Found 2 pin-holes in the boot and after cleaning the surrounding areas, covered the areas with Silicon Sealant. I think I know what caused the leaks. A couple of times several weeks ago, even before I left on the trip, I had noticed the boot bellows had partially "collapsed" inward. I think that while the boot was collapsed like that, the driveshaft probably rubbed gainst it, causing the holes. As to why the boot itself collapsed, or got sucked in, like that, I have another theory. The only way for it to get sucked in like that, was for a vacuum to have developed inside the swingarm. The only way for that to happen, as far as I can think, is for th volume of oil inside to drop, i.e., an oil leak. Since at the time the bellows were collapsed, there was no visible external leak, the leak must be at the final drive oil seal, from the swingarm back into the final drive. The driveshaft oil did seem to be down a bit when I checked it's level, so this seemed to confirm my theory.
Of all possible oil leaks, I guess a final drive/swingarm seal leak is one o the "best" to have. The leak is generally very slow, the leak is internal s that external mess is reduced, although ultimately it usually increases the leakage out the final drive vent due to the increased levels in the final drive. It just means you have to check the driveshaft oil level more often and top it off. Now I was glad I brought the 16oz bottle of gear oil.
El Paso is having abnormally cool and rainy weather for this time of year. It was overcast and in the 70s today,20 degrees below normal, with a couple of showers thrown in. Of course that makes riding the bike in all my gear a bit more tolerable.
In the evening a major funk set in, brought on by who knows what. Probably combination of things; annoyance at myself for still not having looked at a Mexican map to figure out where I would be heading the next day, annoyance a having stayed a second night in a hotel here in El Paso, just being in El Paso (nothing against El Paso in particular, just being in a large metropolitan area tends to affect my moods), and ultimately, nervousness at the prospect of crossing the border tomorrow and being the minority for the next year.
I called Noemi and subjected her to my foul mood. Moreso because I had promised her I would call that night, than to dump on her. Plus I knew my mood would cause her additional anxiety and worry. Of course she insists sh wants to share in my foul moods and to worry about me. Go figure. Went to bed without looking further at any maps.
Because I could easily buy a new spare rear tube here in El Paso, I elected to install my spare rear tube, rather than patch the hole. There will be times in the future when I won't have that luxury. About an hour later I'm back on the road. I find a dealer who carries Metzeler Moose Heavy-Duty Offroad tubes in the size I need. They're even more heavy-duty than the Michilin Air-Stops I had been carrying.
Till I found the dealer, got the tube, had lunch, and was ready to leave El Paso, it was 3pm. Looking at the map this morning, I decided, for a couple of reasons, to go a bit further SE in Texas, to Del Rio or Eagle Pass, to cross the border, rather than do it at El Paso. First, the Mexican roads south from El Paso are predominantly toll all the way to Chihuahua, and even some south of there. Secondly, the terrain seemed like it might be a bit more interesting going south from Del Rio or Eagle Pass. From Ciudad Juarez, across the border from El Paso, south to Chihuahua was primarily desert and the road was pretty straight. Thirdly, Noemi and I had already ridden the stretch from Chihuahua to El Pas twice, during our Copper Canyon trip when we had to detour to El Paso to pic up a new clutch plate for my bike which had died in Creel.
With my late start, the 460 miles to Del Rio were out of the question, so I set my target to Alpine about 250 miles SE. Alpine, Texas seemed like it should be an oxymoron, but I decided to give it the benefit of the doubt until I could decide for myself. It was an oxymoron, though I guess by Texa standards it could classify as alpine.
Most of this area was fenced rangeland, offering little opportunity to turn off the main road onto a side road to look for a place to camp. What few side roads there were were gated and posted "No Tresspassing". Halfway betwe Alpine and Marathon, I found an unposted side road and took it. It quickly petered out as it entered posted land, but it did offer some flat land between some railroad tracks and the fence, and since it was rapidly becomin dark (I had entered the Central Time Zone), I pitched my tent about 30 yds from the tracks, figuring, "How many trains can come by between now (9pm) an morning. 7 to be exact, though I had my earplugs in for the last 4, and was barely jostled out of my sleep as they went by. The 1st 3 were interesting, as my tent was pitched on the outside of a gradual curve and the train's headlights would illuminate the upper third of the tent as they passed in either direction. That plus the roar as the train passed only 30 yds away, made it seem like the train was going to run right through my tent.
Tuesday August 27
Temp: 8pm 85F
Ride to Del Rio was uneventful, and again, like yesterday, had some rain heavy enough to warrant stopping and switching to rain gloves and putting th tankbag raincover on. This just after the truck driver at the gas station said all the rain was west of here and it would be dry to the east.
There were stretches where the old, now abandoned, HW 90 could be seen as it closely followed the curves of the low hills. The "new and improved" 90 cuts straight swath SE ontop of huge landfills and through large cuts in the rock hills. Progress. Looking at such old abandoned roads and the abandoned homes and buildings along their route always gets my imagination working, wondering about the stories they could tell about shattered dreams or dreams made good. I had to resist the temptation to try to explore some of those abandoned stretches.
