Andy Dalton

Monday morning Al and I hit the road early still without a confirmed destination.  We knew via facebook posts that Charlie and Andy were still in San Jose waiting for Andy’s bike to arrive from Australia, but we still had no idea where to find them in Costa Rica’s biggest city.  All the internet cafes were closed in Miramar (the town where we spent the night) so we just kept heading south figuring a solution would present itself.  Once the road turned into a freeway and we passed the airport, we decided to pull off at a Denny’s to use their Wi-Fi and finally look at a map of Costa Rica.  As luck would have it, Andy was online and we started chatting.  It turned out the Aussies were staying in the same suburb that we had pulled off in next to the airport.  We were ten minutes away from each other.  Things seem to work themselves out pretty well on this trip.

We paid for our $6 Denny’s milkshakes and pulled up to their hotel an hour later.  It was great to finally meet Charlie’s mate Andy; he’s tall, loud, and just as Australian.  Watching the two of them have a conversation in their own little light speed dialect is good entertainment.  Andy has been in Costa Rica for over a month now waiting for his bike to arrive from Australia.  It was supposed to arrive the same time he did, but somehow the boat was routed to Germany and now, Tuesday, the bike has finally turned up in San Jose a month late.  In the meantime, the boys have rented a car and toured Costa Rica, flown to Cuba, and raised hell in San Jose for the last four weeks.  Australians know how to travel. 

Charlie was in the middle of a full clean-up of his bike when we arrived.  He had removed his rear wheel and rear sprocket and sprayed down both with enough degreaser to have them shining gold again.  His chain looked brand new as well after a good soak in a bucket of kerosene.  He degreased basically the whole rear end including the entire chain assembly.  Alex and I had talked about cleaning our bikes, but I had gotten used to how dirty they were.  It didn’t seem that big of a deal until I saw Charlie’s Tenere sparkling in the sun like it was fresh of the showroom floor.  Then I saw all the grime that came off his chain.  I needed to clean my bike soon.

Andy was cleaning out their hotel room while Charlie put his bike back together.   They were moving to the Hampton Inn and Suites near the airport to spend some of Andy’s BBX dollars that he had built up running a business back home in Australia.  BBX is too confusing to explain, but basically he has a sum of money that he can only spend at certain businesses that are all part of the same network and these businesses are prevalent in Costa Rica.  Having known Alex and me for about ten minutes, Andy booked us a room at the Hampton as well in an amazing offer of good faith. 

We all showed up at the Hampton completely soaked from the afternoon rain.  I felt out of place.  The hotel is five stories tall, clean, and 100% air conditioned.  The rooms have HD TV’s, plush beds like I haven’t seen in months, and a full breakfast served every morning.  This is five star treatment; we couldn’t thank Andy enough.  That is until he decided to take everyone out to a steakhouse to spend some more of his BBX dollars.  After a couple beers in the hotel we took off for dinner to one of the best meals I’ve had in years.  Only Brad Vallo’s treat at Wolf Lodge Inn in Idaho compares to the amount and quality of meat I consumed last night.  We ate multiple racks of ribs, a steak each, corn, guac, beans, and a lot of scotch on the rocks.  I’m impressed my stomach kept the meat surge down after the weak meals it’s been fed for the last six weeks.

With full bellies and the scotch setting in I fell asleep instantly when we got back to the Hampton.  I woke up a new man.  I slept the entire night without rolling or tossing.  There were no roosters or children to wake me in the morning.  The air conditioning kept the room icy all night.  There are things I miss about the United States.  This was a good reminder of why I need to go home one day.

Alex and Andy took off early this morning to go get Andy’s bike from the transportation company.  Charlie hung around the hotel because his guts were awry.  He had a lot of extra cleaning agents lying around and offered them to me to clean out my greaseball.  After seeing his bike’s transformation, I decided to seize the opportunity.  For three hours I sat on the side of the Hampton with degreaser, kerosene, a sponge, a toothbrush, and car wash soap meticulously cleaning my sprockets, chain, and muddy exterior.  I got a lot of help from a maintenance guy who works here; he’s a motorcycle enthusiast and he was eager to share his knowledge with me.  The standard of living is definitely higher here; he’s going to a Red Hot Chili Peppers concert in September.  That makes me feel a little better about paying these prices.  I suppose that’s what it costs for everyone to live the American dream.

Now I’m hanging out with Charlie watching him make trips to the toilet every thirty minutes.  Alex and I moved out of our room here in the Hampton and will decide where to stay tonight when he and Andy get back with the fourth bike.  It’s good to be back in the company of proper adventurers.  The Australians move at our pace and don’t care what we do as long as it’s a fun time.  They’re sick of Costa Rica after killing an entire month here and eager to move on to Panama.  Fretting about our bank accounts, Alex and I are ready to follow them.  Costa Rica is nice, but it is for tourists, not cheapskates on motorcycles.  A decade from now I’ll pull a Craig and bring my wife down here once I’ve made my millions and I can justify this place.

