I'm updating this section on Costa Rica and Panama six months after the fact, so my recollection of all the events are foggy. I'm anxious to catch up with the blog and get to my current location Ecuador. Six months in wondeful Colombia also needs to attention in the blog as well.

Victoria and I left from Granada, Nicaragua headed for Costa Rica and Panama. On our first day out we stopped a fruit stand and picked up some oranges.

These photos aren't in perfect order, but here is one of Victoria eating a ice cream sundae next to a fat statue ( seems like a Botero piece but we're not in Colombia, so I'm not certain anymore).

Here's a photo fo me at the empty Costa Rican border. No lines at all, very unusual for a border crossing. Maybe the sketchy bridges that were to come were a reason for this...

I left the mountain valley city of Tegucigalpa and rode the twisties all the way back to the Panamerican Highway. Then onto the border crossing of Guasale into Nicaragua. I had spent one week in Honduras, met the President, explored Tegucigalpa and the small colonial towns of Santa Lucia and Valle de Angeles. But I was excited to continue onto Nicaragua. I had heard good things about León and Granada, the lakes and the volcanoes.

I took this photo on the bridge leading into Nicaragua. You can see the Japanese development symbol on the sign. Japan and Germany seem to have a publically visible development program in Nicaragua. Many times the bus stops along the road will have the German "desarollo" symbol.

The first 20 or so miles after entering Nicaragua, the road looked like this.

The scorched cattle country of southeast Honduras led to the lush, green, volcanic lands of southern Nicaragua. I stopped here and took this photo of a Vigilante and the volcano in the background.

I was stopped 4 times by the police between Guasale, the border crossing, and León. Only once was it a problem and that was because he was by himself and had no peer to check his corruptness. The other times they just wanted to ask me questions about the moto. This photo is of Dennis and Cruz, who stopped me just outside León. They asked me the standard questions about the bike and my trip and then we talked a little "beisbol". There was a game tonight, León vs. Managua, and they would be directing traffic outside. They advised me on how to get to the stadium, how much tickets wereand how this was an important series to determine who goes to the finals. They warned me of going to Managua, Cruz gave me the hand-snatching motion, which symbolizes thievary. As we said our goodbyes, they wished me luck and Dennis gave me his orange glove, for riding at night for safety. Gente muy amable.

As I rode into the old, cobblestoned streets of León, I stopped at a stoplight and asked another moto rider where the Parque Central was. He told me to follow him and we wound our way through the city, until we arrived at a huge "catedral" and he pulled over and motioned that this was it. I parked the bike, took out my "guia" to find a good hostel and sat down for some "comida típica". In this photo you will see, from closest to far, empanadas de maduros, queso frito, enchiladas, tacos, ensalada and papa frita con queso.

I found a $3 hostel, Hostal de Aubergue, run by a nice young guy named Frank. And then I hopped in a taxi to go to the beisbol game at 6pm. León beat Boér of Managua, 5-3, but it should have been a shutout. Boér scored 3 runs with 2 outs in the top of the ninth inning. León used three pitchers to get the last out. And to my surprise, the fans applauded the failing pitcher. Whereas in Boston, if a pitcher comes into the game to get one out and instead loads up the bases, he´s going to hear the crowds disapproval with familiar expressions such as "sit down you bum!"
Here are some thoughts I had as I watched the game.
There is no bullpen phone, so the manager has to frantically wave his hands to get the pitchers´attention, and then that´s followed by confusing "who me?" gestures by the 5 or so pitchers out there in the outfield bullpen. I couldn´t but think they could have streamlined this process by flashing the numbers of the players, or of course, by using a phone system.
There is no big screen for replays.
There are ads on the uniforms, in this case it was for the national beers, Toña and Victoria.
There are no seats, only general admission, and no one sits the whole 9 innings.
There are no foul balls to be brought home by lucky fans; the stands are blocked by fence from the ground to the roof.
Players use different cleats, probably just the ones they can afford to buy themselves.
Some players have religious stickers on their helmets, like the Virgin Mary icon, etc.
The announcer talks while the players are batting.
The good seats are 20 cordobas (18 cords = $1).
It did not seem like there was any regulations as to what you can bring into the stadium. By the end of the game, there was one guy who would blow his fog horn everytime an opposing batter faced a pitch to distract him. Whistles are also common.
The concessions are not nazi-like, as in the states. Prices for beer were the same as in the brocery store across the street. And you buy cans of beer from a lady with a cooler and ice. And you´d better buy all the ones you want for the game when you enter, because the stands are so full, it would take you 2 innings just to get back to your section.

Frank, the owner of Hostal de Aubergue, and his buddy sat and chatted with me for a while. I took this photo of them outside the hostel and his buddy wanted a photo of him on my bike. He wanted me to email the photo to him, so he could use it to impress girls.

They taught me some good words and expressions in Nicaragau.
"Nicas" = Nicaraguans
"á la orden" = at your service (almost like you´re welcome)
"chele(a)" = white person
"deacachimba" = super cool (place/feeling)
"diaverga" = super cool (person/place)
"Penefi" = Managua
"naca" = loco
"chavalos(las) = boys/girls
"varones" = men
"vichas" = beers
"abanico" = fan

León has 5 churches and lots of parques. It´s a liberal city, birthplace of poets like Rüben and generally has a revelutionary attitude about it. Whereas Granada is the city of the elite, like the Chamorro family, and tends to be conservative.

United Motors is a Chinese company that sells a lot of motorcycles here in Nicaragua and Honduras. They only make 150cc and 250cc bikes, but all cost less than $2K. Tom from Honduras rode a UM bike. They even make a Harley looking bike, which are called "charlies" = chinese Harley.

Just like in America, they hate George Bush here too, as can be seen by the graffiti that says "Bush means Genocide, Enemy of Humanity".

My grandfather, Charles Burrows, was the United States Ambassador to Honduras from 1960 to 1965. My father spent holidays and summers there during that time and my aunt spent some of those years there full time, attending school with other children of influential families. One of these children was Ricardo Maduro, who was friends with my dad and dated my aunt for a while. He went on to become the President of Honduras from 2002 to 2006. My aunt and parents tracked down some names and numbers for me to call when I got to Honduras, but I felt awkward making these calls, saying "hi, i´m the grandson of the american ambassador from 50 years ago, can you meet me and talk about the good ol´days." I made a few calls though and for various reasons I couldn´t get in touch with anybody. I gave up and decided to continue on, havng enjoyed Tegucigalpa anyway, seeing the massive residence of the American Ambassador high up on a mountain top, surrounded by high security walls. I was content with that.

As fate has it though, I befriended a pretty girl in town, Ailin Diaz, and we took an excursion to the breezey, old, colonial village of Valle de Angeles on a Sunday afternoon. As we were walking the old village square we noticed many people posing for photos and shaking the hand of a certain man. Surprised, Ailin told me that was the former President of Honduras, Ricard Maduro. I couldn´t believe it. Here I am in a little town in Honduras, I have a family contact with the former President - with whom I failed at getting in touch - and I end up running into him on the street. So I approached him and explained that he knew my father, aunt and grandparents a long time ago. He paused to think and finally realized who I was talking about and I think he was just as surprised to meet me as I was to meet him. He was with his girlfriend, Melissa, and invited Ailin and me to have lunch with them. It was pretty neat, the local Hondurans must have been thinking "who the hell is this gringo that Maduro is taking to lunch?" We sat on the outdoor terrace of a nice restaurant, had some parilla-style, tipica meat and talked about his presidency, his current affairs, his memories of my dad, aunt and grandfather and my life.

He told me about how his son was kidnapped and killed and this was one of the reasons he ran for president with a platform to be tough on crime. However the constitution banned him from running because he was born in Panama. But having held such influential positions in Honduras such as being president of the Bank of Honduras and leader of the National Party of Honduras (PNH), he took his case to the International Court in Brazil to prove he had Honduran blood and he won. He won the elections on his promise to be tough on crime and the "maras" (gangs) and put national troops on the streets of major cities along side police. He had his inauguration in Còpan to encourage tourism. He told me how he reformed the Honduran Supreme court, how overnight he got small businesses to start paying taxes by threatening to close them down if they didn´t. My friend Ailin, a school teacher of Mesquite blood, was also interested to pick his brain a little on education and the conversation turned to how he wanted to make it mandatory to have a university degree in order to be a teacher. But the strong teacher´s union demanded a 69% pay increase if this were to be implemented and he explained his frustrations with the union, claiming the government did not have to money to increase pay by this much and the union didn´t budge. He talked about the difficulties of teaching the remote Mesquite indians; how the union demanded all schools be taught in Spanish and that this required flying in teachers from around the country, even though there were able Mesquite teachers willing to teach in the Mesquite language.

He explained how he went to Lawernceville highschool in New Jersey and then to Stanford, how he speaks English with his brothers and sisters, Spanish with his kids, how his daughter just moved to Costa Rica, that he was going to visit her soon and that maybe I could run into him there too. He joked that the "Ticos" never showed up to his regional meetings. Somehow we began talking about cars, he has a auto distribution company, he has a ´86 Porsche Carrera in his garage (my dad had the same car once) and he just bought a new Honda Civic SI - which he loves and that he rode motorcycles at one point in his life too.

At one point he whipped out his blackberry, asked for my dad´s phone number and called him right there at the table. "Jim, it´s Ricardo Maduro here. I´m having lunch with your son." My dad was shocked of course. He encourage my dad to come visit and my dad encouraged him to visit New England. Ricardo´s son goes to Notre Dame, so he´s on the Board of Trustees there, and he makes frequent trips to the states, so maybe it´s a possibility we´ll have him as a guest someday soon.

As we were leaving the restaurant, the table next to us introduced themselves. They were Americans, the mom worked at the embassy, and she recognized Ricardo. She found out who I was and invited me to come to the embassy and meet Ambassador Ford, that he would be happy to show me around.

It was definitely the best experience of my trip so far. It was a really special afternoon and I am so happy to have met Ricardo. Fate is crazy that way. I was ready to leave Tegucigalpa, but then I met Ailin and decided to stay a couple more days. She encouraged me to visit Valle de Angeles and if it weren´t for her I wouldn´t have recognized Ricardo. I might have walked right by him, not knowing who he was.

Here I am introducing myself to Ricardo. Notice the surprised, happy onlookers in the background.

