Day 80 to 81 – through Honduras to El Salvador

9 to 10 June    Kms travelled – 19,405

The easy exit from Nicaragua was tinged with a bit of sadness.  Despite the junior Laurel and Hardy style police I encountered, I was sorry to leave after such a brief encounter.  What a wonderful place, and what wonderful people.  Perhaps not necessarily the greatest riding I have enjoyed to date but the overall package left me wanting to return and learn more about this previously troubled country.  Perhaps I will.

Getting into Honduras was a different matter.  All my pre-flight checks had revealed that everyone gets ripped-off in Honduras, and perhaps the resignation that I would have to put my hand in my pocket left me a little unguarded.  Or perhaps it was just that I hit the border at 8:00, and was still a bit sleepy after the previous night´s storms.  As usual I will be updating the border process on the dedicated page on this site in due course, but I want to note one or two things here.

The first being that the ´guides´ at this border were the sneakiest to date.  The officials at many of the other crossings have only just tolerated these ´helpers´ but here I was to encounter a very different approach.  I have relied on my ability to converse in Spanish to fend off most of the touting so far, but this time as I was crossing the international bridge I was flagged down by a woman dressed in a black skirt, white top and sporting a police baseball cap.  So I stopped, and handed over my documents on request thinking that this was a checkpoint, such as I had encountered when moving between a number of other countries.  As soon as she had taken hold of my documents, she set off at a run towards Honduras, while tossing the baseball cap back to the laughing policemen on the bridge! 

I´d been had.  She was a guide, and already setting up the immigration aspects of the crossing by the time I had parked up and reached her.  I was interested in how this would play out, so went along with it.  And in a way I was glad I did.  It cost me around $25 in total more than if I had done it myself (15$ of which was retained by the border officials), but those sly old foxes had hidden the unsigned Aduana office in a shack on the other side of the road, through a truck park and behind a number of trees, so it was virtually impossible to find if you didn´t know where it was.  Well I am sure I would have got there eventually (the crossing was still very quiet at that time in the morning), but it did save time.  Having Mrs Fakecop do the running around and photocopies etc for me was also a blessing as I was still not feeling 100% - skinky cold was still with me.  Using one of these people was an interesting experience, but I vowed not to pay anyone else for the rest of the trip.

I was in two minds when I entered the country as to what route to take; which included how long I would stay.  So I set off with no fixed plan, and quickly came to the conclusion that Honduras would be a strong contender in the “Game Over Pothole World Cup” competition.  So I weaved further, dodging oncoming traffic that seemed to think a head on with a bike preferable to driving through potholes over their side or, heaven forbid, slowing down!  After a time I got fed up and decided to take a run to the coast to see what I could see.

On the way there I rode through a police checkpoint, and waved to the 8 or so police as they raised their hands.  Little did I know that this was a dead-end and, after a break, photos and a chat to some flirty young ladies at the coastal town, I was heading back.  And you guessed it, was met by a line of police standing across the road.

After apologising sincerely for running their roadblock earlier, and making a joke of the fact that I thought they were just waving like so many other police and military I had seen along the way, I fell into my now well practiced routine of explaining what I was doing, including the fundraising for Unicef, while ignoring their demands for papers etc.  They seemed ready for a laugh, so I did what I could to make light of the situation, making jokes when they half-heartedly suggested that I gave them my gloves and boots.  In the end they let me on my way with the promise that I would pop a wheelie as I went.  Which I didn´t... but who cares I was on my way again having dodged a bunch of officials who were clearly out for what they could get.  That decided it, I was not far from the border, it was still morning, so I headed to El Salvador.

While probably the sweatiest crossing to date (thanks to having to wait an hour at the Aduana offices some 3 kms from the border), I soon found myself inside yet another country without incident and still within my 2 hour maximum for a complete crossing. 

The road took me alongside a necklace of volcanoes through a series of towns and now familiar greenery, before stopping for the day at an “auto-motel” some 40kms shy of San Salvador.  I could see the clouds quickly gathering, and I managed to get me and the bike safe inside about 10 minutes before the sky split and emptied its contents.  Another spectacular storm, and a surprisingly spectacular seafood dinner ordered through room service.  Odd places these – but clean, safe and relatively cheap.  It did the job for another day.

