Rivas El Salvador. Repairs. Dinner.

Today we awoke in a small building that contained a maze of hallways connecting various bedrooms. Concrete and tile are all its takes to make an Inn in El Salvador. This building opened onto the main thoroughfare, which after cruising down I found a mechanic to take a look at my mangled engine guard. Once the mechanic had my bike in his shop he became so enamored with it, that he wouldn't let it leave until it was restored to pristine condition. He replaced all missing screws and bolts, tightened everything, and even fixed all my own roadside repairs properly. I kept trying to decline his services but he was so excited about gainful employment I was unable to dissuade him. Where I come from you we are trained to decline any unnecessary services, since the fees for such services are above and beyond what would normally pass for free enterprise, perhaps more in line with extortion. Yet to my surprise when he finally returned my bike to me, he declined any payment at all. He thanked me for the opportunity to ply his trade, since he had nerve before worked on such a machine. I was shocked. Even if his parts and repairs were free of charge I insisted he accept my gratuity. back in possession of my bike I ventured out to find my buddies at a local concrete cave/breakfast house. they were easy to spot since they seemed to have acquired an armed escort of sorts. Some local protection professionals decided that they should forgo their regular contracts in order to secure my comrades' breakfast. We got a late start that day owing to my repairs and the "security" detail, I use the word security loosely since 7 guys with antique shotguns spent several hours drinking coffee with my mates, it wants only the trigger fingers that were twitching.

Eventually we did get on our way and we rode north into Guatemala. As we rode high into the mountains my bike started choking for oxygen. This problem came to a climax in downtown Guatemala city, stuck in a never ending sea of traffic. The traffic was littered with noxious buses that were so foul they were expelled from the USA, for emission control reasons. The buses found homes in Mexico for ten years until Mexico got fed up with them and passed stricter emissions control laws, then the buses had to go south to Guatemala where there were no laws on emissions. Marvelous, it took the buses some 5 years to travel from the USA to Guatemala. And now these carbon dioxide dinosaurs were choking me and the sea of traffic in downtown Guatemala. All the congestion prevented my bike from cooling itself properly, and it was heating up quite a bit due to the higher rpms I had to keep it at, in order to cope with the lack of oxygen. In other words, my bike was in a sad state, going no where fast. Eventually the stalls grew too frequent and the bike refused to start again. I pushed my fallen hero to the side of the road and sat there amidst the stagnant traffic. my bike buddies insisted I keep going, and that the traffic would end soon. However I explained that it was not me who didn't want to go on, but my bike. we sat there and waited for my bike to cooperate. Eventually the bike turned over and saved me from a night camping in downtown Guatemala. Once I was rolling again I wouldn't let the bike stop. I weaved through traffic as only a man with a mission could. I had always been hesitant to ride wildly through traffic, for fear of the police and my safety. Now that I had a reason to flaunt both I took advantage, I blasted through the traffic leaving my older wiser friends behind. Before too long I was force feeding my bikes radiator with some fresh freeway air. After a few miles of empty road I pulled over to wait for my bandito brothers. it was quite some time before they emerged from the smog cloud that encased Guatemala City. On the far side of Ciudad Guatemoc(GC) we found respite in the old city, Antigua Guatemala. The old city is a collection of cobblestone streets and houses older than the entire US of A. Brightly colored homes and buildings mark the quaint postcard photographs that detail this city. I myself have a picture perfect memory of this place, I was driving on what passes for a side walk, against traffic on a one way road. When, all of a sudden the police roll by. The moment they come into view I drop my bike on the uneven stones. Doh! not only did all the pedestrians catch my failure, but the police caught me in the middle of being a horrible criminal. Nothing happened, except extreme embarrassment, the police stopped and chuckled but moved on after helping me get my gear in order again. We found shelter immediately across from my mishap, in a romantic bed and breakfast. We dined at an equally touristy (high end) steak place, where we were treated like kings, while we behaved like paupers. A couple hundred dollars later the four of us found our way into our respective beds.

