Sunday, March 22 Tela to ??? to Trujillo, Honduras

A frustrating day, but full of miles, beautiful Honduras, and semi-lossedness, with Big Mama taking a heck of a beating.

The day started with some of the best paved roads I've experienced since the states - kudos to the Honduras Government for maintaining their highways. Relatively uneventful riding in the morning, along the Caribbean coast with palm trees on my left and beautiful jungle mountains on my right.


At about 1pm, I got to the town where I was to turn south onto a secondary road that goes inland. At a fork in the road, I guessed to turn left, being that the road looked a lot bigger. At a gas station I asked a guy, and he confirmed that this was the road I wanted. It wasn't paved, which I didn't expect since it was a thin red line on my map. As I went along, though, it got worse, and ended up as what in the states would be condemned to all but Jeeps and ATV's. Miles and miles of switching from second to first gear and back, my butt coming off the seat and the luggage on the bad seat slamming me in the back with every mud-filled pothole. At one point I got to a bridge in pieces - it looked like it had been bombed or a UFO crashed into it. There was a smoother path to the left through the stream and a rough one to the right, also across, but with shallower water, about 2 feet at its deepest. I chose this side, and it worked out pretty smoothly. There was a couple other stream crossings after, but they were paved under the water, and only a few inches deep.


After about 2 hours and 60 miles of this, I saw something that shocked, surprised, and really frustrated me - the Caribbean! I had been on the little dotted black line on my map. There was another red solid line road coming up that went the direction I wanted, so I kept going. When I got to the last town at the end of the road, I had to turn around in a ¨driveway¨ of a family who told me the road is back the other way. When I turned onto what I thought was the road, some guys started yelling from a house across the street. Either that road was no good, or it wasn't the right one, or something - I couldn't figure it out, but they told me to keep going down the road and I'll find the route I need. Pretty soon after not seeing it, I gave up and decided to go all the way back and find a hotel back on the main road before I ran out of gas and/or sunlight.

On the road there was a closed bridge under construction. Going back the other way, I followed a car around a few turns and ended up on the other side. This time there was noone to follow and i turned into what I didn't realize was somebody's yard. Hondurans being like Guatemalans in that not much is private, the guys there were not offended, but thought it was rather amusing. Turning around, I hit some soft sand and the bike fell over, for the first time this trip (besides the incident on the first block of the trip). This only heightened their amusement. Once we got the bike up, they wanted to talk. Through my terrible spanish I was able to explain to them that I've been lost most of the day, etc etc. One of the guys asked if I'd been smoking marijuana, getting so lost like that. A big laugh, and more usual questions. In the midst of the admiration of the bike, one of them mentioned that the luggage would be good for trafficking drugs, with few police problems. During the series of questions, I was asked if I like marijuana, or cocaine, etc. At about that point I also realized that one of the guys had a gun peeking out of his jeans. They were very nice and welcoming, even invited me to come hang out with them, but I told them I needed to find a hotel before dark.

I found a hotel that said ¨camping¨ on the sign, so I figured I could stop and if the room s are too expensive I can set up my tent. It's a beautiful place, but the rooms were too expensive, so I'm camping out. No big deal because there's a nice bathroom with a hot shower and good tap water - some very welcome commodities.

Monday, March 23 Trujillo to Campamento, Honduras

Today started off with a huge breakfast at the hotel. This is unusual for Central America, but the guy who runs the hotel is German, and speaks English better than Spanish, which is ok because his wife is Honduran. It felt good to have a full stomach in the morning, and I didn't even eat lunch besides a little peanut butter.


The road I wanted yesterday was exactly where I thought it was, the other way on the fork, after a quick hello to my drug dealing friends over the closed bridge. It was long, about 100 miles, bumpy, and very dusty. Some parts were muddy and very difficult - I dropped the bike again trying to inch through a tricky spot, but it was easier for me to pick it up by myself this time.

My face, all my clothes, and Big Mama were covered in road dust - the big trucks kicked up so much of it that I couldn't even see them, just a solid off-white cloud. Once the road became paved, I stopped at a car wash for a much needed cleaning. This frustrated me a little - it took a really long time, I didn't really like the family there, and it ended up costing 50 Lempiras, much more than I expected, and more than twice what I paid in Guatemala last week.

A little more riding, with the sun setting directly in front of me and I was done. I found a mediocre hotel at a mediocre price and washed myself and my clothes. I then had a mediocre meal at the restaurant, and got to talk with one of the guys here who was patient enough with my spanish to have a nice conversation. Tomorrow I head towards the southern border of El Salvador, but probably won't make it all the way. One more day in Honduras sounds fine to me.

Tues, March 24 Campamento, Honduras to Costa del Sol, El Salvador

Bike problems:
This morning, when I went to open the left side case, it wouldn't open. The top case was blockin git. This was extremely strange and unexpected. When I looked underneath, one of the 2 big steel poles holding the system up had completely broken off at the weld, probably some time during yesterday's really bumpy road. Also, one of the bolts holding on the side bars that hold the same system in place had rattled off. The whole back case is now sagging backwards, beinding my license plate down and being held by about half the usual support. I will probably have to find someone who welds and a new bolt soon, because throughout the day it seemed to get a bit worse. This also frustrated me and took my attention off riding and enjoying myself.