Thought for the day

What a shame about Honduras.  My view of a country was tainted by a number of bouts of corruption (and near corruption) within a few hours.  I am sure there is more and better to be found, and as I was riding through El Salvador I was thinking about possibly heading north back into Honduras towards Copan Ruinas the next day, and heading into Guatemala from there.  But the idea of having to tackle another Honduran border left me cold.  Who knows what I would have to pay to get back in, and what hoops would I have to jump through?  I didn´t have the energy for more of that, so decided to spend more time in El Salvador instead. 

Day 78 to 79 – to Somotillo, Nicaragua

7 to 8 June    Kms travelled – 18,649

I had to drag myself out of bed and out of Alajuela, with nose still running and cold still dragging my energy levels down.  But I wanted to move on. 

It doesn´t take very long for the heat and humidity to cause some discomfort while wearing full motorcycle gear, even with the suit vents wide open.  But once you have passed the sensation of everything being damp with sweat, the moisture really helps you cool down as the breeze passes through your gear on the road.  I guess that is why we sweat in the first place, and why the locals here see sweating not as unsightly, but as a healthy sign.  One chap noted to me that I should start worrying if I stopped sweating – and I guess he is right on that point.  I did start feeling a bit dizzy after about 2 hours on the road, however, which was a clear sign that my drugs needed topping up and more fluids were in order.  That done, and feeling better, we were back at it.

The roads heading on up were pretty clear and it wasn´t long before I was closing on Liberia and, given that it was still in the morning, I decided to press on to the border – armed with a few bars of chocolate.

The total time I needed to get Idris and I out of Costa Rica and into Nicaragua was less than an hour and a half, and was a generally enjoyable experience.  People were helpful and friendly, and I wasn´t hassled much by border ´guides´.  Indeed, once they realised that I could hold my own in Spanish we had quite a nice chat about the trip and the respective countries.  Interestingly, while these guys and gals (though not so many gals) would happily charge a fee for their services, they do in fact let slip most of what they know about the border process for free while trying to tout for business.  While standing your ground and repeatedly noting that you don´t want any help, they are busily pointing out where you need to go for immigration and customs services, which is most useful if you are planning to do it all yourself!

Nicaragua was a real surprise.  Moving in from the border I was met with better quality roads (this wasn´t to last, but the first impressions were good), clean countryside and a sense of a place in good order.  It felt less developed – or perhaps it would be more accurate to say it simply felt poorer – but that economic disparity did not seem to cross over into lack of care or pride in what was theirs.  You saw more flesh driven vehicles, as opposed to oil driven ones, but that seemed to add to the charm of the place.  It also seemed to make the place more real.  The ride up along Lake Nicaragua with the impressive volcanoes settled within it was also a boost.  A great sight, and one that stayed with us most of the way into Granada.

By the time I hit town it was mid afternoon, the heat was at its height, and so was the toll demanded by my stinky cold.  I made a half hearted effort to find a budget place with secure parking – and then headed straight to a nice hotel I had seen advertised on the road in (Hotel Granada).  Perhaps my most expensive stay of the Central Americas, but a much needed place to crash and recover some energy.  They put together a lovely bit of locally caught fish for dinner, Guapote, which I would heartily recommend to any fish lover, and offered a level of service that would put a smile on any North American.  A short walk round the hot and humid town revealed a lovely mix of tourist services nestled between local homes, giving the impression of a town not wholly given over to the gringo dollar (but which gains sufficient from that trade to maintain the charming city centre and quite a number of local families).  I loved the place, and would have stayed so much longer if I had felt better and if the place was just a little cooler!

The slow start due to my general weariness the next morning (and the fantastic fruit based breakfast which was included in the price) meant that the bike was already toasty hot by the time we were ready to hit the road.  We headed for Masaya with the plan of taking the CA1 up into the hills and (possibly) cooler weather, but an error in navigation saw us rolling into busy Managua – where a couple of local policemen tried to sting me for a $100 fine.  Aside from the fact that they were both about 12 years old, and clearly inventing the so called crime of changing lanes (!), I think I would have played along a bit more just for the fun of it if they had just been a bit better at the extortion.  But the game was played so badly that I just wanted to get under way again – so my belligerence and pedantry came to the fore pointing out the error in their own arguments and, without overtly saying so, leaving no uncertainty to the fact that I was going to take the matter further.  They let me off with a warning, and seemed glad to see me go.  I was a little angry for a while – if you are going to take me for a fool then at least apply a little intelligence yourself – but that soon wore off and I began to see the funny side.  In fact looking back the whole episode was funny, particularly the look on their faces when I asked (in all seriousness) where I would need to go and present my case and that I should take photographs of the scene.  One thing I did not do was ask how much was the fine or whether it was payable on the spot (I sensed at the outside that is exactly what they were looking for) - they offered this information after a time, but in a most uncomfortable way!  Oh, and another thing, the driving licence they had hold of was a colour photocopy laminated to look like an official document.  Worst case scenario is that I would have taken the fine (but not paid it) and left them with a worthless piece of paper.

