Taking stock of my wallet, three flavors of international currency were found: Peruvian, Brazilian, and USD. Stored in my luggage from previous trips, Chilean pesos, and due to inflation nearly worthless, Argentine pesos. In my travels, I learned to use a coin purse in an attempt to keep organized and spend the loose change before leaving any given country. Try as I might, coins would appear in an obscure pocket or recess of a backpack. Trust me, you can't get rid of coins once getting far from the country of origin. 

I was hoping to burn through a lot of miles/km and reach Porto Velho in one day. It would have been a monster-long day in the saddle.  It is surprising how much time is consumed buying gas, getting lunch, and stopping to check navigation. After 450 km (Google Maps estimated 6 hours travel time), the sunset over, I arrived in the small highway town of Vista Alegre do Abunã. iOverlander had a lodging review, great! The Hotel Nova Era is located next to a truck stop. Under street lights, it looked far from appealing.  I envisioned the noise of long-haul truckers pulling in and out all night and frankly, the place looked like a low-rent love motel. Hard pass. I’m not a snob. I’ve stayed in my share of love motels, and with one exception in El Salvador, this class of motel is very clean, and the bike is always secure. 

Hotel Liar was a few blocks to the east, where I experienced my first Brazilian breakfast. Peruvians don’t eat anything unique in the morning. Argentines have a quick cup of coffee and a roll. Brazilian layout a spread to get your day started: sliced meat, various forms of bread, cheese, fruit, juice, eggs, and coffee, always coffee. In Brazil, I can’t remember ever paying extra for breakfast. In better hotels the breakfast buffet is extensive and it’s not uncommon to see cakes. Yes, Brazilians love to eat, and the portions are never small.

In the morning I’m dragging my feet, waiting for the rain to stop. Finally, the rain slowed and I resigned to the fact the day was going to start wet. Eager to get to Porto Velho, only a few hours away, I saddled up.  I should arrive by the afternoon. Should arrive didn’t factor in road construction east of Jaci Paraná. One hour from Porto Velho traffic comes to a dead stop. Being on a motorcycle I went to the front of the line and could see traffic eastbound was blocked. Oncoming traffic was slowly proceeding through thick mud, perhaps heavy rain fell while the road was being resurfaced. Whatever the reason, there was no denying thick red clay mud made for extremely challenging travel with two or four wheels. Trackers were pulling trucks through the mud! A slow and steady precession of westbound traffic took up the only open lane.  

The delay shouldn’t take too long, right? At the front of the line, where eastbound traffic was stopped, I met a Brazilian biker with a serious coating of mud. He was headed west, but trying to go east. Having slipped and fallen more times than he could count, he decided to retreat and wait for his friends to catch up. He was under the impression the muddy road conditions went for many kilometers and turned around. After some time his friend showed up and they were game to take on the mud. I thought they were nuts, but they dropped into the weeds and rode to a bridge in the distance, then climbed the bank back onto the road. It was there that I lost sight of them. Brave or crazy? Certainly a mixture of both. I never saw them again, so they must have gotten beyond the construction and onto the tarmac again. 

I tried to follow them briefly, then turned back as the mud was sticking to my tire like white on rice, and in no time jammed the rotation of the front wheel, and the weight of the luggage added to instability. Picking up a bike in slippery mud is no fun. Slipping in construction zone mud had caused the previous owner to hurt her shoulder, and trip over, with no interest in keeping the bike. I want to avoid repeating history. Heading back to the town center I got a bite to eat and pondered my situation. Damn, Porto Velho is about an hour away. So close. I didn’t want to stop after only riding a couple of hours. What if I could get someone to give me and the bike a lift beyond the construction? Taking cargo straps I measure the length of the bike, then the diagonal length of a Toyota Hilux bed. Too short. Next, I checked the bed length of a VW pickup. Yes, that will work! Now to the interesting part, ask for a ride. There was a captive line of cars and trucks, and the third driver said yes. Gotta love Brazilians! Stripping the luggage took a couple of minutes and it was easy to recruit a few guys to lift the bike. I was all set. Now my new friend Frank and I just had to wait for eastbound traffic to be allowed to proceed. 

Frank was heading to Porto Velho and offered to take me. Great! He said he was farming, after recently retiring. It turns out the Brazilian motorcyclist was wrong. The muddy stretch was a kilometer or two long, not 40 km.  In the end, the delay was 5 hours long. The silver lining, I had made a new friend and kept him company while we waited, and during the ride to Porto Velho. In the suburbs of Porto Velho, the guards in his gated community helped unload the bike. Frank recommended a hotel and I thanked him several times before leaving. To my surprise, Frank called me in the late afternoon the next day with an over-the-top invitation and later a confession.