|Heather Johnson, In Search of the Frightening and Beautiful|
"At the terminal there is a bar, run by a big man with three names who grilled me on my feelings about President Obama (wherein my Spanish conveniently crapped out - partly because I'm not great at talking about politics with strangers). But when I finally parked my bike on the flat ferry barge, I was immediately surrounded by enthusiastic guys with questions about my bike and what the hell I was doing with it, alone. They listened to my every word, sorting out the jumbled Spanish and gently offering corrections. We talked about the night's big football game, and I assured them I'd route for the country I was in now, as opposed to one I'm traveling to (Colombia vs Argentina - Colombia lost by one point after kicking mighty ass to settle up a tie). We took photos of each other, swapping emails, and once again, after striking out into unknown territory, I ended up with new friends."