The ride through southwest Honduras started out with a pine forest, which looked exactly like any place in the Eastern US. This quickly turned into dry, hot mountains, which lasted the rest of the day. The guy at the hotel told me it would be about 7 hours to El Salvador. It only took about 4, and by 1pm, I was at the border.


Border Crossing:
The Honduras side was a mess. A mile before the border, a cop at a roadblock asked to see my passport. This was unexpected so I had to take a minute to get it out. As I got nearer, things got crazy. The little 3 wheeled motorcycle taxis were everywhere, trucks were driving in the middle of the road, and there were little buildings everywhere, all with crowds of people in front. When I stopped to see wha tone of the buildings was, I immediately got crowded by people yelling at me and touching my arm and calling me amigo - all trying to help me throug the border for a buck. I had to actually start moving before people started to back off. I'd been through enough of these things to know that they're not that complicated, and I especially didn't need these people helping me - I'd learned not to trust information from anyone not wearing a uniform - a government uniform.

While I continued going down the road in the weirdness of the free-zone,
people tried to wave me over and tell me to stop. At one of the tiny buildings, near an empty bridge, more people tried to flag me down, and I was about to keep going, but had a suspicion about this one. More people came up to me trying to help, and one said I needed to take my passport and vehicle permit in this building to exit Honduras. He was right. It was a tiny, smelly, concrete building with room enough for only one desk and one guy. It was quick and didn't cost anything.

Over the bridge was the money changers and the beggars that followed them around. I did need to change some money, so a guy took some Lempiras for 25 to a dollar, a high number, but I just wanted to get out of there. He told me I didn't need to go in that building there - the El Salvador immigration - but I went to ask a uniformed guy to make sure. He told me that I already have a Central America stamp in my passport that is good here, and I needed to go up the road 3km to the customs for the vehicle permit. He spoke english - badly, but this is the first border official in a while who speaks english, so I didn't hav e any questions about whether I heard him right.

At a road block 3km down, a very friendly officer, amused at my poor spanish, told me to take that turn to Aduanas: Customs. It was a giant, empty trucking warehouse, with two desks all the way in the back, and a small, air-conditioned office on the side. There was a guy with a big gun by the office making sure people don't hang around in there too long or keep the door open to let the cold air out. The woman inside gave me a sheet to fill out with all the vehicle info, and said something I didn't understand; I thought it was "go out and wait". As I waited, I had a nice conversation with a guy that works there. It started in my slow Spanish, and after a while the guy starts talking in English! Grr! After a while, he asked me what I was waiting for, and when I told him I didn't know, he went to find out, and stayed with me to make sure I understood everything else. No stickers here either, just a sheet with some stamps. No cost - a completely free border crossing!


The landscape here is similar to Honduras - dry, mountainous, and hot. A couple giant volcanoes loomed over the horizons.

After a while, I wanted to stop. I was near the Pacific, so why not find a beach town to stay at? 2 nights ago, I slept next to the Carribean, so tonight I'll sleep next to the Pacific. These towns, I have come to find out, are very sad. There are restaurants and giant $50 a night hotel resorts, and there are pupusa stands and creally crappy hotels for the Central Americans. Mine is $10 for the night, has concrete walls with no windows and a concrete bed. Critters are free to come and go as they please, as there's a 6 inch gap between the walls and the roof. However, it's right on the beach - 5 feet from my door is the sand.



I found a restaurant/convenience store that has fences for walls, and got beans, eggs, cheese, tortillas, Coca-Cola (it's made with sugar here, not corn syrup), a bean and cheese pupusa, and a bag of water (yes, fresh water comes in bags here), all for $2.55. Life is good.

Wednesday, March 25 Playa del Sol, El salvador to Mazatenango, Guatemala

I slept well last night, surprisingly - perhaps it was the sound of the ocean, or maybe that concrete bed with 2 inch straw mattress reminded me of sleeping on the ground in my tent. Regardless, I was up early and on the road at 6:30.

The highway around San Salvador was much easier to find and navigate than those of Guatemala City or Tegucigapa (Honduras' capital, which I had a heck of a time riding through yesterday). It was so easy that I wanted to go in and check out the cool spots. Then I realized that I know nothing about this town, and there don't seem to be tourist information centers in El Salvador.

I kept going, around some beautiful volcanoes and a much more pleasant climate than the lower half of the country, and ended up in a town with a big market. I stopped and had breakfast of eggs, beans, rice, cheese, and coffee (sounds familiar?), all for a dollar. Before I knew it, I was at the border to Guatemala.

Border Crossing:
On the Salvador side, I didn't even have to leave the bike or go inside buildings, since I didn't need a visa. I stopped at the checkpoint, the guy took my vehicle permit and checked the VIN number on the front fork of the bike, and I was done. On this crossing there is an international bridge - I like these, it makes me feel like I'm really crossing some boundaries.

On the other side of the bridge is the Guatemala customs and immigration building. It is modern and nice, with lots of windows and walkways and stuff. The problem with the windows is that there are very small openings and with all the people talking outside, it's nearly impossible to hear what the people are saying. This is where I found out I didn't actually have to cancel my permit when I left for Honduras. Grr. Another 40 Quetzales, copies of paperwork, etc etc, and I have another sticker and a permit, and I'm back in Guatemala.


