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