Road Trip 2005 - North and South America by Motorcycle

The story

2005-11-08T17:27:00.001-08:00

The miraculous moto-trio made the paper! Click the link above for the cliff-notes version of our trip. Thanks to Jeff Hall for the photo.

Being back home...

2005-10-18T00:52:00.000-07:00

I have finally come to terms with being home. Don't get me wrong - being home is not bad at all. My place on Hidden Valley is awesome, hot water 24/7, new cats, and the Brady's next door always keep suburban life interesting. My bike still runs. My friends still remember me. The mail lady waves. The hot-tub is HOT. What more could I want?

Valerie and I fully came to terms with being home last weekend while we were on our way to the delta for a camping weekend. On the way up we felt like we were on the road again, and it felt so good to be moving, moving towards some unknown place where we would be challenged and face some wicked unknown... But...

Everyone at the campground spoke English (except our Laotian neighbors) and every task from buying fishing bait to weenies and paying for the site was alarmingly simple. It just worked. We all spoke the same language and knew without words what was required.

Easy communication was the hardest part to get used to about being home. We had come to subliminally enjoy the daily struggle to be understood, linguistically and physically; the daily struggle to make friends and tell our stories; The ego-centric joy of being the center of attention in a small village - On our tour of the bay area we were nothing more than a car on the road, bodies in motion in yet another late model green Ford Explorer with dents; monkey-wrenches in cogs.

Our trip to the delta was inspiring, though. It reinforced all of the positive, and, more than I ever expected, "negative" experiences of traveling. Only when I was home, in my "element", was I able to fully appreciate the sweltering heat of Central America and Mexico, the painful struggle to find accommodation and the ever present quest for food that invaded every moment of our journey. When we were on the road it was all work, but in our memories it has transformed into gold. I will never forget anything or any place we have been. It is all inspiration for our next trip.

Thanks to everyone who has been following our journey. Without you it wouldn't have been nearly as memorable or worthwhile.

Adam

2005-10-10T15:30:00.000-07:00

Valerie and I putting on our gear as night falls, near I-5 and 46. The last leg of our trip.

2005-10-10T15:29:00.000-07:00

Val and her grandparents, Arizona.

2005-10-10T15:25:00.000-07:00

Sacramento river and my dream-boat...

2005-10-10T15:24:00.000-07:00

Camping time! Morgan, Shalisa, Bevan, Valerie and I went up to the delta this weekend to get away from it all. I even managed to catch some fish.

2005-10-10T15:23:00.000-07:00

Look at this little kitten! Valerie found it in the parking lot at her school and took it home with her. Valerie has named it "Gretta" although I think my idea of "stinky" is more fitting. This cat is WILD and loves to escape and hide from you.

2005-10-10T15:20:00.000-07:00

Our first motorcycle-traveler-visitor! Mauricio, an Argentinean biker we met in Colombia and sailed on the Melody with stopped in Santa Cruz for the night on his way to Alaska. I almost went with him until I found out the average Oct. temp - 42F- No way.

North America and Mexico

2005-10-03T13:12:00.000-07:00

After a whole days rest in Oaxaca, we headed north on a firm timeline. Valerie’s father had arranged for us to spend a week at his timeshare in Mazatlan, and we didn’t want to miss a minute of it.

North of Oaxaca the road winds through the mountains towards Mexico City. We reveled in the cool temperatures and high mountain air as we passed through pine and cloud forests before finally dropping down to lower elevations where the temperature rose along with the insect population. I have not mentioned insects on the road in any of the previous posts, but I will say a few words about them now.

There are all types of insects in the tropics. Although I am no entomologist, I have developed an intimate understanding of many insects of the tropics. This understanding was not gained through careful study of books or bug collections, but by the noting type of pain each bug inflicts when they collide with me at high speeds. Dragonflies are the biggest bugs; they feel like hitting a wad of sticks, but don’t really hurt that much. Butterflies come in all shapes sizes and colors, but they all splatter yellow guts when they hit me. Butterflies tend to hit me mainly in the face, and stick to my sunglasses; they hardly smart at all. There are also these little rock hard bugs that feel like someone shot me in the face with a bb-gun when they hit me. These little buggers tend to hit me in the forehead and on my cheeks, creating instant blinding pain, which fortunately, quickly passes. The worst bugs are the bees and hornets, though. My first bee sting occurred on a lonely highway in northern Costa Rica. All of a sudden I felt this intense, throbbing, burning pain on my neck. At first I thought it was a rock, but the intensity of the pain would drop off and come back as we rode along. When we pulled over a few miles later to buy gas, Valerie pulled a huge stinger with poison sack attached out of my jugular. Thanks Val.

It was on the road north from Oaxaca that the next stinging insect got me. We were driving downhill into a turn along a hot, windy, two lane highway suffocated on both sides by tall green brush when I felt the worst pain ever in my face. I immediately freaked out and started thrashing at the pain-zone, pulling out wads of salt and pepper hair along with something angry and crunchy; it was at this moment that I opened my eyes, regained my self control and turned at the last second, saving us from plunging into a ditch. I pulled over to the side of the road and threw helmet flew off, trying desperately to see the sting site in the side mirror, hoping to get the stinger out before it pumped more of its noxious venom into my forehead. We couldn’t see any evidence of the bite until a few hours later when my face had swollen up like someone had punched me and had begun to itch. This was no normal honeybee that stung me, but a big livid wasp.

When we packed up the next day for our ride to Iguala the swelling was even worse and my face itched like I had poison oak, and in an attempt to avoid future run-ins with mad insects capable of inflicting severe damage I raised the windscreen to its highest position, even though it cut down the much needed cooling airflow; I would rather be hot that stung and in a ditch.

Yesterdays insect event were soon forgotten as we turned off onto the side road towards Iguala. This road was my first really poor road since Guatemala, passing through some incredible scenery, and we felt the adventure spirit again as we dodged mud holes and swerved around potholes. We managed to make 125 miles in about 6 hours, the sign of a true back-road. This road also took us by the highest volcano (Volcan Popocatepetl at 18,000 feet) we had seen since Ecuador. When we made it back to the main road we drove on until we were too tired to continue on.

The next day, a typo on our otherwise trusty map quickly exhausted all our back road enthusiasm. The folks at Nelles mistakenly marked a cart track as a highway, and understated its distance by 100 miles. At first the road seemed to be in great shape as we scraped pegs powering through the turns, but our speed rapidly diminished as the roads condition deteriorated. What was supposed to be a nice road through the mountains turned into the most pot-holed road we had encountered in 20,000 miles. We drove for 150 miles at a snails pace, the bike taking terrible punishment when we hit potholes, our patience slowly running out.

There were a few bright spots along the pothole road, though. We were able to ride for hours without seeing another car or human being, and the few people we did see were either shocked or happy to see us, reactions that were common to the point of annoyance in South America but unheard of in Mexico. Out in the middle of nowhere there was an army checkpoint staffed with obviously bored enlistees. You have to stop for the Army because they have collapsible spike strips they can pull out at a moments notice and flatten your tires. We stopped for them and for some reason they demanded to search our luggage. We were shocked, and flatly refused to open our bags for them. Our confidence must have been flowing as they promptly retracted their demand to search our stuff and asked for passports instead. We deftly handed them copies of our passports after reminding them that US citizens do not need a passport to enter Mexico. It was fun to toy with the army guys and they soon let us move on. When we finally made it to the coast, muggy, suffocating heat and mad traffic were our rewards as we wearily realized we had broken a personal on-bike record that day at 14 hours.