Brash Delivery

Today we crossed into Costa Rica and I am currently lying in bed in a food coma.  So far Costa Rica has been much more expensive, as promised, but with that comes a higher standard of living.  Prices here are back to $15/night for a bed and $6/meal.  Gas is $6/gallon; whoever blames our government for American gas prices should know that everyone else in the world is making a tenth the income and paying even more per gallon.  None of the so far six countries have offered gas cheaper than at home.  Mexico was on par, everywhere else has been more expensive.  I was getting accustomed to the prices in Guatemala, Honduras, and Nicaragua.  It’s hard to go back and start paying the same prices we were paying for two months in Mexico.  Facing the prices back at home will be something entirely different.

The benefit of a $6 meal is that it is far more substantial.  I had rice with mixed meat as a main course at dinner and it’s the first time I’ve been this full since Tulum, Mexico.  The food for the last three countries has been small meals consisting mostly of plantains and small portions of rice and beans.  Costa Rica obviously is a country with some money pumping through it.  Its focus on tourism seems to have Americanized it a bit.  The traffic is civil.  There are luxury cars on the road.  We have a TV in the room.  A cop told me ‘thank you’ today in perfect English.  Tonight Al and I are staying in an authentic random Costa Rican town that won’t be in any guide books.  I don’t even know the name at the moment.  We’re sixty miles north of San Jose off the main drag with no plan on tomorrow’s direction.

Our border crossing today was about as cavalier as we’ve been all trip.  We decided last night that we’d go to Costa Rica today.  Figuring we’d manage to wake up around 6:00am, we went to bed without an alarm; we ended up barely catching the 9:00am ferry off of Ometepe.  On the ferry ride Alex met a Czech guy who is currently riding a Honda 125 from Chile to Texas.  He invested maybe a quarter of the money that we did in preparation, but he’s doing the exact same thing.  This time we caught the nicer ferry with an actual car deck.  An hour later we were back on mainland.  I was relieved to get back because I’ve been borrowing money off Alex for the past week.  In Honduras my Chase debit card stopped working.  I had told them I would be out of the country until next year but this is a big confused bank we’re talking about.  The card worked off and on through Honduras and then it stopped altogether the second I crossed into Nicaragua.  I called from Ometepe and go through to customer service and had the issue taken care of finally.  But then the only ATM on the island didn’t accept Mastercard.  I owe Alex a lot of money now.

I got some back to him today from a mainland ATM, but I’ll have to pull out a couple hundred thousand more Costa Rican colones over the next few days to square up.   We spent our first hour off the boat at Revis getting breakfast, finding that ATM, gassing up, and checking tire pressure/waxing chains (the two are generally synonymous now).   Then we asked a gas attendant which way to the border and took off.  Neither of us had even looked at a Costa Rica map before this crossing.  We knew Charlie was in San Jose, so we would follow the signs for the capital city.  The border crossing was just thirty miles south of Revis and we were there by 12:30pm. 

Over the next hour and a half we paid two different border sherpas $20 total to get us through the confusing border mess.  It was hot as hell.  We’re getting closer to the equator and the heat here is so much more direct.  It really pours down on top of you.  In these times I usually unbutton my riding pants and push them down to my boots to cool off in my athletic shorts.  With the guide hired, Alex took off with both passports to take care of business.  In the meantime I guarded the motorcycles with my pants around my ankles and chatted with other sherpas about the trip.  We finally made it through the entire ordeal around 2:00pm and hit the road determined to cover some ground.  We knew Charlie was in San Jose, but we had no clue how to find him.  We still don’t.

In total I think we covered about 120 miles of northern Costa Rica and ended up in this no name town at 5:30pm.  An Austrian ex-pat told us about the hotel here run by drunken old people.  The place is nice, worth the $28 price tag.  We moved in and then quickly scurried downtown where I bought my $6 gut bomb.  Tomorrow we are going to get online here in town and see if Charlie has sent us a line.  If not, we’ll come up with a new plan on the fly.  This trip is becoming more and more off the cuff every day.  We haven’t had a deadline in over three months.  Haven’t used an alarm in weeks.  Every night can go on as long as we want.  It’s vacation.  There’s no need to plan when life is this easy.  

Volcano Island

From San Juan del Sur the group decision was to head out to an island called Ometepe in the middle of Lago de Nicaragua.  For those who haven’t checked the map, the lake is huge taking up a large portion of southern Nicaragua.  Omotepe was formed by two volcanoes that grew up next to each other in the middle of the lake, the tallest measuring 5,500 feet in height.  There is a land bridge between the two and the place has gotten a name for itself as a must-see in Nicaragua.  They tower overhead from the beachhead with smoke constantly whisping from the top.  Quite an amazing sight.

