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The end of my Latin American motorcycle adventure (and perhaps the beginning of another)

Wednesday, May 5th, 2010

So this is it. My last post. I’ve been back in England for a month now and life is… well life is normal I guess. One thing I can say though, is that riding across the high-desert in Peru feels like a lifetime away when you’re caught trying to steal someone else’s pushchair outside your nephew’s nursery. William, the little rascal, assured me that the pushchair was his but promptly bailed on me when the real owners walked over and politely informed me that I was making a mess of their pushchair. The situation was made slightly more embarrassing in that not only was I taking the wrong buggy but I couldn’t even assemble the damn thing. In the end the ever so helpful (and slightly smug) victims of my attempted theft had to help me erect my sister’s pushchair; something that proper parents appear to accomplish with only a flick of the wrist. Rather than stand by his uncle as events unfolded, my ‘sweet little’ nephew pulled the old crying trick and took shelter in the bosom of a nursery teacher. Whilst I’m hurt by his treachery I’ll let him off this once as he is only two and a half. In fact, the more I think about it the more I admire his quick thinking and resourcefulness. Smart kid.

The long awaited reunion with my motorbike was emotional but not in the conventional sense. No misty-eyed embrace between man and machine. More along the lines of: “Surely you can’t charge that much to dispose of the crate? You thieving b@stards! Oh, if you put it like that I guess I’ll have to. Here you go.” Followed by installing the battery the wrong way round, thus unknowingly blowing the master fuse, and then worrying that none of the electrics worked. It took a while to realise that the battery could have the + and – terminals switched and after doing this it took another 10 minutes or so of frantic key twisting and calling the RAC breakdown recovery service before I thought to check the fuses! Replacing the master fuse brought back the electrics. Unfortunately this didn’t appear to be enough to make up for over 7 weeks of neglect and the infernal machine refused to start. I think the engine finally caught on about the 20th push start so I cancelled the RAC call-out. And then as one final test I had to pump up both tyres from 4psi to 30psi with my mini-now-broken-foot-pump. Why hadn’t I just ridden the bloody thing into the sea in Brasil and left it at that! Thankfully my sister was there to take the luggage home and of course my nephew provided moral support with the occasional helpful statement like: “Ollie. What that?”; “Ollie motorbike broken” and “Mummy, I need wee, wee.”

Before:Crated motorbike delivered from Brasil to England

After:

Finally unpacked and ready to ride off

With both bike and rider finally back on British soil I feel that my Latin American motorcycle adventure has come to an end and although the bike needs a lot of love and my right ankle still occasionally aches and bruises I reckon we did ok. It’s good to be back and I’m actually looking forward to knuckling down to a bit of normal life for a while. I’ve even started to make a living…

However, whilst the wanderlust is quelled it is by no means extinguished. In a previous post I mentioned a couple of ideas for future travels and I’m pleased to say that my dad is up for one of them so we’re looking into it. If we go ahead with the idea I’ll produce and online resource for others that wish to do the same (as I did with www.greasysprocket.co.uk) and will also keep those that are interested up to date with a blog. I’ll post links to the online resource and blog here. The planning and preparation involved will be considerably more than that needed for riding a motorbike across a couple of continents so I can’t guarantee that we’ll make it. I am fairly sure though that father and son travelling over strange lands in a confined space will be anything but uneventful. If you thought I was absent minded at times you should meet my dad!

Here’s the PLAN.

If I can learn how to do this…

PPL flight traning manuals

… and we can take this…

Piper Archer 4 areoplane

…we’re going to try and fly here.

Map of Africa

Got to go now as I have quite a bit of work to do. Thanks for reading and good luck in any future adventures of your own.

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That’s (almost) all folks!

Saturday, April 3rd, 2010

After 345 days away I’m back on British soil, and it all feels rather strange. I’m hoping this will be my penultimate post. The final post explaining how uneventful collecting my motorbike from Tilbury docks was, in about 2 weeks time.

I didn’t find what I was looking for. Although if I’m honest, I probably couldn’t tell you exactly what “it” is. I did have a good time looking for it though and I definitely learnt quite a bit about myself in the process. I met some wonderful people that I hope I’ll remain in contact with. It wasn’t all rosy though and I also met people I’d happily never see again. Fortunately may more of the former than the later. Over the 27,500 miles I got through 5 rear tyres, 3 front tyres, 4 oil filters, 10 litres of oil, 1 chain and sprockets, loads of chain lube, 1 helmet, about 2,500 litres of petrol and about £15,000 (total for everything consumed. i.e. I don’t have it now – plane tickets, bike transport, insurance, living/spending money, etc.)