The next morning came early, and were were dragged out of love grotto type rooms by an over zealous team capitan. Seems today we had to hurry, to counter the sloth we (he) endured yesterday. Speedy Gonzolas wanted us on the road an hour ago it seems, but eventually all our soldiers got into line and it was time to march out into the dawn. Like the obedient little soldiers we followed our leader around the corner as fast as we could, where he promptly started to stop. And there we stopped, to take touristy type photos of some of the old cities plaza. I got up this early and with this much pressure just to drive around the block and take some lame photographs? Ouch.

Later that day the all the arbitrary hurry conflicted with my personal adventure style. I wanted to return to the wonderful land of Panajachel. Not just because it is the land of single women, but because I left my camera battery charger there. I outlined my plan for the day with my buddies, but met very luke warm responses. As we drove past Panajachel I pulled of to indicate my intentions fully. But it seems it was time to part ways. I descended into the lakeside town cascading down the roadways as the waterfalls danced along side my descent. Magical land that panajachel. Yay! Seems my trip to town was a lost cause, my charger was long gone by the time I got back. I decided to roll on, northward, I was all alone and eager to get going, if only at my own pace.

It wasn't long after I got back on my way that I found my self running out of gas, something that happens three time a day, for the past 17 days. This time was different, I was alone. I looked for the nearest gas station, passing many that were not suitable, ie, they didnt accept credit cards. I had gone my last mile, and I was forced to pull over at the nearest station. I was immediatly was beset by the local youth, the people who man the pumps in these countries are generally youngster, and their friends often hang out with them while they pump gas. I knowing I was out of cash I inquired to the "cajero" or atm. so that I could pull out some money, they sent me up the hill to the town. armed with some vague direction I set out to find the cajero. After a long search, up and down the hilly, no mountainous, winding streets that stitched this sleepy town together. I found an abandoned market and an equally, intriguing plaza. I really got a such a feel for this town during my multiple hour exploration. I spent hours searching some 4 city blocks for a cajero. the small little atms can be stuck anywhere. But around one corner, and under a mountain, I found a small bank, surely the atm would be inside. I ventured into the windowless room, and inquired after the cajero. I was pointed to the teller. Seems that cajero is "cashier" and that out here in the country there is nothing automatic about it. So I hung out in the bank while phone calls were made authorizations were acquired. I saw so much color in that small room. farmers as old as hills sitting in line to cash checks. Farmers in authentic traditional dress sitting across from business men in three piece suits. it was quite the sight. With my adventurous spirit bolstered by this soul filling experience (and the 90 bucks I had withdrawn) I ventured down the hill (in neutral since I was out of gas) and filled my tank. The audience was still there and we had great fun talking and smiling before I set off again. They very much enjoyed seeing a youngster like them doing what I was doing. Things seemed so much different without my posse, I feel they insulated me from some of the interactions down here. Its much easier for these kids to come out and talk with me, when I am alone, as opposed with four other people with whom I could occupy myself.

back on the road with my heard earned tank of gas, I quickly made it to the border. In fact I was rolling so fast and hard that I suspected I could catch my lost companions. So instead of stopping for the border as a good little boy, I zoomed through the control point and the swarm of people that huddle around it. I had passed this border the first time and I knew regulations were lax, no gates to clear, no chase patrols. So I breezed on through and found my self well into Mexico before the military roadblock stopped me. Since I never officially left Mexico all my paper work was in order. And I stopped for a moment to have one of the sweet treats I picked up in Costa Rica. During my break I inquired about my companions, had three large bikes come through here? I'm sure they would be hard to miss. The guard said he had not seen anyone. Odd, he must have just come on duty. Of course this entire exchange was marred by the fact that I had completely lost my ability to speak Spanish. After all this time and immersion I was dumbfounded by this guard. Eventually I got my mind around my tongue and all was well. I rolled onward to San Cristobal De Las Casas. I found lodging, and spent the day looking at all the local sights. After finding a delicious local restaurant for dinner, I wondered around and met some local people, Chiapans. I bought some little rebel dolls from them and spent some time talking about "the man".