Wednesday morning the girls took off on public transportation while Alex and I mounted up on the bikes.  Since the Fourth of July I have been putting a lot of thought into how we represent America to the other travelers on the road as well as the locals.  The motorcycles have come to define us.  After a few days in any town people start to know about us.  We roar through town larger than life on the menacing black bikes geared to the hilt.  Our presence is unmistakable at every place we stay; if you didn’t hear our engines screaming as we hopped the curb and rode into the courtyard through the front door then you would have at least seen us walking around in full riding gear at some point.  Standing there on thick boots wearing matching armored bomb-proof suits, we must look other worldly.  To other hostel dwellers we are the guys doing it on motorcycle; to the locals we are ‘the big bikes’. 

As a complete package, I don’t think we could be any more American if we tried.  Two huge loud and proud Caucasian guys brazenly riding giant dirt bikes as far south as we can at age 24… it’s pretty classic.  I’m very happy with the image we portray.  We both go out of our way to help anyone out and can both strike up a conversation in English or Spanish with anyone we see.  Hearts of gold with a lot of energy to show it.  At the same time we strut around like rock stars exuding the confidence and style that perfectly capture the American spirit.  Working hard pushing through rain, heat, breakdowns, border crossings, banditos, and navigation of 20,000 miles of unsigned crumbling roads for nine months; it’s epic.  We know that what we’re doing is cool and we’re not afraid to acknowledge it.  Throw in that we’re two Eagle Scouts who threw it together and saved the money by ice road trucking in Alaska?  It’s hard not to get cocky.  The state of the union may be a little bruised right now, but we’re living proof that Americans still got it going on.

Fire up the 650cc engines and we left San Juan del Sur with everyone watching.  The ride to the ferry dock for Omotepe was half an hour long and we showed up well before the girls.  As soon as we stopped a blanket of sand flies completely covered us from head to toe and the bikes as well.  They looked like miniature mosquitos and there were millions of them, but they didn’t bite.  I sat and watched some Nicaraguans play a simplified version of baseball while the flies swarmed all over me.  They were so small you couldn’t even feel them.  In total we waited about two hours for the next ferry.  By that time of course Anna and Kim had arrived.

We all went to board down on the dock.  My stomach sank when I saw the boat.  It had a wooden hull with a lower seating area that was covered by the pilot house and a luggage storage deck.  I looked around to find the bike ramp, there was none.  We pulled up to the passenger loading ramp and the crew all all looked at each other when they saw the size of our machines.  They discussed a plan and then pulled out the solution: a flimsy wooden plank ten feet wide by two feet wide.  One of the crew came up to me and told me not to worry about my bike… good sign.  I sat there as terrified as I’ve been the entire trip and watched four Nicaraguans push my 500 pound bike up a steep angle ramp over a five foot gap onto a rocking boat.  One misstep and it would have ended up at the bottom of the lake.  I knew they didn’t have insurance to cover that (neither do I); and judging the condition of the boat there would be no money to squeeze out of them should I lose all my worldly possessions.  But like they’ve done it 1,000 times, the bike crawled up the ramp without incident and was tied down on the deck moments later.  I don’t even know why I was worried, this is the third world.

The boat pulled out and chugged along barely faster than a swimmer’s pace.  All the gringos sat on top and watched their luggage for the hour long voyage and by the end we had all sunburned noticeably.  We found a cheap hostel with dorm beds for $7 and private rooms for $10/person.    Anna and Kim only had one day on Omotepe so after everyone moved in they were in a hurry to get out and see some of Lonely Planet’s (a very popular travel guide book) best recommendations.  We started talking with the hostel host and he offered to take us to a popular beach called Santo Domingo in his car for $5 each.  It was a forty minute drive around the big volcano to the north side of the land bridge between the two. 

Our host Yazzin loaded our group which now included our new Brit friend Chris into a sedan and we all took off listening to 80’s love ballads.  The drive took so long because the poor sedan was far overloaded.  At every speed bump Al and I would have to hop out and walk alongside the car as it barely cleared the gap with the other four inside.  Every three minutes we would complete this Chinese fire drill; it must have been quite a sight to see the two huge Americans roll out in unison and then hop back in together.  It was great fun and set a jovial mood for the rest of the night.

We arrived at the beach and it turned out to be nothing like we expected.  Just a dirt strip along a murky lake with a few poorly-lit bars built up on the side.  Not a problem, we went straight to the first bar and started telling stories looking out over the lake as the sun set.  Everyone hung out drinking for two or three hours as we made the most out of the girls’ only night on the island.  Around 9:30pm Yazzin picked us up unaware that we would be screaming his power ballads all the way home.

