| Bicycling across Latin America, adventurer David Nghiem explores the depth of human intuition while investigating ancient symbols and mysteries. He surveys the effects of globalization, enduring crocodiles and gun shots as he faces his greatest challenge - surviving the journey!
I lay sweating on my back in the tent, naked, my diving knife clutched in my right hand, and a can of pepper spray in the other. The strong wind rattled my tent, shaking the flaps, poles and ropes so violently the nylon fabric popped, sounding like sporadic gunfire. I stared at the dark, domed ceiling and shook with terror as a high beam from a vehicle slowly lit, and then left my tent. Could it be a bandito, a murderous ex-contra prowling the hills and valleys that lay in the shadow of a live volcano in the distance? Or was it a land squatter searching for a quiet place for a home and hearth? I didn’t know. I didn’t care. In the depth of my fear, I was ready to stab anyone who entered my tent.
I closed my eyes in the dark, only to confront an even deeper darkness. Why was I doing this? What sort of thing drove me to commit this mad, lonely act, to ride a bicycle across Latin America? It seemed so simple at first. It was supposed to be a leisurely three-month joyride across South America from Lima, Peru to Buenos Aires, Argentina. Instead, I was on the side of a road in an desolate stretch of north western Costa Rica, hiding from vagrants and highwaymen, perched on a cliff in front of a volcano, worn from my inability to sleep, and scared out of my mind. |