It was a test of endurance as we made our way north along the coast. The heat and humidity and biting insects made rest and picture stops unappealing at best, forcing us to stay on the bike for longer than we normally would. We managed to make good time, though, and passed along some incredible coastline along the way. One part of the Mexican coast, south of Puerto Vallarta, features cliffs that at times fall 1,000 feet to the ocean, like north of Santa Cruz on a grander scale. We stopped at a large turnout to admire the view from 1,000 feet up and take some photos. While we were stopped Valerie spied a rock on the other side of the road, and we knew what to do. We put our gloves on and somehow managed to lug the immense stone to the cliffs edge. Unfortunately, the cliff was soft dirt that absorbed the rocks momentum, so we were unable to see the rock take any huge leaps outward, but we were able to see several avalanches caused by the immense rolling stone.

After passing through Puerto Vallarta, the road took a turn inland, passing through the same monotonous brush covered, insect infested hot hills we had been driving through since Chiapas. Topes (speed bumps) were everywhere, typical Mexican government roads that pass through the center of every hamlet along the way. As we got close to Mazatlan, the low fuel light came on. I wanted to try and make it to the resort with as little gas as possible left, as I was hoping to find a body shop that could repair the damaged tank. When we realized we wouldn’t make it to the resort on the gas we hade, we pulled over at the closest Pemex that had a cold coconut dealer out front. While I pumped the gas and answered questions about the bike, Valerie ran off and bought two cold coconuts for us. The coconuts were the biggest we had ever seen and held at least 2 quarts of sweet young coconut water each, the most refreshing drink you can find on a hot day.

As soon as we entered the city of Mazatlan we pulled up next to this guy driving a beautifully restored 70’s Chevy pickup. This was the obvious guy to ask about body work, and after pointing at the tank and asking who could fix it, he led us to a little hole in the wall motorcycle body shop downtown. The body shop owner took one look at the tank and quoted us $120 for the bodywork and paint. Screaming deal! It would have cost $700-$800 for the work at home. He had it done in one day and it turned out much better that I expected.

We were even happier when we pulled into the timeshare Valerie’s dad had booked for us. It was by far the nicest place we had seen in our whole trip. We had the bellboy take our bags up to our ocean view room with kitchen. We immediately emptied the side bags and headed for Wall-Mart where we stocked up on enough groceries for the week. We were able to cook almost all our meals and saved a lot of money.

On our third night at the resort, Valerie was sitting outside watching the waves when she saw a turtle struggling through the surf up to the beach. We both watched it as it climbed up to dry sand, and when it began to lay its eggs, we ran down to the beach and hid, watching. It was almost like something out of National geographic. When the turtle had finished burying her eggs we took a few pictures and disguised her tracks so poachers wouldn’t find the nest. The turtle was oblivious. The next day Valerie told the resort security about the turtle sighting. After an hour the guards found the eggs (even though I had marked them) and had the local aquarium come and take them to be hatched in safety. Valerie ended up saving 62 turtles.

After five days of relaxing it was time to head north through the desert to the US. There is no avoiding the toll-road along the way unless you want to head inland and go through the mountains. We would have taken the mountain road earlier in our trip, but being so close to home we gave into temptation and took the toll road the whole way.

As we neared the border, mexico started to look a lot different. It was as if Mexico and the US melted together at their border to form a place that was not either, but a coagulation of both countries. We started to see Circle-K' markets and all types of American fast food as well as outsourced manufacturing plats that made all kinds of stuff. The worst smelling manufacturing plant we passed was makingt cat cood for Purina. I think they were using all the roadkill they found out on the highway.

We were unsure of what to expect at the border after hearing some nightmare stories from other travellers about trying to get into post-9/11 America. We were also were unsure if we would have to pay the departure fee for Mexico ($20 a head). As we approached the border we came to a line of cars and split lanes to the front. We were approached by a Homeland Security officer who took one look at our passports, asked us if we had more than $10,000 cash on us (yeah right) and said "welcome home". We hapilly snached our passports back and took off, scared he would change his mind and try to search our bags or demand some sort of fine. We made it into the USA!

We took one look at the border town on the US side and decided to head for Tucson, only 60 miles away. We made it in under an hour speeding along the best road we had been on in our whole trip. We managed to find a cheap hotel in the downtown area and ordered celebratory pizza and beer, which promptly made us both sick. You have to watch out for American food...

We did the Mazatlan-Tucson stretch, a distance of 850 miles, in two days. The toll road was definitely worth it, being much faster and safer than the regular government roads, and cost only around $50 for the whole distance. In Tucson, we headed to the Iron Horse BMW dealer where we found a replacement headlight for the bike. Iron Horse is by far the best BMW dealer we have ever been to. They have every kind of accessory you could want IN STOCK and they are alos very helpful. They also confirmed my suspicions that the rear end is going out again, and gave me advice on how to deal with it.

From Tucson, we headed past Phoenix to Buckeye to visit Valerie’s grandparents who were very happy to see us. We spent four days in the desert eating an relaxing, saving our energy for the ride home. I also learned a great new card game called "spite and malice" that we played every night. It was 100 degrees fahrenheit every day there, but it was actually quite pleasant without humidity.

From Buckeye we set out heading west along I-10, listening to the grinding rear drive. I was hoping (praying, acatualy) that we would be able to make it home without having it explode. My backup plan in case it did explode was to drive the bike home in a U-haul van. But, the more I thought about the rear end problem, the more confident I was that the bike would take us home; it would be to crazy and terrible to ride for 20,000 miles and have the bike break on your doorstep; I am not lucky enough for that to happen.

We drove along the same route that my family and I used to take to visit Laughland and Parker Arizona when I was younger. It was fun to ride along the same road on the bike, seeing all the weird stuff strewn along the roadside and passing through all the quirky towns. We made it to Bakersfield by 4PM and decided to push on for home. We made it to Paso Robles by nightfall and rode the next two hours in the dark, happily shivering and cold for the first time in months.

After 770 miles we made it to highway one in Santa Cruz and I got really excited. It was an amazing feeling of accomplishment when the trip finally came full circle and I was riding on the same roads my bike left on in the box seven months before. We pulled up the driveway on Hidden Valley and just stood there for a minute, marveling at the beauty and tranquility around us. Soquel is still the best place in the world. It is good to be home.

2005-09-30T10:44:00.000-07:00

Tilling the garden for the Swopes... What is this - wait, I remember, its work!

2005-09-30T10:42:00.003-07:00

Welcome to the USA

2005-09-30T10:42:00.002-07:00

The turtle.

2005-09-30T10:42:00.001-07:00

Val and the reptile

2005-09-30T10:42:00.000-07:00

View from the time-share...

2005-09-30T10:41:00.002-07:00

Mazatlan

2005-09-30T10:41:00.001-07:00

Mexican coastline south of Puerto Vallarta.

2005-09-30T10:41:00.000-07:00

Cloud forest on pot-hole road.

2005-09-30T10:40:00.000-07:00

Mexican highlands.

2005-09-30T10:39:00.000-07:00

Where are we?

Don’t miss this...

2005-09-13T18:46:00.000-07:00

"They’re Back!"

Or

“It’s Valerie’s Birthday!”

Or

“Sizzling meat, cold drinks and burnt bodies!”

Whatever does it for you, come and celebrate with us. Argentine BBQ, five-star swimming pool, kids, dogs and the venerated master of ceremonies, El Pirate,
invite you to welcome weary travelers home in style. All we ask is an RSVP so
we can supply adequate accoutrements and directions.

RSVP by e-mailing the birthday girl at : valerieswope@gmail.com

We hope to see ALL of you.

The date is set for the 1st of October.

