40 Days & 40 nights

 

I ran into a group of motorcycle riders that were all on my same make and model bike - the Kawasaki KLR 650.  They were three middle aged Venezuelan dudes riding from Caracas to Cuzco and back.  I saw them pulled over at the side of the highway so I stopped to say hello.  We rode together for awhile and had lunch at a strange stakehouse that served these hamburger looking fillets.  They asked if I had stopped at the park at the equator and I told them I didn't even know I'd crossed it.  This disappointed them a little, but they gave me a sticker from the park anyway - to help me remember.  I thought I would be roasting at this point of the ride, but it's just the opposite.  We are at such high elevation, around 9,000 ft, that temps are chilly and there has been plenty of rain.  The roads have been good, but the cold is taxing and these high-mileage days are starting to take their toll on me.  A good night's sleep will do me well.

The Darien Gap

I'm sorry, you can't drive to South America. 

It was the summer of 2004 when I decided that I wanted to ride to south america on a motorcycle.  I remember consulting a world map briefly to confirm that North and South america were indeed connected by land, albeit a narrow strip, but certainly passable.  It wasn't until around 2008 when I was talking with a co-worker in Salt Lake City about the trip and he told me about the Darien Gap, a 100 mile break in Pan American Highway that separates Panama from Colombia.  Were it not for this gap, the pan american would stretch uninterrupted from Alaska to Argentina.  The root cause for this missing link in the magic ribbon of asphalt is, as you might guess, political.  It's kind of a deadlock between the two countries and neither will budge.  I asked the hostel owner here in Panama (he happens to be Colombian) why the gap is there and when will they build a road.  His response was, "Never.  Panama doesn't want a bunch of Colombians traveling freely into their country and Colombia doesn't want Panama to disrupt or compete with all the logging that is going on in the jungles down there... the gap is like the border from the U.S. to mexico, but more secure."  The Darien Gap is also well known for kidnappings, murders, and disappearing missionaries, as Colombian guerrillas and paramilitary are known to hide out and run drugs there.  Long story short, it's a bad place where the highway ends and you have to take a boat or a plane around it.  (Here's a link to the wikipedia page)

Backpackers that are traveling in Panama and want to continue south to Colombia will typically take an airplane from Panama City or a sailboat from Colon.  I've spent the past 5 days in and around Colon trying to arrange safe passage for me and my moto to Colombia via watercraft.  I camped just outside the port town of Portobelo where dozens of sailboats sit waiting.  Only a couple of them would take motorcycles and they wanted the same fee for the bike as a passenger - roughly 400 to 500 usd.  I couldn't believe the prices, as they had nearly doubled since 2007 and 2008 where I'd gotten some of my info.  The boats spend 5 days out at sea and they drop you off close to the border in Colombia, most at the town of Cartagena.  Five days in open water, sleeping on the boat can sound very exciting at first.  Thinking about the adventure and the sea I was almost reeled in.  Then I remembered the last time I was on a boat, and the time before that, and so on.  I do not have sea legs, and five days would be torture for me.  I still met some of the captains and they told me everything would be ok; they had ginger root and some great techniques that involve looking toward the horizon and concentrating.  I even looked into taking a skiff "The Darien Gapster" (a long, basic motorboat) that wouldn't go completely out to sea and we would camp each night instead of sleeping on the boat.  However, the gapster wouldn't take my bike and the only other captain that was actively accepting them (he had three strung on on the deck of his little boat already) didn't inspire much confidence. 

I spent the morning riding around the little towns and villages near Colon looking for someone else that might take motorbikes.  I found some people that seemed interested but had never carried or hoisted a bike on deck before.  Somewhere around lunchtime I made a hard decision, a firm decision, to fly the bike and myself to Colombia.  It seemed to go against some of the principles of the trip; taking my time, taking the slower, scenic roads.  But this is a decision I don't think I'll regret.

I bolted straight for Panama City from Colon and rolled right into the airport.  Within 2 hours I was all set and all my paperwork with customs was done - it was like the easiest border crossing ever, I guess because I was really paying up this time.

Tomorrow morning I fly to Bogota, Colombia and begin the second leg of the trip.

Till then,

-John

Not me, sorry.

