We took the road south today. Imagine that. We hugged the pacific coast as best we could. But the road quickly deteriorated into a dirt ... I mean mud path. We were treated some raw unspoiled beauty. going where the paved roads go is crap, the more interesting scenes occur in places that most people never go. That said, We drove through a biosphere reserve where I took the opportunity to cross a mighty lake (read puddle). it submerged my bike halfway, woo! marvelous day. I ran up and down this dirt road two times as I kept zooming ahead and back again to check on my turtle-like companeros. What a tiring and satisfying day, surprised I made it, surprised my trunk made it over all the bumps and jumps. I was even rear ended by my buddies at the border, the mud road was not agreeing with their braking ability and we had a little pile up at the border gate. Kinda sad.

   

We came racing into panama this day. we started off in the isty morning of costa rica, winding through the coastal mountain range. As i made one of the corners i surprised a vulture that startled and took flight. I nailed him at 60kph right on my windsheild. The rest of the morning was smooth sailing, only a little hiccup at the border involving a municipal tax. How can cities affect international migration like this, its a crime. But it was just another adventure in grift. The city demanded a dollar for a stamp, that the national immigration guy was supposed to care about, but as we all know cities are less than nations, so the federal employee overlooked the missing stamps for a small fee, a fee that was equal to the price of the stamp, go figure. However, The road was in a bad way in the north, but the closer we came to panama city the wider, straighter and faster it became. We met a triumph tiger on the super slab. He raced with us for a bit I lagged out at 160kph as he drew my faster compadres farther and farther over the next rise. Before he got away he exited and flagged us over and spent the evening chatting with us about "stuff". The big boys and their big toys. I learned that there are only 98 big bikes in Panama, and there are 8,000 in Costa Rica, how bizarre. This was revealed to me as I was inquiring to a place to get a new tire, mine was looking a little worn by this point. We pulled into panama city and like swallows to Capistrano we found the holiday inn, which was surprisingly expensive. at least they called this tired motowarrior "sir".

There is only one thing that happened today. I made it to the end of the road! Woot!

It was hard going to get the the end, just outside panama my buddies decided they "couldn't" go on. But after I told them that this was what I had come for and that there was no way I was going to turn around 100 miles before my goal. Saying my goodbyes I drove south, and I was shortly joined by my comrades who decided to escort me a little farther. we arrived at customs ... in the middle of the country! it seems panama emigrates you long before you leave its borders, the land beyond is not panama. Nor is it Columbia. At the "border" only I was permitted into the lands beyond, they wouldn't let the Mexicans go due to some narco traffic rule. but I was free to go. We stopped here for some group photo's since it was to be our last time seeing each other. Feeling somewhat guilty the officials came out to kibbitz with us, even posing for some photographs with the other locals. It was during one of these photos that a local girl who was sitting on top of my bike sent it off balance. WE saw the bike start to lean over, ever so slowly. all the guys on hand rushed to her aide, and they manage to pull her off just as my bike fell onto what was left of the pan american highway. It was here that i lost my music player. I wouldnt notice for a few more days, but the hard drive got dented in the fall. Ther eis nothing quite as special as moto-touring by bike, except moto touring by bike with an awesome sound track custom picked for the road. Of course getting that sound into your head if very difficult too. I was using eymotics, that did such a great job at eliminating road noise that i used them after i had no more sound, just as regular ear plugs. My aside aside, I said my good byes once again, and took off down the road. It was not long before the road gave out and turned into a dirt road. pretty soon that turned into a small sea of impact molded mud and rock wave forms and other tumultuous configurations of earth and water. and there I was in the Darien. The forest's living walls loomed around me on all sides. This was it, where the road ended. It was here I realized that the road doesn't end, just as the bulldozer kept knocking out more jungle, adventures never end. Because here I was at the end of the road, 10,000 km from home. How could I be finished? So I swing my trusty stallion around and roar off to the north, maybe ill catch my amigos before they make it back to panama city. :P