A&V

Southern Mexico

2005-09-05T17:55:00.000-07:00

Mexico is an immense country, staggering in proportion to its southern neighbors. Mexico is the the largest expanse of land we have encountered since Argentina. I estimate around 3,000 miles from Cancun to the US border. I now realize we saved the biggest and most challenging country for last.

Mexico has different challenges than any of the previous countries have had: There are more cars here than in all the other countries combined, and everyone who has a car drives it like they stole it. We have already witnessed the aftermath of at least a dozen major accidents and seen as many close calls. The cities are big, congested and not far apart with the main highways often running right through the center of them, making traveling a test of patience and endurance. “Topes”, or speed bumps, are everywhere, even on the main highways, and they come in every imaginable shape and size. Sometimes there are signs warning of topes, sometimes there are not, making driving somewhat dangerous, but always slow. In one 100-mile stretch of main highway Valerie counted 73 topes. Mexico is also relatively expensive. Most hotels in the “budget” category cost at least $25 for two people for the same quality of room that cost $10 in Guatemala. It is also terribly hot here.

Enough complaining. The food is awesome and inexpensive. Valerie and I can often find a great Mexican lunch or dinner for fewer than seven dollars for both of us. As we have been living on a steady diet of tacos, tortas and tamales, this is my first time abroad that that I have not craved Mexican food. The road signs are generally excellent and numerous, making navigation easy. The people are friendly and finding parking at hotels has been easy.

We were unable to find tires in Guatemala for the bike and our tires were getting pretty worn down. You forget how tires should look when you have not seen new tires in 10,000 miles. The front tire featured a bald stripe and it wouldn’t hold air, while the back tire was having intermittent problems keeping itself inflated. We decided to try and get new tires in Mexico even though they would cost us a fortune. BMW’s website lists 15 BMW motorcycle dealers in Mexico, complete with address and phone numbers, but this resource proved useless as none of them ever answer their phones. Even though none of the dealerships we called ever answered we still had faith that they existed. We chose the closest dealer to us, which happened to be in Cancun, and made a sprint up the Yucatan (or yuck-a-tan, as those who have been there can testify) in hopes of them having tires in stock, or at least the ability to get them.

As we made our way up the Yucatan the damage from the recent hurricane became evident. All the trees had twisted and broken off, road signs were bent in half, and we even saw this huge cell-phone satellite structure twisted and bent by the roadside. We also saw other equally shocking sights. After six months in Central and South America, the enormity of the tourist industry in Mexico (especially on the so called “Mayan Riviera”) was terrifying. We drove for 100 miles along a new four-lane expressway punctuated every few miles by an interstate size turnoff into some generic mega-resort, with only the size, shape and color of the massive gates and bold lettering differentiating to the passer by any sort of distinction between them. It was all quite new to us. Dont get me wrong, I would have loved to pull into one of the mega-hotel vacation makers and live in luxury for a week, but we had to buy tires instead. It turned out that we could have easily afforded to stay at any resort in utter opulence for a week for the price of the final bill we got at BMW Cancun.

We arrived in Cancun and managed to find the dealership, intact and open, complete with a phone that even seemed to work. Of course they didn’t have GS tires in stock (the GS line is BMW’s number two selling model of all time), but they could have them delivered within a week for us. The thought of spending a week in Cancun didn’t appeal to us at all, so we decided to put off buying tires until Mexico City. We left Cancun and headed straight across the Yucatan towards Merida. We had made it only 100 miles from Cancun when this horrible grinding/moaning noise started. At first we thought the rear tire had gone flat, but the noise persisted even with full tire pressure. We made it to the next closest town, Valladolid, and discovered the rear main bearing had died. This is a known issue for the GS series and any smart rider always carries a spare bearing with them on a long trip. You can guess that I didn’t bring a spare bearing. When the bearing goes bad on the rear differential the wheel had perceptible lateral and vertical movement while shaking it. A bad bearing is not necessarily going to leave you stranded, but you need to fix it fast. The front tire was also flat. While in Valladolid, I tried to have the leaks in the tires repaired, but it turned out that the tires were un-repairable. The tire guy found five leaks in the front tire and five in the rear tire, which, as he explained to me, were grounds for scrapping them. We called the dealer, tails between our legs and ordered new tires and bearing. They told us it would take at least five days to get the items from the warehouse in Mexico City.

We stayed in he small, hot town of Valladolid as long as we could bear, then returned to Cancun to wait. We ended up finding this great hotel with a full kitchen TV and AC. One good thing we found about Cancun is that it has a Wall-Mart (two, actually) where we could stock up on cheap groceries and other necessities. Valerie took full advantage of the kitchen, and on the first night there we had spaghetti and meat sauce, our first home cooked meal in a long time. We both woke up the next morning with stomach cramps, diarrhea, chills and nausea that we attributed to the Wall-Mart hamburger. We were both feeling better soon since we still had powerful antibiotics purchased in Guatemala.

After a few days of hiding from the dreadful heat and ever present mid-westerners gone wild, we got word from the dealer our parts had arrived. It turned out that the dealer ordered us the correct brand, but wrong style of tires. For some reason the dealer thought we wanted off-road mud tires for our trip across Mexico. I explained to them that mud tires would be practically worthless in Mexico and they graciously agreed to change them for the street version off a new bike. They ended up putting on horrible Bridgestones, the worst tires they had, but since the bearing installation went so well I decided to give the tires a try. I hate the Bridgestones. They slide in turns and spin under acceleration. It is also really hard to do wheelies with them, as they spin when Meltzer’s would grip.

After enduring a week in Cancun we decided to get as far away from the city as we could. On our first day with new tires and bearing we did almost 400 miles and ended up in Campeche, a beautiful city on the Gulf of Mexico. The bike ran smoother than it ever has, evidence that the rear bearing had been dying a slow death, with vibration increasing as the miles piled up. The next day we headed for the ruins at Palenque and on the way we met three bikers heading south. It was really cool to meet them and share stories. They had all sorts of questions for us since we had just done the journey they were starting. They reminded me of Valerie and I when we were just hitting the road, full of questions and worries about the journey ahead. We assured them Colombia was no problem, recommended good border crossings and promised them Mexico was the most expensive country they would travel through. We wished them well and as I watched them ride off I thought of the journey they had ahead of them; how long it is, how difficult, dangerous and at times frustrating motorcycle travel can be. Meeting them reminded me of how far we had come, both as travelers and as individuals from the start of our trip; Nothing is impossible.

Palenque’s ruins are beautiful, studded with amazing statuary and frescos, covered walkways and great temples reminiscent of Angkor Wat. After we had been to many of the pyramids and were almost delirious with heat a thunderstorm suddenly materialized and started to dump rain. It was raining so hard the paths and grounds surrounding the ruins started to flood. We ran for the shelter of the ruins and watched it rain until the guards made us leave at closing time. It was still raining, we were soaked and we had a 10-mile ride back to town. We managed to find a plastic bag for the backpack, and to our welcome surprise some generous soul closed the face shield on Valerie’s helmet on the bike. The ride back was actually fun, although we couldn’t go very fast because of the stinging raindrops. I could hear Valerie laughing as we rode down the twisting jungle road, oblivious to her soaked clothes, enjoying the moment.

From Palenque we headed into the mountains where we soaked in the cold temperatures as if we were trying to store them up for the heat ahead. We had two days of riding along the coast through boring landscapes and hammering heat to look forward to before we reached Oaxaca. When we reached Oaxaca I was immediately reminded of Cusco in Peru, high in the mountains and riddled with beautifully preserved buildings. The cool temperatures allowed us to get out and explore the city and our days rest has been great. We even found a cheap hotel.

2005-09-05T17:51:00.000-07:00

Here we are.

2005-09-05T17:49:00.000-07:00

Welcome to North America. We could smell the Mexican food from here.

