Why Not?

When I was in Iraq I spent hours staring at a large world map I had hung on my wall. I put thumbtacks in all the countries I had visited. The United States, Mexico, Belize, Guatemala, Honduras, El Salvador, Nicaragua, Costa Rica, Canada, United Arab Emirates, Iraq, Cambodia, Thailand, Laos, France, Italy, Switzerland, Monaco, and Germany. Now counting Panama I have set foot in 21 different countries, but it will never be enough.

Staring at that oversized map I would trace my finger down through Central and South America. Dreaming about conquering it all on a BMW R1200GS. It was the dream that kept me going during my time there. I don’t know how long it will take or how many miles I will travel, but longer and farther is better.

Whether I go North or South I will be going alone. Mitch is flying home from Costa Rica for school. So if I must go alone why not go south? If I am already in Panama why not go to Columbia? If I have already ridden across the northern hemisphere, why not do the southern?


--Ryan

Halfway

It has been 8 countries, 56 days, and 7000 miles since we left Utah. Don’t think 7000 miles is far? Try driving from Seattle to New York to Miami to San Francisco. You still wouldn’t be at 7000 miles, but by then you would get my point. Through blasting heat in Mexico, and pounding rain in Costa Rica half-throttle has made it halfway!

During our journey the only real danger we have experienced has been the traffic. We haven’t been robbed or chased by bandits. Crossing borders was tough, but I don’t think we paid anything that wasn’t due. We haven’t been pulled over by crooked police and intimidated for bribe money. In fact the only place we have had police problems was in Utah.

So where is the party? What did we do to celebrate crossing the Panama Canal, and getting to Panama City? We checked into a hotel and slept for 12 hours, woke up and took a siesta. Then we went to see Transformers and watched some giant robots tear up a city.

Reaching halfway in the trip has brought me no relief, or sense of fulfillment. Panama is the only country on this trip I haven’t seen before, the only new frontier. Thinking about turning north and heading home makes me feel empty. To the south is the Darien Gap and a continent I have never seen. After driving this far, I feel adventure pulling me south, south across Darien.

--Ryan

Clutch

When a simple motorcycle part like a clutch cable goes missing or breaks the fix is relatively easy. Or is it? Saturday July 14, 2007 after driving over 150 miles in soul pounding rain we arrived in San Jose, Costa Rica just after 4:00 pm. Soaking wet we are doing our best to navigate through heavy traffic while looking for a hotel. After stopping at several possible locations we realize finding a hotel with parking this far in the city is near impossible. So we decide to head towards the edge of town. I jump on my motorcycle, turn the key, hit the starter, and down shift only to have my motorcycle leap forward and cut out.

The tension on my clutch lever is gone, Ryan looks at me, and in a sarcastic tone asks, “You ok?” wondering if I had forgotten how to drive. I respond, “My clutch cable just broke.” We are both upset yet neither one of us is surprised, I am far over due for some bad luck. Spotting a parking lot behind us we decide to push my bike into oncoming traffic on a one-way street, and against the odds we make it with no problems. After we get the motorcycle situated to be worked on, the parking lot attendant comes over to see what the problem is. He informs us all the shops close at 3:00 pm on Saturdays and nothing will be open until Monday.

I felt like giving up, parking the bike, and paying over $100 to leave it there for the weekend. Then it hits me, I need a bicycle or at least a bicycle store. I am in luck there is one less than a block away. I pull the broken cable and head up the road to buy a temporary replacement. The shop owner has what I need, or at least what will work for now. The bicycle cable is slightly thinner than the original, but hopefully it will do the job. Back at the parking lot I open up my tool kit and get to work, 45 minutes later I have the worst looking fixit job ever, and a working clutch. When we are ready to leave the attendant refuses any money, and wishes us a safe trip.

Once we find the hotel, it takes us 5 minutes to completely destroy the room. Motorcycle luggage covers the floor, and wet clothes hang from the walls dripping puddles onto the tile. We dump the water out of our boots and wring out our socks, trying to get ready for our next day of riding.