Everyone went to bed tired and satisfied.  We all awoke mid-morning and started moving around.  Anna and Kim had a flight booked for the Corn Islands on the Caribbean side of Nicaragua that takes off Friday morning from Managua.  Therefore, they had until 4:00pm to explore the island a little further before they had to return to mainland and head towards the big city.  We decided to check out another attraction called Ojo de Agua, a natural spring fed right from the volcanoes.  A quiet, chilled lagoon, Ojo de Agua was a perfect place to cool down in the afternoon heat and soak in the atmosphere. 

At the end of the afternoon, the girls finally had to go.  Al and I carried their packs down to the dock for them, said our goodbyes, and we parted ways.  Anna and Kim are good travel partners; they maintain their girly elegance, but are still willing to crawl through mud for adventure.  They represent New Zealand well and Anna has been filling my head with Kiwi vocabulary for the past few days to make sure I don’t forget.  I’ll miss the girls, but I’m sure we’ll all meet up down the road.

Tomorrow, Friday, Alex and I have no agenda other than to relax.  There has been too much moving and fussing trying to keep up with the girls the last couple days and we are ready for a day to reset and recharge.  I plan to eat a lot, I’ve been hungry as hell lately.

Surf's Up!

Quickie here because I'm typing on a Nicaraguan keyboard and it is maddening.  Al and I pulled into Granada Friday and stopped at a well-known hostel called the Bearded Monkey.  The place was a dump and didn't cater to the party crowd so we got a private room for $7/night each and enjoyed some privacy.  We walked around town a bit and found that Nicaraguans are especially poor (and ruthless).  I was swarmed every three minutes by different vendors trying to sell anything from cashews, to hammocks, to pipes.  I could only shrug them off for so long before it got to me and I had to start snarling back at them to go away.  The worst was the people who come up, put a hand out, and then follow you around until you put something in it.  Too much for me, put my sunglasses on and started speaking angry english at anyone who came my direction.


Al and I got some food and went back to the hostel to check out the scene.  We knew that our Kiwi friends Anna and Kim would be arriving that evening and they did shortly after we got back.  Together we went and got dinner and then turned in early Friday night to get some much needed rest.  The girls had been on a chicken bus (a retired American school bus with religious paintings all over it) since 4:00am while
Alex and I were just tired from all the biking.

The next day we got up late and had a very leisurly start.  The girls wanted to move to a place outside of town called the Monkey Hut but I wasn't interested.  I can only unpack and repack my luggage so many days in a row before I refuse to move.  We compromised and took them out there on the bikes instead.  Turns out the place was well out of town and secluded from any real Saturday night action.  Granada is a touristy town so everyone was ready to live it up.  The town is reminiscent of most Mexican cities with a square, a church, and all the hubub all in the same area.  It is also supposed to be the oldest city in the Americas.  Someone else can do that research.

Saturday night we had a real good time dancing at a nearby club and everyone had a real hard time making the 12:00pm checkout time Sunday morning.  But we had a new mission: The Treehouse.  The Treehouse is a 'hostel' thirty minutes towards the Pacific coast.  It is a built on a hill covered in jungle and it was quite a hike to get up to the main lodge.  Well worth it though, The Treehouse offered an incredible view of the Nicaraguan jungle looking out towards the ocean.  There were monkeys overhead roaring all night long.  The hostel had steel cord bridges and tons of little platforms all over to connect all the little spots they had built up.  The place was run by absolute hippies and thier aroma was almost too hard to handle.  We had a great taco salad dinner, but it was served without the ground beef because the house dog had gotten ahold of all 4.5 pounds of it and eaten the entire lot.  We watched that dog puke up pounds of ground beef three different times as the night progressed.  Each time she lapped it right back up off the ground.  Yum!

One day in The Treehouse was enough.  Between the bugs and the threat of robbery (their last incident was three weeks ago), we were ready to keep going.  San Juan del Sur was the next stop; it's a little surf town right on the Pacific coast.  It doesn't feel like Nicaragua.  There is a heavy tourist influence here with a lot of white locals.  We decided to go out to an off-beat hostel eight miles down the beach called Matilda's.  Monday night at Matilda's Alex and I celebrated the 4th of July with the two Kiwis and two Irish guys.  There were quite a few empty forties on the table at the end of the night.  That's ok though because today we didn't do much at all. 

During the afternoon Kim rented a surf board and took a lesson.  She came back so excited afterward that I decided to give it a shot and went out in the surf to share the board with Anna.  Anna had some experience and it showed; I never really got up.  Give me some wind.  That's it in a nutshell.  Tomorrow we're going to an island in the middle of Lago de Nicaragua and after that the girls fly off to the Corn Islands for a week.  Hopeuflly we can catch up again down the road.  Back to paradise!