I’ve been asked quite a few times this year: “So what’s next? You going to ride round the world?” The thing is; I like riding my motorbike but I’m not fanatical about it. I only learnt to ride a bike for this trip because I thought it would be more interesting than doing it on a bus. And it was. However, if there is a next adventure I think it will be slightly different. The idea of flying a light aircraft around Africa or sailing a boat to a far off land are top of the list at the moment. Whether they remain just ideas is another matter though, as I would imagine the time and financial commitment involved in either is considerably more than learning to ride a motorbike. I guess we’ll see what happens.

I did have one idea in Mexico though; and have been developing it ever since. It would cost nothing (financially) and would only take a month to complete. However, for me, it makes riding a motorbike through Latin America look like a walk in the park. If I ever have the guts to do it and come out the other side I’ll let you know what it was and how it went (on this blog). Chances are I’ll chicken out though, so don’t hold your breath. (And no mum; it’s not settling down and having kids!)

Only one thing left to do now. Walk to the pub on this cold but fresh and sunny English afternoon…

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Delivering my motorbike to Santos port (Santos – 25,700 miles)

Wednesday, March 10th, 2010

The day finally arrived when I had to put my motorbike in a crate and leave it in a warehouse whilst Brazilian customs decide its fate. The sales manager (Victor) of my Brazilian shipping agents came with me to make sure I found the location and everything ran smoothly. This meant an early start because I had to ride to his office in the centre of Sao Paulo (10 miles) by 8.ooam so I could follow him in his car to the crating company in Santos (50 miles away) by 9.30am. Fortunately Sao Paulo’s motorcyclists ride like manics* so cars generally try to give them a wide berth. Sometimes enough for me to squeeze my bike with hard luggage through. This meant I only had to leave at 6.30am to cover the 10 miles to the office in 1.5 hours! Sao Paulo traffic is bad. We made it though and I’m pleased to say that no one lost a wing mirror or had their car scratched.

I removed the battery, windscreen and wing mirrors and then left them to it. Well, left them to it if you call “leaving them to it” hovering around, taking photos and intervening if I thought they were doing something that might harm the bike… Generally being a nuisance. Having said that. If I hadn’t intervened a couple of times they would have put my bike on its centre-stand. They also would have strapped the bike down (not using the centre-stand) to the full depression of the suspension. Again a potentially bad thing for a motorbike in transit. For those that are interested Horizons Unlimited give good crating instructions.

Photos below.

Measuring up.
measuring up to crate

Strapped down and ready for the rest of the crate. motorbike is all stapped down ready for covering

Many men with hammers.

many men and hammers crating my motorbike

Taking it out to the lorry for transportation to the warehouse.

taking the motorbike out to the loory for transport to the warehouse santos

On the lorry for the 5 mile journey to the warehouse. The most expensive 5 miles this motorbike has ever travelled (see costs below).

now the motorbike will be transported by lorry to the warehouse in Santos

Now for the costs…

  • Authenticating paperwork for Brazilian customs = R$150 / GBP56 / USD85 (This has increased form my previous post because customs have since asked for more documents. Looks like the fun and games have already begun.)
  • Crating the bike (see above) = R$1200 / GBP450 / USD680
  • Moving the crated motorbike by lorry from the crating company to the warehouse = R$430 / GBP160 / USD245 (yes, that’s GBP33 per mile!)
  • Brazilian Customs clearance and moving it from the warehouse onto the ship = R$1190 / GBP450 / USD675
  • Sailing it from Santos to Tilbury = R$219 / GBP82 / USD124
  • UK Customs clearance and getting it off the ship and onto the road at Tilbury = R$930 / GBP350 / USD527 (although not confirmed yet)

Giving a nice and juicy total of around R$4120 / GBP1550 / USD2335

Of course, if you wanted to crate and deliver the motorbike to the warehouse yourself (as many people do) you could reduce this by about 40%.

I can supply a more detailed breakdown of the costs for anyone that needs them and I’ll also update the horizons unlimited shipping database when I actually finish the process. (ie. I have ridden my motorbike out of Tilbury docks.)