Heading out of town, now chuckling, I took another wrong turn and ended up on a road going in the right direction, but which gradually turned into dirt.  It was a nice ride however, and enabled me to see much more of this fantastic countryside.  But before I knew it I was back on the black stuff and rolling past Chinandega and heading towards the border.  There was still plenty of time before the clouds that were starting to build above would empty their load, so we ran right up to the border town of Somotillo and settled into a very friendly hotel outside of the urban area.  

Then the heavens opened, but only after the most spectacular display of wind, thunder and lightning.  You can really enjoy a good thunderstorm when you are secure in the feeling that you are in a safe place.  I loved this one, and was joined by dogs, cats, lizards, the biggest toad I have ever seen and parrots as we all sheltered under the large dining canopy in the front of the hotel.  Fantastic! 

Thought for the day

Costa Rica was full of great friendly people, but I struggle to offer more detailed comment as I really didn´t give it much of a chance.  A couple of days seen through a snotty visor is hardly the best way to gain an insight into a country´s culture.  But not being one short of opinions, I did form some and should record those here.  I felt that the place had lost its way a little.  

On first impressions it was difficult to see what Costa Rican culture might be, as it had been veiled with one imported from the US.  Like most of Central America it has some impressive countryside, but you could almost have been in parts of Florida at times.  I´m not sure that I was expecting that from a Central American country, and the cultural change was much more noticeable as you moved into Nicaragua where that northern influence was much less marked and the local colour more inviting.  

Day 77 – to Alajuela, Costa Rica

6 June    Kms travelled – 17,759

I was grateful for the restful stop at the Purple House Hostel in David, and the time left alone there to gather myself before heading on.  But the border with Costa Rica at Paso Canoas beckoned, and was only 40 minutes up the road. 

As with other crossings I will be updating the Borders page of this website with detailed information in due course, but needless to say that this crossing was also undertaken with relative ease.  I´ve read quite a bit about crossing Central American borders, and the various experiences one could expect, but to date they have not materialised into anything that has caused difficulty.  They do take a little longer than some in the south, but so far not a single border has held me up more than 2 hours, and usually then due to my own hanging around and soaking up life. 

Through the border I was enjoying the ride.  

Reports on road quality in Costa Rica didn´t get my hopes up in that regard, but what I encountered was better than anticipated – though there were still quite a few potholes and landslides to negotiate.  That said, I also saw a number of road crews out working to repair the damage.  Up over the mountains was cool in a number of senses – both due to the vistas and the temperature, as the misty mountains took on a romantic veil.  A good ride, and a much needed one.

As we headed into San Jose, however, the weather closed in.  This was after all the rainy season, and the rains in this part of the world seem to hold off until the mid afternoon.  But then they hit with a vengeance.  My plan had been to find a place to stay before the clouds opened, but my timing this day was off.  Running out of the city I hit (and it almost felt like that) the tropical downfall – which stayed with me until I rolled into Alajuela and found my hotel for the night – and then it stopped!  Great, thanks for that!  It did freshen up both myself and the ride however, so that was something.  Surprising how much water can fall in such a short space of time – with the roads quickly turning into small rivers.  A bit like my nose really – as I had picked up a stinky cold in the north of Panama, and it was continuing to cause discomfort as I headed on up.  Yuck!

Thought for the day

The main theme running through my mind this day was riding my bike.  Weather permitting I just wanted to ride – and that was the plan.  Despite the heavy cold and the afternoon rain, Idris was putting a smile back on face.

Day 76 – to David, Panama

5 June    Kms travelled – 17,454

I got up and rode some 200 kms plus.  Both my mind and sight were out of focus.  This time of the year is always difficult for me.  Too much was running through my head, I was reliving the past.  Tears in my eyes, I was not in the right state of mind to be riding a bike.  But ride I did, and it was hard and fast riding at that.  Too fast, and it took the second emergency stop of the morning for that to hit home.  For the second time I had almost ridden into the back of the vehicle in front.  I needed to stop.  I needed to get off the road.  I needed time to gather my thoughts.  I needed time to grieve. 

