We drive from Tingo Maria to Tocache. It rains every day, and with each drop my mood sinks. With every passing cloud, I wish to be back at the Pan American highway, where it was at least dry. There is not much beauty to my eyes, only trees, green lushness, rivers and never very far to have my sight wander. In the jungle uninterrupted views do not exist.
A bit of a boast…
Articles and interviews by other cyclists, travelers and reporters on the road. As soon as you, as a cyclist, enter countries like Iran and UAE it may happen you will be interviewed for local newspapers and you might even appear on television. This was never my favourite past-time occupation but the interviewers or people who brought me into contact with the journalists, were very fond of a rarity such as a female on a bicycle.
My sister was a model for some time, on a pearl white beach where the palm trees were outfitted with electricity outlets. She modelled in the sultry Caribbean, she withstood the wind and she splashed into the lazuli colored water as if she were a pro. She never was one, but more than I ever could be.