I can’t tell you how effective they have been in exporting my motorbike from Brazil yet, because I won’t know until 25th March, but I can tell you that my shipping agents in Brazil have provided great customer service. When needed, they have come in person to translate and ensure the various processes are completed correctly (e.g. paperwork authentication and motorbike crating). They have also explained as much as they can about the intricacies of the export process and why it’s such a nightmare to import/export to/from this country. Their contact details are below (along with the crating company I used).

Nothing to do but wait now. So the plan is this; horse racing in Sao Paulo this weekend, then off to the Amazon for 10 days – including a 5 day trek into the jungle, back for a wedding in Minas the following weekend, then proper site seeing in Sao Paulo before heading back to Blighty at the beginning of April. Starting to get a little anxious about that last bit…

-

* On average there are 25 motorcycle accidents and 1 motorcyclist death a day in Sao Paulo. The highest in Brazil.





Shipping Agent in Sao Paulo – Santos – Brazil.

Contact: Victor Hugo, Overseas Brasil (Transporte e Logistica Ltda.).

victor.mello<AT>overseasbrasil.com.br

+55 11 27293460

www.overseasbrasil.com.br

Shipping motorbike from Brazil. Shipping motorbike to Brazil. Brazil shipping agent. Freight forwarder Brazil. Shipping motorbike from Brasil. Shipping motorbike to Brasil. Brasil shipping agent. Freight forwarder Brasil.

Crating company in Santos – Brazil

Contact: Cesar Pacheco, Export Paletizacao.

export<AT>cmg.com.br

+55 13 32321231

www.export-paletizacao.com.br

Crating motorbike in Santos. Motorbike crate. Santos. Brazil. Brasil.

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An education in Brazilian bureaucracy

Thursday, March 4th, 2010

I’m English, I can’t sing and I’m no beauty. However, I reckon I’ve got more chance of winning Latin American Idol than getting my motorbike and possessions on a ship and out of Brazil in their entirety and on time.

I’ve heard that although trying to import anything into Brazil requires large amounts of patience and money, shipping items out of the country is supposed to be slightly easier and cheaper. Unfortunately I haven’t met anyone yet that has done it. In fact, Dave (a biker I met in Ecuador) rode to Rio de janeiro, made some inquiries and then promptly turned round to ride back to Buenos Aires to ship his motorbike from Argentina instead. However, I promised some friends in Sao Paulo that I would spend their holidays with them at the end of this month so I’m shipping from Santos, 60 miles from Sao Paulo, regardless.

As you can imagine, shipping is a fairly common topic among motorbike tourers. How and where did you import? With whom and where are you exporting? etc. Many months ago a German biker in Panama gave me contact details of a hostal in Chile (Martina - villakunterbuntvalpo<AT>yahoo.de) that help bikers export their prise possessions from South America. After trying to engage freight companies in Brazil myself (with mixed results) the hostel owners in Chile set me up with a UK shipping agent with sister company in Sao Paulo. The Sao Paulo shipping agent will look after the Brazilian paperwork, help me crate the bike and put it on a ship out of Brazil. The UK shipping agent will then do all the UK paperwork for when my bike arrives at Tilbury docks in London, where I will hopefully unpack it and ride off into the sunset (or traffic jam on the M25). You still with me?

The people I’m dealing with in Sao Paulo are lovely, although I’m a slighly tense that I’m their first motorbike customer. So now to the process of exporting my bike. I’m complicating things slightly by shipping personal possessions in the crate with the bike (in my hard luggage and duffel bag). Apparently this requires a whole new set of checks and paperwork!

