Somewhere Else Tomorrow” Two Wheels, One World, Zero Money TechTricks365

Like the instantaneous flick of a switch, there’s often a catalyst nudging people off on their big adventure. For some, it’s a tragic event that sends them searching for deeper meaning. For others, it is their quest for purpose. For me, it was a common case of post-graduate burnout.

Working hard to get a degree with little hope for a future outside of a hamster wheel wasn’t my idea of living. I couldn’t bear the thought of it. But with the looming specter of a grim tomorrow came a light bulb moment, “Why not just travel the world by motorcycle?” Who cared that my ex-student bank account couldn’t even get that dream out the door?

I roped a buddy whose bank account exactly matched mine into going with me. All we’d have to do was work our way around the world. That’s when “2-1-0” was born: Two wheels, One world, Zero money.

While one part of me thought it was impossible, here I am, on the other side of the world.

The plan was to start in Berlin, Germany, then travel east until we reached Berlin from the other direction, and that’s exactly what I did. More than a year later, I had succeeded in changing almost everything in my life. I was traveling the globe, vulnerable to the whim of the road, and away from the demands of the “fast-paced” life. It couldn’t get much better. But then, this journey of a lifetime threw me a curve.

My bike broke down in one of the world’s least favorable places—Pakistan. There I was, only 40 miles from the Afghani border and an hour from where a French tourist was kidnapped only weeks earlier. And I was on my own, as my buddy had returned home months ago.

At that moment I came to a big revelation. With only a few dollars in my pocket, and facing a potentially dangerous situation, I didn’t regret any of the decisions I had made. As far as life-transforming experiences go, the journey had just begun. Up to this point, my confidence had been growing—as a self-reliant rider and participant in the human condition. I had whittled down my adventure load to the sheer essentials.

Tibet en route between Lhasa and Nyingchi.

There was such a feeling of freedom to this forced simplification of life. When I couldn’t fix a problem myself, I seemed to always meet someone who could. Not only were these random encounters consistently positive, but I also learned something valuable every time.

As I sat there trying to gather my wits, I reflected on how I realized this entire experience was for me. I had my first taste on the road when my buddy and I reached out for work after running out of gas with no money. Still strongly connected to the lives we were hoping to escape, we didn’t look for jobs immediately around us. No, we sent out email blasts and asked for paid work. Someone offering manual labor in London responded first.

And even though taking this offer meant going off route, we went for it. For the next two months we worked around the clock fitting windows on a construction site, painting a bridge, printing banners and stickers and laying the neighbor’s floor. Although it made us feel self sufficient as we worked hard to put gas in our bikes, it was at times stressful. Ultimately, my buddy preferred the stress of the hamster wheel, but the freedom of the road was calling me.

I was now faced with three obstacles to handle on my own: The unrest caused by the conflict between Kurds and Turks in eastern Turkey, the bloody demonstrations in Iran, and the suicide bombings and kidnappings in Pakistan—all lay on my route with no alternative way to go.

The more I researched these places, the more I was frozen in my tracks. The people in Iran were unhappy with the outcome of the election. They felt they were betrayed, and peacefully demonstrated in all major cities to show their frustrations. However, the Iranian police and army responded rigorously.

Potala Palace in Lhasa, Tibet. One of the most spiritual places I’ve come by.

I read about people being shot in the streets and journalists ending up in jail. With my visa about to expire, I had to make a move soon. I was particularly worried about getting searched at the border because of the equipment I carried.

I’m a filmmaker, and documenting this trip was important to me. Cameras, microphones and laptop aside, I was also carrying a satellite modem that enabled me to keep a daily blog. The last thing I wanted was to be arrested for being a “journalist.”

My research was correct. Iran was in turmoil. But I was reminded that the media only portrays a fraction of the actual “news,” when they’re not skewing it altogether. I wanted to see a better, more complete picture of the world, so I got out there. And the result was that I had a wonderful time in Iran and enjoyed exchanges with some of the friendliest and most hospitable people I’ve ever met. As I moved on, I discovered the tensions were increasing as I approached Pakistan.

My sister’s email with a news article about a recent kidnapping didn’t help. It was quite common during this time for local criminals and the Taliban to go after ransom money. Since Pakistan became an Islamic and Parliamentary Republic in 1956 no government has been able to make it through their four-year ruling period without being overthrown. Despite all this, there was no other way but through. In order to minimize all risks, I planned to transit through Pakistan in only four days.

At the border, I met a motorcyclist from New Zealand going the other direction. He’d come from India and through Pakistan. His whole body shook as he told me he’d never go to Pakistan again. He hadn’t slept for days because of the constant sound of bombs going off at night. This wasn’t what I needed to hear, but it was too late to turn around.

With my passport stamped, the bike’s documents processed, and money changed, off I went. I didn’t get far before a band of military vehicles encircled me. Apparently they believed they needed to escort me, “For your safety!” I wasn’t sure whether this should make me feel better or worse.

The guys were friendly enough, and in their way—funny! The comedy show was not their pistols, machine guns and ammunition belts, but rather their counter-fit sunglasses, flip flops, and T-shirts with “No Fear” written on them.

In the next moment, an unexpected situation unraveled before my eyes. Even my “posse” couldn’t protect me from it. In the middle of the Baluchistan desert, a stone’s throw from the Afghani border, the bike that I had owned for 15 years let me down for the first time. The drive shaft’s universal joint packed it in.

I was stuck in the Pakistani desert with a bike that was in no way rideable. In hindsight, I’m grateful for this incident because if the bike hadn’t broken down there and then, I would have rushed through the country and failed to learn another important lesson. What happened next changed everything. And by “everything,” I mean the way I look at the world.

The escort organized a truck to get me out of the desert and up to Quetta. I rode 12 hours on the back of the truck at the mercy of a bumpy road in 125°F heat. It was grueling. Just when physical misery demanded all of my attention, the truck swerved off the road when overtaking another.

The lorry came to a full stop leaning at a dangerously steep angle off the left shoulder of the road. We were stuck until another truck came to the rescue and pulled us back onto the road.

I was exhausted by the time I arrived in Islamabad, the capital of Pakistan. For a few days I wandered around town aimlessly—unsure what to do. On the search for a mechanic who might help me find parts, I stumbled upon a slum and was shell-shocked by the living conditions. Approached by a friendly father of four, I was invited into his home, which consisted of four brick walls without a roof. Over the course of a few days, his family and I became friends. I learned that all the people in this slum were Christians, and how tough it was to be a minority. He begged me to marry his underage daughter, so he would be eligible for moving his family into a European refugee camp. That must have been the lowest point of his desperation. This moment changed everything for me, and it has put things into perspective. I was broke, alone and stuck, but not as bad off as many people in the world. This put me at their eye-level, yet I remained privileged simply by means of the passport I carry.

I had my breakdown to thank for all this. And once back home after two and a half years on the road, I had come to one of the most important conclusions of all. No matter what the journey offered up in tough situations, all I had to do was stay actively inactive and let the Universe do the rest.

Filmmaker and media-designer, Daniel Rintz, was born in East German. His journey from Berlin to New Zealand overland from 2008–2011 has been documented and made into the movie “Somewhere Else Tomorrow”—available from Open-Explorers.com.