Doug's South America Excursion

Left Andre's about 9am. Went into Antigua to send out the email replies I had composed last night. Had to wait a bit before the line was available, and then had some problems connecting. Apparently got a busy signal several times, which I had never had happen before. I'm not sure if it really was or was some other problem. Then when I finally connected, the baud rate seemed incredibly slow, but it was a connection and I didn't want to kill it and try again. It ended up being quite an expensive transmission. Had lunch, and didn't end up leaving Antigua until about 12:30.

Rode back through Guatemala City. As long as you are just going from west to east, or vise versa, it's not too bad. For much of the way the road is a 4 lane divided boulevard. On the eastern side of the city the route is on oneway city streets and it turns several times, usually not well marked. A couple of times I found myself off the route, but by heading in the general direction with the aid of my GPS I found the route again and eventually made my way out of the city.

East of the city the road begins to drop out of the highlands, through mountainous country, that becomes drier as you proceed east. Truck traffic was very heavy, and I frequently was passing trucks just creeping up or down the steep grades. Once again I was reminded of how one must adjust your expectations as to how much distance you can cover in a day.

Between my late start and the truck traffic, I made it to Chiquimula by about 4:30 and decided to call it a day. 6 miles south of Chiquimula a dirt road cuts off, heading southeast 30 miles to the Honduran border. Cars are advised to allow 2 hours for this stretch, and the border post closes at 5 or 6pm depending on which guidebook you read.

Got a room, with bath at the Hospedaje Rio Jordan for 25Q, about 4 bucks. I asked to look at one off the rooms "sin banos", but it was on the bottom floor and had a strong smell of mildew and toilets.

It clearly is warmer and more humid here than in the highlands. For the first time since I left Flores over two weeks ago my room has a ceiling fan. It rained this eveninf so was just cool enough that I didn?t need to use it. I think that is a first.

Saturday November 9 (58276 odo)

Temp: 8Am 75F

Left Chiguimula about 8:30am heading south for 6 miles to the village of Vado Honda where where I turned east onto the road to the Honduran border. The cobblestone streets in Vado Honda were wet and the more agressive knobby-like profile of the Bridgestones caused the bike to squirm around on the cobblestones. Once out of town on the dirt road the Bridgestones offered great traction and feel.

The sky was overcast but it wasn't raining, though clearly it had rained quite a bit overnight as puddles lined the road. The sun would poke in and out behind the clouds, and the road would alternate between wet sections where it was slippery, and sections which rapidly dried in the sun and light breeze which was coming out of the mountains to the east.

To the east, in the mountains I was climbing into, the sky was dark and the bottom of the clouds shrouded the mountains. The road continues to climb and twist up into the lush, green, tropical mountains.

12 miles east of Vado Honda, as I descended into a valley, I came to the town of Jocotan. At the entrance to town, the road forked and I took the right fork, which soon became paved with paving stones and climbed up into the town. I came into the town square and then tried several streets out of the square but they all quickly turned to dirt and were obviously not the road on to the border. I turned around and went back to the fork at the entrance to town and tried the left fork. It too soon became paved and passed through the edge of town until it came to a T. I asked a man there which direction to the "frontiera de Honduras" and he indicated right. The paved road continued up the hill and I came out in the town plaza again, my third or fourth time through it. By this time people were laughing as I rode by once again. I stopped in front of what looked like a municipal building where 3 men were talking outside and asked directions how to get to the road to the border. One of them starts drawing a map on a piece of paper, but one of the other guys crosses the street, gets on his small motorcycle, and motions for me to follow. I had a personal escort through the streets of Jocotan. Several turns later, as the road turned to dirt oncce again, he motions me by and with a sweep of his arm indicates this is the road. I shout a "Muchos gracias, Senor" and continue on my way.

Less than 1km away is the twin Mayan village of Camotan. The last 100 yards before gaining the towns paved main street were the worst of the entire stretch to the border. Foot deep mud in places and the bike slid around as I gassed through it, needing a well placed foot plant in one spot to keep the bike upright. Once on the pavement I looked down to assess the results. The front of the legs of my Aerostitch and my boots were covered in about an inch of mud. Very good for pose value as I rode through town.

Between Camotan and the border the road continued to be muddy in places, usually on uphill stretches, but not as bad as the entrance to town had been. On one uphill muddy stretch, I rounded a corner to find a slow moving truck ahead of me, I didn't want to lose my momentum in this mucj, so I laid on my horn to let him know I was coming, he got over to the right, and I skooted by on his left, the bike fishtailing a bit as I went by. The problem during maneuvers like that is that you loose the ability to choose the best path through the muck, and have to pretty much just gas it through on the path available to you.