Nicaraguan Jungle Boogie

6/28/2011- Jungle River Lodge

Monday night I got ahold of Alex on Facebook to plan our meeting Tuesday morning.  Turns out he needed another day of diving before coming back… so I had an extra day to kill in the garbage port city La Ceiba.  I don’t dislike many places, but La Ceiba has nothing to offer in town.  I immediately went to Wendy’s and got on their free Wi-Fi.

Before continuing, I had a great time snorkeling Monday morning in Trujillo through a tour set up by Tranquility Bay.  We took off at 8:30am from the T-Bay beach in a boat captained by Carlos.  He first took us a ways down the beach to explore a reef.  The reef was full of extravagant fish and I started by diving as deep as I could to get a better view.  After three minutes of that I realized I had pushed myself too far and my ears were hurting every time I submerged them.  From there on out I just had to swim around face-down on the surface exploring everything from a distance.

After the reef we motored across the bay to a spot known for a prevalence of starfish.  Sure enough, they were there in droves.  Carlos must have collected eight or ten for us to check out.  They weren’t like our starfish at home.  These had hard exterior shells and couldn’t move their arms.  My catch of the day was a baby starfish.  We left that spot and got back to T-Bay round noon.  At the end of it all Brian paid for the entire boat, what a boss.  By 1:00pm I had said my goodbyes and was back on the road.

I had 140 miles on my tank so I tried to find some gas in Trujillo before heading to Tocoa 40 miles away.  The Texaco was under renovation, the other gas station didn’t seem to have any gas, and everyone I asked pointed in a different direction on where to find some fuel for sale.  After forty minutes of dealing with the Honduran petro fiasco I decided to just chance it and hit the road for Tocoa.  The tank should be able to get at least 200 miles, but we have run out of gas earlier on hard riding.  I also had lingering doubts that some gas had evaporated from my tank during the four dormant days baking in the Trujillo sun (it has happened before). 

It was a long forty miles to Tocoa.  I was nervous the entire time, but prepared to start flagging Hondurans to siphon their gas.  At the blown out bridge I had a chance to pour my spare liter of gas into the tank just in case.  Every time I’ve run out of gas before, it has been very hard to get the bike started again whether I added extra gas or not.  The tank wraps around the frame and hangs down on both sides.  When out of gas, you have to lay the bike on its side and tip it upside-down to get the gas on the right side of the tank to pour into the left side where the fuel petcock draws it into the engine.  I didn’t feel like dealing with that scenario, hence the spare liter going in early.

I pulled into Tacoa half an hour later very relieved.  I gassed up and a bought some water and a Snickers.  When I came out of the minimart there was a crowd of Hondurans surrounding my bike.  They wanted to know how much it costs… I told them $1,500.  It just doesn’t seem right to explain to someone that the cheapest bike I could find actually costs a year’s pay in their world.  They were impressed by the 650cc’s.  I gave it a good rev on my way out of the gas station to make their day.

Then I got back to La Ceiba, chatted with Alex, and planned my epic Tuesday.  I found Jungle River Lodge online while searching for canopy zip line tours near La Ceiba.  Jenna in Trujillo had told me they are a blast so I figured that would be a great way to pass the next day.  Jungle River Lodge seemed to be the most popular outpost in the area, so I took down their directions and hit the sack early.  Their tours departed at 8:00am every morning and I didn’t have a reservation… so I needed to get there even earlier.

I rolled in at 7:30am and immediately sank into one of the best views I’ve seen from a hostel (except for Zephyr Lodge of course).  Jungle River Lodge is built overlooking Rio Cangreja and the view was exceptional in every direction.  To each side was the rocky riverbed with the low river meandering through.  Straight ahead the Honduran mountains climbed high overhead covered in pristine untouched jungle.  The sun was beating down and I was at home.  I got a coffee and sat down and started talking to some Texans.

The Texan family was down in Honduras for a volunteer mission.  After a while I caught on that most of the guests in the breakfast were from Texas as well.  They all had crosses hanging from their necklaces as well.  That’s when I met Don.  He had been listening in making small talk for the past twenty minutes as I talked to the other Texans.  The first moment he got he asked me ‘So Tom how do you fit in with Jesus Christ at this point in your life?’

I told him quite well; that I was a confirmed Catholic who was generally good to people.  Not good enough.  I needed to prove my love of Jesus, the other stuff didn’t do it for him at all.  Don started drawing me a diagram on a napkin.  He drew a canyon, started drawing man and his sinfulness in and God and his holiness.  I entertained it.  By the end the whole diagram turned into a cross.  He looked at me as if expecting an epiphany in my eyes.