Well today would be done at my own lazy pace, unfortunately it seems that my pace starts at 8.30am. I rolled north to Palenque, the maps illustrated some marvelously winding roads but in reality these roads were in very bad shape through some twisting dark impenetrable mountains. It took me nearly 6 hours to cover a couple hundred miles. I flirted with a rain storm and some cold mountain temperatures. the elements forced me to brace myself and endure them in a way that I really enjoy. when the elements conspire against you, there are few options for a man on a motorcycle. When its too cold to ride, its also too cold to stand by the side of the road, many times on this trip I have found that having my motorcycle going forward, looking over the horizon is the greatest remedy to any number of inconveniences I encountered on this trip. The cold is not so cold when I know I am travlling 110kph away from it.

Boreing through the storm I arrived at Palenque, an ancient Maya city. It was a marvelous sight, but I could never do it justice with my words, however I will tell you about its parking lot. As a backwater town, and an underdeveloped attraction the parking lot could only accommodate some 20 people. yet when I arrived all 20 spots were full and there was no place for me to park, a local boy directed me to park off in a field behind a building. Looking at the dubious parking lot back there I drove into the main lot and climbed some steep steps to rest my bike safely, and prominently on an elevated sidewalk between the cars. It was a risky climb, since I could not put my feet down, and a fall to either side would be a fall onto the hood of a innocent tourists car. But I made the climb safely. and nobody would be prying into my trunk in the middle of the main parking lot. I hoped.

The isolation of Palenque was wonderful, it was populated more so than I expected from the parking lot, but there are more people at a local grocery store in Texas than at this wonderful heritage site.

As I left I was stopped by a train. it was an interesting stop, I rolled to the front of the line where I met a Japanese tourist who was my age. We had to speak in Spanish since her English was shockingly poor. But it was one of those conversations you would only have with your best friend, or someone you trust implicitly. There was some strange solace in knowing we would never meet again and we had nothing to fear from sharing our deepest secrets with each other. It was a truly amazing conversation that lasted an hour or so before the train moved on. We made rough plans to meet again, if we could, but our itineraries were vastly different and I knew such promises were only made out of what passes for polite courtesy.

I drove north, long and hard. I shelled out some pesos, lots of pesos, in order to make up the time I felt I had lost of the mountain roads. I rolled hard into the night, perhaps a little to hard, I moved faster than my mind could travel, I actually outstripped my mind at one turn, I was upon the interchange before I had even thought it would present it self, I had yet to decided which was I was going. One road swept down and to the left, while the other arched right and to the sky. I found myself on the low road, with ambitions for the high road. and to me at 9pm on a busy highway the best bet was not to drive the wrong way, but to simply climb the bank. I pointed my bike up the slope and rode up at an ungodly angle, there was no recovering from a fall here either. I peaked, my front wheel broke trajectory and came crashing down, I was on the road again, victory I proclaimed. as my bike came crashing down on my feet. Drats, I suck. But I was on top. I righted my bike, which would have been impossible if I had been two feet short. and started her up. or at least I tried. In pitch black on a remote highway in the middle of a sweeping arc I found bike switched off, she wouldn't turn over. I held down the starter for a long while, each sickly cough and putter from the engine dragging itself out, making an eternity out of mere minutes. 5 minutes on that dark stretch of highway was longer than any number of hours in the city. On the right road, I drove on into the night, it took me three hours to find the next motel. Cardena, would be my home tonight. My bike slept wearily outside my room, with a steady eye on the ceaseless activity two doors down. I locked her too my door knob.

I awoke, found my bike still attached to the door, and went to the attached restaurant to have breakfast. A note to everyone, heading north out of Cardena, the hotel/restaurant on the left with the blue/white trim serves the BEST omelet EVER. My day started wonderfully, but it would not continue in such a manner. I rode north hard, utilizing the Mexican toll system to the fullest extent. I was closing in on my destination, Cuidad Victoria. Victoria is the home town of my homeboys. I wanted to drop in and see them one last time. As I closed in on the city, I heard a roaring coming from my engine, and noticed soot buildup on my shoe. I pulled over to inspect the noise, it seems my muffler had cracked nay, separated right out of the engine. I suspect it was born when I went down outside of San Jose. Either way I could do nothing in the middle of the plains. I drove onward, earplugs deeply entrenched, the sound was deafening, it was the sound of desperation and failure. I gently moved into Victoria and inquired after my friends (at a local gas station). After getting lucky and having one of the attendants recognize my friend's business I started off to his office before it closed. Not so easy, my bike wouldn't start. After a quick inspection I learned my exhaust was venting directly into my fuse box, melting all my fuses. Double Ouch! Some tin foil later I was limping into Frenos Victoria into the welcoming arms of my best friend. We hung out and caught up about our travels and what had happened since we separated.

