Mi Moto Fidel...
Motorcycling through Castro's Cuba
 
                   "Travel Book of the Year"   
                                 2001-02 Lowell Thomas Award

                                         "Grand Prize"   
                                    2002 Travel Writing Awards
                 North American Travel Journalists Association
Award-winning travel writer Christopher P. Baker's drama-filled literary tale describing his 7,000-mile journey through Cuba by BMW R100GS motorcycle has been acclaimed by editors worldwide.

Baker, author of the best-selling Moon Handbooks Cuba  (Cuba Handbook) and Moon Handbooks Havana, narrates an action-packed sojourn crowded with surreal collages, off-beat adventures, and evocative, erotic, portrayals. Often hilarious, occasionally hair-raising, Mi Moto Fidel is sure to enthrall.

Almost washed overboard during a storm-lashed crossing from Key West to Havana... seduced by flirty mulattas and Mata Haris... and interrogated by agents of state security, Baker recounts an epic,often poignantly revealing tale of adventure  ~ the first such journey attempted by a foreigner in more than 40 years of Fidel Castro's reign ~in this absorbing and richly entertaining book full of off-beat observations about this extraordinary island of socialism and sensuality



The following extract may not be reproduced in any form without written consent of the author

   "Está jodido el coche!" The old man shrugged his shoulders.
   The car was a cream colored Chevrolet Styleline Deluxe, smooth and dentless, gleaming as brightly as the summer day in 1952 when it rolled out of its factory in Detroit. A yanqui anachronism. A grande dame with a potent, curvaceous solidity and a big, firm, wellrounded rearend like the nalgas of a robust mulatta.
   I had been cruising along in a state of zenlike meditation, absorbed by the scenery, enjoying the warm wind on my face, all alone with my thoughts, when I flew past this antediluvian automotive abuelo, dead as a dinosaur, stopped in the middle of the road in the middle of nowhere. I hadn't seen a vehicle—not a single car—for miles. And then this curvaceous Chevy staring me down with its acres of bechromed grinning grillwork.
   It wasn't the fact that the thing had broken down that caused me to turn around. Hell, broken down cars were part of the Cuban reality. But this shining example had a come hither allure that arrested me dead in my tracks. Time itself seemed to have stopped on the carretera midway between Bayamo and Vequitas. The Chevy bespoke a more elegant age, inviting me to peer in through the green-tinted windows and steep in pride in America sentimentality.
   I hit the brakes, made a U-turn, and pulled up to those sumptuous nalgas. Faces pressed up against the back window. Then people began piling out. Five. Six. Seven. All youths. I half-expected them to be wearing saddle shoes and brylcreemed hair. The old man rolled down his window. I peered in. Perfectly preserved leather upholstery. Powerglide transmission. And—can you believe it?—air conditioning.
   The grandpa's brown melon face lit up in a toothless grin.
   "Que pasa?" I asked the old man sitting in the soothing sanctuary of the backseat, out of the blistering heat. What happened?
   "It's fucked!" the viejo repeated in fluent, lightly accented English. "It's fucked up. The driver has gone—God knows where."
   He didn't have a clue what was wrong with the car. Nor, apparently, did the driver, who had vanished. The old man pointed across the empty fields to indicate the direction.
   "Why didn't he walk along the road?"
   "Who knows? This is Cuba. Who says things have to be done in a logical fashion? We've been here for hours."
   The scorching wind was almost peeling the paint off the Chevy. I didn't envy him or the others.
   "Si hombre, así vivimos!" the old man exclaimed, an incongruous smile on his lips. Yes, hombre, this is how we live! He began giggling like a laughing hyena.
   In Cuba you had to laugh. If you didn't, the bizarre banalities would drive you crazy. I admired Cuban stoicism and felt a deep respect for the way the people faced their hardships with such grace and style. They never seem to lose their sense of humor.."

Copyright 2001: Christopher P. Baker.
Reproduced by arrangement with the National Geographic Society.
 

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Listen to the Author read

"This is a wonderful adventure book... a meditation on philosophy, politics, and the possibilities
of physical love. It has the depth of a novel and the feeling of a great love story."
Judges, Lowell Thomas Awards

"Often hilarious, sometimes hair-raising... Enough skirt-chasing to elicit images of a Yorkshire Micky Spillane... A marvelously eccentric trip...  a very engaging read."
Publisher's Weekly

"A layered, lively look at a complex society... engaging... colorful... Baker is a vivid writer."
San Francisco Examiner