To his credit, Don was the kindest religion pusher I’ve met.  He was good at not sounding completely insane and he understood my apprehension to the entire conversation.  I told him I was impressed with his speech and said I’d do some thinking on his guaranteed path to salvation.  Then he asked me if I’d like to commit to Jesus right then.  ‘Right now?’  ‘Yes right now, I’ll lead you right here.’  Not about to join hands in prayer with a Texan pastor with a 4,000 member congregation, I told him it was too personal of an experience for me to take so abruptly.  He got it, and after that we just talked about sports.

The Texan mission group left around 9:00am.  I had been asking around to other people and everyone was signing up for the three-hour rafting trip.  By 10:00am I was in the back of a truck with a lifejacket and helmet heading upriver.  We stopped 4km up the road and walked down to the shore. 

Our guides brought the rafts down and put them to the side.  The main guide Juan Carlos started explaining that the river was very low and therefore we could only do a short portion.  In lieu of the rafting, we would be doing a short hike that involved some jumping and swimming beforehand.  The guides did a good job keeping it entertaining.  We jumped off a bunch of cliffs and did a slew of things that would be completely illegal in the states.  After an hour of this we went back and hopped in the rafts.

My raft consisted of me, Darwin the guide, and Ed the Canadian from Vancouver Island.  He’d never rafted before so he wasn’t sure what to expect.  I told him it was pretty simple; just follow the commands and don’t fall in.  We set off like a row of ducklings and headed towards the lodge.  We were told to expect Class I through Class III rapids.  I’ve rafted up to Class IV in the past so I ready for a pretty tame ride.

Turned out there were about seven different rapids, and only one of them was Class III.  Not only that, the ‘rapids’ were one rapid long each.  Literally a focal point between two big rocks where the water churned a bit and then dropped a couple feet on the other side… but that’s alright because I had an awesome time.  Darwin kept it exciting by taking us down half of them backwards.  Not only that, it was just a blast to grab a paddle and cruise around in a raft in Honduras.  The tour was $40 and included a free night’s stay at the lodge, well worth it.

That afternoon and evening I hung out with a trio of travelers heading north together.  There was Sonya from Ireland, Emily from Minnesota, and Amit from Israel.  Amit’s birthday was in a couple days so the girls decided to celebrate it that night.  The three of us ate cake and nursed a bottle of Bacardi and told stories.  Ed hung out for a while with some good insight and eventually we all turned in.   In the morning more goodbyes and I rode back to La Ceiba to meet Alex.

6/30/2011- On the Run

Al and I met as planned and both of us had the same direction in mind: south.  We’d both spent too much money in Honduras and it was time to go.  Honduras had its moments, but as a country, it was my least favorite place to visit.  The locals were nice as far as I could tell, but not warm or welcoming like I found in Mexico and Guatemala.  The place seemed to have some flavor, but I didn’t sense a lot of pride among the people; to hear their political situation for the last couple decades I can hardly blame them.

It’s possible that we just didn’t give it enough time too.  I met some really cool Hondurans everywhere I went.  Dennis and Carlos were my favorites.  There were plenty of others coming in and out of our group during Carnival.  I even met a Honduran-American down here on vacation from Waukegan, IL.  I told him about my Midwest connections and he was thrilled.  Honduras is on the right track, but not there yet.

The only feasible way to Nicaragua was on the Pacific side so we took off back the way we had come in breaking south about 100 miles into the ride.  Al and I rode until 6:00pm through the mountains.  There was a brief downpour and also forty miles of construction.  Just like in Guatemala, you had to defend your lane position the entire time.  With no painted lines or sense of regulation, everyone just starts passing in whatever capacity they can.  I can’t even count how many times I’ve had to share my lane with an oncoming car that couldn’t wait thirty seconds longer.  It sounds dangerous, but I’m used to it.  I’m a motorcycle; it’s my responsibility to keep the road as open as possible.

We finally stopped at an ‘auto hotel’ in the capital city Tegucigalpa.  I love auto hotels.  They are similar to a motel but the garage is connected to the room itself.  They are usually built in pretty dodgy areas so the deal is once you arrive, they close the garage behind you, and it doesn’t open again until the morning.  The all offer cheap room service, cable TV, and air conditioning.  Perfect for recharging after a day on the road. 

The problem is that they are primarily used as a spot to bring prostitutes.  Some of them charge by the hour and there is always at least one porn channel.  So when Alex and I roll up and ask to share a room with one bed we get some strange looks.  We make it very clear that we are just friends, but I think the culture down here simply takes it as fact that two guys sharing a room in an auto hotel are together.  Oh well, we ordered a pizza and had a great sleep.

