10/12/2010 - Panama City, Panama: Cinnamon Coffee

Waking up this morning was a pretty great experience. I'm staying with a wonderful host family in Panama and working on getting out of North America. I've luckily made some progress. I've actually got a ship lined up to take the bikes safely in a container. I've got a sail boat ready to take me Columbia. In other words, I'm pretty much set. I even got my paper work from the States! No more showing forged papers to officials for me. Also, it appears shipping a motorcycle is far from an easy process. If I mess it up, and leave without a proper stamp or paper. I'm fucked if I ever want to come back through Panama. Game over, they'll never let me back. So, I guess things are pretty serious around here. It's about two full days of running around to this place and that. Have some dude check this, sign that. Find crazy immigration locations, that don't have signs or people to help you. It's pretty typical of Central America, so I'm more used to it than most, buts it's still all pretty ridiculous. Anyhow, even though my current job is to run through Panamanian bureaucracy, I'm still giddy about the thought of getting some more road ahead of me. Almost there!

Captains log: my host family has taught me how to make patacones. They're delicious little breakfast patties that are made from frying green plantains. I've never had these until I've spent some legitimate time in Panama. I've been here for two weeks, and I'm finally getting some legitimate Panamanian culture. I cannot believe how wonderful my host family has been. It's literally insane how nice they are. As soon as I arrived, I received a hearty welcome the mother Gladys. She told us I can stay as long as I want. It was totally unreal, as I'm settling down, Gladys and our couchsurfing friend Mayra tell us dinner is ready. What? A free meal? I'm all over this. It was homemade chicken, with a side of rice, and a salad. I'm offered wine, water, and coke to drink. It's all just way too welcoming. It comes to a point where I'm joke fighting with Gladys to clean my own dishes! What a family! It's becoming so surreal that we felt bad for all the wonderful meals and hospitality we've received. At one point I felt so bad that I was just taking and taking, so I thought I should go back to a hostel for another night. But then I realized: I'm retarded. This is the best host family anyone could ask for. I should stay forever. 

I'm always interested in cooking, and of course eating, so I keep asking questions about Panamanian cultural food and staples. And since I've just been conversing about it, Gladys keeps making all of it for us. It's effing awesome. What are bollos? I found out at breakfast yesterday. What about empanadas? Well that would be this morning, and bravo tango whiskey, they're flakey, buttery, and delicious. Along with empanadas, we had tasajo, apple juice, and cinnamon coffee. It's awesomely comical when we're chatting with our buddy Ian, whose driving down in a truck / camper. He camped out in the mall last night and had never heard of couchsurfing, so while explaining it over lunch. We all had a good laugh when I was bragging about the kick ass cinnamon coffee. Sometimes I've got all the luck in the world. 

10/7/2010 - El Valle, Panama: The Last Bit of North America

Things have been quite unproductive here in Panama City. I'm looking for a boat to Columbia, while also trying to gear up to prepare my bike for the long road ahead. I've been super annoyed since I'm out of road. Being an engineer and knowing that I can build you a road through anything with enough money; it really frustrates me that the road just ends. I know Panama has it's reasons, but come on this is 2010, this is supposed to be the future. If there's a high demand for a road, which there is, then pony up and build the fucker. But all bitching aside, looking for a sailboat across has been more than difficult. I was lucky enough to hear about a guy at Hostel Mamallena. He couldn't have been more helpful in emailing captains and giving us information about our sea fairing adventure. Now I've got to wait. There are a couple of potential boats lined up, and hopefully I'll get my original titles soon, so I can get to my dream like destination of South America. Where the beer is free, the women are naked, and the streets are paved with gold.

I'll give you a quick synopsis of what I did in Panama City: changed a rear tire, bought a new front tire, bought a bolt, looked for some rain gear, and happened to see this pissed off alligator in a flood channel. This took a team of two gringos two full days. They weren't difficult tasks, but in the city scape, driving around and talking to people takes forever. Though there are hundreds of hardware stores nobody sells metric bolts. Same thing with the tire shops, nobody can change a motorcycle tire. Alas, fifteen hours later, I still can't find cold weather gloves and BJ can't find Scotch Guard for his jacket. Such is the life here in a foreign country. Sometimes I would kill for a Super Target or Chaparral Motorsports. 

Right now I'm feeling pretty grand. I'm staying with a wonderful couchsurfing host, David, in El Valle. It's a pretty kick ass little mountain town.  I can definitely see why David chose to buy a house here and retire. The weather is perfect, since it's tropical having a little elevation really cools things down. The city is in a collapsed dormant volcano crater, so even though it's mountainous it's basically flat all around town. Perfect for scooting around town on a bike. I'm pretty impressed being here, since our host has been all over the world, maybe forty different countries, and he calls this place home. I went on a motorcycle ride around town, saw the big waterfall and did some off roading in the mountains. It was super fun hauling ass through some pretty large dips and valleys on the bike. It made me remember growing up and having little fear when riding a bike. It was definitely good to be back on the road, since earlier I had some mechanical difficulties with my bike. 

