Spic and Span

For the first time in weeks I can say I’m excited about the condition of my motorcycle.  It is currently resting in a Suzuki dealership awaiting two new tires, two new sprockets, a new chain, and a full service inspection.  The DR650 is the police bike around here too and the dealership garage is full of them.  I can only assume whoever is working on it will be very familiar with its weaknesses and soft spots.  In total I paid $390 for all the parts; higher than US prices, but reasonable given my situation.  The chain and sprockets are Suzuki Genuine Parts and the tires are both Pirelli dual-sports.  Quality all around.  The labor will cost another $70.  Included is a washing, oil and filter change, lubrication of all moving parts, cleaned air filter, dialed brakes, and the installation of all those parts.  It’s a lot of money, but it will be done in a garage by a professional rather than on the street by me in a trail-and-error process.

I’ve been fixated on these issues for weeks now ever since we crossed into Panama when I noticed my chain was stretching.  The missing spare parts have been gnawing at me since Mexico.  I’m actually not picking up any spares right now because I figure the mechanic will tip me off if there are any problems in the near future.  With Alex’s girlfriend Kristi flying in to Bogota in three weeks, I can wait for her to deliver a care package of brake pads, clutch and throttle cables, spark plugs, and earplugs.  Putting the bike in the shop feels like giving an old friend a big hug.  Like C-3PO taking an oil bath, ‘thank the maker!’ 

In the spirit of maintenance I even went out and got a haircut today.  $5 for a salon quality job, although I kinda look like a Mexican now.  Thin sideburns and very clean lines leading up my forehead.  I also shaved for the first time since Costa Rica; it was time for some manscaping.  Throw in a trip to the laundromat and I’m feeling very clean at the moment.  Aside from slicing my finger open on a fan blade yesterday when I was taking off my shirt, I feel pretty healthy too.  I’ve been sleeping plenty and eating a lot of meat.  Vegetables are harder to come by but I’ve managed to sneak them into a couple meals.  I’m still underweight, but I don’t feel like such a shadow like I did back in Panama.  It’s a new continent and I’m starting off fresh with a fully serviced motorcycle; there’s a lot to be excited about.

This is the fourth day in Cartagena and we’ve been packing it in since we got here.  Although there is little to show for it, I’ve been running around every day sightseeing, partying, and dealing with customs.  Saturday everyone was kicked off the boat to go live in the city for the weekend.  Customs wouldn’t accept our bikes on when we pulled in and Sunday they were closed.  That gave us two nights to kill fresh off the boat.  If you’ve read Alex’s blog, you can see that we were way too tired to do anything Saturday night.  We all just shuffled off the boat, sweated our holes out finding lodging, and then laid ourselves to rest immediately after dinner.  Sunday was a little better.  Everyone woke up energized and ready to explore.  A group of us set off towards Cartagena’s ancient fort across the water.  The fort is hard to describe.  It’s a lot like a castle, but with sloped walls and no moat.  Up top there were decommissioned cannons pointing out into the harbor; you can imagine the strength of the fortress back in the pirate days.  Inside we explored a maze of catacombs.  After the fort Anna and I walked into the old town and got some cool pictures of colonial architecture.  That night was pretty big.  The entire boat group met up in old town for drinks on the water.  After a couple hours of that we all funneled into a dance bar and kept it going a little longer. 

Monday was absolute hell.  All the bikers reported at 8:30am at the dock to receive our motorcycles from the Stahlratte.  Getting them off was a little more hectic than putting them on.  This time the crew winched the bikes onto the dingy and putzed them over to the dock with an outboard.  Six times Ludwig pulled up next to the dock and from there it took everyone’s might to lift each bike onto the dock.  George’s turn signal on his BMW was dislodged, but other than that there were surprisingly no incidents.  From the dock we rode illegally on non-imported, uninsured bikes over to customs.  I thought the waits were bad back in Central America, but importing to Colombia was by far the biggest headache we’ve encountered.

Because it’s such a huge port city, customs was a big multi-story office building full of paper pushers.  Ludwig had arranged for a friend name Manfred to meet us there and help expedite the process.  Even with Manfred’s help we waited for three hours in the morning for an inspector to come out and verify our VIN numbers.  When he finally arrived it turned out that all our papers had the wrong numbers.  On top of that, the customs computer system was down so they couldn’t officially import our bikes (meaning we were still illegal in the eyes of the all-knowing internet).  We were dismissed and told to come back at 4:30pm to finish up.  In the meantime Al and I went out and found all the parts we needed.  We showed up back at customs that afternoon and waited two more hours for one final signature.  By 6:30pm we were on the road, finally.  I’ll take a dirt road border crossing any day from here on out. 

Monday night was calm as all the bikers got ready to take off Tuesday morning.  All of them except for Alex and me took off this morning for the mountains.  Too much humidity; I don’t blame them.  Al and I are heading out tomorrow morning as soon as our bikes are finished to catch up.  Cartagena is a beautiful city; it has a little bit of everything.  On the horizon is Medellin, the former home of the legendary cocaine emperor Pablo Escobar.  If the rest of Colombia stacks up, I’ll be very pleased.  We’ve slated a month in this country and according to everyone I’ve met going north, it is the highlight of South America.  I’ll be the judge of that, but so far it’s living up to the hype.