So…

  1. I’ve had to itemise and price everything that’s going in the crate.
  2. I’ve had to sign over power of attorney to 6 document processors/lawyers enabling them to crate a legal entity under my name that will be used to export my bike. Apparently it’s like creating a company for me that will dissolve in 6 months.
  3. This legal document, my passport, the itemised list of possessions, the original temporary import documents and my signature then had to be photocopied and authenticated. This was done at a special office (common in Brazil) and cost me about 5o USD. And yes, each set of documents had to be done at a different counter in the office.
  4. I then had to buy a plane ticket to prove I’m leaving the country as well. All this is then sent to the customs clearance officer in Santos. The customs clearance officer then decides whether everything is in order and the bike can be processed to leave. This can take between 2 and 14 days. The worrying bit here is that if s/he decides things are not correct s/he can hold up my bike, causing me to either have to change or miss my flight or leave the country before it does.
  5. The bike is provisionally booked to sail on a ship on 25th March. Normally I would have to deliver the bike to the warehouse 10 days before then but because I’m sending personal items with it I have to deliver it 15 days before sailing, as they anticipate “hold-ups”! I’ve also been warned that an English motorbike may arouse interest in an otherwise boring day of a customs official so perhaps they’ll open it up anyway. My response to this was, “well why don’t they have a good look at it all before we crate it up.” Apparently that’s not how it works. Everything is crated. They then look at the bill of lading, decide what they want to look at and remove anything that they don’t like (or do like – depending on how you look at it).
  6. Now to the crating. I was going to do this myself. I’ve since decided that if I let a professional do it we’re less likely to get picked up on some technicality. The crate though is the most expensive single component of the costs. Unfortunately my shipping agent doesn’t crate motorbikes themselves so they’ve found me a man that can. This adds another level of complexity, as they need to sort out whether the bike is crated at the crating company and then transported to the warehouse or the crate is transported to the warehouse and the man crates it there (although this second option may be against the warehouse company policy). On the face of it this all seems trivial but the negotiations and costs involved are not. All of this is exasperated by the fact that although my Spanish may have been adequate for this, my Portuguese is not. However, (my English speaking) Brazilian shipping agents have promised to look after me and they are even having someone meet me at the crating company in Santos to make sure I don’t get ripped off.

I am not oblivious to the fact that sending my bike home is probably going to cost more than its worth but I’ve grown quite attached to it over the past year to it’s coming with me. Also, if it’s this tricky exporting a motorbike I can’t imagine the paperwork involved in legally selling it here. The bike is linked to my passport so although temping, I’m not keen on trying to sell it illegally either.

Anyway, I’m off to Rio for a few days until I have to return to Sao Paulo to deliver the bike to Santos.

Useful Links

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Sometimes my stupidity astounds me (A beach just past Tocopilla – 19,240 miles)

Saturday, January 30th, 2010

This morning I ripped half the fingernail of my right index finger back on itself and then placed a 220kg motorbike (minus the rear wheel) on the middle toe of my right foot. All before 8am. Pretty impressive I’d say.

However, I’ll start with the positive. Firstly, I’m finally off the Altiplano and down to the Chilean coast. So thankfully, no more cold and wet days for a while. Secondly, Maude (from Huanchaco) organised for me to stay with a friend of hers in Iquique. Roberto is an incredibly kind and generous guy so staying with him has been a pleasure. He’s also founded an interesting project to try and displace some of the sensationalist and negative press that is so prevalent here. Have a look at positivepress.tv and prensapositiva.tv.

Now for an explanation of my failings as a motorbike tourer. For the last 1,000 miles or so I’ve been riding on a bald rear tyre. I couldn’t replace it sooner because I hadn’t found anywhere in Bolivia that sold my size of tyre. As Iquique is a free port it was my best bet, outside Santiago, for finding a replacement. After a whole day of searching I finally found a single 120/90 – 17″ rear tyre that I could use. I had hoped to find the tyre in the morning and change it so I would be ready to head south early on Saturday morning, as I was supposed to be arriving at the parents of a friend of mine (800 miles away) on Sunday. No matter. I could just get up early on Saturday, change the tyre and be on my way south soon after breakfast.

I should have guessed that things were not going to go exactly to plan when I went to move the bike on Saturday morning and found the rear was flat. On further inspection (later on) I found three slow punctures that were probably a result of riding on such a thin/bald outer tyre. However, I’m relieved that at least they waited until Iquique to present themselves as repairing them on the mountain pass from Bolivia to Chile would have been miserable.

Now changing motorbike tyres manually can be rather tricky and there seem to be two schools of thought on the subject. 1) You should practice changing tyres yourself as much as possible so if you do get a puncture in the middle of nowhere you can fix it. Or 2) It’s too much hassle. Get a tyre repair shop to change the tyre and just hope you never get a puncture or if you do then you can transport the bike easily to the repair shop. Unfortunately the mechanic that taught me motorbike maintenance had me firmly in camp 1 (although after today I must admit I’m moving towards camp 2).