Basically it died on me then wouldn't start up again. Luckily we were at Dave's, so we had the time and tools to fix it. Turns out it was an air hose that I had sliced when tightening a bolt down. The air hose creates a vacuum and brings gas into the engine. So I ran to the local store and picked up a new one and replaced it. Problem solved. Two hours later, my bike fired back up, and I was glad to be on top once again. 

I definitely have a different life out here. I encounter different problems and solve them in different ways. Instead of my old problems like should I get my friends over to play beer pong on Friday or Saturday night? Or locating and drawing eighty year old sewer lines at work; my daily life is oh so much simpler. My only legitimate concern is potholes, not coordinating friends, meeting deadlines, or being on time. Sometimes the ease of life without such conveniences as the Internet and cell phones, is actually more fulfilling and seems far more genuine. But really, who am I kidding. After I post this I'm going to go check on my fantasy football team. 

10/1/2010 - Bocas Del Toro, Panama: Gecko Ice Cream

It's nice change when you're traveling to encounter a place you've been before. Such is the case here in Bocas Del Toro. It's a cute little island town, speckled with nearby islands, gorgeous beaches, and snorkeling. Arriving at the island I find myself filled with memories from the last time I was here. So many great stories. Like Bui getting stung by a jelly fish, Allison getting nearly butt raped by a hooker in the ocean, Geoff slapping the shit out of Bui at a bar (the true beginning of slap bet), getting partially molested by a girl and her thrusting pelvis, becoming the sweat monster, and of course the infamous gecko-ice cream incident. All of which make me truly miss all of my friends. As I was taking a water taxi to the beach, I sat in a boat with just BJ, and definitely longed for a boat full of my good buddies again. But such is the life when in you're in a committed travel relationship with another dude. Ha. Gay.

Last night was absurd to say the least. First off, there's fifty cent beers at happy hour. A very ominous start to the evening, since BJ and I arrive at the empty bar precisely when it opens. As I'm there for a bit, I find out about a party where you've got to dress up to get in. Too bad I brought precisely two shirts and my shorts. Only sane white shirts for me. Of course BJ is all psyched up to look and dress like an idiot. So I play along and we find a nice Norwegian girl that lends us dresses for the night.  We find a German friend that we met in Nicaragua, and we are really pleased to find a decent sized group to head to this 'crazy party'. Turns out pretty much the only people there that look like jackasses are me, the group I'm with, and the bartenders. Oh, and there are like a grand total of twelve people there. Fuck it, what else are we going to do? So I make some friends with new Germans. (They're everywhere!) While BJ takes it upon himself to get completely smashed. I continue to have a normal night, a few drinks, a lot of dancing, and some broken conversations over the loud dance music that's playing. I'd say it was a good night for me, except looking like a fucking idiot in a dress.

What happens when you arrive too early at the bar.

Now BJ has a different story I'm sure. I know for sure that he fell down on the dance floor with our Norwegian friend and got kicked out of the bar. So being the super amazing friend I am, I give him a dollar for a water taxi and the keys to the room and help him on the boat. Then I return to dance with my friends. There was this moment that kind of defined the night: as I put BJ in the taxi and it's about to pull away some random bar dude says "you're friend is not going to make it home, you should help him". A split second decision needs to be made, do I help my buddy home and end my night early, or let him be responsible for his own actions and pick him out of the gutter in the morning? Tough choice, but I decide he's a big boy and he'll find a way home. I continue to have a ball until my night comes to a close. I leave with my new friends, and a head back to our hostel. We chat for a while, and I hope that BJ is soundly passed out in the room, but once I get there I realize he's not there, and I'll seriously have to pick him out of the gutter or jail in the morning.  Oh well, I went to sleep and saved my problems for later.

Eventually BJ made it back to the room somehow because he was home in the morning. The next day he looked like death, which serves him right. Now, I'll be the first to admit that I like to drink, but at least I can moderately control my intake of tequila shots.  BJ not so much.  So, after only one night in Bocas, I'm ready to leave. It was fun reliving some old memories, but I'm glad to be back on the road south. I'm giddy to find the end of North America and head into the unknown of the South.

9/29/2010 - Boquete, Panama: Bring It On

A long cold soggy ride and I finally make my the destination for the night Boquete, Panama. It's a touristy mountain town where it seems to rain all day long. Apparently it's supposed to be beautiful, but I'd never know since it's covered in a blanket of fog. But I've got some time to kill, so it seems like a nice place to spend two nights.