Tent view in Portobelo, Panama

The KLR poses at the Panama Canal

Finally some better visibility today in Panama City

Panama

Entering Panama was a cinch. It took some time at the border but everyone was helpful in showing me how to navigate the administrative process, including the truck drivers. It took about an hour and a half. Panama is gorgeous; lush farmland surrounded by dense jungle; More of the white cattle (Zebu) that were also in Costa Rica - they look so proud and noble, a strong contrast to the livestock you see in the states that look like you could... well, just tip them over with a push. About 50 miles into the country it began to rain - amazingly, the first time the entire trip. I decided not to head to the mountains in the north and just waited out the storm in the city of David.

Fire Station.  David, Panama.

I asked around about places to stay and eventually I found a guy that was all fired up. I asked if I could camp on this commercial loading dock and he said his company wouldn't allow it. Then, without blinking an eye, he made gestures to come on and follow him and he jumped in his car. I followed him to what looked like a fire station or a police station. That was a no-go. Then he led me into the center of town to the main fire house and after some advocating while I sat in the rain, I was in. They sounded an alarm once as I was getting to bed but I didn't hear anything else the rest of the night. David is a nice tranquil little town surrounded by a few big box stores outside the city by the Pan American Highway. The next day I got up early and shot to Panama City.

Panama City, and Panama in general; I underestimated you. I expected the country to be much more desperate, seedy, and empty. I was expecting something like Reno with less people. It's true that most of the sky scrapers in the city center are empty or under construction, but the city is thriving and packed with people. Distinct neighborhoods roll out from the hillside down to the waterfront. I looked around at hostels and ended up staying in a neighborhood called Cajsco Viejo. This section of town is in serious transition. In the late 1600's it was constructed as a walled city to defend from attacks by sea. During the construction of the Panama Canal in the early 1900's the neighborhood housed the African slaves and the walls were used to keep people in instead of out. Over the last decade the neighborhood has gone from decaying, poverty stricken slum to a tourist destination second only to the canal. Gentrification occurs by force in Panama and this district has an overwhelming military and police presence. I would say that roughly 30% of the buildings nearby have been renovated, but many are complete shells with trees and plants growing out of the crumbling concrete walls.

Casco Viejo

Each morning I have been running the carefully groomed running and biking path along the waterfront. It wraps around the bay about 2.5 miles along the towering skyscrapers that appear either vacant or under construction. The hostel owner tells me that all the buildings are a money laundering scheme for the drug money that runs through the country from Colombia. I ran down to the central area below the skyscrapers and sure enough there is not a single tourist, only workers and food vendors for the workers. It will be interesting to see the cityscape in 15 years. Will these luxury apartments be filled with spenders, or will they remain vacant investments, alive only on paper? Only time will tell.

Raining and Riding in Panama City

Three countries in a day

Wow, writing twitter length entries is difficult (see an attempt below). 140 characters, really?

In Leon, Nic. No exit from El Salv. on fri, tried to X via dirt road in the north, guys in camo w/mach guns said no-go, locals only. Camped in creepy place. Blew ->Honduras, only stpd at wendys. 2 border Xings - scammers. Flat tire in nic went into the night, crowd gathered, drunks fought, i skedaddled. (thats 306, over double! Ok, forget all the rules I said from last post.)

I´m in Leon, Nicaragua staying at a hostel called Via Via. On Friday, I tried to cross from El Salvador into Honduras via a less traveled dirt road toward the north east of the country near the town of Marcala - guys in camo with machine guns (El Salvador Military) said no-go; only citizens from Honduras or El Salvador could cross. I saw a girl getting taken off a bus coming down from the other direction- they were sending her back to Honduras. I camped at creepy Hotel Arizona, just a few miles from the border, still on the dirt road. They had a monkey tied up as mascot and no guests. They gave me this private camp ground spot across the road from the hotel. It was a nice setup I suppose but the complete lack of guests coupled with the monkey was a bit much.

The next morning, bright and early, I rolled to the border at Amatillo that I had been warned about, and after what felt like hundreds of photocopies and plenty of bad noise I was in Honduras. My only stop in Honduras was at the Wendy's. I know that sounds lame, but I've been eating tortillas and beans for almost a month and I needed a damn frosty. It was like an oasis in there; A/C, wifi, unlocked bathrooms- I could have spent the whole day. The next border crossing into Nicaragua was up in the mountains and a little more calm compared to Amatillo. There were still scammers every step of the way and you end up having to ride away from angry people that want your money.