--Mitch

The Pan -American Highway

The Pan-American Highway runs from Alaska to Argentina, with a small break between Panama and Columbia known as the Darien Gap. The Pan-American is the main road when passing through a small country like Costa Rica. It is incredible to me that the largest road in this country would be classified as a “Scenic Byway” back home. Rather than being a road set aside for family drives on Sunday, the Pan-Am must support an entire countries infrastructure. From motorcycles, to 18-wheelers and buses everybody going through Costa Rica must use this road.

It has been raining hard for the last few days, soaking our clothes and boots. The humidity is too high for anything to dry overnight, and because it was likely to rain again today we didn’t even bother to put dry clothes on. I even used the same wet socks as the day before.

Today we took the Pan-Am into the clouds south of San Jose. The altitude meter on my Zumo GPS cuts out above 10,000 feet, but I would guess we rode over 13,000ft. It was a moment you’ll never see on a postcard. Rain all day, slick roads, and a temperature of 55° F. Riding through the rain we got so cold we had put just about every bit of clothing on we had brought, just like back on Highway 12 in Utah.

Above 8000ft we were riding in the cloud that was raining on us, making it difficult to see. The twisty narrow road made passing a suicide mission, so stuck behind a slow moving truck driving 20mph can last forever, and there are no passing lanes.

I came around one corner to see white car trying to pass a bus. The driver panicked when he saw me, and locked his brakes trying to get back into his own lane behind the bus. The car slid sideways and shot off the road, it was nearly swallowed whole by the dense jungle. Mitch and I pulled quickly to the small shoulder and ran back to the car, hoping everyone was okay. The only person in the car was the driver and he was fine, I gave him a ride down the street to a place where he could call for a tow truck.

Had he been a little faster he may not have been able to get back behind the bus, I like to think I would have had time to react but it’s likely we would have met head on. After our close call we decided it would be best to use a 18-wheeler for cover. So we had to ride at 20mph for nearly the whole day.

--Ryan

Border Crossing

Crossing borders can be difficult. Crossing them with a vehicle you can be strangled to death by red tape. On average you will have to visit 5 different buildings per crossing. Shell out money at each place, fill out forms, get stamps and stickers wait in long lines out in the heat. Through the whole experience you will wonder how you could have arrived on everybody’s first day, since nobody will know for sure what you need done.

When we crossed from Guatemala to Honduras we came to large new looking facility. It was a welcome sight, maybe this would be over quickly. We filled out some papers and our passports were stamped in minutes. Next came the permit for driving in Honduras. Apparently the office was down the road and we would have to be escorted there. So a guy who spoke about 3 words of English gets on the back of my bike to show us where to go. We end up driving an hour to Cortez, Honduras where they issue permits. But when we get there the office is closed for the day.

Our helpful friend wants to keep our passports and original titles for our bikes, to make sure we don’t skip town without the permit. After talking him out of that idea we stayed in a hotel for the night, and were back at the office bight and early. 6 painful hours later we were back on the road. Time stuck waiting for a permit: 30 hours.

Yesterday we left Nicaragua for ecotourism friendly Costa Rica, if any country down here would have the system streamlined it would be Costa Rica. But in the fifth building we came to the computers were broken, and some of the truckers trying to get through had been there for 6 hours. With the computers down there was no way for them to do it manually.

Mitch and I tried just going for it, but got stopped at a checkpoint and escorted back. After a few hours the computers came back online and people started to move very slowly. The girl typing in the information must have been going at about 6 or 7 words per minute. We were stuck there for 8 hours, didn’t get out until after dark, and it had started to rain. We had to do 15 miles in the rain and dark to make it to the next town.

Hassles like this make miss the chicken bus.

