Sometimes, well OK, on rare occasion, an innocent event provides an unexpected Ah-Hah Moment. Our innocent event starts out as a need to repair the steering head bearing and ignition circuit on the Chicitita. An internet search reveals a BMW dealer in Belo Horizonte. In two days we are there. Luckily, like looking for a needle in a haystack, in this case a haystack of three million people, we find Euroville BMW on first try. No sooner have we explained the mechanical problems to attentive staff than boom, the Chicitita is wheeled into the shop, up on the mechanic's lift and being fixed. We get an immediate good feeling about this BMW auto and bike dealership and the folks here.

The Ah-Hah! moment arrives with two new BMW motorcycles from the factory. Still in their crates, the new bikes pass by as we stand visiting in the shop. We think, hey, those are good crates....we want to ship our bikes to Texas soon - hey, wonder if we could crate and ship our bikes right here from Euroville?

To communicate important questions like, can you fix the bike; how long will it take; can we ship our bikes from here; can you recommend a logistics agent; etc, etc, we need a translator. Up steps Danielle Zubeu, Euroville receptionist and totally fluent in Portuguese and English. As a young girl she spent several years in the USA. Over the next week we utilize the translation skills of this intelligent and personable woman a number of times. Thank you Danielle, estamos muito obrigado a vocês.

Chicitita is ready the next morning. Good news but not as good as what Cassius Nunes, Gerente Comercial, tells us next. He confirms, much to our delight, that yes, Euroville can crate and ready our bikes as air cargo; and yes, he can introduce us to a local shipping agent. Cassius recommends we come back in a couple of days to start the process. In the meantime, why don't we check out nearby Ouro Preto? Only 2 hours drive away, the former capital of the state of Minas Gerais is famous for its baroque architecture and is a UNESCO World Heritage Site. We agree it's a must-see. For our excellent time there, see blog chapter, "Ouro Preto, City of Black Gold".

When we return, an email awaits with the shipping quote. We accept. Euroville mechanics Eduardo Lacerda and Rodrigo Marinho begin preparing Katie and the Bumblebee (aka Chicitita) for shipping. Bikes are washed within an inch of their lives. Windshields and mirrors are removed, handlebars rotated downward to minimize height. Since used motorcycles are classified as dangerous goods, batteries must be disconnected, fuel completely drained and all aerosol products removed from luggage. Out goes my cans of WD-40 and Pledge. Katie's shocks are compressed to minimum height then tiedown straps are solidly cinched down to secure bike to crate. When the lid is closed and the crate is double strapped, Katie is safer than money in a Scot's pocket.

Under the direction of Cassius, even our personal To Do Items are taken care of. Marcos Prado, partsman, (see photo above, steadying the tail of the Bumblebee) acts as our guide and guard as we run around Belo Horizonte collecting shipping documents, cash money, and getting verification that our identity documents and Brasil entry papers are valid/authentic, as well as assisting us complete other mysteriously redundant Government requirements.

Just a few days ago a brand new BMW 1200GS sat in this crate on its journey from Germany to Brazil. Now a 2004 KTM 950 sits ready to go from Brasil to the USA. The crate, light yet strong, measures 102 cm W x 113.5 cm H x 227 cm L. Euroville BMW charges us a very reasonable amount to prepare and crate the bikes. When the next lid goes on the Bumblebee's crate we are locked and loaded.

By brute force, we hand load the two crates onto a flat deck truck. As dead weight the crates are 340 kg and 300 kg respectively. As air cargo, each crated bike adds up to a dimension weight of "403.5 Kg". It's a number that, utilizing a formula combining both size and weight, represents the chargeable value. Ciro Fonseca, our freight forwarder agent from CFSA Servicos Aduaneiros Ltda, informs us the first quote was too low as it didn't account for the bikes being dangerous goods. The new quote is USD $4785 for both bikes to travel from Belo Horizonte via truck to Sao Paulo and thence by American Airlines to Dallas. Plus 930 Brasilian Reais for the services of his company to act as our agent. Wow, that's a hell of a chargeable value. But the thought of riding 3000 kilometres back to Buenos Aires to the next best departure point, especially with winter coming on in Argentina, is even less attractive. We clarify details with Ciro with the help of Danielle, then start collecting additional cash at every ATM in Belo Horizonte that will accept our bank cards.

