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!!!