--Ryan

Granada

Granada is the major tourist destination in Nicaragua. Mitch and I would visit Granada every chance we got during our 4 month “New Horizons” tour with the National Guard. The Spanish Colonial city has cobble stone streets, and beautiful architecture. It sits on Lake Nicaragua, which was formed after a volcanic eruption closed it off from the ocean. Making it home to some interesting fish, like the freshwater shark. The eruption also left 100’s of little islands in the lake some have been developed with small guesthouses for rent. A few years ago we went on a great kayaking trip through the islands and saw some cool hotels and one island home to a bunch of monkey’s.

This visit was a bit of a let down. It has rained pretty hard both days we have been here, keeping us hiding in the hotel. Which isn’t all bad, we always seem to be tired after riding the motorcycles so much. A couple days of rest gives us time to update the website. Finding time to ride, film, edit, blog, keep the voting page updated, and upload from (sometimes painfully slow) Internet cafés can really wear us out.

Nicaragua also seems to be going through a power crisis. Both Managua and Granada have had daily power outages while we have been here. In Granada it has been happening at night. Even in a welcoming city like Granada it can be eerie walking around at night with no streetlights.

--Ryan

Lawyers, Guns, and Money

I have Garmin Zumo GPS to guide us on the trip. Down here it’s more like a $700 compass, but it can be loaded with music and used like an iPod while riding. I haven’t tucked my headphones inside my helmet since we crossed the Mexican border. At first I was nervous about driving in Central America and wanted to be able to hear everything around me. But after I became comfortable on the road, I didn’t put them back in.

Honestly I like singing to myself. For one whole day while riding in Honduras I sang Warren Zevon’s “Lawyers, Guns, and Money”. It’s been worth driving to Honduras just to be able to sing that song. On the bad dirt road between Gracias and Tegucigalpa, with the jungle all around I shout the lyrics to put extra emphasis on “And I’m hiding in Honduras, I’m a desperate man. Send lawyers, guns, and money the _____ has hit the fan.”

After singing it so many times my voice becomes harsh. I sound like a lifelong smoker, like Dirty Harry singing Karaoke. When my voice changes from smooth to harsh, and before it starts to hurt from singing too much I sound like a rock star, snarling at the jungle.

I am creating my own world inside my helmet (It’s a muggy humid world where people sweat a lot). It is where I am a Jedi Knight flying a landspeeder through bad traffic, where I am a rock star singing to an adoring crowd. Where become a fighter pilot leaning hard into a corner to feel the G-forces pulling on me, and compressing the suspension of my bike.

--Ryan

How I learned to stop worrying and love the Bike

Guest Bloggers: Andrea and Julia

Guest Bloggers, you ask? Yes. Guest Bloggers that are forever indebted to their knights in shining armor. Well, knights in shinning motorcycles, at least. Julia and I met Ryan and Mitch at the aguas termales, thermal hot springs, just southwest of the town of Gracias in Western Honduras. Julia and I hail from New York City and came to Honduras searching for adventure and to get as far from the beaten path as possible. Turns out we got more than we bargained for.

Prior to our encounter with Ryan and Mitch, we spent a few days in and around Copan, gawking at the Mayan ruins and learning the more colorful bits of Mayan culture and history that were omitted from our public education. The Mayans were an awfully productive community considering the civilization was ‘shrooming for over 1,000 years.

Three bus rides and 5 hours later, Julia and I to eventually made our way from Copan to Gracias. We spent over 5 hours in the back of decrepit school buses that have not passed safety tests for at least 35 years, practically sitting on the laps of some unlucky fellows. Since I caught a mild bug and ran a fever the previous night, we decided to take it easy and spend our evening at the aguas termales just out of town. We inquired around town and all the locals agreed that the hot springs were lovely and easily accessible. We hailed a tuk-tuk (yes, that's what they are called in Thailand, not Honduras. However, I have not heard anyone call these little golf carts anything of interest, therefore I will continue to call them tuk-tuks) and ventured out on a daunting dirt road leading to the hot springs. A road that would be totally sweet to take my mountain bike on, but was a bit of a killjoy in our un-shock absorbent tuk-tuk. The ride took forever, but we made it to our destination.

