I never thought Cuba would be easy: bad roads, poor signage, minimal infrastructure, all that Spanish. I also had no business being there.
I'm a novice rider and a worthless mechanic, and the longest motorcycle trip I'd undertaken until then was an hour . . . in Manhattan.
But this journey felt like the last chance to see something important:
Cuba as it is, before it becomes whatever it will become. I'd set out from Havana with few expectations and no plans, just a vague clockwise route and a list of private casas to stay in along the way.