This southwestern part of Guatemala is hot and arid, but the roads are nice and twisty and I got to do some good old peg scrapin'. My top luggage case was still bothering me though, and I had to frequently stop and adjust it. I decided to see if I can get it fixed.

Soon after, I got to a town with a strip of auto mechanics. I found one that said "solderadura" and also had a couple of old Suzukis parked in front. The guy took one look at it, told me it was no problem, and got to work. This guy was a pro - he seemed to know better than I did how to get the pieces apart, and also found some bolts to replace the ones that rattled off. In less than an hour, the bar was welded back, and everything back on the bike good as new. All this for a whopping 50Q, about 6 bucks.



At about 4:30 I was getting tired and it started raining a bit, and I decided to stop at Mazatenango. It's a really stinky town, and I'm staying in a windowless room for 50Q that smells like crap. This could partially be the rain - this time of year, it doesn't rain much, so when it does it brings all the garbage and sewage out into the street. Tomorrow I'll be done with Guatemala and back into Mexico - 3 borders in 3 days. I do miss Mexico, so it will be a welcome change.

Thurs, March 26 Mazatenango, Guatemala to San Cristobal de las Casas, Mexico

It's been a good day - I got to see Xela one more time, cross a border, and get some good riding in all along the way.

On my way to Xela, all of a sudden my front brakes started acting funny, and the bike wouldn't go any more. When I pulled over and touched the left front brake rotor, some of the leather on my glove burned off and stuck to it. The rotor and calipers were piping hot. Fortunately, it was cold out. In fact, I had forgotten how cold Xela is in the mornings - I needed to put on my fleece under my motorcycle jacket. When they cooled off a little, I took the seemingly unharmed pads off, and let it all sit and chill out for a while. The right disc and brake was perfectly fine, as was the rear. Perhaps I was just in fifth gear too much on these mountainous (and volcanic) roads, because when I put it back on it was fine, and didn't give me any problems the rest of the day.

Xela was just as awesome and beautiful as I remembered it from a week ago. I had breakfast at one of the temporary stands off the side of Parque Central - 10Q for a huge omelet, beans, rice, hot tortillas, and hot chocolate con leche. At the cyber cafe near the spanish school, I talked with the guy (if you're reading this, sorry I forgot your name) who helped me with some info, directions, and will hopefully spread the word about this blog. He's got a great resourceful site with everything about Xela, called Xelapages. In fact, I think this is how I found out about ICA Spanish School.

For the first time leaving the town, I didn't get lost! 100 miles or so of some nice Guatemala mountain riding, ending with some really huge canyons with nearly vertical walls on either side of the road, and I was back in border-land.

Border Crossing:
This one was confusing - I didn't exactly know what I needed, since I already had a vehicle permit and passport stamp that might have still been valid - I hadn't cancelled either at the Belize border.

Besides all the people selling stuff, trying to change my money, or trying to help, the Guatemala side was easy. I easily found the guy for the exit stamp - this time no fee - and also the guy to take back the vehicle permit. Everyone seems to know I'm travelling on a motorcycle, even out of sight of the bike. Maybe it's the bandana, sun-glass goggles, and padded, reflective motorcycle jacket.

Across the gate in Mexico was a few stations along the road with signs I didn't recognize - the fourth in line was agriculture something, and they had me stop there to have the bike sprayed. They asked if the spray would harm the rotors or the engine, and I said it might since it's all so hot. It was no longer high altitude country, instead desert mid-afternoon. They didn't spray the bike, but I had to pay for it anyway. It was 50 pesos, 40 quetzales, or 5 bucks (I used USD's because I used most of my Q's and didn't yet have P's), and I got a reciept that I was never asked for anywhere else. A few kilometers down the road was Mexico Immigration, where I filled out the form, got a stamp, and went to the bank to pay the 262 peso fee. At the bank I spoke up and asked the guy if I really needed to pay that, since I already did it coming in from Texas and never got it cancelled. This was all in Spanish, so he might not have exactly understood me. His answer, basically, was that it doesn't matter - he showed me a list of locations where I can pay this fee, the whole time hinting that it's really not necessary, since I already have my passport stamp. This is cool, but not applicable everywhere - at the Texas border, I needed to make a copy of this reciept and turn it in. That was it - no gates or anything, and I'm in Mexico. There was also no place to buy insurance - maybe that's not required after all, and the companies only want you to think so.

A couple miles up the road was the most thorough military check yet - I had to open each luggage case and the bags inside and say what each thing was - good spanish practice.

Some beautiful, easy riding through a few neat little towns which reminded me how much I like Mexico. At the same time, it's also so different from Chetumal, where I left, that it's still new. I'm at a really nice 150 peso hotel (well, nice considering that it's 150 pesos) in San Cristobal de Las Casas, a cool historic city with lots of life. I sure miss the food here, and the beer selection as well - it will be a nice evening.

Friday, March 27 San Cristobal to Juchitan

I spent the morning walking around the town, reading the signs on the old churches and monestaries, and getting lost at the market. Although I had highly considered another night at the hotel, I decided against it, and by noon I was on the road.

The road down the mountains was a lot of fun - great views and banked turns, many of which came one right after the other, whipping the bike over like the sail on a sailboat.

I saw a sign for a tourist spot with a cave and natural pools, so I turned to check it out. It was only 10 pesos, so I got to enjoy the coolness of the cave and take some pictures.