Here is the long and short of it:

They rode on, and waited for me a cafe. Failing in my arrival, they moved on to the border where they dutifully checked in and out of the border. Thats when they saw some gringo on a red bike rocket through the border. There was a huge commotion and they tried to get on their bikes and pursue me, but the officials detained them as per the bureaucratic norm. From there, they moved northward in two days, what I did in three.

Rafa set me up for the night in his hotel, and invited me over for dinner. He even promised to look after my bike in the morning. I felt like I was home, finally. Safe and secure in my new friends arms.

Rafa, true to his word had my bike fixed by noon, and had me climbing some mountain trails like a billy goat that afternoon. Another of my friend's son took me off-roading in the mountains of Victoria. I spent a great day fording raising rivers in the rain, climbing endless trails much to difficult for my novice self. I was so excited, elated, and afraid, all at once. the thrill of fording almost four feet deep rivers was so great, but the fun was tempered by my fear, if something happened to my bike out here, while I was "safe" it would mean getting to my real home would be that much harder. Had my bike gone down in the stream, as it wanted to do, it would mean I was stranded once again. As if that wasn't dire enough, my starter control loop was shorted. If my handle bars turned it pinched the wire, killing my engine. Try crossing a river without the ability to turn your bike, and knowing that if your engine stops your carbs will flood with water. Seems simple enough, but I had to do without knowing what the problem was. it wasn't until later that we found out about the shorted cable. In the midst of the stream my bike was dying without a reason. my hosts were very concerned about this as well. they wanted to ride my bike across for me, since I was unfamiliar with the terrain. But they too were confounded by the mystery problem. I struggled with the problem across multiple crossings, every time it threated to sink my bike and my plans of returning home in a timely manner. I had to keep my rpms so high to keep the carbs dry that I ended up making my newly fixed muffler grow white hot. I glanced at my pipe a few times and saw the intense white light glowing within the bronzed metal. Not long after this I found my rear fairing dripping off in little plastic drops. My bike was melting under the stress. Thankfully We made it home that night, the storm lifted as we left the mountains and we rode solemnly back through town, basking in the glory of not being complete failures. I spent the night in the hotel, taking off for home in the morning.

Welcome to the interstate. I was home, in the US of A, where problems never occur. scratch that.

I blew my last pesos at a local bread shop getting some sweets, I had a leisurely breakfast of wonderful pastries. I rode on through the border, crossing painlessly, even if my fellow countryman, the border guard was quite terse/rude. A few hundred miles later, I was stopped again at an inspection station, sensing I wasn't smuggling any illegals on my bike, they sent me onward. it was here I realized I was missing something. My wallet was gone. You ever wonder what those chains attached to wallets that are all the rage in high school are? they keep your wallet from falling out on a motorcycle. I lacked one of those chains, and now I was just south of corpus Christie without my drivers license credit card or cash. Luckily I had my second "safety" wallet for the muggings/stickup men waiting with some small bills to keep them satisfied. The spare change in my safety wallet was enough to get me and my bike home to Houston town. After all the events that occurred I hesitate to mention to last one on my way home, it rained cats and dogs. The rain was so intense it stood before me like a wall. but seeing its severity I concluded that it had to be short in duration id its intensity was so high. As I broke into the storm front I opened my throttle, hoping to use my speed to shield me from the rain. Not 10 minutes later I had reached the other side of the surging storm and was already jet drying at 90mph. Good thing the police didn't catch me, I didn't have a drivers license. I made it home that night just in time to sit down to a family dinner with my extended family. very little was mentioned about my trip, many of them hadn't even known I was gone, while others couldn't believe I was home. it was as if none of it had ever happened back in Houston. I had gone to the grocery store and come home(albiet with a $2736.89 trip total). But now we both know thats not the case.

The road never ends, it goes on and on, my friend.