Here is Ricardo about to call my father from the restaurant. Notice the beautiful mountain views in the background.

Here we are after lunch walking through the picturesque, central parque of Valle de Angeles, Ricardo doing his best to shake everyone´s hand.

Here we all are, Ricardo, Melissa, Ailin and me, in front of my motorcycle.

Parque Central is definitely the center of town. Men, women and children line the benches and walkways to sit in the shade and people watch.

There is a heavy police presence in Tegucigalpa. This old man is a retired police officer, but he still helps control the traffic for this one intersection.

I had to stop for some dunkin donuts, a little taste of home. However they didn´t understand "medium regulaaah".

This photo was taken at the steamy border coming into Honduras.

Tom is an american who owns the Tabacco Road Inn, one of the only hostels in Tegucigalpa. He rides a dirtbike and took me for a ride up to La Tigra national park.

The windy, dirt road up to La Tigra is a beautiful ride. It´s amazing how quickly you can go from dense, city streets to open, pine forest.

I kept the moto inside Tabacco Road at night and it involved a two stair obstacle, always good photo ops.

Tegucigalpa from the La Tigra road. The city is absolutely emormous.

Marco Antonio Solis is everywhere, on the radio, in restaurants, in bars, on buses and in markets. He's sings "romantica" and his lyrics make women melt. Here are two of my favorite songs, with translations. Is this guy good or what? I´ve been known to charm a dame or two with these lyrics ;)

ANTES DE QUE TE VAYAS
Antes de que te vayas................................Before you go
dejame mirar.............................................Let me look
una vez mas ese rostro...............................One more time at your face
que nunca he de olvidar..............................So I will never forget
me dices sinceramente................................You tell me sincerely
que me has dejado de amar........................That you have stopped loving me
descuida yo bien comprendo...................... Forget it, I understand well
y te sabre perdonar...................................And I will know how to forgive you

CORO CHORUS
Cuida de tu vida........................................Take care of your life
en tu camino.............................................On your way
yo siempre pedire......................................I will always ask this of
a Dios por ti..............................................God for you
Por ese corazon.........................................For that heart
que me dio tanto.......................................That gave me so much
pero acabo mi encanto...............................But my charm is gone
y lo perdi..................................................And I lost it

Perdona si te fastidio..................................I'm sorry if I bother you
pero es que es mi sentir.............................But these are my feelings
tal vez, no tengo ni forma...........................Perhaps, I don't have a way
de lo que quiero decir................................To say what I want
quisiera pedirte un beso.............................I wish I could ask you for a kiss
que borre los del ayer...............................And erase those from yesterday
mas no te quito tu tiempo..........................But I don't want to waste your time
Te puedes ir, ya lo ves..............................You can go, can't you see

CORO.......................................................CHORUS
Cuida de tu vida........................................Take care of your life
en tu camino.............................................On your way
yo siempre pedire......................................I will always ask this of
a Dios por ti..............................................God for you
Por ese corazon........................................For that heart
que me dio tanto.......................................That gave me so much
pero acabo mi encanto..............................But my charm is gone
y lo perdi.................................................And I lost it

CORO.....................................................CHORUS
Cuida de tu vida......................................Take care of your life
en tu camino...........................................On your way
yo siempre pedire...................................I will always ask this of
a Dios por ti...........................................God for you
Por ese corazon......................................For that heart
que me dio tanto.....................................That gave me so much
pero acabo mi encanto............................But my charm is gone
y lo perdi...............................................And I lost it

SI TE HUBIERAS IDO

Te extraño mas que nunca y no se que hacer....I miss you more than ever and I
.....................................................................don't know what to do
despierto y de recuerdo mal amanecer..............I wake up and remember the bad
......................................................................morning
espera otro dia por vivir sin ti............................I wait for another day to live
.......................................................................without you
el espejo no miente me veo tan diferente...........The mirror doesn't lie I look
......................................................................so different
me haces falta tu..............................................I am without you

La gente pasa y pasa siempre van y van.............The people pass and pass
........................................................................always going and going
el ritmo de la vida me parece mal.....................The rhythm of life seems
......................................................................bad to me
era tan diferente cuando estabas tu...................It was so different when you
......................................................................were here
si que era diferente cuando estabas tu...............Yes, it was different when you
......................................................................were here

No hay nada mas dificil que vivir sin ti................There's nothing more difficult
.......................................................................than to live without you
sufriendo en la espera de verte llegar.................Suffering in the hope to
.......................................................................see you arrive
el frio de mi cuerpo pregunta por ti.....................The emptiness of my body
.......................................................................asks for you
y no se donde estas..........................................And I don't know where you are
si no te hubieras ido seria tan feliz......................If you had not left I would
.......................................................................be so happy

No hay nada mas dificil que vivir sin ti.................There nothing more difficult
........................................................................than to live without you
sufriendo en la espera de verte llegar..................Suffering in the hope
........................................................................to see you arrive
el frio de mi cuerpo pregunta por ti.....................The emptiness of my body
........................................................................ask for you
y no se donde estas..........................................And I don't know where you are
si no te hubieras ido seria tan feliz......................If you had not left I would
.......................................................................be so happy

La gente pasa y pasa siempre van y van.............The people pass and pass
.......................................................................always going and going
el ritmo de la vida me parece mal....................The rhythm of life seem bad to me
era tan diferente cuando estabas tu..................It was so different when
.....................................................................you were here
si que era diferente cuando estabas tu...............Yes, it was so different when
......................................................................you were here

No hay nada mas dificil que vivir sin ti................There's nothing more difficult
.......................................................................than to live without you
sufriendo en la espera de verte llegar.................Suffering in the hope
.......................................................................to see you arrive
el frio de mi cuerpo pregunta por ti....................The emptiness of my body
.......................................................................aks for you
y no se donde estas..........................................And I don't know where you are

si no te hubieras ido seria tan feliz......................If you had not left I would
.......................................................................be so happy

EL SALVADOR BORDER--

HOTEL PARAISO--

BMW--

ESTANCIA AND METROCENTRO--

VIGILANTES--

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click here to download an audio file (500mb)

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Nick and I left Mérida yesterday morning for Cancún. Along the way we visited Mayapan and Chichén Itzá. We got into Chichén for free because it was 4 o´clock by the time we arrived and there was only one hour until it closed.
Mayapan was suggested to us by Luis, a "compadre de moto", who we met as we were leaving Mérida. He pulled up next to us in the city, and at a stoplight, asked about our travels. When we stopped a little later to check our maps, Luis pulled up again and helped us. He told us about Mayapan and suggested we go to Tepick, find his friend "Menche" and ask for the "cenotes". Turns out Luis has Mayan blood and speaks Mayopan. He here is directing us.

Mayapan is a nice quaint ruin with primitive rocks, colorful frescas and some well preserved sculptures. We had the whole place to ourselves.

As we left we had a brief, pleasant conversation with the 5-6 men that worked the entrance. They stopped their poker game to inquire about our travels and one practised his French with Nick.

Back on the road, heading to Chichén Itzá, we decided to skip the cenotes because we had to get to the park before dark. We passed a motorcyclist, travelling in the opposite direction, and we waved to eachother. It was Luis!
We stopped for good bar-b-que pork in Valladolid made it chichén by 4 o´clock. Outside the restaurant was a funny little motorcycle.

Here are a few signs I think are typical Mexican and you see them everywhere. Unfortunately I didn´t take a photo of the funniest one I saw a lot - "No dejas piedras en el pavimiento" or "don´t leave rocks on the pavement". I realized though that it actually makes some sense; when there is an accident or dead horse in the road, etc. the locals will warn oncoming drivers by putting huge rocks, brush or branches in the road, instead of the flares or orange triangles that I´m used to. Speed bumps are everywhere and some come with a warning, but most don´t. They´re know as "topes" in northern Mexico and changed to "tumulos" or "reductors" as we rode south. They´re usually placed about a 100 meters before a town or "poblo proximo". But I also learned some are not made by the government road crews; some are placed in front of businesses so you slow down and hopefully stop to buy their goods. If I were president of Mexico my first order of business would be to remove all "topes". They´re ridiculous, omnipresent and dangerous.

Here´s a particularly funny sign I encountered a lot. It´s a sign that tells you to "obey the signs".

One hour was not enough., Chichén Itzá was by far the best, biggest ruins so far. It´s huge with different sections accesible by walks through the jungle. There were lots of sculptures and rock carvings; it seemed there were very few uncarved stones.

Chichén has columns galore, some rounded, some squared, some 10 feet high, some 20, whole buildings made from columns - one building at least 200 yards wide! Their giant pyramid is in great, presevred shape. It was under construction and we weren´t alllowed to climb it. Although I don´t know if I would have wanted to.

We shared some laughs as we joked about doing a super fast tour of the place; running and reading the tourguide at the same time. Chichén was a real city; it had palaces for royalty, houses for high society, steam rooms, ball courts, pyramids for the Gods, buildings for fire rituals and food prepartions. Two huge "cenotes" provided drinking water (and were probably the reasons why that location was chosen for the city). Cenotes, I learned, were considered by the Mayans to be gateways to the underworld and were very special.

I did not take any photos of Cancún because, from I what I saw, it didn´t deserve any. Cancún seems gross and seedy, although we stayed in the downtown area, not the "zona hotelería" where all the fancy resorts are. The hotel zone is along the Caribbean and very expensive. We wanted to wake up early and hit the beach, but it rained all night and all day. So instead we made eggs and pancakes at the smelly hostel. The next day we switched hostels, to a cleaner, cooler, A/C place where we shared a room with a New Yorker named Carroll. Because it was raining so much, it left us nothing to do except go to the movies (Bond 007: Casino Royal) at the fancy mall Plaza de las Amerícas.

12/12/2006- We rode out of Cancún on 307 towards Tulum. The 40 or so miles heading south are full of luxury beach front developments. Playa del Carmen is an extension of Cancún. All the signs in front of the businesses are in English. We didn´t get to see the aqua-blue waters of Cancún, due to the rain. And it rained on and off all one and a half hours to Tulum. We headed straight for "El Mirador", the closest "hotel" to the ruins of Tulum (these ruins are unique because they are situated right on the ocean). At first glance "El Mirador" is gorgeous; right on the beach, white sand, blue waters, "palapa" huts on the sand and a restaurant on the hill above for great views. Mari, the chainsmoking owner, greeted us and I explained to her that Astro, my friend from Mérida, recommended us. We rented a cabaña for 120 pesos and hung our hammacas from the beams. The cabañas have sand floors and are of a simple construction of striaght pieces of wood and palm leaves for a roof.

