While we were making base camp with our friend Pete West in Denver, and planning our trip to Idaho, we were inspired to do a little detour. We met one of Pete's friends, Brady of MeerkatADV, and a fellow motorcycle adventurist like ourselves, and he had made videos of his time riding some incredibly high and gorgeous mountain passes in southern Colorado - Cinnamon Pass, California Pass, Hurricane Pass, and the toughest of the four, Corkscrew Pass. And when we saw the footage, our jaws dropped.

"It looks like Peru!" Tim cried with his eyes alight.

"Or Argentina, or Chile!" I said, grinning from ear to ear.

Considering that the mountain passes we did in those countries were some of our favorite riding on the planet, this meant that we now knew what our next adventure was going to be.

But one of the things we loved about those passes in Peru, Chile, and Argentina was that they were tough. Really tough. And these four passes in Colorado were going to be no exception.

They looked steep, rugged, rutted, and full of loose rocks. And we were not going to be on your typical off-road vehicle, ATV, or motocross bike. We were going to be 2up and fully loaded on a massive KTM 1190 - quite the challenge indeed.

But with high spirits and a now newly-functioning motorcycle, we were emotionally excited to go. Yet before leaving, Pete and his wife Lisa advised me to get new boots. Lisa had broken her ankle wearing some similar boots earlier this year, and so Tim and I decided to invest in a new pair of boots that would be more suitable for off-road adventures, and with more ankle support. And although these new boots weren't cheap, I was hoping that they would be worth the money.

With my new kicks on (Sidi Adventures), we headed south from Denver towards Lake City, where we found a free, roadside campsite to stay the night. It had views of the mountains, and the sound of a gushing river below, and even though we should've gotten a perfect night's sleep there, I kept waking up, too nervous about what was to come the following day.

The next morning we packed up and headed off as early as could be, because we knew this was going to be one tough and exhausting day. But as we approached the first of the four mountain passes, Cinnamon Pass, we were greeted with a stunning view of a lush valley, a shimmering lake, and craggy granite peaks in the background embracing it all. And I remember thinking that things couldn't have started out better.

Brady had told us that the passes got progressively more and more difficult, with Corkscrew being the most challenging. So as we started out with Cinnamon, it took a while for the pristine dirt road to even have any sort of bump or rock in it. In fact, the entirety of Cinnamon Pass was a very pleasant ride, and the only indication that things were going to get tougher were the groups of ATV riders, or people in 4WD trucks and vehicles that we'd pass. There were no low-clearance vehicle here, that was for sure. 
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At the bottom of Cinnamon Pass, we encountered a fascinating surprise - a ghost town from the 1800's. It was built during the heyday of Colorado's gold rush, and had been a community of miners, all trying to eke out a living at 12,000 feet in altitude (3,600 meters). The buildings they made are beautiful and well-crafted, looking like they had been abandoned yesterday.

Next we headed up to California Pass, which was where the real comparisons to South America started. We recognized the scrubland bushes of hardy plants that are trying to live in the tough conditions of brutal winters, intense sunlight of the summers, and low oxygen levels. And then beyond the treeline where plants could no longer grow, the geology of the area shined through with reds full of iron, or whites and grays full of granite, and the blending of all these minerals created a kaleidoscope of streaking colors.

By the time we got to Hurricane Pass, we saw a mountain that looked just like Rainbow Mountain in Peru, or locally known as Vinicunca. In Peru, a stream of tourists make the trek and line up every day to take Instagram-worthy pictures of it... but here it was just us. Just us and the mountains.

So far, we had dropped the bike zero times, and Tim and I were feeling pretty confident about our day. But at last it was time to. conquer the final pass - Corkscrew Pass. And a name like that wasn't all too reassuring.

In fact, when we first saw the beginning of Corkscrew Pass, it was such a steep road branching off from the main one, that I thought surely it was just some person's driveway to their farm or cabin. I thought maybe this farmer used ATV's or mountain bikes to get there (or maybe donkeys).

And then we noticed that the map indicated that we should go up this steep incline, straight up the side of the mountain. I muttered to Tim through the intercom system, "Seriously?! That's the road we're taking?"

