<!--StartFragment-->
As soon as we roll in I can feel that good beachtown vibe.
It’s like Rio, but cleaner, and reminds me more of the town where we accidentally ran into the Carnaval in Argentina.
Mark’s friends set Matt and I up each with a bed at no cost, and we get some decent rest, though not very long.
The beach is great!
There’s seats that are free so long as you buy some beer.
Not to mention the agreeable water…
And plenty of other activities…
I almost commandeered that paddle and…
It’s also a great place for families.
Or an afternoon nap…
The beach is full of beauties, including one that takes an interest in me.
She’s got the most beautiful body I could dream of, including the bunda I’ve been looking for all my life. Later that night she confesses to me she’s not free. Sigh, and I thought she liked me! Oh well, she was actually decent company so I promise her I won’t tell my friends and she can hang out with us. I had to explain to her why I don’t get do this sort of thing, which is my fear of disease, which was an awkward thing to tell her!
We spent an afternoon interviewing their buddy Mike, whose an expatriot in the middle of building a house there in Cabo Frio. I give him a ride on my bike, and it turns out he’s wrong about the helmet rule there.
I get shaken down at a police stop, and since I left my paperwork at the hotel they threaten to sequester the motorcycle for weeks and hundreds of dollars in fees until I pass them R$100, at which point they wish me well and I take off. Unfortunately, my camera had just filled a memory card and Mateo and Mark weren’t around to help capture the moment!
Our last night there was a little, uh, funny.
Myself, along with Mark and his buddies go out. We kick the night off by watching the soccer game with a large, rowdy crowd in the streets.
Afterwards we hit a night club, where I meet a very nice and good looking mechanical engineering student from Rio. She speaks excellent English, so I’m pretty distracted from what Mark and the gang are doing. Suddenly Mark tells me he’s being thrown out, and soon after Jeff is telling the bouncer with enthusiasm what a “fucking dick” and “fucking asshole” he is. Though I doubt the bouncer understood the exact meaning of the words, he did not appreciate their understood meaning and intention. He proceeds to shove Jeff and Jared out the door, and though I didn’t see, I could hear that sound of a fist hitting a face real hard. I break from my potential ex-wife and try to run out and offer whatever help I could, and the entire staff, now in the doorway, hold me back and then realize that I’m with them too. So as I’m being thrown out, my would’ve been baby Mama translates for me to explain everything. “Your friend tried to sneak out without paying.” “What?! Haha, we’re Americans. That would never happen. That’s ridiculous, we have money, hahaha.” “You need to pay and leave now, it’s R$26,” she says. “Um, hehe, you’re not going to believe this, but I’ve only got R$22.” The next morning I find out that yes, Mark tried to jump from the second floor and sneak out as a joke. His bill was R$13, like USD$7. Jeff’s face is lumped up, and it turns out Jared had run since he was getting it from several dudes at once. He wound up running into a neighborhood where security escorted him out with a gun to his head for about 15 minutes.
Mark and I are both hung over, and Matt is well rested for the ride home.
Their flights both leave Rio this night. There’s stop/go traffic for about 50 miles into Sao Goncalo, and Matt takes it on like a champion. He’s got both Mark and the tripod, making his ride heavier and wider than mine, and it’s raining a little. This is truly telling of how far he’s come as a rider since we began. The first day we left he said he wouldn’t even split lanes or ride 2up, and now here he is kicking ass through Brazilian traffic, and not even stopping to take notice when he rips off some part of a truck that connects to the wheel and pisses out gas when taken off. Mark’s not feeling too well, and I can’t imagine the feeling of puckering your ass to keep it all in on a thumper while your genitals are kept warm by Mateo while riding in the rain through some close calls in traffic. Haha, poor guy. At the end of the day I suggest Matt ride his bike with Diogo, for the hand off of the bike, so I ride with Mark. Now I’ve got the tripod, and Mateo loses me in traffic on the way to the airport. We don’t find them until Matt had already went through security. So, we missed the goodbye’s on film, oh well. What I’m upset about is that since I don’t have a debit card (remember one was stolen in Nicaragua and the other expired in Jan), I have no way of getting cash. My AmEx won’t give me cash down here as far as I know (as if I’d want to pay the 30% or whatever it is on that anyway). So Matt was supposed to give me all the cash he could get from his then leave me the business credit card (visa). I say goodbye to Mark and race Diogo across the bridge back to grandma’s with R$7 and my almost maxed out AmEx. It turns out they take it at the gas station, which is good since I need to buy Diogo food and gas. Time for a good night’s sleep with air conditioning. At least I have Diogo to help me get home.
I wake up on Friday with the hopes of finding a way to ship the bike. Here’s my assessment of this business: People in Rio are very lazy, generally speaking. They often don’t go into work until 10am, take an hour and a half lunch, and leave before 5pm. They don’t understand the concept of urgency either. Diogo’s attitude suddenly changed as well, and when I asked him to call some companies for me that don’t speak English his response was “you need to relax, this will take weeks. This is Rio.” Friday is a bust, but I learn a little about the laws of customs here and why I can’t deal with an airline direct. Plus, since it’s Friday nobody works past 4 really.
Diogo and I party it up on the weekend, and I try to enjoy the free abode as much as possible. I now have my own room with AC, and my only expenses are food and gas for both Diogo and Myself. I didn’t realize that I’d have to pay for all of Diogo’s expenses until there I was, filling Mateo’s gas tank and buying food and drinks that he couldn’t get one of his six girlfriends or mother to buy for him.
He takes me to the bunda party of my lifetime: the Castelo das Pedras in Sao Goncalo. It’s basically a warehouse full of young women doing the booty shake. I’m simply intimidated, and don’t know what to do with myself. I look around smiling. A couple of girls start to back it up to me, but I’m simply too stunned to take action. It’s everything I’ve ever wanted in a woman right there in my face and I’m too pussy to know what to do. Oh well, at the end of the night Diogo and I take the bikes to the front of the club and pose.
I spend a couple more days making phone calls to cargo agencies and get quoted minimum $2500 airfreight to Miami, or $3500 to LAX, or $2500 seafreight to LA. My morale has really sunk, and even with conscious effort I can’t find my happy place. Finally, without Diogo’s help, I go solo to the airport cargo terminal direct and start asking around in person. Thank you Cargo Clan, along with my man Iedo of Continental Cargo, for hooking me up $1700 airfreight to LAX. We removed the front wheel, and put the bike on a small pallet, so I was only charged around 270 kilos, as opposed the 420kg I was charged from Panama City when they put it on a huge pallet. Anyhow, Diogo takes me to drop the bike off, then we ride back to Grandma’s in the rain since the flights are too expensive same-day. I buy Diogo a tank of gas and head back, where Grandma has finally returned from vacation, ready to ream us out a then kick us out of her place. We stay at mom’s.
The next day Diogo decides to keep the gas I’ve bought him and mooch money from his mother to buy me a bus ticket to the airport. Fuck it, if that’s how it is oh well, all I can do is write about it.
My bike is a day late getting to LAX, but I don’t mind. I’m enjoying good food, Speaking English, hot showers, decent coffee, friends… It’s good to be back in America! My buddy Adam gives me a ride to pick up some gas and chain lube on the way to the bike, then helps me get the front wheel on so I can head to Vegas. It’s a cold ride at night, but worth it. I drop by Matt’s house and find good friends, nice beer, and my cell phone. I finally get home and find my new roommate in a warm house. She’s moved in while I was gone, we hardly know each other, yet she’s waiting for me with twice 210 J. God bless America. Now all I have to do is figure out how to finish paying for this trip… I think I should write a sum it up, lessons learned, kind of blog. Not today though…
<!--EndFragment-->
]]>
March 30, 2010 by Tiernan
Comments (0)
<!--StartFragment-->
As soon as we roll in I can feel that good beachtown vibe.
It’s like Rio, but cleaner, and reminds me more of the town where we accidentally ran into the Carnaval in Argentina.
Mark’s friends set Matt and I up each with a bed at no cost, and we get some decent rest, though not very long.
The beach is great!
There’s seats that are free so long as you buy some beer.
Not to mention the agreeable water…
And plenty of other activities…
I almost commandeered that paddle and…
It’s also a great place for families.
Or an afternoon nap…
The beach is full of beauties, including one that takes an interest in me.
She’s got the most beautiful body I could dream of, including the bunda I’ve been looking for all my life. Later that night she confesses to me she’s not free. Sigh, and I thought she liked me! Oh well, she was actually decent company so I promise her I won’t tell my friends and she can hang out with us. I had to explain to her why I don’t get do this sort of thing, which is my fear of disease, which was an awkward thing to tell her!
We spent an afternoon interviewing their buddy Mike, whose an expatriot in the middle of building a house there in Cabo Frio. I give him a ride on my bike, and it turns out he’s wrong about the helmet rule there.
I get shaken down at a police stop, and since I left my paperwork at the hotel they threaten to sequester the motorcycle for weeks and hundreds of dollars in fees until I pass them R$100, at which point they wish me well and I take off. Unfortunately, my camera had just filled a memory card and Mateo and Mark weren’t around to help capture the moment!
Our last night there was a little, uh, funny.
Myself, along with Mark and his buddies go out. We kick the night off by watching the soccer game with a large, rowdy crowd in the streets.
Afterwards we hit a night club, where I meet a very nice and good looking mechanical engineering student from Rio. She speaks excellent English, so I’m pretty distracted from what Mark and the gang are doing. Suddenly Mark tells me he’s being thrown out, and soon after Jeff is telling the bouncer with enthusiasm what a “fucking dick” and “fucking asshole” he is. Though I doubt the bouncer understood the exact meaning of the words, he did not appreciate their understood meaning and intention. He proceeds to shove Jeff and Jared out the door, and though I didn’t see, I could hear that sound of a fist hitting a face real hard. I break from my potential ex-wife and try to run out and offer whatever help I could, and the entire staff, now in the doorway, hold me back and then realize that I’m with them too. So as I’m being thrown out, my would’ve been baby Mama translates for me to explain everything. “Your friend tried to sneak out without paying.” “What?! Haha, we’re Americans. That would never happen. That’s ridiculous, we have money, hahaha.” “You need to pay and leave now, it’s R$26,” she says. “Um, hehe, you’re not going to believe this, but I’ve only got R$22.” The next morning I find out that yes, Mark tried to jump from the second floor and sneak out as a joke. His bill was R$13, like USD$7. Jeff’s face is lumped up, and it turns out Jared had run since he was getting it from several dudes at once. He wound up running into a neighborhood where security escorted him out with a gun to his head for about 15 minutes.
Mark and I are both hung over, and Matt is well rested for the ride home.
Their flights both leave Rio this night. There’s stop/go traffic for about 50 miles into Sao Goncalo, and Matt takes it on like a champion. He’s got both Mark and the tripod, making his ride heavier and wider than mine, and it’s raining a little. This is truly telling of how far he’s come as a rider since we began. The first day we left he said he wouldn’t even split lanes or ride 2up, and now here he is kicking ass through Brazilian traffic, and not even stopping to take notice when he rips off some part of a truck that connects to the wheel and pisses out gas when taken off. Mark’s not feeling too well, and I can’t imagine the feeling of puckering your ass to keep it all in on a thumper while your genitals are kept warm by Mateo while riding in the rain through some close calls in traffic. Haha, poor guy. At the end of the day I suggest Matt ride his bike with Diogo, for the hand off of the bike, so I ride with Mark. Now I’ve got the tripod, and Mateo loses me in traffic on the way to the airport. We don’t find them until Matt had already went through security. So, we missed the goodbye’s on film, oh well. What I’m upset about is that since I don’t have a debit card (remember one was stolen in Nicaragua and the other expired in Jan), I have no way of getting cash. My AmEx won’t give me cash down here as far as I know (as if I’d want to pay the 30% or whatever it is on that anyway). So Matt was supposed to give me all the cash he could get from his then leave me the business credit card (visa). I say goodbye to Mark and race Diogo across the bridge back to grandma’s with R$7 and my almost maxed out AmEx. It turns out they take it at the gas station, which is good since I need to buy Diogo food and gas. Time for a good night’s sleep with air conditioning. At least I have Diogo to help me get home.
I wake up on Friday with the hopes of finding a way to ship the bike. Here’s my assessment of this business: People in Rio are very lazy, generally speaking. They often don’t go into work until 10am, take an hour and a half lunch, and leave before 5pm. They don’t understand the concept of urgency either. Diogo’s attitude suddenly changed as well, and when I asked him to call some companies for me that don’t speak English his response was “you need to relax, this will take weeks. This is Rio.” Friday is a bust, but I learn a little about the laws of customs here and why I can’t deal with an airline direct. Plus, since it’s Friday nobody works past 4 really.
Diogo and I party it up on the weekend, and I try to enjoy the free abode as much as possible. I now have my own room with AC, and my only expenses are food and gas for both Diogo and Myself. I didn’t realize that I’d have to pay for all of Diogo’s expenses until there I was, filling Mateo’s gas tank and buying food and drinks that he couldn’t get one of his six girlfriends or mother to buy for him.
He takes me to the bunda party of my lifetime: the Castelo das Pedras in Sao Goncalo. It’s basically a warehouse full of young women doing the booty shake. I’m simply intimidated, and don’t know what to do with myself. I look around smiling. A couple of girls start to back it up to me, but I’m simply too stunned to take action. It’s everything I’ve ever wanted in a woman right there in my face and I’m too pussy to know what to do. Oh well, at the end of the night Diogo and I take the bikes to the front of the club and pose.
I spend a couple more days making phone calls to cargo agencies and get quoted minimum $2500 airfreight to Miami, or $3500 to LAX, or $2500 seafreight to LA. My morale has really sunk, and even with conscious effort I can’t find my happy place. Finally, without Diogo’s help, I go solo to the airport cargo terminal direct and start asking around in person. Thank you Cargo Clan, along with my man Iedo of Continental Cargo, for hooking me up $1700 airfreight to LAX. We removed the front wheel, and put the bike on a small pallet, so I was only charged around 270 kilos, as opposed the 420kg I was charged from Panama City when they put it on a huge pallet. Anyhow, Diogo takes me to drop the bike off, then we ride back to Grandma’s in the rain since the flights are too expensive same-day. I buy Diogo a tank of gas and head back, where Grandma has finally returned from vacation, ready to ream us out a then kick us out of her place. We stay at mom’s.
The next day Diogo decides to keep the gas I’ve bought him and mooch money from his mother to buy me a bus ticket to the airport. Fuck it, if that’s how it is oh well, all I can do is write about it.
My bike is a day late getting to LAX, but I don’t mind. I’m enjoying good food, Speaking English, hot showers, decent coffee, friends… It’s good to be back in America! My buddy Adam gives me a ride to pick up some gas and chain lube on the way to the bike, then helps me get the front wheel on so I can head to Vegas. It’s a cold ride at night, but worth it. I drop by Matt’s house and find good friends, nice beer, and my cell phone. I finally get home and find my new roommate in a warm house. She’s moved in while I was gone, we hardly know each other, yet she’s waiting for me with twice 210 J. God bless America. Now all I have to do is figure out how to finish paying for this trip… I think I should write a sum it up, lessons learned, kind of blog. Not today though…
<!--EndFragment-->
]]>
<!--StartFragment-->
As soon as we roll in I can feel that good beachtown vibe.
It’s like Rio, but cleaner, and reminds me more of the town where we accidentally ran into the Carnaval in Argentina.
Mark’s friends set Matt and I up each with a bed at no cost, and we get some decent rest, though not very long.
The beach is great!
There’s seats that are free so long as you buy some beer.
Not to mention the agreeable water…
And plenty of other activities…
I almost commandeered that paddle and…
It’s also a great place for families.
Or an afternoon nap…
The beach is full of beauties, including one that takes an interest in me.
She’s got the most beautiful body I could dream of, including the bunda I’ve been looking for all my life. Later that night she confesses to me she’s not free. Sigh, and I thought she liked me! Oh well, she was actually decent company so I promise her I won’t tell my friends and she can hang out with us. I had to explain to her why I don’t get do this sort of thing, which is my fear of disease, which was an awkward thing to tell her!
We spent an afternoon interviewing their buddy Mike, whose an expatriot in the middle of building a house there in Cabo Frio. I give him a ride on my bike, and it turns out he’s wrong about the helmet rule there.
I get shaken down at a police stop, and since I left my paperwork at the hotel they threaten to sequester the motorcycle for weeks and hundreds of dollars in fees until I pass them R$100, at which point they wish me well and I take off. Unfortunately, my camera had just filled a memory card and Mateo and Mark weren’t around to help capture the moment!
Our last night there was a little, uh, funny.
Myself, along with Mark and his buddies go out. We kick the night off by watching the soccer game with a large, rowdy crowd in the streets.
Afterwards we hit a night club, where I meet a very nice and good looking mechanical engineering student from Rio. She speaks excellent English, so I’m pretty distracted from what Mark and the gang are doing. Suddenly Mark tells me he’s being thrown out, and soon after Jeff is telling the bouncer with enthusiasm what a “fucking dick” and “fucking asshole” he is. Though I doubt the bouncer understood the exact meaning of the words, he did not appreciate their understood meaning and intention. He proceeds to shove Jeff and Jared out the door, and though I didn’t see, I could hear that sound of a fist hitting a face real hard. I break from my potential ex-wife and try to run out and offer whatever help I could, and the entire staff, now in the doorway, hold me back and then realize that I’m with them too. So as I’m being thrown out, my would’ve been baby Mama translates for me to explain everything. “Your friend tried to sneak out without paying.” “What?! Haha, we’re Americans. That would never happen. That’s ridiculous, we have money, hahaha.” “You need to pay and leave now, it’s R$26,” she says. “Um, hehe, you’re not going to believe this, but I’ve only got R$22.” The next morning I find out that yes, Mark tried to jump from the second floor and sneak out as a joke. His bill was R$13, like USD$7. Jeff’s face is lumped up, and it turns out Jared had run since he was getting it from several dudes at once. He wound up running into a neighborhood where security escorted him out with a gun to his head for about 15 minutes.
Mark and I are both hung over, and Matt is well rested for the ride home.
Their flights both leave Rio this night. There’s stop/go traffic for about 50 miles into Sao Goncalo, and Matt takes it on like a champion. He’s got both Mark and the tripod, making his ride heavier and wider than mine, and it’s raining a little. This is truly telling of how far he’s come as a rider since we began. The first day we left he said he wouldn’t even split lanes or ride 2up, and now here he is kicking ass through Brazilian traffic, and not even stopping to take notice when he rips off some part of a truck that connects to the wheel and pisses out gas when taken off. Mark’s not feeling too well, and I can’t imagine the feeling of puckering your ass to keep it all in on a thumper while your genitals are kept warm by Mateo while riding in the rain through some close calls in traffic. Haha, poor guy. At the end of the day I suggest Matt ride his bike with Diogo, for the hand off of the bike, so I ride with Mark. Now I’ve got the tripod, and Mateo loses me in traffic on the way to the airport. We don’t find them until Matt had already went through security. So, we missed the goodbye’s on film, oh well. What I’m upset about is that since I don’t have a debit card (remember one was stolen in Nicaragua and the other expired in Jan), I have no way of getting cash. My AmEx won’t give me cash down here as far as I know (as if I’d want to pay the 30% or whatever it is on that anyway). So Matt was supposed to give me all the cash he could get from his then leave me the business credit card (visa). I say goodbye to Mark and race Diogo across the bridge back to grandma’s with R$7 and my almost maxed out AmEx. It turns out they take it at the gas station, which is good since I need to buy Diogo food and gas. Time for a good night’s sleep with air conditioning. At least I have Diogo to help me get home.
I wake up on Friday with the hopes of finding a way to ship the bike. Here’s my assessment of this business: People in Rio are very lazy, generally speaking. They often don’t go into work until 10am, take an hour and a half lunch, and leave before 5pm. They don’t understand the concept of urgency either. Diogo’s attitude suddenly changed as well, and when I asked him to call some companies for me that don’t speak English his response was “you need to relax, this will take weeks. This is Rio.” Friday is a bust, but I learn a little about the laws of customs here and why I can’t deal with an airline direct. Plus, since it’s Friday nobody works past 4 really.
Diogo and I party it up on the weekend, and I try to enjoy the free abode as much as possible. I now have my own room with AC, and my only expenses are food and gas for both Diogo and Myself. I didn’t realize that I’d have to pay for all of Diogo’s expenses until there I was, filling Mateo’s gas tank and buying food and drinks that he couldn’t get one of his six girlfriends or mother to buy for him.
He takes me to the bunda party of my lifetime: the Castelo das Pedras in Sao Goncalo. It’s basically a warehouse full of young women doing the booty shake. I’m simply intimidated, and don’t know what to do with myself. I look around smiling. A couple of girls start to back it up to me, but I’m simply too stunned to take action. It’s everything I’ve ever wanted in a woman right there in my face and I’m too pussy to know what to do. Oh well, at the end of the night Diogo and I take the bikes to the front of the club and pose.
I spend a couple more days making phone calls to cargo agencies and get quoted minimum $2500 airfreight to Miami, or $3500 to LAX, or $2500 seafreight to LA. My morale has really sunk, and even with conscious effort I can’t find my happy place. Finally, without Diogo’s help, I go solo to the airport cargo terminal direct and start asking around in person. Thank you Cargo Clan, along with my man Iedo of Continental Cargo, for hooking me up $1700 airfreight to LAX. We removed the front wheel, and put the bike on a small pallet, so I was only charged around 270 kilos, as opposed the 420kg I was charged from Panama City when they put it on a huge pallet. Anyhow, Diogo takes me to drop the bike off, then we ride back to Grandma’s in the rain since the flights are too expensive same-day. I buy Diogo a tank of gas and head back, where Grandma has finally returned from vacation, ready to ream us out a then kick us out of her place. We stay at mom’s.
The next day Diogo decides to keep the gas I’ve bought him and mooch money from his mother to buy me a bus ticket to the airport. Fuck it, if that’s how it is oh well, all I can do is write about it.
My bike is a day late getting to LAX, but I don’t mind. I’m enjoying good food, Speaking English, hot showers, decent coffee, friends… It’s good to be back in America! My buddy Adam gives me a ride to pick up some gas and chain lube on the way to the bike, then helps me get the front wheel on so I can head to Vegas. It’s a cold ride at night, but worth it. I drop by Matt’s house and find good friends, nice beer, and my cell phone. I finally get home and find my new roommate in a warm house. She’s moved in while I was gone, we hardly know each other, yet she’s waiting for me with twice 210 J. God bless America. Now all I have to do is figure out how to finish paying for this trip… I think I should write a sum it up, lessons learned, kind of blog. Not today though…
<!--EndFragment-->
]]>
March 30, 2010 by Tiernan
Comments (0)
<!--StartFragment-->
As soon as we roll in I can feel that good beachtown vibe.
It’s like Rio, but cleaner, and reminds me more of the town where we accidentally ran into the Carnaval in Argentina.
Mark’s friends set Matt and I up each with a bed at no cost, and we get some decent rest, though not very long.
The beach is great!
There’s seats that are free so long as you buy some beer.
Not to mention the agreeable water…
And plenty of other activities…
I almost commandeered that paddle and…
It’s also a great place for families.
Or an afternoon nap…
The beach is full of beauties, including one that takes an interest in me.
She’s got the most beautiful body I could dream of, including the bunda I’ve been looking for all my life. Later that night she confesses to me she’s not free. Sigh, and I thought she liked me! Oh well, she was actually decent company so I promise her I won’t tell my friends and she can hang out with us. I had to explain to her why I don’t get do this sort of thing, which is my fear of disease, which was an awkward thing to tell her!
We spent an afternoon interviewing their buddy Mike, whose an expatriot in the middle of building a house there in Cabo Frio. I give him a ride on my bike, and it turns out he’s wrong about the helmet rule there.
I get shaken down at a police stop, and since I left my paperwork at the hotel they threaten to sequester the motorcycle for weeks and hundreds of dollars in fees until I pass them R$100, at which point they wish me well and I take off. Unfortunately, my camera had just filled a memory card and Mateo and Mark weren’t around to help capture the moment!
Our last night there was a little, uh, funny.
Myself, along with Mark and his buddies go out. We kick the night off by watching the soccer game with a large, rowdy crowd in the streets.
Afterwards we hit a night club, where I meet a very nice and good looking mechanical engineering student from Rio. She speaks excellent English, so I’m pretty distracted from what Mark and the gang are doing. Suddenly Mark tells me he’s being thrown out, and soon after Jeff is telling the bouncer with enthusiasm what a “fucking dick” and “fucking asshole” he is. Though I doubt the bouncer understood the exact meaning of the words, he did not appreciate their understood meaning and intention. He proceeds to shove Jeff and Jared out the door, and though I didn’t see, I could hear that sound of a fist hitting a face real hard. I break from my potential ex-wife and try to run out and offer whatever help I could, and the entire staff, now in the doorway, hold me back and then realize that I’m with them too. So as I’m being thrown out, my would’ve been baby Mama translates for me to explain everything. “Your friend tried to sneak out without paying.” “What?! Haha, we’re Americans. That would never happen. That’s ridiculous, we have money, hahaha.” “You need to pay and leave now, it’s R$26,” she says. “Um, hehe, you’re not going to believe this, but I’ve only got R$22.” The next morning I find out that yes, Mark tried to jump from the second floor and sneak out as a joke. His bill was R$13, like USD$7. Jeff’s face is lumped up, and it turns out Jared had run since he was getting it from several dudes at once. He wound up running into a neighborhood where security escorted him out with a gun to his head for about 15 minutes.
Mark and I are both hung over, and Matt is well rested for the ride home.
Their flights both leave Rio this night. There’s stop/go traffic for about 50 miles into Sao Goncalo, and Matt takes it on like a champion. He’s got both Mark and the tripod, making his ride heavier and wider than mine, and it’s raining a little. This is truly telling of how far he’s come as a rider since we began. The first day we left he said he wouldn’t even split lanes or ride 2up, and now here he is kicking ass through Brazilian traffic, and not even stopping to take notice when he rips off some part of a truck that connects to the wheel and pisses out gas when taken off. Mark’s not feeling too well, and I can’t imagine the feeling of puckering your ass to keep it all in on a thumper while your genitals are kept warm by Mateo while riding in the rain through some close calls in traffic. Haha, poor guy. At the end of the day I suggest Matt ride his bike with Diogo, for the hand off of the bike, so I ride with Mark. Now I’ve got the tripod, and Mateo loses me in traffic on the way to the airport. We don’t find them until Matt had already went through security. So, we missed the goodbye’s on film, oh well. What I’m upset about is that since I don’t have a debit card (remember one was stolen in Nicaragua and the other expired in Jan), I have no way of getting cash. My AmEx won’t give me cash down here as far as I know (as if I’d want to pay the 30% or whatever it is on that anyway). So Matt was supposed to give me all the cash he could get from his then leave me the business credit card (visa). I say goodbye to Mark and race Diogo across the bridge back to grandma’s with R$7 and my almost maxed out AmEx. It turns out they take it at the gas station, which is good since I need to buy Diogo food and gas. Time for a good night’s sleep with air conditioning. At least I have Diogo to help me get home.
I wake up on Friday with the hopes of finding a way to ship the bike. Here’s my assessment of this business: People in Rio are very lazy, generally speaking. They often don’t go into work until 10am, take an hour and a half lunch, and leave before 5pm. They don’t understand the concept of urgency either. Diogo’s attitude suddenly changed as well, and when I asked him to call some companies for me that don’t speak English his response was “you need to relax, this will take weeks. This is Rio.” Friday is a bust, but I learn a little about the laws of customs here and why I can’t deal with an airline direct. Plus, since it’s Friday nobody works past 4 really.
Diogo and I party it up on the weekend, and I try to enjoy the free abode as much as possible. I now have my own room with AC, and my only expenses are food and gas for both Diogo and Myself. I didn’t realize that I’d have to pay for all of Diogo’s expenses until there I was, filling Mateo’s gas tank and buying food and drinks that he couldn’t get one of his six girlfriends or mother to buy for him.
He takes me to the bunda party of my lifetime: the Castelo das Pedras in Sao Goncalo. It’s basically a warehouse full of young women doing the booty shake. I’m simply intimidated, and don’t know what to do with myself. I look around smiling. A couple of girls start to back it up to me, but I’m simply too stunned to take action. It’s everything I’ve ever wanted in a woman right there in my face and I’m too pussy to know what to do. Oh well, at the end of the night Diogo and I take the bikes to the front of the club and pose.
