GREG FRAZIER REPORTS ON SOUTH AMERICA

Date:  Mon, 6 Nov 2000 17:46:08 -0800 (PST)Reply Reply All Forward Delete Previous Next Close

Some light reading from the road. 

Dr. Gregory

    Cobra is the Brazilian word for snake. Those of you who know of my phobia of snakes and sharks can appreciate the glee I had when I saw the anaconda slipping across the road in front of me. The anaconda owns the jungle as far as I am concerned, but this one was on the highway in Brazil and I was riding what was at one time called the biggest motorcycle in the world, the Amazonas Motorcycle. In the jungle I would be it's lunch, but on the pavement it was in my world. As I bore down on this particular anaconda, which was about 12-15 feet long and as round as a telephone pole, my glee was in anticipation of the sound of the solid "thump-thump" the 16 inch tires would make as nearly 1,000 pounds of me and the motorcycle ran over it and broke it's back.

    My glee quickly changed to panic when I remembered the last time I had hit a big snake while riding a motorcycle, also in South America. I can best liken it to running over a greased inner tube, a solidly filled KY Jelly greased inner tube. There is a very good chance the motorcycle front wheel will slide out and down I go. That is ok as long as all I did was slide down the road. I've done that often enough to know as long as I do not hit anything and just slide straight, my riding gear, like the Aerostitch pants, boots and jacket, will save me from severe road rash and possible broken bones. What brought on my sudden fear was the realization that my sliding ass might find itself slid off the road and into the jungle, and I know who, or in this case what, owns the jungle.  

    With my right foot I pushed down hard on the rear brake pedal, good for about 10% of my needed braking. With my right hand I applied a death grip to the front brake lever, good for another 30% of what I needed to stop from being ass in the jungle grass. With my left hand I panic- squeezed the clutch lever and desperately tried to find the next lower gear with the heel of my left foot, then let the clutch lever go free. Now I had another 10-20 % of my stopping capacity, but was still about 40% short of being anaconda chow. Then I screamed. Not some little girl scream but a scream as if someone had applied a stun gun to my privates. I knew I was going to die, not from a crash, but from being scrunched by one really pissed-off snake which I had run over very gently. 

    The scream worked, but not to slow me down. I think the anaconda heard it from 100 feet away and sped up. As I rode over over the slime trail left on the pavement, the monster slithered unscathed into the dark coolness of the jungle. The experience left me with a whole different outlook on my motorcycle ride through this part of South America. Oozing from within my riding suit was the smell of fear, my fear, and I did not like how it smelled.

    I had ventured into South America on the second leg of my world tour to try and do two things. The first was to ride an Amazonas Motorcycle in South America. I am trying to get around the world by motorcycle while riding motorcycles native to the continent around/through which I am traveling. I'd done North America on a 1947 Indian Chief and the Amazonas was the only motorcycle I could find that had been totally manufactured in South America (Brazil). There is now another motorcycle made in Brazil, the Kahena, but it uses a BMW motorcycle transmission and Yamaha motorcycle frame with a Volkswagon engine. I wanted the real thing, and the Amazonas (1978-1989) is the real thing.

    The second item on my agenda for South America was to see if I could locate some truth to the Amazons, the famed warrior women. I'd unsuccessfully hunted Big Foot across North America on my 1947 Indian Chief and have plans for Yeti in India and Nepal next month. Big warrior women in the jungles of the Amazon being hunted by a road warrior on the world's biggest motorcycle made sense to me, so into the jungles I went.

    The Amazons were described by ancient Greek authors such as Herodotus, Plutarch and Diodorus of Sicily. The traditional view of Amazon women is one which has them participate in war, acting independantly of the men of their culture. When the Spanish explorer Francisco de Orellana, in the 16th century, found himself in a deadly battle with a tribe of women warriors in what is now known as Brazil, he called them "Amazons". Later the river he was on was named the Amazon and the state of Brazil eventually became known as Amazonas. Before heading to South America I knew for what I was looking.

    Riding the Amazonas in Brazil was a great challenge. The big bike does fine on the highways and paved roads, but once you get it off the tarmac and into sand or mud it becomes more than mild work. Imagine a Gold Wing (complete with stuffed animal on the top box) being ridden across a wet pasture or up a creek bed and you'll get a pretty good idea of what it is to wander off-road with the Amazonas. The Amazonas has one advantage over the Gold Wing (not counting the missing stuffed animals and top box) and that is it comes with a reverse gear. Manually you reach down with your right hand and shift a lever into reverse and you can back out of some of the trouble you may have unwisely gotten yourself into.

    Hunting Amazons means getting off the paved roads, just like hunting Big Foot does. Riding the Amazonas down a dirt road is not too bad, but when the dirt road turns into a slippery jungle path things can get interesting. And when the path enters a wall of green vines behind which is coming the sounds of what might be women hissing, things can get very interesting. I remembered what the name Amazon means: "Without breast." And I also remembered how Diodorus wrote a gruesome description of how, to ease their use of a bow (and arrows), women would sear one breast of a girl-child when an infant. The idea of some huge woman, with a bow at full extension, aiming a poison tipped arrow at me through the leaves of the vines, takes away any sense of adventure I have for jungle hunts. The green snake that slipped across the path in front of me also helped move my decision making process a little faster up the scale to Run Backwards, FAST. That is when I can come to love a bike like the Amazonas. Like I said above, it was made for Brazil, and I can quickly reach down and put it into reverse, back up, and ride it backwards through the jungle. 

    I am now across the ocean and equator thousands of miles away from Brazil, moving through Europe. It is cold here, some snow and much rain. No smell of fear is wafting from within my riding suit. Each day, however, I think back on my South American adventure. Little thoughts, like the warm breeze blowing off the ocean, the short dresses and tan legs, Antarctica Pilsen, my slide show to the Estradelros Moto Club (where they spoke no English and I spoke no Portugese but where I had a super translator who made them laugh and me feel at home), Roberto from Sao Paulo (BMW R90S rider who had three flat tires in one night but sang a great Beatles song, All My Loving), Ana, Raphael and his family and all their blessings and prayers for my safe travels ahead, Poco Encantado and my guide (paid $1.50) Raimundo who went after a huge snake with a stick while wearing only thongs and shorts, the good food, the head of a baby Sasquash, seeing the price of a can of Red Bull in a motel room for $4.50 when a good beer was only $.75, the the great friends I made and met. And of course Guilherme, family and friends and all the biker Amazonas people. All nice people and nice bikes.

    If you would like to see a couple of photos and read what I thought about the Amazonas motorcycle, as well as some other strangeness about this leg of my world tour, jump over to www.horizonsunlimited.com/gregfrazier and click on the "What's New" button in a couple of days. If everything is working there should be something there.

Gregory, On the Road Around The Globe 

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