Sérgio Machado, Service Manager for the BMW automobile side of things, fluent in English as well, helps communicate technical details accurately between Cassius and ourselves. Like everyone else we met at Euroville BMW, Sérgio is an intelligent, interesting, down-to-earth person with a genuine friendliness so typically Brasilian. It should be noted this team of customer service experts is headed by Marlus Pires, Gerente Geral (general manager) of Euroville BMW, who, we noticed more than once, leads by example and walks the talk.

Although every person we meet in Euroville BMW gives their time generously, our true champion is the man above, Cassius Nunes. A longtime bike enthusiast himself, Cassius has won top honors as the best in Brasil for motocross more than once. With piercing green eyes, a tireless energy and a charming personality that Joyce describes as "dangerous", Cassius helps us accomplish things we didn't even know we needed to do. Often he is on two cell phones at once and talking face to face with one of his staff at the same time, but never once did we see him lose the plot. No wonder he won those tough motocross races so often. His broken English is 10 times better than my Portuguese but there is no mistaking his command of the situation.

Nine days after our Ah-Hah Moment in Euroville BMW we are climbing out of Rio de Janeiro on American Airlines Flight 904 on an overnighter to Miami. Waiting in Dallas, our final stop, are our very good friends, the Martsolfs. Little did we all know we would be four weeks (!!) in their lovely home waiting for our bikes to arrive from Brazil. Lucky for us Rick and Paulette are as easy going as they are generous.

What made us exit Brazil a month early? Well, mostly it was a matter of travel weariness and more month than money. Brasil, lovely as both the country and its people are, is more expensive than we anticipated.

Looking back, our original plan was to ride from Ushuaia, at the southernmost tip of South America, up the graveled Ruta 40 and the Carretera Austral to Mendoza, then pavement to Salta in northern Argentina and maybe further north to the Salar de Uyuni in Bolivia. We would travel the full length of Brazil, taking a ferry up the Amazon to Manaus, and end our trip in Caracas, Venezuela. One end of South America to the other.

But we also knew once we started traveling adapting to unexpected obstacles was key to both our safety and sanity. As General Dwight D. Eisenhower said, "In preparing for battle I have always found that plans are useless, but planning is indispensable." And obstacles we did indeed encounter that made our plans all but useless. The resulting journey is the one you have read. But as Joyce reminds me, never once did we feel in danger and our journey was much easier than she had anticipated. I enjoyed it too. Although I found it significantly more expensive than my trip in 2006, South America continues to be a best kept secret for travelers.

Now we are back on the most fortunate continent in the world. And we have returned healthy and happy puppies. Here our blog ends. Even though we have another 3000 kms planned before arriving home in Calgary, the remainer of our wee adventure is just another vacation. Thank you for reading our story and sending us emails. For the last six months your words of support have comforted us as if you had been traveling with us in person. To our friends, both new and old, estamos muito obrigado a vocês (we are much obliged to you).

A side trip to Ouro Prêto, about 100 kilometres south east of Belo Horizonte, turns out to be one of our best diversions. Even the ride down is fun. For two hours, Katie and the Bumblebee thrive on the curvy mountain roads of Serra do Espinhaço as we head southeast to the old colonial city.

Ouro Prêto, now a UNESCO World Heritage Site, was capital of the state of Minas Gerais from 1822 until 1897, when the needs of government outgrew this opulent berg wedged in a narrow valley. We approach the city by angling down a mountainside, arriving just above the city centre. We stop and look down. From here it looks like 90% of the streets are black diamond runs made from cobblestone. Tightly packed tile-roofed buildings, like an over-eager crowd, squeeze in too closely both sides of the streets. Motorcycles and cobblestones are not friends. Cobblestone, especially made from soapstone, and rain are not friends. We could have fun getting back out of here.

Lonely Planet Brazil describes it best: "Founded at the end of the 17th century, Ouro Preto (meaning Black Gold) was the focal point of the gold rush and Brazil's golden age in the 18th century under Portuguese rule. Of all the exquisite colonial towns scattered around Minas Gerais, Ouro Prêto is the jewel in the crown. Significant historically as a center of gold mining and government, and as the stage for Brazil’s first independence movement, the city remains vital in modern times as a center for education and the arts, and as one of Brazil’s three most visited tourist destinations."