There were several small river crossings, some with a concrete road bed underneath, others without. I generally just entered and exited where the tracks showed the truck traffic went. At what was to be the last such crossing, about 20 yards across, their were two sets of tracks entering on my side, but both angled to a single set of tracks out the other side. It was a muddy downhill leading to the stream and I didn't want to stop, so I picked one and headed across on a diagonal. About 3 yards from the far side I the hit a big hole and powering through gets me out of the stream, but not on the line I wanted and I'm heading for the ditch on the left side of the road. Fortunately it's a small ditch and I'm able to get the bike stopped, still upright, with me on it, and then ride out of the ditch. A small boy was watching this whole spectacle and when I sees me laughing he laughs too and gives a big hoot.

On the Guatemalan side of the border I had to pay three seperate fees, in three seperate offices, totaling about Q30 (US$5), which the guidebooks had described, and I got receipts for all of them so I think they were all on the level. A fourth office recorder my vehicle information, stamped my vehicle papers, and gave me a tstamped transit stub to give to the guard at the gate, ut amazingly didn't ask for any fee. With that I was free to leave Guatemala. My visa was actually only valid for 2 more days. I had been Guatemala for 28 days.

I needed to change money into Honduran Lempiras, but I had screwed up by not finding out the current exchange rate before I got to the border. There were no official places to exchange money at the border, just the black market exchangers that you find at every border crossing. The latest information that I had was that it was about 10.2 Lempiras to the US dollar in 95. The young man who accepted my stamped transit stub as I drove through the Guatemalan checkpoint, evidently moonlighted as a money exchanger. He apparently had a monopoly on the Guatemalan side as noone else approached me. He offered me 12 Lempiras to the dollar or 2 Lempiras to the Quetzal. At least the ratio between the two was right since I knew it was roughly 6 Quetzals to the dollar.

I cashed my remaining Quetzals (about US$50 worth) and US$120 of travelers checks, for which he would only give me a rate of 11.5. I only had small denomination US bills readily available and I didn't want to use them. If it hadn't been a weekend, I would have only exchanged the Quetzals and waited until I found a bank to exchange the travelers checks. I still don't know what the official rate is, until I can find a paper or a bank.

Trivia: Lempira was a chief of the Lenca Indians, who was treacherously murdered at a peace talk arranged by the Spanish in 1538. Today Lempira is a national hero and the Honduran currency bears his name. The one lempira note contains an idealized Indian face, chosen to represent Lempira.

On the Honduran side, I had to pay L20 (US$1.67) to get my passport stamped, for which I got a receipt, then it was off to another office for my vehicle permit. Things were a little more questionable here. The fee was L371 (US$31), for which I asked for a receipt. I got two forms, one called a proof of payment, showing fees totaling L271 for things such as immigration control, vehicle inspection (of course no inspection was done), and vehicles with non-Central American license plates. When I asked about the extra L100 they then pointed to the second form, the temporary vehicle import permit, which at the top said "Value: L100." I think it was all on the level, but this is another place where better Spanish on my part would help. Then I had to take these papers to the police office several doors down, where a police officer recorder my vehicle information in a large ledger, and gave me a transit stub to give to the guard at the gate. He then asked for a L30 fee. I said "Un recibo, por favor," and he replied that he didn't have any receipts, and some other explanation as to what the fee was for, which I didn't understand. I repeated "Necesito un recibo, por favor," and he again gave some explanation as to why the fee was required, but that he didn't have any receipts and the other forms I had could serve as my receipt. I replied that I had already paid the amounts shown on those forms at the other office and that I would need a receipt. At this point another officer sitting in the back of the office added his two-cents, or should that be two centavos, worth as to why the fee was required, but I insisted I needed a receipt. By this time I had all my paperwork back in my possesion, and the policemans responses to my request for a receipt seemed to be getting more feeble, so I said "Es todos?", and he said "Si", to which I replied "Muchos gracias, Senor," and left. I didn't get shot in the back, so he was just angling for a bribe, and saw that I was going to insist on getting a receipt for anything I paid.

It was only 7.5 miles from the border crossing to the town of Copan Ruinas, and within 2-3 miles of the border the road became paved.

In town I headed to the Hotel y Restaurante Paty, which was mentioned in the Lonely Planet Guidebook, and which Dave and Whitney recommended as well. By the time I had checked in and unloaded the gear I needed inside the room it was 11:15 and raining heavily. I didn't feel like walking around the ruins of Copan in the rain, so I went to restaurant Llama del Bosque for lunch, hoping the rain would stop. I had a long lunch, reading up on Honduras and Nicaragua, the next country on my itinerary.

I plan to pick up the pace a biy yhrough the rest of the Central American countries, and I think I'll spend about a week in Honduras, before crossing into Nicaragua. This time through, on the way south, I won't go north to the Caribbean coast and the Bay Islands. Hopefully I can catch them on the way back north. The island of Roatan has some of the best scuba diving in the world, and also is supposedly the cheapest place to get certified in the world. If I didn't know that sweetie was so busy with her contract work in DC I'd suggest she fly down for a week and join me on Roatan.

