Motorcycle Diaries, Colombia: Love In The Air

Sparring With Death

Despite having zipped past countless slow-crawling 18-wheelers with ease, this time I was in danger.

My right shoulder inches away from the truck I was overtaking, another one sped toward me in the oncoming lane.

The narrow mountain road was at its capacity, no longer room for error. To one side, a cliff, to the other, the carved out mountain.

A lapse in attention from just one of the truck drivers, and I'd be crushed.

It was my fault… I’d gambled, and this time I’d lost.

I shifted down to third gear to give the bike more leverage climbing uphill, pulled back on the throttle, and slipped between the two trucks.

I made it, and like a running back who's broken free and coasting to the endzone, it was just me once again.

I coasted downhill with the engine killed, only the sound of wind in my ears. "Well shit, that coulda been bad."

I'd sparred with death again.

[I did say it was Grow Dangerously, didn’t I…]

Curvas Peligrosas

The mountain road was a never-ending series of switchbacks, blind corners, and s-curves (curvas peligrosas—dangerous curves—as the signs warned repeatedly).

The stark changes in elevation were accompanied by equally drastic weather changes.

I'd descend into a valley and fly down the road at full speed, hot air thrashing my jacket around.

Then I'd climb up a crisp, foggy mountain pass. My world oscillated between aggressive engine noise to push up, and silent bliss on the downhills.

Breathtaking. This has to be one of the best regions in the world to do just this—get on a bike and go.

Mission Medallo

I was on a mission—get to Medellín.

Why?

Love, of course. What else compels a man to do these things?

Previously in Medellín, before I headed to the coffee region, I'd met a lovely woman.

We shared many interests, goals, and values. She struck me as quite interesting.

Many a beautiful woman roams this planet, but not all of them are accompanied by a growth mindset, bold ideas, and a thirst for life.

Medellín’s women, particularly, are pedestalized by men and the world, which can naturally inflate some egos.

But this woman was from the very region I was now living in, only having recently moved to the big city. A humble woman from a good family, with a head on her shoulders.

I remember my friend Kenny asking me, “the more I level up, the less I find compatible partners, should I just stop leveling up?”

Of course not… but, he’s got a point. Keep growing, Kenny.

As I've said before, there are beautiful women all over this planet. Would I go out of my way to see them?

Nope.

But this one was different.

Not knowing each other for very long, it was a risk to go to such lengths to see her.

The formula is simple: the less you know someone, and the greater lengths you go to see them—the bigger risk of disappointment you face.

What if I went 5 hours on the bike just for her to be too busy to see me? What if we weren’t on the same page? What if the connection wasn’t as it was before?

I took the risk…

And it paid off.

The Sunday of Dreams

I had one of the best weekends I’ve had in a while.

The weekend had started back in the coffee region before I’d departed.

Me and bro had taken the bikes out to the famous Cocora Valley. We hiked and talked about our pasts, businesses, and relationships.

Now, arriving in Medellín, I was about to meet up with the woman.

She greeted me and things resumed where they'd left off.

Playfully plopping herself onto my lap, she looked me in my eyes as the most natural conversation unfolded.

Nothing forced, nothing mechanical, nothing shallow.

It was like we'd known each other for years.

Our conversations were no bullshit, no small talk.

We’d organically segue into the deeper topics I prefer to talk about; the ones that not everyone can venture into.

We’d planned to go out to dinner, but never made it.

At home, we didn’t even need a movie or music to break the tension, let alone to go out to a lively environment to convince ourselves we were “having fun.”

Authentic conversation and connection. No need to “entertain” her with the TV or phone.

The next morning, on Sunday, I invited her to breakfast.

I arrived early to read my book, Motorcycle Diaries, and call a friend.

I look up to see her walking in, wearing a flowing dress and looking like the most beautiful creature I'd ever laid my eyes on.

What a sight… like a dream you don’t wanna wake up from.

She later told me that people had been looking at us throughout the day, perhaps observing this interesting-looking pair.

I didn't notice any of it. Couldn't keep my eyes, or hands, off her.

We worked out together, ate healthy food, and shared our stories and goals.

The ideal Sunday—no alcohol, hangovers, or "Sunday scaries" involved. Simply joy, gratitude, and presence.

The Sunday of Dreams was topped off by introducing her to my favorite movie, A Place Beyond the Pines.

I felt like the character in the movie—this transient, motorcycle-mounted lone traveler who sticks around town for the same reason as me—a woman he deems worthy of dropping the novelty, adrenaline, and nomadism for.

At the angle we were seated, I could see her reactions to the movie. I’d occasionally look over, and she’d be immersed in the story. So pure, so present.

Man, was the next morning gangster, too. I stopped by her house as I got on my way back to the coffee region.

Could've been a movie scene (and perhaps it will be… soon).

I stepped off the bike and pulled my helmet off. She walked up, her beauty once again radiating.

My hands, neck, and face, already burnt from the prior ride, were met with her nurturing touch as she applied sunscreen.

I kissed her goodbye and rode off into the sun on my version of a white horse—the faithful machine I'd be navigating the countryside with again.

An Interesting Stop

On my way back, I stopped to eat the juiciest steak of my life (or so it seemed after two hours of bashing from harsh winds). I chatted with a French couple seated next to me.

The French don’t tend to learn English, nor do we French, so we met in the middle with Spanish.

The man, now maybe 50, saw my bike and told me he’d done a motorcycle trip from Argentina to Mexico back in his twenties.

It sounded eerily similar to the Motorcycle Diaries book, and I wondered if this man may have been Che Guevara’s friend in the book.

His wife only spoke French, but he patiently translated anything she needed.

I wondered if I’d be in his shoes one day—traveling with a long-term partner well into our fifties.

Descending into the valley Pereira nestles itself, I was back to my headquarters. A refreshing rain hit as soon as I got off the bike.

From My External World to My Internal

I’ll be real with you: my default temptation is to anxiously ruminate on the uncertainty of the budding relationship.

But I stuck to my guns.

Instead, I reframed it…

Even if for some reason I never saw her again, I'd look back on those days with immense gratitude to have lived them.

Gratitude to have met someone who matched me in terms of working on oneself, dreaming big, and living fully.

God works in mysterious ways, and I trust in the Creator's plans. As I told her—if God wants it, and we want it, it will happen.

The caveat of this life I live—it ain’t always certain, and by default, it’s a life of solitude.

The addition of a great woman, the bro, and a community are gifts—ones I cherish.

For now, I’m the lone coyote once again, navigating the wilderness of life, love, risk, growth, and all-too-close encounters with death.

To your growth and travels, blessings on your journey…

P.S. I compiled a list of 25 books that changed my life. I’ve also got a series on quitting porn, called Unchained.