Just to get this post up, I checked out of the $10 room I shared with various carniverous beasts and have booked into a $100 per noches suite, complete with wifi.
I believe it’s the least I can do.
Any way, before my time runs out, here are some videos from Guatemala.
Day 2 first, for no other reason than it saved first.
Day 1 part 3
Day 1 part 2
Day 1 part 1
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.
Toe pez!
Visit Mexico and you’ll soon learn about these.
There are various types:
Topes slopes: these are the biggest in area, but the gentle curve means only a nominal deceleration is required
Topes ropes: used at military pesto controls. Thick ropes that cause a momentary bounce
Topes that are cut away: locals, obviously annoyed by the shock absorber replacement costs and dentist bills have just taken a pick to them and cut paths through them. Do not rely on this being the case.
The worst are the high and narrow type. I’ve bottomed the bike out a few times on these. At night they could be very dangerous.
There are adaptations to these basics. Topes with undulated tops. Topes where sand has built up before and after, disguising the tope. Topes where there are holes in the road either before, after or before and after the tope itself.
Fundamentally, slow down when nearing villages…easier said than done, when a village may consist of two houses selling coke and cerveza and they appear from nowhere. But, do slow down, if only to be respectful to the inhabitants.
Took a day off to do laundry and visit this cyber cafe place, but without the cafe part, so spitting feathers.
Last couple of days have been absolutely what this trip is about, meeting people, interacting, great riding and interesting towns.
I’m avoiding the Cuota roads, where you pay to avoid places and I did avoid Acapulco, but by taking a circuitous little road up into the mountains. This would have been two days ago…the 95 is the road number. It’s a great up and down and twisty road. Drop off it every now and again for the towns.
In one (Tecuanapa) I broke my golden rule of treading softly.
I followed a small bike and ended up parked on the edge of a basketball court. However, this court also assumed the role of town meeting place, seating all around crowded with the town’s folk.
Instant celebrity, after the silent moment (think spaghetti movie stand off). Just do something to break the ice, like smile, fake wiping a brow, anything, just show you are a human and let the fun start.
I found coke and an orange. From this the assumption was made that I was a vegetarian. Along with the running around to find english speakers (three were delegated) along came a supply of oranges.
I had photos of me, the bike, me and the bike, the bike and kids, and girls and men and more kids…it got embarrassing to be honest. All I’d done was ride a bike and park. Nothing great, nothing that appeared to benefit their lives. I was just an imposition on their daily routine and they loved it.
But, this is not my way of seeing things. I realise that even the act of observing changes the dynamic of the situation, being the situation really throws things awry. So, with as much grace as possible, I refused the oranges and sloped off…to applause.
Noah, thanks for your time. You are very insightful. Please thank everyone for their warmth and friendliness, it created a precious memory.
Earlier in the day I’d met up with a couple of guys, one a photo-studio guy with an 883 harley and the other an adventure rafter from Israel that had set up a business with a Scot. Extended breakfast and confirmation that the road I wanted to take, to avoid Acapulco, was indeed the road of choice.
4pm arrived as did a small roadside town, as indeed did two BMWs, parked up. Tea time was saved. Two thoroughly splendid blokes, who were riding to celebrate a birthday, joined me for tea.
(I’ll post the clip later).
But, I was about to break my second rule of the day. I rode later than intended, lower on gas than sensible and with only a few pesos to bail me out.
In the middle of a bend going up a coastal mountain, the Mirador appeared. 200 pesos per night (the cheapest so far, a restaurant and a place that saved me from camping lord only knows where.
Okay it wasn’t marble floored, the toilet seat was missing and the on button proceeded to vanish into the innards of the TV set when pressed, but so what. I showered in the cold shower, ate a meal that was almost mediocre and thanked my lucky stars that this place existed.
Now I’m sorry but without my map to hand names are not coming forward as quickly as they should,, however, Puerto Angel was the Puerto after the Puerto I stopped and got cash and fuel. I also met a Canadian couple and I think we sorted out most of the world’s problems over a breakfast of spaghetti and orange juice, whilst enjoying the spectacle of fishing boats being hauled ashore, kids swimming and pelicans bobbing about.
Their kind offer to stay with them was only turned down on a geographical and time basis, as I rode passed San Augustina far too early to call it a day…but thanks Chris and your wife with the blue eyes that sailors like (sorry I know it was a short name, but too short for me to have grasped it, but I do recall the interesting stuff about nursing, British Columbia, drug submarines and the other things we spoke about).
So now I’m in Salina Cruz. A port area, with all that entails.
Last night there was a charity concert in the square, with local dancers and singers. For some reason, the highlight was four chubby men in Oakland Raider#80 shirts and clown painted faces doing some form of latino rap…talk about throwing a wet blanket on.
So that’s it so far.
Grizzly back ground:
Hot, damp gloves make your finger tips rot.
Hot bike clothes make you go spotty
Hot damp bike boots create foot problems, over and above the pungent odour.
The moral: keep all your bits and bobs as dry and hygenic as possible.