Overland travel is filled with discomforts.
Motorcycle travel especially since you have no seat to recline in nor protection from the elements as you might within a van or RV.
Most discomforts are mild and only seem to make you appreciate what you have more.
A cold night helps you appreciate a warm sleeping bag. The hard ground teaches gratitude for the air mattress beneath you.
But few discomforts we’ve experienced compared to the single night spent crossing the Gulf of California on the ferry from La Paz to Mazatlán.
While the RVers reclined in their seats or spread out on their cots, Moxie and I cleared a space on the deck between our motorcycles.
The big rigs rumbled in idle, blasting air conditioning into their cabins and black fumes into our faces.
Whiskey had spilled out in one of the aluminum side cases of Greg’s motorcycle. After sopping the spill and hanging the affected articles to dry, he filled his mug with what remained in the bottle.
He groaned as he eased onto his camp chair and propped his feet on the bumper of a big rig. He drank and sucked on a cigar while he listened to a book over the rumble of the big rigs and ship’s engine.
At intervals I heard him lift up and shuffle out to pee into the ocean through an anchor hole in the deck.
Eventually, his head drooped and slipped into a fitful sleep. Cracking a lid, I asked, “Why don’t you spread your sleeping pad? We’ll make room for you.”
“I’m uncomfortable enough just where I am,” he replied and closed his eyes again.
The diesel fumes wafted overhead as the ship rocked in the swells and the RVers tossed and turned and grumbled at the discomfort of sleeping in their cars.