2005-09-05T17:48:00.001-07:00

Our hotel room in Valladolid. They were doing some cement work while we were there...

2005-09-05T17:48:00.000-07:00

Valladolid, Meico. We waited here for three days for our parts eating cheap tacos and sweating.

2005-09-05T17:46:00.000-07:00

Thats the bearing that failed. Big, huh? We gave it a burial on the roadside (tossed it from the bike at 90mph - It made some teriffic noises)

2005-09-05T17:44:00.000-07:00

Typical truck wreck on a dangerous highway. Thats the tow truck facing the camera. We were unable to find the driver, so I think I will post this on the roadkill blog too.

2005-09-05T17:42:00.000-07:00

Where are we, China? If you can pronounce the bottom sign name for us correctly, Valerie will buy you a beer.

2005-09-05T17:40:00.000-07:00

Palenque.

2005-09-05T17:39:00.000-07:00

It was so hot at the ruins I almost jumped off the tallest pyramid head first. Valerie talked me out of it though.

2005-09-05T17:37:00.001-07:00

Palenque.

2005-09-05T17:37:00.000-07:00

Rain and ruins, Palenque.

2005-09-05T17:36:00.000-07:00

Give me a break, as if these guys could ever catch anyone... A VW Bug cop car! We tried to get them to smile for the camera, but I think they were embarrased.

2005-09-05T17:34:00.000-07:00

North of Palenque, Chiapas.

2005-09-05T17:33:00.000-07:00

The pass at San Cristobal de las Casas, Chiapas state. Nice and cold.

2005-09-05T17:31:00.000-07:00

Cacti and rocks, Oaxaca state.

2005-09-05T17:30:00.000-07:00

Mexican highlands, south of Oaxaca.

2005-09-05T17:29:00.000-07:00

Fields of agave, south of Oaxaca.

2005-09-05T17:27:00.000-07:00

Mezcal capital of the world? My kind of place...

2005-09-05T17:26:00.000-07:00

Oaxaca, Mexico.

Central America

2005-08-22T08:21:00.000-07:00

After our Caribbean week with Jim and friends we said our goodbyes and hit the road for the lush jungles of Costa Rica. Being such a small country (as are most in central America) it only took us a day to reach it’s large and seedy capital, San Jose. We were lucky enough to find a hotel room which was both filthy and expensive. The rats beneath the floorboards had a very exciting sub-floor war in the middle of the night, that was a startling wake up! We got Bee an oil-change and hunted for more comfortable warm weather riding gear. The gear hunt was to no avail. After Bee’s servicing we parked her securely in the hallway of our hotel where they had to literally rip out a part of a plywood wall so Bee would fit through the door. We then set out for a night on the town.

The following day we set out for Volcan Arenal, an constantly active volcano that boasts nearby hot springs and a hundred foot waterfall. Upon arrival in the town of Fortuna we found a great budget hostal. We began the following day with a ride up around the backside of the volcano, beautifully scarred by repeated lava flows and eruptions. We journeyed as far as Lago Arenal, which turned out to be a reservoir, had a quick snack then set out for the waterfall.

The travel guide book said 4wd vehicles only for the road to the waterfalls. That meant another off road adventure for Bee, a nice change after so many miles of paved roads. The ride was beautiful and the road nowhere near as bad as the book made it sound and we flew by with great satisfaction countless backpackers walking to the falls. Upon arrival at the park we paid our way in and began the 45 minute hike down the slick, steep limestone steps cut downward into the gorgeous jungle. It was pretty waterfall but for me the true attraction was the hike to and from it, my first true exercise in months.

On the ride back to town from the waterfall we passed a roadside stand where a local was selling cool green coconut water, a treat which we had been introduced to in panama. As we stopped for a refreshing drink all of this vendors’ animals were begging for coconut. The cat, the dog , the parrot and the toddler were frolicking harmoniously under the palms and making doe eyes at our coconut. They made a cute family, reminding me of the Bremen town musicians.

Our next stop of the day was the hot springs, a hot-tub temperature river heated by the nearby volcano. We swam, played and soaked and it was wonderful. The part we went to was a river which cascaded into multilevel multi-depth tiers of small and medium-small waterfalls into other pools of varying depths.

That was a full day so we weren’t up late and rose early the following day to head for Nicaragua. That was another great ride - the road along the reservoir alternately paved and unpaved, the scenery beautiful. After hours at the border we headed for the small beach town of San Juan Del Sur, where we arrived early enough to enjoy an afternoon of cocktails and sunning, topped off by a beautiful sunset. Our next destination was Lago de Nicaragua and the island of Omtepe which is the largest freshwater island in the world. It boasts one active volcano and another volcano with a lagoon in the crater. We took a barge out to the island which included a spectacular view of the smoking live volcano, Concepcion. Our hotel of choice rested on the far side of the island, and once again we took the long way round. It was one of the roughest roads we’d seen since Bolivia, but the difference between this cart track and others is that where we would normally be crossing the remains of riverbeds we instead crossed the remains of rocky lava river flows, with views up the mountainside of charred trees and new growth sprouting from the lava. Pretty wild.

We found a nice but pricey hostal on the lake. We would have hiked the non live volcano but it meant a 5 and a half hour hike and we are far too lazy for that. Our existence during our stay at the lodge depended entirely on what was available in the hotel restaurant and bar as there were no markets at all. The hotels monopolized all island feeding rights. It was a great laid back rest though. Our room was on the second floor of a fairly rickety structure built of logs, twine, boards and nails. On our last night we were awakened in the middle of the night by a 4.5 earthquake which scared the crap out of us. We reached for each other in a panic then were able to fall back asleep. Being from California we would not normally be phased by such a small earthquake but the structure we were in was so ill built and seismically unfit that it made it pretty spooky. The whopper was the 5am 5.6 earthquake during which we could literally hear the nails screaming in agony being ripped from their boards while it felt like the hotel would surely collapse. For a moment we thought that was the end of it all. Upon the conclusion of that tremor, as the building was still swaying and beginning to lean the hotel owner came upstairs and told us to evacuate our rooms and go downstairs. As soon as we were able we returned to our room and packed at a record speed. Island panic had ensued. The locals believed that volcan Concepcion was having an eruption. Needless to say we saddled Bee promptly and were on the first ferry off the island an en route to Honduras. Local news stations later stated that a side of the volcano had collapsed and the media was on full volcano watch.

After staying the night in a Nicaraguan town on the border of Honduras we got up early for the big two border crossing day. The first border crossing took two hours. The five hour ride through Honduras was breathtakingly beautiful, but there was more road-kill than we had ever seen before, and the vultures blocked out the sun in some places. That is where Adam decided to start the road-kill blog. The Honduras/ El Salvador border crossing required a little over three hours to complete. The El Salvadoran border crossing and customs was especially stupefying. It required visiting three different buildings, two stamps, eight photocopies, multiple vin number, engine number and license plate verification checks and lots of waiting in lines at 2pm in 95 degree heat, but amazingly cost no money.

Hot and frustrated we raced for the city of San Miguel which boasted a nearby water park, acclaimed as a rare and exceptional “must see” in central America. The guidebook alleged 100 foot water chutes. It turned out to have one 30 foot slide and a six foot deep swimming pool with an eight foot high diving board into it. Brilliant! We didn’t stay there long. Our shattered expectations of the water park were so traumatizing that we fled for Guatemala the very next day. Guatemala turned out to be my favorite country in central America. Beautiful little indigenous people everywhere, lush jungle and fun roads.