It seemed like a great idea, to sleep in a cabaña on a hammaca, with the sound of the Caribbean waves crashing ashore...We went into town for a pizza, met a French couple who was bicycling the Americas, and got stuck there for a while waiting our a torrential downpour. We returned to the cabaña, lit the candles that remained there from the previous guests, and rocked ourselves to sleep. It was probably 8 or 9 pm, but with no electricity, it seemed like bedtime. Around 1am, we had both had enough. The mosquitos had arrived, probably born from all the rain, and they were eating us alive. 100% did nothing to stop them. We decided to pitch Nick´s tent outside and sleep there instead. His tent is a one-man shelter, but 2 people can squeeze into it if needed. We slept shoulder to shoulder, waking eachother up each time the other moved. It poured some more throughout the night and when we couldn´t take the hard sand surface and stuffy air anymore, we awoke to sunny skies for the first time in about 2 weeks. I skipped my bathroom duties that morning because it was so foul in "El Mirador´s" facilities. I wanted to lickity split and get to a better hotel; I was uncomfortable, my bike was salty and my clothes were damp and dirty. I waited for Nick to repack all his stuff again (this is beginning to be the norm with my streamlined packing system and his Beverly Hill Billies routine). He wanted to see the ruins, I didn´t, so we agreed to have breakfast, split up and then meet again in the border town of Chetumal, at the "Villa Deportiva".

I left without gassing up in Tulum, a mental lapse, and quickly approached empty. I moved closer to the side of the road, slowed down to 50mph, flipped on the hazards and barely limped into the tense Felipe Carrillo Puerto, with heavily armed guards on every corner. For some reason I didn´t get the feeling these cops were there to make tourists feel safer; they seemed very alert with their fingers on the triggers. Perhaps this was a known drug trafficing town, so close to the Belize border.

13/12/06- I woke up today at 7am and headed for the bathroom in our cheap 50 peso/night hostel "Villa Deportiva" only to find no running water. No shower, no brushing of the teeth. This happened in Aculpoco too, only to be turned on a few hours later. I think this is the same phenomenom I experienced as kid in Venezuala; the government shuts off the water for hours at a time to conserve the city´s water supply.

The room was sticky from the humidity and I craved a nice, cool spot for coffee and reading. So I took to the streets, it was rainy and cloudy for the umpteenth day in a row. Everything was closed, just like when I rode into town yesterday afternoon at 3pm. I was beginning to think it was a holiday. The taxis were running, beeping their horns for your attention. The Christmas music was blaring from the town´s main park, but there was barely a sole to be seen, save for the few home owners, with tired eyes, sweeping rain water away from their front doors after the "aquacero" from last night. No coffee shops or restaurants open, it was 7:30am by now. The only work at this hour seemed to be taxi-driving and sweeping, but the music was going in the park and at an elementary school where I watched a group of uniformed school children follow a teacher´s dance instructions. Finally storefronts began to appear from behind their roll-up shutters doors. Radios were being tuned to the colorful, skin-showing morning shows out of Mexico City, but still no coffee being brewed. Priorities I guess.
I walked up the main Ave. Obrégon and back down again, finally arriving at last night´s dinner spot at Sergio´s Pizza, a popular air-conditioned restaurant. I seated myself and waited and waited. Finally a basket of bread arrived to complement the "mantequilla and jalea" centerpiece. Then I ordered a coffee. It arrived lukewarm, but was good with the bread. It was refilled twice and each time the coffee was hotter. Chetumal was waking up.

I also found another Patriots fan here. This guy is a fan of #28, Curtis Martin!

14/12/06- At the border we met an Argentine who had left Miami, Fl on his Suzuki Bandit 1200 sportbike, headed for Buenos Aires. We exhanged whatever infomation we knew about crossing the border. To leave Mexico we had our passports stamped and then had to remove the sticker on the moto´s windshield and export the bikes. To enter Belize, we had to stamp our passports, once for oursleves and once for the bikes, then we had to carry all of our luggage into immigration to have them searched for contraband. It was a workout and not straight forward. We then had to leave our luggage on the Belize side of the border, unattented, go back and get the bikes, ride up to the mean border official, show our stamped passports, pass and then reattach all our luggage. Here are some photos of the border crossing, including one with Alfonso´s suzuki.

Many houses in Belize are on stilts becasue it´s a low-lying country, prone to flooding. From the border we rode through the small town of Orangewalk. At one point, we were stopped by 4 police officers at a checkpoint marked by orange cones in the street´s median. They checked our passports, asked us the standard questions (where are you going? where are you from?) and then told us we needed driver´s insurance for Belize. No one told us this at the border, which is strange, but apparently we could buy it just 3 km down the road. So we agreed to get it and off we went. We didn´t get any insurance, instead we just continued on to Belize City. Belize City is an old, small, wet port town. The wooden houses have peeling paint from the constant wetness. The music has changed from the horns and accordian sounds of merengue, salsa and cumbia to the bass heavy and electric piano sounds of reggae. We passed a pick-up with huge amplifiers blaring loud reggae, with a sign promoting the Christmas tree lighting that night at Battlefield Park.

We settled into the Sea Guest House, a double room for 40 Belize dollars ($20 US).

Belize is very expensive, that was the cheapest place we could find and gas is $5US/gallon. Gina, who worked there, told us in her island English, that we should eat at "Thrill on the Grill" and only the Indian food was expensive. Around the corner on Queen Street, the restaurant´s clean, new interior contrasted with it´s crumbling exterior. A TV played a bollywood movie, the Indian owner ate and watched, and the younger, beanie-wearing Matthew waited on us. We ordered the jerk chicken, mashed potatoes, beans and a Belikin beer (national beer of Belize). We talked with the owner and Matthew a little bit about the city and places we should visit. Matthew seemed overly polite, formal and uncomfortable in front of his boss; every question we had for him was double checked with his boss. The Lonely PLanet said Caesar´s, Eden´s Nightclub and MJ´s Grand were good spots for nightlife, but the owner in his Indian accent told us we should go to the Princess Hotel and Casino along the Caribbean sea. There, he assured us, we wouldn´t be bothered by beggars or possibly robbed. I was beginning to understand I should take advice with a grain of salt. When we ask for a good place to eat or a place to go out at night, people seem to look at our white faces and then suggest the cleanest, most modern, expensive places to assure we have a pleasant, safe time. I understand I guess; they don´t want us to have a bad impression of their country. But what they don´t realize is that on a journey like ours (months in duration) we can´t afford to eat $15 meals and go to expensive casinos for a beer. It´s the real, dirty, local spots that I enjoy the most; that´s where you can get a true feeling for the culture and its people.

It rained the next morning, but when the sun cleared, Nick and I packed our bikies and took off for the West part of Belize to the border town of San Ignacio. The low-lying houses on stilts gave way to nothing, open land for grazing water buffalo. Then we started to climb the green, wet hills, the road began to twist. Here the villages began again, this time more idyllic, kids playing in deep, green yards under giant trees. We passed a few menonites in their horse and carriages and reached the top of the hill into San Ignacio.

The wooden bridge had been washed out, so we waited our turn for the traffic to change on the 1 lane bridge.

At the border we outprocessed ourselves at immigration, 30 Belize Dollars because we had been there less than 24 hours. The friendly, money changers joked around with us. We asked them how they became money changers and they responded that that the government had picked the best thieves in town.

They also warned us of the very muddy, impassable roads ahead in Guatemala. Coming from the nice concrete roads in Belize, we had trouble comprehending that such a drastic change could lie ahead, eventhough we saw the mud covered trucks and cars coming through the border. The Guatemala immigration experience was a stark constrast to the formal, up front professional Belize one.

The office was a run down set of buildings followed by a colorful line of vendor huts selling food and nick nacks and then a bridge crossing a raging river (from all the rain) into an unknown land. We paid 12.40 Quetzales to a man in a booth for the bikes, but he gave us a legitimate receipt. At the next building a young boy, maybe 14 years old, was working the desk in street clothes. Older, uniformed men shuffled around in the background. I handed the boy my passport, he scanned it and asked for 10 QZ. I gave the money to him and he didn´t give me a receipt, so I asked for it and he replied there was no receipt and that I was paying to have my passport scanned. I noticed he put the money to the side and not in an official register. I smelled a rat. He refused to give me my money back.

Into the customs building to do the bike´s paperwork, I asked the officials and they laughed affirming my suspicion. By now I wanted to make the situation just. I again asked for my money back and received another "no". I went looking for some type of authority figure and found a man walking the border in uniform. I explained I had been ripped off and there was no one to talk to, only a child behind the desk. He agreed and asked me if I would be "ok" if I got a receipt and I said "yes". He went inside and I could see him and the other men talk, look outside at me, and then begin to draw up a fake receipt. I snapped a photo of the boy behind the immigration desk, to his surprise, which brought more angry looks from his father figures in the back. Then I told the other tourists there to not pay the fee unless it was accompanied by a receipt.

Finally as Nick was finishing his paperwork, the boy came out and gave me my fake, hand written receipt, which I plan to send to the Guatemalan government´s corruption office along with the photo I took. I understand being ripped off by people on the street, but by border officials behind government desks is bad.

We were on our way into Guatemala. The road was horrible, mud, potholes, rocks and people were everywhere along with pigs, dogs, horses in the street. There was no sense of order. We went about 10KM down the road in the deep mud until we decided it wasn´t such a good idea; we might get stuck in the mud and end up camping in the muck. So we turned around and went back to the border town of

This is a typical group of gawkers, checking out the beemer. Notice no attention is on the suzuki...

6/12/06 - We gratefully left the humid environs of Palenque and rode north on highway 186. We wanted to leave Palenque, the ruins are nice, but the rainy, humid, muddy jungle was not fun to live in and the bikes did not like the conditions either.
That morning I took Oliver, a backpacker from Germany, to go see the "cascadas" at Misol-Ha 20km south of Palenque. The weather was misty and cloudy, so we didn´t stay long. Took photos and left. The water was a dirty, uninviting brown from all the rain in the past 3 days. Normally, it´s supposed to be a great spot to go swimming.

