To the Ends of the Earth.


Andy
I've alluded to the difficulty I experienced in Central America. First by riding from Cincinnati, Ohio to San Jose, Costa Rica solo with only 11 days of travel. Second, by reaching San Jose only to have my motorcycle "asplode" and need to have the entire engine rebuilt in a random Costa Rican's garage who didn't speak English. I could write a book about those two experiences alone, but I won't subject you all to that...

If Cincinnati to Costa Rica was a trial, then my time in Panama has been a reward. I hadn't planned on spending any time in Panama, but have been gifted over a week of glorious roads, rain-forest covered mountains, and unspoiled beaches. Here's a brief glimpse to catch you up on all that's happened since I left San Jose with a newly rebuilt motorcycle.

Upon leaving San Jose, I spent my first night in Panama in the town of Volcan. I use the term "town" loosely, as there's not much there to speak of except for beautiful rain forest and a few stores. I litereally drove through down "town" 5 times looking for it. This isn't a complaint mind you, as the roads were beautiful... Rather than wasting a lot of words, I'll save us a few thousand and just throw in some pics to get the idea across.


The next day took me to Boquete, Panama, where I was headed primarily for the purpose of meeting with a hostel owner to try and line up a boat that could provide passage for both me and my bike to Colombia.

I ended up spending 3 nights in Boquete, which was a beautiful town. Cheap food- (you could eat well for around $4 at the local cafeteria) beautiful roads, and good company. The fellow travelers there were great people, and I made fast friends with people from all over the place. In my dorm room alone there were people from the UK, Colombia, Switzerland and the US. And there were only 4 beds in the room...

Without going into too much detail, the days were spent relaxing, riding, eating, and researching boat schedules and customs information. Somewhere in between all of the above I even managed to take a tour of a small coffee farm- the owner of which built all of his machinery by hand-with parts scalped from his old Volkswagen.

But the most important part of my trip to Boquete was what happened just as I was packing up to leave. A little back story for those of you who I haven't kept up with over the last few weeks:

Recap:
About 3 weeks into the trip, my motorcycle had major, major, engine failure. After leaving San Jose, the beautiful example of European engineering started to sound like you'd jammed a metal fork in the garbage disposal... As it turns out it needed a complete engine rebuild- a job that a random Costa Rican mechanic and I completed in his parent's driveway... Long story short, by the end of the process, I was about 3 weeks behind schedule. Based on the information I had, and the people I had talked with, this put my goal of reaching the southern tip of Argentina out of reach. Instead I planned on cutting into Brazil and just avoiding Patagonia all together. The reason being is that it would be just too cold and too dangerous to try and pass Patagonia that close to the winter freeze... (Ushuaia is only 700 kilometers north of Antarctica, so when I say cold, I mean cold.)

Back to the story: As I strapped and secured my last piece of luggage I was greeted by a man who introduced himself as Henning. Henning was a German guy- who also rides motorcycles- and reminded me a little of an older, Austrian, Robert Redford. In true motorcyclist fashion, we shared stories about where we were headed and where we'd been, and he mentioned that he had made the trip to Ushuaia- (the southernmost city in the world and my ultimate goal) only two years prior. Jumping at the opportunity to have firsthand experience of the route, I asked him if I could buy him a cup of coffee and get his thoughts on my potential route down towards Brazil. He readily agreed, but insisted that first I must follow him on a motorcycle tour of some of the beautiful roads surrounding Boquete. (some pictures of our tour)



As stunning as the views were, by far the best part of the tour- and one of the best parts of the trip so far- happened while we sat down for delicious Panamanian coffee. I explained to him my situation and disappointment in having to cut my trip short for fear of the weather. As we discussed, looked over calendars, and plotted potential routes, he was of the opinion that with a little luck, it would be possible to make it to Ushuaia before things completely freeze up for the winter. These were literally the first encouraing words I'd heard about my destination since leaving Mexico. Since leaving the US I've had countless people (most recently the border crossing guard into Panama) tell me that I'm crazy for attempting a trip like this. Most people don't even have a framework for a trip of this scope- so they write it off as impossible. But what I've come to realize is that I was putting way too much stock in the opinions of people who know nothing about me, and next to nothing about what I'm hoping to do.

It's amazing what one person's encouragement can do to lift your spirits and to refocus you on your goal and purpose. As I pulled out of the little coffee shop in the foothills of Volcan Baru, I was literally yelling in my helmet because I was so excited. The lesson for me in all of this is as follows:

"Never let someone decide for you what you are, or are not able to accomplish. Wise council and nay-saying may sound similar at first, but they come from completely different kinds of people. One flows from genuine concern and firsthand experience of the risks involved, while the other flows from the exact opposite- a simple and uncontrollable fear of the unknown."

So, Longer story even shorter- End of the world, Here I come!
4 comments

On the road again.


Andy
As I sit in a cafe, drinking my second cup of absurdly strong Panamanian coffee on an island in the Carribbean, the words of Willie Nelson feel out of place yet oddly appropriate:

"And I can't wait to get on the road again.
On the road again.

Goin' places that I've never been.
Seein' things that I may never see again,

And I can't wait to get on the road again."

I've been on the road for four days after nearly four weeks of delay trying to reassemble an asploded engine- ("asploded" is a technical term meaning way, way, way, awful.) The last four days have been beautiful and hard, exhausting and invigorating.


After an early start, I finally left San Jose for the border of Panama. The road moved quickly out of the city, climbing sharply into the Sierra Madre range and the clouds that formed a nearly constant veil of fog and rain. The road was full of twists and turns as the road weaved its' way through the mountains, but the roads were smooth and in good repair- a welcome and unexpected treat in Central America.