"Built at the feet of the Serra do Espinhaço range, Ouro Prêto’s colonial center is larger, and has steeper topography, than any other historical town in Minas. The narrow, crooked streets of the upper and lower towns tangle together and in places are too rough and precipitous for vehicles. Navigating the vertiginous cobblestoned slopes on foot can be exhausting, but the views of 23 churches spread out across the hilly panorama are spectacular. The city is a showcase of outstanding Mineiro art and architecture, including some of Aleijadinho’s finest works." Well said Lonely Planet, we totally agree.

Joyce and I get settled at Posada Ouro Preto, a lovingly restored three story, perched precariously, like everything else, on alarmingly tilted real estate. By now it's evening but a full moon begins its climb over the eastern ridge. We decide on a walkabout. The air is warm, we take a light jacket but don't need it. As darkness falls around us, the night scene becomes magically romantic. Street lamps of wrought iron and glass panels arch over sidewalks, casting pale pools of antique yellow light on walls and streets made of stone. A lantern-like glow, framed by a home window, casts itself at our feet as we walk by. A restaurant doorway, its brown doors open wide like welcoming arms, invites us into an elegant dining room, where on white tablecloths white candles and crystal wine glass reflections twinkle back at us. Other than those weak illuminations, and a waxing moon, the 19th century streets lay in darkness.

We thread our way to the town square. There, in brightly lit windows, tourist vendors boldly advertise their wares. Jewelry storefronts, in 500 watt glitter and glamour, showcase precious diamonds, gold, silver, emeralds, sapphires, as well as a dazzling display of semi-precious like garnets, turquoise and imperial topaz. Joyce tries on various attractive rings, necklaces and earrings. She walks away empty handed, but "richer" for the experience.

Richer for the experience we are too when we dine. The restaurant we choose has been cleverly renovated, combining the best of old and new world. Keeping the charm of the century stone building with its heavy timber construction interior and warm wooden floors, the place is filled with eclectic art, antique mining tools, colourful paintings and fresh flowers. The service is exceptional; the filet mignon is perfect. The full moon shines its approval over the nearby church turrets of Saint Francis of Assis as we leave. What a lovely way to end our last night in small town Brasil.

Next day we tour the sights in the cool of the morning. First stop is the Igreja de São Francisco de Assis (The Church of Saint Francis of Assisi). This Rococo Catholic church, we are told, began erection in 1766. Designed by the great Brazilian architect and sculptor Antônio Francisco Lisboa, known as Aleijadinho to his fans, the carved decorations inside are also his handiwork. The circular bell towers were original architectural features for their time.

The church interior is cool to bare arms, but warm to the eye. Lining the perimeter are rich decorations of finely carved woodwork and statues covered in real gold foil, walls are filled with museum quality paintings. A biblical scene mural with much colour spreads across the entire wooden ceiling. It looks like a Portuguese Michelangelo spent most of his life here. OK, I'm suitably impressed.

Soapstone carvings, paintings, sketches, toys and art objects abound. If a saleable item is known or can be imagined by a Brasilian artist, it will be created and on sale here in Ouro Prêto.

In fact, I think this open air market is the largest collection of handmade art I have ever seen. We wander some but buy nothing. How will we carry it in our already overweight, overpacked motorcycles?

Leaving Ouro Prêto in late afternoon, we ride toward our rendezvous with Euroville tomorrow to begin the process of shipping ourselves and motorcycles home. We stop to get money at an ATM outside Belo Horizonte. Evandro and Fernanda Gomide pull up, get out of their SUV and walk over to talk with us. Evandro, having toured South America himself on a bike, is curious about our travels. Learning of our situation, they offer to help organize a hotel for our upcoming week in BH. But first, come for supper, have a beer, have a shower, stay over, please, we have lots of room at our house. Daughters Camila and Laura are fascinated with Joyce's BMW.

A group photo of Evandro, Fernanda, Camila and Laura is called for after supper and before we go out to see the night lights of Belo Horizonte and have an ice cream. What a lovely family. So typical of Brazilians. We much appreciate their hospitality and their help. Thanks to Fernanda's research skills, we spend the remainder of our time in BH in the great value-for-money Hotel Formule 1.