Now I really wish I would have read this in some of the hours of Internet research I did before making this trip: bring your original title to your vehicle. That would have been so damn convenient. I'm here in Panama figuring out how to get my title to me. It's been problematic  at almost every border except Mexico. I guess my doctored up color copy doesn't really cut it. The dude at the Costa Rican border totally called me out, and asked where the original was, but luckily honesty worked, and he let me in. I'm not taking any chances in South America, so I'm getting that title somehow. Once I finish up some business, I'm headed for the first country on the South American list: Columbia. 

Now the Pan American highway is the longest highway on the planet, but there's a very inconvenient break in the road called the Darien Gap. It's a forty mile stretch of swampy forest controlled by guerrillas and drug runners, so for the sake of safety I've got to put my bike on a boat and ship it to Columbia. This is going to hurt. I don't trust people handling my bike with cranes, then putting it on an old salty boat in hopes of encountering calm sees. Definitely makes me nervous, especially since it's going to cost me seven hundred dollars. Yikes. I hope my Spanish skills are up to par, so the shipping adventure goes smoothly. If all goes well my bike will be undamaged, I'll have snorkeled in the San Blas islands, and eaten my weight in lobster. Definely not looking forward to the voyage, since my house is my Kawasaki. I hate when things like that are out of my control, at least on the bike if I crash or leave my bike somewhere dangerous, it's my fault if something happens. Whatever, It's all for the sake of adventure. Bring it on. 

9/27/2010 - Puerto Jimenez, Costa Rica: Swim Suit Up!

One the my favorite sounds, besides what you're probably thinking, is the loud satisfying thud of an immigration stamp. As long as I don't have to bribe someone to get it, there's always a good feeling associated with the finality of that stamp. I received a couple stamps leaving Nicaragua and entering Costa Rica, but coming to Costa Rica was somewhat less satisfying, probably because I've been here before and it really is the oddball country in Central America. Even the name Costa Rica translates to 'Rich Coast', which has got to be the most facetious name for your country. But anyhow, it all seems to work here. Tourists flow in by the bus loads, and the standard of living flies skyward with them. The majority of the population here has a staggeringly better quality of then their close neighbors. Which in turn makes this little country fucking expensive. I've travelled through almost all the countries here, and really this place is not a cheap ass motorcyclists paradise. If you've got a limited time span and a big budget; this is definitely your place to experience Central America, but twelve bucks for a dorm. Eff that dude. I'm out of here. Tomorrow I'm heading for the Panamanian border. I'm hoping to find better people, food, culture, and maybe some fifty cent beers.

Some more useless insight on Central America: the people are nicer the further north you go. So as you can guess it's been getting progressively worse for me. I started noticing it in Leon when some douche bag at a breakfast restaurant tried to charge BJ and I eight dollars for two crappy cups of coffee. After arguing for about ten minutes he wouldn't budge, so I left him what I thought was appropriate, and I walked out. Then it got even worse in Granada, when people would annoy the crap out you by trying to sell you junk every few minutes. Really? You think I'm going to buy your stupid wooden frog whistle the sixth time you ask me? Seriously, one chick was trying to sell a toothbrush, so she physically hit BJ with it telling him to buy it. Fuck off, he actually wanted to buy a toothbrush, but with those aggressive sales techniques he obviously didn't buy one. Then recently in Costa Rica, I got screwed out of some money, because again some liars told us one price, then once I got settled in, all of a sudden it's forty dollars for a dirty hotel room without a toilet seat. Ugh, it really makes me miss the extremely generous hospitality of Mexico.

Now that I'm done trying to be insightful and philosophical about the minute differences in one Central American culture to the next, I think I'm going to write something a bit more entertaining about something that's happened to me. Pow! Here it is: hot springs in La Fortuna, Costa Rica. Now BJ and I have been looking for hot springs during our entire adventure. We got faked out by cold ones in Oaxaca, never found the ones in Guatemala, but free hot springs in Costa Rica. Yes, please. After asking about ten different locals I find them, it's a quick hike off the main road, about a twenty minute ride from town. Game time. BJ and I head back to the hostel get a bottle and a friend, then after a drink we swim suit up, and make for the hot springs. After the little hike there's a small waterfall and pool with water at the perfect temperature. Of course we bust out our to-go nalgene bottle of booze and drink for a bit. As we're finishing up we notice that there's a slide to the other side of the road and possibly some more people. We all get a running start and jump on this slide / culvert under the bridge. It's not much of a slide, but at the end there's another bigger and nicer pool filled with women in bikinis and hot water. It's nighttime by now, so all the women look gorgeous. As BJ put it: "I think we just slid into heaven." Awesome, and all for the perfect budget traveling price of free. After a bit of chatting with other tourists we head out hoping to meet up with some later at a club for some dancing. Turns out we're too cheap to pay a ridiculous eight dollar cover, so after a few drinks in town we call it a damn good Saturday night.