I spend a couple more days making phone calls to cargo agencies and get quoted minimum $2500 airfreight to Miami, or $3500 to LAX, or $2500 seafreight to LA. My morale has really sunk, and even with conscious effort I can’t find my happy place. Finally, without Diogo’s help, I go solo to the airport cargo terminal direct and start asking around in person. Thank you Cargo Clan, along with my man Iedo of Continental Cargo, for hooking me up $1700 airfreight to LAX. We removed the front wheel, and put the bike on a small pallet, so I was only charged around 270 kilos, as opposed the 420kg I was charged from Panama City when they put it on a huge pallet. Anyhow, Diogo takes me to drop the bike off, then we ride back to Grandma’s in the rain since the flights are too expensive same-day. I buy Diogo a tank of gas and head back, where Grandma has finally returned from vacation, ready to ream us out a then kick us out of her place. We stay at mom’s.
The next day Diogo decides to keep the gas I’ve bought him and mooch money from his mother to buy me a bus ticket to the airport. Fuck it, if that’s how it is oh well, all I can do is write about it.
My bike is a day late getting to LAX, but I don’t mind. I’m enjoying good food, Speaking English, hot showers, decent coffee, friends… It’s good to be back in America! My buddy Adam gives me a ride to pick up some gas and chain lube on the way to the bike, then helps me get the front wheel on so I can head to Vegas. It’s a cold ride at night, but worth it. I drop by Matt’s house and find good friends, nice beer, and my cell phone. I finally get home and find my new roommate in a warm house. She’s moved in while I was gone, we hardly know each other, yet she’s waiting for me with twice 210 J. God bless America. Now all I have to do is figure out how to finish paying for this trip… I think I should write a sum it up, lessons learned, kind of blog. Not today though…
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The last part of the ride to Rio was a pretty nice last day of riding for the trip. We had to decend a twisty, two lane each way, mountain road. I got hit by a semi passing on the inside of a right turn; my wheel was scraping the curb on the right and he hit my handlebars and tripod on the left while I hugged the brakes, balls in throat. No real damage other than being shaken up for a minute and a bent sideview mirror, which is actually at a better angle now! We hit Rio by sundown, then spent four hours trying to locate our couchsurfing host’s house.
Finally at midnight we show up knocking at the door. His mother comes out in her nighty and tells us he’s not there, but wait outside and she’ll call. Two minutes later this funny Brazilian rolls up on a 49cc moped and is exited.
I guess he’s been online watching us make wrong turns all over Rio on the spot tracker since we’ve been here, and it’s been very dramatic since we’d apparently passed through some of the bad favelas. The six other couchsufers at his grandmother’s apartment are blonde Europeans, and they can’t wait to meet us. Let’s go party at Lapa.
Our first night is really funny. We go to the house of some girls he’s been talking to online, and I accidentally see her roommate naked. In an hour that girl is wasted, and gets upset when I don’t want to buy her tequila or an hourly love motel for something that’s illegal in several states. Oh well, that’s not why I’m begging my family for money! We’re home around 9 or 10am.
The next day our cameraman and buddy Mark shows up to the bus station. I have the bright idea that Diogo ride with Mateo on the back to the station, since he knows where he’s going. Diogo likes the torque, and likes even more so the obnoxious sound Mateo’s DRZ makes. I almost have a hard time keeping up… Diogo rides with little respect for either his or Matt’s life, passing between cars, busses, and other motos at high speeds. He also runs red lights, uses the shoulder, bus lanes, and anything he can to get ahead of as many people as possible. He revvs the motor so as to announce to the cars ahead they need to move. I think it’s pretty dumb since the horn is designed to project sound forward, and also that’s the common etiquette in Rio so drivers actually know how to react. Anyhow, Matt’s a little shaken up when we get to the bus station. Matt and I smirk and suggest Mark ride with Diogo, but I don’t think Mark really understood what he was in for until Diogo punches first gear and Mark nearly falls off the back (we’ve got it on camera). Diogo pushes even harder with Mark now that he’s built some confidence on the way there, and I have a hard time keeping up with Matt on the back. Finally we get back, and Mark looks like he’s just been raped.
With a certain pride, Diogo tells us he felt Mark shaking during the ride.
We spend the next two nights much like the first night in Rio: we go out around midnight and return at daylight.
Rio is absolutely filthy during carnival. There’s no low against littering or urinating in the street, and people exercise these liberties with zest. There’s puddles everywhere and it hasn’t rained in weeks. Everyone is in full party mode, and ice-cold beers are about a buck each on the street, with any vendor willing to negotiate.
The other couchsurfers, Diogo’s couchsurfers of choice, all blonde women, try to hang with us for the nights. It’s a constant struggle to get away from them. They say they don’t feel safe because the Brazilian men grope them. Well, they are 6 blondes in slutty outfits during Carnival. I didn’t bring them, and I want to meet a nice Brazilian girl that works out, so they’ve gotta go.
We really want to see the parade, but can’t afford the tickets to the drome and Diogo for some reason won’t take us to the free one. Our last night there we just try to get near it and look inside. The other guys want to sneak in, which I think is ridiculous. To think that security hasn’t been worked out by now to keep the likes of us out? Turns out I’m wrong, and the fact that Mark has the camera out helps us as well. One of the outer gates has a wire tie holding it shut, and we get that undone with a leatherman. As soon as we’re in we avoid eye contact with security by talking to the camera as we walk backwards towards the next level of security, which is directly where the dancers are exiting the drome. We get through there, but soon after are approached and kicked out of that level. The best we can do is steal some used costumes and hit the party in style.
So we go to meet Matt’s friend, who waits for us at a huge outdoor gay party. There we are, standing in these costumes, in the middle of a mostly shirtless gay party. The costumes had to go. Eventually we’re tired of the street party and head back to Diogo’s grandmother’s apartment in Sao Goncalo.
Diogo takes us to a secluded beach in Niteroi, where through conversation Matt decides to leave Diogo his motorcycle. Aside from the cost and hassle of sending his bike back, he wants to pass the torch and give back something he’s gotten from the trip. There’s no way Diogo would have the means to buy a bike capable of the trip otherwise, and Matt realizes this is about the best gift he could ever give anyone. Diogo agrees to take the bike on the condition that he promises to take the bike back to Vegas, and help me ship my bike back and return to the US after Matt leaves. Diogo promises to do anything and everything Matt says as the keys are handed over; time will tell whether or not Diogo has what it takes to get it done…
Even Diogo, who has huge holes in his shoes, is embarrassed by my underwear at the beach!
Mark has some buddies out in Cabo Frio, a beachtown about two hours ride from Sao Gonzalo, so we head out to stay with some Vegas locals and relax from the Rio party scene by hitting the beach with some beer and sunglasses.
It’s nice having Mark around to shoot… All I’ve got to worry about is offloading the memory cards now…
]]>
March 30, 2010 by Tiernan
Comments (0)
The last part of the ride to Rio was a pretty nice last day of riding for the trip. We had to decend a twisty, two lane each way, mountain road. I got hit by a semi passing on the inside of a right turn; my wheel was scraping the curb on the right and he hit my handlebars and tripod on the left while I hugged the brakes, balls in throat. No real damage other than being shaken up for a minute and a bent sideview mirror, which is actually at a better angle now! We hit Rio by sundown, then spent four hours trying to locate our couchsurfing host’s house.
Finally at midnight we show up knocking at the door. His mother comes out in her nighty and tells us he’s not there, but wait outside and she’ll call. Two minutes later this funny Brazilian rolls up on a 49cc moped and is exited.
I guess he’s been online watching us make wrong turns all over Rio on the spot tracker since we’ve been here, and it’s been very dramatic since we’d apparently passed through some of the bad favelas. The six other couchsufers at his grandmother’s apartment are blonde Europeans, and they can’t wait to meet us. Let’s go party at Lapa.
Our first night is really funny. We go to the house of some girls he’s been talking to online, and I accidentally see her roommate naked. In an hour that girl is wasted, and gets upset when I don’t want to buy her tequila or an hourly love motel for something that’s illegal in several states. Oh well, that’s not why I’m begging my family for money! We’re home around 9 or 10am.
The next day our cameraman and buddy Mark shows up to the bus station. I have the bright idea that Diogo ride with Mateo on the back to the station, since he knows where he’s going. Diogo likes the torque, and likes even more so the obnoxious sound Mateo’s DRZ makes. I almost have a hard time keeping up… Diogo rides with little respect for either his or Matt’s life, passing between cars, busses, and other motos at high speeds. He also runs red lights, uses the shoulder, bus lanes, and anything he can to get ahead of as many people as possible. He revvs the motor so as to announce to the cars ahead they need to move. I think it’s pretty dumb since the horn is designed to project sound forward, and also that’s the common etiquette in Rio so drivers actually know how to react. Anyhow, Matt’s a little shaken up when we get to the bus station. Matt and I smirk and suggest Mark ride with Diogo, but I don’t think Mark really understood what he was in for until Diogo punches first gear and Mark nearly falls off the back (we’ve got it on camera). Diogo pushes even harder with Mark now that he’s built some confidence on the way there, and I have a hard time keeping up with Matt on the back. Finally we get back, and Mark looks like he’s just been raped.
With a certain pride, Diogo tells us he felt Mark shaking during the ride.
We spend the next two nights much like the first night in Rio: we go out around midnight and return at daylight.
Rio is absolutely filthy during carnival. There’s no low against littering or urinating in the street, and people exercise these liberties with zest. There’s puddles everywhere and it hasn’t rained in weeks. Everyone is in full party mode, and ice-cold beers are about a buck each on the street, with any vendor willing to negotiate.
The other couchsurfers, Diogo’s couchsurfers of choice, all blonde women, try to hang with us for the nights. It’s a constant struggle to get away from them. They say they don’t feel safe because the Brazilian men grope them. Well, they are 6 blondes in slutty outfits during Carnival. I didn’t bring them, and I want to meet a nice Brazilian girl that works out, so they’ve gotta go.
We really want to see the parade, but can’t afford the tickets to the drome and Diogo for some reason won’t take us to the free one. Our last night there we just try to get near it and look inside. The other guys want to sneak in, which I think is ridiculous. To think that security hasn’t been worked out by now to keep the likes of us out? Turns out I’m wrong, and the fact that Mark has the camera out helps us as well. One of the outer gates has a wire tie holding it shut, and we get that undone with a leatherman. As soon as we’re in we avoid eye contact with security by talking to the camera as we walk backwards towards the next level of security, which is directly where the dancers are exiting the drome. We get through there, but soon after are approached and kicked out of that level. The best we can do is steal some used costumes and hit the party in style.
So we go to meet Matt’s friend, who waits for us at a huge outdoor gay party. There we are, standing in these costumes, in the middle of a mostly shirtless gay party. The costumes had to go. Eventually we’re tired of the street party and head back to Diogo’s grandmother’s apartment in Sao Goncalo.
Diogo takes us to a secluded beach in Niteroi, where through conversation Matt decides to leave Diogo his motorcycle. Aside from the cost and hassle of sending his bike back, he wants to pass the torch and give back something he’s gotten from the trip. There’s no way Diogo would have the means to buy a bike capable of the trip otherwise, and Matt realizes this is about the best gift he could ever give anyone. Diogo agrees to take the bike on the condition that he promises to take the bike back to Vegas, and help me ship my bike back and return to the US after Matt leaves. Diogo promises to do anything and everything Matt says as the keys are handed over; time will tell whether or not Diogo has what it takes to get it done…
Even Diogo, who has huge holes in his shoes, is embarrassed by my underwear at the beach!
Mark has some buddies out in Cabo Frio, a beachtown about two hours ride from Sao Gonzalo, so we head out to stay with some Vegas locals and relax from the Rio party scene by hitting the beach with some beer and sunglasses.
It’s nice having Mark around to shoot… All I’ve got to worry about is offloading the memory cards now…
]]>
The last part of the ride to Rio was a pretty nice last day of riding for the trip. We had to decend a twisty, two lane each way, mountain road. I got hit by a semi passing on the inside of a right turn; my wheel was scraping the curb on the right and he hit my handlebars and tripod on the left while I hugged the brakes, balls in throat. No real damage other than being shaken up for a minute and a bent sideview mirror, which is actually at a better angle now! We hit Rio by sundown, then spent four hours trying to locate our couchsurfing host’s house.
Finally at midnight we show up knocking at the door. His mother comes out in her nighty and tells us he’s not there, but wait outside and she’ll call. Two minutes later this funny Brazilian rolls up on a 49cc moped and is exited.
I guess he’s been online watching us make wrong turns all over Rio on the spot tracker since we’ve been here, and it’s been very dramatic since we’d apparently passed through some of the bad favelas. The six other couchsufers at his grandmother’s apartment are blonde Europeans, and they can’t wait to meet us. Let’s go party at Lapa.
Our first night is really funny. We go to the house of some girls he’s been talking to online, and I accidentally see her roommate naked. In an hour that girl is wasted, and gets upset when I don’t want to buy her tequila or an hourly love motel for something that’s illegal in several states. Oh well, that’s not why I’m begging my family for money! We’re home around 9 or 10am.
The next day our cameraman and buddy Mark shows up to the bus station. I have the bright idea that Diogo ride with Mateo on the back to the station, since he knows where he’s going. Diogo likes the torque, and likes even more so the obnoxious sound Mateo’s DRZ makes. I almost have a hard time keeping up… Diogo rides with little respect for either his or Matt’s life, passing between cars, busses, and other motos at high speeds. He also runs red lights, uses the shoulder, bus lanes, and anything he can to get ahead of as many people as possible. He revvs the motor so as to announce to the cars ahead they need to move. I think it’s pretty dumb since the horn is designed to project sound forward, and also that’s the common etiquette in Rio so drivers actually know how to react. Anyhow, Matt’s a little shaken up when we get to the bus station. Matt and I smirk and suggest Mark ride with Diogo, but I don’t think Mark really understood what he was in for until Diogo punches first gear and Mark nearly falls off the back (we’ve got it on camera). Diogo pushes even harder with Mark now that he’s built some confidence on the way there, and I have a hard time keeping up with Matt on the back. Finally we get back, and Mark looks like he’s just been raped.
With a certain pride, Diogo tells us he felt Mark shaking during the ride.
We spend the next two nights much like the first night in Rio: we go out around midnight and return at daylight.
Rio is absolutely filthy during carnival. There’s no low against littering or urinating in the street, and people exercise these liberties with zest. There’s puddles everywhere and it hasn’t rained in weeks. Everyone is in full party mode, and ice-cold beers are about a buck each on the street, with any vendor willing to negotiate.
The other couchsurfers, Diogo’s couchsurfers of choice, all blonde women, try to hang with us for the nights. It’s a constant struggle to get away from them. They say they don’t feel safe because the Brazilian men grope them. Well, they are 6 blondes in slutty outfits during Carnival. I didn’t bring them, and I want to meet a nice Brazilian girl that works out, so they’ve gotta go.
We really want to see the parade, but can’t afford the tickets to the drome and Diogo for some reason won’t take us to the free one. Our last night there we just try to get near it and look inside. The other guys want to sneak in, which I think is ridiculous. To think that security hasn’t been worked out by now to keep the likes of us out? Turns out I’m wrong, and the fact that Mark has the camera out helps us as well. One of the outer gates has a wire tie holding it shut, and we get that undone with a leatherman. As soon as we’re in we avoid eye contact with security by talking to the camera as we walk backwards towards the next level of security, which is directly where the dancers are exiting the drome. We get through there, but soon after are approached and kicked out of that level. The best we can do is steal some used costumes and hit the party in style.
So we go to meet Matt’s friend, who waits for us at a huge outdoor gay party. There we are, standing in these costumes, in the middle of a mostly shirtless gay party. The costumes had to go. Eventually we’re tired of the street party and head back to Diogo’s grandmother’s apartment in Sao Goncalo.
Diogo takes us to a secluded beach in Niteroi, where through conversation Matt decides to leave Diogo his motorcycle. Aside from the cost and hassle of sending his bike back, he wants to pass the torch and give back something he’s gotten from the trip. There’s no way Diogo would have the means to buy a bike capable of the trip otherwise, and Matt realizes this is about the best gift he could ever give anyone. Diogo agrees to take the bike on the condition that he promises to take the bike back to Vegas, and help me ship my bike back and return to the US after Matt leaves. Diogo promises to do anything and everything Matt says as the keys are handed over; time will tell whether or not Diogo has what it takes to get it done…
Even Diogo, who has huge holes in his shoes, is embarrassed by my underwear at the beach!
Mark has some buddies out in Cabo Frio, a beachtown about two hours ride from Sao Gonzalo, so we head out to stay with some Vegas locals and relax from the Rio party scene by hitting the beach with some beer and sunglasses.
It’s nice having Mark around to shoot… All I’ve got to worry about is offloading the memory cards now…
]]>
March 30, 2010 by Tiernan
Comments (0)
The last part of the ride to Rio was a pretty nice last day of riding for the trip. We had to decend a twisty, two lane each way, mountain road. I got hit by a semi passing on the inside of a right turn; my wheel was scraping the curb on the right and he hit my handlebars and tripod on the left while I hugged the brakes, balls in throat. No real damage other than being shaken up for a minute and a bent sideview mirror, which is actually at a better angle now! We hit Rio by sundown, then spent four hours trying to locate our couchsurfing host’s house.
Finally at midnight we show up knocking at the door. His mother comes out in her nighty and tells us he’s not there, but wait outside and she’ll call. Two minutes later this funny Brazilian rolls up on a 49cc moped and is exited.
I guess he’s been online watching us make wrong turns all over Rio on the spot tracker since we’ve been here, and it’s been very dramatic since we’d apparently passed through some of the bad favelas. The six other couchsufers at his grandmother’s apartment are blonde Europeans, and they can’t wait to meet us. Let’s go party at Lapa.
Our first night is really funny. We go to the house of some girls he’s been talking to online, and I accidentally see her roommate naked. In an hour that girl is wasted, and gets upset when I don’t want to buy her tequila or an hourly love motel for something that’s illegal in several states. Oh well, that’s not why I’m begging my family for money! We’re home around 9 or 10am.
The next day our cameraman and buddy Mark shows up to the bus station. I have the bright idea that Diogo ride with Mateo on the back to the station, since he knows where he’s going. Diogo likes the torque, and likes even more so the obnoxious sound Mateo’s DRZ makes. I almost have a hard time keeping up… Diogo rides with little respect for either his or Matt’s life, passing between cars, busses, and other motos at high speeds. He also runs red lights, uses the shoulder, bus lanes, and anything he can to get ahead of as many people as possible. He revvs the motor so as to announce to the cars ahead they need to move. I think it’s pretty dumb since the horn is designed to project sound forward, and also that’s the common etiquette in Rio so drivers actually know how to react. Anyhow, Matt’s a little shaken up when we get to the bus station. Matt and I smirk and suggest Mark ride with Diogo, but I don’t think Mark really understood what he was in for until Diogo punches first gear and Mark nearly falls off the back (we’ve got it on camera). Diogo pushes even harder with Mark now that he’s built some confidence on the way there, and I have a hard time keeping up with Matt on the back. Finally we get back, and Mark looks like he’s just been raped.
With a certain pride, Diogo tells us he felt Mark shaking during the ride.
We spend the next two nights much like the first night in Rio: we go out around midnight and return at daylight.
Rio is absolutely filthy during carnival. There’s no low against littering or urinating in the street, and people exercise these liberties with zest. There’s puddles everywhere and it hasn’t rained in weeks. Everyone is in full party mode, and ice-cold beers are about a buck each on the street, with any vendor willing to negotiate.
The other couchsurfers, Diogo’s couchsurfers of choice, all blonde women, try to hang with us for the nights. It’s a constant struggle to get away from them. They say they don’t feel safe because the Brazilian men grope them. Well, they are 6 blondes in slutty outfits during Carnival. I didn’t bring them, and I want to meet a nice Brazilian girl that works out, so they’ve gotta go.
We really want to see the parade, but can’t afford the tickets to the drome and Diogo for some reason won’t take us to the free one. Our last night there we just try to get near it and look inside. The other guys want to sneak in, which I think is ridiculous. To think that security hasn’t been worked out by now to keep the likes of us out? Turns out I’m wrong, and the fact that Mark has the camera out helps us as well. One of the outer gates has a wire tie holding it shut, and we get that undone with a leatherman. As soon as we’re in we avoid eye contact with security by talking to the camera as we walk backwards towards the next level of security, which is directly where the dancers are exiting the drome. We get through there, but soon after are approached and kicked out of that level. The best we can do is steal some used costumes and hit the party in style.
So we go to meet Matt’s friend, who waits for us at a huge outdoor gay party. There we are, standing in these costumes, in the middle of a mostly shirtless gay party. The costumes had to go. Eventually we’re tired of the street party and head back to Diogo’s grandmother’s apartment in Sao Goncalo.
Diogo takes us to a secluded beach in Niteroi, where through conversation Matt decides to leave Diogo his motorcycle. Aside from the cost and hassle of sending his bike back, he wants to pass the torch and give back something he’s gotten from the trip. There’s no way Diogo would have the means to buy a bike capable of the trip otherwise, and Matt realizes this is about the best gift he could ever give anyone. Diogo agrees to take the bike on the condition that he promises to take the bike back to Vegas, and help me ship my bike back and return to the US after Matt leaves. Diogo promises to do anything and everything Matt says as the keys are handed over; time will tell whether or not Diogo has what it takes to get it done…
Even Diogo, who has huge holes in his shoes, is embarrassed by my underwear at the beach!
Mark has some buddies out in Cabo Frio, a beachtown about two hours ride from Sao Gonzalo, so we head out to stay with some Vegas locals and relax from the Rio party scene by hitting the beach with some beer and sunglasses.
It’s nice having Mark around to shoot… All I’ve got to worry about is offloading the memory cards now…
]]>
We’d planned on making it to Sao Paulo in two days, since we heard how it is to navigate. The problem is we couldn’t find any roadside hotels on the way, and the town we pulled off at didn’t have any either. We took our chances, and followed Julio’s directions, and without one wrong turn wound up at Murillo’s place.
Murillo, of course, had a hot 19 year old hanging when we got there. An hour later we’re outside a club, and an hour after that we’re hanging at a rich guy’s house with a bunch of hotties. Pure playboy in Sao Paulo.
The next morning a hot friend of his turns us on to a brown hash breakfast, and that night we meet more hotties to escort to one of the most exclusive nightclubs in town.
They use this system in Brazil where you get a hard plastic card at the door, to which you charge purchases. I guess it cuts down on theft from employees you’d find in a cash system, but the problem is you don’t really know how much you’re spending. I guess I should have known when there’s no price listed, that usually means those items are for people to whom money is no object. Long story short the tab was R$387 for Matt and I for three each Vodka Energetics. Oh well, you can only be a Sao Paulo playboy once I guess.
We stayed in Sao Paulo for a few days, during which time Murillo introduced us to his lady friends, who were plentiful.
We also got to see how they haze the freshmen there. First they cover them in crap, much like in the film Dazed and Confused, only they also shave men’s head (but only random parts, like they were hit by Steve-O or something). Then, they take them to the streets and have the freshmen beg for money in traffic, so that later that day they can spend the cash on a big street party.
We finally get to meet Paulo, who’s been following us on Supermotojunkie.com.
Murillo really went out of his way to show us a good time in Sao Paulo.
Finally, it’s time for Carnaval.
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March 26, 2010 by Tiernan
Comments (0)
We’d planned on making it to Sao Paulo in two days, since we heard how it is to navigate. The problem is we couldn’t find any roadside hotels on the way, and the town we pulled off at didn’t have any either. We took our chances, and followed Julio’s directions, and without one wrong turn wound up at Murillo’s place.
Murillo, of course, had a hot 19 year old hanging when we got there. An hour later we’re outside a club, and an hour after that we’re hanging at a rich guy’s house with a bunch of hotties. Pure playboy in Sao Paulo.
The next morning a hot friend of his turns us on to a brown hash breakfast, and that night we meet more hotties to escort to one of the most exclusive nightclubs in town.
They use this system in Brazil where you get a hard plastic card at the door, to which you charge purchases. I guess it cuts down on theft from employees you’d find in a cash system, but the problem is you don’t really know how much you’re spending. I guess I should have known when there’s no price listed, that usually means those items are for people to whom money is no object. Long story short the tab was R$387 for Matt and I for three each Vodka Energetics. Oh well, you can only be a Sao Paulo playboy once I guess.
We stayed in Sao Paulo for a few days, during which time Murillo introduced us to his lady friends, who were plentiful.
We also got to see how they haze the freshmen there. First they cover them in crap, much like in the film Dazed and Confused, only they also shave men’s head (but only random parts, like they were hit by Steve-O or something). Then, they take them to the streets and have the freshmen beg for money in traffic, so that later that day they can spend the cash on a big street party.
We finally get to meet Paulo, who’s been following us on Supermotojunkie.com.
Murillo really went out of his way to show us a good time in Sao Paulo.
Finally, it’s time for Carnaval.
]]>
We’d planned on making it to Sao Paulo in two days, since we heard how it is to navigate. The problem is we couldn’t find any roadside hotels on the way, and the town we pulled off at didn’t have any either. We took our chances, and followed Julio’s directions, and without one wrong turn wound up at Murillo’s place.
Murillo, of course, had a hot 19 year old hanging when we got there. An hour later we’re outside a club, and an hour after that we’re hanging at a rich guy’s house with a bunch of hotties. Pure playboy in Sao Paulo.
The next morning a hot friend of his turns us on to a brown hash breakfast, and that night we meet more hotties to escort to one of the most exclusive nightclubs in town.
They use this system in Brazil where you get a hard plastic card at the door, to which you charge purchases. I guess it cuts down on theft from employees you’d find in a cash system, but the problem is you don’t really know how much you’re spending. I guess I should have known when there’s no price listed, that usually means those items are for people to whom money is no object. Long story short the tab was R$387 for Matt and I for three each Vodka Energetics. Oh well, you can only be a Sao Paulo playboy once I guess.
We stayed in Sao Paulo for a few days, during which time Murillo introduced us to his lady friends, who were plentiful.
We also got to see how they haze the freshmen there. First they cover them in crap, much like in the film Dazed and Confused, only they also shave men’s head (but only random parts, like they were hit by Steve-O or something). Then, they take them to the streets and have the freshmen beg for money in traffic, so that later that day they can spend the cash on a big street party.
We finally get to meet Paulo, who’s been following us on Supermotojunkie.com.
Murillo really went out of his way to show us a good time in Sao Paulo.
Finally, it’s time for Carnaval.
]]>
March 26, 2010 by Tiernan
Comments (0)
We’d planned on making it to Sao Paulo in two days, since we heard how it is to navigate. The problem is we couldn’t find any roadside hotels on the way, and the town we pulled off at didn’t have any either. We took our chances, and followed Julio’s directions, and without one wrong turn wound up at Murillo’s place.
Murillo, of course, had a hot 19 year old hanging when we got there. An hour later we’re outside a club, and an hour after that we’re hanging at a rich guy’s house with a bunch of hotties. Pure playboy in Sao Paulo.
The next morning a hot friend of his turns us on to a brown hash breakfast, and that night we meet more hotties to escort to one of the most exclusive nightclubs in town.
They use this system in Brazil where you get a hard plastic card at the door, to which you charge purchases. I guess it cuts down on theft from employees you’d find in a cash system, but the problem is you don’t really know how much you’re spending. I guess I should have known when there’s no price listed, that usually means those items are for people to whom money is no object. Long story short the tab was R$387 for Matt and I for three each Vodka Energetics. Oh well, you can only be a Sao Paulo playboy once I guess.
We stayed in Sao Paulo for a few days, during which time Murillo introduced us to his lady friends, who were plentiful.
We also got to see how they haze the freshmen there. First they cover them in crap, much like in the film Dazed and Confused, only they also shave men’s head (but only random parts, like they were hit by Steve-O or something). Then, they take them to the streets and have the freshmen beg for money in traffic, so that later that day they can spend the cash on a big street party.
We finally get to meet Paulo, who’s been following us on Supermotojunkie.com.
Murillo really went out of his way to show us a good time in Sao Paulo.
Finally, it’s time for Carnaval.
]]>
Part 2:
The ride lasts over an hour, and I speak Spanish and Marcos speaks Portugese. Its very difficult since it’s my second day exposed to the language, but not impossible. This reinforces the idea that even with a language barrier two people can communicate, but only if each person genuinely wants to. Also, it was a great way to learn Portugese. I started figuring out some of the consistent differences with Spanish, of which there are several.
By the time we get to Londrinas, Suzuki is closed so Marcos takes us out to dinner with his family at a nice restaurant, buys us a couple of beer missiles, then won’t let us pay!
At the end of the night his six year old daughter holds my hand on the way to the car and now I want one. Marcos keeps my bike at his house for the night and drops Matt and I at a hotel.