The sun rose over the Holiday inn, and the four banditos lay soundly asleep inside. No one had gone anywhere. The debate yesterday had been over "wasting" a day to get to the end of the road, when it could be better spent touring the canal, like good little tourists. Seems today they intended to tour the canal. Alrighty. I suspected we would be getting along after the canal tour, and to that end we made our bikes presentable once again, You see a small trek through the jungle made my bike too filthy to sit out front this nice hotel, or so I was told. We went to wash our bikes and clothes at two very different locations I assure you. I was slow to roll and found myself quite lost in the heart of Panama City. I must say it took me an hour of enjoying the sights and sounds to realize I probably had three very angry/time sensitive Mexicanos waiting for me at the wash house, a place that I had failed to find. All wrongs righted we were on our way to see the canal and all its trappings. After a getting chased out of the massive cruise liner terminal for trespassing (it was quite closed when we arrived that sunday). we stopped at the Mira Flores Locks. Where we spent our time gazing at the modern marvels of our times, low cut hip hugging jeans, resting on four well formed dutch thighs. I spent the time out on the patio discussing life with my fair skinned friends. I think some boats went through some doors or something about an elevator? Anyway. We concluded our tour by racing coast to coast in 30 minutes. Hurray, ceremonial boot dipping at each end. the sun was setting, as we found ourselves at the Bridge of the Americas discussing local traffic regulations regarding stopping in the middle of the bridge for photos. How this came to be? Sigh. Not wanting to die there I took my photographic exploits to the more scenic and peaceful park at the base, you know I might have even mentioned something about three crazy Mexicans holding up traffic on the bridge to the local authorities. it was for their own good. Someone needed to teach these guys some rules of the road. That night the boys made nice with a fellow who had some friends he wanted to share with us. Despite constant pressure I declined, I had made my own friends today. I rung the two girls from Amsterdam and went to pick them up on my bike. I ferried them from their hostel to the "Grand Hotel Holiday Inn" where we acted as the king and queens of the hotel all night long. We three kids managed to offset the stuffy business atmosphere quite well. After making fools of ourselves in front of almost every guest inside the hotel and absolutely every employee we were asked to retire to the room.

Today we rose sickeningly early. today was the day I most dreaded, the day my vacation ends, and I begin my return to civilization. Even though I was the so far from home every mile north brought me that much closer to the square angles of the united states, which seemed to remote amidst the sweeping curves of Central America. we drove north with a vengeance, a vengeance that was recognized by five different police stops. I was fully indoctrinated in bribery today. My Mexicans had a denomination set up for every type of situation. Passing on a double yellow? five bucks. Speeding, 10 bucks. looking affluent, 20 bucks. Today I had the opportunity to watch five different bribes to five different officials at five different times. First hand. Believe me, I was taking notes. And it was a good thing, I was about to have a pop quiz. At a border control check point a few hundred klicks from the border we were stopped and I was found short a form or two. We couldn't understand where it went, until we realized that when I left for the jungles of Columbia they had taken my documents there. And never returned them as I forgot to stop upon "re-entering". Here is where the fun began. this man inflated the situation beyond comprehension. He acted as if I were going to rot away in Panamanian Jail for all eternity. He kept trying to make this a dire circumstance, obviously trying to rattle my cage. My stance on this whole ordeal was "OK, yea, something is wrong, what can we do to fix it". It really doesn't matter to what extent I am screwed, I am screwed, the quicker we get to the resolution the better, all your melodramatics are not getting me farther north. I was escorted to a local customs office where I waited for some time before someone qualified could look into my case(the boss). When he got back we talked and he called the main office and had them fax over a copy of my entry documents, (it seems the "main office" remembered me) then he signed them "official like" and sent me on my way. When I emerged from my detention my comrades asked how much it had cost me to straighten out, I replied only a smile and a handshake. Which was the truth. it seems the border had already been notified of my little "situation" and when I arrived I learned that the "main office" was the boss man at the border. And it was he alone who was responsible for the speedy solution to my "grave" troubles. It was here I was advised a retro-active bribe would be in order; I readied my monies, waited for the exact moment, and then I struck! Like a cobra from the bush, my hand leap out from the hiding spot, that concealed my cash. With surgical precision I deposited my compliments(about 5 bucks) just as a cobra delivers its venomous payload, my bribe infected the grinning boss man. Across the border! Costa rica welcomes you. A customs agent in Costa Rica eschewed my high five attempt at first giving me a dowdy look of impropriety. Only later when the buss of tourists had passed did he return my high five, stating that he had to look imposing to the others. Cute. Central Costa Rica was brilliantly lovely. the large road (not the dirt one we took south) wound its ways through a canyon, mist hung overhead in the most beautiful fashion. Soon night came. And the brilliant greens faded into dark greys and faint glowing reds. My mood sank with the sun, How could we pass all this wonderful scenery at night? we were robbing ourselves of these natural gifts. I was in tears over the scenery we lsot that night. We stayed a few hundred kilometers down the road at a much too upscale establishment for my tastes, in point of fact I even protested, but I yielded my distention when the kind gentlemen paid for my room. Nighty night.