After this, the road was very straight, and much longer than I expected. It was getting dark and I was log on gas - the first time this trip switching to reserve. I could have stopped at one of the "auto-hotels", but the town of Juchitan was coming up, and it was highlighted yellow on my map, which generally means it's tourist friendly.

The town didn't seem all that nice, and driving around after dark looking for inexpensive hotels was not fun. The best I could find was 300p, twice the cost of last night's room, and also without hot water. Very hungry, I went straight to some outdoor food stands in the central park for dinner. These are usually cheaper and just as good as restaurants, but not this one. The women there were not very nice and treated me like I was an idiot, not only assuming that I know no Spanish, but also assuming that I'm a dumbass. The food wasn't really all that great either. Dessert was good though - a guy was selling small milk cartons of frozen strawberries with yogurt over the top for 15p.

Since this room has a TV, I dealt with the messed up remote and found a movie in english. However there were frequent and long commercial breaks at very inopportune moments, and it really wasn't that good a movie - very disappointing.

Although I probably would have been happier staying in San Cristobal, I was have ended up here anyway. my plans right now are to ride up the coastline for the next couple days, and if that gets old, there are plenty of mountains nearby. Options are good - cold showers are not.

Sat, March 28 Juchitan to Puerto Escondido

Today was some of the best riding I've had in a few weeks. It makes me realize why I ride motorcycles, and why I go to crazy places like Central America on them.

In Juchitan I had breakfast at a smoothie stand on the street - I didn't know exactly what was in it (fresh orange juice, celery, cactus?, pineapple, etc), but it was great and only 15p. In NYC that would easily be 6 bucks.

The road out of Juchitan was easy to find, and there was a toll road of 26p, not on my map, going into Salina Cruz. Since I didn't know exactly what road I was looking for, I got a bit lost in this town - a hilly industrial shipping town with huge trans Pacific freighters parked out front.

Once I found the road, I ended up riding with a BMW 650 with a Distrito Federal (Mexico City) license plate. I've always been a fan of this bike, but have heard it's a bit low on power. I no longer beleive this - this guy rode it like a Ducati, and was very difficult to keep up with. We met at a gas station, and it turns out he speaks english very well. He recommended me a few places to check out, including Puerto Escondido, where I am now.

The road we were riding was simply awesome. It would alternate from a mile or two of fast straightaways to another mile or two of twisty desert mountain riding, with beautiful views of the crystal blue Pacific on every other turn. There was also not too much other traffic on the road, besides some buses and pickup trucks.

A nice walk on the beach and I've decided I like this town. Although most people can speak english, it's not overrun by American tourists. The hotel I'm in is the cheapest yet in Mexico, a hundred pesos. Of course, the sink is broken in half and there is no water in the toilet, but the bed seems alright, and it's an easy walk to the beach. I look foreward to eating some seafood tonight and more relaxation on the beach - another night here might just be in store.

Happy Birthday Big Mama!

It is my due pleasure to announce that yesterday Big Mama turned 50,000, a major milestone in the life of a motorcycle. She's running as great as ever, and will hopefully be with me for many more miles to come. Happy birthday Big Mama!

Mon, March 30 Puerto Escondido to Acapulco

Yesterday I did nothing but walk on the beach, swim, eat seafood, and drink cerveza and mezcal. It was great, and I can see myself spending more time there in the future, maybe taking a traditional old American style vacation there for a week once I have some more money.

The riding was easy today, and before I knew it, it was 4pm and I was nearing Acapulco. I knew it would be different than Escondido, but I didn't expect this. It is like the Las Vegas strip, but about 10 times the size. It was very hot, with slow frustrating city traffic. I now realize why I liked Puerto Escondido so much - it's the lack of Hiltons and Westins and McDonalds and Starbucks.

After riding around a while, fighting the traffic, I found a part of town where the locals go, off the main beach on the bay, with food stands instead of fancy restaurants and little tiendas instead of souvenir shops. From the looks I got from people and the general vibe, I felt out of place, but probably not as much as I would be in the other part of town. In the morning, I'm getting out of here.

Tues, March 31 Acapulco to Playa Azul

Another mellow day of very hot and dry riding along the Pacific coast. I was glad to get out of Acapulco this morning, and didn't even look to get breakfast before leaving. This made me really hungry, and at about 1 I stopped at one of the random restaurants along the highway, all of which have many tables but are always empty, making me curious as to whether there actually is food at these places, and if it's any good. I had some calda de camarones, a spicy soupy thing with shrimp swimming in it (heads still on, of course), and some really good hand made tortillas. I've become a bit of a tortilla connoisure on this trip, being that there are so many different types in Mexico and Central America, and that they're all so good and usually made soon before being eaten.

I rode in to Ixtapa, thinking it might be a cool town more like Puerto Escondido, being that it looks smaller than Acapulco and also highlighted in yellow on my map. It's another big hotel town - this one looks like a combination of Atlantic City and West Palm Beach. Needless to say, I turned right around and continued up the road.

Being that I have plenty of time and I'm staying mostly in my budget, I decided to make this another short day. The town of Playa Azul doesn't look like anything special, on my map or from the road signs - just a small town on the coast 7km from the main road, near Lazaro Cardenas, a large shipping port. On a hunch I decided to check it out anyway. It's a beautiful, pristine beach untouched by international tourism. The town has only a couple tiny hotels, a tienda, and a few beachfront restaurants. My hotel has a working bathroom, is right across the dirt road from the beach, and cost 120p for the night.

