There is, causing my gut with her curves. Me invites you to ir, the escape from here, getting lost in it. There is, pointing to the horizon, reserving the end of the road to bold ventures to scrutinize what lies beyond. There waiting: road.
There is only one road connecting the world, is the same everywhere,. From Alcobendas can reach Mongolia. From Iraq, get to Mozambique and from Alaska, one can drive to Bolivia. The most meticulous corrected me saying there interposing seas and oceans to a planet asphalt, but beyond vessels, the world can wander the paths of man.
I can not avoid, I see a road and go a little further and I get out of the map, so, curiosity, and then under the windows of the car and I smell like a summer that is not mine and I'm a little more, to see if they speak my language to the other side of the border. The adventure takes the form of a road becomes a path of stone or ice, beyond the confines of Russia. The road becomes gravel sand in Namibia and south of Argentina. The road is land and is the emotion that takes you so far as you imagined.
I like to travel. And I prefer to satisfy my hunger at ground, look at the men in the face, search for new sensations, travel by travel, not for traveling.
I am enchanted by these lines across landscapes and city noises. Are traveler's blood, what gives life to the you're looking for and confuses the already was lost. I'm attracted to roads that do not go anywhere, sometimes because my place is the road itself. I do not like driving. I like to travel. And I prefer to satisfy my hunger at ground, look at the men in the face, search for new sensations, travel by travel, not for traveling. At the end of the travel is the best way to get lost in this maze we call life.
How many miles a year do? What we discover new places? Let's turn off the GPS once. What if we invented routes? I suggest driving straight, not retrace paths. Follow, always forward, wherever. Who's coming? Not worth looking back, or plan the next stop. Leave everything, now, and. Get your stuff, up to my car, we will, no return. Who knows? Perhaps demos around the world…
There is, again, waiting. I take the clock. I look at the horizon. Arranco…
