Update 16:

One of the things I don’t have an answer to.

Once upon a time in a land far far but not too far away there was a baby chick trying to get out of its shell. Along came this wonderfully kind and compassionate person who saw the shell starting to crack, vibrating and rocking as the chick was trying to break out.

I will ask you a few questions along the way here.

1st question. If you were that person now, and saw the chick hatching what would you do? Please think about this for a second.

Ok. Now this amazingly kind, compassionate person chose to help the chick hatch, (s)he wanted the chick to breath, to grow, to help alleviate what (s)he interpreted as the suffering the chick was experiencing as it fought to escape its womb.

What the person didn’t know at the time were the consequences of his/her actions. For sure it would be hard to place fault in his/her good intentions. After all (s)he had acted in good faith and was only trying to help!

However the chick will tell you a completely different story. It wasn’t suffering at all. It would have told the person, if it was able or knew it, please don’t help me. I am not strong enough to survive outside my shell, my hormones and chemicals are not balanced enough yet. Once they are, I will be strong enough to get out of my shell and will be able to survive in the cold hard world outside.

But the chick couldn’t communicate this to the person, and neither it nor the person knew the effects. In trying to help this chick, (s)he had actually paralysed it since it wasn’t chemically poised enough yet and essentially condemned the chick to an early death.

I suppose we could ignore this story, perhaps we can adopt the philosophy that there are always more chickens laying more eggs. But perhaps there is something more to be thought about.

2nd question. If you were that person now, and saw the chick hatching what would you do?

Is acting out of compassion without understanding the consequences acceptable? Perhaps acting out of good faith isn’t good enough anymore, or maybe ignorance is perhaps not that blissful after all? It could be possible that action without knowledge or even thinking about the ramifications could actually worse than acting but with knowledge that the outcome will fall short of desirable.

An Ethiopian man that had seen the effects of many instances of aid told this story to me the other night, I will not take credit for thinking it up, but it well illustrates my confusion and internal conflicts that I have had in my mind for some time.

3rd question. Dudes, what do we do?

Update 15:

There is so much to write about, where to start? I did write update 14 and posted it but did not send an email. Since the last email though, much has happened; I rode Yvonne across Canada and around the perimeter of the USA, one of my favorite friends got married, my sister gave birth to her and her husbands second, my father went under the knife and is busy recuperating, two missions in South Sudan have been proposed and accepted, one canceled, and most recently I have flown back to Geneva, and expect to be in Sudan by Saturday.

Let's start with the figures from the bike ride.

20,070kms, 52 days, 40 days on the road, 26 nights in the tent, both oceans seen, one gulf, countless bays, 9 provinces, 22 states, 2 hurricanes, 4 moose, 2 bears, numerous deer and small critters, 1 snapping turtle, over 1100 L of burnt fuel (my carbon footprint this year is the shits), ran out of fuel twice, 2 bird/Daniel impacts at 90mph, 6 tires, 4 oil changes, 1 drive chain replaced, 3 close calls, 4 Gb's of photo's and videos, too many pounds of muscle turned to flab, 2 encounters with the law (both in the US of A), 0 speeding tickets, 1 warning (get this, for failure to stay in seat), no standing on the pegs in the states, and too many tearful departures, but fun times rain and shine.

First of all a big thank you to the folks that put me up in their homes and fed me along the way, particularly those that sheltered me from the two hurricanes (Hanna and then Ike). I am extremely grateful to all of you that helped me along the way, the best parts of the trip were usually at your houses and meeting you!

Now to the stories:

Driving to Cornwall from the other side of Hartford, Connecticut, I got caught in the rains of the the now tropical storm Hanna. I managed to get temporarily orientated challenged, and while now I think I was on the “right” road, at the time it was definitely the wrong road. While riding at about 20-30 mph in 3-5 inches of standing water on a heavily loaded sports touring bike in a bright orange rain suit I soon noticed that I was the only while fella in the area, there were sirens all around, accidents left and right, and men on all corners.

Now it is a bit funny that I was shaking in my boots there, and yet in the Congo I could have a conversation with a fella in fatigues, an AK-47 and bullets on his chest without batting an eye. However, rain soaked shirts sticking to the skin very clearly revealed the outline of what were supposed to be concealed handguns. The first chance I got I did a U-turn and virtually catwalked me and my bike out of that American Ghetto, only to take an hour to find another way around in the relentless downpour.

An hour or so later, soaked to the bone, and another 30 minutes or so left to my destination, with rains just as heavy, I came around a corner about to cross a hydro-dam. I noticed a guaranteed unseating round rock the size of a turkey plate, and a few inches above the water on the road right in the path of my tires. With only feet to react I scooted around it. As I passed it I stole a quick glance at the object that apparently was not a rock at all as it had the head and tail that are unmistakably those of a snapping turtle. I distinctly remember my right leg lifting up off the peg as I made this realization, even though I was well out of snapping distance.