On to Guatemala city we went, the map to which turned out to be totally indecipherable so we gave up on finding lodging there right away. What a nightmare. We blew right through it and Bee-lined for the lovely town of Antigua. Our early arrival in Antigua called for a much deserved cocktail stop in the first gringo bar we saw. It was a cute little touristy town and we quickly located super-cheap, mosquito-ridden lodging in a home for the mentally handicapped. We felt right at home. Adam even booked us a day trip by bus for a change. Early the following morning we were to hike up the live volcano Pacaya. After a 2 hour bus ride we took a 3 hour hike up a mountain to a sulfurous-smoking-crater with flowing-red-lava. It was a long hard hike, worth every step. It was amazing to be within 30 feet of actual flowing lava. The drawback was when I took out my camera to photograph the flowing lava, the raging winds swept the case away into the lava flow. I now carry my digital camera around in a sock. The hike down was the best part- sand sliding down a quarter mile of scree. One British guy fell pretty bad and almost took out the group at the bottom of the slope. It was a long fun day, and a good leg stretcher.

Our entire last afternoon in Antigua we asked various sources about the condition and types of roads and timeframe we could expect to our next destination, Lanquin. As usual everyone had a different answer. We decided we could make it in one day, even though the map showed the road to be but a cart track. The road was paved for a few hours, then signs as well as pavement ceased to exist. We managed to miss a turn and end up 20 miles in the middle of nowhere before we hit a village whose kind citizens showed us how far astray we were. It may not sound like much but 20 miles is pretty far on a cart track. We turned back and managed to find the right turn (Amazing!). The road was spectacular in it’s crudeness. We got a couple of good photos of some extreme roadwork. At one point in the jungle along this cart track highway a torrential downpour began and we had no idea how far ahead the nearest town with lodging was. Fortunately it turned out to be only about 10 km of intense weather riding before we reached a town with perfect lodging. We were soaked and of course as soon as we arrived the rain stopped completely.

The next morning from there it was a short ride to Lanquin. The highlight there was a river which flowed out of a limestone cave. The cave was beautiful yet riddled with clear signs of abuse from tagging hippies in the 60’s. We stayed in dorm beds in cabanas downstream from this water source. It was a great little hostal, one of the highlights of which was inner-tubing from the mouth of the cave to the rivers edge on the banks of our hostal, a 30 minute ride. We also visited the famous tourist site Semuk Champay, consisting of caves, waterfalls and azure pools for swimming. It was gorgeous. The following day we decided we had had enough of each other for a while so I packed my bags and caught a 5am bus for Flores, the jumping-off point for the Tikal pyramids. The bus for Flores was a great adventure for me. I transferred three busses and the last one traveled a 70km stretch of dirt road in the rain, fishtailing the whole way at a heart-stopping 80km per hour. The pyramids of Tikal were an awesome sight. Adam and I decided some time apart was needed and we would meet up in Belize where I intended to do a lot of diving which Adam was less enthusiastic about.

Alone in Lanquin, Adam managed to fend off the hordes of women pursuing him in my absence and befriend a cool Israeli fellow by the name of Matan who rode with him to Flores the following day. He got to enjoy my special throne on Bee! We all met up for one night in Flores. I had already booked and paid for a 5am bus for the next morning for Belize, which I would have blown off to travel with Adam there but it turned out he forgot his jacket in Lanquin and needed to arrange it’s retrieval so I stuck to my independent backpacker style travel plans. Adam spent two days and 700 miles retrieving his jacket.

It was a great backpacker adventure for me traveling alone from Guatemala to Belize by bus. I went directly to Caye Caulker and went scuba diving four days in a row, one of which included the famous Blue Hole, a 160 foot dive into an underwater cave full of stalactites and stalagmites. At 40 feet there were well over 20 bull-sharks, some over 10 feet long. It was quite a rush to dive with sharks!

Adam and I reunited in Belize and after a couple of days made a run for the Mexican border. We are now in Mexico enjoying the great food, and getting along much better after our little break. Next stop Cancun, where we can get badly needed tires for Bee.

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The sign on our room in San Jose, Costa Rica.

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Adam at the waterfall, Costa Rica.

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Volcan Arenal, Costa Rica.

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Lago de Arenal, Costa Rica.

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Gringa spotting! Isla Ometepe, Nicaragua.

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Isla Ometepe, Nicaragua.

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Volcan Conception, Isla Ometepe, Nicaragua.

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This is pretty much what most of Nicaragua looks like.

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Worlds greatest water park, El Salvador.

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Red hot lava!

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Road work on the way to Lanquin, Guatemala.

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Critter and Critter.

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Val waiting patiently to pay our entrance fee, the first we ever had to pay for the bike.

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Val finally makes it to the front of the line and pays the $40 fee. Truck drivers were paying in the hundreds to cross into Honduras.

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Bee waiting for us to get through customs, Honduras.

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Adam and Bee in the pine trees, Honduras.

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Street scene, near Honduran-Guatemalan border.

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View from our volcano hike.

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This dog followed us all the way up the volcanoe.

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The last scramble to the top.

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A&V under the arch, Antigua.

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Antigua, Guatemala.

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Gringo bus, Antigua, on the way to the volcano.

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Child Vendor, Guatemala. Can your kid do that?

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The road to Lanquin, Guatemala.

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A&V inner-tubing with cuba libre.

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Lanquin, Guatemala.

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Main tower, Tikal.

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View from main tower in Tikal.

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Welcome to Mexico! We could smell the food from here.

New Links

2005-08-05T15:52:00.000-07:00

There are two new links on the side-bar: Road-Trip-Road-Kill is a photo journal detailing the animal carnage we witness daily. My Resume is a link to my online resume, in case any of you want to hire me when I get back. Enjoy :)

Colombia to Panama

2005-07-28T10:34:00.000-07:00

There is no road linking Colombia and Panama. The Darien Gap is the name given to the no-mans land separating these countries, inhabited by Indians, mosquitoes, and, increasingly, Colombian guerillas. For the overland traveler, there are three transit options: cross the Darien gap on foot with the help of local guides, fly, or take a sailboat through the Caribbean Sea to from Cartagena, Colombia to to Portobelo, Panama. The overland option was out of the question to us for obvious reasons, and flying just seemed like no fun. We decided on the sailboat because we thought it would be a relatively uncomplicated, pleasant experience. If you take a sailboat, you don’t need to crate your bike, clear it through exit customs, or drain the fuel or take out the battery. You just put the bike on the boat and go.

There are several foreign yacht owners who make it their business to ferry travelers between Panama and Colombia. We chose to sail on the Melody, a yacht owned by Mark, a Californian ex-pat who has been doing the Colombia-Panama trip for almost five years. We spoke with several of his passengers who had no complaints about the trip and praised his sailing ability. When Mark came to meet us at our hotel we were pleased by his easygoing manner. The cost of a one-way fare is $250 per person, plus $250 for the bike. FYI, Mark told us that he and other yacht owners will be raising their prices soon due to fuel costs. The boat would not be leaving for a week, and in the mean time Valerie wanted to learn to SCUBA dive. We headed north to Taganga, and within four days Valerie was a certified SCUBA diver.

We arranged to meet Captain Mark and the boat at the Mobile gas station in Cartagena at 7am on the day of our departure. We had to use Mobile’s dock facilities since the yacht club forbids the loading or unloading of cargo at their dock. Taking a bike on a yacht from one country to another is technically illegal, and Mark stressed the importance of a quick load up. As mark pulled up to the dock we heard him yelling and screaming like a maniac at his passengers/crew, admonishing them for not understanding his barked orders, who were all native Spanish speakers. Somehow, they were able to secure the boat to the dock without capsizing it, and the bike loading process began.