One last thing about traveling right now, while everybody back at home is enjoying an absurd heat wave, I'm enjoying non stop rain. No matter what time of the day I get on the road it's been raining. At least I'm lucky enough to have a decent rain suit that keeps me soggy, but not soaking wet. Oh the joys of traveling by motorcycles, sometimes I wonder why I didn't just take a car. Too late now, motorcycles are more fun and dangerous anyway.

9/22/2010 - Granada, Nicaragua: Paddle On

Dude, so I just left Nicaragua and arrived in Costa Rica. It's been a fun adventure in Nicaragua, and I'd have to say it was a beautiful and enchanting place. Even the first few minutes past the border were spectacular. I was riding into a storm, but as the sun went down it set the sky ablaze with fiery reds and yellows. Seeing the sun drenched valleys and catching glimpses of the ocean was a truly magical sight; after the wretched Honduras, I was definitely glad to be there.

The first night was spent in Leon. It was pretty much uneventful, besides getting rained on, and spending an absurd five dollars on a street cart chicken special. Apparently we got the rip off "gringo special price". Whatever, I probably made those ladies night. Mental note: always ask prices before hand. The next night I stayed at a proper hostel where I met some good people. Had a few beers and watched some live music. It's all pretty nice when a beer at a bar is one dollar. In the morning I exchanged Facebook pages and email with my new friends, then headed for the touristy colonial town of Granada. Sometimes it's too easy to move on.

Granada is a cutesy little colonial city on the lake. It's very comparable to Antigua, Guatemala. After doing a walking tour I was ready for something different. So on the second day, BJ wanted to hit up this dormant volcano crater lake that's supposed to have the bluest water in Nicaragua. So we invited our friend Alex, and rode to Laguna de Apoyo. This is probably one the few times Lonely Planet wasn't exaggerating. This place is fantastic. Green mountains surrounding a sparkling blue lake. After some time was spent eating pizza and jumping off the dock we were ready to go kayaking. Famous last words.

Anyhow, I bitch and moan because I don't want to share a kayak. A few years back, a great friend Josh and I spent an hour trying to get a rhythm just to paddle straight. But to no avail, and we're both strong athletic guys. So, Alex and BJ buddy up, and I'm happy to be alone in my own boat. We spend some time  and paddle to the middle of the lake. We're all having a ball, taking pictures, swimming, and enjoying the view. Quite a few breaks later, we all decide the best idea is to make it all the way across the lake, since we're already "so close." We agree upon a destination: two trees on top of the tallest mountain ahead. Now BJ and Alex are going to disagree with me on this, but they're retarded so whatever. Apparently, they decided to head for a different set of trees, and since they can paddle much faster, we got separated pretty fast. Oh well, I'm heading to the original aforementioned destination. Of course I get in a groove and totally space out. At some point I realize BJ and Alex are pretty far away. Oh well they're two strong guys they'll be fine. I guess not so much. I hear them yell for help, so after a fifteen minute paddle, I find that they're boat has pretty much sunk. Bummer since it's about a three mile paddle back to the other side of the lake. There's no motor boats on the lake, and nothing but jungle surrounding it. In a sense we're kind of screwed. They look like they need a break, so they head for the opposite shore so we can figure out a rescue plan. We decide that I'll run back to the hostel where we got the boats, and get some kind of help. I haul ass over to the other side, and by haul ass I mean paddle the kayak at a horribly slow pace. You really don't realize how stupid and inefficient a kayak is until you're in the middle of a big fucking lake with nothing else to get you to shore. Anyhow about a half hour of paddling later, I realize they must have fixed the boat somehow, because off in the distance it looks like a yellow kayak with two white dudes. After I get back to shore, I let the management know their boat is a piece of shit, and that it sank on my friends. Luckily a big rescue party wasn't needed. And while I'm enjoying a big water and playing a much missed guitar, my friends finally reach land, thirsty and tired. Apparently they found some naked forest people to fashion a plug. And after the water was drained, they were able to paddle back. Thank goodness. What a crazy bunch of kids having way too much fun. What a day!

I've stayed in many hostels in my life and travelled the world, but I have to say I have never met a better group of people than the ones I met at the Bearded Monkey Hostel. It was amazing, the group was eclectic, containing mostly Americans and Germans. And since WWII is behind us, we all got along famously. At one point there were fifteen of us of pregaming at the hostel bar, then everyone wanted to go out and have a proper evening. What a fantastic night. We all decide this all-you-can-drink club for seven dollars is the best choice. So being the math whiz I am, I convince everyone that since it's late, we've got to get our moneys worth and at least drink seven beers. Not much of an accomplishment since our group was all in a similar mindset. After some time playing drinking games we furiously hit the dance floor, and we definitely danced until the booze ran out. What a kick ass Saturday, kayaking some seven miles on a gorgeous lake I've never seen, then singing and dancing until the early hours of the morning.