The next adventure was on the border of North Carolina and Tennessee where I had the opportunity to ride the Dragons Tail (if you have high speed you should YouTube it). 318 curves, 11 miles. The bike was never standing straight for the duration. I had a hoot, even if on a loaded 919. I scuffed up both boots cornering. It was here on these 22 miles, infamous for it's wrecks and a few deaths, that I probably burnt 50% of my brakes and 25% of my rubber. Hard riding is damned hard on the bike and for Yvonne's sake I can easily say that after running it twice, I was not tempted to ride it again.

Eight hours after Hurricane Ike hit Galveston I rode through the wake, I was actually only 100 miles or so North. It would seem that I was chasing the tail tp see if I could grab it and giv'er a good ol'shake. In reality I was pressed for time. If you ever get the chance to chase a hurricane, on a motorbike, and you do catch up and grab her tail, take advice from someone that has done it, let go, stop, slow down, turn around, just don't continue, especially at night. For me it was way after dark and I couldn't find a campground or even high ground. If you have been to Louisiana or South East Texas you know very well what a bayou is. For those who are unfamiliar; a bayou is basically a damned big swamp, combine that with hurricane force winds, driving rain, and a storm swell, it means wet, very wet, and not much high ground.

So riding along, watching for telephone polls that had been snapped in half like matchsticks and more importantly their associated possibly decapitating wires, while worrying about taking a flying branch to the head, I found the first place that looked like I wouldn't get shot at for trespassing (not really a joke in Texas). I pitched my tent 10 meters, fighting off the hungry skeeters, battling the winds, all while trying to keep the tent dry before I can get the shell on. When I camp like this I like to be visible from the road so the cops know where I am, in the hopes that they don't think I am hiding. That being said I had a hard time falling asleep in the high heat and humidity, with every branch moving or scratching the side of my tent making me think someone was out there.

Sure enough a couple of hours later my tent is lit up by some kind of spotlight. I hear a lull in the rain, doors slam, footsteps scramble up the loose gravel hill, downpour returns, hurried footsteps heading away now, doors slam again. This repeats a few time as the rain abates and intensifies over the next 30 minutes before a sufficient lull occurs and they can make it too my tent. "Sheriff's office!" Silence on my part, pretending to have been asleep. "Sheriff's office! Is there someone there?" They ask me what am I doing. Answering I indicated that I was just trying to stay out of the rain, their chuckled response was that they were attempting the same thing. They asked me for my ID, then where Vancouver was, then BC, finally they knew about Canada. The fella doing the talking looked at his buddy and asked him "How d'ya reckon we run this one through our system?" Buddy says "Haven't got a clue!" They chuckle again and tell me not to bother the neighbors or go wandering around and to ride safe. I found it hard to fall asleep again, too much excitement and way too hot and humid.

Feel good/inspirational story of the trip. I dropped in on my junior high bus driver while in Texas. I hadn't seen her for a good 10 years, probably more. Her story goes to show that you can do just about anything. This woman, my bus driver, never even completed grade 10. Not to put a date on her age, but just so you have an idea her kids were my current age when I was 15 or so. However, in the last decade, she obtained her GED just for kicks, then went to university and graduated with a Bachelor's, and since that wasn't enough she then completed her Masters not too long ago, all with a perfect GPA of 4.0. I think just recently she became an accredited psychologist or psychotherapist and currently works with young adults that have already had a rough go of it all. To me that is an absolutely amazing and inspiring path that just goes to show what can be achieved if you make it happen.

New Mexico was super cool, and as their slogan states it is the "Land of Enchantment." They were the most friendly folks along the American way, and one family even paid my dinner before they left. Only word of advice should you travel through there, get gas wherever you can. Half the towns on the map are either deserted or too small to have a store let alone a gas station, on top of that they are separated by hundreds of kms. Man did it ever get cold at night though. Teeth chattering and body shaking when riding kind of cold.

I had by the time I got to Bakersfield, California, been carrying a replacement rear tire since Mobile, Alabama. I figured that I would ride this tire until it was finished completely, which I did. Yvonne was almost limping into Bakersfield, with two unsuitable tires, a worn out chain (word of advice: do not use a de-greaser on o-ring chains), and a oil change way overdue. The rear tire was actually cracking and peeling along sections of it. But in Bakersfield she received some much deserved and overdue lovin'.

That day though, riding into Bakersfield was the longest of the trip. On that one day I checked out the Grand Canyon, got my kicks on what was left of Historic Route 66, walked around and over the Hoover Dam, rode up and down the strip in Las Vegas, and rode into Bakersfield over 1000kms after starting the day with a squawking chain and peeling rear tire.

Not much to say about the Pacific Coast, aside from it's outstanding beauty, it's perfect waves, gorgeous girls, and pleasant ambiance, except for that it has inspired my next trip. Well after Sudan that is.