Getting the bikes on the boat was a lot of fun. Mark used the mast, a half-inch line and a hand winch to raise the bikes into the air with a line tied between the dock and the bike to control the bikes movement towards the boat. I was a little nervous at first, but the whole process was too much like tree work for me to worry about an accident. Mark secured the bikes to the boat with short lengths of ropes, scoffing at my “puny” tie-downs. Mark was very agitated during the whole process. I thought he was stressed because his wife would not be accompanying him on this trip, and because he was paranoid about being caught smuggling our bikes. We all hoped the “careful captain” would simmer down as soon as we left the harbor.

Loaded up, we pointed the boat towards Panama and began motoring at the astonishing speed of 6 knots per hour. Mark assured us the boats speed was exceptional, even fast by yacht standards. I don’t know what I expected, but I soon appreciated the distances and speeds involved in the trip. The distance from Colombia to Panama by sea is 300 miles, meaning 50 hours of motoring at the boats top speed, or six hours if it were possible to drive the motorcycle. I began to question the wisdom of our choice and my tolerance for boredom.

Once we were underway and some distance off-shore, Mark sat us all down like a bunch of kindergarteners and explained to us the various idiosyncratic rules of the boat. For example, we were not to use the lord’s name in vain or take meat without asking. We were also not to leave cushions in undesignated areas or use fresh water for anything but drinking. Mark next explained to us that he couldn’t remember all the rules at once so he would remind us of them as the rules came to him. I thought it was a bad sign that he couldn’t remember all his rules yet he expected us to remember them. As rules came to him throughout the rest of the trip he would bark them loudly and impersonally to anyone within earshot as if he had already told them the rule a dozen times.

Between Colombia and the San Blas Islands we would have to sail for 36 hours straight, meaning a night at sea. I had no idea what a “night at sea” was until I woke up at around midnight and stumbled above deck to find Mark sleepily steering the boat. He told me it was my turn to steer. He left me half asleep at the wheel while he climbed to the front of the boat to take down the mast. During my time asleep the weather had taken a turn for the worst and the swells had gotten big. The flashes of lightning revealed a tormented sea and thunderstorms all around us. I could see the swells were coming from coming from the right side of the boat, and the wind was coming from the front. While I was trying to wake up and steer the boat at the same time I accidentally steered the boat in the wrong direction, sending mark into a rage. I knew I had steered the boat incorrectly, but I was hesitant to make any corrections while he was in the front of the boat working on the sail for fear of knocking him off the boat into the ocean. I managed to restore the boats heading to due west, and mark went below deck to sleep. It was just the open sea and me at midnight, only thunderstorms and rain for company. Swells coming from the side caused the boat to rock back and forth violently, and I had to hold on tight to keep from falling over.

Mark left without telling me what to do about the thunderstorms all around us, and my only exposure to thunderstorms thus far has been in an aviation context where they are to be avoided at all costs. At one point I was heading directly into a thunderstorm, my mind racing as the time between lightning and thunder became shorter and the thunder more powerful. I decided that the up and downdrafts so feared by airplane pilots would not be a problem for the boat, and that a lightning strike would be unlikely, so I headed right into the storm. The thunder and lightning got really intense and the rain poured down in buckets, but the boat was easy to handle and mostly unaffected by the storm.

Sailing was a completely new experience for me, especially alone at night. I managed to steer for three hours, keeping the boat on a westerly heading before I succumbed to exhaustion. I woke up the next steering victim before going below deck to try and sleep in the cramped quarters and stifling heat.

One thing that is hard to get used to about traveling on the open sea is the total lack of visual reference. You have nothing to gauge your progress by, or to steer towards. I awoke the next morning after our night at sea and everything looked the same, water everywhere. At about mid-day we spotted the Panamanian coast and South America was officially behind us. We followed the coast until dusk when we finally pulled into the southernmost islands of the San Blas Archipelago and set anchor at “the pool”, an ex-pat yachtie hangout surrounded by sandy coconut islands and coral reefs. This would be our home for the next 36 hours.

We awoke the next day and swam to the closest island with snorkel gear and snacks. It was great to be on terra firma after 48 hours on a pitching boat. Valerie and I walked around the island and swam out to the reef to snorkel. We saw lots of brain coral, barracuda, and even a nurse shark. I was really surprised to see all the marine life so close to the ex-pat community. We stayed on the island for most of the day while Mark conducted business on his boat. In addition to hauling backpackers back and forth between Panama and Colombia, he also takes food, fuel, medicine and anything else the sedentary yachtie-cruisers want for a 30% markup. The whole deck of the boat was covered with supplies destined for the yachties, making for cramped quarters for the backpackers. We met some interesting characters living in the pool. One family of four, two parents and two young girls, had lived on a small boat in the pool for the last year and a half without leaving. Another, a rich guy from New York known as “the mayor” had been in “the pool” for 10 years, only leaving every few years to go to Cartagena to have his boat bottom painted. I was stunned by their lifestyle. How could anyone live on a small boat without doing anything for years at a time? Valerie and I agreed that their lifestyle was like a self-imposed prison sentence.

The next day we weighed anchor and headed for customs, taking a nice 3-hour cruise through the archipelago. We stayed the night off another island, and then woke early to head for Portobelo, our final destination. Our last day on the water took 10 hours and was full of adventure. A few hours out of port in heavy seas, two of marks fuel jugs flew off the boat. He tried to turn around and get them, and in the process ran over the 400 pound-test fishing line trailing behind the boat, severely tangling the rudder and propeller. I ran below deck and got Mark a mask and snorkel, and in a flash he was over the side, armed with a knife to cut the fishing line loose. My job was to keep the boat steady while mark was under it. The whole process took well over an hour as I watched the jugs get pushed closer and closer to the reef. Finally, the jugs were out of sight bringing relief to all of us knowing that Mark couldn’t go after them again. Mark later told us that he didn’t tie the fuel jugs down properly; he just tossed them between the motorcycles, so when we hit heavy water they flew over the side. We ended up losing the jugs. Darn.

We pulled into Portobelo at dusk and started unloading the bikes. It was the same process as loading them, only this time we unloaded them onto a skiff. The skiff pulled up to the dock, and five or six guys muscled the bikes out. It was all remarkably easy. After all the unloading excitement was over, Valerie took off for the hotel carrying our backpacks and helmets and I was left to ride the bike back. I tried to start my Bee, but she was out of gas. I had to push Bee fully loaded a quarter mile to town in the dark with locals chasing after me trying to figure out what I was doing. I arrived at the hotel drenched in sweat and took my first shower in a week.

Early the following morning Adam set out for Colon by bus with Mauricio the moto-adventurer from Argentina. They had to do the customs work by bus as captain Mark warned them of horrible consequences if they rode their bikes without proper papers. While they were gone I rearranged our sea-scattered luggage for our journey through Panama. Five hours later they returned exasperated but successful. I had Bee gassed and re-assembled (mirrors and windshield and luggage for the trip) and we headed for Panama City within the hour. It was great to be on the road again after our crawl-pace at sea. We made more miles in one hour on Bee than we made in 24 hours at sea.

In Panama City we stayed at a highly recommended backpacker hostal. The brochure boasted air-con and TV, which was true for the living room. After Adam and I were all settled in our separate dorm rooms (No coed rooms without a reservation), we went and had a stroll through the neighborhood. That night after a few hours of stifling heat the storm of the decade began. It was the loudest thunderstorm we had ever heard. The acoustics were incredible as the thunder broke right overhead, the sound reverberating off the skyscrapers and into the hotel. I thought we were in Baghdad for a minute. The storm raged into the next day, pissing rain. There was no leaving the city on Bee in that weather so we hung out one more day. When the storm broke we set out for Bocas Del Toro where we would meet Adam’s dad for a week long Caribbean vacation. We rode over 400 miles in one day from Panama City to Bocas Del Toro, refused to stop for two police officers, and got a ticket. When we reached the continental divide at 1100 meters elevation we could see the Caribbean. We were definitely out of the Andes.