We also changed my brakes in the garage.  I knew they were getting weaker but the pads were still visible at a glance so I was wearing them down a little further.  During the construction zone I needed to come to a quick stop when I saw the road was turning to dirt and I ended up locking up my rear tire and squealing for about ten feet.  You’re supposed to give 70% front brake 30% rear since all the weight moves to the front tire during a stop.  My front was too weak so I had to lay on the rear too much and caused the skid.  It wasn’t a big deal, but not something I wanted to deal with again.  Changing the brake pads was a very simple process that involved five bolts and twenty minutes.  Unfortunately, Al couldn’t find his spares after searching his luggage three different times.  He will have to find some soon but he hasn’t had any trouble stopping yet.

This morning we awoke ready to cross the border at Las Manos into Nicaragua.  We went and got some chicken and then plotted our route on the internet.  No map for Nicaragua yet so we are back to taking pictures of google maps and digging out the camera again every time we need to know where we are.  60 miles later we pulled up to the chaotic border scene.

Immediately we were swarmed with fifteen Hondurans who all wanted to help us cross and change our currency.  I had to wade through them to get to immigration and do it myself.  Getting out of Honduras was pretty simple, but getting into Nicaragua was an expensive and confusing ordeal.  After an hour and a half we had our stamps, insurance, and importation paperwork.  We wanted to get as far into Nicaragua as we could with the rest of the afternoon.

Both Alex and I are confirmed passengers on the July 28^th voyage of the Stahlratte ship from Panama City, Panama to Cartegena, Colombia.  That means we’ve got one month to cover the next three countries.  There is supposed to be plenty to see in each of them so we’re a little crunched on this stretch.  Our first stop will be in Granada, Nicaragua.  I don’t know anything about it, but that’s where people go so I’ll be there. 

Tonight we made it as far as Esteli, a couple hours north of Granada.  We stopped riding around 4:00pm and found a very cheap hostel meant for Nicaraguan travelers.  I was tired from the heat, the border, and my traffic infraction today.  I got caught passing a semi in a no-passing zone on a straightaway.  Before anyone has visions of funerals, I cannot stress enough how mundane it is to pass on a double-yellow in Central America.  The semi-trucks do it; the school busses do it; everybody does it.  The roads are all two-lane not built to handle long-haul transportation.  Because the truck routes have filled in, though, the roads are clogged with slow, cumbersome rigs puttering along blowing black smoke out the exhaust all day long. 

Since they are often moving around 25mph, they are very easy to pass on a motorcycle as long as you can see well ahead that there is no oncoming traffic.  I chose to do this just as I came into a straightaway.  What I didn’t see was the police checkpoint a couple hundred yards ahead.  They definitely saw me.  White guy on a $5,000 motorcycle breaking the law?  Jackpot!  I ended up paying about $16 for illegally passing and after I handed over the money the cops made sure to stress that we couldn’t tell any other authorities about the transaction.  Fair enough. 

The police force may be corrupt, but they are effective.  I only passed on the dotted line the rest of the day.  Traffic laws seem to be a little stricter here in Nicaragua so I’ll have to stop driving like a Mexican.

Fotos IV

Since I'm here at a Honduran Wendy's with internet, here are some recent photos dating back to the final days at  Zephyr Lodge.

Here are some of the kids I played tag with in the river for forty-five minutes.  I nearly puked I was so exhausted.

My friends from Zephyr Lodge.  Three Aussies and an Israeli.

I don't know how this picture came to be but it is undeniably awesome.  The kitty was pretty good too.

Here I am trying to comfort a bag of bones.  He wasn't too excited.  He gets it every day.

The mud road leading into San Pedro.  Glad to be done with that.

My one good deed so far.  I was proud.

Somewhere in the Guatemalan mountains on our way out of San Pedro.  I really miss Guat.

Honduran cemetery.  Not much to explain here.

Here is a group of about 100 Hondurans watching and judging as three white girls danced at Carnival in Trujillo.  The street cleared when they stopped dancing.

Meet Chimmy.  He is a little monster.

The baby toucans hanging out at Tranquility Bay.

Chimmy cooing in my ear.  He likes to hang out on your shoulders with his tail wrapped around your neck.  Very cool.

That's it!

Trujillo Love

On my first taste of solo riding I was blessed with the acquaintance of many wonderful people.  Although there was a large international welcoming crew, Canada stood out above the rest.  Larry and Linda are the owners of Tranquility Bay and they went out of their way to accommodate a weary northwesterner.  The employee dorm at T-Bay was a great room by my standards and it led to me meeting a whole group of fun people here in Trujillo. 