Tonight reviewing the documents I got today I noticed something kinda wierd. The Temporary Vehicle Entry Permit, on the front says it is valid for 90 days, but on the back, written in handwriting beside an official stamp hat says something like "Fusep de Transito", it says "8 dias para circular en Territorio Honduras." That seems to imply I have 8 days to transit through Honduras. Thinking back now, i realize I screwed up and mentioned that I would be travelling through Honduras to Nicaragua, something that's not a good idea to mention. The border officials then sometimes give you a transit permit which constrains how much time you have in the country. I think this might be what happened. Actually it won't be that big a deal, since I was planning to only spenda week in Honduras anyways. But I need to remember that for future border crossings.

Sunday November 10 (58325 odo)

Was at the ruins when they opened at 8am. The ruins are like an oasis, as the grounds were situated in a patch of secondary-growth tropical rain forest which itself was completely surrounded by cultivated agricultural land in the valley along the Rio Copan. The grand plazas among the ruins themselves were now well-trimmed lush green lawns. When the site was occupied by the Mayas such plazas were typically paved with stone and covered with a white, stucco-like material.

From the entrance, to get to the ruins proper, you walk down a long corridor through the forest. At the far end you see the green lawn of the Great Plaza, and a small pyramid in its center. It was heavily overcast, and as I came out onto the Great Plaza, it was misting. But somehow that only added to the experience and the mystic of the place. In front of me was the expanse of lush green lawn, with numerous stone stelae, some towering 20 ft high, situated throughout. Copan is reknowned for its stelae, which are among the most elaborate and well preserved of any in the Mayan world. It is said that if Tikal, with it's majestic pyramids, is the New York of the Mayan world, then Copan, with its elaborate and intricate stelae and carvings, is Paris.

By midmorning the clouds had burned off and it was sunny. The other monument Copan is known for is the Hieroglyphic Staircase, 63 steps telling the history of the royal families of Copan. It is now covered by a protective awning, which somewhat lessens the impact, but it is magnificent nontheless.

In the East Plaza, south of the Stairway, I met Mark, an American, and Steve, a Canadian. Mark had been an accountant in Portland, but would be returning to San Francisco in a couple weeks to begin Grad school at the University of San Francisco, although he was entering with an undeclared major. He told me of being thrown in jail while returning late at night to his hotel through the main plaza in Antigua, obstensively for public drunkeness, but as the Guatemalan friends he was with were released, he felt it was more likely because he was a Gringo and had long hair. He was thrown in a cell with about 30 locals who robbed him of his money and passport. A Nicaraguan who was also thrown in the cell, resisted being robbed, and was beaten severely by the other inmates. He was eventually put in another cell by the guards, and in the morning the inmates in Marks cell all urinated in a bucket, and threw it on the Nicaraguan. The guards told Mark he could buy back his passport from the inmates, but they were demanding about as much as it would cost to replace at the US Embassy, so he went to the Embassy in Guatemala City and got it replaced. Mark said it was not the most pleasant experience of his trip; he had been travelling for 8 months, throughout the world, including Asia and Turkey. And to think that one evening while in Antigua, I too walked back to my hotel through that plaza, at about 1am in the morning, about the same time as Mark. It makes one stop and think.

Altar Q in the West Plaza was a 4x4 foot block of stone with the images of the 16 great kings of Copan carved on its 4 sides.

By 11:30 I had finished exploring the sight, and Mark, Steve, and I walked across the highway to a small comedor for lunch. It was kind of funny, Mark and Steve, though neither were vwgetarians, had basically given up on eating meat, chicken or beaf, because of having seen it hanging in the local carnicerias (butcher shops) in the various small towns. The sight had basically been unappetizing and they were worried about sanitary conditions. On the other hand, a young Dutch doctor who had been living and working in El Salvador for the past 2 years, and who had joined us for lunch, was heartily chowing down the same dish of chicken, rice and beans as I was. Shoot, if I thought of the things we used to do at McDonalds when i worked there during highschool, I never would eat there again.

I left around 12:30, heading northeast towards San Pedro Sula, but I really didn't have any particular destination in mind. I was a bit ambivalent about how far to go, or where to stop next. There was nothing major along the route I was going which grabbed me. Lago de Yojoa, Pulhapanzak waterfalls, San Pedo Sula, some nice rain-forest national parks,and some other sights, but nothing that was on my must-see list. I wasn't in the mood, and didn't want to take the extra day, to climb any of the peaks in the several National Parks along the route I was going. I decided to just start riding and see what grabbed me.

