A yellow NY cab, snow white and ghosts, auld lang syne to a maccareana beat and a fish pancake. Must be El Salvador then.

Lots of Guatemala video to catch up with, but no hope of that in this town.

Border crossing wasn’t a problem, just a bit silly and obviously wrong, even for those whose job is to do it.

Tip del dia: add the country’s sticker to your bike at customs and make it something special. Get ready for the smiles and cheers from even the most serious border security guard. Cameras ready of course.

40 minutes, less time than it takes to get through Miami Int airport. Less than $5 and a bag of sweets (candy) to a kid who wanted to polish the credibility off my bike,
A whole new country beckons.

Initial thoughts: evejn greener than Mexico, less wind, worse roads, worse trucks.
Headed for lago atilan, Mayan centre up in the hills. Three volcanoes and what could be a vast crater lake but probably isn’t.
Mayan rather than Spanish is spoken.

Slight problem, no electicity for most. Of yesterday, so atm didn’t work, so very little cash. Two peaches and a coke were all I could afford last night. Will try again in an hour or so, then may have to visit the best hotel in town, $40 noche, to see if they’ll exchange a few more dollars.

Today I stopped and was prepared to not move another inch. Granted I couldn’t move, so the option was an easy one. To avoid the coastal winds and incessant buffeting (no not visits to the salad bar) I’d headed to the hills.

Momentary respite came in the form of a long downhill stretch enclosed in a cossetting valley. But, I’ve learned, downs are followed by ups. So up I went in an ever shortening series of hairpins. Once again the needle in the head was holding up. Sure I was aware of the sudden revelation that there was a vast drop, but I was steady and making progress. Right up to the moment I was two curva peligrosa from the top. With the bike leaned over and at 20 mph, I was about to turn left when the wind hit. It hit hard and fast. It stood the bike up and knocked the 20 miles down to zero, staling the bike.

I was stuck. I couldn’t really gain balance against the wind. I couldn’t get my foot on the gear shift to get from third into first so I could start again…even if the wind would have let me make any forward progress. Plus, I didn’t want to go forward, I wanted to turn left.

I saw a car come over the crest. So I needed to do something quickly, when every option I had would take time.

Jimmy Lewis lesson to the rescue. He’d shown that by just twisting the bars left then right enough times, you could change the bike’s direction.

I still had the bike at 45 degrees balanced on my right leg and diagonal across the majority of the road, when the car sneaked passed. Thank God for small cars.

It took me many more minutes before I’d got the bike facing down hill, every slight manouver being dogged by blasts of wind, either lifting the bike, pushing the bike, or just plain slapping the bike towards the edge.

I free wheeled far enough to get away from the windy corner, then headed back down, feeling far less happy with myself than I had done on the way up (which I’d counted as a personal achievement).

So, back to the coast road. At least I knew I could manage that. Not this time though.

I think in fairness I was still somewhere up the mountain mentally and physically. It all got just a little too much. I pulled in away from the winds and rang home. That was it. That was the point beyond which I could not go.

Karen was supportive, pointed out what I’d miss and the regret if I stopped now.

I knew if I turned round there was a wind bashing awaiting me. I knew that ahead was more of the same. If I could have teleported, I’d have, beam me up scottied..’cause I was the blue sweater guy at that moment and not a red sweater member of the elite survival group.

What forced me to carry on was two youngsters on a 150cc bike. They perttled passed.

If they could do it, so could I.

They took the next turn off, I had 150 more miles before promised relief.

The wind buffetted, boiled, kicked and spit dirt in my face (not a metaphor, physical dirt…okay the spit part is poetic license), it scattered tree remnants across the road, blew dust and sand clouds. It was a real pain in the backside and I think I shouted at it a few times.

I’m now showered and even though the hotel in Tapatula is little more than a 10 pound per night dosshouse, I’m bloody glad to be here.

Chuck may be here somewhere too.

My concern: what happens when there’s no option B?

There should always be an option B, but this is the nearest I’ve come to not being able to escape using B. I may have used up my option Bs.

One of the worst so far. The winds in Baja fade into insignificance in comparison. Twice I was stopped in my tracks by the winds blast and twice I was nearly blown over in a standing position.
It´s one of the few occassions where if you speed up, stability finally arrives, but that takes some nerve and that nerve only arrived after Chuck did.
Chuck arrived at the same point on the road as me about 1pm. Both blown from pillar to post, we´d sought shelter.
Chuck, 66yr old Texan, again from San Antonio…is there something wrong with that place and everyone wants to leave?

We will be parting company in the morning as he heads directly for Guatamala, while I head across country to the Mayan ruins in Palenque.

We are in the windswept town of Arriga, a train town, where the constant wind dictates everything.
It blows here, and Chuck and I are the latest tumble weeds to be gusted in.

From a world of sanitised conformity (you can substitute sterile for sanitised if you wish) to a place where they are too busy living life to be bothered with all that sort of thing, is as refreshing as a waterfall, as a breath of sea air, as an unshackling after being held.

Flavours, sounds, smells, all seem more vivid, more vibrant, more…alive, free, intimate and yet all encompassing. It’s very special indeed.

Did you know that dead chicken skin is yellow? Not grey. Not a special corn-fed organic over priced chicken. Just normal on the market chicken…a rich egg yolk yellow. Did you know that chicken has a flavour? Not some chemically enhanced coated chicken, just a plain roasted chicken that’s bursting with taste.
I had lunch today for 40 cents. Two skirt steak tacos, with all of the salsas and chilli sauces. I drank 70 cents worth of chilled fresh coconut milk…delicious.