This traveling gig is turning out to be a damn good choice. I mean, fuck, what a life experience. Meeting great people, seeing the world, taking in some fantastic nature, and doing whatever I want. I really couldn't ask for more. It's been almost two months since I've given up all my worldly possessions to chase my dreams, and I couldn't be happier. What a great thing to know: it's my life, and I call the shots.

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.

9/12/2010 - Tacuba, El Salvador: A Bad Idea

Wow.  This is the first time this has ever happened to me.  I’ve just forgotten the name of the country I’m in. I guess I can lose touch with my surroundings pretty easily sometimes, not so great, but whatever.  When you’re south of the border everything looks somewhat like a monoculture.  It’s pretty surreal sometimes, because it’s so very different than what I’ve known my whole life.  Growing up in the States, I was blessed with exposure to many different cultures.  My favorite example is Pomona.  There’s just about all the mix of American culture you’d ever need.  Modern technology meshed within a sprawled cityscape that even borders the green cow country of Chino.  But down here in Central America, cultural diversity is not nearly as prominent.  Not to say there isn’t a difference from one country to the next, but in comparison with places like the States and Europe, there is a real lack of diversity.  This obviously makes a tall gringo stand out pretty well, but is definitely one of the many reasons why I love this place so much.  The people are genuine and helpful of one another. Except for a bad reputation as drug funnel to America, this is a wonderful place with great natural resources and people. 

Luckily I haven’t fried all my brain cells away, and I’ve remembered which Country I am in: El Salvador.  Supposedly the most dangerous of the Central American countries; it’s a fascinating place with a small land mass, but with a lot of beautiful terrain.  The first day I entered the country I knew I liked it.  There weren’t a ton of idiots trying to “help” me cross the border, and the exchange rate is really easy to figure out since they use American Dollars.  After a pretty painless border crossing, I headed for the “Impossible National Park.”  Bring it on, the hostel is seven bucks a night and instantly we befriend some American Peace Corps volunteers.  After a few rounds of dominoes and Pupusas, (El Salvador’s national dish) we all decide that taking a tour where we can jump off waterfalls is the best course of action for the next day.  I wake up bright and early the next morning to a marching band of all things; apparently El Salvadorians love their marching bands.  Anyway, I’m ready to jump off some kick ass waterfalls; I mean come on, could I really have any more fun?  So, everybody piles into an El Salvadorian limo (AKA the back of a pickup), and we head out. After an hour drive, and an hour or so hike, I see the river and I’m anxiously awaiting the first jump.   It’s a scenic river with big boulders stirring up water into fast rapids and little lagoons.  Finally there’s a loud roar, and we’ve made it.  Time to jump in!  The first fall is a small jump only about 20 feet, but man was it exciting.  A few more similar jumps later, and we arrive at the big one.  It’s about a 35 feet from the small lagoon below, and you’ve got to jump off some pretty slippery rocks.  But what the hell, I’m not going to be lowered down in a harness like the one girl brave enough to join us.  So I jump.  Fuck yeah, this is definitely a good time.  A few hours later, we reach the final waterfall a gorgeous 150 footer that we’ve got to climb down the side of on some pretty shady rocks.  Some high fives were exchanged between the group and me after we reached some solid ground.  A long hike and ride back to the hostel, and every one of us is still amped on the adventure we’d all had.  It’s too bad my riding buddy BJ missed out with a motorcycle mishap. 