Marcos is at our hotel with my motorcycle at 8:30am and we’re at Suzuki speaking Spanish to Brazilians by 9.
Julio shows up around 10, and he speaks some English.
Apparently a friend of his, Louis from Sao Paulo, called and told him there’s two Americans he’s been following on the internet who are stranded in Londrina, would he please find and help us out? Fuck yeah Louis!
I still don’t know who Louis is, or which website he found us on, so please comment so I know who you are!
Anyway, Julio takes Myself, Marcos, and Mateo to his place for a nice BBQ.
Julio has a 20 year old son, Murillo, who says he’ll take us out for some Londrina nightlife (it’s Friday).
We go out with him, and find all of his friends are 19 year old hot women.
We’re introduced to Bife do Parmeasana, and Caipivodka. Needless to say, I get wasted and hit on girls.
I even smoke, just in case…
The next day we’re awakened by Julio, who takes us to a community BBQ, where we put away some serious quantities of meat.
Julio writes us up some amazing directions to Murillo’s place in Sao Paulo. We get back to the hotel, and soon after are picked up by Marcos, who takes us to an afternoon BBQ at a farm.
There we meet Ivan, who lived in America and has a hot 23 year old sister. We also meet a Brazilian Policia Militar who speaks some English and is very cool. That night we all go out.
We catch the end of a Salsa act, which is really cool. Mateo has been taken over by Ivan’s sister within ten minutes of arriving, and the Policia hooks me up with a hot Morena, whose mere silhouette would keep me happy to look at for some time.
The next day Marcos takes some time from work to pick me up for lunch, then later in the day Matt and I for a pool party/barbecue.
We’re still not tired of this business.
Finally, my bike is finished. Apparently when I changed the spark plug way back in La Paz, Mexico, I hadn’t tightened it quite enough. The result was it backed out slowly, over 8 thousand miles, until finally some gas must have exploded where it shouldn’t have, and stripped the threads of the spark plug in the cylinder head. Now I’ve got some new threads and I’m on the road.
<!--EndFragment-->
]]>
March 23, 2010 by Tiernan
Comments (0)
Part 2:
The ride lasts over an hour, and I speak Spanish and Marcos speaks Portugese. Its very difficult since it’s my second day exposed to the language, but not impossible. This reinforces the idea that even with a language barrier two people can communicate, but only if each person genuinely wants to. Also, it was a great way to learn Portugese. I started figuring out some of the consistent differences with Spanish, of which there are several.
By the time we get to Londrinas, Suzuki is closed so Marcos takes us out to dinner with his family at a nice restaurant, buys us a couple of beer missiles, then won’t let us pay!
At the end of the night his six year old daughter holds my hand on the way to the car and now I want one. Marcos keeps my bike at his house for the night and drops Matt and I at a hotel.
Marcos is at our hotel with my motorcycle at 8:30am and we’re at Suzuki speaking Spanish to Brazilians by 9.
Julio shows up around 10, and he speaks some English.
Apparently a friend of his, Louis from Sao Paulo, called and told him there’s two Americans he’s been following on the internet who are stranded in Londrina, would he please find and help us out? Fuck yeah Louis!
I still don’t know who Louis is, or which website he found us on, so please comment so I know who you are!
Anyway, Julio takes Myself, Marcos, and Mateo to his place for a nice BBQ.
Julio has a 20 year old son, Murillo, who says he’ll take us out for some Londrina nightlife (it’s Friday).
We go out with him, and find all of his friends are 19 year old hot women.
We’re introduced to Bife do Parmeasana, and Caipivodka. Needless to say, I get wasted and hit on girls.
I even smoke, just in case…
The next day we’re awakened by Julio, who takes us to a community BBQ, where we put away some serious quantities of meat.
Julio writes us up some amazing directions to Murillo’s place in Sao Paulo. We get back to the hotel, and soon after are picked up by Marcos, who takes us to an afternoon BBQ at a farm.
There we meet Ivan, who lived in America and has a hot 23 year old sister. We also meet a Brazilian Policia Militar who speaks some English and is very cool. That night we all go out.
We catch the end of a Salsa act, which is really cool. Mateo has been taken over by Ivan’s sister within ten minutes of arriving, and the Policia hooks me up with a hot Morena, whose mere silhouette would keep me happy to look at for some time.
The next day Marcos takes some time from work to pick me up for lunch, then later in the day Matt and I for a pool party/barbecue.
We’re still not tired of this business.
Finally, my bike is finished. Apparently when I changed the spark plug way back in La Paz, Mexico, I hadn’t tightened it quite enough. The result was it backed out slowly, over 8 thousand miles, until finally some gas must have exploded where it shouldn’t have, and stripped the threads of the spark plug in the cylinder head. Now I’ve got some new threads and I’m on the road.
<!--EndFragment-->
]]>
Part 2:
The ride lasts over an hour, and I speak Spanish and Marcos speaks Portugese. Its very difficult since it’s my second day exposed to the language, but not impossible. This reinforces the idea that even with a language barrier two people can communicate, but only if each person genuinely wants to. Also, it was a great way to learn Portugese. I started figuring out some of the consistent differences with Spanish, of which there are several.
By the time we get to Londrinas, Suzuki is closed so Marcos takes us out to dinner with his family at a nice restaurant, buys us a couple of beer missiles, then won’t let us pay!
At the end of the night his six year old daughter holds my hand on the way to the car and now I want one. Marcos keeps my bike at his house for the night and drops Matt and I at a hotel.
Marcos is at our hotel with my motorcycle at 8:30am and we’re at Suzuki speaking Spanish to Brazilians by 9.
Julio shows up around 10, and he speaks some English.
Apparently a friend of his, Louis from Sao Paulo, called and told him there’s two Americans he’s been following on the internet who are stranded in Londrina, would he please find and help us out? Fuck yeah Louis!
I still don’t know who Louis is, or which website he found us on, so please comment so I know who you are!
Anyway, Julio takes Myself, Marcos, and Mateo to his place for a nice BBQ.
Julio has a 20 year old son, Murillo, who says he’ll take us out for some Londrina nightlife (it’s Friday).
We go out with him, and find all of his friends are 19 year old hot women.
We’re introduced to Bife do Parmeasana, and Caipivodka. Needless to say, I get wasted and hit on girls.
I even smoke, just in case…
The next day we’re awakened by Julio, who takes us to a community BBQ, where we put away some serious quantities of meat.
Julio writes us up some amazing directions to Murillo’s place in Sao Paulo. We get back to the hotel, and soon after are picked up by Marcos, who takes us to an afternoon BBQ at a farm.
There we meet Ivan, who lived in America and has a hot 23 year old sister. We also meet a Brazilian Policia Militar who speaks some English and is very cool. That night we all go out.
We catch the end of a Salsa act, which is really cool. Mateo has been taken over by Ivan’s sister within ten minutes of arriving, and the Policia hooks me up with a hot Morena, whose mere silhouette would keep me happy to look at for some time.
The next day Marcos takes some time from work to pick me up for lunch, then later in the day Matt and I for a pool party/barbecue.
We’re still not tired of this business.
Finally, my bike is finished. Apparently when I changed the spark plug way back in La Paz, Mexico, I hadn’t tightened it quite enough. The result was it backed out slowly, over 8 thousand miles, until finally some gas must have exploded where it shouldn’t have, and stripped the threads of the spark plug in the cylinder head. Now I’ve got some new threads and I’m on the road.
<!--EndFragment-->
]]>
March 23, 2010 by Tiernan
Comments (0)
Part 2:
The ride lasts over an hour, and I speak Spanish and Marcos speaks Portugese. Its very difficult since it’s my second day exposed to the language, but not impossible. This reinforces the idea that even with a language barrier two people can communicate, but only if each person genuinely wants to. Also, it was a great way to learn Portugese. I started figuring out some of the consistent differences with Spanish, of which there are several.
By the time we get to Londrinas, Suzuki is closed so Marcos takes us out to dinner with his family at a nice restaurant, buys us a couple of beer missiles, then won’t let us pay!
At the end of the night his six year old daughter holds my hand on the way to the car and now I want one. Marcos keeps my bike at his house for the night and drops Matt and I at a hotel.
Marcos is at our hotel with my motorcycle at 8:30am and we’re at Suzuki speaking Spanish to Brazilians by 9.
Julio shows up around 10, and he speaks some English.
Apparently a friend of his, Louis from Sao Paulo, called and told him there’s two Americans he’s been following on the internet who are stranded in Londrina, would he please find and help us out? Fuck yeah Louis!
I still don’t know who Louis is, or which website he found us on, so please comment so I know who you are!
Anyway, Julio takes Myself, Marcos, and Mateo to his place for a nice BBQ.
Julio has a 20 year old son, Murillo, who says he’ll take us out for some Londrina nightlife (it’s Friday).
We go out with him, and find all of his friends are 19 year old hot women.
We’re introduced to Bife do Parmeasana, and Caipivodka. Needless to say, I get wasted and hit on girls.
I even smoke, just in case…
The next day we’re awakened by Julio, who takes us to a community BBQ, where we put away some serious quantities of meat.
Julio writes us up some amazing directions to Murillo’s place in Sao Paulo. We get back to the hotel, and soon after are picked up by Marcos, who takes us to an afternoon BBQ at a farm.
There we meet Ivan, who lived in America and has a hot 23 year old sister. We also meet a Brazilian Policia Militar who speaks some English and is very cool. That night we all go out.
We catch the end of a Salsa act, which is really cool. Mateo has been taken over by Ivan’s sister within ten minutes of arriving, and the Policia hooks me up with a hot Morena, whose mere silhouette would keep me happy to look at for some time.
The next day Marcos takes some time from work to pick me up for lunch, then later in the day Matt and I for a pool party/barbecue.
We’re still not tired of this business.
Finally, my bike is finished. Apparently when I changed the spark plug way back in La Paz, Mexico, I hadn’t tightened it quite enough. The result was it backed out slowly, over 8 thousand miles, until finally some gas must have exploded where it shouldn’t have, and stripped the threads of the spark plug in the cylinder head. Now I’ve got some new threads and I’m on the road.
<!--EndFragment-->
]]>
Part 1:
Entering Brazil was a little exiting, considering it was the last country of this journey. Finding the border was easy from Puerto Iguazu, and people understand Spanish in Foz de Iguacu. Plus, the border police had really awesome uniforms.
The first problem we have is at the first toll, where we wind up spending an hour to change some Reals.
Finally we stop in the first city we find, Cascavel. We find a roach motel, and a 65 year old woman in a mini skirt jumps on my bike to guide us to park the bikes.
We go out for dinner to a place where a guy who speaks Spanish asked us to return to and promised chicas would be present.
The scene was a little scary, you know, all these blood sucking dangerous Brazilian theives around…
It sure is dangerous for us little white guys in Brazil…
There we meet some ambiguously gay guys, and one of them returns to take us out for the night. On the way our host hits the car in front of us while staring into Mateo’s eyes. We wind up at a very cool bar, and our friend walks us around, stopping each girl saying in Portugese: “These guys are from Las Vegas. Eh?”, until a group of about six young girls attach themselves to our company.
Ten minutes later we realize two of the girls are 15 and we’re feeding them beer (well our friend is we don’t pay). One girl starts licking my ear and grabbing at me until she finally leans in for the kiss while I practice my limbo skills, or impersonate the Matrix bullet-dodge.
We call it a night, and on the way home see one guy in a Volkswagen Golf carrying all six of the girls, who are sticking out of every orofus of the car screaming at the top of their lungs with the electronic music turned all the way up.
Fun night.
The next day we plan on making it half the distance to Sao Paulo so we can meet our internet friend Paulo for a Sunday supermoto ride. The farmland is an array of colors that appear more vibrant than anywhere else I’ve seen.
My bike makes a loud POP noise, and isn’t running.
Mateo doubles back within a half hour, and I’m taking off my carburetor when a guy with a pickup rolls up and offers us a ride to Londrina. What the hell, I’m kidding myself if I think I can fix this one. Or even troubleshoot.
]]>
March 23, 2010 by Tiernan
Comments (0)
Part 1:
Entering Brazil was a little exiting, considering it was the last country of this journey. Finding the border was easy from Puerto Iguazu, and people understand Spanish in Foz de Iguacu. Plus, the border police had really awesome uniforms.
The first problem we have is at the first toll, where we wind up spending an hour to change some Reals.
Finally we stop in the first city we find, Cascavel. We find a roach motel, and a 65 year old woman in a mini skirt jumps on my bike to guide us to park the bikes.
We go out for dinner to a place where a guy who speaks Spanish asked us to return to and promised chicas would be present.
The scene was a little scary, you know, all these blood sucking dangerous Brazilian theives around…
It sure is dangerous for us little white guys in Brazil…
There we meet some ambiguously gay guys, and one of them returns to take us out for the night. On the way our host hits the car in front of us while staring into Mateo’s eyes. We wind up at a very cool bar, and our friend walks us around, stopping each girl saying in Portugese: “These guys are from Las Vegas. Eh?”, until a group of about six young girls attach themselves to our company.
Ten minutes later we realize two of the girls are 15 and we’re feeding them beer (well our friend is we don’t pay). One girl starts licking my ear and grabbing at me until she finally leans in for the kiss while I practice my limbo skills, or impersonate the Matrix bullet-dodge.
We call it a night, and on the way home see one guy in a Volkswagen Golf carrying all six of the girls, who are sticking out of every orofus of the car screaming at the top of their lungs with the electronic music turned all the way up.
Fun night.
The next day we plan on making it half the distance to Sao Paulo so we can meet our internet friend Paulo for a Sunday supermoto ride. The farmland is an array of colors that appear more vibrant than anywhere else I’ve seen.
My bike makes a loud POP noise, and isn’t running.
Mateo doubles back within a half hour, and I’m taking off my carburetor when a guy with a pickup rolls up and offers us a ride to Londrina. What the hell, I’m kidding myself if I think I can fix this one. Or even troubleshoot.
]]>
Part 1:
Entering Brazil was a little exiting, considering it was the last country of this journey. Finding the border was easy from Puerto Iguazu, and people understand Spanish in Foz de Iguacu. Plus, the border police had really awesome uniforms.
The first problem we have is at the first toll, where we wind up spending an hour to change some Reals.
Finally we stop in the first city we find, Cascavel. We find a roach motel, and a 65 year old woman in a mini skirt jumps on my bike to guide us to park the bikes.
We go out for dinner to a place where a guy who speaks Spanish asked us to return to and promised chicas would be present.
The scene was a little scary, you know, all these blood sucking dangerous Brazilian theives around…
It sure is dangerous for us little white guys in Brazil…
There we meet some ambiguously gay guys, and one of them returns to take us out for the night. On the way our host hits the car in front of us while staring into Mateo’s eyes. We wind up at a very cool bar, and our friend walks us around, stopping each girl saying in Portugese: “These guys are from Las Vegas. Eh?”, until a group of about six young girls attach themselves to our company.
Ten minutes later we realize two of the girls are 15 and we’re feeding them beer (well our friend is we don’t pay). One girl starts licking my ear and grabbing at me until she finally leans in for the kiss while I practice my limbo skills, or impersonate the Matrix bullet-dodge.
We call it a night, and on the way home see one guy in a Volkswagen Golf carrying all six of the girls, who are sticking out of every orofus of the car screaming at the top of their lungs with the electronic music turned all the way up.
Fun night.
The next day we plan on making it half the distance to Sao Paulo so we can meet our internet friend Paulo for a Sunday supermoto ride. The farmland is an array of colors that appear more vibrant than anywhere else I’ve seen.
My bike makes a loud POP noise, and isn’t running.
Mateo doubles back within a half hour, and I’m taking off my carburetor when a guy with a pickup rolls up and offers us a ride to Londrina. What the hell, I’m kidding myself if I think I can fix this one. Or even troubleshoot.
]]>
March 23, 2010 by Tiernan
Comments (0)
Part 1:
Entering Brazil was a little exiting, considering it was the last country of this journey. Finding the border was easy from Puerto Iguazu, and people understand Spanish in Foz de Iguacu. Plus, the border police had really awesome uniforms.
The first problem we have is at the first toll, where we wind up spending an hour to change some Reals.
Finally we stop in the first city we find, Cascavel. We find a roach motel, and a 65 year old woman in a mini skirt jumps on my bike to guide us to park the bikes.
We go out for dinner to a place where a guy who speaks Spanish asked us to return to and promised chicas would be present.
The scene was a little scary, you know, all these blood sucking dangerous Brazilian theives around…
It sure is dangerous for us little white guys in Brazil…
There we meet some ambiguously gay guys, and one of them returns to take us out for the night. On the way our host hits the car in front of us while staring into Mateo’s eyes. We wind up at a very cool bar, and our friend walks us around, stopping each girl saying in Portugese: “These guys are from Las Vegas. Eh?”, until a group of about six young girls attach themselves to our company.
Ten minutes later we realize two of the girls are 15 and we’re feeding them beer (well our friend is we don’t pay). One girl starts licking my ear and grabbing at me until she finally leans in for the kiss while I practice my limbo skills, or impersonate the Matrix bullet-dodge.
We call it a night, and on the way home see one guy in a Volkswagen Golf carrying all six of the girls, who are sticking out of every orofus of the car screaming at the top of their lungs with the electronic music turned all the way up.
Fun night.
The next day we plan on making it half the distance to Sao Paulo so we can meet our internet friend Paulo for a Sunday supermoto ride. The farmland is an array of colors that appear more vibrant than anywhere else I’ve seen.
My bike makes a loud POP noise, and isn’t running.
Mateo doubles back within a half hour, and I’m taking off my carburetor when a guy with a pickup rolls up and offers us a ride to Londrina. What the hell, I’m kidding myself if I think I can fix this one. Or even troubleshoot.
]]>
<!--StartFragment-->
Andes are great riding, and I get some nice outer tire wear at Chile’s Andean Haight Ashbury. The Argentinian border was great. Chile and Argentina are in cahoots, and there’s only two places you need to go to with no money transactions. The first place is immigration, where there’s one person from each country stamping you in/out. The next is customs, where there’s also one person from each country sitting in the same booth.
From Sud America
We get our first milanesa sandwich and Quilmes right there also! The first three hours into Argentina we’re stopping every five minutes to get incredible footage and photos of the road and landscape. It takes us about two days of riding through farm country which looks like Kansas, Nebraska, Oklahoma in parts… It’s really hot as well…
From Sud America
We both get tickets for passing on a double yellow...
From Sud America
You can’t flush the TP, but it’s cool because there’s bidets in nearly every bathroom! 
sup: Eventurally we wind up in Tigre, which is about 30 minutes north of Buenos Aires. The road in was under construction and there’s no signs for a detour, so we at first try to find a parallel road, then settle on riding the bikes through the sidewalks, which are still open.
From Sud America
I’m about 3 seconds away from getting hit by a train, no wonder they’d all stopped walking for a moment. Our couchsurfing host, Tomas, is staying at his parents beautiful house while they’re out of town on vacation, and we each get our own room with air conditioning ☺.
From Sud America
Tomas cooks us up some traditional Argentinian BBQ, and introduces me to my new fav choripan, which is the chorizo and pan you’d find for less than a dollar on the side of the road. He invites a buddy of his over, who is like 25 years old and goes to remote locals around the world to climb mountains then ski down them. This guy is very cool, and brings four nice looking girls with him. I wake up the next day smelling like fernet and wine… We hitch a ride into the city with him when he goes to work, and we get to check out the office of the environmental engineers whom turn waste into fuel. Two twenty something hottie engineers share the office with him…
From Sud America
Another night he takes us out partying in Buenos Aires. Here’s how this works: 11:30pm, go out for dinner at an outdoor café and scope the women while putting back some Quilmes. Around 1am you walk into a bar and do some drinking, we chose a missile which is a large tubular beer container with a frozen metal tube down the center. This is where you meet the girls that go with you to the club around 2 or 3am for some dancing and pairing off. Around 4 or 5am it’s torrential rain, and the club closes the second floor dance floor when the water is filling in. We call it a night and run several blocks through the rain, which soaks us to the core. The smaller camera is with me, and it only works one more time afterwards.
From Sud America
From Sud America
After saying goodbye, we head north and stop in the town of Guayaquil as per Tomas’ recommendation. When we roll in we’re very confused. There’s many shops, but they’re all closed. There’s almost no people around except for people near the entrance of the town holding signs for houses for rent. Then we turn a corner looking for internet and realize the town is much bigger than we initially suspected, yet it’s still deserted. It really felt like Silent Hill. We cruise past the carnival stadium deal, and realize there’s a carnival this night. Apparently people here take their siesta VERY seriously, because a few hours later the outdoor café’s are crackin, the streets are closed to vehicles, and there’s samba bands with shaking butts rolling through the streets. I like. The hostel we found was full, but there’s a nearby hospedaje which is pretty cheap and has a fan in the room. Matt is now addicted to Mate, and has to buy his own mate cup and straw deal. What a great night, rolling into a party town with carnival happening. We met some beautiful girls, worked on our dancing skills, and slept in some.
From Sud America
From Sud America
In route to Iguazu the next day, we encounter more torrential rain, and we’re soaked through to the core in about five minutes of riding. It’s so miserable it’s funny, and we find the first hotel we can and call it a day.
From Sud America
We wake up early to make up for lost time, and follow directions recommended by googlemaps. Big mistake.
From Sud America
When we hit the route 40 we’re unsure since it’s unmarked and unpaved, but a copper tells us we’re on the right track. He looks at us funny when we tell him we’re taking it to Iguazu, but we figure he’s probably just a pussy and we know more than he does. It’s a bit sandy in parts, and Matt is very nervous, but I stay positive and think that it can only get better. An hour or two in it turns into a state park, which is funny since we only passed about three cars the entire way. We see an armadillo, alligator, some large lizards, and many giant guinea pigs. We get to the information office of the park, and the guy tells us the nearest gas station is right about the limit of our tanks! Well, assuming it still gets dark at 9pm, and we can average 40kph, we should make it around nightfall. Okay, literally just on the other side of the office it’s 8 inch deep sand. It doesn’t improve, but our riding does, eventually, after falling several times.
From Sud America
Matt’s legs have scrapes and burns all over, and we’re out of water about a half hour later as it get’s dark by 8. It’s looking really bleak, and there’s a thunderstorm approaching us from three sides. It’s so bad it’s funny for a minute, then sucks again for a few more hours. I can ride fine up to about 4 inches deep, but the 8+ inch business is extremely difficult. I figure out the best way to do it is like surfing the bike, and just going where the sand wants to take you and lean a little into the wave. That works okay until the bike is suddenly 90 degrees different and headed into the marsh which surrounds both sides of the road. My stock headlight blows, and Matt’s HID’s kick ass except every time he falls they break a little more and we’re not sure if they’ll make it to the end.
From Sud America
Finally we see a fork in the road, and we think we know where we are, which is about half way to the gas station. The beach turns into a more shallow, red sandy road, and we can finally hit that 40kph speed we’d been looking for. Finally we wind up in a town with teenagers speeding around on mopeds around midnight. We sleep well that night.
From Sud America
We’d heard of the notoriously corrupt police on the road to Iguazu, and were a little nervous approaching now that we’re taking the main road we’d been trying to avoid earlier. We drive like… nuns or something only better. Finally we think we’re past, and we encounter them about 15 miles outside Puerta Iguazu. They are telling us to pull over the minute we can see them, and we see other motorcyclists pulled over and cars passing through without problem. They tell us we were playing on the road behind, and we aren’t allowed to be “jugando” on the road there. I smile and assure him we were not while Mateo nervously holds our spyglasses, of which the lenses have fallen off, LOL! They check our paperwork, then ask what’s in the bag. “Camera. Estamos haciendo un documentar.” He walks inside to talk to the boss, then comes out and says we can go, but don’t play on the road. I tell him, believe me, I have heard of you from the internet, and I know how easy it is to get ticketed here, I wasn’t playing. Goodbye. He says he doesn’t understand me and get the hell out of here. Finally we get to town and holler at our couchsurfing host, Renatta, who works at a hostel.
From Sud America
We’re still tired from the day before, but she makes us go out for a bit that night. She tells us she’s staying at the hostel, but we can stay at her place with another couchsurfer, who is an Argentinian flute player. The next day we have a ridiculously awesome day at the Iguazu waterfalls park on the Argentine side.
From Sud America
We literally took a boat to the bottom of the falls and got dumped on! We’re really juiced on life, and burn one with the flute player, then go out to celebrate Renatta’s 26th.
]]>
February 20, 2010 by Tiernan
Comments (0)
<!--StartFragment-->
Andes are great riding, and I get some nice outer tire wear at Chile’s Andean Haight Ashbury. The Argentinian border was great. Chile and Argentina are in cahoots, and there’s only two places you need to go to with no money transactions. The first place is immigration, where there’s one person from each country stamping you in/out. The next is customs, where there’s also one person from each country sitting in the same booth.
From Sud America
We get our first milanesa sandwich and Quilmes right there also! The first three hours into Argentina we’re stopping every five minutes to get incredible footage and photos of the road and landscape. It takes us about two days of riding through farm country which looks like Kansas, Nebraska, Oklahoma in parts… It’s really hot as well…
From Sud America
We both get tickets for passing on a double yellow...
From Sud America
You can’t flush the TP, but it’s cool because there’s bidets in nearly every bathroom! sup: Eventurally we wind up in Tigre, which is about 30 minutes north of Buenos Aires. The road in was under construction and there’s no signs for a detour, so we at first try to find a parallel road, then settle on riding the bikes through the sidewalks, which are still open.
From Sud America
I’m about 3 seconds away from getting hit by a train, no wonder they’d all stopped walking for a moment. Our couchsurfing host, Tomas, is staying at his parents beautiful house while they’re out of town on vacation, and we each get our own room with air conditioning ☺.
From Sud America
Tomas cooks us up some traditional Argentinian BBQ, and introduces me to my new fav choripan, which is the chorizo and pan you’d find for less than a dollar on the side of the road. He invites a buddy of his over, who is like 25 years old and goes to remote locals around the world to climb mountains then ski down them. This guy is very cool, and brings four nice looking girls with him. I wake up the next day smelling like fernet and wine… We hitch a ride into the city with him when he goes to work, and we get to check out the office of the environmental engineers whom turn waste into fuel. Two twenty something hottie engineers share the office with him…
From Sud America
Another night he takes us out partying in Buenos Aires. Here’s how this works: 11:30pm, go out for dinner at an outdoor café and scope the women while putting back some Quilmes. Around 1am you walk into a bar and do some drinking, we chose a missile which is a large tubular beer container with a frozen metal tube down the center. This is where you meet the girls that go with you to the club around 2 or 3am for some dancing and pairing off. Around 4 or 5am it’s torrential rain, and the club closes the second floor dance floor when the water is filling in. We call it a night and run several blocks through the rain, which soaks us to the core. The smaller camera is with me, and it only works one more time afterwards.
From Sud America
From Sud America
After saying goodbye, we head north and stop in the town of Guayaquil as per Tomas’ recommendation. When we roll in we’re very confused. There’s many shops, but they’re all closed. There’s almost no people around except for people near the entrance of the town holding signs for houses for rent. Then we turn a corner looking for internet and realize the town is much bigger than we initially suspected, yet it’s still deserted. It really felt like Silent Hill. We cruise past the carnival stadium deal, and realize there’s a carnival this night. Apparently people here take their siesta VERY seriously, because a few hours later the outdoor café’s are crackin, the streets are closed to vehicles, and there’s samba bands with shaking butts rolling through the streets. I like. The hostel we found was full, but there’s a nearby hospedaje which is pretty cheap and has a fan in the room. Matt is now addicted to Mate, and has to buy his own mate cup and straw deal. What a great night, rolling into a party town with carnival happening. We met some beautiful girls, worked on our dancing skills, and slept in some.
From Sud America
From Sud America
In route to Iguazu the next day, we encounter more torrential rain, and we’re soaked through to the core in about five minutes of riding. It’s so miserable it’s funny, and we find the first hotel we can and call it a day.
From Sud America
We wake up early to make up for lost time, and follow directions recommended by googlemaps. Big mistake.
From Sud America
When we hit the route 40 we’re unsure since it’s unmarked and unpaved, but a copper tells us we’re on the right track. He looks at us funny when we tell him we’re taking it to Iguazu, but we figure he’s probably just a pussy and we know more than he does. It’s a bit sandy in parts, and Matt is very nervous, but I stay positive and think that it can only get better. An hour or two in it turns into a state park, which is funny since we only passed about three cars the entire way. We see an armadillo, alligator, some large lizards, and many giant guinea pigs. We get to the information office of the park, and the guy tells us the nearest gas station is right about the limit of our tanks! Well, assuming it still gets dark at 9pm, and we can average 40kph, we should make it around nightfall. Okay, literally just on the other side of the office it’s 8 inch deep sand. It doesn’t improve, but our riding does, eventually, after falling several times.