Five years ago to the day our twin sons Patrick and David were born.  It was also the day that they died.  Much could be written about that day... but not here.  Those events have, however, impacted on this venture... perhaps they are even the principle driving force behind making the trip.  I billed Pat Around the Americas as “... a journey in search of direction...”  In a physical sense the direction has been pretty much to head north!  Direction in terms of my life plans and emotions is a much more complex matter.  But in keeping with my promise to remain true to the journey in these utterings, more for myself than anything, I will record my thoughts here.  My apologies if you were hoping for a ride report today – normal service will resume shortly.

Thought(s) for the day

I have been very lucky in a number of senses in my life, most notably in terms of family and friends, but also on the work front.  On the death of the boys I threw myself into the job.  It provided a valued anchor and was sufficiently challenging and stimulating to keep my mind occupied for much of the time.  I have also been lucky in having an employer that (collectively) has extended a high degree of understanding, support and flexibility in working practice, which I am convinced has helped me considerably over these intervening years.

I have been taking the time out the trip has afforded to reflect on these issues for a while now, and I can´t say that looking back I handled the loss well.  Who does?  While the job provided an anchor and a degree of escape, it is my wife who is the sea in which I live (if you can permit the uncomfortable stretched metaphor).  It is she who supports me and gives me direction.  I am now less certain that I have done as much for her.  On this I continue to reflect.

From the outset I failed to recognise and accept my pain.  I wanted to put the matter behind me and get on with things as if death had not occurred.  Fool!  Only since I recognised and accepted my own suffering, was I able to start the process of coping with it.  I am not sure we ever came close, but I can well understand why some long standing relationships fall apart after such as blow.

I have come to realise that, for me, the phrase “time is the greatest healer” is utter tosh!  Time does not heal these wounds; I don´t believe it ever will.  For me the pain is as real this day as it was five years ago.  It is both a physical and emotional pain, fuelled by the fact that I have little or no happy memories of my sons to cling to.  This is a thought that comes to me often.  I saw them, after they died, but I was never able to hold them... nor was my wife.  On this I continue to reflect.

Self evaluation techniques have thrown up some interesting points.  I have, for example, been so reliant on my “anchor” that I have routinely placed business priorities ahead of needs at home.  Even when the options have been mine to determine.  The work – life balance is often a tricky one the judge, but it is curious that I have not recognised the demands of both with more equal measure.  On this I continue to reflect.

On a practical level I had for some time been investing funds to support the provision of useful things in the life of a future child (college, university, car, motorbike – that sort of thing).  In recent years the presence of this slowly growing financial resource became more of a burden; a cash-based reminder of the loss we suffered.  It sounds a bit silly, but I wanted rid of it.  And in such a way as to provide me with something meaningful in terms of a life experience and memories to cling to.  Hence my “...journey in search of direction...”  Being on the journey itself has, however, thrown up surprising realisations as I spend day after day, week after week with my own thoughts, stimulated as they are by the people I meet and the sights I see.  This trip is an incredibly selfish indulgence, and yet another example of how I put my own issues ahead of what is really important in my life.  On this I continue to reflect.

I am around the half way point in the trip, and the thoughts that have come to mind to date are, I feel, the right ones.  I now have the rest of the trip to help figure out what I am going to do about them.  Losing Patrick and David changed me.  The pain of that loss will continue to be part of me.  How I respond to that in moving forward with my life together with my wife has yet to be written. 

Day 73 to 75 – to Santiago, Panama

2 to 4 June    Kms travelled – 17,071

I landed in Panama city with a smile, and was met by the balmy weather reminiscent of times in Barbados – and the hostel´s driver who whisked me direct to the chosen place of stay.  At first glance the city seemed modern and dynamic, and the hostel was a cool place to chill (if that is possible in the heat!).  When I left Bogotá I was wearing my fleece, as it was a bit chilly in the morning.  Here shorts, t-shirts and flip-flops are very much the order of the day.   Oh, and anti-mozzie spray (I left mine on the bike and picked up over 20 bites in the first 24 hours).

By the time the afternoon was well settled in I decided to go for a walk round the old town – the Casco Antiguo – and it was then that my spirits started to wane.  There are some really nice buildings which have been renovated, but as all the guide books say, it is still a work in progress – and there is a lot of work in progress.  So much so that it felt like wandering around a building site – but one with some seedy looking builders hanging around not doing any work in some of the more run down streets.  I´m sure it will be great when completed, but right now it didn´t do anything for me. 