After about 3 hours of riding, I decided to stop for a late breakfast. The father of my new friend and mechanic Edgar had advised me about some cheap and good food at Los Chesperitos- a small cafeteria up in the mountains. I arrived at the place to see a gang of bikers had already descended on the tiny restaurant. They were understandably curious about my odd looking bike (and the odd looking gringo riding it, no doubt!) and I had a great time talking with them. They even invited me to take a picture with them- I've never been part of a biker gang before, but a Costa Rican one seems like a good place to start and I filed in behind them as we continued down the road.


After a healthy breakfast- consisting of beans, rice, chicken, and coffee- all for about 3 dollars, I set on my way. The road continued to deliver beautiful views at every turn, and other than the fog, the only thing that slowed me down was my own insatiable need to take pictures at every opportunity.


After a few hours of continued climbing into the mountains, the fog became increasingly thick. In some places it was so thick it was impossible to see more than 25 yards ahead.


While this slowed my pace considerably, I kept moving ahead- at least for a little while... it wasn't long before the rain started- and I'm hesitant to use the word "rain" because it falls so far short of what I really experienced. Oh, and FYI- you're third grade science teacher meant what she said about the whole "rain-forest" thing. They seriously weren't kidding about that stuff. I pulled off on the side of the road to wait out the worst of it, but was still soaked (through my supposedly waterproof gear) within minutes. (the oompa-loompa blue is a result of my black gloves being so wet the dye started to run...)

After literally wringing the water out of my gloves and a quick bite to eat, I got moving again.I veered off the main road of the Pan American Highway in favor of back roads to the border of Panama. The hope was that this smaller secondary road took that traced the ridge line would lead me to a smaller, faster, and safer border crossing... But- because of the fact that it was Sunday and that Panama is an hour ahead, the border was closed by the time I arrived. So, running out of daylight- I made the decision to break my own rule about not riding at night in Central America...

The mad dash for main border crossing involved backtracking, getting lost, an incredibly steep descent of switchbacks down a mountainside, and more than a few swear words. But just as it was dark when I finally reached the "Frontera."

Borders can be a bit threatening. Even before coming to a stop you are literally swarmed with people offering their "services" to change money, sell you forms and documents, or claiming to know how to make the process quicker or cheaper. If there's one thing i want to make clear, it's that borders are not happy places. They tend to be as filthy as they are inefficient, and the bottle neck effect they have is a magnet for those who would like your money to become their money-whether through legitimate or illegitimate means. They shouldn't be feared, but should always be approached with a certain degree of caution.

After making it clear I wasn't going to pay anybody to do anything, and dispersing most of the crowd that had gathered, I began walking through the process alone. Upon successfully clearing my exit from Costa Rica, I headed to start the process for entry into Panama. Over my shoulder I hear a loud voice yelling, "Let's get ready to ruummmmbbbllleeee!" Now, this gave me reason to pause, as this was the first English I'd heard in a while- let alone english in the form of a pop-culture reference. As I turned to see where the voice was coming from I saw a scraggly looking, skinny man with a big grin on his face- Looking right at me.

The man introduced himself first as "Bin Laden," then as "Kenneth." Yup, Bin Laden. And yup, Kenneth. His dreaded hair and tanned complexion made the less normal of the two somehow seem more fitting. We began to talk and over the scent of cheap liquor on his breath he explained that his mother was english and his father was Panamanian. We talked about the US, and about Panama-and about professional wrestling. And after a few minutes he insisted on helping me find the spot to purchase the government required insurance- for free.

Reluctantly I agreed- parked my bike and gathered my things for safe keeping. Now keep in mind, this is not how I typically like to handle borders. I much more prefer to wander around aimlessly until I figure the third world bureaucracy out on my own- At least then I know I'm not doing anything anybody else is trying to get me to do. But in this case I followed my new scraggly friend to the first spot that supposedly sold insurance- an ice cream shop/internet cafe. They were closed. He escorted me down a series of long maze-like corridors to Location B which was also closed- a stall next to a guy selling cheap t-shirts and other useless trinkets. Location C: more of the same- and closed. By the time we were on our way to location D, I was pretty completely disoriented and pretty concerned.

I was trailing behind him by about 20 paces, lost, but looking for a way out. I was concerned I was being led through the maze of passages to some out of the way spot to be robbed. As my eyes were searching for an exit my hand had found the knife I keep tucked away in my tankbag. Just as I was getting ready to cut and bail we came through a door way to this:

Coming out of the dark passageway that I thought would be my undoing to the kind, smiling, faces of some beautiful Panamanian women made me feel both relieved and a bit sheepish- but I was thankful for the legitimate looking insurance signs on the wall as well as for the kind-hearted jabs the women made at my poor Spanish.

Bin Laden and I made the necessary copies, and I paid the $15 for a months worth of insurance. There's more to the story- that involves a customs official trusting Kenneth to walk across the dark complex alone-with my passport!!! (Don't give your passport to ANYONE to keep, not even an official- this was a lesson I knew, but I got lucky on this one.)

After making it through the border, I was greeted by beautiful roads that were fast and smooth- (by far the best roads in all of Central America.) I wound my up to a small mountain town of Volcan, Panama. It's a beautiful place that sits in the shadow of the Baru Volcano. After a great conversation with a young man named Jorge, I was directed to a nice, cheap hotel where I caught up with some friends on Skype and got some much needed sleep. I'll write more later, but I'm trying my best to catch up on all that's happened in the last few days since I left San Jose with a newly rebuilt motorcycle. Thanks for your prayers, love, and emails... Someone go eat some Skyline for me!!!
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