The rain put a downer on our moods for sure. We had rain in San Cristobal, Palenque and now our ride north to Campeche. We stopped along the way, when it started pouring, to put on our raingear. Some of the passing cars had their fun with us and honked as they passed.

We left the jungle and the land turned into open famr land. We passed through small towns, slowing down for their "topes". I hit one unmarkes tope too hard and my top case came flying off. Luckily there was no one behind me, just a group of school kids waiting for a bus, they all laughed at the fancy gringo. We passed at least 4 small caravans of bikers and runners carrying torches and relics, wearing virgin of Guadelupe t-shirts. I stopped to take a photo of one runner and Nick got pissed off that I was being rude, so he kept going.

I took the photo, got back on the bike, caught up with him and then blew passed him, a bit out of anger. I then did 90-100 mph for the next 30 miles or so, letting off some steam. I wasn´t in a good mood; the rain, cold and eventually the mud from all the road construction was starting to get to me. I saw a billboard for a BK in 60 KM and for the next hour I convinced myself I wanted a taste of home. The Bk was in Escarcingo, a small non-descript town 70 Km south of Campeche. I was surprised to see it in such a small town. I was embarassed to enter, but it was only the second time I contributed to the Americanization of Mexico. The first being the Starbucks I hit up in Aculpoco after 3 straight weeks of Nescafé.
We made it to Campeche by 6pm, riding the last 20Km in the dark, slamming into a few unannounced f-ing "topes". We took the "libre" road and I´m starting to learn that it´s worth the $2 to be on good roads, especially at night.

Campeche is an old, colonial town surrounded, partially, by the crumbling "buluartes" that protected its rich citizens from pirates. When the Spanish first arrived, this city quickly became a rich trading town due to its convienent deep water port. The pirate theme is everywhere. We stayed at the Hostal de Piratas - full of old artifacts like cannons, treasure chests and old beer mugs. I noticed right away the difference between life inside and outside the buluartes. It seems the walls are still protecting the rich people. Although instead of defending against pirates, now its divides rich and poor. There are no beggars on the streets here, there´s police literally on every corner.

Hostal de Pirata has a great free breakfast that consisted of huevos, frijoles, jugo and cafe.

And there´s very friendly staff, Gladis and Gerardo.

Here are some photos of the city, including some of its famous sunsets along the malécon.

This sweet old lady lives right next to Piratas and she loves all the youthful travellers that walk by her window all year round. We had a lovely conversation and she gave me a big hug and kiss and told me she would pray for my safety along my journey.

Here we are about to leave, headed for the ruinas of Uxmal.

We left the state of Campeche and entered the state of Yucatán. Here the archway commerates the friendship between the two states.

The ruinas at Uxmal had lots of iguanas. Every ruins we go to has a unique characteristic, iguanas are unique to Uxmal.Whereas Palenque was a mossy grey due to the wet jungle, Uxmal´s stones have a pink hue because it´s set amid dryer forests. To tell you the truth though, they´re all starting to seem the same.

This guy is a tourguide at Uxmal and he loves the New England Patriots! He watches on them on Sky TV every sunday. He knew Belicheck is a defensive genuis, he knew Tom Brady hurt his arm in the last game and he was looking forward to this Sunday´s game against the Jaguars. I couldn´t believe it.

8/12/06 -Mérida
I went for a walk by myself today in the afternoon. I was looking for a place to sit and write in my journal and maybe get to a computer to update the blog. I passed Plaza Municipal and entered a very pedestrianized part of the city. People were everywhere, scurrying in all directions. I entered a saloon on a corner with its typical, swinging doors and entered another world. Inside were all men, drinking beer, tequilas, soda. I ordered a bottle of Superior, it came with a "limon" and "sal", chips, refried beans, a bean dip, pickled cucumbers and picante potatoe squares. All for the price of one beer. The place was a mess, 4 people were working the bar. Men shouted for "caguamas" (big litro bottles-called "ballenas" in Baja) and "cambio" for their pesos-so they could play some old, country music on the jukebox. A dirty cat quietly sat on a shelf, with the box of "limones" and cleaned its self. A drunk man cleaned the dishes, slamming the plates into the sink and violently opening the faucet. A father and son worked the cash register and a man, I was told, who had worked here for 23 years, sober for 10, laughed with everyone. The men stared at me at first, I´m sure I was the only tourist who had ever entered this place. But after a while, I blended in. Old men with moustaches sat alone at the bar. There was a wet cutting board with fresh lemons to be cut, 3 cans of Raid sat on the wall next to dusty soda bottles. A fat, loud man was talking about the faucet he had in his hands, and the men would laugh. I heard "quarente años" amid his slurred Spanish. He gave the oily piece of metal to a young man behind the bar and motioned for him to leave the bar with it (apparenty to go buy a new one). I gave the thumbs up to a young guy with a white Red Sox jersey. The dirty white cat continued cleaning itself on the shelf, oblivious to the commotion of the bar. I unfortunately noticed the bartenders slamming the uneaten appetizers back into their serving containers. I had 2 beers, I didn´t want to seem unmacho, paid the 18 pesos and left through the swinging doors back into the crowded streets of Mérida. I walked by a clothing store, crowded with only women, and it made me think of the juxtaposition of the two sexes.
Here are some photos of Mérida. It´s more real than Campeche, with crowded buses, dirty squares and crumbling walls.

I met these funny guys and had some beers with them. From left to right are Manuel -a "pintor", Felipe - a "joyero" of gold and Astro -a world-travelling, French speaking playboy. These guys were real characters and we had fun talking from our different viewpoints on life. I´m glad I met them too because Astro had a former girlfriend who owned a hotel in Tulum and he wrote a note in my journal that I showed her when we got there and we got a sweet discount because of it.

Nick and I stayed at Nomadas hostal on calle 62, where they had free salsa lesson every tuesday and thursday and free "trova" (traditional solo guitar folk music of the area) every night. Flor, a sweet, dimpled girl is the receptionist.

Nick and I left San Cristobal that day at 4pm thinking it would only take a couple hours to ride 250KM. We were wrong, it took more like 4-5 hours, so we spent the last two in complete darkness and dense fog on the windey, rock strewn road in the not-so-tourist-friendly Chiapas. First we stopped to gas up in San Cristobal just before the old colonial city turned into dense forest. In this photo you can see the forest in the background. I took the photo for my buddy VW bus-loving friend Renier...you can see a California-license plated bus on the left.

Here´s some photos as we entered the beautifuly green, pine-tree forests of the Zapatista stronghold state of Chiapas.

We wanted to take photos of the beautiful people, but they´re already pissed off enough, that we decided it might not be a great idea. The photos don´t do the scenery justice, I need a wide angle camera to capture the beauty that my eyes were seeing.

At one point I stopped to take photos, just as the sun was setting. Nick went ahead and I told him I would catch up. Well I got stuck behind a big tour bus for the next 10 miles in a twisty section of mountain. I was right on his butt, trying to pass on every turn, without success. Finally I got my chance when the bus slowed down for a "tope," just as I passed there on the side of the road, re-securing his ridiculous amount of crap to his bike, was Nick. I had spent so much time trying to pass this guy that I couldn´t immediately pull over and stop for Nick. I flipped open the helmet and yelled something like "Fuck Nick, don´t stop!!" I kept going. Then it got dark and foggy. I was by myself in a scarey part of the world. I passed a homemade sign in someone´s yard that said something to the effect "bienviendos a territoria Zapatista". I was a little frightened. The fog was so thick you couldn´t see the road or the sheer cliff off to its´side. Luckily there were two cars in front of me to follow. Just like when I got off the ferry in Mexico I was following tailights. I was cursing Nick in my helmet. I had let myself break my own rule #1, Don´t Ride At Night! because Nick wanted to try to push it. This would be the first a few nights where we rode at night, each time we would be retaught the reasons not to ride at night. I was beginning to think it might be a bad idea to have a riding partner. I want to be able to blame myself for mistakes.
We got there, eventually Nick caught up with me, and I grymbled something to him through my helmet like "I told you we shouldn´t have left so late".
We stayed at a place called "El Panchon", a hippie refuge in the dense, wet jungle right next to the ruins of Palenque. We were recommended this place by fellow travellers at the hostel in San Cristobal. Maybe with sunny weather it would be a nice place to stay, but this is when the rains started (and didn´t stop for weeks) and our stay there was miserable. Everything got wet from the humidity, even the pages of our books and journals. There were huge roaches and ants all throughout our cabana. El Panchon is owned by 5 different hippies, each with their respective hippie dumps. The whole complex is connected by unlit pathways that cross streams with little wooden bridges. I´m sure on sunny days the place must be charming, but under constant rain, you curse yourself the whole time. We arrived at night and spent the next sweaty hour or so trying to find the correct hippie to pay for the room. Finally we were told to go to Don Muchos restaurant where we would find the lady to pay. We finally found the outdoor restaurant and when we arrived, bags in hand, no one waved us over to begin our check-in process. We asked at the bar. They nodded to the corner where an un ultra-cool, nose-pierced girl sat smoking a cigarette. We had passed her on the way into the bar and I´m sure she heard us ask for the check-in receptionist. She made us feel so uncool and stupid for not knowing the disorganized hippie system. She could have waved us over, but instead she let us flounder around with our bags, sweat pouring down our faces. I was already to leave before I had even put my bags down.
Here´s some shots of the hippie-commune known as El Panchon.

We stayed in a private room with a bathroom, but we were told to stay at the "Jungle Village", an outdoor palapa-style house with places to hang your hammaca. Both of us decided that would not be fun in this rain.
The next morning we headed out for the ruins of Palenque. This was my first encounter with the ancient ruins of the mundo Maya. I had heard about the monkeys and the mist-enshrouded temples, but I didn´t comprehend why it was so cool until I actually saw it. We woke up early, like my mom and tourbook say, to catch the monkeys howling and the mist. The howler monkeys and toucans make the experience. You can really imagine what it must have been like to be a Mayan King standing on top of one of the templos.
Here´s a link to an audio file of the monkeys I made from my digital audio recorder:)

upload

(If this audio-thing works, I´m going to start putting more sounds on this blog! so cool. Ok, I know I´m not being as descriptive as I was when I started this blog, but I´m so far behind that I want to catch up to my present whereabouts so I can have more vivid memories of what I´m writing about.)
Here´s some photos of awesome Palenque. It´s unbelievable to think they built this 2000 years ago without metal tools, pack animals to carry the stones or the invention of the wheel! And supposedly there are hundreds more ruins hidden under the dense jungle canopy all over the Maya world in Mexico, Belize, Guatemala and Honduras, yet to excavated. Amazing! It makes one want to be an archeologist, or would that be anthropologist?....