It seems my cohorts spent the night gambling the hotels casino. Whee! I woke to their cheers, as they shattered the stillness of my dawn. the serenity of bedtime is so great when you spend your entire day going 100kph. I met my auditory assailants at the breakfast table, they were regaling their wives with stories of their adventures... wait a second! they have wives? this cant be so. Never mind what happened in Panama. Soon a phone was thrust into my hand as I was ordered to call my parents and tell them of my status. it had been nearly two weeks since they had heard from me, and my comrades (parents themselves it would seem) could not stand it. So I spoke to my parents. it seems they themselves had not had any misfortune, it was I who was worried for them, Houston is a dangerous place you know. Once I told my parents I was alright, the state of affairs were bound to change. We took off quite late, owing to the late night gambling and the leisurely morning. But the day held some more beautiful curves in store for us. We worked our way to San Jose through some of the most bodacious / curvaliscious terrain out there. Every single meter made me lament the passing of some equally lovely meter after the fall of the sun last night. Driving at night is horrible. Oh yes, back to San Jose. Coming out of the mountains that surround the city I was getting far to familiar with the metal threading in my tire, and on one of the last curves going into the city, the metal met the road, so did our young adventurer. A bus forced me wide on a turn, and I had to get under the bike to make it stick, but unfortunately, all the "stickum" on my tires had been dispersed over the length of Central America, and all that I had left was the traction less metal. Like an ice skating experiment went bad, my bike went down just shy of the big mountain rising up like an impromptu wall. This wall had metal shafts , the color of age old blood, emerging from its steep rocky slope. I could only imagine one purpose for these rods of death as i slid towards them at dangerous speeds. I slid abreast of this earthen wall towards the cliffs edge, but a fruit stand stood in the way from my bike and a few hundred meter drop into downtown San Jose. The fruit vendor soon found my candy apple red bike amidst his fine selection of fruits. Remember, ATGATT. All the gear, all the time. My bike had bent it self a little bit, but after reattaching the radiator hose and the engine guard, we limped into San Jose in search of a mechanic. After consulting some locals we were shuffled around town looking for possible part matches. As is the rule on this trip, when you need a mechanic, its going to rain. Everything aside we got quite lucky. And met all the local big men, before the sun went down I was shedding the rain atop two brand new (if not a little too small) tires. I never knew how much traction I was missing. And I would be needing every bit of "bite" my tires could offer as we headed into the rainy night. ugh, night driving is really getting me furious. I decide to leave these chuckers, I am not about to waste another kilometer of this fine country due to the night. I stop to look for a place to stay, they insist its just another hour down the road. As I ask around for a bed for the night most people point me to Playa Tamrindo, an hour down the road. After wasting 15 minutes searching for the non existent bed I resume my journey northward. When I spot a small fork in the road complete with some local hangers on, I hail them and inquire if they saw three large bikes a little while ago, they said yes, but it was quite some time ago, and that they had gone down the smaller dirt road. I thanked them, and took off down the dirt road. I am sure that on a regular day it would have been a nice drive, but at night after a long day of rains the road hole after mud filled hole, the best I would do was to stand up on my pegs and crank the accelerator, I was some 30 minutes behind by this time. after about an hour of self doubt and terror (dark dirt roads covered in mud inspire both, never mind the loneliness) I spotted my comrades, I take that back, after an hour I nearly destroyed my comrades, I flew by them and only afterwards when I passed back by at a more reasonable speed was I sure that these were indeed my hardheaded friends. Seems their big bikes were having a more difficult time with the road and their old age (and perhaps wives and children) had tempered their desire to go flying down mud soaked roads long after sundown. Eventually we arrived at Playa Tamrindo and began negations for a room. Negotiations deftly concluded I jumped into the pool, lured by the siren sound of my native tongue. the pool was inhabit by a few English speaking ladies, hooray for the evenings entertainment!