Shortly after submerging into the warm embrace of the hot springs, Mitch and Ryan came over and introduced themselves. Lovely conversation and several hours later, Ryan was kind enough to offer us a ride back to town. Immediately I felt my stomach turn. And then drop. I had only worn a bathing suit, skirt, t-shirt, and Chacos- hardly protective gear. Plus, that road was scary enough via tuk-tuk during daylight. Besides, riding off in the dark with a man I’ve only just met in a foreign country sounds like the plot to some B-Horror movie. Or maybe just an urban legend. Either way, I hardly knew these men. How could I put my life or Julia’s in their hands?

Looking around, I realized we didn't have many options for getting back to town as the other bathers seemed to have left and tuk-tuks were not as readily available as we were led to believe. It took a heck of a lotta convincing, but I realized it was the best option. Ok, our only option. I swear I could hear my dad telling me I’d be an idiot to get on that Donor-cycle. I guess my dad raised an absolute idiot. I wondered if being a registered organ donor in New York carries over international boundaries?

I didn't realize Ryan drove a Beamer. Ladies and Gents, it’s quite a sexy bike. More importantly, it looked like it could handle the ruts, rocks, and divots in the road. I didn't pay much attention to Mitch or Julia because I am selfish and extremely self-centered. Julia could fend for herself, right? Hmm, ok, so I was terrified and hadn’t felt this way since probably the last stupid thing I did. But Ryan assured me that Mitch would be very cautious with Julia in tow. Geez, what a relief!

Ryan, always the gentleman, gave me his helmet to wear. Lacking more excuses, I hopped on the back of his bike, wrapped my arms around him, and then proceeded to break at least 4 of his ribs. I kid, I joke. I only broke two. Ryan is a steady driver who finds his line and doesn’t panic. I admit, after a few minutes, I loosed my vice-like grip and just enjoyed the ride. A pretty sweet ride. Please note: Ryan is an absolute saint to have put up with some loony chick from New York freaking out on him and yelling obscenities in his ear. The man has patience, I tell ya. As for Mitch, this wasn’t Julia’s first rodeo. She didn’t make a fuss like me.

But Wait! There's more! Yes folks, the drama continues. After parking their bikes into their fancy hotel parking lot, the fellows insisted on walking us home. Of course I got us lost and we took a very long walk around a very small town to end up at the supremely budget hostel that Julia and I had decided to stay at. A hostel that both the management and the guide books failed to mention locked its front door at 9 PM. Promptly. As it was past 11 PM, once again Mitch and Ryan came to our rescue and told us we could crash at their hotel room .

Unfortunately for the boys, Julia got violently ill and spent the entire night in the bathroom vomiting and with diarrhea explosiva. With thin walls, I don’t think anyone slept through this ordeal. Also, Julia’s illness coincided with a broken water pump in town, so the hotel did not have any water or plumbing for the night. The bathroom was a disaster. Julia was dehydrated. I ran around the courtyard and hotel, scavenging whatever supplies I could gather: empty flower pots (Ok, I emptied them), a bucket of water in a tool shed (Yes, I broke in. But it was an emergency), and other items that might be able to alleviate poor Julia’s discomfort. Mitch and Ryan were so kind and understanding throughout the entire ordeal .

Readers, I am not sure how many people would have been as kind and generous to us as the protagonists of this epic tale. It’s not that I don’t have faith in people. But people have limits. Just like Paul Bunyan and Johnny Appleseed before them, Ryan and Mitch are true legends. At least in our book.


As a side note, the next day I ventured out on rougher terrain with the boys, got hooked on the adrenalin rush, and gradually felt comfortable enough to hold a camera with one hand while the other only lightly grasped Ryan’s shoulder. But that’s just my version.