When we left Palenque after a long afternoon, the salida brings you by the beautiful waterfalls. You can picture the Mayas going there to cool off or fetch some drinking water. We all though that should have been the entrance, not the exit. The exit puts you a mile away from the entrance, where we parked the bikes. So we caught a "colectivo" back to the parking lot. In the photo is Isabelle, a French girl, who we knew from San Cristobal and again saw at Palenque. (This would turn out to be a common occurence in the next few cities - running into people we knew from San Cristobal).

And of course there was a crowd of men gawking at my motorcycle when we returned. I am beginning to feel bad for Nick. Every time we go somewhere and leave the bikes, we return to find people all around my bike, while his is all alone, ignored. They all ask me the same questions. "How fast does it go?" "How much does it cost?" "How big is the engine?" "How much does it weigh?"...I try to deflect the attention towards Nick and his bike, but the people want none of it.

I´m glad fate brought Nick and me together because I was planning on spending the night in Tuxla, which seemed to be an urban town with not much happening. San Cristobal is up and over the mountains from Tuxla. It´s setting provides for beautiful views of the cloud-enshrouded, Mayan villages encircling this old Spanish colonial town. The air is clean and brisk and I needed to break out the long sleeve shirt for the first time since Nevada. The quiet cobblestone streets are wonderful for exploring and the daily market in front of the pink-facade Templo de
Santo Domingo was my first experience with the beautiful Chamulan people. Mostly women and children (some as young as 7 or 8), in their conservative, colorful dress, sell textiles, hammacas, Zapatista gear, leather crafts and delicacies like hot rice milk. They are have strikingly beautiful faces and it would be a photographer's dream to sit and snap photos all day here, but photos are considered taboo because a lot of Chamulans believe they steal their souls. Most of the photos I got were sneaky- from behind or Nick and I would pose like we were taking photos of eachother-but point the camera in their direction clandestinely. Here's a few.

We stayed at the very quaint Backpacker's Hostel on Real de Mexicanas (just a small walk to the zocalo), for 50 pesos each, with it's large wooden, renaissance doors and nice outdoor courtyard for mingling with the international crowd of young travellers.

After a long night of partying at the hostel (there was a great mixture of dutchies, frenchies, germans, quebecois, mexicans, brits and swedes staying there and we all got along great), Nick and I made the 10km ride to the tiny, Tzotzile village of San Juan Chamula just north of the city. We had promised to bring some new-found friends the night before, so we each had a riding partner. Michelle, from Holland, rode with me and I got to practice a "klein bietje nederlands". Christine, from Canada, rode with Nick and I presume they discussed all things Canadian eh. The road left town, we followed a "colectivo" (private, cheap transportation, usually VW buses with as many people that will fit), up the slow climb out of town. I had no idea what to expect.

The verdant, rolling hills outside of San Cristobal are dotted with modest farms, where Tzotzile families grow corn, tomatoes, limes, beans and potatoes (to name a few) on little plots. Chickens pluck away in the same yard that children are playing, sometimes the chickens are the object of the fun.
San Juan Chamula is a real indigenous town. The market they hold in the town's center is the attraction and tourism is a side thought. As you make the right turn into town, one of the first things you notice is the simple graveyard which lies in front of a very old church. The crosses are painted either white (died young), black (died old) or blue (died powerful or very respected). Sheep graze on the green, untouched hills in the background.
We parked the bikes in the tourist "estacionamento" lot and we were immediately swarmed by children wanting to watch our bikes while we walked into town.

The market, in the tiny town's main square, is a bustling place where salted raw meat, colorful vegetables and fruit, bread, baskets full of beans, dried peppers, plastic toys from China, fireworks, artesan crafts and "ropas tipicas" (goat-fur vests, turquoise Cowboy hats, colorful animal adorned blouses, etc.) are sold. Around the fringes were the typical taco vendors, women with the steaming baskets of hot tomales and "pan dulce" and coffee (nescafe and hot water) and juice stands. The Tzotziles are such pretty people, especially the children. Women wear black wool ankle length skirts and usually bright blouses with ornate designs of butterflies, iguanas, flowers or gods, sometimes accompanied by warm wool shawls. Men wear goat-fur jackets and white, baggy pants with a colorful belt. The men in white fur coats who carried long wooden sticks were the police I learned. The men in black wool and orange belts were the "administrators". This was interesting because you get the feeling they don't really consider themselves Mexican, they govern themselves in their old ways while a Mexican "municipal" building overlooks their market. There were two charred government pick-ups without wheels or anything of value left on them amidst the market. Each person I asked told me they didn't know the story behind them. I asked if they really didn't know the story or they just didn't want to tell me the story and both times I received a sly smile and a laugh.
The highlight of the day was entering their colorful church that prominently stands at the end of the square. It was amazing to see such active worshiping. The floor was covered with pine needles and burning candles. Worshipers, on their knees, carefully unpacked their paraphanelia: thin candles, bottles of coca-cola or beer, chocolate, breads or whatever gift they could find for the gods. The candles would be stuck to the floor using hot wax and then lined up in three or four rows, each of about 10 candles. The flickering of candlelight was everywhere, on the floor, on the walls, in front of the 20 or so glass-enclosed deity boxes. There's a Christ box, but the Virgin of Guadelupe and San Juan Bautista are more revered and take up the center wall. Worshipers chant to themselves, some have chickens rubbed on them, some drink the coca-cola or beer to usurp evil spirits. At one point a man carried a 20 foot tall pine branch through the church forcing people to stand clear. The air is thick with the sweet smell of burning "copal" and sage. Women prepare the copal in pots and waft the smoke around the idols. I wish I had photos to share, but it's strictly forbidden. But I did find of photo that some jerk took and posted on the internet.

Here's a link http://www.ontheroadin.com/miscellasneouspictures/San%20Juan%20Chamula%20church.jpg

Leaving the hostel in San Cristobal, I realized something. Up to this point, I had thought of this trip as mine, I was the author of my journal and what I saw and heard were subjects in my story. As Nick and I packed our bikes outside the hostel a bunch of hostelers came out to take photos of us- some of which might end up in their own blogs or journals. I then realized that I was just as much a part of other's experiences as they were part of mine. We rode away, into the sunset, like two cowboys riding out of town. It was 4 pm, a little late to be getting on the road for 250 KM ride, but we though we could make it to Palenque before sundown.

ok, i messed up with the photos; i filled my memory card and transferred the photos to an online site. but now i can´t work with them easily to put them on the blog. so i´m going to skip a few days: the neat little town of Barra de Navidad, Aculpoco (which i really liked), the state of colima and michoancan (small secluded pacific beach towns),

Puerto Escondido is anything but "escondido". It´s very discovered actually with it´s many hotels and hostels and private homes being built along the beach. It´s really two towns, the real Puerto- to the north and inland -and the tourist Puerto - to the south and along the beach. It´s a surfer´s paradise with it´s huge waves at Zicatela beach.

I stayed at Cabañas Edda, a neat, cheap place where you could rent a private room with a bathroom, a bed with shared bathrooms or space to hang your "hammaca". This would be the beginning of a hammaca world I was about to enter; it seems every place I stay now has hammaca to lounge on. I was getting farther away from the hustle-bustle influence of capitalism and entering a slower world.

Here´s a photo of my nice, open air room with mosquito-netted bed.

Like most small places I stay I park my bike right next to my room.

Edda is a sunhat -wearing, sweet, old lady with blond hair and blue eyes who walks around her comlex by the beach, taking very small, quick strides. Her parents emmigrated from Germany, but she speaks only spanish. She was happy to learn what Lonely Planet had to say about her place when I translated it for her.
Puerto Escondido also has jaw-dropping sunsets.

I stayed there two nights because I arrived late the first day after a 7 hour day of riding from Aculpoco, I also had to do some laundry.
But I didn´t leave with that great of an impression of Puerto Escondido. One reason was the shits I got from eating a nasty "pollo sopa" (that included everything from the bird- feet with nails and all, feather-dotted skin, bones and gizzard) from the colorful Mercada Benito Juaréz. The soup smelled like a dirty chicken coup. So I had to resort to taking the dookie pills I was prescribed before leaving the States. Another reason was the surfer, "I´m way too-cool-for-school", cold shoulder you get from all the super-cool, accesorized, tattoed, nose-ring wearing Americans that think they discovered the "escondido" playa bro.
I left in the morning with the intention of reaching Tuxla-Gutierrez. It was steaming hot. I wore my white, gringo looking tank-top that I had bought the day before in Puerto because I had nothing else to wear because all my clothes were at the "lavanderia". I passed right by Zipotela´s (different that Zicatela) nude beach 50km south of Puerto, I wanted to make good time that day.
At Bahia de Huatulco, their manicured, palm-lined streets beckoned me to turn off highway 200 and discover this isolated bubble of modernity and elite Mexican world. There were billboards selling water front properties and the perfect lifestyle. Banks were on every corner, modern Pemex gas stations and beautiful, outdoor cafés. Such a contrast to the simple, dirt road villages with modest, dirt floor, one-room houses with with tin roofs and chickens, pigs and donkeys in the yards. There were no roaming chickens to be seen here.
I noticed a sparkling GS at the Pemex, a nice 1150 with a black and yellow tank. I turned around to introduce myself. As I pulled up I felt a sense of embarassment with my white tank-top and sunburnt skin. Oscar was fully decked out in protective gear, his bike was immaculate and I got the feeling he sized me up and concluded I was some "ugly american". He told me he was going to Tuxla today and he had 2 friends with beemers too, but they were leaving later that day. I didn´t get the invitation I was expecting to ride with him.
I told him I would find some breakfast and hope to run into his friends. I circled town, couldn´t find the BMWs and decided to go back to 200 and catch up wth Oscar.

I raced through the twisties, twice coming upon rolled-over trucks in ditches off the side of the road. One was a huge semi, with its diesel leaking out of it´s immense tank. Mexicans, passing, had stopped and raced over with whatever containers they had to collect the quickly emptying reserve. The "policia" and "bombeiros" had arrived, but they were permitting this distribution.