We arrived in the ultra-seedy port called Almirante at around four in the afternoon. As soon as we pulled into town locals began chasing us like a dog would chase a car. We were quickly informed that there was no way to locate lodging or parking in this eight street town without hiring a guide. We angered our first potential guide terribly by informing him that we had found our way across six countries without a guide and we intended to continue that way. He furiously informed us that we were taking his job. Oh well. We were able to find a restaurant all by ourselves, and had a great supper. The ferry we needed to transport us with Bee to the island where we would meet Adam’s dad Jim only left for Bocas at eight a.m. each morning so we had to stay the night in to catch our ferry.

We had a great time in Bocas Del Toro. I got my Advanced scuba certification, we went island hopping looking at property, we met some great people, and enjoyed hanging out with Adam’s dad and his friends. Tomorrow we head for Costa Rica.

2005-07-28T10:14:00.001-07:00

Cartagena, Colombia.

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Taganga, Colombia.

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Ro ho ho! Our pirate crew.

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Believe it or not, the BMW is lighter than the Africa Twin behind her.

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Bee is airborne, Cartagena, Colombia.

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Sunrise in San Blas, Panama.

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View from the Melody in "The Pool", San Blas, Panama.

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"The Pool" retirement community.

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San Blas, Panama.

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Valerie and the Captain.

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Would you let this guy drive your boat? San Blas, Panama.

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Panama City, Panama. Thanks to Dad for the picture.

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View of the mainland looking back from the ferry to Bocas Del Toro.

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Bee at the divide, 1100 meters.

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The Caribbean from the continental divide in Panama. What a puny country after all the Andean states.

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Jim and Derek seeing Bocas by bike.

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Bee by the sea.

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Relaxing, Caribbean style. There are alot of hammocs here...

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Jim's new bike...

Quito to Cartagena - MAP

2005-07-10T15:32:00.000-07:00

To say we had a lot of fun in Quito would be an understatement. One night, Rocco took us to his brother’s disco, The Blues, where we were treated like royalty and drank all we could hold. When we first arrived, Jeroen went to the bar and ordered us a round of drinks. Rocco saw him at the bar paying the bill, rushed over, and calmly informed him that "We don’t pay for anything here." Damn, what good news. Instead of handing over cash for every drink, we handed the bartenders a "these guys can drink all they want" card. Too cool. Rocco had to work the next day, and went home early. The three of us, on the other hand, stayed until 4am, slam dancing to Metallica and White Zombie, drinking Jack and Cokes, and generally having a fantastic time. Rocco’s cousin JJ showed up at around 3am, totally obliterated and playing the three tambourines hanging from cords around his neck with unbridled enthusiasm. JJ is a party animal who reminds me of Uncle ‘E in his wilder days - loud, crazy, and a lot of fun to be around.

Another night while we were peacefully barbequing lomo and liver, Rocco called and told us he was bringing home 15 girls to audition for a place in his moto-expo, and it was up to us to decide which girls would make the cut for the show. All the biker guys got really excited and rushed for the showers to cleanse themselves. When Valerie heard about the girls she too ran upstairs and put on her cutest outfit. When she came back downstairs and resumed cooking, Jeroen and I assured her she had the competition squashed. Rocco told all the girls (and as we later learned, their boyfriends to) to expect to be fed and imbibed by his resident gringos. We had only bought enough food for the six of us, and we were worried that we wouldn’t have enough food. Thankfully, the meat took forever to cook, and after the girls were picked through, cell phones started ringing and bodies started leaving. In the end, we were able to feed 15 people. It was almost biblical, like Jesus with his loaves and fishes. None of the girls stayed for the gringos, though.

I mentioned to Rocco that I was thinking of getting an alarm installed on my bike. "You want an alarm? No problem! My friend has an alarm company" The next day Rocco and I went to his friends company, which turned out to be "Bunker Alarms" world headquarters, I spoke to the owner, who also owns a 2003 BMW 1150 GS, and within 24 hours I had a professionally installed alarm with a pager. Now all the bike needs is a slight shake or bump, and the horn starts blaring loud enough to scare off almost any cracked-out-bike-thief.

Valerie has to get back to her school, and after a week in Quito it was time to head north. It is true what we have heard from other motorcycle travelers – you need more time than money – with no time constraint, we could easily travel for a year on our funds, but we have to keep heading north. We were very unhappy to leave Jeroen behind, as his antics, misadventures and friendship had made our trip together unforgettable. Valerie and I were leaving a great friend behind, although the three of us had already made plans for another trip in the future together (how does Amsterdam to Australia sound?) We were very sad as we parted company, knowing our journey as three was over.

We managed to leave Rocco’s by 11am, which in theory should allow enough time to cross the Colombian border by dark. By 1pm, after getting lost several times trying to find the equatorial monument, we finally found latitude zero. We had crossed the Equator for the second time on our trip, the first time being in an airplane. I have been to southern hemisphere several times, but I had never actually stood in the two hemispheres at once. It felt good to be in the northern hemisphere again, and for some reason I felt much closer to home.

We managed to make the border by dusk. The Ecuadorian-Colombian border crossing was by far the busiest border we had been to yet. There must have been 200 people waiting for their stamps, and only three immigration officials stamping passports. Summoning all my patience, I made it to the front of the line with our passports. They stamped my passport, but wouldn’t stamp Valerie’s passport since she was not at the window- there’s a first time for everything! I ran and got Valerie (she was watching the bike), and told her she had permission from the officials to cut to the front of the line. She believed me, cut to the front, and was back in minutes. Of course, the immigration official had told me no such thing, but I wanted to get to a hotel before dark.

We were finally in Colombia, the land of Pablo Escobar, cocaine, paramilitaries, guerillas, and, as it turns out, friendly people, excellent roads and unbelievably cheap prices for everything. Our first Colombian town was Ipiales, where we found excellent bike parking and pizza. We were still unsure of the exchange rate at that time, so we had no idea what we were spending. A kid on the street told us it was 1500 Pesos for a Dollar. We went on for a few days using 1500 as our reference before I went to economist.com and found the real rate. You actually get 2400 per dollar. Christmas time!

We rode hard for three days, stopping in first in Popayan and then in Salento, where we had an action packed day. We planned to visit the Valle de Cocora, which boasts the tallest palm trees in the world (60M). We set off in the morning and had gone about 15 kilometers into the countryside on a windy dirt road when we realized we must have taken the wrong road. We got a couple of nice photos and headed back into town for a tasty trout lunch and to make our next attempt at locating the Valle. This time we asked directions and it was easy to find. We rode into a lush valley on a fun cart track, and before long we began to see the tall, wispy outlines of the palms. We never saw the 60 meter one, and I would never want to climb one of these palms. They are so thin I am sure they would break off by the time you were halfway up. The road through the palms even had a minor river crossing (always fun). The river crossing turned out to be 6-8 inches of water rushing over a poured cement underwater dam. Some Colombians had parked their vehicle in the middle of the dam, and I was forced to stop in the middle. When I put my foot down to stop the bike, we almost went over. Thick algae was growing all over the cement, making stopping and balancing extremely difficult. Val got off and walked while I maneuvered around the truck.

After crossing the river, we rounded a bend and passed through a big ugly red gate. We had gotten about 100 meters past the gate when we met a truck whose passengers told us to turn around because the property we had entered was a pasture filled with bulls that would love to chase and destroy a motorcycle. It’s a good thing we didn’t have to find that one out the hard way. As we road back, we noticed the warning sign on the other side of the gate. That’s South America for you.