Leaving Pato Branco in scattered rain showers, we press on westward to one of the world's greatest natural wonders, Foz do Iguaçu. Located well away from well known large cities like Buenos Aires, Rio de Janeiro or Asunción, this corner of the world is literally that, with the borders of Argentina, Brazil and Paraguay meeting here.

Meeting here too is the Rio Iguaçu, after wandering westwards for 600km, with a three kilometre wide escarpment. The result are 275 individual falls, averaging from 60m to 87m in height, making the whole spectacle wider than Victoria, higher than Niagara and to our mind, grander than either.

The word Iguaçu means "large water" to the indigenous Tupi-Guarani. It is that all right. Although the falls are flowing 40% capacity when we visit, they are still very impressive. We are told The Foz pours three times more over the edge than Niagara Falls. In 1986 Unesco declared the region a World Heritage site.

Nearby, the Parque Das Aves (Bird Park) contains dozens of exotic bird species from hummingbirds to eagles to cassowarys. For many species we can walk inside their cages the size of tennis courts. Getting up close and personal with brilliant colored macaws, parrots, toucans and parakeets is a first for us and exciting.

Joyce visits arm in arm with a friendly macaw. Unfortunately, once again, communication is a problem, for the bird can only speak Portuguese and Macawanese, neither language Joyce is comfortable in. But, as with all foreign travel, eye contact and a smile can go a long way.

The Brazilian city of Foz do Iguaçu, which we use as our tour base, went through a period of frenzied growth during the 18 years that Itaipu Dam was under construction (1966 - 1984), when the population increased by more than five times. Today the city seems mostly geared to tourism and smuggling duty free goods across the Friendship bridge to Paraguay.

The Itaipu Dam is 7. 2 km long and 225 metres high, or about the height of a 74 story building. The iron and steel used would build 380 Eiffel Towers. The volume of excavation of earth and rock in Itaipu is 8.5 times greater than that of the Channel Tunnel and the volume of concrete is 15 times greater. As we stand and stare at this manmade wonder, we can easily believe the stats rattled off by our trilingual guide.

Although upon completion the Three Gorges Dam in China will be bigger, but Itaipu will still hold the record for the most power generation (14 GW, or twice that of Grand Coulee Dam), as it can produce 12 months of the year, something the Three Gorges cannot do because of rainfall limitations. The Itaipu Dam now supplies 90% of the energy consumed by Paraguay and 20% of that consumed by Brazil.

After visiting all that monster water stuff, it is time to move north and east. Get to warmer and sunnier weather. After three weeks touring Brasil it seems to Joyce and I the whole southern country, as far as the eye can see in every direction, is one continuous industry of big factories, cities of every size and endless green fields of corn and sugar cane.

Travelling off the Gringo Trail means, on one hand, lower prices for hotels, more personal attention, quieter towns and interesting places for the Chicitita to park (see photo above); but on the other, after you've seen one sugar cane field, you've seen 'em all. Make no mistake, Brasilian culture is pleasant to travel in. Food variety and quality is second to none, roads and signage are great, consumer products leave nothing wanting, and cleanliness is a way of life in the smaller cities. But we find travelling here getting to be hard work. Part of the reason is it is surprisingly disappointing not to be able to communicate. I learn that connecting with people, even on small-talk scale, enhances the journey far more than I realized before. Travel weariness may be setting in.

We put in some big distance days to get north. At Jaboticabal (try asking directions for that one), we wash the bikes at the end of the day. An adventure immediately follows. The Bumblebee, once started, won't shut off (again!) and stranger yet, Katie quits after several blocks. Sunset approaches. With no time to troubleshoot, we push Katie into a nearby Michelin tire warehouse after the friendly staff below generously agree to keep her overnite safe and sound. Joyce and I jump on the Bumblebee, and while trying (poorly) to follow directions to a hotel, get pulled over by the police for a traffic infraction. Not understanding what we did wrong, but explaining in Spanish and sign language our dilemna, the lady police officer takes pity and talks her partner into leading us to a hotel. By now it is dark. Mysteriously, the Bumblebee decides to return to normal and shuts off in the hotel's secured parking. We are all safe for the night.