I stopped at a Pemex and asked for "Premium, lleno", but they only had Magna time. Two young boys were playing in the parking lot, catching bugs. The younger one said something to me that included the word "moto" but I couldn´t discerne what they were saying. I asked them if they were speaking Spanish and they shyed away. I believe this was my first encounter with indigenous languages here. I was entering Maya civilization.

After gasing up again outside of Tehuantepic, in an aptly-named pueblo "La Ventosa", I embarked off for Tuxla. The wind was powerful, reminding me of 5 days I spent in the plains of South Dakota because the wind was so strong I couldn´t ride the bike. I was riding almost at a 45 degree angle, my wheels occasionaly slipping a few feet in one direction, but my heavy bike held up strong.
I came across a semi that had blown over and there were many other trucks parked along the road (apparenty deciding to stop instead of risking it). It was here I saw a chopper-style bike, with lots of gear strapped to the rear, on its side in the ditch next to the road. I scanned the surrounding area for its rder and found him and another rider huddled next to eachother behind a mound of dirt. Upon closer inspection I noticed the other bike was the black and yellow BMW, it was Oscar! I came to find out Oscar had stopped to help this guy out-he had his bike blown right out from underneath him by the strong gust. Nicolas had come from Quebec, his trip taking 5 months to get to this point. The first 4 spent in the US learning Englsh. The wind was blowing so hard you could lean face forward into the wind and not fall down.

The two of them could not manage to get the bike out of the ditch and were waiting for help. Me! We dragged the bike back onto the road, inspected it for any damage and decided to keep going. We had a plan; each one of us would get close behind abig truck to help block the fierce winds. This plan quickly fizzled when the trucks we were following either decided to stop or exited the highway. The BMWs were much more steady than Nick´s Suzuki 800. I decided to be Nick´s shield and we rode side-by-side in one lane for the next 20 Kms until a mountain range blocked out the wind. We survived and we were on our way together as a group. Pumping fists, giving thumbs-up and taking photos of eachother while riding, we were having fun as a gang. The three norte-americanos: a Canadian, an American and a Mexican. Bonded by our fraternity of motorcycling.

At gas stops and vista points we quickly got to know eachother. Oscar lived in Tuxla and he had plans to start a business in McAllen, Texas. What "biz" I never found out. He was older with a family. His business must have been something lucrative, because his new bike´s not cheap, especially buying it in Mexico with their luxury taxes.

Nick is 26 and is on his way to Australia. He plans to ride Mexico and Central America and then hopes to find a sailing boat from Panama City to the land down-under, help out as a crew member and put the bike on board. He also plans to stay one month in Guatamala to study Spanish.

We left Oscar in Tuxla and Nick and I continued on to the wonderful town of San Cristobal de Las Casas, set amid low-lying clouds high in the mountains above the industrial city of Tuxla-Gutierrez. I had found a "compadre de motocicleta".

So I delayed my ferry ride to Topolobampo because the people at the Taco stand, Super Tacos de Baja California de Sur, convinced me to stay one more night so I could attend their party. Here´s a photo of the nice people at the taco stand, they are like a family there.

The party turned out to be 4 guys sitting around drinking beer in their apartment without furniture. But it was nice to get to know the locals nonetheless.
The ferry left the next day at 9pm, so I had the whole day. I decided to make a day trip to the famous Cabo San Lucas. It was a three hour ride from La Paz, beautiful, open, cactus strewn desert. Cabo is full of gringos, but wow! what a beach. The big rock island in the distance is called "Playa de Amor," you have to take a boat there and I guess it´s a very romantic, secluded place. But I can´t testify to that, because I didn´t take the boat. But here are some photos for you to look at.

The ferry ride from La Paz to Topolobampo was not your average boat ride. It was a nonstop party, the whole 5 hours. Unfortunately, I didn´t think to take my camera because it was at night and I assumed there would be no opportunities for good photos. WRONG! First of all the boat was huge and modern. Giant semi-tractor trailers back into the boat, the boat probably held about 20 large trucks, 50 cars and my motorcyle. I got to park the bike right next to the exit.

I took my Lonely Planet, journal, banana and water up 3 flights of stairs to find a very chic restaurant (dinner was included), bar, store and a quiet salon for movie watching. This was no boring ferry ride. They had entertainment; a guy who sets up a loud speaker system and walks around the bar area with a microphone singing along to mexico´s current hits. That great song I kept hearing on the radio (Marco Antonio Solis´ "Antes Que Me Vayas") is the one he started out with. There was a real festive mood, guys drinking beers, kids running around and playing the arcades. On the observation decks men watch the goings-on down below as the semis get backed into place, perfectly next to each other so as not to waste an inch of space. It´s like watching the baggage handlers, air controllers and airport employees from a bay window at an airport. There was a lot of commotion, tying down trucks with heavy chains, passenger-car alarms being set off from the rumblings of the giant trucks and the shreek whistling and fervert hand waving of the orange jumpsuit-clad men who assist the truckers as they back into place. Some on the boat are obviously regulars; I saw a young couple with blankets and pillows who had claimed a nice, private spot beneath the grand staircase for sleeping. Mexicans are a fun people, everyone had a smile on their face, enjoying the music without making a big deal over the singer (no one was even watching him, as if it were totally normal to have a guy singing his heart out on a ferry). There was another microphone being passed around for the passengers to make requests and the two bartenders occasionaly did a synchronized dance that they had obvously been practicing. After about an hour of the professional singing, the real fun started- Kar-e-oke! This is when I regretted leaving my camera below the hull. There was a large book of songs to choose from, spanish, english and even portugues ones. By this point, I had made my way to the bar and was befriending the truckers and young men that made the bar their permanent seats for the duration of the trip. Three Tecates later (with generous amounts of "limon" and "sal" - a nice addition to beer I must admit) and the whole bar wanted me to sing. I purused the book and decided Michael Jackson´s "Thriller" was a fun one to do. By the end of the song I had really gotten into it, reaching all the high pitched notes just like Michael, and even finished with a little moon-walk. The audience went crazy, they wanted more. "Hotel California" seemed to be the crowd´s choice for my next little diddy (I think because the english in this song is easily understood by most Mexicans).

"On a dark desert highway
Cool wind in my hair
Warm smell of colitas
Rising up through the air
Up ahead in the distance
I saw a shimmering light
My head grew heavy and my sight grew dim
I had to stop for the night
There she stood in the doorway
I heard the mission bell
And I was thinking to myself
This could be Heaven or this could be Hell
Then she lit up a candle
And she showed me the way
There were voices down the corridor
I thought I heard them say
Welcome to the Hotel California
Such a lovely place
Such a lovely face
Plenty of room at the Hotel California
Any time of year
You can find it here "

The passengers would sing along to the chorus with me and by the end of the song, they wanted one more. So I sang it again. I was the star of the show, I really wish I had brought my camera. They requested I sing something in spanish, so I did the only song that I sort of knew the lyrics too, Elvis Crespo´s "Suavement".

"Suavemente, besame
que quiero sentir tus labios
besandome otra vez.
(Suave)Besame , besame
(Suave)Besame otra vez
(Suave)Que quiero sentir tus labios
(Suave)Besandome otra vez
(Suave)Besame, besame
(Suave)Besame un poquito
(Suave)Besa , besa , besa,
(Suave)Besame otro ratito
(Pequeña , hechate pa'ca)
Cuando tu me besas
me siento en el aire
por eso cuando te veo
comienzo a besarte.
Y si te despegas yo me despierto
de ese rico sueño que me dan tus besos."

At this point, I didn´t want the ride to end. I started to wish I had taken the 19 hour ferry ride to Mazatlan instead of the 5 hour ride to Topolobampo. In all it cost $120 for me and my moto to cross the calm waters of the Sea of Cortez, but it was well worth it!

I was tired (I had managed to escape the debauchery of the bar and found a bench on which to take a cat nap). When I got off the ferry in Topo it was 3am, cold! and very foggy. Leaving the city to find somewhere to stay (there were no hotels in Topo), it immediatley got very foggy and provided for dangerous riding. Trucks were flying by me and I tried to keep up so I could follow their taillights, but I couldn´t maintain their speed. Finally, one of the truckers must have noticed I was struggling to survive on the road, and he thankfully slowed down enough for me to follow. As we passed some lights on the left side of the road, he switched on his left indicator but didn´t turn (usually in mexico this means it´s ok to pass, but in these conditions I knew he wasn´t suggesting I pass him, so I took the signal as a sign to stop and seek out the lights on the side of the road). What a friendly soul, an angel sent to guide me, because it turned out to be a motel, El Topo Viejo. I turned into the lot and a garage door opened and beckoned me to enter. Turns out this was a "motel de amor", where each room has a private garage and there´s hardcore porn on the TV! It smelled of disinfectant, the sheets were probably stained (I purposely didn´t make a close inspection and slept with my clothes on), but it was cheap and I was thankful to be out of the dark, cold fog.
On my way out the next morning a young man, who had stayed in the room next to mine with his beautiful girlfriend, showed me his flat tire and asked for help getting a pump from the store. I just wanted to hit the road, but something inside me told me to help this kid. Karma, maybe (more like probably) down the road I´m going to need the same type of help, so I agreed. He got on the back of my moto and we scooted into town. I took him to a Wal-Mart-type place and he bought a fix-a-flat cannister. We retuned to El Topo Viejo only to find a mobile "llanta" repair truck outside his garage putting on the finishing touches to his repaired tire. All for nothing maybe, but still I got a photo, an email address
and added him to my growing list of amigos.

The ride from Topo to Mazatlan was long, hot, dirty and sort of depressing. I had just left the warmth and comfort of the destination that is Baja and now I was experiencing a truer Mexico. Lots of poverty, trash was everywhere along the road, heavy air pollution from the dirty factories that sprawl into and out of Cuilacán. Cuilacán is an urban, workers town. It was just seemed to be scorching everywhere, no refuge from the heat, no rivers, no lakes, few trees and lots of heavy, dirty traffic. I noticed a change in people´s recpetion of me. Baja was so friendly compared to the disinterested looks from people here. Very few smiles. The people here seem down and out, not much opportunity. There are lots of big farms around Cuilacán. Monsanto, USagri and AgriPro factories and billboards
permeate the area. The billboards sell the farmers on their super seeds; seeds that stop sefl sufficient farming and make them dependent on buying new seeds eevry season.

