9/14/2010 - Choluteca, Honduras: Fuck Honduras

In January 2009 I made a New Year's resolution to stop complaining. It's something that annoys me in other people, and since I'm always trying to improve myself I have given a good effort to try and stick to it. Definitely not going to do it today. Fuck Honduras. It all began at about 3:00pm on a hot sunny day. Getting out of El Salvador was no problem. Trying to figure out who needs to stamp this and check that in Honduras is tough; it's impossible to tell what's going on. It seems purposely set up to screw with you. After about two hours figuring this all out, BJ is told he can't enter the country with his registration because it's expired. Now here come the bribes. Maybe the immigration girl can look past it with an extra $150 in her pocket. Pssshh. Fuck that, so we decide to head back to El Salvador for the night so we can doctor up some fake papers. Now we've got some new problems, El Salvador won't issue us another visa, so we'd have to exit clear across the country. Nope. Not going to happen, but they're nice enough to help us print up a new fake registration. We take our new papers and head back to the same lady that's going to decide our fate. Busted. She knows we've got only color copies of our titles, and the registration isn't original. Now what? I'm totally at the mercy of this lady because I have to cross Honduras to continue south.

I've been told that later we can cross, but the border lady is busy, so I'm forced to wait until about 8:00pm. All the while I have no idea what's going on, and every time I try to find out they tell me "tranquilo, tranquilo." Don't tell me to relax dude.  I debate stabbing some guys with BJ's grizzly killing knife, but ultimately decide there's nothing I can do so I better roll with the punches. Obviously the whole situation has me kind of frazzled. Eventually I find out I can purchase a transit visa to cross into Nicaragua about three hours away. Whatever, by this time I'm done. The bad guys win and I pay the nearly $200 bribe / visa.

Now there's one golden rule while driving in foreign countries: don't drive at night. I'm left with little options, so at 10:00pm after seven excruciating hours at the border I finally hit the road. Things are looking ok. It hasn't started raining and I'm all jacked up on pepsi. Blind optimism sometimes has it's benefits. Yet again reality strikes as we're stopped at a police checkpoint. The officers are suspiciously nice because they shake our hands and greet us warmly. To no surprise they take our drivers licenses, and threaten us with a ticket because, of all reasons, BJ's stickers on his panniers aren't reflective enough. They say the fine is $100. Yeah right, I'll be in dead before these guys charge BJ money for having dirty stickers. So after arguing for about twenty minutes in Spanish I turn to BJ and tell him we just need to talk really fast and yell at them in English. It appears to work because they're slowly realizing that they're not getting a bribe from us. Their last effort was to write us an actual ticket, but BJ notices that the dude is just doodling and not writing anything. So aI charge over there and tell them in my most polite Spanish that they're fucking retarded and if you're going to pretend to write a ticket at least write something down. One officer grabs my wrists and threatens to arrest me, but knowing they had nothing I kept arguing. Success! They finally give BJ back his license back. We're free to continue down the dark highway in this awful country. As it starts to rain I think to myself the only way this could get worse is if I'm robbed or my bike breaks down. I'm in luck.

I was following BJ and we're driving about 40mph in the rain when I hit the biggest pot hole I've ever seen. I mean this thing wasn't a pothole it was a fucking grave in the middle of the road. It's where motorcycles go to die. After the first one my jacket and backpack fly off the back, and there's no avoiding the second grave. After I hit it, it feels like my top box has fallen off. I pull over and realize it's much much worse. My bike is pretty much broken in half. Fuck! After BJ and I tear open the bike, it's another subframe bolt that's sheared off. We're totally screwed, there's no way of getting the broken bolt out without the proper tools. Luckily the first guy BJ flags down is amazingly helpful, and is willing to take us to a hotel in town. What a relief! There are actually good people here. I get into bed, and it kind of hits me, this shit happens. If I'm going to be a a hardcore traveler, then I better learn to cope. Even though I'm exhausted, it's hard to fall asleep. Talk about a stressful day.

Bright and early the next morning I'm ready to get the fuck out of this country, so at 7:00am I get directions to a mechanic. I'm told that's it's about 800 meters away, so I can walk my bike pretty easily. After about two miles of walking my bike all over the city, in the beating sun, with every taxi cab honking at me, I arrive.  And after about 4 hours of some pretty handy mechanical work I'm able to put my bike back together an ride out. I'm ecstatic to have my bike / house back in working condition. Onward to Nicaragua!

I knew getting out of Honduras was going to be a problem. I've overstayed my visa, and it's been such a shit storm that of course they've got to find a way to mess with me. I pull up to the border and literally 25 people come over to help me out of their godforsaken country.  Again in my super polite Spanish I tell them to fuck off, and I speak only to the one guy with a gun. A tactic that has worked for me at other borders. I tell him there was no way to make it on time because my motorcycle was broken. I show him pictures and the mechanics receipt. After about an hour of him dragging his feet, he allows us to leave without paying a fine. I wonder if I've ever had a better feeling crossing a bridge to a new country. Thank goodness I'm out of Honduras.

I'm now in Nicaragua, the sixth country I've been to on this adventure. It seems almost like a dream to be here after my recent experiences in Honduras. I do want to say that when traveling like this flexibility and a relaxed approach can get you pretty far. I've always got a smile when I'm traveling because it's the best defense against people like the ones I encountered in Honduras.  No matter how far you kick me down, I'm always going to get back up and keep riding.