The road northeast from Copan was equivalent to a good, 2-lane secondary highway in the US. Very good surface, wide shoulders. There were a couple of construction zones, but other than that it was in great condition, probably one of the best roads since Mexico. Initially it wound through mountainous areas, but eventually entered a long flat valley, between two ranges of mountains, which was heavily cultivated. Here the road straigntened out and at 60mph I was getting passed, so I wicked it up to 65mph.

I came through the outskirts of San Pedro about 3pm, but the sprawl before me was not appealing, and several travellers and guideboks said there was no particular overriding reason to stop there if one didn't have to, so I kept riding, turning south towards Lago de Yojoa, Comayagua, and Tegucigalpa, the capitol of Honduras.

I was in the mood for riding and the road was a great motorcycle road. A series od sweepers tok it up into the mountains and past Lago de Yojoa. While the lake, nestled among the surrounding peaks, was beautiful, it couldn't compete with the pulse of the bike on the mountain roads, and I kept on riding, filing away the images in my mind. South of the lake the road continued to climb to a pass at 5200 feet then dropped down the other side. I should have stopped in the town of Siguatepeque for the night, as there was still plenty of light as I rode through, but I had set my sights on Comayagua, the historic first capital of Honduras from 1537 until the capital was moved to Tegucigalpa in 1880, and 19 miles further south.

I got to the outskirts of Comayagua at dusk, and by the time I made a couple of wrong turns and was navigating the downtown streets it was dark. Once again I was reminded of why I don't like to pull into an unknown town after dark, even with the benefit of a general knowledge of the layout from the map in the Lonely Planet guidebook. Streetsigns in most most towns I've encountered so far are generally plastered on the sides of the buildings at the intersections. But it is by no means consistent, and often the signs are so old and faded they are difficult to read, even during the day, let alone at night with no street lights. To make matters worse major street work was being done and numerous streets were completely blocked by large piles of dirt completely across the entire street. Of course there were no signs indicating which streets were closed. I rode over several such piles, following paths previously made by bicycles or motorcycles, and around other piles over curbs and onto the sidewalks. Of course in the process of negotiating all these detours I got completely turned around and lost and it took another 15 minutes to find an intersection with street signs so I could get my bearings.

Finally I found the hotel I was looking for. The owner spoke very good English. There was no courtyard for the bike and I couldn't ride it into the hallway, but the owner had an unused building across the street where I could park it and the building was locked up.

Monday November 11 (58544 odo)

The town had an active marketplace which apparently went on every day. This one was definitely geared towards the locals and not the tourists. I left town around noon, heading for Tegucugalpa.

Tegus is situated in a bowl-shaped valley, surrounded by a ring of mountains. I tucked a small map of the city in my map-pocket on top of my tankbag and roughly plotted what route I would take to the vicinity of the city center which is where the cheap hotels were. One in particular had an enclosed garage. I entered the outskirts on a wide boulevard and was quickly lost as nothing bore any resemblance to my map. I encountered cloverleafs which were nowhere to be found on my map. Finally I encountered an exit with a sign indicating El Centro, so I took it. I still could not resolve where I was on the map since only the main streets were named on my map and I wasn't on one of those streets.

Finally I got dumped out into the area arounf the downtown central plaza and I could resolve my position on the map. Then all I had to do was negotiate the mid-afternoon traffic jams, and one way streets, which of course weren't indicated on my map, and navigate the 15 or so blocks to the hotel. It was a 3-story tall building with parking garage and lobby on the ground floor. A single was L80 (US$6.70) plus L10 for parking.

Tuesday November 12

I found a Miami Herald and caught up on some important current events, such as Mike Tyson's loss to Holyfield. Other events I had to sort of deduce by extrapolation (or it that interpolation), such as guessing that Clinton's cabinet is seeing major changes, from a political cartoon showing many of the members from his first term abandoning ship in a life boat.

While walking downtown, I was approaching an intersection where there was a line of cars behind a motorcycle, a very new 250cc Kawasaki dualsport. The rider was franticly kicking it, trying to get it started, while the cars behind were laying on their horns. The guy finally gets it started and grabs a handful of throttle and wheelies across the intersection. I was impressed until I saw that was rewally not what he had intended, as he was out of control, and came back down with the front wheel turned at an angle, Thr bike veered to the right, he tried to save it, but it was to late and he highsided, getting thrown into the far curb. He was wearing an open-face helmet, which is more than most riders wear, and fortunately was not hurt. I didn't even see any tears in the jeans or jacket he was wearing. The bike seemed to be fine as well, and he got it started again and rode off, almost hitting the curb as he pulled away. I think he had a bit of adrenalin rush.

While I was watching this unfold, an attractive dark haired woman in a very short, very tight skirt walks by, looks at me, smiles, says "Gringo", and then purses her lips in a kiss, and keeps on walking, looking back and laughing as she walks away. I'm not entirely sure what that was about, but it led to some interesting pictures in my mind. This is where Noemi chimes in with "Men are slime."