Los Mochis and Guasava are dusty, drive through towns, lots of school children in brightly colored uniforms that contrast sharply with their dusty environment. The love motels are outside of every town. They seem so shiney and clean from the road.

Mazatlan is huge. When I arrived I rode around trying to find a locals eating spot to stop, eat and research the Lonely Planet for my next move. I went to the Zona Hoteleria and couldn´t seem to find any locals. Just sunburnt gringos, huge, ugly resorts and cheap, tacky gift stores. Finally I came across Mazatlan Viejo with its cobblestone streets and tree lined squares. There was a very European feel here, older people gathered for coffee and dominoes. There are lots of art galleries, cafes, chic restaurants; it has a definite cosmopolitan feel to it.

There are many choices for food in Mazatlan. Everything from hot dog stands (Mexico makes a great hot dog; they´re usually wrapped in bacon and come with tomatoes, onions, salsa, ketchup, mayo)

to gourmet vegetarian. Here´s a photo of my dinner one night (cactus with guacamole sauce and tortilla soup).

I walked into an art gallery one night because the colorful paintings caught my eye. Turns out the artist himself was there, it was his studio as well. Blas Nayer is somewhat famous in these parts. He spent a good hour talking with me, explaining his craft and telling me about his life (he once did a trip just like mine). I bought some really unique gifts for my family. And who knows, maybe in 50 years he´ll be a Diego Rivera-type and we´ll have originals!

I stayed two nights in the Hotel Central. Not one of the architectural gems of Old Mazatlan, but affordable and comfortable (they were pumping the AC!). Here´s a photo of my moto in front of it, on calle Dominguez.

I accomplished some necessary tasks in the big city too. I found a mechanic´s shop who sold the correct weight oil for my moto and then used his sidewalk and some of his tools to do my 54,000 mile service (glorified oil/filter change that the dealer charges $250 for). I changed it like a pro, didn´t get a drop of oil on the ground. The shop also had a spot for washing autos, so I decided it was time to remove the 4,000 dead bugs from the moto. Here she is getting the detailed service, including high pressure air dry for $2.

On my way out of Mazatlan I stopped by a Fed-Ex to mail the gifts home because I had no room to carry them. Turns out it was a bad idea to buy presents because it practically cost more to send them than buy them. Oh well.
On my way out of town, the clean bike felt great with its oil changed and a full tank of Premium gas. I have noticed that it runs way smoother on 92 octane than 87. It´ll run on 87, and at some points along the trip, that´ll have to do because I´ve been to some stations where that´s all they have. Pemex is Mexico´s nationalized gas station; it´s the only place to buy gas along the road (except in rural areas, sometimes there´s black market gas in people´s houses or pick-ups along the road). The prices are not marked on big signs visable from the street, like in the US. The price has been the same everywhere I go. 8.250 pesos/litre for Premium (92) and 6.710 pesos/litre for Magna (87). About $3 a gallon for 92, so about the same as the states, maybe a tad higher. Another quirky difference in Mexico´s gas station is that they´re usually "maned" by pretty, young girls, not slobby, sweaty men as in the states. And it´s never self service. Which has been a problem; I now assist them in putting the hose deep into the moto´s tank because twice now gas has shot out and all over my beautiful tank, permantly marking the black paint with scratches. Here´s a photo from yesterday I was approaching Peurto Escondido. The sun was about to set and I still had an hour to go. I asked the girl if I could make it before dark. She looked at her watch, looked at my bike and said "si, se puede." She was right-on, I pulled into the not-so-escondido town just as it was getting dark.

Next stop, after Mazatlan was Puerto Vallarta. I stopped for lunch in the old town of Tepíc. Not much to see here, basically a busy, industrial town. However, there was one thing that kept catching my eye. Until now, I really hadn´t seen any clouds my whole time in Mexico. Outside of Tepíc I kept seeing a thick white cloud above this one mountain top. It wasn´t until later, when I was reading my guide that I realized I had been seeing an active volcano.

I was disappointed in Vallarta, as the locals call it. I didn´t bother to take any photos until I began riding out of town past all the big mansions. P. Vallarta is like being in Fort Lauderdale during spring break. It´s obnoxious; loud American music shouts from every bar and restaurant, you can´t walk two feet down the malecón without some aggressive sales guy saying "hey my friend!" and then trying to sell you on his restaurant or party boat ride, Burger King, McDonalds, KFC, Subway. The town even came complete with jerk, drunk Americans getting in fights (ah home sweet home), I hope tough-guy Chach bag has a fun time in Mexican prison! I stayed one night at the cheapest place I could find (and it was still the most I´ve paid in Mexico) and got the hell out-of dodge the next morning. Here´s a shot from the very twisty highway 200 as it headed out of town. Very fun until you get stuck behind a truck for 10 KM.

On my way out that morning at 7am, I didn´t even bother to have breakfast, the owner of Hotel Hortencia, a nice man with a bulbous nose gave me some suggestions as to where to stop along the way. I´m glad he did because these were some of the coolest places I´ve been to yet: Playa Perulá and Barra de Navidad.

Playa Perulá is a quite beach, which unless someone told you to go to, you´d fly right past the exit on the highway. There´s a little town street about 2 km off the highway, really primitive houses, no running water, dirt roads. But there´s about 5 or 6 palapa restaurants on the beach that cater to Canadians, of all people. I´ve been seeing Canadian flags and license plates on RVs everywhere in these parts. And locals seem surprised when they find out I´m not a Canuck.
Here´s a photo from the empty Mariscos La Serenita with an unbelievable view of the tiny bay with gentle, Pacific waves. Placido and Soccoro were very friendly; Placido worked the tables and Soccoro cooked the delicous fish. I chose 4 tostadas de ceviche and a Pacifico - for breakfast! I sat there about 2 hours and chatted with them, listening to cumbia and romantica on their CD player. I wrote down the names of the groups as we played the CD: Alegre de la Sierra, Jose Manuel Zamacona, La Victoria, Graciela Beltran, Innovacion and of course my favorite now Marco Antonio Solis.

The highway out of town was a beautiful ride; lots of twisties, some through cool, lush tropical jungle and others in the warmth of the sun. I was in the jungle now. The countryside was getting much more pleasant, still poor but it was a "feliz" poor. It was on this ride that I came across my first home-made toll booth. It was a hilarious sight and of course my camera´s batteries were dead (an ongoing problem for me now). The operation goes something like this; as you pull into one of these tiny towns (maybe 300 feet long), an older woman sitting under an umbrella, pulls on a rope tied to a pole on the other side of the street. It forces you to stop, unless you want to be decapitated. Then little kids come running out with buckets for you to put money in for their cause. In the first case it was for "servios de iglesia." This happened twice along my route out of Vallarta. More funny than annoying.

I passed another GS today, but he was headed in the opposite direction. We both acknowledged eachother with excited fist pumping. I think we both were thinking the same thing; this road is awesome and so are our bikes! The twisty jungle road reached the top of the mountain ridge and became a nice, wide straight away where I unknowingly reached 100mph. At one point I came racing up onto a truck, only to realize it was Policia Municipal. I flipped open the helmet, gave them a big smile and a thumbs-up. They smiled back, made some mock motorcycle leaning movements and encouraged me to pass. They even did a "wheelie" movement, apparently encouraging me to do a wheelie! I gave them some tough revs of the motor and smoothly passed them, aware that the driver of the truck might not have so amicable as the young officers in the back.

La Paz: I rode the 4 hours from Mulege to La Paz saturday morning. This was a nice ride with some open stretches of highway where I topped the bike out at 125 miles an hour (with 3 full cases of crap and a tankbag - imagine what it would have done without a load)! Don´t worry mom and dad, it was perfectly safe.
La Paz is the biggest city since Tijuana. It has a beautiful Malecon that makes for unbelievable sunset viewing. I spent the night in a hostel like hotel called Pension California. This place is painted in bright yellow and blue primary colors. It used to be the lodging for monks, so the layout is very simple. The rooms are bare concrete cubes, even the bed lie on yellow concrete slabs. The bathroom was a cramped space in which the shower, when operating, would soak the sink and toilet as well as the floor and walls. It has a great open courtyard -where i parked my bike for all to drool over, free internet and very friendly staff. I had Rosalita sew-up a hole in my tankbag. She almost didnt´t accept the 30 pesos i wanted to give her.

La Paz is a colorful place with lots of warm smiles.

Here is a photo of the very popular taco stand, Super Tacos de Baja California. Check out the line for fish tacos at 10am.

La Paz is also the finish line for the excess that is the Baja 1000. It´s cool, I have to admit, but if I lived here I think I would hate it. All these gringos and rich folk show up in huge F-350 Ford trucks and Hummers, loaded with extra tires, gasoline and fossil fuel burning devices with trailers that carry the big race trucks. Here´s a photo of one of the race trucks.

In the morning the playa along the malecon is great for viewing Pelicans hunting for breakfast.

I´m sad to leave today for Topolobampo, but I have to continue on if I want to complete this journey. It was the same feeling leaving Loreto -which I forgot to write about- but I promise to edit this blog with info on the great little sea town of Loreto.

Jake´s Place comes equipped with an old BMW r75\6 with a sidecar. here´s a photo of Lotsofsky next to it. we had been invited to have dinner with a very nice family from Boise (Terry Eve and their son Josh). They served a delicious meal of ceviche that was caught that day in the bay in front of their cabana.

Mulege has a thriving gringo population. Here´s a photo of Lotsofsky and me having huevos at the Pelican Reef, owned by a sportbiking gringo Scott. We rode the bikes there and parked right in front.