From high above the Pecos River, where the "new" (built in '57, a year befor I was born) bridge crosses some 1200 ft above the river, you could look down and see the old road sweep down the other side of the canyon, before the roa abruptly ended at the river's mud flats far below. That bridge had been washed out in a flash flood in '53 or '54.
It was late enough in the afternoon that I decided to cross the border first thing next morning, so I bought some things for dinner, gassed up, mailed some film home, and found a campsite.
Once the wind dies down at this campsite,there are bunches of little knats which land on you and fly around your face. Very annoying.
My driveshaft boot repair seems to have worked as there is no longer any oil seepage in the area. However, the boot again wants to collapse inward, and have to twice loosen the clamps to eliminate the vacuum.
Wednesday August 28 (52744 miles)
Temp: 6am 75F
Up before sunrise; heavily overcast, though didn't rain last night. In fact was so hot last night I removed the rain fly on the tent. After breakfast in DelRio on the way through, crossed the Rio Grande and the border at 8:30. A half hour later I had my tourist card, and the permit for my vehicle and was ready to head south as a steady rain began to fall. When applying for your vehicle permit, it is important not to tell them you are travelling through Mexico to Guatemala. That requires a transit permit, gives you only a very limited number of days to get through Mexico, and forces you to travel specific routes. Instead you give as your destination some point in the ver south of the country. Chiapas and the ruins of Palenque were my destinations, and in fact they were on my list of places to visit, though I wasn't sure if I would visit them on the way south or on the way home.
In the parking lot as I was suiting up, a businessman who was returning from Mexico stopped to chat. Turns out he works for RayChem in Menlo Park, not far from where I used to work (that sounds kind of funny) at SRI. [Trivia fact: it was an SRI employee, Paul Cook, who started RayChem]. He gave me the name and phone number of a friend in Buenos Aires, where I might be able to stay. Small world.
Had rain for about an hour, but by noon the skies were clearing. Passed through one immigration and two military checkpoints. Only the immigration checkpoint asked for my papers. Everyone very courteous. In fact at the immigration checkpoint, as I fumbled with my documents, I kept dropping my gloves, and the officer picked them up for me each time. "Clumsy Gringo" I' sure he thought. The young army recruits were particularly interested in th bike, where I was headed, and the GPS receiver; not from an official point o view, but clearly because of personal interest and sense of adventure. So I tried my best in my rusty and limited Spanish to answer their questions. I' not sure how successful I was. It was the 1st time, of I'm sure to be many, in which it was clear how poor my Spanish was.
Picked up Mexico 57 south which conveniently bypassed the cities of Sabinas and Monclova, but deposited me in Saltillo just as an armada of busses left the GM plant at about 4pm. Continuing on my austerity theme, I followed 57 Libre (free), rather than 57 Cuota (toll), as it turned east and climbed right towards one of the darkest, blackest clouds I have ever seen. Jagged bolts of lightening seemingly split the cloud and the immediate thunderclap told me I was going to be in the heart of the storm imminently. And then th rain was upon me, a torrential downpour, that just like that had axle-deep water rushing across the road carrying rocks with it. I decided to trust my fates to the water-crossing gods, rather than risk being run over by the armada of busses which seemed to enjoy seeing how close on my tail they coul follow. I managed to avoid any large rocks in the two such water crossings had to make, and then, just as suddenly, the rain had stopped and the sun wa out.
57 Libre headed SW out of the city and then, several miles out of the city, cut eastward through some beautiful pine forrested mountains, dotted with palm trees, to eventually join up with 57 Cuota and continue SSE. If I woul have seen what looked like a good place to pull off the road and camp in those mountains, I would have, however most of the land was fenced. 57 then entered a wide lush agricultural valley for 10 miles or so.
The rest of the way S to Matehuala, the road was 2-lane and mostly straight with the occasional curve thrown in. One had to be constantly on the alert, as oncoming trucks, busses and cars wouldn't hesitate to pull out into my lane to pass, expecting me, it seemed, to use the road shoulder which surprisingly, for a Mexican highway, existed. In fact the shoulder was ofte smoother than the rest of the road, and the ruckers consistently used as muc of it as they could. The surface was almost washboard in places, though the pavement wasn't broken, just ripppled. I was actually wishing I had a kidne belt in places.
No ideal camping spots presented themselves, and I hadn't yet worked up the gumption to just ride up to one of the small campisino's shacks which dotted the roadside to ask permission to camp, so I found myself in Matehuala at about 7:30pm and got a hotel room at the Palacio Real Hotel for 70 pesos ($9.50).
The proprietor had ridden a Harley from Chicago to Matahuala in '94. Severa small boys were full of questions about the bike and my gear.