Wednesday November 13 (58606 odo)

North of the city, on the peak named El Picacho, high above the large Hollywood-like Coca-Cola sign on the mountainside, is the Parque de las Naciones Unidos (United Nations Park), built to commemorate the 40th anniversary of the United Nations. I rode to the top to take in the spectacular views of the city sprawled out below.

From there I was headed to another park with a commanding view of the city, the Parque y Monumento a la Paz (Peace Park and Monument) atop a wooded hill near the huge National Stadium on the southeast side of the city. This meant riding back across town in the heavy traffic, on the haphhazardly laid-out streets.

It was during this transit that I had my first runin with the police. On the street which encircles the National Stadium, I ran a stop sign which I didn't see since I was concentrating on the crazy traffic around me. Next thing I know 2 traffic cops on a motorcycle are motioning me to the side of the road. At that point I still didn't know what was up. He took my license and bike papers, returning the bike papers after checking them, but kept my license. Then he explained I had run a stop sign. I explained I had seen it, that I was looking at the traffic and street signs trying to figure out where to turn. He said the ticket was going to be L300 (US$25) but made no motions to actually write any kind of ticket, simply repeating that it was coing to cost me L300.

Now in the US US$25 would be cheap for running a stop sign, but in Honduras that was about a weeks worth of hotel stays, and besides I only had about L450 left as I was planning to leave Honduras in a couple of days. If I paid him L300 I'd have to hassle with finding a bank and exchanging more money. Besides,I had a feeling the L300 was an inflated bribe going in his pocket, and for the average Honduran it would be a lot less. So I said I didn't have L300. He reiterated the ticket was L300. He said a lot of other things which I honestly didn't understand to which I always said "No comprendo", and reiterated that I hadn't seen the sign and that I didn't have L300.

I think he thought I was saying I didn't think there was a stop sign since he finally said to get back on my bike and he led me back around the stadium and pointed to the offending sign. I clearly had run it and was guilty, but I still was not going to pay him L300. We rode back to where he first pulled me over, and once again got off the bikes. Again he said the ticket would be L300, but still made no motions to write anything up. Again I replied I didn't have L300. He said more stuff which I didn't understand to which I again replied "No comprendo". It was at this point I began to get images in my mind of being thrown in jail over $25, so the next time he said it was L300, I said I didn't have L300, but that I did have L100. I still wasn't ready to pay L300, but L100 i could live with. Somewhat surprisingly, he basically ignored what I said and repeated that the ticket was L300.

During all this there were several periods when nothing was being said, both of us I guess assessing the situation and what our next move should be. During several of these we actually digressed from the immediate situation at hand and talked about my bike and my trip. I thought that was good, since we were relating on more common ground, and on a non-confrontational basis.

When he still insisted the ticket would be L300, I decided to change my tactics, and said "Vamos a estacion de policia" (Let's go to the police station). Not surprisingly he basically ignored this as well. We went through several more iterations of his saying the ticket was L300, and me saying I didn't have L300, and let's go to the police station. Finally he hands my license to his partner, who was standing next to me and my bike, and gets back on his bike. I'm not sure what he wanted; he made some motions like he wanted me to follow him and said some things I didn't understand to which I again replied "no comprendo", and initiated a conversation with his partner who now had my license. In any case I wasn't going anywhere my license wasn't going. The other guy then rides away on his bike, leaving the other officer and I standing there by my cycle.

Did I mention that this officer carried a submachine gun? Now I had images of the other officer getting the paddy wagon to haul me away, leaving the bike by the side of the road for the thieves. A couple of minutes he was back. He takes the license from his partner, and motions for his partner to get on the bike behind him. He then hands my license back to me. I say "Todos?" and he says "Si", to which I reply "Muchas gracias, senor" and they rode away. Cost: L0.00. I quickly got on my bike and rode away before he could change his mind.

Basically I think what was going on was that the L300 would have gone into his pocket, that the official fine for running a stop sign was much less, and when he saw I was not going to pay the L300 and insisted on going to the police station, decided it wasn't worth the hassle. Plus our having related as motorcyclists, if even for a bit, probably helped when he saw I wasn't going to pay the bribe.

I had been pulled over 20 yards from the turnoff for the road up the hill to the Peace Park, so I was at the top shortly. At the top is a large concrete monument to peace, and from the plaza one looked down onto the soccer field in the National Stadium, and across the city towards El Picacho and the Coca-Cola sign where I had just been earlier.

From there I rode south out of the city, on the highway to the Pacific, to the village of Ojojona, nestled in the mountains surrounding Tegus, about 15 miles south of the city center. Ojojona is a picturesque 16th-century Spanish minimg town, with several old churches. A small stream cascades through the town, beside the main church on the plaza.