From Sud America
Matt’s legs have scrapes and burns all over, and we’re out of water about a half hour later as it get’s dark by 8. It’s looking really bleak, and there’s a thunderstorm approaching us from three sides. It’s so bad it’s funny for a minute, then sucks again for a few more hours. I can ride fine up to about 4 inches deep, but the 8+ inch business is extremely difficult. I figure out the best way to do it is like surfing the bike, and just going where the sand wants to take you and lean a little into the wave. That works okay until the bike is suddenly 90 degrees different and headed into the marsh which surrounds both sides of the road. My stock headlight blows, and Matt’s HID’s kick ass except every time he falls they break a little more and we’re not sure if they’ll make it to the end.
From Sud America
Finally we see a fork in the road, and we think we know where we are, which is about half way to the gas station. The beach turns into a more shallow, red sandy road, and we can finally hit that 40kph speed we’d been looking for. Finally we wind up in a town with teenagers speeding around on mopeds around midnight. We sleep well that night.
From Sud America
We’d heard of the notoriously corrupt police on the road to Iguazu, and were a little nervous approaching now that we’re taking the main road we’d been trying to avoid earlier. We drive like… nuns or something only better. Finally we think we’re past, and we encounter them about 15 miles outside Puerta Iguazu. They are telling us to pull over the minute we can see them, and we see other motorcyclists pulled over and cars passing through without problem. They tell us we were playing on the road behind, and we aren’t allowed to be “jugando” on the road there. I smile and assure him we were not while Mateo nervously holds our spyglasses, of which the lenses have fallen off, LOL! They check our paperwork, then ask what’s in the bag. “Camera. Estamos haciendo un documentar.” He walks inside to talk to the boss, then comes out and says we can go, but don’t play on the road. I tell him, believe me, I have heard of you from the internet, and I know how easy it is to get ticketed here, I wasn’t playing. Goodbye. He says he doesn’t understand me and get the hell out of here. Finally we get to town and holler at our couchsurfing host, Renatta, who works at a hostel.
From Sud America
We’re still tired from the day before, but she makes us go out for a bit that night. She tells us she’s staying at the hostel, but we can stay at her place with another couchsurfer, who is an Argentinian flute player. The next day we have a ridiculously awesome day at the Iguazu waterfalls park on the Argentine side.
From Sud America
We literally took a boat to the bottom of the falls and got dumped on! We’re really juiced on life, and burn one with the flute player, then go out to celebrate Renatta’s 26th.
]]>
<!--StartFragment-->
Andes are great riding, and I get some nice outer tire wear at Chile’s Andean Haight Ashbury. The Argentinian border was great. Chile and Argentina are in cahoots, and there’s only two places you need to go to with no money transactions. The first place is immigration, where there’s one person from each country stamping you in/out. The next is customs, where there’s also one person from each country sitting in the same booth.
From Sud America
We get our first milanesa sandwich and Quilmes right there also! The first three hours into Argentina we’re stopping every five minutes to get incredible footage and photos of the road and landscape. It takes us about two days of riding through farm country which looks like Kansas, Nebraska, Oklahoma in parts… It’s really hot as well…
From Sud America
We both get tickets for passing on a double yellow...
From Sud America
You can’t flush the TP, but it’s cool because there’s bidets in nearly every bathroom! sup: Eventurally we wind up in Tigre, which is about 30 minutes north of Buenos Aires. The road in was under construction and there’s no signs for a detour, so we at first try to find a parallel road, then settle on riding the bikes through the sidewalks, which are still open.
From Sud America
I’m about 3 seconds away from getting hit by a train, no wonder they’d all stopped walking for a moment. Our couchsurfing host, Tomas, is staying at his parents beautiful house while they’re out of town on vacation, and we each get our own room with air conditioning ☺.
From Sud America
Tomas cooks us up some traditional Argentinian BBQ, and introduces me to my new fav choripan, which is the chorizo and pan you’d find for less than a dollar on the side of the road. He invites a buddy of his over, who is like 25 years old and goes to remote locals around the world to climb mountains then ski down them. This guy is very cool, and brings four nice looking girls with him. I wake up the next day smelling like fernet and wine… We hitch a ride into the city with him when he goes to work, and we get to check out the office of the environmental engineers whom turn waste into fuel. Two twenty something hottie engineers share the office with him…
From Sud America
Another night he takes us out partying in Buenos Aires. Here’s how this works: 11:30pm, go out for dinner at an outdoor café and scope the women while putting back some Quilmes. Around 1am you walk into a bar and do some drinking, we chose a missile which is a large tubular beer container with a frozen metal tube down the center. This is where you meet the girls that go with you to the club around 2 or 3am for some dancing and pairing off. Around 4 or 5am it’s torrential rain, and the club closes the second floor dance floor when the water is filling in. We call it a night and run several blocks through the rain, which soaks us to the core. The smaller camera is with me, and it only works one more time afterwards.
From Sud America
From Sud America
After saying goodbye, we head north and stop in the town of Guayaquil as per Tomas’ recommendation. When we roll in we’re very confused. There’s many shops, but they’re all closed. There’s almost no people around except for people near the entrance of the town holding signs for houses for rent. Then we turn a corner looking for internet and realize the town is much bigger than we initially suspected, yet it’s still deserted. It really felt like Silent Hill. We cruise past the carnival stadium deal, and realize there’s a carnival this night. Apparently people here take their siesta VERY seriously, because a few hours later the outdoor café’s are crackin, the streets are closed to vehicles, and there’s samba bands with shaking butts rolling through the streets. I like. The hostel we found was full, but there’s a nearby hospedaje which is pretty cheap and has a fan in the room. Matt is now addicted to Mate, and has to buy his own mate cup and straw deal. What a great night, rolling into a party town with carnival happening. We met some beautiful girls, worked on our dancing skills, and slept in some.
From Sud America
From Sud America
In route to Iguazu the next day, we encounter more torrential rain, and we’re soaked through to the core in about five minutes of riding. It’s so miserable it’s funny, and we find the first hotel we can and call it a day.
From Sud America
We wake up early to make up for lost time, and follow directions recommended by googlemaps. Big mistake.
From Sud America
When we hit the route 40 we’re unsure since it’s unmarked and unpaved, but a copper tells us we’re on the right track. He looks at us funny when we tell him we’re taking it to Iguazu, but we figure he’s probably just a pussy and we know more than he does. It’s a bit sandy in parts, and Matt is very nervous, but I stay positive and think that it can only get better. An hour or two in it turns into a state park, which is funny since we only passed about three cars the entire way. We see an armadillo, alligator, some large lizards, and many giant guinea pigs. We get to the information office of the park, and the guy tells us the nearest gas station is right about the limit of our tanks! Well, assuming it still gets dark at 9pm, and we can average 40kph, we should make it around nightfall. Okay, literally just on the other side of the office it’s 8 inch deep sand. It doesn’t improve, but our riding does, eventually, after falling several times.
From Sud America
Matt’s legs have scrapes and burns all over, and we’re out of water about a half hour later as it get’s dark by 8. It’s looking really bleak, and there’s a thunderstorm approaching us from three sides. It’s so bad it’s funny for a minute, then sucks again for a few more hours. I can ride fine up to about 4 inches deep, but the 8+ inch business is extremely difficult. I figure out the best way to do it is like surfing the bike, and just going where the sand wants to take you and lean a little into the wave. That works okay until the bike is suddenly 90 degrees different and headed into the marsh which surrounds both sides of the road. My stock headlight blows, and Matt’s HID’s kick ass except every time he falls they break a little more and we’re not sure if they’ll make it to the end.
From Sud America
Finally we see a fork in the road, and we think we know where we are, which is about half way to the gas station. The beach turns into a more shallow, red sandy road, and we can finally hit that 40kph speed we’d been looking for. Finally we wind up in a town with teenagers speeding around on mopeds around midnight. We sleep well that night.
From Sud America
We’d heard of the notoriously corrupt police on the road to Iguazu, and were a little nervous approaching now that we’re taking the main road we’d been trying to avoid earlier. We drive like… nuns or something only better. Finally we think we’re past, and we encounter them about 15 miles outside Puerta Iguazu. They are telling us to pull over the minute we can see them, and we see other motorcyclists pulled over and cars passing through without problem. They tell us we were playing on the road behind, and we aren’t allowed to be “jugando” on the road there. I smile and assure him we were not while Mateo nervously holds our spyglasses, of which the lenses have fallen off, LOL! They check our paperwork, then ask what’s in the bag. “Camera. Estamos haciendo un documentar.” He walks inside to talk to the boss, then comes out and says we can go, but don’t play on the road. I tell him, believe me, I have heard of you from the internet, and I know how easy it is to get ticketed here, I wasn’t playing. Goodbye. He says he doesn’t understand me and get the hell out of here. Finally we get to town and holler at our couchsurfing host, Renatta, who works at a hostel.
From Sud America
We’re still tired from the day before, but she makes us go out for a bit that night. She tells us she’s staying at the hostel, but we can stay at her place with another couchsurfer, who is an Argentinian flute player. The next day we have a ridiculously awesome day at the Iguazu waterfalls park on the Argentine side.
From Sud America
We literally took a boat to the bottom of the falls and got dumped on! We’re really juiced on life, and burn one with the flute player, then go out to celebrate Renatta’s 26th.
]]>
February 20, 2010 by Tiernan
Comments (0)
<!--StartFragment-->
Andes are great riding, and I get some nice outer tire wear at Chile’s Andean Haight Ashbury. The Argentinian border was great. Chile and Argentina are in cahoots, and there’s only two places you need to go to with no money transactions. The first place is immigration, where there’s one person from each country stamping you in/out. The next is customs, where there’s also one person from each country sitting in the same booth.
From Sud America
We get our first milanesa sandwich and Quilmes right there also! The first three hours into Argentina we’re stopping every five minutes to get incredible footage and photos of the road and landscape. It takes us about two days of riding through farm country which looks like Kansas, Nebraska, Oklahoma in parts… It’s really hot as well…
From Sud America
We both get tickets for passing on a double yellow...
From Sud America
You can’t flush the TP, but it’s cool because there’s bidets in nearly every bathroom! sup: Eventurally we wind up in Tigre, which is about 30 minutes north of Buenos Aires. The road in was under construction and there’s no signs for a detour, so we at first try to find a parallel road, then settle on riding the bikes through the sidewalks, which are still open.
From Sud America
I’m about 3 seconds away from getting hit by a train, no wonder they’d all stopped walking for a moment. Our couchsurfing host, Tomas, is staying at his parents beautiful house while they’re out of town on vacation, and we each get our own room with air conditioning ☺.
From Sud America
Tomas cooks us up some traditional Argentinian BBQ, and introduces me to my new fav choripan, which is the chorizo and pan you’d find for less than a dollar on the side of the road. He invites a buddy of his over, who is like 25 years old and goes to remote locals around the world to climb mountains then ski down them. This guy is very cool, and brings four nice looking girls with him. I wake up the next day smelling like fernet and wine… We hitch a ride into the city with him when he goes to work, and we get to check out the office of the environmental engineers whom turn waste into fuel. Two twenty something hottie engineers share the office with him…
From Sud America
Another night he takes us out partying in Buenos Aires. Here’s how this works: 11:30pm, go out for dinner at an outdoor café and scope the women while putting back some Quilmes. Around 1am you walk into a bar and do some drinking, we chose a missile which is a large tubular beer container with a frozen metal tube down the center. This is where you meet the girls that go with you to the club around 2 or 3am for some dancing and pairing off. Around 4 or 5am it’s torrential rain, and the club closes the second floor dance floor when the water is filling in. We call it a night and run several blocks through the rain, which soaks us to the core. The smaller camera is with me, and it only works one more time afterwards.
From Sud America
From Sud America
After saying goodbye, we head north and stop in the town of Guayaquil as per Tomas’ recommendation. When we roll in we’re very confused. There’s many shops, but they’re all closed. There’s almost no people around except for people near the entrance of the town holding signs for houses for rent. Then we turn a corner looking for internet and realize the town is much bigger than we initially suspected, yet it’s still deserted. It really felt like Silent Hill. We cruise past the carnival stadium deal, and realize there’s a carnival this night. Apparently people here take their siesta VERY seriously, because a few hours later the outdoor café’s are crackin, the streets are closed to vehicles, and there’s samba bands with shaking butts rolling through the streets. I like. The hostel we found was full, but there’s a nearby hospedaje which is pretty cheap and has a fan in the room. Matt is now addicted to Mate, and has to buy his own mate cup and straw deal. What a great night, rolling into a party town with carnival happening. We met some beautiful girls, worked on our dancing skills, and slept in some.
From Sud America
From Sud America
In route to Iguazu the next day, we encounter more torrential rain, and we’re soaked through to the core in about five minutes of riding. It’s so miserable it’s funny, and we find the first hotel we can and call it a day.
From Sud America
We wake up early to make up for lost time, and follow directions recommended by googlemaps. Big mistake.
From Sud America
When we hit the route 40 we’re unsure since it’s unmarked and unpaved, but a copper tells us we’re on the right track. He looks at us funny when we tell him we’re taking it to Iguazu, but we figure he’s probably just a pussy and we know more than he does. It’s a bit sandy in parts, and Matt is very nervous, but I stay positive and think that it can only get better. An hour or two in it turns into a state park, which is funny since we only passed about three cars the entire way. We see an armadillo, alligator, some large lizards, and many giant guinea pigs. We get to the information office of the park, and the guy tells us the nearest gas station is right about the limit of our tanks! Well, assuming it still gets dark at 9pm, and we can average 40kph, we should make it around nightfall. Okay, literally just on the other side of the office it’s 8 inch deep sand. It doesn’t improve, but our riding does, eventually, after falling several times.
From Sud America
Matt’s legs have scrapes and burns all over, and we’re out of water about a half hour later as it get’s dark by 8. It’s looking really bleak, and there’s a thunderstorm approaching us from three sides. It’s so bad it’s funny for a minute, then sucks again for a few more hours. I can ride fine up to about 4 inches deep, but the 8+ inch business is extremely difficult. I figure out the best way to do it is like surfing the bike, and just going where the sand wants to take you and lean a little into the wave. That works okay until the bike is suddenly 90 degrees different and headed into the marsh which surrounds both sides of the road. My stock headlight blows, and Matt’s HID’s kick ass except every time he falls they break a little more and we’re not sure if they’ll make it to the end.
From Sud America
Finally we see a fork in the road, and we think we know where we are, which is about half way to the gas station. The beach turns into a more shallow, red sandy road, and we can finally hit that 40kph speed we’d been looking for. Finally we wind up in a town with teenagers speeding around on mopeds around midnight. We sleep well that night.
From Sud America
We’d heard of the notoriously corrupt police on the road to Iguazu, and were a little nervous approaching now that we’re taking the main road we’d been trying to avoid earlier. We drive like… nuns or something only better. Finally we think we’re past, and we encounter them about 15 miles outside Puerta Iguazu. They are telling us to pull over the minute we can see them, and we see other motorcyclists pulled over and cars passing through without problem. They tell us we were playing on the road behind, and we aren’t allowed to be “jugando” on the road there. I smile and assure him we were not while Mateo nervously holds our spyglasses, of which the lenses have fallen off, LOL! They check our paperwork, then ask what’s in the bag. “Camera. Estamos haciendo un documentar.” He walks inside to talk to the boss, then comes out and says we can go, but don’t play on the road. I tell him, believe me, I have heard of you from the internet, and I know how easy it is to get ticketed here, I wasn’t playing. Goodbye. He says he doesn’t understand me and get the hell out of here. Finally we get to town and holler at our couchsurfing host, Renatta, who works at a hostel.
From Sud America
We’re still tired from the day before, but she makes us go out for a bit that night. She tells us she’s staying at the hostel, but we can stay at her place with another couchsurfer, who is an Argentinian flute player. The next day we have a ridiculously awesome day at the Iguazu waterfalls park on the Argentine side.
From Sud America
We literally took a boat to the bottom of the falls and got dumped on! We’re really juiced on life, and burn one with the flute player, then go out to celebrate Renatta’s 26th.
]]>
Packing the bikes in Panama was interesting. It took much effort to find out how to actually make the shipment happen, and how much it will cost. A final price wasn’t actually negotiated until the bikes were packed and ready to ship. We say goodbye to our couchsurfing host Jeannette, and go to the airport for our flight to Santiago.
Upon arrival, we find out the bikes’ flight is delayed and it might be at least another day until we get them. “Just wait at your hotel and take taxis around Santiago,” the guy says. Erm, no we don’t have it like that. We wait in the company’s office with all of our things to hint that we’d like the bikes ASAP, and it works.
The tires had been deflated for the flight, which was a pain since the bomba at the nearby gasolinera was out of order. We’re on the bikes and headed to the coast by around 3pm. A great example of how we roll is we didn’t know where we’d go, we just knew the coast had a good reputation. When the fork in the road came up, one sign says Valparaiso and the other Vina del Mar, I turn to matt and shrug, he shrugs back, and I make an impulsive right turn, where we spend some time finding internet to find the hostel for the night. The town seems basically like it’s for couples, and we take off for Santiago the next day.
We roll through Valparaiso on the way out of Dodge, then check out some beautiful Vinyards and wine country on the way into Santiago mid day. It’s not getting dark around here until 9pm, so there’s none of this we need to find shelter before dinner business we’d been dealing with in Central America. We drop by a vineyard for a quick wine taste, then keep rolling.
Santiago is a beautiful city. We take a night to drink $2.50 per bottle wine and cook some pasta for ourselves, and hang out with other couchsurfers watching Eurovision classics. The next day we change Matt’s chain and clean my air filter, and decide it’s a little late to head for Argentina, so we find another internet café and new hostel.
We wind up at this awesome part of town called Bellavista, which is our first real encounter with the typical South American setup of sidewalk cafes. I meet some Argentinians and enjoy an evening with them wondering where the hell Matt wound up, since one minute he was drinking at the hostel and the next minute he’s nowhere to be found. Turns out he had a good night. We decide it’s too nice to leave, then have another awesome night after a daytime downhill bike turned off race. We meet this crazy drunk guy who’s cool at first, until we realize he’s not going to leave us alone anytime soon. I tell him very bluntly that we don’t want to stay with him, at which point he turns into a beggar.
Sigh. Two minutes later we’re chillin at a table with four other girls and no beggar. They sneak us onto the bus without paying, and we wind up at a ridiculous 80’s new wave dance club.
Later on we return the bus favor by sneaking them into the hostel. We try to leave the next day, but can’t find the road we’re looking for. I had seen a road on a map of Chile that goes from Santiago to the Argentinian border through the mountains on a cool looking dirt road, but nobody who lived near it had a clue what the number of their roads were. One woman pointed out where we were on Matt’s iPhone, which really stumped us.
We wound up riding the gnarliest road of our lives that day, then headed back to the hostel in shame. After checking the SPOT tracker, it turns out we were at the right road when we stopped to ask the woman, who can’t actually point out where she in fact lives on a map. We get a few miles up the road and find out it’s privately owned by some mining company who have badass four wheel drive trucks and promise to chase us down if we try to run, so we turn around and take the freeway to the Andes.
...more to come...
]]>
February 20, 2010 by Tiernan
Comments (0)
Packing the bikes in Panama was interesting. It took much effort to find out how to actually make the shipment happen, and how much it will cost. A final price wasn’t actually negotiated until the bikes were packed and ready to ship. We say goodbye to our couchsurfing host Jeannette, and go to the airport for our flight to Santiago.
Upon arrival, we find out the bikes’ flight is delayed and it might be at least another day until we get them. “Just wait at your hotel and take taxis around Santiago,” the guy says. Erm, no we don’t have it like that. We wait in the company’s office with all of our things to hint that we’d like the bikes ASAP, and it works.
The tires had been deflated for the flight, which was a pain since the bomba at the nearby gasolinera was out of order. We’re on the bikes and headed to the coast by around 3pm. A great example of how we roll is we didn’t know where we’d go, we just knew the coast had a good reputation. When the fork in the road came up, one sign says Valparaiso and the other Vina del Mar, I turn to matt and shrug, he shrugs back, and I make an impulsive right turn, where we spend some time finding internet to find the hostel for the night. The town seems basically like it’s for couples, and we take off for Santiago the next day.
We roll through Valparaiso on the way out of Dodge, then check out some beautiful Vinyards and wine country on the way into Santiago mid day. It’s not getting dark around here until 9pm, so there’s none of this we need to find shelter before dinner business we’d been dealing with in Central America. We drop by a vineyard for a quick wine taste, then keep rolling.
Santiago is a beautiful city. We take a night to drink $2.50 per bottle wine and cook some pasta for ourselves, and hang out with other couchsurfers watching Eurovision classics. The next day we change Matt’s chain and clean my air filter, and decide it’s a little late to head for Argentina, so we find another internet café and new hostel.
We wind up at this awesome part of town called Bellavista, which is our first real encounter with the typical South American setup of sidewalk cafes. I meet some Argentinians and enjoy an evening with them wondering where the hell Matt wound up, since one minute he was drinking at the hostel and the next minute he’s nowhere to be found. Turns out he had a good night. We decide it’s too nice to leave, then have another awesome night after a daytime downhill bike turned off race. We meet this crazy drunk guy who’s cool at first, until we realize he’s not going to leave us alone anytime soon. I tell him very bluntly that we don’t want to stay with him, at which point he turns into a beggar.
Sigh. Two minutes later we’re chillin at a table with four other girls and no beggar. They sneak us onto the bus without paying, and we wind up at a ridiculous 80’s new wave dance club.
Later on we return the bus favor by sneaking them into the hostel. We try to leave the next day, but can’t find the road we’re looking for. I had seen a road on a map of Chile that goes from Santiago to the Argentinian border through the mountains on a cool looking dirt road, but nobody who lived near it had a clue what the number of their roads were. One woman pointed out where we were on Matt’s iPhone, which really stumped us.
We wound up riding the gnarliest road of our lives that day, then headed back to the hostel in shame. After checking the SPOT tracker, it turns out we were at the right road when we stopped to ask the woman, who can’t actually point out where she in fact lives on a map. We get a few miles up the road and find out it’s privately owned by some mining company who have badass four wheel drive trucks and promise to chase us down if we try to run, so we turn around and take the freeway to the Andes.
...more to come...
]]>
Packing the bikes in Panama was interesting. It took much effort to find out how to actually make the shipment happen, and how much it will cost. A final price wasn’t actually negotiated until the bikes were packed and ready to ship. We say goodbye to our couchsurfing host Jeannette, and go to the airport for our flight to Santiago.
Upon arrival, we find out the bikes’ flight is delayed and it might be at least another day until we get them. “Just wait at your hotel and take taxis around Santiago,” the guy says. Erm, no we don’t have it like that. We wait in the company’s office with all of our things to hint that we’d like the bikes ASAP, and it works.
The tires had been deflated for the flight, which was a pain since the bomba at the nearby gasolinera was out of order. We’re on the bikes and headed to the coast by around 3pm. A great example of how we roll is we didn’t know where we’d go, we just knew the coast had a good reputation. When the fork in the road came up, one sign says Valparaiso and the other Vina del Mar, I turn to matt and shrug, he shrugs back, and I make an impulsive right turn, where we spend some time finding internet to find the hostel for the night. The town seems basically like it’s for couples, and we take off for Santiago the next day.
We roll through Valparaiso on the way out of Dodge, then check out some beautiful Vinyards and wine country on the way into Santiago mid day. It’s not getting dark around here until 9pm, so there’s none of this we need to find shelter before dinner business we’d been dealing with in Central America. We drop by a vineyard for a quick wine taste, then keep rolling.
Santiago is a beautiful city. We take a night to drink $2.50 per bottle wine and cook some pasta for ourselves, and hang out with other couchsurfers watching Eurovision classics. The next day we change Matt’s chain and clean my air filter, and decide it’s a little late to head for Argentina, so we find another internet café and new hostel.
We wind up at this awesome part of town called Bellavista, which is our first real encounter with the typical South American setup of sidewalk cafes. I meet some Argentinians and enjoy an evening with them wondering where the hell Matt wound up, since one minute he was drinking at the hostel and the next minute he’s nowhere to be found. Turns out he had a good night. We decide it’s too nice to leave, then have another awesome night after a daytime downhill bike turned off race. We meet this crazy drunk guy who’s cool at first, until we realize he’s not going to leave us alone anytime soon. I tell him very bluntly that we don’t want to stay with him, at which point he turns into a beggar.
Sigh. Two minutes later we’re chillin at a table with four other girls and no beggar. They sneak us onto the bus without paying, and we wind up at a ridiculous 80’s new wave dance club.
Later on we return the bus favor by sneaking them into the hostel. We try to leave the next day, but can’t find the road we’re looking for. I had seen a road on a map of Chile that goes from Santiago to the Argentinian border through the mountains on a cool looking dirt road, but nobody who lived near it had a clue what the number of their roads were. One woman pointed out where we were on Matt’s iPhone, which really stumped us.
We wound up riding the gnarliest road of our lives that day, then headed back to the hostel in shame. After checking the SPOT tracker, it turns out we were at the right road when we stopped to ask the woman, who can’t actually point out where she in fact lives on a map. We get a few miles up the road and find out it’s privately owned by some mining company who have badass four wheel drive trucks and promise to chase us down if we try to run, so we turn around and take the freeway to the Andes.
...more to come...
]]>
February 20, 2010 by Tiernan
Comments (0)
Packing the bikes in Panama was interesting. It took much effort to find out how to actually make the shipment happen, and how much it will cost. A final price wasn’t actually negotiated until the bikes were packed and ready to ship. We say goodbye to our couchsurfing host Jeannette, and go to the airport for our flight to Santiago.
Upon arrival, we find out the bikes’ flight is delayed and it might be at least another day until we get them. “Just wait at your hotel and take taxis around Santiago,” the guy says. Erm, no we don’t have it like that. We wait in the company’s office with all of our things to hint that we’d like the bikes ASAP, and it works.
The tires had been deflated for the flight, which was a pain since the bomba at the nearby gasolinera was out of order. We’re on the bikes and headed to the coast by around 3pm. A great example of how we roll is we didn’t know where we’d go, we just knew the coast had a good reputation. When the fork in the road came up, one sign says Valparaiso and the other Vina del Mar, I turn to matt and shrug, he shrugs back, and I make an impulsive right turn, where we spend some time finding internet to find the hostel for the night. The town seems basically like it’s for couples, and we take off for Santiago the next day.
We roll through Valparaiso on the way out of Dodge, then check out some beautiful Vinyards and wine country on the way into Santiago mid day. It’s not getting dark around here until 9pm, so there’s none of this we need to find shelter before dinner business we’d been dealing with in Central America. We drop by a vineyard for a quick wine taste, then keep rolling.
Santiago is a beautiful city. We take a night to drink $2.50 per bottle wine and cook some pasta for ourselves, and hang out with other couchsurfers watching Eurovision classics. The next day we change Matt’s chain and clean my air filter, and decide it’s a little late to head for Argentina, so we find another internet café and new hostel.
We wind up at this awesome part of town called Bellavista, which is our first real encounter with the typical South American setup of sidewalk cafes. I meet some Argentinians and enjoy an evening with them wondering where the hell Matt wound up, since one minute he was drinking at the hostel and the next minute he’s nowhere to be found. Turns out he had a good night. We decide it’s too nice to leave, then have another awesome night after a daytime downhill bike turned off race. We meet this crazy drunk guy who’s cool at first, until we realize he’s not going to leave us alone anytime soon. I tell him very bluntly that we don’t want to stay with him, at which point he turns into a beggar.
Sigh. Two minutes later we’re chillin at a table with four other girls and no beggar. They sneak us onto the bus without paying, and we wind up at a ridiculous 80’s new wave dance club.
Later on we return the bus favor by sneaking them into the hostel. We try to leave the next day, but can’t find the road we’re looking for. I had seen a road on a map of Chile that goes from Santiago to the Argentinian border through the mountains on a cool looking dirt road, but nobody who lived near it had a clue what the number of their roads were. One woman pointed out where we were on Matt’s iPhone, which really stumped us.
We wound up riding the gnarliest road of our lives that day, then headed back to the hostel in shame. After checking the SPOT tracker, it turns out we were at the right road when we stopped to ask the woman, who can’t actually point out where she in fact lives on a map. We get a few miles up the road and find out it’s privately owned by some mining company who have badass four wheel drive trucks and promise to chase us down if we try to run, so we turn around and take the freeway to the Andes.