Roberto’s parents run a hotel and my motorbike was parked in their hotel garage. On Saturday morning I had to clean the chain and rear of the bike before changing the tyre so thought it best to move it from the garage to the street to avoid creating a mess in their garage. After wheeling the bike out I put it on the centre stand in the only available street space near the entrance, behind a self-standing sign for the hotel. So far so good. The rear axle was sticking in the rear swing-arm so I used the handle of a multi-screw driver to try and push the axle out of the hole. Now imagine holding the handle of the screw driver in the palm of your hand and pointing your index finger along its length towards the axle in the hole. Then imagine pushing that screw driver as hard as you can so it will push the axle away from you in the direction your index finger is pointing. Now imagine the axle suddenly giving and sliding out of the hole, to be replaced by the length of the screw driver and your index finger, except that the nail of your index finger catches on the edge of the hole and whilst your finger goes inside your nail refuses to and bends back on itself. It took a couple of seconds of staring at my bleeding nail for me to realise what I’d done before being consumed by pain and then rage at my own stupidity. Still, there was nothing that could be done so I cleaned it as best I could, taped it back down, moved all the loose parts from the bike into the garage and then went to buy some breakfast in order to regain some composure before starting the nasty job of changing the tyre (now made all the more difficult by the inability to use the most important finger of my right hand)!

On returning from buying breakfast I was greeted at the garage entrance by the hotel receptionist and a guest. Turns out the space I’d parked my bike was clear for a reason, as was the location of the self-standing sign. It was the entrance and exit to the hotel garage. The guest needed to get his car out, past a motorbike on it’s centre stand with no rear wheel. Now what I should have done was made him wait whilst I put the wheel back on and moved the bike. However, he seemed in a hurry and I couldn’t face touching the rear axle again so we decided to try and lift the rear of the bike and move it up the kerb and out of the way. Unfortunately, as soon as we lifted the rear the centre stand flipped up and we both immediately realised the bike was far too heavy to lift with one arm and steer with the other. We couldn’t even lift it high enough for me to flip the centre stand back down. So whilst the receptionist went to get Roberto to help we had no other option than to lower the rear to the ground, or more precisely onto the middle toe of my right foot (I was wearing flip-flops). I uttered an expletive, up went the bike, out came the foot and down went the bike. When I looked down to inspect my foot I saw that that bike was actually resting on the chain guard, which was now bent out of shape. Looking back on it, I feel slightly sorry for the poor guest. All he wanted to do was take his car out of the hotel garage and now he had to hold a motorbike upright whilst this mad Englishman opposite him turned the air blue with every expletive he knew (and a couple he made up on the spot). I’d calmed down by the time Roberto arrived and the three of us managed to move the bike out of the way and onto it’s centre stand.

So now I had a bleeding fingernail, a bleeding toe, my chain guard was busted and I still hadn’t started to change the rear tyre. I should have given up then and just waited for the tyre repair shop to open at 11am. But no, I’m a stubborn bastard  and I thought I could still get everything changed and fixed and be off before then. The lack of right index finger slowed things up somewhat but after much pushing, pulling, levering and sweating I managed to change the tyre and inner tube and pump it up; only to discover I’d pinch-punctured the new inner tube during the change. I couldn’t use the other tube because it had the three slow punctures from riding on a bald rear tyre. BUGGER! At this point I admitted defeat and waited for the tyre repair shop… Of course, they used a machine to remove the tyre in seconds. They fixed the puncture and had the tyre back on within 20 minutes. In fact the more I think about it, I’m definitely moving to camp 2 with regard to tyre changes. Forget all this “Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance” cr4p.

I did manage to get away and I’m writing this whilst camping on a beach, somewhere off Route 5, on the way to La Serena. My finger and toe still hurt like hell but I reckon they’ll survive. My pride, I’m not so sure about.



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How do you dress for sand and snow? (Chalhuanca – 17,290 miles)

Wednesday, January 13th, 2010

It’s great to be back on the road. So great in fact, that before I knew it I’d covered the 350 miles to Lima in less than a day (and much less than the 2 days I was originally planning to do it in). The Panamerican Highway cuts through the desert and occasionally pops out to follow the coast. Rather windy at times but great views and smooth tarmac. The poor bike took a bit of a thrashing and fuel economy plummeted but lots of fun.

desert peru

more desert

bus

looks alien

I spent the morning in Lima looking for new rear brake pads (eventually found in Desert Sport Racing, 480 Avenida Colina, Miraflores, Lima and not in any of the Honda dealerships) followed by an afternoon visiting museums and art galleries that were either closed because it was Monday or for renovations. Felt like I saw a lot of Lima but not much about it.