In short, I don´t know if it was the humid heat, the feel of the place, or the time of the year, but I am not sure I liked Panama City.  While I never felt threatened during the two days there, I never quite felt safe either.  In between the buildings that make up the impressive skyline, there is much work needed on the ground.  Not least as there also is quite a noticeable gap between the have and have not’s – they seem to rub along side by side – but I sensed an uneasiness.  Or perhaps that was me – I wanted to get on.  I didn´t want to be sat around chatting to folks in the hostel, good company as they were, I wanted to be on the road.  I had landed in Central America with a higher degree of seriousness about the trip and riding the bike.  I´m not altogether sure why, perhaps it was a reflection of my darkening mood.  But in the south I was more interested in seeing places and meeting people – and the bike was the ideal means to facilitate that.  Here I just wanted to ride. 

But that would have to wait until the Monday morning, when the nice chap at the hostel ran me out to the cargo terminal at the airport to collect Idris.  It took a couple of hours to sort out the necessary – but all pretty easy really – and the Girag staff in Panama looked after me well.  By lunchtime Idris and I were reunited and heading back towards the city, with the aim of running straight through in the direction of Costa Rica.  Given my mood I decided not to bother stopping at the Canal locks to take photos, nor did I stop at the bridge of the Americas (which was just a bridge really – nothing to write home about – so I won´t).  In fact, while I know the Canal is one of man´s largest engineering achievements – which killed a whole load of people in its construction – it just looked like a muddy river with artificial looking banks (well, they are man-made) and big boats in it.  I seem to have lost my ability to wonder at such marvels – clearly I was a bit grumpy this day.  

But that improved as I landed in Santiago on the Inter-Americana, my chosen overnight stop.  I checked into a cheap hotel and had just got down a great plate of Chinese food, when Romero (fellow ABR, GS800) popped round and took me out for a few beers.  We had been in touch on the ABR forum and hoped to meet up as I passed through his patch.  Swapping stories with a like minded biker rider was just the tonic I needed to snap me out of my mood.  He paid for the beers too!  Cheers mate, it was great to catch up with you, and best of luck with the business and your travel plans.

Thought for the day

The fourth of June is not much of a noted celebration day – but there is a reason to celebrate.  This day is the International Day of Innocent Children Victims of Aggression.  But why should we celebrate that, you might ask.  Well, it is important to recognise the incredible progress made by organisations such as Unicef in fighting for children´s rights around the world.  Huge progress has been made – and that should be celebrated.  That progress should also be held up as an example of what can be achieved in those areas where more work is urgently needed.  Unicef has noted that children continue to fear and experience violence in every country of the world – that includes all those I am passing through in my journey – and ours! 

Having an international day for this and that can easily pass us by if we are not directly involved in the work being done.  But don´t pass by this opportunity to help Unicef change more young lives for the better.  Believe me, it is hard work keeping up this website while on the road, but I´m doing it not only to keep a record of my journey, but also because I believe in this cause.  If you enjoy my ramblings, have a look here to see more about what Unicef are doing to help kids in over 190 countries – and then click here to help make a difference to those lives.  Thanks.

Day 71 to 72 – to Bototá, Colombia

31 May to 1 June    Kms travelled – 16,623

The short run out of Calí saw us soon heading north on the PanAm (25) through miles and miles of sugar cane fields.  You could smell the sweetness in the air.  And it wasn´t just in the air either.  Colombia may well have abandoned its railroads, but the trains have taken to the tarmac in a big way.  The three and four trailered articulated trucks – or road trains - which shuttle the raw cane to its processing plant would make an Auzzie proud.  While a three lane road out of Calí, it soon dropped down to two, then one, then back to two again... then one.  Make up your mind!

Not that it really mattered, as we were on the road to Bogotá having turned off on the 40.  Quickly rising through some of the greenest green rolling hills carpeted with sugar, then bananas and coffee.  They call Ireland the emerald isle, but Colombia is also famous for its emeralds.  I wonder if the colour of the landscape sinks into the ground and also tints the stones?  If Wiki have a description of green, it probably just says, see here!    Amazing!