From Ojojona, I retraced my route back to the city's southeast outskirts where the huge Gothic Basilica de Suyapa dominates a hillside in the village of Suyapa. An immense cemetary, with many flowers and a well-manicured lawn covered the gently sloping hillside in front of the Basilica. The Basilica itself was huge, with two towering bellfries on either side of the front fascade. I arrived just as it was reopening at 2pm after lunch. Inside was spectacular. Six large stained glass windows lined each side of the sanctuary and numerous other stained glass windows were at each end and in smaller rooms off the main sanctuary.

Construction was begun in 1954 and finishing touches were still being added. One of the workmen, who was currently painting the interior of the bellfries, unlocked the door to one of the bellfries and guided me to the top, from where there were spectacular views of the surrounding countryside and Tegus in the diatance. I paid him L20 for the tour as he went out of his way to point out some interesting photo opportunities, and had told a small boy to watch my bike for me (although I don't think it was necessary because there was hardly anyone else around.

The Virgen de Suyapa, a tiny statue only a few centimeters high, is the patron saint of Honduras. For most of the year she is kept on the altar of the small, old church on the main plaza of Suyaopa, several hundred meters behind the Basilica. She is brought to the Basilica only for holidays, especially the annual Feria de Suyapa in February. I walked down to the old church, but there was some sort of ervice going on, so I only got a look inside the church and did not see the statue itself.

From Suyapa I was headed into the mountains east of Tegus, but to get there I had to ride back to the city center to pick up the road headed east. Actually by this time I had ridden around the southern and eastern portions of the city enough times that I was figuring out the layout. I actually retraced my original route into the city and knew where it would take me. On the south side of the city, there were a series of expressways, connected by cloverleaf exchanges, which tied the western, southern, and eastern suburbs together. These were not shown on any of my maps, but I had captured the layout of some of them on my GPS which came in handy as I navigated around the city.

Not long after leaving the outskirts of Tegus and starting the climb up into the mountains I came to an army checkpoint. At this one I was waved over to the side. All through Guatemala and Honduras I had been wondering when When I'd be stopped at one these checkpoints. I had passed through numerous ones and they all seemed sort of lackadaisical. In Mexico, at such checkpoints, the officers would be stationed at both sides of the road d in the center as well, and would wave you through or hold up their hand to stop. In Guatemala and here in Honduras the officers would be standing well off to the side of the road, there would often be one more vehicles stopped and being interrogated, but they would rarely acknowledge me as I slowed while passing. I was never sure if they saw me and were ignoring me meaning I could proceed, or if they hadn't seen me and I should stop until they motioned me to proceed. Several times the vehicle in front of me would pull to the side at such checkpoints, but I hadn't seen if it had been motioned to do so. I would slowly proceed by while they apparently ignored me. A couple of times, busses I was following and getting ready to pass, pulled to the side as if it were a bus stop (which more often than not it was), and as I accelerated around them on the left, I saw in fact that it was a checkpoint. In such cases, and when ignored, I would just proceed and watch my mirrors for waving, shouting officers. It never happened.

At this checkpoint, staffed by a combination of army and civilian personal, the officer in charge checked my papers and asked what was in my saddlebags and topcase. He knocked on the zippered stuffsack I have on the back of the bike and which was stuffed tight with the bike cover, and asked what it was and I told him. Then he wanted to look inside my tankbag, which I opened and shuffled through, showing him the items inside, which satisfied him. A female civilian police officer was more outgoing and asked about the bike and my trip, and that seemed to end the official part of the inspection. They indicated I could proceed.

11 km east of Tegus I stopped briefly in Santa Lucia, another 16th-century Spanish mining town perched on a mountainous hillside. Clouds had moved in and it had begun to mist, so I didn't hang around long and pressed on to my destination for the night, Valle de Angeles, 11 km further up into the mountains.

Both my guidebooks said there was only one hotel in town, with singles for US$5.60, but didn't say much else. When I found it I was surprised at how nice it looked from the outside, and even more surprised when told the price for a single was L100 (US$8.33), my most expensive hotel room yet in Honduras. For L100 the room was cramped and marginal, though it did have a private bath.

I had asked a man near the town plaza if there was another hotel or hospedaje in town and he had said no. I should have kept asking, because at dinner that night, in a small restaurant on the town plaza, I met two women, Laural from Victoria Canada and Natalie from France, who had found a little dive of a hospedaje for L25. I probably would have gone there since my supply of Lempiras was getting low. We compared travel experiences for almost 2 hours over dinner. Laural was an ex-accountant turned waitress because she said the money was better and it gave her a more flexible schedule for travelling. I seem to be meeting a lot of accountants during this trip. Rita, I'm not sure what that means.

I also found out from Laural and Natalie why there were so many army and police squads patrolling the downtown area of Tegucigalpa, although at the time I didn't know if that was normal or not. Evidently last Saturday a bomb exploded outside the courthouse, I believe killing a couple of people.

