God Bless the Mennonites

It felt good to hit the 5000 mile point. We thought we would be on our way back from Panama after so many miles, but it turns out we were just entering Belize. Thankfully the countries get smaller from here.

Not far into Belize Mitch noticed that his rear sprocket had turned itself into a table saw blade. The chain had worn deep into the teeth of the sprocket making each tooth look like a hook, if not replaced soon they would begin to break and the chain would start to slip.

Luckily we were in Belmopan the capital city of Belize. The capital of an entire country, finding a mechanic or spare parts should be no problem right? Wrong big time, Belmopan is lucky to have a gas station. We couldn’t even find a bank that would exchange our Mexican Pesos for Belizean Dollars. The Mexican Embassy even turned our Pesos away!

We caught a break when the only bike mechanic in town rode passed us. He didn’t have any parts would could use, but he did point us in the direction of a Mennonite Colony, “If it’s in Belize the Mennonites will have it.” He said.

After bouncing down the dirt road to the colony we found the shop easy enough, and sent the owner rummaging through his storage room for a new chain and sprocket. After a few minutes he came back with a dust covered plastic bag. Inside was a glossy black 43 tooth sprocket, on the side was stamped KLR650. Cheap Mexican chains and sprockets intended to run a 150cc scooter have plagued our trip. And here in the middle of nowhere was an honest to goodness Kawasaki KLR650 rear sprocket. If they didn’t have one our next option was to buy a bus ticket back to Cancun, the nearest Kawasaki dealership is there. So this was a major break.

I guess what I am trying to say here is; buy a motorcycle with a shaft drive. And thank God for Mennonites.

--Ryan

They call him Pinball

Mitch “Pinball” Curwen has made it through Mexico.

It took 4992 miles, and 2 motorcycles. He is on his 6th chain, and 3rd sprocket. He has dropped his motorcycle 5 times, been in 1 accident, 1 ambulance ride, had 4 stitches, and 1 high-speed dismount on a muddy road. He has been pulled over by Mexican Police and watched them siphoned his gas tank. Broken a turn signal and lost a pair of nail clippers. He had a Guardian Bell, a gift from a friend to ward off problems when placed on a motorcycle. But he has crashed so many times it fell off.

He made his way through Mexico with the strategy of a pinball. One large unshaven steel ball bearing bouncing off of, around, and over anything in his way. How many times can it be the end of the road for one person? His first motorcycle gets a blown engine? He gets a new motorcycle. Hit a car going 30mph and land in the hospital? He gets his stitches and rides the bike to the next town that very night. He breaks a chain in the middle of nowhere? He waits on the side of the road for me to bring him a new one.

There is no motorcycle endorsement on his driver’s license, he hasn’t taken any riders safety courses, and he has more balls than brains. But he does have a ½ shell helmet, combat boots, a leather jacket, and a black handkerchief. Nobody could have blamed Mitch if he had gone home after the Heritage broke, or after his accident in Sonora. But someday when Mitch is an old man, and his grandkid climbs on his knee to ask what he ever did that was so great. He won’t have to say “Well… I was going to ride a motorcycle from Utah to where the road ends.”

--Ryan

Mahahual

I didn’t realize it until we got here, but I have been to Mahahual once before. I came with my family on a cruise ship a few years ago. I didn’t recognize the name because most Gringos simply call it Costa Maya.

The main road through town is made from sand, and the water is bright blue and green. With no cruise ship at the nearby port Mahahual is quiet and relaxing. I was walking down the deserted sandy street and saw a man trying to free his kite from a palm tree. I looked up to see where the kite was and saw this cloud passing by. The sun was streaming around the dark cloud making a giant halo. I stood in awe, watching it float by. I could look at the sky for the rest of my life and never see a cloud that perfect. A feeling of nirvana and peace came over me, I heard the cloud gently say, “Never leave this place.”

On our 2nd day a ship pulled up and the town transformed completely. Every inch of the sandy road is now covered with souvenir stores run by aggressive shopkeepers chasing tourists as they walk by. Bar owners beckoning for the cruisers to come in. During lunch today I made sure to mention we weren’t with the cruise boat that was at the port, and we wanted the real prices. I was surprised when he took the menu back and brought us a different one; everything on the new menu cost about $1 less.