The sun rose long before our weary selves. looking about the mess that lay about the hotel room I concluded that we swam here from panama. every square inch, (centimeter would be more worldly, right?)was covered in wet clothes. And these are just the clothes from our backs, thankfully my trunk remained impregnable even throughout yesterday's tumps and bumps. I transported my water logged belongings outside to meet the risen sun. We could all use a bit of the sun's warm drying rays. Around noon I woke up, deciding I was dry enough I allowed myself to fall into the pool once more. English girls are silly. A swarm of English teachers from england had invaded the pool. I got to know a few of them last night, but I learned that there was a whole hive of them somewhere nearby. I was eventually dragged out of the pool by my friends, and convinced that it would be best to leave the sunny beaches of Playa Tamrindo. After some quick yelps of protest I had given in, eaten, and mounted my bike. But I didn't do any of things fast, I assure you. I was certainly not happy about our departure. we ran up the coast a bit but quickly found our way back to the familiar main road. I was on the look out for familiar landmarks because I had an appointment with a friend. At the last town before the Nicaragua border I pulled over a local cantina, stormed inside and politely bought out his entire stock of coco treats. We had stopped here on our way down and this man opened his doors after closing time, and entertained us well into the evening, the end of that evening brought with it these coco treats, as a form of dessert. I decided that I must have more and made a point on my return trip to make sure I made it back to the USA with coco treats in my pocket. Just down the road at the border we were met with more familiar things. Seems we had the same border agent with us, and he knew about a special situation. On of our comrades passport expires in three months, he shook us down the first time, for about 5 dollars, and he shook us down the second time. After much bickering back and forth a small gift was required to help our friend overlook this small disaster. the second time through cost $50. Wild price variation from $5 to $50. Remember kids, pack your cocaine deep in your bag, and travel with a new passport. we rolled down the road to the border gate, awaiting our clearance to leave. I pulled up at the gate and paused waiting for the official to raise the pole that obstructed all international travel. Waiting there I became a target for three crazy Mexicans who were not prepared to stop on the muddy road that facilitate such a grand exchange between nations. The first Mexicano slid right into me, if a little off to the right, the second slid into him a little to the left. At this point I am actually holding my bike up, wedged between the two bikes, long past the point where I could right the cycle under my own force, but at least I could prevent its further fall. That was until the third cyclist came sliding into the pile of overturned bikes. at this point I just tried to jump free, to avoid any more bikes from falling on me. What a crack up for the officials standing by. after this display of skill the ceremonial gate was raised and we were expelled from Costa Rica, with uproarious laughter from the onlookers. We found our way into a "safe city" in Nicaragua. Cities that are large enough to support a hotel or two, but still small enough so that crime is still controlled by the fact that everyone knows each other. This being the case we pulled off the motorway and drove into the heart of Jinotepe. We were quickly directed to the only "safe" hotels around, as we have become astonishingly concerned with safety. Some more than others. Our 600 mile day ended in a little dead end alleyway of a parking lot. At the end of this cul-de-sac of secure parking there was a door, that was not quite a door, it was more of the a wall, that lacked a wall. in other words, the building was open in the back. dismounting I volunteered to go in and negotiate for lodging. I went in and explained our situation, and received a semi-decent rate. After telling my moto-mates about their rates, they insisted that the inn keep was high balling me because I was a gringo. Thus they sent their own envoy to secure a better rate, much to their chagrin they received the same rate I did. Win one for US Foreign diplomacy. After the consultation with the Mexican embassy. we decided to pay the universal rate. (about 20 dollars a night with guarded parking and dinner included). Our bikes rolled effortlessly through the wall-less back end, right up to our rooms. This night our bikes enjoyed air conditioning as we slept.