Then towards Cuzco, via Nazca. I wasn’t interested enough in the Nazca lines to take a plane ride over them so settled for climbing an observation platform by the side of the road. If you decide to visit Nazca I suggest you take the plane ride. Otherwise skip it all together.

I left the sweltering heat of Nazca this morning in the knowledge that it might be a little wet and chilly later on in the mountains. I was not expecting to be riding for hours at over 4,000m through rain and occasionally over snow. Having spent the last month in the desert it was quite a shock to the system to be so cold for so long and I had no idea when it would end because my map was not detailed enough to show contour lines (and an eventual descent). The fear of being called a wimp prevented me calling one of the doctors in my family to ask how long I could go before hypothermia set in. I’m sure you can’t get it riding a motorbike. Can you?! The prospect of stopping to put my tent up in the wind and rain to wait whilst I warmed up was less appealing than dying of hypothermia. So I continued in the hope that either the weather would improve, the road would descend, I would find a town with a hostel or all three of the above; whilst occasionally dismounting to jump around like an idiot in an attempt to warm up.

I did eventually make it to a hostel and I’m now fed and watered but I still can’t seem to thaw out my feet. I’m also a little curious as to what the 2 groups of motorbike tourers must have thought when they passed me going in the opposite direction. They were all kitted out in waterproof/arctic gear and I was hunched behind my windshield in jeans, jacket and summer gloves. “What a fool.” I would imagine.

Still, what doesn’t kill you makes you stronger I guess… Will definitely put more layers on tomorrow.

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Not much going on in Boquete, Panama (12,365 miles)

Sunday, October 18th, 2009

I didn’t think much of Panama as I crossed the border. Rather unexciting after visiting all the other countries of Central America. However, if you find yourself in this country, head up to the mountain town of Boquete in the Chirirqui Highlands. The climate is agreeably cool and the countryside is stunning. The laid back atmosphere is almost soporific. I’m enjoying a lazy afternoon in the plaza while the local school band is practicing in the background. It’s a surprisingly soothing soundtrack considering the main component is drums (and more drums).

Of course I could be tired because I tried to ride my motorbike up Volcan Baru this morning and failed miserably. A mile or two into the national park trail and after dropping the bike twice I had to concede that the trail was too tricky for me on my 230kg 650cc motorbike. Perhaps I might have stood a better chance on a 100kg 250cc motocross or quad-bike but the steep, loose gravel, rock and sand trails were too technical for me and I didn’t want to risk being stranded out there by myself. There’s a limit to the number of times I can pick up a 230kg motorbike, especially when it falls wheels facing up hill…

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What a difference a day makes (Puerto Jimenez – 12,278 miles)

Thursday, October 15th, 2009

As I got further away from San Jose I could feel my dark mood lifting. The 250 mile journey to Puerto Jimenez, on the Pacific side, winds its way through cloud forest of the Central Highlands and then down through the lowland plains to the Osa peninsula. The difference in altitude from 3,800m to 100m makes for extremely varied and at times uncomfortable riding. In the mountains visibility could suddenly drop to about 30m and it was cold and wet. I managed to resist the temptation to stop and dry off because I knew that once down to sea level the warm air would would dry everything off in no time. The plan worked. Also, I didn’t know this at the time but it was fortuitous that I didn’t stop because I arrived on the Osa Peninsula at dusk so was able to tackle the 10 mile stretch of dirt and mud road, from Rincon to Puerto Jimenez, in daylight. Riding it in the dark would have been horrendous and definitely would’ve involved a few falls.

DSCF4250

I’m surprised at how happy the owners of my hostel are that I speak (or try to speak) Spanish. It seems that many of the guests that come don’t bother. I presume that this is because Costa Rica (and the Osa Peninsula) is the most accessible of the Central American countries so holiday makers come here for short trips rather than staying longer and having to learn the language. Whatever the reason they seem to be overjoyed, almost in and odd way! This has also paid dividends in that they were able to warn me not to try and ride my motorbike the 20 miles from Puerto Jimenez to Carate and the Corcovado National Park. Apparently when it rains some of the rivers you have to cross can become very deep and fast flowing, making fording them on a motorbike rather tricky, if not impossible. My experience of fording rivers on a motorbike is somewhat limited. So with that in mind and the fact that I have to catch a boat from Panama in just over a week I’ve decided to chicken out and take the 4×4 collectivo truck instead. Now is not the time or place to learn fording deep and fast flowing rivers on my motorbike.