Mahahual is a great town, but it would be better without the cruise ships turning it from sleepy to touristy.

--Ryan

Cenote

Cenotes

Swimming in the Cenote was awesome. After riding for an hour the water cooled us perfectly. To get from the road to the cave other tourists were hiring horse drawn rail cars. The small cars could hold 5 or 6 people at the most. We could see where everybody was headed, and after riding our motorcycles an hour we wanted to go all the way. The people running the rails told us it was impossible, they said our motorcycles would not be able to make it down the bumpy road.

So off we went down the rail. Riding down the track was intense and a few times we had to swerve onto the shoulder to let a horse and carriage by, but we did what the locals thought impossible. After parking right next to the opening of the cave we changed clothes and walked down the stairs at the entrance.

Mitch and I brought our snorkels and masks so we could do some exploring underwater. We would take turns hovering at the surface and watching the other dive. We couldn’t believe how deep we were getting. Going down it didn’t seem that far, but when I watched Mitch swim down to where I just was it looked incredibly deep. We guessed we were diving to about 30 feet.

If there had been food vendors at the Cenote I don’t think we would have ever left. Leaving the cool water to put on a riding jacket and helmet in the humid Yucatan was hard. The trick is to always be last. I talk like I’m in a hurry, “Hey Mitch, hurry up man I want to get on the road.” Then I drag my feet while he puts his dark leather jacket and helmet on. There is no prize for putting everything on first. The only time wearing protective gear is bearable is when you’re riding, if there is no wind in my helmet I may drown in my own sweat. When I get ready last I can jump on the bike and go, while Mitch is overheating waiting for me.

--Ryan

Hostel

Hostel

We stayed in a hostel for the first time on the trip. It reminded me how much I hate them. Mitch and I got a room with a bunk bed. I always get the bunk on top, a habit since Basic Training. When you are on the bottom people are always sitting on your bunk, or standing on it to grab something off theirs. I have enough reasons to kill Mitch, last thing I need is for him to start screwing around with my bed.

The hostel did have an air conditioner, but they didn’t turn it on. There was a ceiling fan but it was blowing air on the partition they had built to divide the place into rooms. So I lay there listening to the fan in a pool of my own sweat. Smelling the hippies in the next room.

I have been chased out of hostels by the smell alone. I want to shout “Hey! This place does have showers. They even give you the soap.” But it’s no use; hostels are full of hippies. I always see them lying in their beds, all day long. Why did they come all this way to just lay there? Go check out Mexico!

I don’t mind helping people in need. So now I will go put a clothespin on my nose, borrow a giant wooden pizza spatula, and turn sleeping hippies over. I would hate for any of them to get a bed sore.

--Ryan

Regret?

Being alone inside my helmet listening to the wind rushing by, my mind starts to wander. I really can’t control it, so when it asked me if I would ever regret taking this trip I laughed out loud. If comedy is all about timing, my mind is perfect at it.

This really was the most ridiculous question anybody could ask. I analyze it from every angle. If I make a fortune in the stock market, or go bankrupt and live on the street. If I get married have lots of fat babies and live a long life, if I get cancer and die young. Could I ever look back and think this was all a huge mistake? Can a person ever regret travel?

Of all the places I could be, none could make me happier than the inside of a sweaty helmet on the bumpy Mexican road to Veracruz.

--Ryan

True Grit

Our trip so far has had some ups and downs. Getting past the Mexican Drivers permit in Sonora was a nightmare. Worrying about Mitch being able to continue the adventure after the breakdown in Arizona were some of the worst days ever. But we grit our teeth and drive on.

The first time I can remember having to grit my teeth was Basic Training. Dingo Boy was saluting with his left hand and couldn't figure out why Drill SGT Pipken was so furious. I was nearly in tears I was laughing so hard, but after a few weeks of training I had found that gritting your teeth was a pretty good cover for smiling. Watching Privates get “smoked” is the most entertaining example of modern day torture a person can hope to see. But if a Drill Sergeant can see that your enjoying it you will be the next participant.