Although I'm the only gringo in town, I feel welcome and comfortable. This is a much needed opposite of last night, and it feels good.

Wed, April 1 Playa Azul to Melanque

Yesterday, when I tried to put my goggles on (which really are just sunglasses with padding around the edges), they broke, right down the middle. With some super glue I was able to fix them for the rest of the day, but today it happened again, beyond repair this time. So the day started with a search for sunglasses at a crap shop on the beach. If you recall, my clear goggles were left at a hotel desk in Copàn Honduras. I found some for about 2 bucks, but I don't know what kind of internal damage these are doing to my eyes.

Another beautiful road along the coast today, this time not so hot due to some much-welcome clouds. Near Manzanilla I met a bunch of cool Canadian guys who invited me to go hang, drink, and play golf the rest of the day. Although I didn't, I did decide to check out the town and try to find a suitable hotel for the night.

I found a freakishly nice guy at the tourist info center who let me know that the only hotels around 200 pesos are in downtown, not on the hotel strip where I was. He also said if I didn't find anything, I could stay at his house - either this is really nice, or a little questionable. When I found that there are no hotels for 200p, I left town and continued to the next beach town, Melanque, which isn't on my map.

I've had an amazing time riding up the Pacific the past few days, but tomorrow I head inland towards Guadalajara. No more big water until I get back to the Hudson River for another kayaking season.

Thursday April 2 Melanque to VillaNueva

A very long day today, with lots of distance covered. After the twisty road up the mountains and over the other side, it smoothed out, over huge desert hills. I had a great time bombing down the hills and coasting back up, and basically did only this all afternoon.

I almost took out a horse and rider today - they were crossing a 4 lane divided highway on a blind curve! My thumb pinned to the horn (not that it would do any good to a horse), I slammed on the brakes and was barely able to swerve around when I got to a slow enough speed.

When I was ready to stop for the night I was nearing the city of Zacatecas, a beautiful, hilly, historic city full of the dichotomy of old western-style buildings adjacent to huge Spanish Baroque catherdrals that seems to be common in this part of the country.

With all the hills and the traffic, I could feel my brakes going - first some strange sounds from the rear. When I stopped, they were blazing hot, so I used only the front for a while. After not finding any hotels the way I like them, only big fancy tourist ones, I talked to a guy who recomended I go to Jerez, about 50 km away, where I can get a nice place for a hundred pesos. Now with my front brakes cooking, I was glad to get out of that town. The sun setting directly into my eyes, I try to follow signs for Jerez, and I'm back on the same road I took into town, going back the direction I came from! Frustrated, and watching a beautiful sunset over the desert mountains, I keep going - and going - and there's no more signs for Jerez. At this point it's just about dark, my tank's just about empty, and I don't have a clue how far away the next town is - I only remember that there was a whole lotta nothin' around here. Eventually I reach VillaNueva and find a hotel for 90 pesos - not bad. I fill up the tank, find a taco stand at the park, and I'm ready for bed.

Fri April 3 VillaNueva to Hidalgo del Parral

An insanely long and frustrating day. I rode many more miles than I should have, with bike problems the whole way. The weather and scenery were great though - I'm back in the high altitude desert where it is very chilly when the sun isn't directly overhead.

My brakes continued giving me problems. First the front, then the rear started getting really, really hot and making funny noises. On a suggestion from Alan, my mechanic in Winston Salem, I took it into a Honda motorcycle shop I found in Durango to have the brake fluid changed (in case you're wondering, it's liquido de frenos). The guys there were very nice, interested in the trip, and tolerant of my poor spanish. They did it right there in the parking lot and refused to charge me anything. I wish I could say this helped, but a couple hours later, the same problems started coming back, although only in the rear brake this time. Fortunately, the gas stations here all have water hoses near each pump, so I can occasionally stop and spray the rotor to cool it off.

Remember back in Honduras when the weld on one of the bars holding the top luggage box broke? Well, the other side took its turn today. Now I need to find another welder (solduradora).

To add to this, as it started getting dark I was in the middle of a really long road between Durango and Hidalgo del Parral, about 400km long. The only towns on this road were really small and run-down. I stopped at a hotel, but the people there kind of gave me the creeps and it was 180 for the night. I decided to make a run for Parral, about 100km in the dark. Driving in Mexico at night is usually considered really risky and dangerous - I didn't think it was that, but it was certainly not fun.

When I got to Parral there were few signs or indicators of where the city center might be, or really any place for a hotel - I was getting desparate. As I was going in circles trying to find something besides gas stations and convenience stores, my brakes started making more noise and the back case bouncing more. A guy in a parking lot helped point me in the right direction and after a few more circles I found the downtown area, and a drip of old, dirty, cheap-looking hotels - just the way I like 'em. I went straight for the one with the driveway, and got a room with nothing but a bed, wardrobe, and sink for 90 pesos. The woman offered to open the front double door so I could bring the bike inside the building, but I was so tired and frustrated, I didn't want to deal with that, and told her it would be fine outside.

I stumbled into an Antojito place(that's a shop where you get tacos, burritos, gorditas, etc) and through my exhaustion didn't understand a single thing the guy there said until I was done eating, when we had a nice conversation. My spanish seems to be the first thing to go when I'm tired.