We were silent as we headed up it, not wanting to vocalize that fact that suddenly all the other traffic on the road had disappeared. There was not a single other vehicle, and that is never a good sign.

The problem with Corkscrew Pass was not so much the loose gravel, or large rocks, or tight switchbacks, or sheer drop-offs to certain doom. It was the steepness. Normally, a light-weight vehicle could use its brakes to stop, but we were so heavy, that by the time we reached the top and started heading downhill, our tires would lock up and we'd just slide down on all the gravel.

At one point, Tim took the inner edge near the rock wall instead of the cliff drop-off, when the back tire gave out. Tim tried to save it, but we slowly crashed into the mound of loose rocks beside us. It wasn't a terribly drop, but as luck would have it, a rock hit my foot, and it had twisted my leg back behind me and underneath the bike and pannier.

Tim immediately asked if I was ok, but once seeing that my leg was twisted backwards, he let out a yelp of pure terror, since this was exactly what had happened when I'd hurt my foot back in Peru (and had to be on crutches for six weeks). I didn't feel any pain, and Tim and I worked as quickly as we could to get myself twisted back to a normal position, and we freed my leg from under the bike.

And once I stood up on both feet, I turned to Tim with a smile and said, "I'm fine! My foot feels 100% fine!"

I gave my leg and shake, and was immediately thankful for having purchased those expensive, but super rugged boots. Tim and I embraced, and took a moment to recollect ourselves and thank our lucky stars.

Though the rest of Corkscrew Pass was steep and twisty, Tim did an excellent job of keeping the bike upright for the remainder of the day. And as we headed out of the foothill forest, and hit the perfect pavement of Colorado's Million Dollar Highway, we high-fived and felt like we had just climbed Everest.

We had done it - we had faced a huge challenge, and had come out victorious. And for us, this was what it was all about, not the easy days, not the smooth roads. But the difficult ones. We were a team, and we felt as if nothing could ever stop us.

Unfortunately, as we headed from there into Idaho, disaster would strike once again, and we no longer felt so confident. But that's all for next week's blog, so stay tuned!

We were already feeling pretty much on top of the world after our incredible weekend at the Overland Expo Mountain West near Denver. We had just spent four days meeting wonderful people, sharing stories, and it was a real honor to be given such a spotlight as the only presenting representatives of international motorcycle travel. 

But this feeling of euphoria was about to get even better as we headed off with a film crew from LA into the mountains to do a shoot on us!

This is what we've been waiting all year for... No, actually, we've been waiting two years for it - the Overland Expo.

For Tim and I, the Overland Expo has been our inspiration for traveling by motorcycle since the very beginning. When Tim first attended as an audience member in 2017, he was starry-eyed and bursting with excitement for what our potential future could hold. He met some of the moto-travel greats - Sam Manicom, Lisa and Simon Thomas, Ted Simon, and so many more... And he began to wonder, "What if I could do this too? What if I could also travel the world by motorcycle and one day stand up on a stage to inspire others with my stories?"

​Well, I can't even believe I'm able to say this now, but our dreams just came true. And then plus some as well!

You may recall from our previous post that we had a bit of a problem last week - the bearings on the front wheel of our motorcycle blew up. And we naïvely thought that this might be the worst of it. That once we fixed the bearings, then we'd be able to ride from Chicago to Colorado with no problems, and attend the Overland Expo there in high spirits.

But we may have been a bit too optimistic. Besides the bearings, we had also been dealing with a few other minor issues, such as a broken fuel line connector, and the bike's electrical system shorting out sometimes, which rendered it unable to start for a scary moment. But nothing seemed catastrophic, so we figured we'd get out to Colorado as soon as possible, and deal with these little repairs once there.

But Tim says he had a feeling that something awful was going to happen to us, and that we might not be able to make it. I had no such feeling. So I just blindly hopped onto the bike a week ago in Chicago, said goodbye to Tim's dad, and headed west thinking that all would be well.

As with anything in life, traveling by motorcycle can sometimes test your patience. There are times when Tim and I feel like the world is plotting against us, and as if everything that could go wrong does go wrong.