Their son Danny was first to take me out to a local bar called Banana Beach where I met a whole slew of people.  Rand, the owner, is a tough looking guy with a smart business plan.  He has been constructing Banana Beach for ten years now and only opened two years ago.  I picked his brain and he’s thought hard about his moves.  Rand owned a bar in Texas most his life and it shows in his thought process down here in Trujillo.  He has the bar, some rooms for rent, and a beautiful beach.  The pool is currently under construction.  A couple three-story condo buildings are not far off.  All night Rand sat at his bar with a cigar between his teeth and a grin on his face, his eyes peering in thought.

Jenna, Rand’s daughter, works the bar since graduating from University of Texas.  She’s got a lot of travel experience and obviously knows how to have a good time; growing up under Rand, I can imagine that was inevitable.  There is also Jeargen, the German manager/head chef.  Jeargen always looks like he’s too hot down here, but he’s obviously having the time of his life.  He’s great for a deep conversation while hanging out at the bar.  Together, Rand, Jenna, and Jeargen run a very fun ship.

That night I also met Mark and Martin, a Canadian couple from the interior.  The two are all smiles all the time and they definitely light up the room with laughter.  Hanging out with Martin was Sofia, a Brit who lives here in an awesome apartment just up the hill from downtown Trujillo.  We started the party at her place in the afternoon on Saturday.

There was also Jesse and Charlie.  Jesse is another Canadian about my age whom I met randomly when I drove past him and saw his skin color.  I pulled over and we talked for about fifteen minutes before parting ways.  Turns out, we all knew the same people and we’ve been hanging out a lot since then.  Charlie is his buddy.  Charlie is from Chicago born to an Italian dad and Honduran mom.  He fits in pretty well around here. 

Henry was an old-timer that I kept running into throughout the weekend.  He’s a former trucker so instantly we had something to talk about.  He was born in Honduras, raised half his life in a Mennonite village in Belize, and then the other half in Canada.  As it turns out, he’s ridden a Harley down here to Trujillo twice not to mention his countless drives down in a variety of other vehicles.  If I turn out half as cool as Henry, I’ll be ok.

Karli and Santi were an incredible couple.  Karli is from Canada and Santi from Argentina.  They met in Sweden and lived happily ever after.  We first met at Tranquility Bay over dinner but got to know each other much better Saturday night once the music got going.  Santi will be a great host of information when I get to Argentina. 

Brian and Margi are a Canadian couple from Surrey, B.C. just an hour from Bellingham, WA.  I got to know Brian after he bought the whole bar a round of Jager at Banana Beach; he’s a tug boat driver, not many people can say that.  The two just bought property down here in Trujillo and have been hanging out at Banana Beach seeing what Honduras has to offer.  From what I saw, they will be enjoying themselves down here a lot.  Saturday night they were living it up with everyone else just like they were locals. 

Carlos and Dennis are brothers who work here at Tranquility Bay.  Carlos is the resort manager and he has an answer for every question.  He helped me a lot in getting the windsurfers ready to use.  He’s also just a really cool Honduran who enjoys what he does.  Dennis is the groundskeeper here and the local windsurfing prodigy.  He’s working on his jibes as well.  At 21 years old, he’s got a head start on me; I wish we had a better chance to go out and put each other to the test.  Even so, I had a good time shooting the shit with him waiting for wind.

Danny has a pretty good life down here working with his parents at Tranquility Bay.  He gets to kite in the afternoons and manages day-to-day business when he’s not on the water.  He’s also an avid pilot and flies the family plane around the Caribbean picking up guests and supplies wherever he goes.  He and his American girlfriend Sam are lost in paradise and I can’t blame them.  They’re not missing anything down here.  First thing I asked Danny when I met him if he was in Vancouver when Canada won hockey gold; he was and so was I.  We’ve already partied together.  We’ll have to meet up again in the northwest down the road. 

Larry is a former AirCan pilot hence the family plane and Danny’s piloting skills.  He’s another example of a smart guy from up north coming down to Central America and building whatever life he wants.  His wife Linda is a former nurse.  She keeps the business running around here and spends a lot of time working with animals and running the kitchen.  Together Larry and Linda make a great set of hosts and they are always easy to reach and wanting to talk.  It wouldn’t be Tranquility Bay without them. 

Over the past four days these people have been my extended family as I coped with a lack of wind and the first sense of solidarity in almost three months.  They kept the adventure moving and the days have flown by.  Tomorrow I will head back into La Ceiba in the afternoon so I can be ready to head south with Al when he arrives on Tuesday morning.  Before heading out, though, Brian and Margi have offered to take me snorkeling with a big group of mostly these people.  I normally don’t take handouts, but the fun factor involving all these guys has me gratefully accepting this one.  Just like every spot I come to love, Trujillo will be hard to leave.  But I’ve got 20,000 more kilometers to cover in six months… can’t stop now.