I was riding into Nicaragua and thinking that I could make it to Leon before dark - it was about 3pm at the time. I had just made the turn off the Pan American Hwy (nic 1) for
the road to Leon (nic 26). The surroundings abruptly changed from canopied city roads
and diesel bus fog, to crisp green fields of wheat. I was on the right track, this
was confirmed, everything felt great. All of a sudden the back end of the bike felt
like a springy mess, like my suspension was all out of whack. It was a flat, my first ever
on a moto. My spirits still weren't dashed; I’d planned for this, so I hopped to it. A
kid pulled off to help me very early on. I propped the bike on a stick which does work reasonably
well. Then another dude showed up on a moto. He seemed like he’d had a few, but he
was helpful and he really put his back into tearing apart the bead to get it back on the rim.
When we tried to pump it up it wouldn’t work and you could tell the tube wasn’t aligned
by the way the valve was cockeyed. He said he’d take the wheel back to his shop and get
it all pumped up and done right. We bungied it to the back of his bike and off he went.
I waited with the kid… and night fell. A little before dark the mechanic’s brother rolled
by on a bike with three other guys and he was really drunk. He was up in my face and
shook my hand about a hundred times.

The rest is hazy. We got the tire back and the better drunk brother handed me a bill for
200 cordobas, like 10 bucks. I gave him the money and he made gestures like he
wanted to share it with the kid, but the kid wouldn’t accept it (I'd already slipped him
$5 while we were waiting). The drunk brother was mad, I'm not sure about what exactly, and there was a lot of yelling. Then a brawl ensued. The drunk brother was leading it and I think he was fighting with the guys he rolled up with. They were slugging the hell out of eachother. I just heard the thunking blows and I would glance from the bike with my headlamp to see a bunch of shirtless dudes wrestling in the street. I got the tire back on double fast and got out of there. I stayed at the kid´s place in the town nearby.

During the early morning ride to Leon I thought to myself, I wonder how many almost identical occurrences like that happened across the world that night (tire change, crowd gathers, drunks fight, cops come break it up)? I mean if roughly 70,000 died yesterday - could our figure for roadside drunken fight be in the millions? Why not?

I ramble. See.

Don't Get Your Hopes Up

Day 22

I want to start sharing, but I don't want it to be annoying for either of us. I also don't want to chatter on about my daily trials and tribulations because I think they are somewhat monotonous.

My idea is that my future posts will begin with a twitter length blurb (140 characters) with details of the what where, followed by a brief paragraph (100 to 300 words) on some topic or character I've met. But to get us up to speed, here is an update below with a bit of the background.

Update:

I´m riding a 2007 Kawaskaki KLR 650 that I bought on ebay. I began my trip at the Maverellis residence in Phoenix, AZ. I entered mexico at Nogales with no problem. My riding days consist of a search for fuel, food, and directions. Border crossings further south have been long, hot, and trying for the most part - but some have been easy - I have crossed three so far. The people are great. The food is great. Mexico is big. Central America is tiny. Originally my plan was to ride to Buenos Aires, Argentina, but the trip has slowed way down and I´m now taking it one day and one country at a time. I have hugged the pacific coast during my ride through mexico, camping each night until I reached Oaxaca. My routine for camping is simple, once the sun starts to get low I begin my search. The plan is to have my tent up or at least know where I´m staying before it gets dark (because that´s when the monsters come out). I look for small farms or road-side eateries and I approach the owners and ask about camping in the area... or right there ¿Es poss-eee-blay aqui?. I have stayed at a couple of amazing farms and decent family owned cafes/food stops. I think my method is even safer than a hotel, but some might disagree. Once I arrived in Oaxaca I stayed at my first hostel, Casa De Angel, while I waited for some paperwork to get fedex'd from the states. I absolutely loved Oaxaca and I've changed my attitude about hostels- I keep meeting at least one interesting character at each one. I´m in La Libertad, El Salvador now, camping at a surf hostel near the beach and heading to Honduras next. I plan to head directly north into honduras instead of following the Pan American highway because I have heard countless warnings about the border crossing at into Honduras along the PanAm - nothing crazy, just lots of corruption and headaches. Ok, hopefully that will suffice as an update and in the future I will keep it even more concise. If you are thirsty for more or have a recommendation of a place to see or stay, please email me and we can paragraph volley.

I like you. I miss you.

-John