The next morning we return to the Stefani Michelin plant. Amid typical Brasilian hospitality, coffee, smiles and genuine curiousity about our trip, I try to start Katie, hope against hope. Katie, never affected before by being washed, now acts like nothing has happened and starts obediently, first try. What is going on in our world of water and Brasil?? The Michelin crowd must wonder what was that all about. Nevertheless we are relieved, so pack up and hit the road again. Late afternoon, arriving at the little hilltown city of São Sebastião do Paraiso, we find a new hotel for 80 reais a nite that is quiet, clean, spacious and has a good bed and a generous shower. We park the bikes for three days and just chill.

After an hour of formalities at the Uruguay/Brazil border at Chui, we are on our way in another new country. We ride through lowlands heavily saturated with standing water full of standing cows. Our first night in Brasil is in the city of Rio Grande. Hey, that´s the same name as the city we spent our first night in Argentina, only that Rio Grande on Tierra del Fuego is half a continent away from here.

Brazilians, we discover, are just as helpful, curious and friendly as their Spanish counterparts. But in daily communication it´s a different story. The Portuguese language, although similar in writing to Spanish, when spoken is entirely incomprehensible to me. Case in point. After finding a place to stay for the night, Katie and I head downtown to the Banco do Brasil for an ATM. I can read the street signs but when I ask for directions (in my kindergarten Spanish, because it is my only hope) I get back a blur of Incomprehenseguese. Seems they can understand me but I haven´t a clue in return.

At Porto Alegre, we start arrangements for shipping for our bikes back to North America via air cargo from São Paulo. That done, we ride north into the serras (mountains) to the architectually influenced Swiss and German towns of Gramado and Canela.

Mountain highway BR116 twists and climbs up the serra, alternately offering spectacular views then green tunnels of overhanging rain forest. Together with the grand views we get long rows of roadside poinsettias, known in South America as the Flower of the Andes. Their brilliant red, standing out against a background of lush green, catches and pleases the eye.

The other red that used to catch the eye was brazilwood. The tree contains a vivid red dye, much to the delight of 16th century Portuguese royality fashionistas, who loved to import it. And hence how Brazil got its name. After that, sugar (cane), followed by gold, then rubber (trees), then coffee, each taking their turns attracting world attention. By the way, Europeans spell it Brazil, Brasilians spell it Brasil.

Brasil is the fifth largest country in the world by geographical area (just behind the USA), it occupies nearly half of South America, is the fifth most populous country in the world (130 million), and the fourth most populous democracy in the world. After a few weeks touring this massive country, in terms of industry and productivity, we think Brazilians are the workaholics of South America. With a dazzling abundance of resources at hand, they export products including aircraft, coffee, automobiles, soybean, iron ore, orange juice, steel, ethanol, textiles, footwear, corned beef and electrical equipment. One thing for sure, there is no shortage of food. We are overwhelmed by choice, even at breakfast. Losing weight is not an option in Brasil.

Gramado and Canela are charming towns. If we were transported with eyes closed, then opened them here, we would swear we were somewhere in Austria, Switzerland or Germany. Clean, smart and colourful, the towns and their influence are not coincidental, for of course large numbers of European immigrants brought their culture and architecture here at the turn of the 20th century.

A little afternoon break of hot chocolate, a favorite around here, is served on a sunny deck with a pleasant view of Canela. Brasilians do not take siestas like their neighbours, but they do like to take a break from time to time. Mate, coffee, chocolate, cerveza or cachaça (sugarcane liquor), it is all in the name of social relaxation.

Not all Brasil is high tech. We are just as likely to see gauchos riding proud horses down the streets of towns and small cities. Or horse drawn, rubber tired wagons wobbling along, performing such important missions as collecting cardboard, transporting corn, moving house or just going to town for groceries.

Or you can use your garden cultivator tractor if you like. Smaller towns please. Just need a trailor, no helmet, no lights, no fear. Take the little lady into town for a Saturday night and pick up a sack of fertilizer while you are there. Totally tranquilo, apparently, with all five kinds of Brasilian police.

Honda motorcycles are produced en masse in Manuas, Brazil and are a popular form of transport for the masses as well as great for small scale delivery. Courier service for papers, passengers, pizza or propane tanks, take your pick, it is only limited by lack of imagination.