...more to come...
]]>
America Central:
Leaving Mexico we’d really hoped to stop hitting “topes”, or speedbumps. What we found going into Guatemala was that indeed there are topes, only now the signs for them are fewer and farther in between. Couple that with a nighttime arrival and the electricity being out in the bordertown, and you’ll get the picture of a rough arrival. We pull off to a gas station to get a map since the border was all out, and find that here the gas stations have armed guards with shotguns. They don’t have maps at the gas stations, but it really doesn’t matter because there’s hardly any road signs anyway, and nobody knows how to give directions.
We ride most of the way across Antigua to find Mateo had left his wallet at the first gas station near the border. I get a shot of him going back with an active volcano in the background, and try to catch up until I realize I’d made at least one wrong turn, and two hours later I’m in the mountains looking at beautiful landscapes and women dressed in colorful homemade clothing.
I take a step back and decide that Matt will probably follow the same logic, which is that he’d have seen me on the road and therefore would be better off going on to Antigua instead of waiting around for me near the border. On the way I stop for a quick lunch… I really like the mandarin limes here.
I get to Antigua at dusk, and its really crowded. Finally I get some internet and find a hostel, which luckily has one open bed, internet, and a Christmas eve party with a nice dinner and drinks!
I remember the SPOT tracker, and get online to find Mateo is in Antigua, although his phone is off so I can’t call him but I’m resting easy knowing he made it and I can go out drinking.
That night I wound up at a bar that had all white guy travelers for the first time since starting the trip 3 weeks earlier. I wasn’t too into it… Christmas day I woke up and called Mateo. We met up and I brought him back to my hostel, where we stayed two more nights. Turns out he was staying and drinking right near the bar where I had been the night before. We were able to bring the bikes inside and Matt grabbed a spot on a mattress on the floor for half price.
We finally silicon sealed his exhaust, and left it to dry for a day. Taking a day off riding finally got my gestion crackin on both ends too J. After much debate, we head out for the Copan ruins in Honduras, following video we have of an adventure riders map we’d recorded on Christmas.
There’s no maps here, which isn’t a big deal since the road signs are worthless anyway. We miss a turn and wind up in El Salvador. Oh well, we heard the beach road is nice. It’s dark and we get through the border quickly. Again we stop at a gas station and speak with the shotgun guard about some directions or a hotel. Apparently we shouldn’t go on because there’s a series of tunnels which have no lights, and people are generally robbed if they try to pass through at night. Matt had heard of this before as well, which makes us wonder: why don’t the police do anything if they know about it? It’s like the robbers that hang out at Lake Atitlan in Guatemala, what the fuck? El Salvador is on the American dollar, so for once we’re really sure we pay too much for the hotel and food. The next day is a nice day of riding some nice roads overlooking the beach.
We pass through most of the country in a few hours, and wind up staying at the Monte Carlo in San Miguel for $8 per room. We ask the cabbie to take us to a good bar where we can meet some chicas, and they like Americans. He says he’s not sure about Americans, but they like dollars. I tell him I want to be clear, I don’t want to pay for women, no strip clubs, how about a college bar? He looks at me funny and stops talking. Five minutes later we’re at Safire’s strip club, where the beer is only $2! Okay, let’s see what these girls are made of. A couple of them approach Mateo and myself, and start talking. Ugh, swear to god, the one talking to me had the breath of a cheap hooker who’d just earned a quick $10. Not kidding. We got the hell outta there and called it a night.
We wake up and head for the border, which is tough because the road we take only has signs from one direction, so we have to double back to find it. Anyway, getting into Honduras sucked. We ran into an American couple riding KLR’s whom I’d met in Antigua on Christmas eve when I was stressed out worried about Mateo.
Anywho, they’re the only ones ahead of us at 9:30am. They get finished with customs at noon, when everyone takes an hour for lunch break.
Okay, at 1pm we’re making progress. They don’t use computers for much, so hand written paperwork and many copies take us through to 3:30pm, at which point I rip a nice wheelie and then find out she didn’t give us everything. We head back, and a copper takes Mateo’s license for cutting through a divider. I’m worried we’ll have to spend money and another day there so I recommend we just take the loss since he’s got another one. One wheelie later and I find out now I need two copies of this new paperwork. This time the copper stops me for turning around, so I just leave my bike parked in the street and walk back to get copies. At this point I’m out of money so ask the nice looking 16 year old girl working at the copy center for pity copies and she obliges. Last wheelie.
Honduras is nice! It looks like they have the same amount of money as Mexico, Guatemala, but they seem to take more pride in their properties. There’s colorful paint, some basic landscaping… It seems like they have some pride and maybe even zest for life over there. We drop by a gas station for a quick beer and snack, which turns into a photo shoot with some locals who really like us.
Then, we get the first decent directions we’ve gotten the whole trip from the local coppers, who don’t mind speaking slowly for us either. Wish we’d stayed longer really, but we’re pushing to get to Nicaragua for New Year’s and relax for a few days.
Into Nicaragua is a nice change of pace. After ripping a wheelie on the bridge there, we pull into Migracion and Aduana to find… nobody begging, bothering, or trying to help us. Only three young ladies who want to sell us insurance, but they don’t seem to care if we want it or not. Or they were trying to play hard to get, either way I wanted to talk to them. Apparently they don’t allow the “helpers” there… And, they use carbon copies when you sign so there’s no need for copies. We’re out of that border entrance in 45 minutes. We ride to Leon, where the American couple had said they would be. By the way there website is sapoyrana.net if you want to check them out, they’ve been all over. We find a hostel that has $4 beds, and pay a security guard a dollar to watch our bikes on the street overnight after comparing his club to Mateo’s quickstick.
Not sure exactly what we paid for, since after unloading them I come outside to find him taking the sheepskin and bungees off because they’re not safe even with his guard.
The next day we do some laundry and head to San Juan del Sur, Nicaragua. The main road there from Leon is awful, full of potholes, gravel, dirt sometimes. I think it did make good video though… We get stopped about 40 minutes outside of Managua and the cops go over our bikes until they find a problem: the headlights are on, which is illegal during the daytime here. They tell us we’ll get tickets, go to Managua, and return with the receipt to get out licenses back. But, they leave in 45 minutes, so even if we were able to find the bank in record time, the task is impossible. Fortunately we can just pay them cash!
(For the record these are not the coppers that we dealt with. These guys stopped to check us out when we were doing some video action immediately after the shakedown, somehow they must have made it through the checkpoint themselves.)
Forty dollars and a half hour later we’re back on the move and finally arrive in San Juan del Sur a few hours afterwards.
Awesome place, and I loved the vibe the minute I arrived. The camera mount on my handlebars came apart in the street, and I picked up one part and missed another. No more camera mount until we find an internal Manfrotto part L. Anyhow, we ride around for a bit and find Hostel Esperanza, where we score a private room for $20/night until after New Year’s, which is great since it’s hard to find anything there this time of year; this town really packs in!
My man Carlos had given me two wife-beaters and a t shirt in Antigua, which have been great. The wife beater is hands down the best shirt under the jacket in the hot weather! Plus, it really compliments my creepy mustache.
That night we warm up to the night life with $7 bottles of Flor de Cana at a really cool bar called The Pier, which is a hub for travelers in town.
The woman who works at the hostel tells me I don’t need a helmet to ride around town (well the locals don’t seem to), and I get pulled over two blocks out. The girl from the hostel I’m with talks them out of giving me a ticket, then takes me 15 miles in the wrong direction looking for the famous Playa Madera. At one point we were about five miles in the middle of nowhere on a dirt road, when an ice cream guy rolls up, which turns my frown upside down right away. I go out that night, and get pick pocketed for my wallet, which has my debit card, Nevada driver’s license, and around $75 cash. I’m a little drunk, but after seeing someone on the floor below looking through a wallet like for the first time, I rush downstairs then realize I didn’t get a good look at them. I see two guys whom I suspect, and wind up following them around for an hour until a female friend from the hostel flirts and feels them up to tell me they don’t have the wallet on them. The card was later used that night for around $140. Got to love the locals, that card was a business card from Wells Fargo with my custom company logo on it. Somehow I don’t think the guy using it looked the part… For the record I don’t think Wells Fargo is giving me that money back either.
The next day I make good friends with Lilly and Dia, the two girls at the hostel that I’d been eyeing since I got there, and ride 3-up to Playa Madera.
I get some surfing done, some beach timelapse, and we end the day with a Matt’s rear tire flat in the darkness miles from civilization. We ride back with the tire and decide to deal with it in the morning- this is New Year’s eve. We also happen to run into Sapo y Rana!
That day the hostel informed us they needed to take the extra mattress from our room, so Mateo and I would need to share a bed in our private room. There’s got to be another way! I strike a deal with the two girls from the beach that since they’re sharing a bed, we should trade up partners so Matt and I don’t accidentally touch one another while sleeping. Holy shit it worked. New Year’s eve is amazing, other than the fact I got pick pocketed, again, this time for $25 loose in my pocket, and Mateo found someone’s hand in his pocket. Time to get on the horn with the bank, on the internet, which cuts out sporadically and I have to start these calls over, and over, and over...
This brings me to a rant- many authorities down here have a policy of don’t ask don’t tell, or see no evil here no evil, or something that makes common crimes happen. In Antigua, everyone knows that people get robbed at Lake Atitlan. Why can’t they arrest these people or put a guard up there? In El Salvador, everyone knows you get robbed in the tunnels at night, why can’t they put some lights in the tunnels, or again, police them? The pick pockets are so numerous in San Juan, I bet the bouncers must know who they are by now, I doubt pick pocketing is something people only do a few times then move on. And I keep hearing about the corrupt police in Argentina on the way to Iguazu Falls… I’m just bothered by this common knowledge crime that gets ignored by people in a position to do something about it, especially when that is their position- their job- their freakin duty!
New Year’s day we change Matt’s tube and finally get the heavy duty Fly in there. The locals who are still partying on the beach from the night before are duly impressed with our skills, and we change it in about a half hour (after setting up the timelapse camera). A bus driver lets us use his air.
I take the girls 3up again to the Jesus statue above the city, then have a nice dinner with the four of us.
We finally get out the next day after getting an interview from our new friend Dia, and head for Costa Rica. While in San Juan del Sur we decided our movie should be about the travelers we meet along the way, including hostel peeps, adventure riders, and Gringo immigrants. This takes a big stress off our shoulders, because properly covering our trip, which is what we were originally thinking the movie would be, is next to impossible. We finally get across Costa Rica, after waiting in line behind five busloads of people at immigration getting stamped out of Nicaragua.
It's funny, this guy in the grey and red t shirt had asked me for a tip. Of course I refused and had no clue why he'd even asked, since I hadn't even noticed he was there while I handled all my own business. Then, weeks later I see this picture and realize he must have been following me the whole way through, probably repeating the words of the Migra and Aduana, LOL! I'm pretty sick of the helpers, and often talk down to them with little respect. Does that make me a bad person? I don't give a shit, those people go out of their way to make my life a little harder, so I'm not going out of my way to worry about their esteem. Also at this border a kid of about 12 asked me for a tip for guarding the bike, while Mateo was there the whole time!
Costa Rica is a pretty easy border, but it’s night by the time we get into the country and we stop at the first hotel we find after having dinner. You had to see it to believe it. There’s a bar with rooms above in a town with all dirt roads. When I tell the jefe that we’ve got bikes he orders the entire bar to make way from the front door to the back where our bikes will sit inside. Every table in the place has to get up and watch their table pushed aside (if they don’t help) as we push our bikes past their captivated faces and drinks now in hand. The place looks to me like a whorehouse from the old west, built with all wood, and the visible stairs from the bar leading to rooms where you can see through the wooden walls and shared bathroom. I hang out for a while downstairs and learn the life story of several townspeople, and they force me to sing “Lady in Red” on karaoke, which I’ve never heard so I of course butcher the song. They really look disappointed when they hear me sing, but hey, I told them I’d never heard the song what the hell did they expect?
We do some good offroading in the rain and make it to Volcan Tenorio, only to find there’s a four and a half hour hike involved at the top. Er, nevermind. Let’s keep moving.
We head towards the beach, make a wrong turn, and wind up in San Jose and hook up with a pretty eventless hostel, other than an American we meet who tells us how he was sliced and hacked up by a crackhead in Quepos.
The next day we decide to change our oil, and luckily meet Alaskan Dan, who approaches us and takes us to his local shop where we can buy some decent oil. No silkolene 100% ester, but at least semi-synthetic 20W50. We do the change right there on the sidewalk and head to Quepos to stay at Casa de Rasta.
Rasta’s proprietor, Ben, comes and meets us at the coffee shop with internet, then we follow him back to the island with a quick stop at his guy’s place and a semi crazy motorcycle load onto a small ferry across the water. When we get there we run into a Finnish couple I’d been waiting in line with at the Costa Rican border two days earlier.
This small island off Quepos was very relaxing, and this place had no internet so we were forced to really take a load off for a couple of days. Other than that, there was surfing, ziplining, a 420 daze, an interview with Ben, and a flat tire.
Thank you, Del Amo Motorsports of Redondo Beach, for giving us the wrong tube. I did appreciate the cocky attitude and proving to me that your social life at work was more important than my purchase, but giving me a 21 incher for my Supermoto which I’ve carried for 5,000 miles on my front fender is really what sealed the deal for me. What a dick, now we’re stuck with the crap they sell down here and will probably have to change it again…
Out of Quepos Matt gets stopped for speeding, but the Costa Rican police don’t waste our time trying to act like they want to give us a ticket. $20 and three minutes later we’re on the move to Peninsula de Osa, National Geographic’s most geographically intense place on earth. The ride in is awesome with some really stunning views, and scary potholes in the road.
We stay in this town Puerto Jimenez, which is really a dump.
My Central American peeps all know the Suicide Shower.
The next day we experience our first river crossings, which go smoothly other than the fact that I lose one of my sneakers. I really liked those… oh well, at least I still have one to dry the foot which was submerged in one of the crossings. Holy shit it was deep for a minute, I must have hit a rut because my foot was on the peg and it filled my Joe Rocket boot.
Anyhow, great day of riding, we should have stayed another day and really gone into the park. By now though we’re in a hurry to get to Panama City and make plans to get to South America.
“Why!” (talking about my shoe)(and I’m running out of meth)
We leave after taking a lunch and 360 degree timelapse from a summit overlooking the peninsula, and make it across the Panamanian border at night. While I do the stamps out of Costa Rica Matt lubes the chains and discovers that his chain has been tearing apart the wiring going in/out of the stator (I think). After a bit of fiddling now his bike won’t start, and he literally pushes it across the border to the Panama side. Acting as the good friend that I am, I make sure to get some video of the situation.
Yeah, yeah, yeah. It’s hard to focus shooting video on a DSLR.
We stop at the first hotel we can find, which is about an hour and a half in and seven miles off the main road. It’s $55, but we talk them down to $45, and stay just because we’re tired. Turns out there’s A/C, and the place is run by the German couple from Super Troopers. In the morning we’re fed a five star breakfast (included), by the wife who’s listening to techno at daybreak. Hands down the best breakfast so far.
The entrance to Panama City is great, we take a huge bridge over the mouth of the canal, then see the shoreline view of the city, which seems to be mostly high rise condos. We find a hostel, but there’s nobody working there so we stay for a half hour and use their internet to find another. The street signs are hard to read, and the one way road system (where not every other road is a different direction), is tough but we find the place, which is full. We stay in a pension that’s got singles with hot water for $15/night each. The next day we holler at a couchsurfer, who agrees to take us shopping for my new sneakers. She’s not sure about the helmet law so we ride for two minutes until the police stop us. They talk with us for a half hour, just waiting until we offer money. They point out if we have a ticket we can’t leave the country, it’s illegal, I have no paperwork on me, they could impound the bikes… I tell them that I’ve only ridden with people on the back where helmet’s aren’t required for the passengers. He tells me that’s not true, they’re required everywhere in the world as he looks at Matt’s Colorado license (no helmet law there). Who’s got more credibility here? The guy with the gun. Our couchsurfing host talks them out of it, we go to the mall then move our things to her place. Jeannett has graciously offered us to stay at her high rise apartment in San Fransisco as long as we need.
I write overlooking Panama City right now.
We keep changing our minds what we’ll do. The original plan was take a boat to Columbia, and follow through Ecuador, Peru, Bolivia, Argentina, Brazil. The looking on Horizons Unlimited I found people had flown to Lima, Peru. This would save us time, since we’re about 10 days behind schedule of where we though we’d be. The we met Steve here in Panama who suggested we fly to Bogata, then shoot through Venezuela and jump on a boat down the Amazon, which would be fastest. Then looking at the maps, we’re not so sure if it would be as fast for us as he’d predicted. We head to the Tocumen airport to find out what our options really are, today. Copa isn’t shipping bikes right now, and Girag only goes to Ecuador and Colulmbia, which cost $1900 and $900 per bike. But there’s a company called Cargo Lux that ships to Santiago Chile for $895! Deal. Next flight is Monday, so in the meantime we’ll try to use the big city for what it’s worth: Manfrotto parts, Mac laptop repair, nightlife, couchsurfing meetups, international shipping... Perhaps a quick trip to the San Blas islands?
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January 13, 2010 by Tiernan
Comments (0)
America Central:
Leaving Mexico we’d really hoped to stop hitting “topes”, or speedbumps. What we found going into Guatemala was that indeed there are topes, only now the signs for them are fewer and farther in between. Couple that with a nighttime arrival and the electricity being out in the bordertown, and you’ll get the picture of a rough arrival. We pull off to a gas station to get a map since the border was all out, and find that here the gas stations have armed guards with shotguns. They don’t have maps at the gas stations, but it really doesn’t matter because there’s hardly any road signs anyway, and nobody knows how to give directions.
We ride most of the way across Antigua to find Mateo had left his wallet at the first gas station near the border. I get a shot of him going back with an active volcano in the background, and try to catch up until I realize I’d made at least one wrong turn, and two hours later I’m in the mountains looking at beautiful landscapes and women dressed in colorful homemade clothing.
I take a step back and decide that Matt will probably follow the same logic, which is that he’d have seen me on the road and therefore would be better off going on to Antigua instead of waiting around for me near the border. On the way I stop for a quick lunch… I really like the mandarin limes here.
I get to Antigua at dusk, and its really crowded. Finally I get some internet and find a hostel, which luckily has one open bed, internet, and a Christmas eve party with a nice dinner and drinks!
I remember the SPOT tracker, and get online to find Mateo is in Antigua, although his phone is off so I can’t call him but I’m resting easy knowing he made it and I can go out drinking.
That night I wound up at a bar that had all white guy travelers for the first time since starting the trip 3 weeks earlier. I wasn’t too into it… Christmas day I woke up and called Mateo. We met up and I brought him back to my hostel, where we stayed two more nights. Turns out he was staying and drinking right near the bar where I had been the night before. We were able to bring the bikes inside and Matt grabbed a spot on a mattress on the floor for half price.
We finally silicon sealed his exhaust, and left it to dry for a day. Taking a day off riding finally got my gestion crackin on both ends too J. After much debate, we head out for the Copan ruins in Honduras, following video we have of an adventure riders map we’d recorded on Christmas.
There’s no maps here, which isn’t a big deal since the road signs are worthless anyway. We miss a turn and wind up in El Salvador. Oh well, we heard the beach road is nice. It’s dark and we get through the border quickly. Again we stop at a gas station and speak with the shotgun guard about some directions or a hotel. Apparently we shouldn’t go on because there’s a series of tunnels which have no lights, and people are generally robbed if they try to pass through at night. Matt had heard of this before as well, which makes us wonder: why don’t the police do anything if they know about it? It’s like the robbers that hang out at Lake Atitlan in Guatemala, what the fuck? El Salvador is on the American dollar, so for once we’re really sure we pay too much for the hotel and food. The next day is a nice day of riding some nice roads overlooking the beach.
We pass through most of the country in a few hours, and wind up staying at the Monte Carlo in San Miguel for $8 per room. We ask the cabbie to take us to a good bar where we can meet some chicas, and they like Americans. He says he’s not sure about Americans, but they like dollars. I tell him I want to be clear, I don’t want to pay for women, no strip clubs, how about a college bar? He looks at me funny and stops talking. Five minutes later we’re at Safire’s strip club, where the beer is only $2! Okay, let’s see what these girls are made of. A couple of them approach Mateo and myself, and start talking. Ugh, swear to god, the one talking to me had the breath of a cheap hooker who’d just earned a quick $10. Not kidding. We got the hell outta there and called it a night.
We wake up and head for the border, which is tough because the road we take only has signs from one direction, so we have to double back to find it. Anyway, getting into Honduras sucked. We ran into an American couple riding KLR’s whom I’d met in Antigua on Christmas eve when I was stressed out worried about Mateo.
Anywho, they’re the only ones ahead of us at 9:30am. They get finished with customs at noon, when everyone takes an hour for lunch break.
Okay, at 1pm we’re making progress. They don’t use computers for much, so hand written paperwork and many copies take us through to 3:30pm, at which point I rip a nice wheelie and then find out she didn’t give us everything. We head back, and a copper takes Mateo’s license for cutting through a divider. I’m worried we’ll have to spend money and another day there so I recommend we just take the loss since he’s got another one. One wheelie later and I find out now I need two copies of this new paperwork. This time the copper stops me for turning around, so I just leave my bike parked in the street and walk back to get copies. At this point I’m out of money so ask the nice looking 16 year old girl working at the copy center for pity copies and she obliges. Last wheelie.
Honduras is nice! It looks like they have the same amount of money as Mexico, Guatemala, but they seem to take more pride in their properties. There’s colorful paint, some basic landscaping… It seems like they have some pride and maybe even zest for life over there. We drop by a gas station for a quick beer and snack, which turns into a photo shoot with some locals who really like us.
Then, we get the first decent directions we’ve gotten the whole trip from the local coppers, who don’t mind speaking slowly for us either. Wish we’d stayed longer really, but we’re pushing to get to Nicaragua for New Year’s and relax for a few days.
Into Nicaragua is a nice change of pace. After ripping a wheelie on the bridge there, we pull into Migracion and Aduana to find… nobody begging, bothering, or trying to help us. Only three young ladies who want to sell us insurance, but they don’t seem to care if we want it or not. Or they were trying to play hard to get, either way I wanted to talk to them. Apparently they don’t allow the “helpers” there… And, they use carbon copies when you sign so there’s no need for copies. We’re out of that border entrance in 45 minutes. We ride to Leon, where the American couple had said they would be. By the way there website is sapoyrana.net if you want to check them out, they’ve been all over. We find a hostel that has $4 beds, and pay a security guard a dollar to watch our bikes on the street overnight after comparing his club to Mateo’s quickstick.
Not sure exactly what we paid for, since after unloading them I come outside to find him taking the sheepskin and bungees off because they’re not safe even with his guard.
The next day we do some laundry and head to San Juan del Sur, Nicaragua. The main road there from Leon is awful, full of potholes, gravel, dirt sometimes. I think it did make good video though… We get stopped about 40 minutes outside of Managua and the cops go over our bikes until they find a problem: the headlights are on, which is illegal during the daytime here. They tell us we’ll get tickets, go to Managua, and return with the receipt to get out licenses back. But, they leave in 45 minutes, so even if we were able to find the bank in record time, the task is impossible. Fortunately we can just pay them cash!
(For the record these are not the coppers that we dealt with. These guys stopped to check us out when we were doing some video action immediately after the shakedown, somehow they must have made it through the checkpoint themselves.)
Forty dollars and a half hour later we’re back on the move and finally arrive in San Juan del Sur a few hours afterwards.
Awesome place, and I loved the vibe the minute I arrived. The camera mount on my handlebars came apart in the street, and I picked up one part and missed another. No more camera mount until we find an internal Manfrotto part L. Anyhow, we ride around for a bit and find Hostel Esperanza, where we score a private room for $20/night until after New Year’s, which is great since it’s hard to find anything there this time of year; this town really packs in!
My man Carlos had given me two wife-beaters and a t shirt in Antigua, which have been great. The wife beater is hands down the best shirt under the jacket in the hot weather! Plus, it really compliments my creepy mustache.
That night we warm up to the night life with $7 bottles of Flor de Cana at a really cool bar called The Pier, which is a hub for travelers in town.
The woman who works at the hostel tells me I don’t need a helmet to ride around town (well the locals don’t seem to), and I get pulled over two blocks out. The girl from the hostel I’m with talks them out of giving me a ticket, then takes me 15 miles in the wrong direction looking for the famous Playa Madera. At one point we were about five miles in the middle of nowhere on a dirt road, when an ice cream guy rolls up, which turns my frown upside down right away. I go out that night, and get pick pocketed for my wallet, which has my debit card, Nevada driver’s license, and around $75 cash. I’m a little drunk, but after seeing someone on the floor below looking through a wallet like for the first time, I rush downstairs then realize I didn’t get a good look at them. I see two guys whom I suspect, and wind up following them around for an hour until a female friend from the hostel flirts and feels them up to tell me they don’t have the wallet on them. The card was later used that night for around $140. Got to love the locals, that card was a business card from Wells Fargo with my custom company logo on it. Somehow I don’t think the guy using it looked the part… For the record I don’t think Wells Fargo is giving me that money back either.
The next day I make good friends with Lilly and Dia, the two girls at the hostel that I’d been eyeing since I got there, and ride 3-up to Playa Madera.
I get some surfing done, some beach timelapse, and we end the day with a Matt’s rear tire flat in the darkness miles from civilization. We ride back with the tire and decide to deal with it in the morning- this is New Year’s eve. We also happen to run into Sapo y Rana!
That day the hostel informed us they needed to take the extra mattress from our room, so Mateo and I would need to share a bed in our private room. There’s got to be another way! I strike a deal with the two girls from the beach that since they’re sharing a bed, we should trade up partners so Matt and I don’t accidentally touch one another while sleeping. Holy shit it worked. New Year’s eve is amazing, other than the fact I got pick pocketed, again, this time for $25 loose in my pocket, and Mateo found someone’s hand in his pocket. Time to get on the horn with the bank, on the internet, which cuts out sporadically and I have to start these calls over, and over, and over...
This brings me to a rant- many authorities down here have a policy of don’t ask don’t tell, or see no evil here no evil, or something that makes common crimes happen. In Antigua, everyone knows that people get robbed at Lake Atitlan. Why can’t they arrest these people or put a guard up there? In El Salvador, everyone knows you get robbed in the tunnels at night, why can’t they put some lights in the tunnels, or again, police them? The pick pockets are so numerous in San Juan, I bet the bouncers must know who they are by now, I doubt pick pocketing is something people only do a few times then move on. And I keep hearing about the corrupt police in Argentina on the way to Iguazu Falls… I’m just bothered by this common knowledge crime that gets ignored by people in a position to do something about it, especially when that is their position- their job- their freakin duty!
New Year’s day we change Matt’s tube and finally get the heavy duty Fly in there. The locals who are still partying on the beach from the night before are duly impressed with our skills, and we change it in about a half hour (after setting up the timelapse camera). A bus driver lets us use his air.
I take the girls 3up again to the Jesus statue above the city, then have a nice dinner with the four of us.
We finally get out the next day after getting an interview from our new friend Dia, and head for Costa Rica. While in San Juan del Sur we decided our movie should be about the travelers we meet along the way, including hostel peeps, adventure riders, and Gringo immigrants. This takes a big stress off our shoulders, because properly covering our trip, which is what we were originally thinking the movie would be, is next to impossible. We finally get across Costa Rica, after waiting in line behind five busloads of people at immigration getting stamped out of Nicaragua.
It's funny, this guy in the grey and red t shirt had asked me for a tip. Of course I refused and had no clue why he'd even asked, since I hadn't even noticed he was there while I handled all my own business. Then, weeks later I see this picture and realize he must have been following me the whole way through, probably repeating the words of the Migra and Aduana, LOL! I'm pretty sick of the helpers, and often talk down to them with little respect. Does that make me a bad person? I don't give a shit, those people go out of their way to make my life a little harder, so I'm not going out of my way to worry about their esteem. Also at this border a kid of about 12 asked me for a tip for guarding the bike, while Mateo was there the whole time!
Costa Rica is a pretty easy border, but it’s night by the time we get into the country and we stop at the first hotel we find after having dinner. You had to see it to believe it. There’s a bar with rooms above in a town with all dirt roads. When I tell the jefe that we’ve got bikes he orders the entire bar to make way from the front door to the back where our bikes will sit inside. Every table in the place has to get up and watch their table pushed aside (if they don’t help) as we push our bikes past their captivated faces and drinks now in hand. The place looks to me like a whorehouse from the old west, built with all wood, and the visible stairs from the bar leading to rooms where you can see through the wooden walls and shared bathroom. I hang out for a while downstairs and learn the life story of several townspeople, and they force me to sing “Lady in Red” on karaoke, which I’ve never heard so I of course butcher the song. They really look disappointed when they hear me sing, but hey, I told them I’d never heard the song what the hell did they expect?