We went on a hike up the valley and visited the nearby trout farm. We got to feed the fish and watch them jump around in frenzy for the food. Those were the largest trout we’d ever seen- some more than two feet long. We hiked a bit further into the valley and got some more great photos, then headed back to Bee. The ride back into town was fun, and I managed to get the bike airborne over a jump (sorry, no photos)

From Salento, we rode north through hot and humid Cali, passing through endless sugar cane fields, and finally up into the mountains towards Medellin. We had a hotel-tip from the bikers we met at Rocco’s house, but unfortunately all they gave us was a phone number and a street name. We tried to call several times during the day to get directions, but no one was answering the phone. Finally, when we got to Medellin, the receptionist picked up the phone and gave us enough information to find the hostal. "Casa Kiwi" is by far the nicest place we stayed in Colombia. Great showers, kitchen, internet, laundry, pool table and wide screen TV. The owner, Paul, is from Seattle and got stuck in Medellin after riding his motorcycle from Colorado to Alaska to Colombia. He also has a great website.

When we arrived at Casa Kiwi, we noticed one of the latches had fallen off our side-boxes. We headed for Ruta 40 motorcycle shop where Camilo helped us locate a skilled machinist to make us a new one. By some act of Allah, Ruta 40 also had a Remus y-pipe catalytic converter replacement in stock for $150 less than in the US. When riding slowly or when the temperature is above 25C, the catalytic converter heats up and cooks the engine, the rear tire, and my feet. It also presents a fire hazard in grass or near fuel.

Leaving Medellin was the greatest challenge we had faced in Colombia. It took us three hours to find the "good" road to Cartagena. Everywhere we stopped to ask directions, the locals assured us we were on the road to Cartagena. It turned out that all roads lead to Cartagena, but the minor roads we found ourselves on were twisting cart tracks leading through questionable (guerilla) controlled territory. We wanted to stick to the safe roads and eventually found the main highway. We managed to make it 150km that day, and ended up in the lovely town of Valdivia. Our hotel was on the side of the highway, and had a shallow swimming pool filed with noisy kids and their parents. We slept well despite the slightly warm temperatures.

Valdivia was our first encounter with real heat on our trip. For almost five months we had driven through the Andes, enjoying the cool climate, never expecting the rancid, foul, soul destroying heat of the lowlands. As we descended from Valdivia, we started to heat up, and were soon roasting in the prison of our riding suits. I tried to ride as fast as possible, hoping in vain that the air would cool us, but even at 80mph we were still miserable, melting and mad. When we stopped for breakfast at 10am, the true gravity of our situation became apparent. As took off my jacket, I almost died of heat stroke. I reasoned that our riding suits were necessary for protection in case we had an accident, but I also realized that riding like a maniac increased the odds of us having an accident. We rode on wearing our heat creating and absorbing gear until we reached Tolu on the Caribbean. We arrived sweating and miserable and took a break at a restaurant where I quickly inhaled three beers, hoping to take the edge off the heat. Valerie and I decided to strap the riding gear to the back of the bike while we hunted for a hotel with parking. Luckilly, we found a hotel with "good" parking. We set out for our customary stroll to explore, but were soon driven back to our room with fan by the extreme heat. We stayed in our room until the sun set. I hate hot.

We decided to stay an extra day in Tolu since our boat would not leave Cartagena for another week. Staying turned out to be a big mistake. We spent our second day in Tolu hiding from the evil sun in our room, and after night fell, we headed out to the sidewalk for a few well earned drinks. We were soon accosted by a group of fresh high school gradates who insisted we sit with them at their table. There were about 15 students and teachers, all living it up, and they soon had us partying right along with them. They kept insisting that we accompany them to a disco, and finally we relented, thinking that one more day in Tolu would be fine; besides, we were having fun. Tolu has very few proper taxis and an abundance of "bicycle taxis." You have to see these taxis to believe them. The taxis hold from 2-8 people, and have either one or two people peddling them. In addition, each Taxi has a 12 volt stereo pumping loud, thumping, rhythmic Caribbean music at a volume that drives you nuts. It is common to be within hearing range of five or more of the taxis, all playing different music. The effect is as startling as it is insane. We climbed into one of these dreaded taxis and were peddled off to the disco, the three taxis in the group peddling furiously to be the first to unload their cargo, dodging and weaving between souvenir peddlers and street urchins. Somehow we ended up buying the whole group drinks and had a great time at the disco. We stumbled home at around 2AM, and slept heavily. We were awoken at 8AM by a loud, persistent knocking at the door. I stumbled to the door only to meet the hotel night-watch-guy. With rude gesticulations he indicated I should check my motorcycle. Through a thick haze I saw poor battered Bee lying on her side in a rock planter box. Buenos dias gringo.

As I stumbled over to fallen Bee my anger began to swell. The tank was resting on a rock that had left a fist size dent, and the rear foot-peg had been bent and twisted like spaghetti. I asked the night watchman what had happened and he replied the bike had fallen over on its own at 4AM. The "cement" under the bike was crushed. I was sleeping too well to hear the alarm. What made me the maddest was that the hotel owner had insisted that I park my bike in the place where it had fallen. I had wanted to park it closer to our room on the tile, but was unable to. The bike parking zone was actually a thin layer of mortar over sand that was unable to support my bikes weight. Of course, the hotel owner claimed no responsibility for the accident, saying my bike was too heavy and that I should have parked elsewhere. He refused to acknowledge responsibility for the accident, so I asked him a few questions just for the fun of it: If he had insisted that I park on a bridge, and the bridge fell, would, would that be my fault? If he had insisted that I park under the roof, and the roof fell, would that be my fault? He had no answer to my questions, the logic being beyond him, so I had him call the police for me.
The police arrived within minutes and after seeing the damage and hearing what happened, told the hotel owner he was at fault. The hotel owner was outraged, citing the "no responsibility" clause posted over the reception desk. The police called their inspection unit, and within hours they had drafted papers detailing the accident. The only problem was to get the hotel to pay for their mistake I would have to take them to court. A lawyer at the police station told me resolution could take weeks or months.

Dejected, we left early the next day in a vain attempt to avoid the heat. We decided that we would not wear our riding gear for our last ride in South America. We were still pretty hot, especially as we drove around Cartagena, but we were safe. When we were In town we took our helmets off while we were stuck in traffic crawling along like snails, when the most amazing thing happened: almost everyone idiot we saw on a scooter insisted that we wear our helmets. Scooter operator after scooter operator drove up to us demanding we pull over so they could explain why not wearing a helmet in traffic was evil. One especially retarded scooter guy was yelling at us about our lack of helmet while his passenger was without a brain bucket. His hypocrisy astounded me and for the first time on our trip I experienced road rage at his paternalistic whining; who was this guy or any of them to tell me what to do? at first we thought there must be some city law mandating helmets until we stopped and asked several different police officers for directions and their only comments for us were in praise of the bike.

The heat continues. Next, Colombia to Panama by yacht at the hands of "The Careful Captain."

2005-07-10T15:30:00.000-07:00

Rocco�s awesome dogs keeping watch on things. Quito, Ecuador.

2005-07-10T15:26:00.000-07:00

A&V in two different hemispheres.

2005-07-10T15:24:00.000-07:00

A&V&B @ the Equador.

2005-07-10T15:22:00.000-07:00

Near media mundo, Ecuador.

2005-07-10T15:19:00.000-07:00

Ecuador near the Colombian border.

2005-07-10T15:18:00.000-07:00

Along the road from Ipiales to Pasto, Colombia.

2005-07-10T15:16:00.000-07:00