No official plans for tomorrow, except getting this bike back to normal.

Sat, April 4 Hidalgo del Parral to Creel

The road out of Hidalgo was much easier to find than the road in. However, with the bike swerving at every bump because of the broken trunk, I needed a welder rather quick. Although there were many places near the town, they were all closed, being that it was 8am on a Saturday. It wasn't until I was in the small road heading into the canyons that I found a metal shop - this time not an auto mechanic, but I knew what to do - they just needed to weld the piece together. They also made - not found, made - a new bolt to replace one that came off a couple days ago. Now I have an interesting looking piece coming out of the side of the passenger handles.

An incredible road into Creel - for 300 km, the road very slowly and unnoticeably gets more and more twisty and steep. After an hour and a half or so, I looked up from the curvy road and - whoa! - I'm in the middle of some enormous canyons, with brushy green vegetation over red clay, huge rock walls, and steep mountains. I wasn't able to take any pictures, unfortunately. The road was too dangerous, there was a lack of pull-off spots, and they wouldn't have come out very good anyway, considering the size of everything.

Creel is a neat little town - touristy, of course, but homely and cheap. Naturally there are the luxury mountain retreat hotels, but there's also cheap restaurants, and the hostel I'm staying in. 80 pesos includes dinner AND breakfast - the best deal yet, I think. Considering this, it would be cost effective to stay here another night and hang out around the canyon tomorrow - maybe do some hiking or mountain biking, or just hanging out.

Sun, April 5 - Creel

I'm very much enjoying this town. Last night I went out for a beer with some people at the hostel, and exchanged lots of information - I was able to help a few people out who were heading south into Central America and southern Mexico, and in return I got some good info on things to do here.

This morning, after a free breakfast at the hostel, I headed to the park near the town. 15 pesos to get in, and I did some cool rock scrambling over really cool boulders and over some small cliffs. This road also goes into a very small village occupied by the local natives, the Tarahumaras. This, however, is not the big canyon.

After the park, I headed on the small road going west, along the railroad line. Following a sign off the road, I turned onto a long dirt path that led to the hot springs I'd heard about last night. Along this rough road (not really dirt, more like thick white dust), I saw a sign for Mirador, a scenic viewpoint. This road was even more rough than the dust one, probably best suited to an ATV, but I kept on going, and ended up at a lookout over the entire Copper Canyon. This was absolutely amazing, and I just stood there for a while, staring out into this huge canyon more than twice the size of the Grand Canyon in Arizona.

After this I continued on the road to the hot springs. It turned into the bumpiest road I've had this whole trip. It was cobblestone, with each stone about a foot across and a completely different shape and elevation than the one next to it. This made for some extreme bumpiness - in fact, it is so bad that the road is closed to most traffic after only a little bit of this. I started walking down this bumpy switchback road that goes down the canyon, and a guy in a Jeep stopped to pick me up and take me the rest of the way down. Hitchhiking in this part of the country is common, easy, free, and safe. It also makes for some good conversation, even if it's in really slow, terrible spanish.

The hot springs were neat, but I didn't spend too much time there. I walked back up the road for about a half hour before another car came and picked me up to take me back to the bike. Now it's back to Creel for some dinner and relaxation.

There is more stuff that I really want to check out here, and the hostel is so cheap that I think I'll stay another day. I'm in no rush to get back to the States.

Tues April 7 Creel to Madera, Mexico

A very fun day yesterday, riding around the Copper Canyon, hiking, hanging out with my new friends at the hostel, and drinking tequila. I came back this afternoon to find a mid-90's BMW airhead parked outside the hostel with a Nevada plate. I soon found the owner, James, a Canadian living in Reno who is doing a similar trip as me, the other direction (down the west coast and up the middle). After hanging out last night and talking more this morning, we decided to ride together back up the rest of the way through Mexico.

Being that it was a late, and rather interesting, night, we decided on a late start and a short ride for the day, up a cool-looking-on-the-map road to Madera. The road, since my map was published, has been mostly replaced by a large divided highway, making for some rather uninteresting riding. This is alright, because Madera seemed like it could be a neat town.

Madera was not a neat town. There was no cute downtown area - only one strip on the main road with a couple restaurants and about 2 hotels. James and I were getting along well, so decided to get a hotel and ride tomorrow towards the border at Douglas, Arizona. Both of us having been on long trips through Latin America, we were feeling a little sad at this being our last night below the border.

Indeed, it will be sad to leave Latin America. I've learned and shared so much with this part of the world that I feel that I'm leaving a small part of my soul here. These countries have lots of amazing things to share with the rest of the word, but are plagued by fear, most of it coming from their English-speaking neighbors, the Amercans. Fear is much easier to share than knowledge - stories of robberies, murders, crooked cops, and illness are easier and more interesting to share than those of the unique hospitality, culture, and breaking down language barriers. The people of Central America are constantly fighting this xenophobia, and every American and European traveling through here, myself included, is ready to fight with them.

Tomorrow will consist of some very long roads and border zone fun. For now, I need to catch up on some sleep.