After staying in Antigua for nearly two weeks BJ and I are ready to leave.  It was a lot of fun, and a great time, but the necessity to leave all compounded on our last night in the city.  By this time we’ve been couchsurfing with our friend Blake.  He’s got a great place in the city, so at about 6:00 pm I’ve got the making for an awesome pregame: bottle of vodka, macaroni and cheese, hot dogs, orange juice, and the movie Dumb and Dumber.  (BTW funniest line from any movie ever: “We’ve got no food, we’ve got no jobs, our pets’ heads are falling off!!” I’m cracking up just typing that line.)  Anywho, there’s a proper party at a nearby bar, so not making the smartest decision ever: we take the bikes.  (I know, I know, like I told you it was a bad idea.)  We all sip on some two dollar margaritas, and as we grow tired of the increasingly bigger crowd, we make the call to finish up and head out to a new bar. Everything is dandy, until BJ offers to let our friend Chrissie ride his motorcycle.  Knowing this was a severely bad idea, I let them know, but to no avail.  Now Chrissie said she had riding experience, but we’re riding monster enduro bikes with knobby tires weighed down with all of our gear.  Not really a tiny dirt bike you might have jumped on as a teenager.  She tries to take off a couple of times, but stops very suddenly as she lets the clutch out.  This happens two or three times, and BJ becomes more confident and impatient, so he jumps on the back to help guide her.  The good ideas just keep compounding don’t they? Ha. Anyhow as you might have guessed, she dumps the bike on the cobblestone road.  I rush over to check to see if they’re okay, because even at a low speeds without a helmet you can still get severely injured.  They’re hurt, but talking and rolling around.  As they slowly get up, it’s apparent the bike landed on BJ’s foot, and they’re both scraped up, bumped and bruised.  The night has successfully been turned in to a downer, but after a few hours they’re able to laugh at themselves and realize what they had done.  Like any good sitcom, there’s a big lesson to be learned: don’t let chicks ride your huge motorcycle after a trip to the bar on a sloped cobblestone road with other cars parked around while riding bitch on the back.  I’m going to say outright: that will never happen again.  Sometimes you have to learn the hard way.  At least I’m now in second place for worst idea of the trip.  All that happened to me was looking like an idiot, getting soaked, and messing up my phone. 

On another note, I had my first legitimate breakdown yesterday.  It all started two days ago leaving Antigua.  There was traffic going down a steep windy mountain road, so there’s no way I’m sitting in traffic with the mobility of my bike.  I start cutting traffic on the little two lane highway, and everything’s going great until I pass this one truck on the right.  There is some fresh asphalt placed right as I’m leaning the bike over to turn in front of the truck.  The front tire slips out from under me, and I’m graceful enough to put my foot down and run off the bike as it falls.  Sweet, I’m good, had a styling wreck, and since traffic is stopped I have time to pick up my bike and move on.  But as a drive on I notice a vibrating sound that’s definitely out of place. I figure my chain needs to be tightened, or it’s the chain guard that’s rubbing.  Making it to the next destination, I forget all about the vibrating and have a good couple days in El Salvador.  A quick ride to the gas station on the edge of town provides a fill up and some time to give the bike a much needed inspection.  BJ notices that the subframe bolt is missing, and that it’s been completely sheered off and bent out of shape.  Shit, this isn’t going to be a quick fix.  This particular subframe bolts let the rear swing arm move and absorb shock.  The only way to get it back into place is to lift the rear wheel off the ground and pound the parallel plates back into shape so the pivot rod can be placed back in between.  No problem.  About two hours later: mission complete.  Good thing we both came prepared with spare parts and Bachelor’s degrees in engineering.  Nice.  The vibrating is gone, and the bike is good as new. The trip is back on.

9/6/2010 - Hawaii, GT: Turtle Power

Ok, so you probably couldn't imagine how stoked I am right now. After about two weeks, BJ and I were able to revive me iPhone. I mean the phone was completely submerged for a bit, and left on for about ten minutes before I was able to properly turn it off, and now it's completely fine. A quick restore later, and I'm so effing happy to have my phone / computer / mp3 player back. God damn I love living in this bad ass water proof technological age. Amen!

Otherwise, I've met some pretty awesome people here in Antigua. Some at a bar and more later at a house warming party.  After some beers with some fellow motorcyclists we all make plans to head to the beach for the weekend. The seven of us left for the beach the following morning. When we took off everything was sunshine and puppy dog tails. Now we did hear rumors about the road being in a bad condition from the previous couple of days of rain, but armed with motorcycles and confidence there was no stopping us.  After about an hour of smooth sailing we find the road was completely under water. Now what? Find another route? Go back? Nope. We're going through.  It's about a half mile of waist high water, so screw it, I hope bike is amphibious.  Turns out with a few little sputters and minor malfunctions all of the bikes make it through.  On top of the world we all take pictures, exchange high fives, and congratulate ourselves. We move on only to find that the first crossing was only one of about a dozen.  Some deeper, some longer, often forcing us to walk our bikes through the water.  After a couple of extra hours, we all make it and I'm definitely glad I bought an adventure touring motorcycle because that was wicked fun with the right equipment. Here's some pictures:

After the rather long, but rather fun travel ordeal we finally end up in our weekend destination: Hawaii, Guatemala. It's a gorgeous black volcanic sand beach that's much nicer then the one in Maui. The sand is soft and the waves are swimmable, as long as you have the balls to mess with consistent 6 to 8 footers. After a nice swim and a little rest we all head out to the see turtle hatchery. It's a nice place on the beach where a bunch of good hearted volunteers store turtle eggs so that they can be released into the wild. This is where it gets interesting because sea turtles are a very touchy subject. Our guide would be content to hug / snuggle / talk about sea turtles all day long which I find pretty hilarious. Here's why: sea turtle eggs are pretty valuable in Guatemala, depending on the season they can go for two to five dollars a dozen. They sell well because the locals have the belief that since turtles can have sex for two days at a time, this magical power somehow transfers into the eggs. Now the turtle loving Americans and Europeans can't even begin to fathom why locals are taking the beautiful and innocent eggs and selling them for consumption. (BTW, the locals have probably been doing this for hundreds of years.) So there has been lots of foreign effort made to save the turtle eggs. Which only one in a thousand will actually make it to adulthood. Now don't get me wrong, I honestly don't view this as a bad thing, it's just really funny to see so many foreigners so passionate about these fucking turtles when there are some other pretty heavy problems out there. So as you can imagine all my well timed baby turtle / boner getting / egg eating jokes didn't go over so well with the people outside of my group. Whatever, all you turtle heroes need to get a sense of humor. Oh! And while I'm being super cynical. Fuck people who pretty much stop while going over speed bumps. You suck.

On a brighter note. I really enjoyed the beach, good company, good setting, good food, and a bright sun shinning day. All of which make me a happy man. After some good beach bumming, the group has been talked into a tour of the local mangroves AKA swamp and bug tour. As you can guess the mangroves were also flooded, so the water level was pretty high. Making another little water adventure. It was fun dodging trees and overhanging branches. There were always some pretty huge bugs and spiders to keep you on you toes too. After a while I finally got to see the the lagoon. Which was pretty beautiful. It really seems that Guatemala is pretty great in the ways of tourism and landscape. It's too bad Costa Rica gets all the Central American street cred because Guatemala really has a lot to offer.  I've had a long splendid stay here in Antigua, but tomorrow I'm hitting the road east to the next country on the list: El Salvador.

8/29/2010 - Antigua, GT: Ramble On

After my bi-monthly shave and my first hot shower in over a week, I can definitely say that I’m happy to be in Antigua, Guatemala.  It’s been a while since I did my last post and there’s a very good excuse: I’m an idiot.  Well long story short, trying to be adventurous, and find a new path to the next beach I stepped in what seemed to be sand in the moonlight.  Turns out boggy water and sand look very similar in Mexico, and before I knew it I was waste deep with my iPhone.  That sucked.  I could really care less about looking like a jackass (happens all the time), but losing my portable computer was a tough blow.  I turned it off right away, and have hopes of reviving it after some careful internet research.  Right now, it’s in a bag of rice drying.  So, for now I’m going to be living in the Stone Age, and keep a handwritten journal (gasp!), which I’ll transfer to blog form.  Ugh, what a douche.  Next time I’ll try to be more careful.

Anywho! A ton of crazy/fun/wierd stuff has happened since I last posted something about the hated speed bumps.  To start, I’ve visited some really great places: Oaxaca and Mazunte were incredible.  Oaxaca, is the capital city of the state of Oaxaca.  It’s pronounced wa-hoc-a, which really throws me off, because in Spanish there are supposed to be rules.  Like every thing should be read exactly like it’s written.  I guess not the case for this city, so after some silly confusion on my part, BJ and I make it to the city.  It’s wonderful: the market smells great, the people at our hostel are super friendly, and it looks like there’s a ton of stuff to do just outside the city.  The next day, we jump on the bike and see some amazing petrified waterfalls.  It’s really incredible how lost you can get in time, when just a few little springs of water can create something so grand with only time and minerals.  Of course thinking the springs were hot springs BJ and I came prepared with our board shorts hoping to relax in a spa.  Definitely not the case. The water wasn’t icy, so after deciding I’ll probably never get another chance to jump into a spring like this again.  I form a big cannonball and enjoy the swim.  In retrospect it was quite nice. Also in Oaxaca, the worlds biggest tree measured by trunk diameter.  Let me tell you something about that tree: it’s a big fucking tree.  Definitely worth the 15 minute drive.