The owners of my hostel have offered to look after my bike and kit whilst I spend a night in the park. The relaxed and friendly atmosphere down here is a welcome change from the capital.

Postscript (after the journey to Carate): I’m glad I chose the 4×4 collectivo truck to Carate. Even without rain there was no way I could have crossed some of the rivers on my motorbike. At times the water level came up to the wheel arches of the truck.

DSCF4254

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Swapping 54hp for 1hp (Granada, Nicaragua – 11,437 miles)

Wednesday, September 30th, 2009

I only have three memories of learning to ride when I was a child. They are:

  1. Winning a trotting competition, but only because I couldn’t get the damn thing to stop. I think I cried in the corner of the menage afterward.
  2. Riding past a squeaky pram and my horse rearing up. I pretended to be a cowboy and I was enjoying it but I was really sh*tting myself (not literally).
  3. While mucking out a stable a horse bit me on the arm.

So at the age of 8 or 9 I decided that horse riding was not for me and apart from a disastrous attempt to ride my mum’s horse a few years later I have not been on one since. They also know that I’m slightly scared of them.

It’s surprising what time does to cloud one’s judgement. For some reason after more than twenty years I thought that today would be a good time to give it another go. A farm just outside Granada runs horse treks to a coffee plantation halfway up the Mombacho Volcano.

After meeting my horse and a quick demo of the controls (forward, stop, left, right, etc.) we set off through the countryside up to the coffee plantation. Unlike riding a bike, horse riding doesn’t come back to you. In fact it was the most bone shaking, buttock numbing experience I’ve had, ever! I presume the idea is to move with the animal. Something that was evidently much easier said than done. The way up was bad enough but the way down was at times terrifying. It didn’t help that my horse didn’t seem to be too sure-footed and would occasionally stumble. Not very reassuring. However, before my mum disowns me, I should say that I enjoyed some of it and by the end I did manage to get slightly more comfortable. It was when the thing broke into a canter to catch up with the guide I thought “11,500 miles on a motorbike and you’re going to die on a f*cking horse. You idiot!” Anyway, I lived to tell the tale and I can safely say I’m glad I’m doing this trip on two wheels rather than four legs.

dscf4192

Off to Costa Rica tomorrow to try and watch turtles laying eggs on Playa Grande and then to find much needed tires in San Jose.

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How many pieces of paper does it take to cross a border? (Esteli – 11,176 miles)

Friday, September 25th, 2009

Once I’d heard they reduced the curfew to 10am til 4pm I decided to make a 300 mile dash from Lake Yojoa to the border. The only feasible option was through Tegucigalpa (the capital) to the border town of El Paraiso. Stay there the night and hope the border would be open the following day. Fortunately the roads were fairly clear and surprisingly I managed to complete the journey without being stopped by police or army. Riding round the smoldering remains of what must have been protesters’ road blocks from the previous night was a little unnerving though. I guess I can add it to the list of odd things I’ve seen in this county. The 1/2 mile of parked lorries approaching the border did not bode well for the crossing the following morning. However, whilst I have no idea why they were stopped I managed to get through. This was only after taking part in a gruelling bureaucratic struggle. I now have 7 assorted receipts and certificates from various Nicaraguan ministries and departments. I’m not sure what all of them are for but I’ve been advised that losing them could curtail my travels and there’s a likelihood I’ll grow old (and poor) whilst trying to replace them. Anyway, I made it.

I have mixed feelings about Honduras. I’ve seen some interesting things (some below) and the land is beautiful but whilst I’ve met some nice people I came away from the country feeling that many of the others would rip you off at the first opportunity.

  • Motorbike towing motorbike using a rope.
  • Family of 4 on a bicycle.
  • Family of 5 on a moped.
  • A road in the middle of nowhere filled with stalls selling only fireworks. I mean miles and miles away from the nearest town.
  • Large sections of tarmac road and bridges collapsed after heavy rain. These were main highways!
  • 6 coffins on the back of a pick-up truck.
  • 3 men sleeping IN the back of a rubbish truck ON the rubbish.

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