Wed, April 8 Madera, Mexico to Coronado National Forest, Arizona

A long day of riding that started out with some of the most beautiful weather I've had this trip. After James and I managed to get Big Mama through the door out of the lobby, where they let us park last night, it was clear, with a few beautiful clouds, and just slightly chilly. After an hour, we had breakfast of some egg-and-some-other-stuff burritos at a taco stand where we talked a while with the woman running the place. Some good spanish practice for both of us before leaving the country. It was fun talking to people with James; we both have similar Spanish abilities, so if we put our heads together, we can explain just about anything.

The road that followed was by far the most windy (as in gusts, not twists) riding I've ever experienced. We were both leaning over the side of our bikes just to stay straight in our lane. Every truck that passed felt like getting shot with one of those air cannons you can get at toy stores. We had to travel at about 50mph, but the cars and more immune trucks went much faster, easily passing us.

A small truck ahead, coming in our direction, began to swerve. Perhaps a tire slightly came off the edge of the road, I don't know. After a couple swerves the tires started coming off the ground, higher with each change of direction. I start to slow down, but he's coming at me fast. The wind is blowing to the right, but if I swerve left to the opposite lane, I'll be headed straight into him if he regains control. As I am quickly, but calmly, considering this, a gust of wind picks up the truck's right side, and it starts rolling: 2 and a half complete rolls, down the road in my direction. The last half roll sent it halfway in the ditch to my right, upside down facing the road perpendicularly, with glass flying in all directions and its cargo - dozens of large buckets of motor oil - spilling and scattering all over the ditch. Meanwhile, I'm hitting the brakes hard, and come to a stop just before the crash site. This entire episode, from seeing the truck to stopping, probably lasted between 5 and 10 seconds.

As soon as I stopped, I grabbed the key and ran around to the case where I keep my first aid kit and some rope. While I fumble with the key, the driver climbs out of the broken window and gets up. On the other side, a boy of about 13 climbs out and also starts walking normally. This absolutely amazes me - I thought we were about to be pulling bodies out from under the truck. What further amazed me was that the driver acted as if nothing out of the ordinary just happened - he was walking around and talking, and was only concerned that the kid gets a ride back up the road to Nuevo Casas Grandes, the nearest town.

James, who was riding a couple hundred meters behind me, had just then come up after pulling over, and we were both shaking, and neither of us could put together enough spanish to really say anything at all. With only a few scratches from the broken glass, the boy got a ride to town, and the driver insisted everything is fine and we should go ahead. Needless to say, we rode very cautiously the rest of the day.



The road to Agua Prieta was over a desolate landscape, going in and out of some steep but small mountains along the New Mexico and Arizona border. Agua Prieta is a small town, and slightly cleaner than most border towns, so we easily went through and got to the border.

Last Border Crossing:
There was a long line of cars waiting to cross the border, but before we joined them, we needed to cancel our vehicle import permits. An officer pointed us to the Mexican customs building where we had to pull around the back to the parking lot and take our papers and stickers inside. After a couple minutes in line, a woman asked if I was cancelling my permit (in spanish - she didn't speak English, but most of the other customs agents there did). She took us outside to the bikes, punched some buttons on her handheld computer thing, and printed a receipt.

We decided to cut the line by going around the side from the parking lot, and the officers directing traffic actually encouraged this - they kept directing us to go foreward all the way to the front. I'm not used to such a high-tech border. There are cameras and security equipment and all sorts of high-security stuff everywhere. When I got to the booth, it went something like this: I hand the guy my passport.
"Where are you coming from?"
"Central America - Guatemala, Belize...."
"Nice trip?"
"Great"
"Bringing anything back?"
"Nope"
"Ok then, welcome back"

At the other side, James and I said our goodbyes and he headed North while I headed East. I should have gotten gas in Douglas - there are very few gas stations around, and when I was dangerously low I found one just as they were closing, at 5pm.

Actually, I didn't really know what time it was at all. The time kept changing, between the time zones and daylight savings, which is a different day in Mexico than the US. I found out in Creel that my watch had been an hour off, probably for a few days. Then daylight savings changed, and then I passed through 3 different time zones over the next couple days. At least it's a little safer in the states to ride at night.

I found the National Forest on my map, and dropped the bike twice looking for a camping spot - half because the road was bad, and half because I was very tired after such a long day. As it got dark I set up my broken tent, which in turn broke even more, and made a nice campfire, which was easy being that everything is so dry here. No dinner tonight - I had a good Mexican lunch, and will have a nice big American breakfast tomorrow.

Thurs, April 9 Coronado NF, Arizona to Roswell, New Mexico

This has been one of the coldest days in a few weeks. As soon as I woke up, by put on my fleece under all my jacket liners, and most of them stayed on me the rest of the day. Some beautiful, but slightly repetitive scenery - I felt like I was riding through the set of lots of movies I've seen; I probably was. The one that stuck out most in my head is "The Man Who Fell to Earth," the one where David Bowie plays an extraterrestrial who ends up in a small town in New Mexico.

Since my National Parks pass is still valid from my last trip, I decided to visit White Sands National Monument. It was very pretty and unique - huge white sand dunes in the middle of a desert, right next to an active missile range where the military tests missiles and flies fancy new jets.



Some more similar riding, up a 7,000 ft mountain pass, through some touristy old west towns with museums and plaques along the road all about Billy the Kid and those guys, and into Roswell. I thought about going further, but my brakes were acting up and I was feeling done, so I stopped for the night at Bottomless Lakes State Park, about 15 miles east of town.