After Oaxaca, I was ready to hang on a beach and be a bum for a few days.  It’s supposed to be my extended vacation right? Beach it is.  After riding up and over a mountain that topped out at 9,000 ft, I finally made it back to see level and looked for a small surfer town called Mazunte.  What a ride to get there, it rained all day in the mountains, and when we got to the coast we found out the damage was much worse there.  Lucky for us, we’re armed with some kick ass motorcycles that can go almost anywhere.  There’s a few roads washed out, which look to me like a raging river, but local police say that underneath was once a road.  Oh well, for the first river, there was a pedestrian bridge so on our big ass bikes we crossed, literally having people move aside while try and manage.  Boom, success, I’m almost to the mythical Mazunte.  One last river, and Mazunte should only be a few miles away.  We’re told by some random woman that there’s a way around the paved road using some dirt roads.  Okay, no problem I get “go straight and turn right”.  Easy enough.  Too bad they were awful directions, and while heading the wrong way up a steep muddy hill, I get caught on the upper side of a two foot rivet.  FYI, trying to put your foot down into nothing may throw you into a huge soupy bowl of mud.  After realizing I was ok from my fall, BJ and I had to get my bike out.  Not an easy task by any means, but after about a half hour it’s free and we’ve both conquered the hill.  Too bad it was the wrong way.  It really is funny how shit works out like that sometime.  Eventually we go back down the same hill (much easier) and get correct directions.  We find a hostel with a cold shower and pizza.  I fall asleep happy to have finally made our destination.

In the morning I felt a little different.  My insect friends decided to snack on my legs once again during the night.  This is the last time that’s going to happen, if a whole crap load of deet, high powered fans, and wearing extra clothing and blankets don’t work.  It’s doctors’ recommendation time.  I get my B12 shot and google about a dozen different websites about dosages and how to take the shot.  Too much B12 acts like cyanide, hence why you need a prescription in the States.  Armed with a big ass bottle and a needle, I’m ready to start my hardcore street drug taking career.  I guess the correct dosage (just over half a mL?), fill up the needle and I’m ready.  Now I’m going to sound like a pussy, but giving yourself a shot is not as easy as the old youtube nurse lady makes it seem.  But after psyching myself up and puncturing my leg about five times (they were test holes to make sure I could handle it, ok?) I finally succeed.  Now time to take the drugs the easy way for the next month, orally.  Thank goodness.  I am now pleased to report that my bug bites have decreased dramatically, and I still hate BJ because he’s gotten a total of about five mosquito bites this whole trip with no preventative measure.

On to the next modest topic: BJ and I being heroes.  Ha.  I can’t even type that with a straight face, but really we did help out an Austrian friend of ours that got robbed.  Her backpack was stolen from her hostel (open window), and inside was her passport, money, cell phone, and bank cards.  Oops.  I make a mental note to store my valuables away from windows.  Anyhow, BJ and her spend most the next day getting a police report, so she at least something to take back to her Embassy so that she can get home without a passport.  By crazy coincidence, as we’re heading out on our bikes to say goodbye, her hostel owner flags us down and gives us all her stuff back (except the cash of course), but by that time they had left to catch a bus back to Mexico City.  We’re about 15 minutes behind them at this point, so with their stuff we’re determined to catch them before they head out.  A half our later, we get to city where the bus station is and randomly see them walking on the street.  Awesome! She’s ecstatic to have her passport back and very thankful.  She got pretty lucky because we caught her only about five minutes before her bus left.  It’s wonderful how sometimes with a little luck things can turn out for the better.  Like I said: we’re heroes. 

It hadn’t even been a couple hours since I’d left Mexico, and I remember saying to myself that I already missed it.  The border crossing in Guatemala was a hassle to say the least, and just entering a new country with different signs, road maintenance, gas station and people, kind of puts things into perspective.  Mexico was a beautiful country with wonderful people.  Mexicans were sincerely interested in our travels, and weren’t afraid to lend a helping hand.  When BJ’s bike fell over at a gas station, not less than three attendants ran over to help him lift it up.  My favorite example of Mexican hospitality came from Sofia’s family.  Instantly, two goofy white kids were accepted.  Sofia’s Uncle Mike refused our answer of “we’re not hungry”, and took us out to eat some authentic food anyway.  Then about two hours later he took us to his house and fed us again! How awesome is that.  What an amazing bunch of people.  I was pretty lucky in meeting such great Couchsurfers and residents.  Oh, and luckily my parents never received a package containing my ear or finger with a ransom note.  What a nice surprise.  Anyhow, one of my favorite memories that I’ll take from Mexico is this: while riding I got stuck behind a small pickup truck packed with about five young children.  They’re all sitting with their backs on the cab, and as I ride up their faces light up and they all vigorously wave hello.  Then as I pass they all wave goodbye, I return their friendly wave and continue south. 

Maybe, I should reward people who actually read this thing.  I mean really this entry is already at 1,600 words.  I don’t want to ramble on, but since I’m a firm believer in technology; I’m writing these personal thoughts and insights so they can be forever stored on the internet.  Maybe my kids will get a kick out reading these silly entries when they’re old enough.  I just love knowing that that is the future.  Even though I may be a cheesy, vulgar, and sometimes way too colloquial writer; it encourages me that one day in maybe 50 years I can reflect on what a crazy adventure I went on.  Sounds better than losing a dusty old journal in an attic, so thanks for reading and enjoy!