Our
epic motorcycle trip ended in April.
 |
| View from our apartment in Santiago |
We
talked about staying on in Santiago. I would find a job and Jess would take
Spanish classes until she acquired the language. She hesitated at first but the
idea grew on her until she became enthusiastic about the new challenge.
I
put myself to scouring the local employment websites and contacting
headhunters. At the same time, we began reading everything we could about the
rules and regulations governing immigration and vehicle importation. What we
discovered is that Chile instituted a law in 2012 that bans the importation of
used motorcycles. This probably because, like us, many travelers finish their
trip in the far south and some, unlike us, want to sell their bikes on the
local market instead of shipping them home. New, our girls would cost almost
double what we had paid for them less than a year before and, although they now
had 30k+ kilometers on them, they would still likely fetch us what we had originally
paid for them.
 |
| The girls wrapped and packed for shipping |
After
a lot of researching and a visit to the customs authority, we determined that there
was no safe and feasible way around it. We could stay but the girls would have
to go.
‘The
decision’s up to you,’ Jess said. ‘I know you want to stay but I’m afraid you’ll
be miserable without your motorbike.’
‘I
think so too,’ I said and I remembered how I had left my last bike behind when my
first big trip ended. It had been very hard to go cold turkey and I hadn’t been
near so obsessed with motorcycling then.
I
agonized over the decision for most of the night until the right and only course
gradually emerged.
.jpg) |
A small ceremony
in the hills above Santa Barbara |
We
shipped the girls home in a container along side a weathered up old Yamaha motorbike
and an ancient VW van. We followed a few days later and before we knew it we
were back in Los Angeles where we had started some eight months before.
Suddenly
we were back and broke and without motorbikes (for a month anyway while they
inched their way north on a freighter). There was a job to find, a wedding to
plan, and immigration issues to sort so that my lovely Canadian bride could
stay on legally in the country. It was no easy transition after such a long
trip and moving back to America after several years living overseas. Both
topics for another time.
 |
Furnishing and outfitting a new life
one motorbike trip at a time |
Suffice
it to say we got married, we applied for Jess’s residency, and I was contacted
by a former boss who had an exciting new opportunity. So, we loaded the girls
once more, boxed and shipped what we could not carry, and rode from Los Angeles
to New Orleans in the blazing swelter of mid-August. It was a mere jaunt
compared to the recently completed transcontinental journey, but our butts were
plenty sore those first few days back in the saddle.
Then,
suddenly, we had arrived. We were in New Orleans – starting a job, looking for
an apartment, and learning to live in the developed world once again.
Oh
yeah, and we had had our motorbikes…