Sat, April 11 Bike problems and nice folks in Arkansas

Yesterday was a highway day, spent mostly on I-40 across northern Texas and the entire state of Oklahoma. Throughout the day, each time I stopped, the back wheel seemed to be making worse sounds than before, and throwing off the balance of the bike when I went really slowly. I decided this was bad enough that I stopped at a hotel on the highway in Oklahoma, only a couple miles to the Arkansas border, to ckeck it out.



When I took off the side case, I saw that the rotor was crooked on the brakes, causing them to rub. I didn't think much about why at that point, so I drained the fluid out of the brakes and took the pads out and decided to do the rest of the trip with no rear brakes - no big deal, since I'll be on the highway the whole time. So I retire to my hotel room for the night - a big fancy place with all sort of unnecessary amenities, like a TV, hot water, clean blankets, air conditioning - all the stuff that makes it four times the price of a nice hotel in Mexico. Where are the 10 dollar hotels on I-40, with just a room with a bed and maybe a sink?



The next morning I pack up and put the bike in first. It goes about 10 feet and stops. Fortunately I'm still in the parking lot, so I take off the bag again and find that the rotor is actually digging into the metal on the brake system. When I take off the other bag I see that the tire is actually rubbing up against the casing to the drive shaft. This is very bad, and I immediately call my roadside assistance to get towed to the nearest bike shop. I needed a bike lift and someone who knows how this all works. On the phone with my North Carolina mechanic, Allen, I'm told that it's possible that the problem is with the bearings, a relatively easy fix.



A couple hours later, the tow truck guys come, winch the bike onto the bed, and we're off to the Yamaha dealer in Fort Smith, Arkansas. They knew I was coming because the roadside assistance looked up the number for me. It wasn't a long ride, which is good because it was a small cab with me and two large Arkansas tow truck operators (and I thought I had a hard time understanding Spanish!). Being a holiday weekend in the spring, I expected to have to wait, which I did. While I was waiting I was told by Larry, the service department guy, that a similar problem happened recently which turned out to need replacement of the whole drive shaft. They also didn't have any there that would fit my bike for a replacement, and I might be stuck there until at least Tuesday! Aah! Easter weekend in Arkansas! A guy in the shop at the time overheard all this, and on his way out offered me a place to stay in his house near the shop, if I needed to stay here.

Once they got a chance to put Big Mama up on the lift and take her rear end apart (oh la la!), they found that one of the bearings had broken apart. Although some other stuff was a bit damaged in there, they could put on a new bearing and I could get home safely to my parents' garage in North Carolina before having to replace anything else. However, they didn't have the right size bearing. After going to the nearby Suzuki dealer to find a bearing, and putting it on, Big Mama was ready to go by about 5pm, accompanied by a repair bill much lower than I expected. Thanks, Fort Smith Arkansas Yamaha Dealer Guys!

The problem now was that it was 5pm, I was more than 12 hours of riding from North Carolina, and there was a weather system coming in from the West. I hit the highway, and carefully (and still with no rear brakes) rode into the sunset.

It was getting cold after dark - too cold to camp out, and I really didn't want to spend the money on another hotel room. Since I was awake after just waiting around all day not doing much, I rode gas tank-to-gas tank into the cold night on I-40, listening to a couple radio stations I picked up that were actually pretty decent.

May 1st - Arrival in New York City

Well, I've successfully proven that a trip to Central America on a beastly touring bike is possible, safe, and completely awesome.

After 2 weeks of replacing every bearing, sleeve, seal, and the rear brake calipers on the back end of the bike in my parents' North Carolina garage, Big Mama became once again roadworthy, and I got my dog back (not without a bit of a fight - puppies tend to be addicting after taking care of them for a while). The ride back up to NYC was uneventful - warm, with only a little rain in the last part of the trip. 

I wasn't exactly sure how I'd feel coming back to the big mean city that I had left for so long. Much of the reason for my taking this trip is that I was getting fed up with the city lifestyle, and, especially during the winter, the way people act towards one another and towards their environment. My lack of work was another reason, and now I'm heading back to the same situation - lots of expenses and little income.

All this was in my head on the way up highway 81, and didn't leave until I was on the George Washington Bridge. Usually from the GW, you can see the skyline of the city, and even my apartment building if you look carefully. It was foggy and raining, so I couldn't see a thing, but regardless, I knew it was all there, and I became excited towards my homecoming for the first time. Even Django, wet, cold, and scared, started getting excited once we turned onto my block and he started recognizing the neighborhood. After such a long ride that followed being in a series of new places, he seemed to be even happier to be home than I was.

I've heard that New York has a way of swallowing up homecomings from amazing adventures, because most of the people have probably done something cooler yet. I didn't feel this way, though. Especially with drug wars and swine flu and central american politics all over the news, when people asked me where I've been and I tell them, the response is usually something along the line of "man, you've got some balls". I gladly follow that up by telling people that I didn't run into the slightest danger whatsoever, and everyone, including (perhaps especially) the shady types, was friendly and welcoming as can be. Usually the response to that is "I don't care, you've got balls".

My job here in this blog is to let everyone know that it doesn't take balls to do a trip like this - only an open mind, knowledge, a reliable motorcycle, plenty of time, much less money than most people think, and a notebook.

Okay, balls can help too.