steps, we head for sea-crossing from South Africa. We tive shadow across what is one of the the passenger deck above and wearily explore Uruguay for only a week, pit- most outrageous, vibrant, and notorious hang our hammocks among the others. stopping in Montevideo for just a night. cities in the world. A pulsating playground We’re soaked in salty perspiration from Brazil now demands our full attention; of carnival, football, and unashamed both our efforts and the humidity, which this vast country occupies almost half of erotica. Below us, a patchwork favela hovers at 95%. As we pull away from South America and is bordered by none of tin and brick clings impossibly to the the port, we’re treated to a spectacle of steep mountainside, thousands of shanty golden shafts of light penetrating the dark caption 1, caption 1, caption 1, cap- homes each built precariously atop of skies. Five miles offshore, a thunderstorm tion 1, caption 1, caption 1. the next. Downtown Rio teems with life crackles to life, extinguishing the day. www.roadrunner.travel January/February '11 75 World Travelers World Travelers catching on the middle deck, and we To the South Bank Without shade and exposed to the raw trophobic, the jungle now hems us in, watch as they pull their already half Its 4:30 a.m. The quiet streets seem power of the sun, the heat hits us full funnelling us deeper into the Amazon. submerged canoes up close and eerie as we ride the 6.6 miles out to the force and the humidity is debilitating. Branches brush and snag and snatch scramble aboard in an attempt to sell easterly dock. At the end of a steep and Our heavy riding suits are already our handlebars. The furnace-like heat their bottled palm hearts. We buy a rough dirt track, the bare metal cargo sweat-stained. of mid-day hasn’t abated and makes bottle for 50c. ferry that will deliver us to the southerly concentration tough. Our mental lapses It’s late afternoon and we’re but a bank is already loading beaten 4x4s Claustrophobia in the Jungle meet with bone jarring thumps as few hours east of Manaus. The sun is and tired-looking trucks. Deep ruts cut Ahead our path shimmers. The line wheels dive into holes and suspension already beginning to set behind a into the mud by the heavy vehicles between track, jungle, and sky are bottoms out. fl eecy thicket of clouds, tingeing them need to be carefully negotiated if we’re distorted by the unyielding sun. Our By early nightfall we’ve covered with hues of purple, pink, and gold. to avoid ending up on our sides. We route seems endless. We stand on the almost 180 miles of narrow mud trail, Leaning over the side, we witness the make our way onto the treacherous footpegs, cautiously weaving around our crimson route criss-crossed by “meeting of the waters,” an almost metal deck carefully, slippery from the large holes in what is left of the tarmac countless deep ravines and minor tribu- biblical sight, where the Rio Negro’s early morning dew. laid some 25 years earlier. Our walk- taries. We survived nine bridge cross- dark tannic waters converge with those By late morning we’ve made better ing-pace speed means we’re literally ings, the last six seemingly impassable of the Amazon’s other major tributary, progress than we’d expected and are roasting, as boiling air lifts from our as they required that we walk the rotting the Solimões. Two separate rivers, descending the steep and broken sur- dangerously hot engines and cooks carcass fi rst, and then unload each markedly different in color and tem- face of what was once tar down to a us alive. The primordial Amazon is bike before crossing, step-by-small step, perature collide in one channel with tributary, where another small metal raft aggressively reclaiming the track, tear- and to return fi nally for our heavy bags. neither mixing. is moored. The ancient vessel chugs into ing up the tar and repossessing what Two of these rotting bridges required us life belching plumes of black smoke high is hers. The tropical landscape is as to chop fresh wood to stabilize sections North to South Through the into the still air as it clears its throat. stifl ing as it is stunning; almost claus- before we could risk crossing. Amazon Rain Forest After days of preparation and delib- caption 3, caption 3, caption 3, caption 3, caption 3, caption 3, caption 3, caption 3, caption 3, caption 3. eration in Manaus city, the time has come. We’ve triple-checked the bikes and researched our route south through the Amazon Rain Forest. As far as we can tell, the route from Manaus to Porto Velho hasn’t been attempted on large capacity bikes -- perhaps for good reason. The Brazilian govern- ment closed the notorious BR319 back caption 2, caption 2, caption 2, caption 2, caption 2, caption 2, caption 2, caption in the late 80s after conceding to the 2, caption 2, caption 2. impossibly high cost of maintaining such a route. Additionally, regular Meeting of the Waters tails touching the water. deaths due to drivers sliding from the Once we’re settled in with the bikes The next morning we wake early, track into ravines and gullies didn’t safe, we lean back and pull hats over the boat’s diesel engine churning the help matters. Ahead of us 700-miles our eyes. The low-in-the-morning-sky water ceaselessly. Pushing into the of mud track, rotten bridges, and an Equatorial sun peeps in from beneath wider channels, we are bound by thick estimated more-than one-third of the the low metal ceiling and sets forth jungle on each side. Small wooden world’s animal species deep in the rain through the channels of the Amazon. and tin homes litter the banks, all held forests.

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