Waking in up early we hit the road, we wanted to get out of the danger zone of Central America today. We hit the road hard, and drove through the poorest country in Central America. I was shocked to see some of the things I saw. One of the most notable things was a community of some 3,000 people who had nothing more than garbage bags to drape from the few trees that still had limbs. To call this place a shanty town would be an overstatement. They looked like war refugees, with out UN supplied rice/millet. As we drove by I had to stop and investigate, there was nothing nearby that could identify as a reason for their existence, except for a light smattering of limbless trees. I rolled onward with more questions than I had originally stopped with. But it was an experience that exemplified Nicaragua. However there was another huge event that I MUST retell. being so impressed with Nicaragua I wanted to take something back with me to remember the 3,000 homeless and their lack of life. So I spent the next 300 klicks looking for some tourist kitsch. I failed to find anything remotely touristy. I didn't just fail to spot any, I actively searched out places, asking everyone in every town along the way. But there was no kitsch to be had for any amount for US dollars. Reaching the border without any success for memorabilia, I ramped up my game to a frenzied pace. I spotted a t-shirt that said "Nicaragua" and that was exactly what I wanted. Unfortunately it also said "customs agent" on it. Drats. But at this stage in the game I made an offer, I wanted to buy his customs uniform. But I was told she couldn't work if she didn't have her shirt, and thus she would starve. Sigh, I drove on with heavy heart. But it was only across the border that I found another smiling customs agent. This time I took a more salesmen like approach and began a contest to see whose shirt size matched my own, and I would buy the "winners" shirt. I inspected each garment for size and quality, and eventually I found a winner. He was more than willing to sell "his" shirt to me for 9 bucks. As I departed the circus that had encircled me. I caught a couple conversations that indicated that the shirt was not his to sell, but that it belonged tot he government and that I would be "caught" and he would get his shirt back and keep his nine bucks. I snuck off and immediately hid my ill-gotten goods. some hangers on queried me about the shirt spectacle, but ii insisted I never actually bought it. And then that buzz seemed to cancel out the initial buzz and then after a "light" search for the goods I was waved onward to the heart of Honduras. I should also note that here I almost got a passenger, Gloria Oneida Escalante insisted I take her with me throughout the rest of my trip. Half crazed by her own ambition to get out of Honduras and the other half inflamed was by my entourage, this fully crazed lady had to be dragged off my bike due some very kind border agents. Driving through Honduras was marked by a return trip to the hotel were we stayed, where I stopped by to pickup an item I had left behind the first time. When I returned to the pan-American, I found my homeys monkeying around on a bridge. Instead of getting back on the road we messed around by this beautiful bridge in Choluteca. we ate food from various street vendors and generally chilled out ... for 30 minutes. Which put us 50 kilometers behind! Gasp we were going to arrive at El Amatillo at dark. El Amatillo is the last place I wanted to be, ever again. But alas we would be forced back through there, and at night. El Amatillo didn't disappoint, our crossing took even longer the second time. This time we arrived and were short some documents, seems they had disappeared. My general rule on this is that there is no one piece of paper that can stand in my way, if one disappears there IS a way around it. Since they cant "stop" you for lacking some single sheet of bureaucratic nonsense, since it is paper after all, and it can burn and be lost just like anything else. nevertheless a single sheet of paper delayed our departure by some five hours into the night. During these five hours I revisited some of the thugs I recalled from my previous visit here. I also sampled some fine papusa's for the bargain price of 10c per papusa. we enlisted the aide of a local boy, much to my dismay. And he proved loyal .. up until the point he turned on us. He pulled the same, "Carlos needs x amount of money, give it to me, and ill take it to him" this was really odd because he was perfectly loyal and fine with money before hand, but as the night wore on I guess he decided the quick scam was more time efficient. He was a really nice guy, finding me the best papusas and what not. But he got his scammed five bucks, and missed on what would have been his "earned" $10 tip. Of course a single scammer couldn't hold us up five hours there had to be more to it, and there was. There were two, recall Lucas from our first crossing of El Amatillo? He kept our documents we needed on our return, to insure he could hit us coming and going. He assured us it was for our safety and convenience, but his glorious system broke down about 11pm that night when four angry motorcyclists (and one yet-to-desert papusa finder). Showed up at his house demanding our documents. Lucas had taken the night off and it took us some number of hours to track him to his domicile. With the mass of heavily armed/armored bikers pounding on his mothers door at 11pm Lucas quickly surrendered what was ours, and returned to his wife and his newborn infant that was screaming his head off under his mothers roof. all in all The exchange went smoothly, but at that stage of the game after being jerked around the way we had been, it was only the babies pitiful screams that saved Lucas from the sort of mild thrashing that only 40 year old executives can administer under the darkness of a foreign sky.

Silly boys. Did I mention I found a transvestite working the border in some menial retail capacity, I think it was vending 24oz Gatorade for a dollar. it made me wonder just what made this largely isolated human being embrace such an odd form of expression, where on earth did it learn such behavior? Free, We drove onward to El Salvador. We woke up a hotel attendant to let us, and we secured lodging rather quickly. We just parked out front and locked the bikes semi decently, our guard/night attendant assured us he wouldn't fall asleep again. the others missed out on my secret papusas dealings and wanted to secure some grub before bedtime, but everything was closed so we sampled some more of the everlasting beef jerky made in a backyard in northern Mexico.