We do some good offroading in the rain and make it to Volcan Tenorio, only to find there’s a four and a half hour hike involved at the top. Er, nevermind. Let’s keep moving.
We head towards the beach, make a wrong turn, and wind up in San Jose and hook up with a pretty eventless hostel, other than an American we meet who tells us how he was sliced and hacked up by a crackhead in Quepos.
The next day we decide to change our oil, and luckily meet Alaskan Dan, who approaches us and takes us to his local shop where we can buy some decent oil. No silkolene 100% ester, but at least semi-synthetic 20W50. We do the change right there on the sidewalk and head to Quepos to stay at Casa de Rasta.
Rasta’s proprietor, Ben, comes and meets us at the coffee shop with internet, then we follow him back to the island with a quick stop at his guy’s place and a semi crazy motorcycle load onto a small ferry across the water. When we get there we run into a Finnish couple I’d been waiting in line with at the Costa Rican border two days earlier.
This small island off Quepos was very relaxing, and this place had no internet so we were forced to really take a load off for a couple of days. Other than that, there was surfing, ziplining, a 420 daze, an interview with Ben, and a flat tire.
Thank you, Del Amo Motorsports of Redondo Beach, for giving us the wrong tube. I did appreciate the cocky attitude and proving to me that your social life at work was more important than my purchase, but giving me a 21 incher for my Supermoto which I’ve carried for 5,000 miles on my front fender is really what sealed the deal for me. What a dick, now we’re stuck with the crap they sell down here and will probably have to change it again…
Out of Quepos Matt gets stopped for speeding, but the Costa Rican police don’t waste our time trying to act like they want to give us a ticket. $20 and three minutes later we’re on the move to Peninsula de Osa, National Geographic’s most geographically intense place on earth. The ride in is awesome with some really stunning views, and scary potholes in the road.
We stay in this town Puerto Jimenez, which is really a dump.
My Central American peeps all know the Suicide Shower.
The next day we experience our first river crossings, which go smoothly other than the fact that I lose one of my sneakers. I really liked those… oh well, at least I still have one to dry the foot which was submerged in one of the crossings. Holy shit it was deep for a minute, I must have hit a rut because my foot was on the peg and it filled my Joe Rocket boot.
Anyhow, great day of riding, we should have stayed another day and really gone into the park. By now though we’re in a hurry to get to Panama City and make plans to get to South America.
“Why!” (talking about my shoe)(and I’m running out of meth)
We leave after taking a lunch and 360 degree timelapse from a summit overlooking the peninsula, and make it across the Panamanian border at night. While I do the stamps out of Costa Rica Matt lubes the chains and discovers that his chain has been tearing apart the wiring going in/out of the stator (I think). After a bit of fiddling now his bike won’t start, and he literally pushes it across the border to the Panama side. Acting as the good friend that I am, I make sure to get some video of the situation.
Yeah, yeah, yeah. It’s hard to focus shooting video on a DSLR.
We stop at the first hotel we can find, which is about an hour and a half in and seven miles off the main road. It’s $55, but we talk them down to $45, and stay just because we’re tired. Turns out there’s A/C, and the place is run by the German couple from Super Troopers. In the morning we’re fed a five star breakfast (included), by the wife who’s listening to techno at daybreak. Hands down the best breakfast so far.
The entrance to Panama City is great, we take a huge bridge over the mouth of the canal, then see the shoreline view of the city, which seems to be mostly high rise condos. We find a hostel, but there’s nobody working there so we stay for a half hour and use their internet to find another. The street signs are hard to read, and the one way road system (where not every other road is a different direction), is tough but we find the place, which is full. We stay in a pension that’s got singles with hot water for $15/night each. The next day we holler at a couchsurfer, who agrees to take us shopping for my new sneakers. She’s not sure about the helmet law so we ride for two minutes until the police stop us. They talk with us for a half hour, just waiting until we offer money. They point out if we have a ticket we can’t leave the country, it’s illegal, I have no paperwork on me, they could impound the bikes… I tell them that I’ve only ridden with people on the back where helmet’s aren’t required for the passengers. He tells me that’s not true, they’re required everywhere in the world as he looks at Matt’s Colorado license (no helmet law there). Who’s got more credibility here? The guy with the gun. Our couchsurfing host talks them out of it, we go to the mall then move our things to her place. Jeannett has graciously offered us to stay at her high rise apartment in San Fransisco as long as we need.
I write overlooking Panama City right now.
We keep changing our minds what we’ll do. The original plan was take a boat to Columbia, and follow through Ecuador, Peru, Bolivia, Argentina, Brazil. The looking on Horizons Unlimited I found people had flown to Lima, Peru. This would save us time, since we’re about 10 days behind schedule of where we though we’d be. The we met Steve here in Panama who suggested we fly to Bogata, then shoot through Venezuela and jump on a boat down the Amazon, which would be fastest. Then looking at the maps, we’re not so sure if it would be as fast for us as he’d predicted. We head to the Tocumen airport to find out what our options really are, today. Copa isn’t shipping bikes right now, and Girag only goes to Ecuador and Colulmbia, which cost $1900 and $900 per bike. But there’s a company called Cargo Lux that ships to Santiago Chile for $895! Deal. Next flight is Monday, so in the meantime we’ll try to use the big city for what it’s worth: Manfrotto parts, Mac laptop repair, nightlife, couchsurfing meetups, international shipping... Perhaps a quick trip to the San Blas islands?
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America Central:
Leaving Mexico we’d really hoped to stop hitting “topes”, or speedbumps. What we found going into Guatemala was that indeed there are topes, only now the signs for them are fewer and farther in between. Couple that with a nighttime arrival and the electricity being out in the bordertown, and you’ll get the picture of a rough arrival. We pull off to a gas station to get a map since the border was all out, and find that here the gas stations have armed guards with shotguns. They don’t have maps at the gas stations, but it really doesn’t matter because there’s hardly any road signs anyway, and nobody knows how to give directions.
We ride most of the way across Antigua to find Mateo had left his wallet at the first gas station near the border. I get a shot of him going back with an active volcano in the background, and try to catch up until I realize I’d made at least one wrong turn, and two hours later I’m in the mountains looking at beautiful landscapes and women dressed in colorful homemade clothing.
I take a step back and decide that Matt will probably follow the same logic, which is that he’d have seen me on the road and therefore would be better off going on to Antigua instead of waiting around for me near the border. On the way I stop for a quick lunch… I really like the mandarin limes here.
I get to Antigua at dusk, and its really crowded. Finally I get some internet and find a hostel, which luckily has one open bed, internet, and a Christmas eve party with a nice dinner and drinks!
I remember the SPOT tracker, and get online to find Mateo is in Antigua, although his phone is off so I can’t call him but I’m resting easy knowing he made it and I can go out drinking.
That night I wound up at a bar that had all white guy travelers for the first time since starting the trip 3 weeks earlier. I wasn’t too into it… Christmas day I woke up and called Mateo. We met up and I brought him back to my hostel, where we stayed two more nights. Turns out he was staying and drinking right near the bar where I had been the night before. We were able to bring the bikes inside and Matt grabbed a spot on a mattress on the floor for half price.
We finally silicon sealed his exhaust, and left it to dry for a day. Taking a day off riding finally got my gestion crackin on both ends too J. After much debate, we head out for the Copan ruins in Honduras, following video we have of an adventure riders map we’d recorded on Christmas.
There’s no maps here, which isn’t a big deal since the road signs are worthless anyway. We miss a turn and wind up in El Salvador. Oh well, we heard the beach road is nice. It’s dark and we get through the border quickly. Again we stop at a gas station and speak with the shotgun guard about some directions or a hotel. Apparently we shouldn’t go on because there’s a series of tunnels which have no lights, and people are generally robbed if they try to pass through at night. Matt had heard of this before as well, which makes us wonder: why don’t the police do anything if they know about it? It’s like the robbers that hang out at Lake Atitlan in Guatemala, what the fuck? El Salvador is on the American dollar, so for once we’re really sure we pay too much for the hotel and food. The next day is a nice day of riding some nice roads overlooking the beach.
We pass through most of the country in a few hours, and wind up staying at the Monte Carlo in San Miguel for $8 per room. We ask the cabbie to take us to a good bar where we can meet some chicas, and they like Americans. He says he’s not sure about Americans, but they like dollars. I tell him I want to be clear, I don’t want to pay for women, no strip clubs, how about a college bar? He looks at me funny and stops talking. Five minutes later we’re at Safire’s strip club, where the beer is only $2! Okay, let’s see what these girls are made of. A couple of them approach Mateo and myself, and start talking. Ugh, swear to god, the one talking to me had the breath of a cheap hooker who’d just earned a quick $10. Not kidding. We got the hell outta there and called it a night.
We wake up and head for the border, which is tough because the road we take only has signs from one direction, so we have to double back to find it. Anyway, getting into Honduras sucked. We ran into an American couple riding KLR’s whom I’d met in Antigua on Christmas eve when I was stressed out worried about Mateo.
Anywho, they’re the only ones ahead of us at 9:30am. They get finished with customs at noon, when everyone takes an hour for lunch break.
Okay, at 1pm we’re making progress. They don’t use computers for much, so hand written paperwork and many copies take us through to 3:30pm, at which point I rip a nice wheelie and then find out she didn’t give us everything. We head back, and a copper takes Mateo’s license for cutting through a divider. I’m worried we’ll have to spend money and another day there so I recommend we just take the loss since he’s got another one. One wheelie later and I find out now I need two copies of this new paperwork. This time the copper stops me for turning around, so I just leave my bike parked in the street and walk back to get copies. At this point I’m out of money so ask the nice looking 16 year old girl working at the copy center for pity copies and she obliges. Last wheelie.
Honduras is nice! It looks like they have the same amount of money as Mexico, Guatemala, but they seem to take more pride in their properties. There’s colorful paint, some basic landscaping… It seems like they have some pride and maybe even zest for life over there. We drop by a gas station for a quick beer and snack, which turns into a photo shoot with some locals who really like us.
Then, we get the first decent directions we’ve gotten the whole trip from the local coppers, who don’t mind speaking slowly for us either. Wish we’d stayed longer really, but we’re pushing to get to Nicaragua for New Year’s and relax for a few days.
Into Nicaragua is a nice change of pace. After ripping a wheelie on the bridge there, we pull into Migracion and Aduana to find… nobody begging, bothering, or trying to help us. Only three young ladies who want to sell us insurance, but they don’t seem to care if we want it or not. Or they were trying to play hard to get, either way I wanted to talk to them. Apparently they don’t allow the “helpers” there… And, they use carbon copies when you sign so there’s no need for copies. We’re out of that border entrance in 45 minutes. We ride to Leon, where the American couple had said they would be. By the way there website is sapoyrana.net if you want to check them out, they’ve been all over. We find a hostel that has $4 beds, and pay a security guard a dollar to watch our bikes on the street overnight after comparing his club to Mateo’s quickstick.
Not sure exactly what we paid for, since after unloading them I come outside to find him taking the sheepskin and bungees off because they’re not safe even with his guard.
The next day we do some laundry and head to San Juan del Sur, Nicaragua. The main road there from Leon is awful, full of potholes, gravel, dirt sometimes. I think it did make good video though… We get stopped about 40 minutes outside of Managua and the cops go over our bikes until they find a problem: the headlights are on, which is illegal during the daytime here. They tell us we’ll get tickets, go to Managua, and return with the receipt to get out licenses back. But, they leave in 45 minutes, so even if we were able to find the bank in record time, the task is impossible. Fortunately we can just pay them cash!
(For the record these are not the coppers that we dealt with. These guys stopped to check us out when we were doing some video action immediately after the shakedown, somehow they must have made it through the checkpoint themselves.)
Forty dollars and a half hour later we’re back on the move and finally arrive in San Juan del Sur a few hours afterwards.
Awesome place, and I loved the vibe the minute I arrived. The camera mount on my handlebars came apart in the street, and I picked up one part and missed another. No more camera mount until we find an internal Manfrotto part L. Anyhow, we ride around for a bit and find Hostel Esperanza, where we score a private room for $20/night until after New Year’s, which is great since it’s hard to find anything there this time of year; this town really packs in!
My man Carlos had given me two wife-beaters and a t shirt in Antigua, which have been great. The wife beater is hands down the best shirt under the jacket in the hot weather! Plus, it really compliments my creepy mustache.
That night we warm up to the night life with $7 bottles of Flor de Cana at a really cool bar called The Pier, which is a hub for travelers in town.
The woman who works at the hostel tells me I don’t need a helmet to ride around town (well the locals don’t seem to), and I get pulled over two blocks out. The girl from the hostel I’m with talks them out of giving me a ticket, then takes me 15 miles in the wrong direction looking for the famous Playa Madera. At one point we were about five miles in the middle of nowhere on a dirt road, when an ice cream guy rolls up, which turns my frown upside down right away. I go out that night, and get pick pocketed for my wallet, which has my debit card, Nevada driver’s license, and around $75 cash. I’m a little drunk, but after seeing someone on the floor below looking through a wallet like for the first time, I rush downstairs then realize I didn’t get a good look at them. I see two guys whom I suspect, and wind up following them around for an hour until a female friend from the hostel flirts and feels them up to tell me they don’t have the wallet on them. The card was later used that night for around $140. Got to love the locals, that card was a business card from Wells Fargo with my custom company logo on it. Somehow I don’t think the guy using it looked the part… For the record I don’t think Wells Fargo is giving me that money back either.
The next day I make good friends with Lilly and Dia, the two girls at the hostel that I’d been eyeing since I got there, and ride 3-up to Playa Madera.
I get some surfing done, some beach timelapse, and we end the day with a Matt’s rear tire flat in the darkness miles from civilization. We ride back with the tire and decide to deal with it in the morning- this is New Year’s eve. We also happen to run into Sapo y Rana!
That day the hostel informed us they needed to take the extra mattress from our room, so Mateo and I would need to share a bed in our private room. There’s got to be another way! I strike a deal with the two girls from the beach that since they’re sharing a bed, we should trade up partners so Matt and I don’t accidentally touch one another while sleeping. Holy shit it worked. New Year’s eve is amazing, other than the fact I got pick pocketed, again, this time for $25 loose in my pocket, and Mateo found someone’s hand in his pocket. Time to get on the horn with the bank, on the internet, which cuts out sporadically and I have to start these calls over, and over, and over...
This brings me to a rant- many authorities down here have a policy of don’t ask don’t tell, or see no evil here no evil, or something that makes common crimes happen. In Antigua, everyone knows that people get robbed at Lake Atitlan. Why can’t they arrest these people or put a guard up there? In El Salvador, everyone knows you get robbed in the tunnels at night, why can’t they put some lights in the tunnels, or again, police them? The pick pockets are so numerous in San Juan, I bet the bouncers must know who they are by now, I doubt pick pocketing is something people only do a few times then move on. And I keep hearing about the corrupt police in Argentina on the way to Iguazu Falls… I’m just bothered by this common knowledge crime that gets ignored by people in a position to do something about it, especially when that is their position- their job- their freakin duty!
New Year’s day we change Matt’s tube and finally get the heavy duty Fly in there. The locals who are still partying on the beach from the night before are duly impressed with our skills, and we change it in about a half hour (after setting up the timelapse camera). A bus driver lets us use his air.
I take the girls 3up again to the Jesus statue above the city, then have a nice dinner with the four of us.
We finally get out the next day after getting an interview from our new friend Dia, and head for Costa Rica. While in San Juan del Sur we decided our movie should be about the travelers we meet along the way, including hostel peeps, adventure riders, and Gringo immigrants. This takes a big stress off our shoulders, because properly covering our trip, which is what we were originally thinking the movie would be, is next to impossible. We finally get across Costa Rica, after waiting in line behind five busloads of people at immigration getting stamped out of Nicaragua.
It's funny, this guy in the grey and red t shirt had asked me for a tip. Of course I refused and had no clue why he'd even asked, since I hadn't even noticed he was there while I handled all my own business. Then, weeks later I see this picture and realize he must have been following me the whole way through, probably repeating the words of the Migra and Aduana, LOL! I'm pretty sick of the helpers, and often talk down to them with little respect. Does that make me a bad person? I don't give a shit, those people go out of their way to make my life a little harder, so I'm not going out of my way to worry about their esteem. Also at this border a kid of about 12 asked me for a tip for guarding the bike, while Mateo was there the whole time!
Costa Rica is a pretty easy border, but it’s night by the time we get into the country and we stop at the first hotel we find after having dinner. You had to see it to believe it. There’s a bar with rooms above in a town with all dirt roads. When I tell the jefe that we’ve got bikes he orders the entire bar to make way from the front door to the back where our bikes will sit inside. Every table in the place has to get up and watch their table pushed aside (if they don’t help) as we push our bikes past their captivated faces and drinks now in hand. The place looks to me like a whorehouse from the old west, built with all wood, and the visible stairs from the bar leading to rooms where you can see through the wooden walls and shared bathroom. I hang out for a while downstairs and learn the life story of several townspeople, and they force me to sing “Lady in Red” on karaoke, which I’ve never heard so I of course butcher the song. They really look disappointed when they hear me sing, but hey, I told them I’d never heard the song what the hell did they expect?
We do some good offroading in the rain and make it to Volcan Tenorio, only to find there’s a four and a half hour hike involved at the top. Er, nevermind. Let’s keep moving.
We head towards the beach, make a wrong turn, and wind up in San Jose and hook up with a pretty eventless hostel, other than an American we meet who tells us how he was sliced and hacked up by a crackhead in Quepos.
The next day we decide to change our oil, and luckily meet Alaskan Dan, who approaches us and takes us to his local shop where we can buy some decent oil. No silkolene 100% ester, but at least semi-synthetic 20W50. We do the change right there on the sidewalk and head to Quepos to stay at Casa de Rasta.
Rasta’s proprietor, Ben, comes and meets us at the coffee shop with internet, then we follow him back to the island with a quick stop at his guy’s place and a semi crazy motorcycle load onto a small ferry across the water. When we get there we run into a Finnish couple I’d been waiting in line with at the Costa Rican border two days earlier.
This small island off Quepos was very relaxing, and this place had no internet so we were forced to really take a load off for a couple of days. Other than that, there was surfing, ziplining, a 420 daze, an interview with Ben, and a flat tire.
Thank you, Del Amo Motorsports of Redondo Beach, for giving us the wrong tube. I did appreciate the cocky attitude and proving to me that your social life at work was more important than my purchase, but giving me a 21 incher for my Supermoto which I’ve carried for 5,000 miles on my front fender is really what sealed the deal for me. What a dick, now we’re stuck with the crap they sell down here and will probably have to change it again…
Out of Quepos Matt gets stopped for speeding, but the Costa Rican police don’t waste our time trying to act like they want to give us a ticket. $20 and three minutes later we’re on the move to Peninsula de Osa, National Geographic’s most geographically intense place on earth. The ride in is awesome with some really stunning views, and scary potholes in the road.
We stay in this town Puerto Jimenez, which is really a dump.
My Central American peeps all know the Suicide Shower.
The next day we experience our first river crossings, which go smoothly other than the fact that I lose one of my sneakers. I really liked those… oh well, at least I still have one to dry the foot which was submerged in one of the crossings. Holy shit it was deep for a minute, I must have hit a rut because my foot was on the peg and it filled my Joe Rocket boot.
Anyhow, great day of riding, we should have stayed another day and really gone into the park. By now though we’re in a hurry to get to Panama City and make plans to get to South America.
“Why!” (talking about my shoe)(and I’m running out of meth)
We leave after taking a lunch and 360 degree timelapse from a summit overlooking the peninsula, and make it across the Panamanian border at night. While I do the stamps out of Costa Rica Matt lubes the chains and discovers that his chain has been tearing apart the wiring going in/out of the stator (I think). After a bit of fiddling now his bike won’t start, and he literally pushes it across the border to the Panama side. Acting as the good friend that I am, I make sure to get some video of the situation.
Yeah, yeah, yeah. It’s hard to focus shooting video on a DSLR.
We stop at the first hotel we can find, which is about an hour and a half in and seven miles off the main road. It’s $55, but we talk them down to $45, and stay just because we’re tired. Turns out there’s A/C, and the place is run by the German couple from Super Troopers. In the morning we’re fed a five star breakfast (included), by the wife who’s listening to techno at daybreak. Hands down the best breakfast so far.
The entrance to Panama City is great, we take a huge bridge over the mouth of the canal, then see the shoreline view of the city, which seems to be mostly high rise condos. We find a hostel, but there’s nobody working there so we stay for a half hour and use their internet to find another. The street signs are hard to read, and the one way road system (where not every other road is a different direction), is tough but we find the place, which is full. We stay in a pension that’s got singles with hot water for $15/night each. The next day we holler at a couchsurfer, who agrees to take us shopping for my new sneakers. She’s not sure about the helmet law so we ride for two minutes until the police stop us. They talk with us for a half hour, just waiting until we offer money. They point out if we have a ticket we can’t leave the country, it’s illegal, I have no paperwork on me, they could impound the bikes… I tell them that I’ve only ridden with people on the back where helmet’s aren’t required for the passengers. He tells me that’s not true, they’re required everywhere in the world as he looks at Matt’s Colorado license (no helmet law there). Who’s got more credibility here? The guy with the gun. Our couchsurfing host talks them out of it, we go to the mall then move our things to her place. Jeannett has graciously offered us to stay at her high rise apartment in San Fransisco as long as we need.
I write overlooking Panama City right now.
We keep changing our minds what we’ll do. The original plan was take a boat to Columbia, and follow through Ecuador, Peru, Bolivia, Argentina, Brazil. The looking on Horizons Unlimited I found people had flown to Lima, Peru. This would save us time, since we’re about 10 days behind schedule of where we though we’d be. The we met Steve here in Panama who suggested we fly to Bogata, then shoot through Venezuela and jump on a boat down the Amazon, which would be fastest. Then looking at the maps, we’re not so sure if it would be as fast for us as he’d predicted. We head to the Tocumen airport to find out what our options really are, today. Copa isn’t shipping bikes right now, and Girag only goes to Ecuador and Colulmbia, which cost $1900 and $900 per bike. But there’s a company called Cargo Lux that ships to Santiago Chile for $895! Deal. Next flight is Monday, so in the meantime we’ll try to use the big city for what it’s worth: Manfrotto parts, Mac laptop repair, nightlife, couchsurfing meetups, international shipping... Perhaps a quick trip to the San Blas islands?
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January 13, 2010 by Tiernan
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America Central:
Leaving Mexico we’d really hoped to stop hitting “topes”, or speedbumps. What we found going into Guatemala was that indeed there are topes, only now the signs for them are fewer and farther in between. Couple that with a nighttime arrival and the electricity being out in the bordertown, and you’ll get the picture of a rough arrival. We pull off to a gas station to get a map since the border was all out, and find that here the gas stations have armed guards with shotguns. They don’t have maps at the gas stations, but it really doesn’t matter because there’s hardly any road signs anyway, and nobody knows how to give directions.
We ride most of the way across Antigua to find Mateo had left his wallet at the first gas station near the border. I get a shot of him going back with an active volcano in the background, and try to catch up until I realize I’d made at least one wrong turn, and two hours later I’m in the mountains looking at beautiful landscapes and women dressed in colorful homemade clothing.
I take a step back and decide that Matt will probably follow the same logic, which is that he’d have seen me on the road and therefore would be better off going on to Antigua instead of waiting around for me near the border. On the way I stop for a quick lunch… I really like the mandarin limes here.
I get to Antigua at dusk, and its really crowded. Finally I get some internet and find a hostel, which luckily has one open bed, internet, and a Christmas eve party with a nice dinner and drinks!
I remember the SPOT tracker, and get online to find Mateo is in Antigua, although his phone is off so I can’t call him but I’m resting easy knowing he made it and I can go out drinking.
That night I wound up at a bar that had all white guy travelers for the first time since starting the trip 3 weeks earlier. I wasn’t too into it… Christmas day I woke up and called Mateo. We met up and I brought him back to my hostel, where we stayed two more nights. Turns out he was staying and drinking right near the bar where I had been the night before. We were able to bring the bikes inside and Matt grabbed a spot on a mattress on the floor for half price.
We finally silicon sealed his exhaust, and left it to dry for a day. Taking a day off riding finally got my gestion crackin on both ends too J. After much debate, we head out for the Copan ruins in Honduras, following video we have of an adventure riders map we’d recorded on Christmas.
There’s no maps here, which isn’t a big deal since the road signs are worthless anyway. We miss a turn and wind up in El Salvador. Oh well, we heard the beach road is nice. It’s dark and we get through the border quickly. Again we stop at a gas station and speak with the shotgun guard about some directions or a hotel. Apparently we shouldn’t go on because there’s a series of tunnels which have no lights, and people are generally robbed if they try to pass through at night. Matt had heard of this before as well, which makes us wonder: why don’t the police do anything if they know about it? It’s like the robbers that hang out at Lake Atitlan in Guatemala, what the fuck? El Salvador is on the American dollar, so for once we’re really sure we pay too much for the hotel and food. The next day is a nice day of riding some nice roads overlooking the beach.
We pass through most of the country in a few hours, and wind up staying at the Monte Carlo in San Miguel for $8 per room. We ask the cabbie to take us to a good bar where we can meet some chicas, and they like Americans. He says he’s not sure about Americans, but they like dollars. I tell him I want to be clear, I don’t want to pay for women, no strip clubs, how about a college bar? He looks at me funny and stops talking. Five minutes later we’re at Safire’s strip club, where the beer is only $2! Okay, let’s see what these girls are made of. A couple of them approach Mateo and myself, and start talking. Ugh, swear to god, the one talking to me had the breath of a cheap hooker who’d just earned a quick $10. Not kidding. We got the hell outta there and called it a night.
We wake up and head for the border, which is tough because the road we take only has signs from one direction, so we have to double back to find it. Anyway, getting into Honduras sucked. We ran into an American couple riding KLR’s whom I’d met in Antigua on Christmas eve when I was stressed out worried about Mateo.
Anywho, they’re the only ones ahead of us at 9:30am. They get finished with customs at noon, when everyone takes an hour for lunch break.
Okay, at 1pm we’re making progress. They don’t use computers for much, so hand written paperwork and many copies take us through to 3:30pm, at which point I rip a nice wheelie and then find out she didn’t give us everything. We head back, and a copper takes Mateo’s license for cutting through a divider. I’m worried we’ll have to spend money and another day there so I recommend we just take the loss since he’s got another one. One wheelie later and I find out now I need two copies of this new paperwork. This time the copper stops me for turning around, so I just leave my bike parked in the street and walk back to get copies. At this point I’m out of money so ask the nice looking 16 year old girl working at the copy center for pity copies and she obliges. Last wheelie.
Honduras is nice! It looks like they have the same amount of money as Mexico, Guatemala, but they seem to take more pride in their properties. There’s colorful paint, some basic landscaping… It seems like they have some pride and maybe even zest for life over there. We drop by a gas station for a quick beer and snack, which turns into a photo shoot with some locals who really like us.
Then, we get the first decent directions we’ve gotten the whole trip from the local coppers, who don’t mind speaking slowly for us either. Wish we’d stayed longer really, but we’re pushing to get to Nicaragua for New Year’s and relax for a few days.
Into Nicaragua is a nice change of pace. After ripping a wheelie on the bridge there, we pull into Migracion and Aduana to find… nobody begging, bothering, or trying to help us. Only three young ladies who want to sell us insurance, but they don’t seem to care if we want it or not. Or they were trying to play hard to get, either way I wanted to talk to them. Apparently they don’t allow the “helpers” there… And, they use carbon copies when you sign so there’s no need for copies. We’re out of that border entrance in 45 minutes. We ride to Leon, where the American couple had said they would be. By the way there website is sapoyrana.net if you want to check them out, they’ve been all over. We find a hostel that has $4 beds, and pay a security guard a dollar to watch our bikes on the street overnight after comparing his club to Mateo’s quickstick.
Not sure exactly what we paid for, since after unloading them I come outside to find him taking the sheepskin and bungees off because they’re not safe even with his guard.
The next day we do some laundry and head to San Juan del Sur, Nicaragua. The main road there from Leon is awful, full of potholes, gravel, dirt sometimes. I think it did make good video though… We get stopped about 40 minutes outside of Managua and the cops go over our bikes until they find a problem: the headlights are on, which is illegal during the daytime here. They tell us we’ll get tickets, go to Managua, and return with the receipt to get out licenses back. But, they leave in 45 minutes, so even if we were able to find the bank in record time, the task is impossible. Fortunately we can just pay them cash!