In The Groove

I know riding a motorcycle is dangerous. But it doesn’t feel that way when I ride. On small 2 lane roads across Central America lane sharing is a way of life. As the road twists through mountain passes, lumbering Mexican beasts of burden billow black toxic smoke. Your choice is to breath the smoke and let it fill your eyes, or go for it.

Weaving in and out of traffic I become hypnotized. The danger doesn’t register, I am leaning hard into a corner passing a chicken bus. When I can see around the bus there is a truck coming my way. I don’t flinch, I don’t brake, I put the front tire of the BMW right on the centerline. I’m not crossing my fingers, I feel no adrenaline. I don’t hope the vehicles next to me wont swerve. Somehow I know they wont change the path they are on. I feel completely in control of things completely out of my control.

Once while passing a bus I lifted my right hand off the throttle. With the throttle lock in place the bike continued to accelerate. At 60 mph while passing I reach out not thinking, just riding. I caught myself at the last second, realizing that dragging my hand along the bus was a really bad idea.

It is hard to describe the feeling I had. I was totally aware, yet unaware. In control, but out of control. Musicians playing together get in the “groove”. Soldiers in combat can speak without words. Motorcycle riders can control the space around them. Until they get hit. Then they lay on the ground, bleeding, and looking at their mangled bike, with a expression on their face like there has been some kind of mistake.

--Ryan

Look Ma. No Brakes!

Entering Guatemala was surprisingly easy thanks to a 7 year old boy. After getting our motorcycles sprayed at pest control and having our passports stamped, we were directed by immigration to the customs building for our driving permits. It is at this time a helpful young Guatemalan speaking very little English informed us that we needed copies of our passport, title, and drivers’ license. I was hesitant at first because our place in line was well established and no actual official had indicated that we needed such copies; but Ryan to see if this boy’s claims were true followed our new friend out of the customs building and into the crowded street disappearing from site. Ryan returned moments later when I was approaching the front of the line, its at this point that I noticed a small piece of paper no larger than a post card listing the required documents, the boy was right. Switching places with Ryan now I am being led out of the nicely cooled building and into the hot street to receive my necessary copies; thanks to the lack of information by yet another government agency, if it were not for this young boy looking out for ill informed tourists we could have been stuck at the border for an extra hour or more.

After tipping our new found friend we hopped on our motorcycles and were off to Tikal. The first 23 miles of road into Guatemala from Belize is rough dirt and gravel containing ruts, large potholes, and rocks the size of coconuts, no wait that was a coconut. After dodging the seemingly endless barrage of hazards this country calls a road we reached pavement but I soon came to the alarming realization that this paved section of road is much much worse. There are long evenly spaced gouges in the road; it looks as if a drunken grader operator was sporadically dropping the front teeth just for fun. The potholes are replaced with pot-lakes Ryan is in the lead and at one point he all but disappears when he is unable to steer clear of one. “Thank goodness for the Body Glove snorkel or he may have drowned.”

We reach the turn off to Tikal and pull over to check my rear brake; after installing the new sprocket and chain earlier that day there was some noticeable rubbing from one of the brake pads. It has apparently gotten worse because the caliper is now too hot even touch I purchase three waters from the nearest store one for Ryan, one for me, and one for the brakes. Upon removing the caliper and separating the badly worn brake pads we reinstall the caliper and were off. Only Twenty more miles to Tikal I make it a point to not use the rear brakes but when we reach the parking lot the brake is fully compressed and now there is no brake pad left. We decide to wait until our tour of Tikal is over before trying to fix the bike giving it time to cool.

Removing the brake was easy deciding what to do was a bit more difficult. Every person we asked said the nearest mechanic was in Flores located 40 miles away. With some debate and 6 zip ties the rear caliper is now securely attached to my swing arm. I never saw the need for a rear brake in the first place they are highly over rated. We reach Flores and find a hotel but it’s to late in the evening to find a mechanic, maybe tomorrow.

--Mitch