Thursday November 14 (58704 odo)

After about 11 km I came to the small village of San Juancito, seemingly nestled in a crevasse along a small river on a mountainside at the foot of some towering peaks. La Tigra Park is at the top of those peaks in a lush cloud forest. I located a small hospedaje on the edge of town that the owner was still putting the finishing touches on. In fact he had just poured the concrete on the front deck, and I entered the room to look at it on planks laid over the setting concrete. The room was bigger and more cheerful, with a fresh coat of pink paint and a blue floral bedspread, than my room last night, and while it didn't have a private bath, it was only L25. The toilet and cold shower were in an outbuilding out back. I told him I might return that evening but I wanted to check out the possibility of camping up at the park. I spent about 20 minutes showing and explaining my GPS to the proprietor and 2 other men. I showed them my route of the previous day, from Tegucigalpa, to Ojojona, Suyapa, Santa Lucia, Valle de Angeles, and finally San Juancito. And we talked about the bike, before I left to ride up to the Park.

A steep dirt road snakes its way 4km up the mountainside to the abandoned mining town of El Rosario, sight of the rangers station and small visitor center of La Tigra National Park. The last kilometer was one of the tightest, steepest switchbacked roads I've been on.

Old abandoned wooden buildings and homes were perched on stilts on the mountainside. One concrete or stucco building appeared to have been a hotel in its day. Several of the buildings were now in use as the ranger station and housing for the 7 or so who lived here and ran the opeeration. There were however other small farmhomes hugging the mountainsides in the vicinity.

At the ranger station I discovererd that to pitch my tent would cost US$5 (L60), and to enter the park would cost US$10 (L120). These prices were specifically for foreigners. Hondurans paid about L1 and L5 respectively. I hadn't planned on any major outing here, but simply to do a short 2-3 hour hike to a nearby waterfalls. However, for a 2 hour hike, this was too much for my tastes; it would have used up over two thirds of my remaining Lempiras. So I opted to explore the olds buildings scattered around the hillside and take in the great views of the towering peaks shrouded in clouds and mist, and of the valleys and towns below. By 2:30 the clouds had dropped considerably lower and I was in a fine mist so I rode back down to San Juancito where I had a late lunch at a small restaurant on the town "square". Several small streams cascaded down through the center of town, and children were flying kites from a large 2-story tall rock overlooking the "square". Another cheaper (L15) hospedaje was one block up from the restaurant, but the proprietor was not home at the time so I could not look at the rooms. I hung around until after 5pm, chatting with the woman running the restaurant, variuus men who stopped by to look at the bike, and the numerous kids. Several teenage schoolgirls commented on the single seat, and when I asked them if they preferred that it had a seat for two, they giggled.

Saw more ex-school busses from the US, still with lettering on their sides, like "Unified School District of Whitley, Colorado", which are used for public transportation. This was a common site throughout Mexico, Guatemala, and Honduras. They don't have big fleets of municipal busses like in the states, but rather issue permits to individuals to operate busses over certain routes. That person or business uses privately owned busses on those routes, Consequently, one sees a lot of ex-US school busses still in their original yellow and black colors, or they have been repainted to the owners whim, frequently with glittery metalic paint jobs, and usually with slogans lettered on the back, either praising God or Jesus, or (I'm guessing) giving the name of the driver or his girlfriend. Other popular motifs seen on the back of busses were silver stencils of cowboys on horses, or the stereotypical reclining buxom babe with chest thrust forward.

When by 5:30 the proprietor of the other hospedaje hadn't shown up I rode the quarter mile back to "El Hotelito" for the night.

In the evening the wind began to pick up. It would come and go. It would b calm, then all of a sudden the wind would blow through the streets, kicking up mini dust storms and banging loose shutters and sheet-metal roofing. It would last for 5 minutes or so, then die down for another half hour. As the night wore on, the wind picked up.

Friday November 15 (58716 odo)

In the Tegus suburbs I spotted a Dunkin Donuts shop in a portable trailer so I stopped for a quick breakfast and sugar fix. I was on streets I had taken several days ago, so was familiar with their layout and was able to find a slightly different route which avoided the traffic circle around the National Stadium and my transit cop buddies. They were probably still in the Duunkin Donut shop (of which by the way, I had seen at least a half dozen in my transit of the city, and I'm sure there more) at this hour of the morning.

Buoyed by my success at avoiding the Stadium, it then took me the next 45 minutes to find the highway leading southeast out of the city. The road which my guidebook indicated would take me out, ended in a road construction zone of unfinished bridges and cloverleafs at the foot of the Suyapa Bascilica where I had been several days before. I remembered seeing signs for Danli, a city on the way to the border, and at a T intersection I quickly spotted a sign pointing left to Danli. The only problem was that coming from the direction I was coming, I couldn't see the sign indicating that a detour redirected traffic back the way I was coming from. I ended up doing a big loop before coming back to this intersection from the other direction from which I could see the detour sign and finally made it out of Tegus.