(For the record these are not the coppers that we dealt with. These guys stopped to check us out when we were doing some video action immediately after the shakedown, somehow they must have made it through the checkpoint themselves.)
Forty dollars and a half hour later we’re back on the move and finally arrive in San Juan del Sur a few hours afterwards.
Awesome place, and I loved the vibe the minute I arrived. The camera mount on my handlebars came apart in the street, and I picked up one part and missed another. No more camera mount until we find an internal Manfrotto part L. Anyhow, we ride around for a bit and find Hostel Esperanza, where we score a private room for $20/night until after New Year’s, which is great since it’s hard to find anything there this time of year; this town really packs in!
My man Carlos had given me two wife-beaters and a t shirt in Antigua, which have been great. The wife beater is hands down the best shirt under the jacket in the hot weather! Plus, it really compliments my creepy mustache.
That night we warm up to the night life with $7 bottles of Flor de Cana at a really cool bar called The Pier, which is a hub for travelers in town.
The woman who works at the hostel tells me I don’t need a helmet to ride around town (well the locals don’t seem to), and I get pulled over two blocks out. The girl from the hostel I’m with talks them out of giving me a ticket, then takes me 15 miles in the wrong direction looking for the famous Playa Madera. At one point we were about five miles in the middle of nowhere on a dirt road, when an ice cream guy rolls up, which turns my frown upside down right away. I go out that night, and get pick pocketed for my wallet, which has my debit card, Nevada driver’s license, and around $75 cash. I’m a little drunk, but after seeing someone on the floor below looking through a wallet like for the first time, I rush downstairs then realize I didn’t get a good look at them. I see two guys whom I suspect, and wind up following them around for an hour until a female friend from the hostel flirts and feels them up to tell me they don’t have the wallet on them. The card was later used that night for around $140. Got to love the locals, that card was a business card from Wells Fargo with my custom company logo on it. Somehow I don’t think the guy using it looked the part… For the record I don’t think Wells Fargo is giving me that money back either.
The next day I make good friends with Lilly and Dia, the two girls at the hostel that I’d been eyeing since I got there, and ride 3-up to Playa Madera.
I get some surfing done, some beach timelapse, and we end the day with a Matt’s rear tire flat in the darkness miles from civilization. We ride back with the tire and decide to deal with it in the morning- this is New Year’s eve. We also happen to run into Sapo y Rana!
That day the hostel informed us they needed to take the extra mattress from our room, so Mateo and I would need to share a bed in our private room. There’s got to be another way! I strike a deal with the two girls from the beach that since they’re sharing a bed, we should trade up partners so Matt and I don’t accidentally touch one another while sleeping. Holy shit it worked. New Year’s eve is amazing, other than the fact I got pick pocketed, again, this time for $25 loose in my pocket, and Mateo found someone’s hand in his pocket. Time to get on the horn with the bank, on the internet, which cuts out sporadically and I have to start these calls over, and over, and over...
This brings me to a rant- many authorities down here have a policy of don’t ask don’t tell, or see no evil here no evil, or something that makes common crimes happen. In Antigua, everyone knows that people get robbed at Lake Atitlan. Why can’t they arrest these people or put a guard up there? In El Salvador, everyone knows you get robbed in the tunnels at night, why can’t they put some lights in the tunnels, or again, police them? The pick pockets are so numerous in San Juan, I bet the bouncers must know who they are by now, I doubt pick pocketing is something people only do a few times then move on. And I keep hearing about the corrupt police in Argentina on the way to Iguazu Falls… I’m just bothered by this common knowledge crime that gets ignored by people in a position to do something about it, especially when that is their position- their job- their freakin duty!
New Year’s day we change Matt’s tube and finally get the heavy duty Fly in there. The locals who are still partying on the beach from the night before are duly impressed with our skills, and we change it in about a half hour (after setting up the timelapse camera). A bus driver lets us use his air.
I take the girls 3up again to the Jesus statue above the city, then have a nice dinner with the four of us.
We finally get out the next day after getting an interview from our new friend Dia, and head for Costa Rica. While in San Juan del Sur we decided our movie should be about the travelers we meet along the way, including hostel peeps, adventure riders, and Gringo immigrants. This takes a big stress off our shoulders, because properly covering our trip, which is what we were originally thinking the movie would be, is next to impossible. We finally get across Costa Rica, after waiting in line behind five busloads of people at immigration getting stamped out of Nicaragua.
It's funny, this guy in the grey and red t shirt had asked me for a tip. Of course I refused and had no clue why he'd even asked, since I hadn't even noticed he was there while I handled all my own business. Then, weeks later I see this picture and realize he must have been following me the whole way through, probably repeating the words of the Migra and Aduana, LOL! I'm pretty sick of the helpers, and often talk down to them with little respect. Does that make me a bad person? I don't give a shit, those people go out of their way to make my life a little harder, so I'm not going out of my way to worry about their esteem. Also at this border a kid of about 12 asked me for a tip for guarding the bike, while Mateo was there the whole time!
Costa Rica is a pretty easy border, but it’s night by the time we get into the country and we stop at the first hotel we find after having dinner. You had to see it to believe it. There’s a bar with rooms above in a town with all dirt roads. When I tell the jefe that we’ve got bikes he orders the entire bar to make way from the front door to the back where our bikes will sit inside. Every table in the place has to get up and watch their table pushed aside (if they don’t help) as we push our bikes past their captivated faces and drinks now in hand. The place looks to me like a whorehouse from the old west, built with all wood, and the visible stairs from the bar leading to rooms where you can see through the wooden walls and shared bathroom. I hang out for a while downstairs and learn the life story of several townspeople, and they force me to sing “Lady in Red” on karaoke, which I’ve never heard so I of course butcher the song. They really look disappointed when they hear me sing, but hey, I told them I’d never heard the song what the hell did they expect?
We do some good offroading in the rain and make it to Volcan Tenorio, only to find there’s a four and a half hour hike involved at the top. Er, nevermind. Let’s keep moving.
We head towards the beach, make a wrong turn, and wind up in San Jose and hook up with a pretty eventless hostel, other than an American we meet who tells us how he was sliced and hacked up by a crackhead in Quepos.
The next day we decide to change our oil, and luckily meet Alaskan Dan, who approaches us and takes us to his local shop where we can buy some decent oil. No silkolene 100% ester, but at least semi-synthetic 20W50. We do the change right there on the sidewalk and head to Quepos to stay at Casa de Rasta.
Rasta’s proprietor, Ben, comes and meets us at the coffee shop with internet, then we follow him back to the island with a quick stop at his guy’s place and a semi crazy motorcycle load onto a small ferry across the water. When we get there we run into a Finnish couple I’d been waiting in line with at the Costa Rican border two days earlier.
This small island off Quepos was very relaxing, and this place had no internet so we were forced to really take a load off for a couple of days. Other than that, there was surfing, ziplining, a 420 daze, an interview with Ben, and a flat tire.
Thank you, Del Amo Motorsports of Redondo Beach, for giving us the wrong tube. I did appreciate the cocky attitude and proving to me that your social life at work was more important than my purchase, but giving me a 21 incher for my Supermoto which I’ve carried for 5,000 miles on my front fender is really what sealed the deal for me. What a dick, now we’re stuck with the crap they sell down here and will probably have to change it again…
Out of Quepos Matt gets stopped for speeding, but the Costa Rican police don’t waste our time trying to act like they want to give us a ticket. $20 and three minutes later we’re on the move to Peninsula de Osa, National Geographic’s most geographically intense place on earth. The ride in is awesome with some really stunning views, and scary potholes in the road.
We stay in this town Puerto Jimenez, which is really a dump.
My Central American peeps all know the Suicide Shower.
The next day we experience our first river crossings, which go smoothly other than the fact that I lose one of my sneakers. I really liked those… oh well, at least I still have one to dry the foot which was submerged in one of the crossings. Holy shit it was deep for a minute, I must have hit a rut because my foot was on the peg and it filled my Joe Rocket boot.
Anyhow, great day of riding, we should have stayed another day and really gone into the park. By now though we’re in a hurry to get to Panama City and make plans to get to South America.
“Why!” (talking about my shoe)(and I’m running out of meth)
We leave after taking a lunch and 360 degree timelapse from a summit overlooking the peninsula, and make it across the Panamanian border at night. While I do the stamps out of Costa Rica Matt lubes the chains and discovers that his chain has been tearing apart the wiring going in/out of the stator (I think). After a bit of fiddling now his bike won’t start, and he literally pushes it across the border to the Panama side. Acting as the good friend that I am, I make sure to get some video of the situation.
Yeah, yeah, yeah. It’s hard to focus shooting video on a DSLR.
We stop at the first hotel we can find, which is about an hour and a half in and seven miles off the main road. It’s $55, but we talk them down to $45, and stay just because we’re tired. Turns out there’s A/C, and the place is run by the German couple from Super Troopers. In the morning we’re fed a five star breakfast (included), by the wife who’s listening to techno at daybreak. Hands down the best breakfast so far.
The entrance to Panama City is great, we take a huge bridge over the mouth of the canal, then see the shoreline view of the city, which seems to be mostly high rise condos. We find a hostel, but there’s nobody working there so we stay for a half hour and use their internet to find another. The street signs are hard to read, and the one way road system (where not every other road is a different direction), is tough but we find the place, which is full. We stay in a pension that’s got singles with hot water for $15/night each. The next day we holler at a couchsurfer, who agrees to take us shopping for my new sneakers. She’s not sure about the helmet law so we ride for two minutes until the police stop us. They talk with us for a half hour, just waiting until we offer money. They point out if we have a ticket we can’t leave the country, it’s illegal, I have no paperwork on me, they could impound the bikes… I tell them that I’ve only ridden with people on the back where helmet’s aren’t required for the passengers. He tells me that’s not true, they’re required everywhere in the world as he looks at Matt’s Colorado license (no helmet law there). Who’s got more credibility here? The guy with the gun. Our couchsurfing host talks them out of it, we go to the mall then move our things to her place. Jeannett has graciously offered us to stay at her high rise apartment in San Fransisco as long as we need.
I write overlooking Panama City right now.
We keep changing our minds what we’ll do. The original plan was take a boat to Columbia, and follow through Ecuador, Peru, Bolivia, Argentina, Brazil. The looking on Horizons Unlimited I found people had flown to Lima, Peru. This would save us time, since we’re about 10 days behind schedule of where we though we’d be. The we met Steve here in Panama who suggested we fly to Bogata, then shoot through Venezuela and jump on a boat down the Amazon, which would be fastest. Then looking at the maps, we’re not so sure if it would be as fast for us as he’d predicted. We head to the Tocumen airport to find out what our options really are, today. Copa isn’t shipping bikes right now, and Girag only goes to Ecuador and Colulmbia, which cost $1900 and $900 per bike. But there’s a company called Cargo Lux that ships to Santiago Chile for $895! Deal. Next flight is Monday, so in the meantime we’ll try to use the big city for what it’s worth: Manfrotto parts, Mac laptop repair, nightlife, couchsurfing meetups, international shipping... Perhaps a quick trip to the San Blas islands?
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Mexico took much longer than expected. When we were planning looking at the map, we’d expected to cross through texas, which would have brought us down the East Coast, and we would have saved some time. As it was, we rode nearly three thousand miles of Mexico! (including Baja). Before going there, I had made up my mind that I just wanted to get through. I had thought of Mexico as a means to an end, and didn’t expect to find much that I liked there, and also had it in my head this would be the least American friendly place. I expected that since the country has enough money to have a taste of what we have, they’d want more, and to take it from us. I definitely expected haters… When we landed in Mazatlan, it started to fell like “real” Mexico- the city obviously wasn’t run around tourism. Right after getting off the ferry, we stop in front of a motorcycle shop and I tell the guy my chain “tiene sed.” He greases mine, then the other three adventure riders we were with from the ferry. They don’t ask for any money, but we tip them out a couple of buck each. 
From there we got our first taste of riding in a group, and it feels pretty good. The group soon splits, and three of us take the free road while the other two rock the Couta. Then we lose our bunkmate Anthony when he doesn’t want to ride at night, and Matt and I press on to Puerta Vallarta, where we meet our couchsurfing host Rolando. 
He speaks excellent English, and tells me my Spanish is basic. But I was so proud of my skills! I get a shave from an old man, who makes my mustache look just like his that he’s had for 40 years and also tells me my razor is ruined from letting Karem try to sharpen it with another knife when she wanted to rid the world of my ‘stache. Oh well. 
We get a late start out and head to Manzanillo after an impulsive stop bungee jumping on the way out... 
I had taken a screenshot of the map of the Mismo Sol Hostel, which takes us into a neighborhood where kids are playing soccer in the dirt streets with no shoes on, and nobody has heard of this hostel and can’t imagine why we don’t just want one of the roach motels down the street. We roll around looking for awhile, and finally hear and smell the resemblance of a Bob Marley concert. 
We meet Buffalo Don, who lets us pull our bikes inside the gate, and we kick it with him for a bit. 
He tells us how the medias exaggeration of Swine Flu has nearly put him out of business. This reiterates what Rolando had told us in Puerto Vallarta. Common story here: how the general public eats up stories of danger and fear. This is also why most people think this trip of ours is dangerous. It’s up to us really to figure out what’s true. What’s the credibility of the source of information? Like our Aussie friend says. “Mom says Russia is dangerous. ‘When’s the last time you were there mom?’” I only listened to people who’d done similar trips, and they all agree it’s safe and cool. But if you’re closed minded, and prone to believing fear-inducing stories, you’ll always remember someone who told you about someone they know who was robbed. If you believe everything you see on television, you’ll only turn the world into something George Orwell or Aldus Huxley might have imagined. I guess critical thinking isn’t for everyone though… 
We didn’t make it too far from there after a late start, and tried to find a hotel at a random town, which was pretty basic. We take a wrong turn and wind up on a beach in the middle of nowhere that uses solar power only. We hit on the girls working there, whom are 22 and not allowed out at night without their family. They hand us off some beers, which we take to the beach and jump in the warm ocean water then cool off and get a beautiful timelapse of the stars and palm trees there. 
We get to Acapulco and Matt’s headlight isn’t working, so we share a lane as best we can, which is really hard entering Acapulco from the north, where the roads are windy with heavy traffic and there’s no patience from any locals. Matt almost takes a digger after trying to pass a bus on the right in the sand! Nice save, thank P90X. We find our way to a hostel in the center of town on the beach. The bartender/laundry cougar hits on my mustache for a little while, but it’s not enough to coax me into giving her a ride home on the bike. “Lo siento, pero ya he tomado.” Acapulco is a night of dance party, where the local dudes aren’t too happy to see Matt and I getting attention from the hottest girls there. Fuck em, we checked the girls ID’s what else do they want from us? I also met some very cool guys that night too, but they weren’t form Acapulco. I find more locals in tourist towns represent this group of people that I expected more of in Mexico- haters that see what we have and think it’s not fair. The girls take us for some really dank midnight tacos. 
We’re out of Acapulco by 11am on three hour’s sleep, and head out for about a half hour until we realize Matt’s bike isn’t running right. I noticed he wasn’t behind me, so I waited on the side of the road until he finally shows up 20 minutes later. I guess his bike is sputtering at high RPMs… Coupled with the headlight, I’m thinking this must be electrical. Anyway, the bike’s good enough to make it so we just ride it as is. We roll into Puerto Escondido, again with no headlight. At least we’re not in a big city. Again with the screenshot of the map, we’re lost in the town of people who don’t know what a hostel is. As we’re navigating the dirt streets, Steve rolls up on a moped and tells us to follow him to the Twin Bridge Hostel. He takes us out that night to meet some Americans hanging out with a Ed, who exports Mezcal from Oaxaca, and I enjoy the company of some chilled out dudes who share a passion for cold beer, warm weather, and motorcycles. Some of the guys live there, some just visiting. It’s interesting to meet the Americans who’ve decided to leave their homeland and live in Mexico- especially when they don’t speak Spanish!
We stay there for another day and I go “swimming with turtles”, which should go by the more accurate term, “molesting a turtle in the ocean.” I basically held on to an unhappy turtle in the water for a minute while he’s hogtied with a rope. The best part of that one was watching our man Felix bellyflop into the water trying to grab them as soon as he’d see them- fthird time’s a charm. I’m on sunset timelapse duty, but I might have boned the shot practicing my Spanish with a friendly server who makes a point to drop me her email. 
We leave hoping to get to Salina Cruz for the night, and wind up there for lunch! Holy shit we’re actually ahead of schedule! Nice town, girls giving us the bedroom eyes from all over, and lunch only cost the two of us like $50 pesos. We make for the border, and get as far as a little town Pijijiapan, about two hours from the border. 
Good night’s rest and we make for it. We get to the border and meet the “helpers” for the first time, who are trying to stand in front of us, but I’ve read about them on ADVrider.com so I try to run them over with confidence. 
The aduana at the border tells us we need to go back to the bank in the city 25 minutes away, and gives clear directions. We follow them for a half hour, and finally I pull off to ask someone if they know where they Banjercito is. “Muy lejo, en la ciudad.” Okay, shit. The aduana (customs) guy seemed so good too… Oh well, we drop into an Auto Zone to buy some silicone, which we think may solves Matt’s backfiring issue since his exhaust is leaking so badly. We see a young, grizzly looking guy and approach him. “Senor, estamos buscando para-“ “Whoa there, let’s do this in English.” [paraphrased, this was Matt’s conversation.] The American is down there volunteering at a place that gives him a casita and free food in exchange for work. 
He’s trying to learn the culture. Anyhow, he says he knows how to get to where he legalized his bike, but only from a certain place. We ride around for a half hour, and show up exactly where I had stopped to ask the women. Banjercito was right across the street. This keeps happening, I try to ask directions from an adult, and they are really ignorant of what’s around them. Which way to Antigua? I don’t know, that’s like 10 miles from here, why would I know? Malaria, what’s that? (at a pharmacy!) Anyway, there are some really ignorant people here. I guess there’s a correlation to the 13 year old boys trying to get money from me at a border at 10am on a Tuesday. 
We get to the border, and luckily the power is back on. Apparently it was off for several days, which shut down that entry to Guatemala. It’s a zoo, and we take on a duo of helpers, which really make it easy because they know where to get photocopies, how to get in line, and the basic etiquette of how to approach the joke of a border, which makes the worst DMV you can imagine look like a German, uh, I dunno something really organized. 6 hours later it’s nightfall, lucky Matt had fixed his headlight, which was just some loose wiring. We stop in a Shell Hotel (behind the gas station) for the night. Finally, I was tired of Mexico! We have no chance of getting to Costa Rica for New Years, let’s go for Antigua. 
Matt’s riding is really improving, and I’m loving wearing out the outsides of my tires on these great Mexican roads. We’re happy with those we’ve met along the way. No attempted robberies, only attempted sales. No threats to the bikes, only people giving us thumbs up and trying to befriend us because our bikes are so awesome. No corrupt federales, only young guys envious and wanting to see a nice wheelie. No corrupt policia, only guys who give decent directions! Both bordertowns we went to blow, but I guess that’s to be expected. 
The bikes are doing well. I adjusted my jetting back in La Paz and mine has been good since, Matt’s has had a problem most of this leg of the trip. Hopefully his stator isn’t going bad… perhaps fixing the exhaust leak coupled with adjusting the jetting will solve the problem. The gas has been fine, we’re buying the cheap stuff everywhere. It’s odd how gasoline comes in such a variety of colors. The tires work great, though we haven’t done any offroading yet really… The DRZ’s go about as fast as we want to ride at speed, and I’m glad for all of the money I saved, and having a Supermoto for the fun roads and weaving through city traffic. Plus they’re instant street cred from locals, travelers, and riders alike. The video footage we have is mostly great, although it’s extremely hard to get as much as we’d like to. Being rushed all the time isn’t what we’d expected when planning the trip. 
At the last minute we realized we were about 3 weeks shy of travel time we’d expected, and it’s really affected the journey. There’s a constant mental challenge of staying cool and enjoying myself while trying to push to Rio, and get awesome footage of everything. 
Matt and I are close enough we’re really honest with each other, and often let each other know when we don’t like what the other is doing. Most of the time this is constructive… On a final note. I dunno. Mexico is huge. Glad to leave really, but also glad to have seen so much. This has been our first taste of Adventure Riding, so far so good.
that one was for Silas... 
]]>
December 30, 2009 by Tiernan
Comments (1)
Mexico took much longer than expected. When we were planning looking at the map, we’d expected to cross through texas, which would have brought us down the East Coast, and we would have saved some time. As it was, we rode nearly three thousand miles of Mexico! (including Baja). Before going there, I had made up my mind that I just wanted to get through. I had thought of Mexico as a means to an end, and didn’t expect to find much that I liked there, and also had it in my head this would be the least American friendly place. I expected that since the country has enough money to have a taste of what we have, they’d want more, and to take it from us. I definitely expected haters… When we landed in Mazatlan, it started to fell like “real” Mexico- the city obviously wasn’t run around tourism. Right after getting off the ferry, we stop in front of a motorcycle shop and I tell the guy my chain “tiene sed.” He greases mine, then the other three adventure riders we were with from the ferry. They don’t ask for any money, but we tip them out a couple of buck each. From there we got our first taste of riding in a group, and it feels pretty good. The group soon splits, and three of us take the free road while the other two rock the Couta. Then we lose our bunkmate Anthony when he doesn’t want to ride at night, and Matt and I press on to Puerta Vallarta, where we meet our couchsurfing host Rolando. He speaks excellent English, and tells me my Spanish is basic. But I was so proud of my skills! I get a shave from an old man, who makes my mustache look just like his that he’s had for 40 years and also tells me my razor is ruined from letting Karem try to sharpen it with another knife when she wanted to rid the world of my ‘stache. Oh well. We get a late start out and head to Manzanillo after an impulsive stop bungee jumping on the way out... I had taken a screenshot of the map of the Mismo Sol Hostel, which takes us into a neighborhood where kids are playing soccer in the dirt streets with no shoes on, and nobody has heard of this hostel and can’t imagine why we don’t just want one of the roach motels down the street. We roll around looking for awhile, and finally hear and smell the resemblance of a Bob Marley concert. We meet Buffalo Don, who lets us pull our bikes inside the gate, and we kick it with him for a bit. He tells us how the medias exaggeration of Swine Flu has nearly put him out of business. This reiterates what Rolando had told us in Puerto Vallarta. Common story here: how the general public eats up stories of danger and fear. This is also why most people think this trip of ours is dangerous. It’s up to us really to figure out what’s true. What’s the credibility of the source of information? Like our Aussie friend says. “Mom says Russia is dangerous. ‘When’s the last time you were there mom?’” I only listened to people who’d done similar trips, and they all agree it’s safe and cool. But if you’re closed minded, and prone to believing fear-inducing stories, you’ll always remember someone who told you about someone they know who was robbed. If you believe everything you see on television, you’ll only turn the world into something George Orwell or Aldus Huxley might have imagined. I guess critical thinking isn’t for everyone though… We didn’t make it too far from there after a late start, and tried to find a hotel at a random town, which was pretty basic. We take a wrong turn and wind up on a beach in the middle of nowhere that uses solar power only. We hit on the girls working there, whom are 22 and not allowed out at night without their family. They hand us off some beers, which we take to the beach and jump in the warm ocean water then cool off and get a beautiful timelapse of the stars and palm trees there. We get to Acapulco and Matt’s headlight isn’t working, so we share a lane as best we can, which is really hard entering Acapulco from the north, where the roads are windy with heavy traffic and there’s no patience from any locals. Matt almost takes a digger after trying to pass a bus on the right in the sand! Nice save, thank P90X. We find our way to a hostel in the center of town on the beach. The bartender/laundry cougar hits on my mustache for a little while, but it’s not enough to coax me into giving her a ride home on the bike. “Lo siento, pero ya he tomado.” Acapulco is a night of dance party, where the local dudes aren’t too happy to see Matt and I getting attention from the hottest girls there. Fuck em, we checked the girls ID’s what else do they want from us? I also met some very cool guys that night too, but they weren’t form Acapulco. I find more locals in tourist towns represent this group of people that I expected more of in Mexico- haters that see what we have and think it’s not fair. The girls take us for some really dank midnight tacos. We’re out of Acapulco by 11am on three hour’s sleep, and head out for about a half hour until we realize Matt’s bike isn’t running right. I noticed he wasn’t behind me, so I waited on the side of the road until he finally shows up 20 minutes later. I guess his bike is sputtering at high RPMs… Coupled with the headlight, I’m thinking this must be electrical. Anyway, the bike’s good enough to make it so we just ride it as is. We roll into Puerto Escondido, again with no headlight. At least we’re not in a big city. Again with the screenshot of the map, we’re lost in the town of people who don’t know what a hostel is. As we’re navigating the dirt streets, Steve rolls up on a moped and tells us to follow him to the Twin Bridge Hostel. He takes us out that night to meet some Americans hanging out with a Ed, who exports Mezcal from Oaxaca, and I enjoy the company of some chilled out dudes who share a passion for cold beer, warm weather, and motorcycles. Some of the guys live there, some just visiting. It’s interesting to meet the Americans who’ve decided to leave their homeland and live in Mexico- especially when they don’t speak Spanish!
We stay there for another day and I go “swimming with turtles”, which should go by the more accurate term, “molesting a turtle in the ocean.” I basically held on to an unhappy turtle in the water for a minute while he’s hogtied with a rope. The best part of that one was watching our man Felix bellyflop into the water trying to grab them as soon as he’d see them- fthird time’s a charm. I’m on sunset timelapse duty, but I might have boned the shot practicing my Spanish with a friendly server who makes a point to drop me her email. We leave hoping to get to Salina Cruz for the night, and wind up there for lunch! Holy shit we’re actually ahead of schedule! Nice town, girls giving us the bedroom eyes from all over, and lunch only cost the two of us like $50 pesos. We make for the border, and get as far as a little town Pijijiapan, about two hours from the border. Good night’s rest and we make for it. We get to the border and meet the “helpers” for the first time, who are trying to stand in front of us, but I’ve read about them on ADVrider.com so I try to run them over with confidence. The aduana at the border tells us we need to go back to the bank in the city 25 minutes away, and gives clear directions. We follow them for a half hour, and finally I pull off to ask someone if they know where they Banjercito is. “Muy lejo, en la ciudad.” Okay, shit. The aduana (customs) guy seemed so good too… Oh well, we drop into an Auto Zone to buy some silicone, which we think may solves Matt’s backfiring issue since his exhaust is leaking so badly. We see a young, grizzly looking guy and approach him. “Senor, estamos buscando para-“ “Whoa there, let’s do this in English.” [paraphrased, this was Matt’s conversation.] The American is down there volunteering at a place that gives him a casita and free food in exchange for work. He’s trying to learn the culture. Anyhow, he says he knows how to get to where he legalized his bike, but only from a certain place. We ride around for a half hour, and show up exactly where I had stopped to ask the women. Banjercito was right across the street. This keeps happening, I try to ask directions from an adult, and they are really ignorant of what’s around them. Which way to Antigua? I don’t know, that’s like 10 miles from here, why would I know? Malaria, what’s that? (at a pharmacy!) Anyway, there are some really ignorant people here. I guess there’s a correlation to the 13 year old boys trying to get money from me at a border at 10am on a Tuesday. We get to the border, and luckily the power is back on. Apparently it was off for several days, which shut down that entry to Guatemala. It’s a zoo, and we take on a duo of helpers, which really make it easy because they know where to get photocopies, how to get in line, and the basic etiquette of how to approach the joke of a border, which makes the worst DMV you can imagine look like a German, uh, I dunno something really organized. 6 hours later it’s nightfall, lucky Matt had fixed his headlight, which was just some loose wiring. We stop in a Shell Hotel (behind the gas station) for the night. Finally, I was tired of Mexico! We have no chance of getting to Costa Rica for New Years, let’s go for Antigua. Matt’s riding is really improving, and I’m loving wearing out the outsides of my tires on these great Mexican roads. We’re happy with those we’ve met along the way. No attempted robberies, only attempted sales. No threats to the bikes, only people giving us thumbs up and trying to befriend us because our bikes are so awesome. No corrupt federales, only young guys envious and wanting to see a nice wheelie. No corrupt policia, only guys who give decent directions! Both bordertowns we went to blow, but I guess that’s to be expected. The bikes are doing well. I adjusted my jetting back in La Paz and mine has been good since, Matt’s has had a problem most of this leg of the trip. Hopefully his stator isn’t going bad… perhaps fixing the exhaust leak coupled with adjusting the jetting will solve the problem. The gas has been fine, we’re buying the cheap stuff everywhere. It’s odd how gasoline comes in such a variety of colors. The tires work great, though we haven’t done any offroading yet really… The DRZ’s go about as fast as we want to ride at speed, and I’m glad for all of the money I saved, and having a Supermoto for the fun roads and weaving through city traffic. Plus they’re instant street cred from locals, travelers, and riders alike. The video footage we have is mostly great, although it’s extremely hard to get as much as we’d like to. Being rushed all the time isn’t what we’d expected when planning the trip. At the last minute we realized we were about 3 weeks shy of travel time we’d expected, and it’s really affected the journey. There’s a constant mental challenge of staying cool and enjoying myself while trying to push to Rio, and get awesome footage of everything. Matt and I are close enough we’re really honest with each other, and often let each other know when we don’t like what the other is doing. Most of the time this is constructive… On a final note. I dunno. Mexico is huge. Glad to leave really, but also glad to have seen so much. This has been our first taste of Adventure Riding, so far so good.
that one was for Silas...