There are times when we scream and shout and end up upset with each other for no good reason. There are times when if we could watch a recording of ourselves a day later, we'd be completely ashamed of how childish we'd acted.

It's in these instances that we know we are truly being tested, but of course, we always forget about how poorly we're failing the test when we're in the moment. Only when we take a step away and look back at what has happened, can we appreciate how with every miserable break down, and every seemingly insurmountable obstacle, something marvelous was just around the corner. If only we could have known.

Our trip to Florida was supposed to be just a family visit, but it quickly turned into so much more than that. Last time, I mentioned how we were able to have lunch with Mike from Road Dog Publications, and then we met up with our old friend who we'd traveled around Africa with - Leo. And we would've been completely satisfied with all of that, until we realized we had enough time (and some very good luck) to be able to squeeze in a few more adventures - one to the Florida Keys which has the southernmost point of the continental United States, and the other aboard a small six-seater plane to the Bahamas!

There was a snake in the elevator of Tim's mom's condo building a few days ago. It was a small snake, but still. Welcome to Florida.

So yes, we're in Florida now, and at first, I didn't expect a motorcycle trip here in the heat of the summer to be a very good idea. And to be completely honest, I was kind of dreading it.

Tim and I have ridden through hot weather before - the type where you're already sweating through your underwear by the time you get on the bike. Nicaragua, Botswana, Death Valley - they all have their different types of heat, but each one can be equally unbearable. My waterproof boots quickly became like sauna chambers around each foot, my legs got scorched from the heat of the bike's engine radiating against them, and with the helmet on, I could feel my breath steaming against my face, seeming like it's suffocating me.

So in general, motorcycle riding and extreme heat don't go together very well. And even though all of that has been true as we rode through Florida, this trip has surprised us and brought smiles to our faces around every turn in surprising and incredible ways.

It might seem crazy to want to visit Florida in the middle of the summer, but Tim and I never shy away from doing something a little crazy. And so when the opportunity arose to take a long ride from the Midwest down to visit family in Florida this past week, of course we couldn't refuse.

We started our journey up in Michigan, visiting friends who have a house on a gorgeous little lake there. When we left Chicago, some grey and threatening storm clouds hung around the skyscrapers, making the whole place look like Gotham City. But by the time we got to Michigan, the skies had cleared and we were able to enjoy ourselves to the fullest on the lake. We went wake boarding and wake surfing for the first time (and I have to say, it was super fun, but my whole body was sore afterwards from wiping out on the water). The pine trees surrounding the lake gave the place a deep northern feel, like bits of wild Canada were draping down into the state of Michigan, bringing with it cool breezes and cormorants.

For us, there's nothing better than crossing some border to a distant land and discovering unique cultures that welcome us to their awe-inspiring landscapes. But sometimes that's just not possible to do, and we occasionally find ourselves back in the Midwest. Back at home.

Some people are fortunate enough to have mountains and fire roads and heart-pounding twisties right at their doorstep. But here in Chicagoland, that's not really what we're known for. More like flat, flat, and more flat. Corn, corn, and more corn. That's the type of nature you find out here.

But since we both grew up here, we've discovered that being stuck in the Midwest with a motorcycle doesn't have to be a drag. And pretty much anywhere on earth you can find beauty and fun roads to ride. So this week, we'll introduce you to our two personal favorite spots just an hour and a half from Chicago, both of them free to visit.

Coming back to a sedentary lifestyle has been wonderful, don't get me wrong.

It feels good to be back in a world of familiarity and predictability. Besides just seeing the people I know and love, there's a comfortable rhythm to life here that I missed. It's that sense that everything is under control.

I can eat the same thing for breakfast every day if I want. I can fill up a hamper with dirty laundry without having to worry that I'll run out of clean clothes in just two days. And there are some comforts of American life that I used to take for granted. I can turn on a faucet, and water will come out. And better yet, I can even drink that water. I know that the electricity will stay on because the infrastructure of the power grid is maintained. I know that if a fire starts in the house, I wont be trapped in a room with bars on the windows with only one fire escape through a padlocked door. Society more or less functions on autopilot. But while on the road, nothing is nearly as predictable.