"Hey Dingo Boy! One of these things is not like the other." Drill Sergeant Pipkin shouts standing 3 inches away from Dingo Boys face, foaming at the mouth and spitting as he speaks. "You had better fix yourself, before I throat chop you and skull drag you up and down the Parade field." The problem here is that Dingo Boy is standing directly across from me, like an image in the mirror. So when the order came to present arms, and all our arms snapped to our brow in a sharp salute Dingo Boy did look like the rest of us. Since he could only see what was straight in front of him he had snapped his left hand up to match my right. It wasn't his fault. Dingo Boy was from a backwoods town in Louisiana, and the most brainless thickheaded person I have ever met.

The Drill Sergeants barrage of insults continued. "I'll throw your butt so far out of the Army that when you land there won't be anything but brown rip-stop on your uniform!" I bite down hard to cover the smile that is brewing my face grimaced in pain. Maybe it's the sun in my eyes, maybe my muscles are sore from all the PT this morning, maybe it's a blister in my boot from yesterday's 10K road march, but as long as I keep gritting my teeth maybe Pipkin wont notice that it's really a smile. "Hey Dingo Boy do you wake up every morning and hit yourself in the head with a brick?"

I am trying to help and while keeping my salute in place I make eye contact with him and begin to move my elbow up and down, trying to hint that it's his right hand he needs in the air. Playing off my direction he begins move his elbow higher and lower, changes the angle of his hand, moves his fingers above his eyebrow and then down below. But still the fury of Drill SGT. Pipken rains down on him. "Dingo Boy I will kill you!" Finally noticed by the Drill SGT I begin to knock out an unspecified number of push ups, while keeping my body stiff I slowly move up and down parallel to the ground, my hands cold on the January asphalt of Fort Leonard Wood, while paying the price for laughter and watching sweat roll off my brow, still I grit my teeth.

Driving from Sayulita to Guadalajara we hit our first rainstorm. Drops of rain big as your fist pummeled us from the sky as we drove through mountain passes soaking us completely. We stopped for a moment to put the rain fly’s on our tank bag then kept going. During the heat of summer the heavy trucks create grooves in the soft asphalt. Now those grooves are pools of water so we must ride in the middle to stay on the high ground and avoid hydroplaning. Oncoming traffic is sending a constant tidal wave of water at us from the road. Forcing me to grip my handlebars tight as the waves crash against me. I shake my head after each swell breaks trying to clear water off the visor of my helmet, hoping to catch a glimpse of traffic before the next wave breaks.

During a lull in traffic I glance in my mirror to check on Mitch. The black bandanna with the skulls is off his face and around his neck. I can see his teeth. But can’t be sure if it is from pleasure, or pain.

--Ryan

East or West coast

Mitch Picks: West cost and El Salvador

Mexico’s west coast is by far the best choice over all. It is a more direct route leaving us ample time to explore other countries; or more time to get back home if something happens that delays our progress. There are many possible towns and sights to see along the way including Mayan ruins, beaches, and jungles. We will be traveling close to the coast the entire way giving us more chances to camp on the beach; this is also a great way to enter Guatemala and it leaves us in a perfect position to go to El Salvador a country that I truly enjoyed last time I was in Central America.


Ryan Picks: East cost and Yucatan

I think we should visit the east coast and Yucatan Peninsula on the way down. It is the only part of Mexico that I have not seen, and I am excited to go there. The beaches, the Mayan ruins, the 355 days of sunshine every year, what’s not to love? Going this way will mean that we would see Belize on the way down and save El Salvador for the trip home. Plus something tells me by the time we get to Panama we will be so tired of riding we will want to turn around and take a more direct route home.

How many miles to Panama?

Throw out some wild guesses for how many miles we will travel before hitting our final destination in Panama.

We are not even out of Sonora yet and already the odometer is reading 1700 miles!

Winner gets a sweet Half-throttle t-shirt! So get on google earth and start mapping out where we have been. Remember to add in a couple thousand "we're lost and driving in circles" miles.

Good Luck,
Ryan and Mitch

Name Mitch's new bike

Hey everybody I need help naming my new bike. It is a 2002 Kawasaki KLR650. Watch the video, and check out the pictures.

Post your ideas for a name as comments so everybody can see. I will pick a few that I like best and put it into a vote.

Thanks,
Mitch