But just as you are settling in to the very enjoyable rhythm of rolling from one side to the other while steadily climbing, the Cordillera Central arrives... and that just goes up!  For the lovers of hairpins and switchbacks, this is where you live!  Idris flew past struggling buses and trucks and, I believe that day, was the quickest thing on the mountain!  But not the only thing.  It is a fair old trek over this mountain range which rises over 3,200m, and lots of less well-to-do people seem to need to make the journey between the coast and the city (or at least the central valley in which it sits).  They do this by jumping a ride on the many slow moving trucks which wind their way over the high passes; without the drivers knowledge of course.  But this is Colombia, and it is hard to travel more than a few kilometres without encountering the friendly smiling faces of the local military or police.  I watched with interest at one rest stop as they pulled truck after truck over and made the road travellers get off, and searched their belongings.  Interesting.

More interesting was the wind at the top of the mountain.  I had thought we had left that behind in the south of South America, but no.  Here on the top of this beautiful mountain pass, filled on the sides by the most lush green vegetation, through a first gear hairpin bend I hit a wall of wind that almost stopped the bike dead in its tracks.  Taking the turn (you can´t really call it a bend) on the inside I was met by a huge chunk of slow moving metal coming down towards me, cutting the corner (and my riding line) so it could make it round.  We were forced to take the steepest line (must have been a 45 degree slope) to avoid the truck, and as we did so the wind hit.  I honestly thought we were going down, and if we had I am not sure the truck driver would have seen or would have been able to stop even if he had.  This was the closest we had come to serious injury – or death.  Though, as had happened in many other instances, just as I felt the loss of control, the loss of balance, the loss of hope, Idris was having none of it.  The last minute blip of the throttle and the red dragon roared, the back wheel spun, and we lurched round the turn into relative calm.  My heated grips were on due to the altitude making it a bit chilly, but I was sweating profusely. 

I stopped a little further on at a lay-by where a fellow (local) biker was also taking a break (a 250 Yamaha Fazer I think).  No words were exchanged initially, but the look on his face and the raised eyebrows as he nodded back down the road said it all.  But this guy (never got his name) really was a local, he lived in the mountains, and he was on his way home.  Follow me was the signal, and we set off at a good pace.  He knew when to break hard, when the turn was easy, when the surface was broken up, and when oncoming traffic cut around into our side.  Less than an hour later he was waving goodbye, as I continued into the central plains area, but what a great ride.  Perhaps we should pre-book local ride guides for the tricky bits... naa!  But I was glad of his help after that scare though.

The run into Bogotá from there was a bit hot, then a bit cool, as we crossed the (still green – I did mention this country was green didn´t I?) plains and into hill country again.  An hour of battling with Bototá traffic saw us arrive at the lovely Hotel Casa Sarita.  Well the hotel is very nice and everything, but I think it is family that run the place that make it lovely.  I did raise an eyebrow at the electrified fence, which was pointed out when I enquired about bike security.  Not problems then – we´ll sleep soundly here.

The next day was pretty much all about getting my bike on the plane to Panama.  For those readers not already in the know, there is no land route between Colombia and Panama.  There is land of course, it’s called the Darien Gap, but there is no road through it and the border is officially closed.  So that means the options are sea or air.  The thought of sticking Idris on a sailboat for 5 days (and me) didn´t appeal, and as the much discussed new ferry service between Cartagena and Colon has had its start date put back continually (they are now talking about July), that meant I had to fly.  And so did the bike.

Andrea at Girag

Girag Cargo company have long been used by adventure bike riders to bridge this gap, and came well recommended, so I looked no further.  At 8:00 I was pulling into the Cargo Terminal at Bogotá airport, at 13:20 I was strolling to the taxi rank having sorted all the admin, payments and official requirements.  Idris would be on the 4:00 am flight the next day to Panama City.  I would be on the 12:20.  I´ll write up the full process on the Borders page of this website in due course, but even though it was quite a long morning, the process is relatively painless and the lovely ladies at Girag walk you through the various stages.  I did have a little chuckle when the drug squad were called in to inspect the bike, and wanted me to ride it up a couple of steps into a very large x-ray machine.  Well, OK, but they soon saw the problem when I explained that after bumping up the steps I would have to stop the bike hard to prevent flying through the machine – but I would have to make that stop on a set of rollers!  They agreed that it was probably best that Idris didn´t take this opportunity to start X-ray surfing!  We stripped the bike down for a manual search instead.  All very nice people just doing a tricky job in a tricky situation, and who were appreciative of the wet-wipes I supplied for their hands after they had finished rummaging through Idris´ bits (I´ve cleaned it since!).

A quiet night in Botogá and the plane the next day. 

