26.11.: 100 km before Porto Velho / Rondonia

26.11.:

close call!!

Porto Velho is 514 km away from Rio Branco. Estimated travel time according to Google Maps is 7.5 hours!

That's not my plan. But things happen differently.

Already before 10 o'clock I fight my way through the busy city center of Rio Branco after a good hotel breakfast. Thanks to the navigation system, I quickly get on BR 364.

The weather is dry and sunny. Very warm! But the wind while riding keeps me comfortable in my motorcycle gear. Long rain pants and a long-sleeved motorcycle jacket. Plus a scarf around my neck to protect me from a strong sunburn on my neck.
The Vespa has power. So much power that I overlook a bump and jump over it at 50 or 60 km/h. I was actually busy wondering if it could be difficult with the 90 octane fuel.
I curse my inattentiveness. Nothing happened and I keep riding, but then my inner voice tells me: pull over and check your luggage situation! more of a command than good advice. I follow it and already while rolling out, I notice irregularities with the backpack. And just at the moment when I want to get off, the backpack falls sideways onto the shoulder !! What if ??? At the second glance, I realize that the two reserve fuel canisters are no longer there. I dropped them and didn't notice. It's not a catastrophe now. I still have two more that are filled. But what if a closely following car had hit them? The good spirits and guardian angels are on the spot! The backpack is quickly back in its place and off we go it goes.

Vista Alegre do Abuna is what I have in mind. A roadside village that I reach already in the early afternoon. Porto Velho has been on my mind since yesterday. Yes, because from this place it goes straight southeast and I take a direct course to the east coast.

While I'm riding at 90 to 100 km/h on a straight road, in the beautiful weather and with a very varied sky, the first critical thoughts come up. Where the cattle are grazing now and giving me a sense of home, wasn't there the rainforest before that was cleared for meat production? That must have been years or even decades ago, because there is no sign of the brutal intervention in nature.

The landscape is punctuated by many pools, the deep green grass impresses critical thinking. It's almost idyllic. There is little traffic, the potholes are limited. The Vespa sings like in the old days. No longer the tormenting noise it made when climbing to 2, 3, and 4,000 meters.

I rarely find a parking space. Although the roadside is paved, it has a slope that doesn't allow the Vespa to safely stand on its stand. So only the generous entrances to the haciendas of the large landowners remain.
And they are the ones who sent Chico Mendes to the other side?
I have to read more about it.

Refueling stop in front of the hacienda

Marina Silva, who is a daughter of Rio Branco, was Minister for the Environment and fought alongside Chico Mendes for the workers. She grew up in the deep jungle, only 70 km away from Rio Branco, with 10 other siblings. There was no thought of education. The rubber harvest was the focus of her young years. Later, raising her siblings because their mother died early.

And yet she studied and made this path.

What happens to these people today when Bosanero exercises his power?

Banana plants, huge and tall, line the Transoceanic on both sides. The landscape begins to change. The jungle has advanced to the road. New scents mix with the wind and cool climate zones alternate with the scorching heat.

Straight as a silver ribbon it traverses the land. I have already seen the long distance buses coming towards me twice, which connect Rio de Janeiro with Lima within 120 hours. What a ride! Four drivers are assigned, there are 7 stops, toilets, etc. on board.

At a rest area one of these two-story monsters is standing. Pale gringos stretch their legs outside. Hopefully, they are used to the altitude, because the Andes and the driving style are not for sensitive stomachs. I really appreciate my Vespa. Even when I can no longer sit sometimes and my back reminds me to sit up straight. Push through the pain and then it's fine again.

And then - all of a sudden, the nice ride is over. Signs indicate a speed reduction from 80 to 30 km/h ahead. A pedestrian coming towards me signals me to slow down. And then it's a dirt road, bumpy road, and over.

It doesn't go any further.

Catwalk

In front of me, the Rio Madeira spreads out majestically. I turn around and Brazilians immediately tell me that I should have turned earlier. But nothing changes. I come to a stop at the river again and then on second glance, I see a ferry fighting its way across the river from the other side. I am happy about the unplanned break, but my worried look is on the clock. It is already 3:30 pm. Can I still arrive somewhere before it gets dark?

I notice how the drivers give a note to the ferryman. I don't have one. Nevertheless, I am allowed to park my Vespa on the ferry and quickly get the ticket. But before that, I make it clear to the ferryman that he has to wait for me. He should remember my face and not leave without me. He laughs and gives me 10 minutes.
A strange feeling to leave the Vespa alone with all the luggage. But there's no other option. The first kiosk sends me to the second one. The ferry and thus the Vespa are out of sight. I'm in full gear and walk quickly to the next kiosk. The Brazilian woman is happy about the turnover and the exhausted gringo. And I'm back very quickly.

It's a great afternoon atmosphere with incredible light and impressive and razor-sharp cloud formations. And then I see the structure. A bridge is being built over the Rio Madeira. I keep wondering how the engineers manage to do that, how they calculate, how they can set their foundations in the current, how they can slowly close the gap.

Engineering masterpiece!

I also make acquaintance with an old Brazilian man whom I immediately ask to take a photo of me. He is unfamiliar with the technology. Suddenly he sees himself on the display and is confused.

I take the opportunity to take a selfie of the two of us.

And I continue. It would be nice if a place to sleep would appear now. I'm riding east steadily. I see my shadow and the outlines of the Vespa with its attachments in front of me on the road. The shadows are getting longer.

And then I experience my first traffic jam. At first, I think it's an accident, but then I see that it's a construction site.

The dam that leads through the tributaries of the Madeira is being resecured. It is only passable in single file. Dozens of trucks and cars crawl through the unpaved road at a snail's pace. In front of me is a pig truck. The pigs suffer from the heat. Do they have something to drink? Meanwhile, the dirt road is wet and becomes a slippery slope for my 12-inch tires. I give only a little gas, so that the rear wheel doesn't skid. The pickup truck behind me keeps a safe distance. Then there is gravel again, the speed can be increased, and I disappear into the reddish white dust of the vehicle in front of me. This goes on for probably half an hour. Then we are allowed to drive on the freshly asphalted road again. There is no oncoming traffic. Then again single-lane traffic, again gravel and dust, and then we finally made it.

And only now do I realize how lucky I was. We drive past an endless line of cars trying to merge into the one lane. If it had been the other way around and I would have had to wait in the afternoon sun in full gear in that convoy? I was spared that.

The sun disappears in the rearview mirror. Out of the corner of my eye, I see another beautiful evening sky. But I couldn't take any pictures.

It gets dark quickly. Fortunately, there is little oncoming traffic. The landscape is traversed by swamps and waterways. Soon I have no more overview of the condition of the road and hope that none of the centimeter-deep potholes catch me. The fuel gauge is blinking. Before it gets completely dark, I have to transfer the reserve canister into the tank. There is no opportunity. Finally, at a roundabout, I see a parking space with a lantern. A truck also uses it. I am just preparing when the truck drives away and I realize that I am on a merging lane. And now comes the kicker: it leads me to a motel!!!

This place is not listed anywhere. But it not only offers a bed but also something to eat.

And that's where I am now. The bed is rock hard. Dinner, consisting of a very tasty and juicy meat skewer, is accompanied by beautiful Brazilian popular music.

This reminds me of my various evenings with Nora in Manaus. The tropical days were followed by nice beer evenings accompanied by this very music.

The village is asleep. The mosquitoes fight my mosquito repellent. Outside, whistling sounds of unknown creatures can be heard, alternating in pitch and frequency.

Puerto Maldonado seems so far away.

It's still an hour or two to Porto Velho.