The ride from El Rosario de Arriba to Mulege is a 250 mile stretch of cactus strewn desert and twisty mountain passes that crosses the peninsula from the Pacific to the bright, aqua blue waters of the Sea of Cortez. There is no gas station along this stretch so most motorcycles can´t cross it without bringing back-up gasoline or stopping at this little outpost in the middle of nowhere where an old entreprenuer sets up shop with a pick-up full of gas. 2 gallons cost 15bucks, but it was worth the experience. He siphons gas into his mouth and spits it out like a pro.

well "Jake,s Place" was wonderful. steve lotsofsky does a nice job of letting everyone know the legacy of Jake and his house on the hill just south of Mulege, in El Coyote. everyone who comes by gets a tour and a little history of the man known as Jake.

the man was a former fireman who injured his leg and lived off the $3000 a month he got from uncle sam. this allowed his to be an endurance rider, riding all over the place, pretty much all year round. he ended up in el coyote and slowly built his dream home up in the hills with an unbelievable view of the Bahia de Concepcion.

here,s a photo of Lotsofsky, who inherited the house from Jake, on the patio overlooking the bay.

jake, apparently, was quite a character. he loved his booze so much he died from it. but he had a sense of humor to go with it. he knew he was gonna die of booze so he began making a bottle garden in his yard to showcase his impressive collection of polished off bottles. he is buried in mulge, but Lotsofsky made a tombstone for his garden.

the house has three or four bedrooms, but Lotsofsky brought down his burning man RV for extra space. this is where i stayed and provided nice privacy. it also allowed me to be less intrusive on steve,s paradise retreat too.

steve hung his old shop BMW sign on the back of the RV. i slept on the roof one night, under the stars, waking up with the sunrise.

Jake had a mercedes and a bmw motorcycle to poke around town in. eventually this benz lots it,s windshield, but it still runs and can easily get up the steep rocky driveway. it makes for a lot of fun going to dinner with no windshield.

my digital camera,s battery just ran out, so i can,t continue to pst photos now...tomorrow comes some good shots...

ok..finally i'm at an internet cafe.
getting to the border from reno was a serious challenge.
so the first day, i headed out of reno with my riding buddies, chris, kimmie and reiner. we had breakfast at bully's in reno and met up with steve lotsofsky (he legally added a T to his last name to change it from losofsky to lots of sky). he inherited a huge house outside of mulege from his buddy Jake, who was an endurance rider. Jake's Place, as it's called, has amazing views of the Bahia de Concepcion. he left it for Steve to continue on in his tradition of hosting motorcycle travellers riding down baja. it has a old bus and an Rv in the driveway, a bmw R75/6 with a sidecar in the garage and an old mercedes benz 240 diesel with no windshield to pick people up from the airport or go into town for dinner (like we did last night). all the locals laugh when we pass by with googles on and our hair blowing in the wind.
well, steve was leaving for baja the same day as me, but he went down in a pick-up with supplies for the house.
so i was thinking i would catch up with him...wrong!

we left reno, took the old dirt, Toll road up gieger grade to virginia city. then the dirt road to Dayton. another dirt road along the carson river to fort churchill in dayton. there chris and kimmie turned around to head back to reno. i continued on with reiner to camp outside of hawthorne, NV. the next day we were going to head into bridgeport, CA, have breakfast and say our goodbyes. instead we tried to take a dirt road to the old ghost town of Bodie, CA. we never found Bodie. we got lost, the road got really bad, huge rocks, deep sand. at first i dropped my bike and laughed it off as something fun. twenty minutes later, i had dropped my bike 10 more times. it was no longer funny. we ran out of water. i continued to drop my bike. i broke a saddlebag, my skid plate and finally my shift lever snapped off leaving me in first gear. at this point i was swearing, sweating profusely, my heart was pounding from picking up a 600 lb bike over and over again. reiner and i were butting heads, both out of fear and frustration. we decided to ditch my saddlebags and gear in the desert so we could get my heavy bike out to a road. 20 miles and 7 hours later we finally reached Mono Lake, tired and thirsty as hell. we had food, pitchers of water and then took off back to reno. i managed to get the bike into 5th gear and rode it 3 hours back to reno with one gear, even stopping and starting in 5th. so that's how my trip began, the 1st day!!!

i returned to reno, had the aluminum shift lever welded back on for $25. reiner fixed my saddlebag with some epoxy and pop rivets. chris fixed my skidplate and told me about the aluminum welder. and reiner also drove me to mono lake and back in his truck to get all my gear, scratching his truck up on the sage brush in the desert (nevada pinstripes he calls them). this diversion also forced me to rethink my whole strategy. kimmie encouraged me to ditch everything i wouldn't use everyday. so i ditched to camping gear, the stove, the sleeping bag, making my bike much lighter..

so in the end maybe it was fate that i screwed my bike up. a few days later i was back on the road, this time solo. i took 395 south through nevada and the eastern sierra scenic byway. gorgeous horse ranches, rode through snow outside of mammouth lakes (i had left just in time)

spent the night in bridgeport, hit up the hotsprings then headed south to san diego. spent the night in hemet. i couldn't wait to get out of the US, i was spending a fortune just getting to the border. at the border, i rode down highway 94. this is an unbelievable road to ride. those horse ranches along the border are spectacular. and this road was loaded with motorcycles, i saw lots of GSs. Here`s a photo of a uniquely designed house along the border.

crossed into mexico monday morning. it wasn't that bad. i had to get a tourist card at the border for $20, i got a years worth of riding insurance (because i'm returning through mexico too) for around $100 (essentially required in mexico - if you get into an accident without it they can detain you until the issue is settled). then after the border crossing, they sent me into town to find a Banjercito to get a vehicle import sticker. very easy too, just had to show my docs and my tourist card and then pay. they asked me, cash or credit card. i replied credit card - thinking this would be easier. $300 they wanted! i was floored. i said "habla serio!"
then they let me know that it's $29 if i pay cash and $300 with a credit card. i laughed, told them it would be cash and left. this was my first experience with what steve calls "the M factor".

tijuana is a dirty town with lots of poverty. 20 miles south it gets nicer. ensenada is a dusty little town with lots of little taco stands, llanteras and lots of school children. all the young boys would come running out to wave as i rolled through.
then there's the beautiful vineyards. then it turns to farm land with little towns that highway 1 rolls through every 20 or so miles. i really like going through these towns. i would flip open the helmet to take in all the smells, sights and sounds. i felt like mad max and i looked like him too!

i spent the night in a little town called El Rosario de Arriba. what a nice town. had 3 wonderful fish tacos at La Mijita where the owners Elsa and Santa suggested i spend the night at Baja Cactus Hotel.

WOW! this place was gorgeous. one of the nicest rooms i've ever stayed in. modern glass showers, super chic red tiles and high ceilings with redwood. it was a little pricey, 300 pesos or $30 but it was nice so i went for it. here i am thinking i'm the man with my motorcycle in mexico and i roll into the parking lot and what do i see? 25 motorcycles! mostly harleys and a few GSs. turns out they're all Dutchies on a tour of Baja in thier denim jackets and american motorcycles.

i had fun with them that night reminising of my days in holland as a youngster. i also met some americans who were headed for mulege too, they owned retirement homes there. so the next day i rode out with them in a caravan of gringos headed south.

i had another M factor there. when i got to the hotel, i was nervous there wouldn't be any rooms left because of all the bikes. i went in and asked and Elsa, the clerk, told me i was lucky, there was one left (for 300 pesos). well that night, i was sitting there shooting the shit with manuel the bellhop and a car drives up with a family of four. they asked if there was a room and maneul says "yes, any of those four" pointing to the four ground level units. how much? 250 pesos. i was a little outraged. apparently when i asked if there were any rooms left, elsa thought i would only want a nice room because I'm a fancy american. there were cheaper rooms, but not for americans. M factor!

i'm learning...the next day we travelled 7 hours to mulege, 2/3rds down baja. most of baja is empty desert. there was one stretch where the motorcycle would not make it to the next town for gas. so there's an entreprenuer who sits on the side of the road in the desert with an old pick-up full of gas for sale. this was my first time getting gas out of a pick-up, but an experience for sure. of course he charges an arm and a leg for it. $15 for 2 gallons, but i got some good photos out of it.

so that's where i am, mulege. i'll write some more later. i just wanted to get something on the blog so my family and friends don't think i'm forgetting them...

photos coming later. the ones up there are from the first day, before we got lost in the desert. that's reiner riding through a creek! super bad ass off roading!!

sorry for the crap writing style, i'm whipping this out here. there's so much to do, i hate to waste my time in an internet cafe. at some point i hope i get into a groove, where i find time to write in my journal and then post prettier, more eloquent postings....but until then, i'm just getting out the facts.

the time had come for me to leave. it was a sunday and my riding buddies were cool enough to escort me out of town. we gathered in the alley by kimmie`s garage. that`s mike and reiner in the foreground.

we stopped at Lotsofsky`s horse ranch, south of reno, before we took off. here`s a photo of his pristinely reconditioned BMW r75/6 that he keeps in his bedroom.

here`s a photo of my buddies, chris the famous sculptor and kimmie the famous bmw motorcycle mechanic. we had just climbed the old, dirt Toll road that was replaced by the paved Geiger grade. this was one of the roads the frontiersmen used to cross the sierras. hard enough on a GS, I can`t imagine how they did it back then in covered wagons.

From the Toll road we entered the old gold-mining town of Virginia City. It still has the same feel from those days with real cowboys still lingering and saloons with swinging doors.

We then headed to Dayton, NV where we took more dirt roads. we found a ropeswing and had some fun.

At Fort Churchhill outside of Dayton, I said my goodbyes to Kimmie and Chris.

Reiner and I camped out that night outside of Hawthorne, NV.

The next day we started off in good spirits. The day was beautiful, the bikes were running great. Here we stopped to take a cool looking photo of a dusty, dirt road with the grand Sierra Nevada mountain range as a backdrop. It was at the end of this road we made the mistake of going left (to try to find the ghost town of Bodie, CA) instead of right to breakfast in Bridgeport, CA.

it's friday novmeber 3rd. i'm frantically tying up all the loose ends. today i got the final immunizations: teatnus and hep A. got a certified copy of my bike's title at the DMV. told all the credit card companies and banks i would be leaving the country. and now i'm off to the bmw dealer for last minute parts: gel battery, brake pads, xtra tire plugs, extra glue, extra C02, fork guards, gear oil and engine oil.
my reno riding buddies are planning on riding me out on sunday, maybe to the hotsprings in Bridgeport, CA. then onto to the border solo...i'm psyched, scared and excited all at the same time. i hope this is doable solo...i have met some other people doing similar rides on this website and advrider.com, so i might meet up with them in mexico..

otherwise, i'm freaking out. i keep triple checking everything to make sure i'm not forgetting something obvious..

this is my first post in my blog, so sorry for the lameness. they will get better once i'm on the road.