]]>
im sure you know but malaria in spanish is called paludismo. symptoms are fever, headache, body pain, the chills and cold sweat and the symptoms appear and disappear over the course of a week or so. i thought i caught it last week cause i had the symptoms except the on and off symptoms but a doctor learned me otherwise. alright dudes take it easy.]]>
Mexico took much longer than expected. When we were planning looking at the map, we’d expected to cross through texas, which would have brought us down the East Coast, and we would have saved some time. As it was, we rode nearly three thousand miles of Mexico! (including Baja). Before going there, I had made up my mind that I just wanted to get through. I had thought of Mexico as a means to an end, and didn’t expect to find much that I liked there, and also had it in my head this would be the least American friendly place. I expected that since the country has enough money to have a taste of what we have, they’d want more, and to take it from us. I definitely expected haters… When we landed in Mazatlan, it started to fell like “real” Mexico- the city obviously wasn’t run around tourism. Right after getting off the ferry, we stop in front of a motorcycle shop and I tell the guy my chain “tiene sed.” He greases mine, then the other three adventure riders we were with from the ferry. They don’t ask for any money, but we tip them out a couple of buck each. From there we got our first taste of riding in a group, and it feels pretty good. The group soon splits, and three of us take the free road while the other two rock the Couta. Then we lose our bunkmate Anthony when he doesn’t want to ride at night, and Matt and I press on to Puerta Vallarta, where we meet our couchsurfing host Rolando. He speaks excellent English, and tells me my Spanish is basic. But I was so proud of my skills! I get a shave from an old man, who makes my mustache look just like his that he’s had for 40 years and also tells me my razor is ruined from letting Karem try to sharpen it with another knife when she wanted to rid the world of my ‘stache. Oh well. We get a late start out and head to Manzanillo after an impulsive stop bungee jumping on the way out... I had taken a screenshot of the map of the Mismo Sol Hostel, which takes us into a neighborhood where kids are playing soccer in the dirt streets with no shoes on, and nobody has heard of this hostel and can’t imagine why we don’t just want one of the roach motels down the street. We roll around looking for awhile, and finally hear and smell the resemblance of a Bob Marley concert. We meet Buffalo Don, who lets us pull our bikes inside the gate, and we kick it with him for a bit. He tells us how the medias exaggeration of Swine Flu has nearly put him out of business. This reiterates what Rolando had told us in Puerto Vallarta. Common story here: how the general public eats up stories of danger and fear. This is also why most people think this trip of ours is dangerous. It’s up to us really to figure out what’s true. What’s the credibility of the source of information? Like our Aussie friend says. “Mom says Russia is dangerous. ‘When’s the last time you were there mom?’” I only listened to people who’d done similar trips, and they all agree it’s safe and cool. But if you’re closed minded, and prone to believing fear-inducing stories, you’ll always remember someone who told you about someone they know who was robbed. If you believe everything you see on television, you’ll only turn the world into something George Orwell or Aldus Huxley might have imagined. I guess critical thinking isn’t for everyone though… We didn’t make it too far from there after a late start, and tried to find a hotel at a random town, which was pretty basic. We take a wrong turn and wind up on a beach in the middle of nowhere that uses solar power only. We hit on the girls working there, whom are 22 and not allowed out at night without their family. They hand us off some beers, which we take to the beach and jump in the warm ocean water then cool off and get a beautiful timelapse of the stars and palm trees there. We get to Acapulco and Matt’s headlight isn’t working, so we share a lane as best we can, which is really hard entering Acapulco from the north, where the roads are windy with heavy traffic and there’s no patience from any locals. Matt almost takes a digger after trying to pass a bus on the right in the sand! Nice save, thank P90X. We find our way to a hostel in the center of town on the beach. The bartender/laundry cougar hits on my mustache for a little while, but it’s not enough to coax me into giving her a ride home on the bike. “Lo siento, pero ya he tomado.” Acapulco is a night of dance party, where the local dudes aren’t too happy to see Matt and I getting attention from the hottest girls there. Fuck em, we checked the girls ID’s what else do they want from us? I also met some very cool guys that night too, but they weren’t form Acapulco. I find more locals in tourist towns represent this group of people that I expected more of in Mexico- haters that see what we have and think it’s not fair. The girls take us for some really dank midnight tacos. We’re out of Acapulco by 11am on three hour’s sleep, and head out for about a half hour until we realize Matt’s bike isn’t running right. I noticed he wasn’t behind me, so I waited on the side of the road until he finally shows up 20 minutes later. I guess his bike is sputtering at high RPMs… Coupled with the headlight, I’m thinking this must be electrical. Anyway, the bike’s good enough to make it so we just ride it as is. We roll into Puerto Escondido, again with no headlight. At least we’re not in a big city. Again with the screenshot of the map, we’re lost in the town of people who don’t know what a hostel is. As we’re navigating the dirt streets, Steve rolls up on a moped and tells us to follow him to the Twin Bridge Hostel. He takes us out that night to meet some Americans hanging out with a Ed, who exports Mezcal from Oaxaca, and I enjoy the company of some chilled out dudes who share a passion for cold beer, warm weather, and motorcycles. Some of the guys live there, some just visiting. It’s interesting to meet the Americans who’ve decided to leave their homeland and live in Mexico- especially when they don’t speak Spanish!
We stay there for another day and I go “swimming with turtles”, which should go by the more accurate term, “molesting a turtle in the ocean.” I basically held on to an unhappy turtle in the water for a minute while he’s hogtied with a rope. The best part of that one was watching our man Felix bellyflop into the water trying to grab them as soon as he’d see them- fthird time’s a charm. I’m on sunset timelapse duty, but I might have boned the shot practicing my Spanish with a friendly server who makes a point to drop me her email. We leave hoping to get to Salina Cruz for the night, and wind up there for lunch! Holy shit we’re actually ahead of schedule! Nice town, girls giving us the bedroom eyes from all over, and lunch only cost the two of us like $50 pesos. We make for the border, and get as far as a little town Pijijiapan, about two hours from the border. Good night’s rest and we make for it. We get to the border and meet the “helpers” for the first time, who are trying to stand in front of us, but I’ve read about them on ADVrider.com so I try to run them over with confidence. The aduana at the border tells us we need to go back to the bank in the city 25 minutes away, and gives clear directions. We follow them for a half hour, and finally I pull off to ask someone if they know where they Banjercito is. “Muy lejo, en la ciudad.” Okay, shit. The aduana (customs) guy seemed so good too… Oh well, we drop into an Auto Zone to buy some silicone, which we think may solves Matt’s backfiring issue since his exhaust is leaking so badly. We see a young, grizzly looking guy and approach him. “Senor, estamos buscando para-“ “Whoa there, let’s do this in English.” [paraphrased, this was Matt’s conversation.] The American is down there volunteering at a place that gives him a casita and free food in exchange for work. He’s trying to learn the culture. Anyhow, he says he knows how to get to where he legalized his bike, but only from a certain place. We ride around for a half hour, and show up exactly where I had stopped to ask the women. Banjercito was right across the street. This keeps happening, I try to ask directions from an adult, and they are really ignorant of what’s around them. Which way to Antigua? I don’t know, that’s like 10 miles from here, why would I know? Malaria, what’s that? (at a pharmacy!) Anyway, there are some really ignorant people here. I guess there’s a correlation to the 13 year old boys trying to get money from me at a border at 10am on a Tuesday. We get to the border, and luckily the power is back on. Apparently it was off for several days, which shut down that entry to Guatemala. It’s a zoo, and we take on a duo of helpers, which really make it easy because they know where to get photocopies, how to get in line, and the basic etiquette of how to approach the joke of a border, which makes the worst DMV you can imagine look like a German, uh, I dunno something really organized. 6 hours later it’s nightfall, lucky Matt had fixed his headlight, which was just some loose wiring. We stop in a Shell Hotel (behind the gas station) for the night. Finally, I was tired of Mexico! We have no chance of getting to Costa Rica for New Years, let’s go for Antigua. Matt’s riding is really improving, and I’m loving wearing out the outsides of my tires on these great Mexican roads. We’re happy with those we’ve met along the way. No attempted robberies, only attempted sales. No threats to the bikes, only people giving us thumbs up and trying to befriend us because our bikes are so awesome. No corrupt federales, only young guys envious and wanting to see a nice wheelie. No corrupt policia, only guys who give decent directions! Both bordertowns we went to blow, but I guess that’s to be expected. The bikes are doing well. I adjusted my jetting back in La Paz and mine has been good since, Matt’s has had a problem most of this leg of the trip. Hopefully his stator isn’t going bad… perhaps fixing the exhaust leak coupled with adjusting the jetting will solve the problem. The gas has been fine, we’re buying the cheap stuff everywhere. It’s odd how gasoline comes in such a variety of colors. The tires work great, though we haven’t done any offroading yet really… The DRZ’s go about as fast as we want to ride at speed, and I’m glad for all of the money I saved, and having a Supermoto for the fun roads and weaving through city traffic. Plus they’re instant street cred from locals, travelers, and riders alike. The video footage we have is mostly great, although it’s extremely hard to get as much as we’d like to. Being rushed all the time isn’t what we’d expected when planning the trip. At the last minute we realized we were about 3 weeks shy of travel time we’d expected, and it’s really affected the journey. There’s a constant mental challenge of staying cool and enjoying myself while trying to push to Rio, and get awesome footage of everything. Matt and I are close enough we’re really honest with each other, and often let each other know when we don’t like what the other is doing. Most of the time this is constructive… On a final note. I dunno. Mexico is huge. Glad to leave really, but also glad to have seen so much. This has been our first taste of Adventure Riding, so far so good.
that one was for Silas...
]]>
December 30, 2009 by Tiernan
Comments (1)
Mexico took much longer than expected. When we were planning looking at the map, we’d expected to cross through texas, which would have brought us down the East Coast, and we would have saved some time. As it was, we rode nearly three thousand miles of Mexico! (including Baja). Before going there, I had made up my mind that I just wanted to get through. I had thought of Mexico as a means to an end, and didn’t expect to find much that I liked there, and also had it in my head this would be the least American friendly place. I expected that since the country has enough money to have a taste of what we have, they’d want more, and to take it from us. I definitely expected haters… When we landed in Mazatlan, it started to fell like “real” Mexico- the city obviously wasn’t run around tourism. Right after getting off the ferry, we stop in front of a motorcycle shop and I tell the guy my chain “tiene sed.” He greases mine, then the other three adventure riders we were with from the ferry. They don’t ask for any money, but we tip them out a couple of buck each. From there we got our first taste of riding in a group, and it feels pretty good. The group soon splits, and three of us take the free road while the other two rock the Couta. Then we lose our bunkmate Anthony when he doesn’t want to ride at night, and Matt and I press on to Puerta Vallarta, where we meet our couchsurfing host Rolando. He speaks excellent English, and tells me my Spanish is basic. But I was so proud of my skills! I get a shave from an old man, who makes my mustache look just like his that he’s had for 40 years and also tells me my razor is ruined from letting Karem try to sharpen it with another knife when she wanted to rid the world of my ‘stache. Oh well. We get a late start out and head to Manzanillo after an impulsive stop bungee jumping on the way out... I had taken a screenshot of the map of the Mismo Sol Hostel, which takes us into a neighborhood where kids are playing soccer in the dirt streets with no shoes on, and nobody has heard of this hostel and can’t imagine why we don’t just want one of the roach motels down the street. We roll around looking for awhile, and finally hear and smell the resemblance of a Bob Marley concert. We meet Buffalo Don, who lets us pull our bikes inside the gate, and we kick it with him for a bit. He tells us how the medias exaggeration of Swine Flu has nearly put him out of business. This reiterates what Rolando had told us in Puerto Vallarta. Common story here: how the general public eats up stories of danger and fear. This is also why most people think this trip of ours is dangerous. It’s up to us really to figure out what’s true. What’s the credibility of the source of information? Like our Aussie friend says. “Mom says Russia is dangerous. ‘When’s the last time you were there mom?’” I only listened to people who’d done similar trips, and they all agree it’s safe and cool. But if you’re closed minded, and prone to believing fear-inducing stories, you’ll always remember someone who told you about someone they know who was robbed. If you believe everything you see on television, you’ll only turn the world into something George Orwell or Aldus Huxley might have imagined. I guess critical thinking isn’t for everyone though… We didn’t make it too far from there after a late start, and tried to find a hotel at a random town, which was pretty basic. We take a wrong turn and wind up on a beach in the middle of nowhere that uses solar power only. We hit on the girls working there, whom are 22 and not allowed out at night without their family. They hand us off some beers, which we take to the beach and jump in the warm ocean water then cool off and get a beautiful timelapse of the stars and palm trees there. We get to Acapulco and Matt’s headlight isn’t working, so we share a lane as best we can, which is really hard entering Acapulco from the north, where the roads are windy with heavy traffic and there’s no patience from any locals. Matt almost takes a digger after trying to pass a bus on the right in the sand! Nice save, thank P90X. We find our way to a hostel in the center of town on the beach. The bartender/laundry cougar hits on my mustache for a little while, but it’s not enough to coax me into giving her a ride home on the bike. “Lo siento, pero ya he tomado.” Acapulco is a night of dance party, where the local dudes aren’t too happy to see Matt and I getting attention from the hottest girls there. Fuck em, we checked the girls ID’s what else do they want from us? I also met some very cool guys that night too, but they weren’t form Acapulco. I find more locals in tourist towns represent this group of people that I expected more of in Mexico- haters that see what we have and think it’s not fair. The girls take us for some really dank midnight tacos. We’re out of Acapulco by 11am on three hour’s sleep, and head out for about a half hour until we realize Matt’s bike isn’t running right. I noticed he wasn’t behind me, so I waited on the side of the road until he finally shows up 20 minutes later. I guess his bike is sputtering at high RPMs… Coupled with the headlight, I’m thinking this must be electrical. Anyway, the bike’s good enough to make it so we just ride it as is. We roll into Puerto Escondido, again with no headlight. At least we’re not in a big city. Again with the screenshot of the map, we’re lost in the town of people who don’t know what a hostel is. As we’re navigating the dirt streets, Steve rolls up on a moped and tells us to follow him to the Twin Bridge Hostel. He takes us out that night to meet some Americans hanging out with a Ed, who exports Mezcal from Oaxaca, and I enjoy the company of some chilled out dudes who share a passion for cold beer, warm weather, and motorcycles. Some of the guys live there, some just visiting. It’s interesting to meet the Americans who’ve decided to leave their homeland and live in Mexico- especially when they don’t speak Spanish!
We stay there for another day and I go “swimming with turtles”, which should go by the more accurate term, “molesting a turtle in the ocean.” I basically held on to an unhappy turtle in the water for a minute while he’s hogtied with a rope. The best part of that one was watching our man Felix bellyflop into the water trying to grab them as soon as he’d see them- fthird time’s a charm. I’m on sunset timelapse duty, but I might have boned the shot practicing my Spanish with a friendly server who makes a point to drop me her email. We leave hoping to get to Salina Cruz for the night, and wind up there for lunch! Holy shit we’re actually ahead of schedule! Nice town, girls giving us the bedroom eyes from all over, and lunch only cost the two of us like $50 pesos. We make for the border, and get as far as a little town Pijijiapan, about two hours from the border. Good night’s rest and we make for it. We get to the border and meet the “helpers” for the first time, who are trying to stand in front of us, but I’ve read about them on ADVrider.com so I try to run them over with confidence. The aduana at the border tells us we need to go back to the bank in the city 25 minutes away, and gives clear directions. We follow them for a half hour, and finally I pull off to ask someone if they know where they Banjercito is. “Muy lejo, en la ciudad.” Okay, shit. The aduana (customs) guy seemed so good too… Oh well, we drop into an Auto Zone to buy some silicone, which we think may solves Matt’s backfiring issue since his exhaust is leaking so badly. We see a young, grizzly looking guy and approach him. “Senor, estamos buscando para-“ “Whoa there, let’s do this in English.” [paraphrased, this was Matt’s conversation.] The American is down there volunteering at a place that gives him a casita and free food in exchange for work. He’s trying to learn the culture. Anyhow, he says he knows how to get to where he legalized his bike, but only from a certain place. We ride around for a half hour, and show up exactly where I had stopped to ask the women. Banjercito was right across the street. This keeps happening, I try to ask directions from an adult, and they are really ignorant of what’s around them. Which way to Antigua? I don’t know, that’s like 10 miles from here, why would I know? Malaria, what’s that? (at a pharmacy!) Anyway, there are some really ignorant people here. I guess there’s a correlation to the 13 year old boys trying to get money from me at a border at 10am on a Tuesday. We get to the border, and luckily the power is back on. Apparently it was off for several days, which shut down that entry to Guatemala. It’s a zoo, and we take on a duo of helpers, which really make it easy because they know where to get photocopies, how to get in line, and the basic etiquette of how to approach the joke of a border, which makes the worst DMV you can imagine look like a German, uh, I dunno something really organized. 6 hours later it’s nightfall, lucky Matt had fixed his headlight, which was just some loose wiring. We stop in a Shell Hotel (behind the gas station) for the night. Finally, I was tired of Mexico! We have no chance of getting to Costa Rica for New Years, let’s go for Antigua. Matt’s riding is really improving, and I’m loving wearing out the outsides of my tires on these great Mexican roads. We’re happy with those we’ve met along the way. No attempted robberies, only attempted sales. No threats to the bikes, only people giving us thumbs up and trying to befriend us because our bikes are so awesome. No corrupt federales, only young guys envious and wanting to see a nice wheelie. No corrupt policia, only guys who give decent directions! Both bordertowns we went to blow, but I guess that’s to be expected. The bikes are doing well. I adjusted my jetting back in La Paz and mine has been good since, Matt’s has had a problem most of this leg of the trip. Hopefully his stator isn’t going bad… perhaps fixing the exhaust leak coupled with adjusting the jetting will solve the problem. The gas has been fine, we’re buying the cheap stuff everywhere. It’s odd how gasoline comes in such a variety of colors. The tires work great, though we haven’t done any offroading yet really… The DRZ’s go about as fast as we want to ride at speed, and I’m glad for all of the money I saved, and having a Supermoto for the fun roads and weaving through city traffic. Plus they’re instant street cred from locals, travelers, and riders alike. The video footage we have is mostly great, although it’s extremely hard to get as much as we’d like to. Being rushed all the time isn’t what we’d expected when planning the trip. At the last minute we realized we were about 3 weeks shy of travel time we’d expected, and it’s really affected the journey. There’s a constant mental challenge of staying cool and enjoying myself while trying to push to Rio, and get awesome footage of everything. Matt and I are close enough we’re really honest with each other, and often let each other know when we don’t like what the other is doing. Most of the time this is constructive… On a final note. I dunno. Mexico is huge. Glad to leave really, but also glad to have seen so much. This has been our first taste of Adventure Riding, so far so good.
that one was for Silas...
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im sure you know but malaria in spanish is called paludismo. symptoms are fever, headache, body pain, the chills and cold sweat and the symptoms appear and disappear over the course of a week or so. i thought i caught it last week cause i had the symptoms except the on and off symptoms but a doctor learned me otherwise. alright dudes take it easy.]]>
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The trip started as expected. We were totally unprepared. I packed all of my things (minus those which I forgot of course), about 20 minutes before leaving to Matt’s. When I got there his bike wasn’t starting and I had about 2 hours of packing video gear and mechanical tools ahead of me there. We left in the darkness (which we said we wouldn’t do the entire trip), and it took twice as long as expected to travel to LA.
Then there was a rained out day, followed by a late start that had us two days behind on the 4th day. Oh well, hopefully we’ll get better. We still have a couple of months to get back on track. We made our first connection at Suzuki, where the head mechanic steered us to Baja.
Crossing into Mexico was a breeze. Matt split his first lanes to pass a half hour’s worth of traffic at the border, and then was splitting lanes throughout Tijuana as if he hadn’t told me two days earlier he refused to! That easy cross we found out screwed us when we actually wanted to cross to mainland Mexico from La Paz since we had no paperwork.
Northern Baja blows other than Ensenada. Cesar the couchsurfer made our time interesting, and we met worlf famous ceviche street-vendor Sabina.
Roads were boring, the towns sucked, and things are not cheap. It was really just killing time until we passed Guerrero Negro to Southern Baja, where twisty, well-paved roads, surrounded by scenic landscape, made for a nice, enjoyable ride. Unfortunately we were in such a hurry we blew through it all in a full day, but that day marked the first great day of the trip, and really defined what the trip is and what we’re doing. We rode hundreds of miles and got sore asses, but enjoyed every minute of it.
I took a Mexican shower in the bathroom of a restaurant, and then while I was brushing my teeth in the street outside we were picked up by some girls who offered to give us a tour of the nightlife as well as a place to crash for the night, which turned into keys to an empty house for two days while we waited for the ferry to Mazatlan.
We’re doing some great riding, meeting people, playing it by ear, learning Spanish, and living without regrets.
I think Matt has finally stopped worrying about being kidnapped or robbed, since everyone we've met has been very helpful and cool. Other travelers have also reiterated my point, which is not to take heresay advice from people who haven't done anything like this or traveled to these places themselves.
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December 18, 2009 by Tiernan
Comments (0)
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The trip started as expected. We were totally unprepared. I packed all of my things (minus those which I forgot of course), about 20 minutes before leaving to Matt’s. When I got there his bike wasn’t starting and I had about 2 hours of packing video gear and mechanical tools ahead of me there. We left in the darkness (which we said we wouldn’t do the entire trip), and it took twice as long as expected to travel to LA.
Then there was a rained out day, followed by a late start that had us two days behind on the 4th day. Oh well, hopefully we’ll get better. We still have a couple of months to get back on track. We made our first connection at Suzuki, where the head mechanic steered us to Baja.
Crossing into Mexico was a breeze. Matt split his first lanes to pass a half hour’s worth of traffic at the border, and then was splitting lanes throughout Tijuana as if he hadn’t told me two days earlier he refused to! That easy cross we found out screwed us when we actually wanted to cross to mainland Mexico from La Paz since we had no paperwork.
Northern Baja blows other than Ensenada. Cesar the couchsurfer made our time interesting, and we met worlf famous ceviche street-vendor Sabina.
Roads were boring, the towns sucked, and things are not cheap. It was really just killing time until we passed Guerrero Negro to Southern Baja, where twisty, well-paved roads, surrounded by scenic landscape, made for a nice, enjoyable ride. Unfortunately we were in such a hurry we blew through it all in a full day, but that day marked the first great day of the trip, and really defined what the trip is and what we’re doing. We rode hundreds of miles and got sore asses, but enjoyed every minute of it.
I took a Mexican shower in the bathroom of a restaurant, and then while I was brushing my teeth in the street outside we were picked up by some girls who offered to give us a tour of the nightlife as well as a place to crash for the night, which turned into keys to an empty house for two days while we waited for the ferry to Mazatlan.
We’re doing some great riding, meeting people, playing it by ear, learning Spanish, and living without regrets.
I think Matt has finally stopped worrying about being kidnapped or robbed, since everyone we've met has been very helpful and cool. Other travelers have also reiterated my point, which is not to take heresay advice from people who haven't done anything like this or traveled to these places themselves.
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The trip started as expected. We were totally unprepared. I packed all of my things (minus those which I forgot of course), about 20 minutes before leaving to Matt’s. When I got there his bike wasn’t starting and I had about 2 hours of packing video gear and mechanical tools ahead of me there. We left in the darkness (which we said we wouldn’t do the entire trip), and it took twice as long as expected to travel to LA.
Then there was a rained out day, followed by a late start that had us two days behind on the 4th day. Oh well, hopefully we’ll get better. We still have a couple of months to get back on track. We made our first connection at Suzuki, where the head mechanic steered us to Baja.
Crossing into Mexico was a breeze. Matt split his first lanes to pass a half hour’s worth of traffic at the border, and then was splitting lanes throughout Tijuana as if he hadn’t told me two days earlier he refused to! That easy cross we found out screwed us when we actually wanted to cross to mainland Mexico from La Paz since we had no paperwork.
Northern Baja blows other than Ensenada. Cesar the couchsurfer made our time interesting, and we met worlf famous ceviche street-vendor Sabina.
Roads were boring, the towns sucked, and things are not cheap. It was really just killing time until we passed Guerrero Negro to Southern Baja, where twisty, well-paved roads, surrounded by scenic landscape, made for a nice, enjoyable ride. Unfortunately we were in such a hurry we blew through it all in a full day, but that day marked the first great day of the trip, and really defined what the trip is and what we’re doing. We rode hundreds of miles and got sore asses, but enjoyed every minute of it.
I took a Mexican shower in the bathroom of a restaurant, and then while I was brushing my teeth in the street outside we were picked up by some girls who offered to give us a tour of the nightlife as well as a place to crash for the night, which turned into keys to an empty house for two days while we waited for the ferry to Mazatlan.
We’re doing some great riding, meeting people, playing it by ear, learning Spanish, and living without regrets.
I think Matt has finally stopped worrying about being kidnapped or robbed, since everyone we've met has been very helpful and cool. Other travelers have also reiterated my point, which is not to take heresay advice from people who haven't done anything like this or traveled to these places themselves.
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December 18, 2009 by Tiernan
Comments (0)
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The trip started as expected. We were totally unprepared. I packed all of my things (minus those which I forgot of course), about 20 minutes before leaving to Matt’s. When I got there his bike wasn’t starting and I had about 2 hours of packing video gear and mechanical tools ahead of me there. We left in the darkness (which we said we wouldn’t do the entire trip), and it took twice as long as expected to travel to LA.
Then there was a rained out day, followed by a late start that had us two days behind on the 4th day. Oh well, hopefully we’ll get better. We still have a couple of months to get back on track. We made our first connection at Suzuki, where the head mechanic steered us to Baja.
Crossing into Mexico was a breeze. Matt split his first lanes to pass a half hour’s worth of traffic at the border, and then was splitting lanes throughout Tijuana as if he hadn’t told me two days earlier he refused to! That easy cross we found out screwed us when we actually wanted to cross to mainland Mexico from La Paz since we had no paperwork.
Northern Baja blows other than Ensenada. Cesar the couchsurfer made our time interesting, and we met worlf famous ceviche street-vendor Sabina.
Roads were boring, the towns sucked, and things are not cheap. It was really just killing time until we passed Guerrero Negro to Southern Baja, where twisty, well-paved roads, surrounded by scenic landscape, made for a nice, enjoyable ride. Unfortunately we were in such a hurry we blew through it all in a full day, but that day marked the first great day of the trip, and really defined what the trip is and what we’re doing. We rode hundreds of miles and got sore asses, but enjoyed every minute of it.
I took a Mexican shower in the bathroom of a restaurant, and then while I was brushing my teeth in the street outside we were picked up by some girls who offered to give us a tour of the nightlife as well as a place to crash for the night, which turned into keys to an empty house for two days while we waited for the ferry to Mazatlan.
We’re doing some great riding, meeting people, playing it by ear, learning Spanish, and living without regrets.
I think Matt has finally stopped worrying about being kidnapped or robbed, since everyone we've met has been very helpful and cool. Other travelers have also reiterated my point, which is not to take heresay advice from people who haven't done anything like this or traveled to these places themselves.
<!--EndFragment-->
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im sure you know but malaria in spanish is called paludismo. symptoms are fever, headache, body pain, the chills and cold sweat and the symptoms appear and disappear over the course of a week or so. i thought i caught it last week cause i had the symptoms except the on and off symptoms but a doctor learned me otherwise. alright dudes take it easy.
abergoath 239 days ago