Thought for the day

Goodbye South Americia – you´ve been great.  The people, the places, the experiences, the food – everything really.  I´m not sure when I´ll be back, but I would really like to make the effort to return.  The continent has so much.  And, comparatively, so do we.  If you liked the blog, why not think about making a donation to help out those kids in the countries around the world who really need it.  I´ve made a concious decision not to photograph the kids I see on this journey, but their images are still carried with me.  Even when economies start to grow, it is often the most vunerable who are left behind.  With operational feild programmes in more than 150 countries, Unicef´s global reach is far beyond that of any other children´s charity.  They are active in children´s health, nutrition, education and child protection.  They really can make a difference - but only with your help.  Click here:  Donate to UNICEF now  and give what you can.  Thanks.

Day 68 to 70 – to Calí, Colombia

28 to 30 May    Kms travelled – 16,516

An uneventful departure from Pasto, though a place I was not sad to see behind me.  Given that the roads to get there were so great, the town itself was a bit of a let-down.  While out for a walk the evening before I was approached by a few unfortunate souls separately, who while walking the ground (though somewhat unsteadily) were clearly travelling at a much greater altitude in their minds.  The visible police presence during the evening only added to a seedy sense to the place.  Ah well – back on the road.

And what a road to Calí.  The surface was worse than the one travelled the day before, but the extra challenge just added to the day´s ride.  It also necessitated a few more rest stops than I had planned; as I had thought to try for a long ride to see how my back would hold up.  

Nevertheless all was well, and the road took us through some spectacular scenery, with some really deep gorges just appearing in the landscape as if someone had just gouged them out.

I should have stopped at Popayan, but I didn´t.  There were places to see of interest there, and it would have been good to do that.  But I was concerned about the distance to Calí – unnecessarily as it happens, as the road straightened and quickened after that, so I was entering the city in good time before I realised.  Plotting the GPS coordinates for the Casa Blanca Hostel, I wound through the busy city traffic to be met by the smiling Leidy (pronounced Lady), who did the necessary to see me settled in and Idris parked safe and sound. 

I had a couple of days in Calí to catch up with writing, sorting the transport of the bike to Panama, researching flights, and doing a few things on the work front.  Shame that latter bit crept into the journey, but necessary to do and in my own best interests.  

Jude, Albert and Gabriella

I also had the opportunity to catch up with a former colleague, who moved back to Colombia with her family the year before.  Jude and her husband Albert took time out to feed me and show me around parts of the city; including some all important coffee and rum tasting!  Can´t wait to get to Guatemala and pick up a bottle of that stuff myself!  Dinner was at the curiously named Chipichape, which was a railway station, but now a shopping centre.  It seems that while Ecuador is busy investing in and refurbishing theirs, Colombia no longer has a rail network due to the level of crime that surrounded it during its operating days!  We also spent some time in San Antonio, an old colonial district of the city which boasts some spectacular views (plus sights of the Christ the King statue and another hill with three crosses overlooking the city) and the church where they got married... nice!  I´ve noted it before, but it continues to strike me how well the early religious types chose their spots to build churches, convents, monasteries etc.  We then called round their house where I was able to say hello to the lovely Gabriella – soon to be the eldest child in the family!  Good luck with all that folks – and thanks again for the hospitality. 

Thought for the day

The biggest thought I had been having during this period was one which I also talked through with other bike travellers staying at the Casa Blanca – and that was whether to press on into Central and North America or whether to simply spend the rest of my time exploring South America in more detail.  I was seriously considering the latter, as I think you have to pay heed to such things while on the road.  Plans change, new experiences arise.  And there is so much more to see and do in the south.  But if I didn´t do Central America now, would I ever have the chance again?  Probably not, so it was that thought that finally pushed me into making reservations to cross the Darien.  

But first I had more riding to do in Colombia!

Day 66 to 67 – to Pasto, Colombia

26 to 27 May    Kms travelled – 16,077

Heading off some 100kms south of Quito, Ecuador´s capital, this day was all about making some progress in the journey.  And progress was easily made in those areas where the road was running with two or three lanes, but slower when it dropped back into one lane traffic – as it seemed to do on a regular basis.  Almost like the contractors rebuilding the Pan American Highway were just interested in working on the easy bits, but where the road required some more detailed civil engineering work, they left those bits for later, and sought out another easy bit further on.  I guess it will all get done eventually.