The transportation span from Mercedes Benz executive sedan to family garden tractor serves also as a measure of the distance between rich and poor. Slaves were imported from 1550 to the late 1800´s (over 3.6 million) and although racial harmony is widely accepted and evident, it is easy to see nevertheless an enormous economic gap between the Haves and Have-nots. And it is not just between blacks and whites.

A roadside stop further north along BR116 is called for. It is damn handy having two way radios, we both agree. We stretch, eat sweet bananas, oranges and a half pack of Oreo chocolate cookies. Wash it down with bottled water. And wave at the passing camiones (trucks) as they roar by, honking air horns in friendly greeting.

Autumn continues to pursue us. Some trees, like the prehistoric araucárias in the background of this picture, stay green. Other species remind us in orange the change of season is not theoretical. We need to escape north, to at least above the Tropic of Capricorn.

East of Lages, accepting the kind offer of Luiz and Tatiane Almerda, we tour the remarkable and modern vineyard of Villa Francioni. Brazil is not known for its wines but this ten year old vintner has grand plans otherwise. The buildings, vineyard and production process are nothing short of a creative blend of efficiency and beauty. Unfortunately Mr. Manoel Dilor, imaginative founder that he was, died before his dream came fully to reality. We wish this classy company success.

Katie picks up a rusty one inch nail at one of our roadside stops. Good thing we discover it the next morning at our posada in Bom Jardin do Serra before starting out. The host throws Katie´s rear wheel in his antique Toyota Land Cruiser and we jounce up the road a kilometre to Pepe´s Borracharia.

Tube and tire are repaired in less than an hour by Pepe himself. He has the most rudimentary of equipment but is an expert when it comes to art of borracharia (tire repair). He charges me five reais, or about $2.77. I give him 10 and a two-litre Coke for his trouble.

Costs are high or low, depending on product and service. With jillions of acres in production of corn and sugar cane (sugar cane producing 10 times more ethanol than corn), Brasil is a flex-fuel champ with 7.5 million vehicles in use (the States has 8 million). Vehicles get less mileage than with pure gasoline, but it is CAD $0.77/litre, so they come out ahead. We buy Supra for our motorcycles, that comes in at CAD $1.44/litre. Between the two of us it costs $14 to travel 100 kilometers, or about $50 a day. For us, our method of travel has become shockingly expensive.

Good thing Katie didn´t have the flat on our ride called the Rua do Rio do Rastro, a twisty 1000 metre descent down the Serra Rio do Rastro escarpment to damn near sea level. It has more curves than a Miss Brasil contest. At the bottom, we take paved two laners and a narrow one laner dirt road to the Atlantic coast.

Next day we head north for Florianópolis and fresh oysters. We have lunch in the wee, colourful town of Ribeirao da Ilha. It has a very traditional Portuguese feel with narrow cobblestone streets, tiled sidewalks and colonial architecure.

The oysters are literally lifted straight from the ocean onto our plates. Wow they are good. We order 3 platefuls and a litre of Antarctic Beer.

Days later, and back inland again, as we head for world famous Foz do Iguacu waterfalls, we get the bikes serviced and oil changed in Rio Negro by none other than the last year´s No. 1 Champ in velocross and motocross for Brasil. Celmo Dzickanski not only does the mechanical work but cleans our bikes so spotless we are reluctant to ride them. That and it is raining when we go to pick them up. Two days later, it is still raining. Katie and the Bumblebee are back to looking like red stained mud guppies.

The liquid air the last few days raises hell with the Bumblebee´s ignition. When we stop for lunch, her engine keeps running even after Joyce switches the ignition off. After lunch, we ride onto Pato Branco and find Agvel, the Yamaha dealer. In three hours they go from having the Bumblebee´s front end scattered across the floor, to changing a burned out relay switch to putting it all back together. Amazing. And problem solved. Or, as we found out a week later, so we thought. Remarkably, the motorcycle club in Pato Branco has been expecting us, having got the word throught the grape vine from the motorcycle gang 320 kms away in Rio Negro. We are treated like royality the whole weekend, led by hotel owner Adair Bedin and his wife Iara, and by Ruebens Camargo, editor and publisher of Namoto Magazine. Time passes quickly, which is good. Three days more rain in 12 Celsius weather make us reluctant to move on.