While the road was changing, the landscape was still the same wonderful rolling valleys that Ecuador offered further south.  Perhaps not quite so green as we approached, pulled alongside, then passed the capital.  I have been trying to avoid big cities in this trip, but sometimes that has not been possible.  In this instance, even though the road turned into a multi-lane rollercoaster as we raced up and down steep hills through the manic city traffic, we were able to pass by without stopping. 

In running through Ecuador we have been faced with a number of toll booths, which for bikes costed only 20 cents each time.  It was quite a fiddle, however, to stop and pay such a minor amount, as I had to take off a glove, give out the cash, hand it over (and they insisted you take the receipt), glove back on etc.  The total paid was less than 2$ - but I would have paid double that for a one off payment that avoided all the faff.  Perhaps I´m getting old!

As we headed further into the north of the country, we also noted an increase in the number of military and police checkpoints.  At a number we were simply waved through, but we did have to stop at a few.  All the staff encountered were courteous and professional, and I guess only doing a difficult job (most likely for little pay) as the drug trade still holds a tight grip in this area of the world.  I was only concerned at one checkpoint; which came after a toll booth just south of Ibarra.  Idris and I were immediately surrounded by 5 uniformed and plain-clothed officers, each of whom had a different question for me.  Where was I going, where were my papers, what was I carrying etc.  I decided to answer the lady asking about my trip, and after spinning the tale of the journey to date – and my fundraising for Unicef – the others seemed to lose interest in what they had asked, and started questioning me about the bike instead.  The usual ones; how much it cost, how fast was it, how did the GPS work (most of the police seemed very interested in this bit of kit – as if they had heard of it, but never seen one in operation).  Following which we were waved on with big smiles, and into Ibarra for an overnight stop.

Ecuador has it all - Volcanos, lakes etc

I liked Ibarra, which was far enough away from the border with Colombia not to have that tainted border-town feel.  It was a relaxed mid-sized town, with sufficient nightlife and historic buildings to keep both the locals and travellers occupied for a time.  It was a shame that the next morning I had to hang around for an hour and a half before we could leave, thanks to some very poor parking by fellow guests!  I was heading for the border, and wanted to get there as soon as possible. 

As a result the day was already warming when I headed off, on a wonderful ride through, up, down, and around green green valleys.  I had by now come to expect the breezy bits as we tipped over from one hillside into the next lush landscape.  The border came all too soon – but was passed without issue in typical South American fashion.  On exiting Ecuador I bumped into a fellow ABR, Guy from London on his GS650, and we exchanged stories as papers were completed.  Further details of the crossing at Ipiales can be found on the Borders page of this website.

Two hours later (which in part was due to me hanging around and having a bite to eat etc), we were on our way again – but now in Colombia!  One of the first things you notice is the visible military and police presence on the road.  It had been increasing as we headed north through Ecuador, but had now stepped up a gear.  However, they clearly were not looking for us, as we made progress with waves and smiles from both sides of the road.  In fact it was not long at all before they merged into the landscape.  It may have been their camo-gear, but I think it was more to do with what the Colombian roads had to offer, which demanded full ABR attention.

Slartibartfast (ref: Hitchhikers Guide to the Galaxy) may have won an award for designing the Fiords, but only the Almighty himself could have shaped such countryside – and He must be an Adventure Bike Rider!  The run from Ipiales into Pasto was out of this world.  I´ve had a look back at my notes in my day book, and that is exactly what is says... “out of this world”.  Clearly I was struggling as much then to find the suitable words to describe the riding as I am now.  Hopefully I´ll do better by the time I put finger to keyboard for the next instalment, but just to say... the rumours are true... Colombia really is biker heaven! 

Thought for the day

I´m not sure whether this qualifies as a thought for the day, but I have been thinking about it since someone asked.  And that is what criteria have I applied to the listing of websites and accommodation that I have on the right hand side of this website?

The websites are simply those which I found interesting and useful in preparing for the trip, others that I felt might also be of interest to readers of my story, and some others of fellow travellers I have met along the way.  If you can think of any others that might fit into those categories, feel free to let me know.   

The accommodation is more difficult to explain, and is more about the feeling or welcome given when I stayed there.  All the places listed have safe bike parking – that is a given (some even with electrified fences!).  But they range considerably in price and amenities, from very basic through to a nice bit of luxury which Mrs Pat would approve of!  I am not one to regularly recommend places as each person has their own expectations regarding accommodation, but in terms of atmosphere for this bike traveller, these went the extra mile.