Once past the last major Honduran town, the last 12 miles of road to the border was in poor condition, heavily potholed and rutted. A bit surprising as all the other major paved roads in Honduras had been in very good condition. I guess the corrolary can be extended from cities and towns to countries; road conditions are always worst entering and leaving them.

I made it to the Honduran/Nicaraguan border at 10:15 and was promptly surrounded by 4-5 young boys either offering to watch my bike for me or pointing to the official-looking badges identifying them as official border crossing guides and offering their services. An older gentleman holding a large wad of cash offered to exchange money. I told him later after I had taken care of the formalities on the Honduran side since I didn't know how many Lempiras it was going to cost my on the Honduran side. I fended off the young boys, as I locked and covered the bike, by saying, "No necesito." Entry to Honduras had been straightforward, so how hard could leaving be. As I headed to the Immigration Office two of the young border guides tagged along, offering their advice nontheless, saying it would cost me L25 which I already knew. I got my passport stamped, paid the fee, and received another small yellow piece of paper with a stamp on it. From previous crossings I knew this was what I would hand to the official at the actual border gate as I rode through. Then it was to the office labeled "Salida de Vehiculo" where I got my bike papers stamped, and returned to me, and a second stamp on the yellow piece of paper. All this time my unsolicited guides were tagging along, despite my "No necisito"s, offering advise and directions. They obviously knew something that I didn't or had no other better prospects at the time.

At this point things became a little more muddled, as I still had the bike papers which I presumably had to turn in somewhere, but it wasn't clear where or to whom. Upon entry to Honduras no inspection or verification of the bike itself had been done. Now the young guides came to my rescue and saying insepctor, led me back past my bike to a man who was inspecting and sealing several semi-trucks lined up ready to cross. When he finished there he took my bike papers and checked them against my bike, took the main copy, handed me the carbon copy and put a third stamp on the little yellow piece of paper.

I thought surely I must be finished now, but the two small guides insisted I neeeded two more stamps on my yellow slip, so back to the row of offices I went, now readily following the guides. One office stamped my yellow slip and while they recorded something in a ledger, the guides took my passport and yellow slip to another office and got both stamped as well. When they returned they indicated that I was now ready to proceed.

Outside the office door the older man was waiting patiently for me with his wad of money. I paid each of the two guides L5 (US$0.40) which seemed acceptable to them (I know, big spender), and then exchanged my remaining L185 (US$15) into Nicaraguan Cordobas. I knew I had at least US$27 of fees on the Nicaraguan side, so I needed to exchange some dollars as well, however, except for the dollars staashed under my starter motor cover, I was down to only US$4 in cash. The rate offered for cash was 8.4 Cordobas to the dollar, but for Travellers Checks it was only 7.5. I thought I could probably get a better rate at a bank, so I only exchanged a $20 travellers check. Then it was on to the Nicaraguan side. This all took only about a half hour. Not bad, but not as straightforward as I thought it would be.

Several sources had said that of all the border crossings in Central America, the Nicaraguan border was the most confusing, and all recommended using one of the border guides which would descend on you as you approached. As soon as I approached, an official in a small booth waved me over. As I parked a man with an official-looking badge identifying himself as some sort of border/immigracion official (though it didn't say guide) approached and hung around as the official in the booth filled out an immigration card for me and wrote some information on a scrap of brown paper. I guessed (correctly, it later turned out) that I would turn this in at the border gate. He than indicated to proceed to the immigration office, and as I left the other man headed in that direction and indicated to follow. He still hadn't actually offered his services to me so I didn't know what his function was.

I knew from the guidebooks that the fee was about US$7, but what they didn't say was that it was in two parts, C15 (US$2), payable in Cordobas, and US$5, which could only be paid in US dollars. I repeatedly asked if I could pay the equivalent in Cordobas, but they said no and showed me the form they had filled out for me which stated its value as US$5. Now my problem was that I only had US$4 in cash on me. On the way through Danli, foreseeing such a problem, I had actually stopped at a bank to see if I could cash a travellers check for dollars, thinking I might be able to since it was near the border, however they wouldn't even cash travellers checks for Lempiras. So I walked back towards the no-mans land between the border gates where the money changers hung out to exchange some of my just-obtained Cordobas for a US$5 bill. My unofficial "guide" accompanied me. It cost me a C50 bill, US$6.67 at the rate I had received for my travellers check several minutes before, to get a US$5 bill. Then it was back to the Immigration office where I paid the fees and received my stamped passport and a tourist card.

Then my unofficial guide accompanied me to the "Entrada de Vehiculos" office, holding a form which he indicated needed to be filled out with my vehicle information and Drivers License information. I mistakingly started to fill in the license plate number where they wanted my drivers license number and he quickly says no, takes the form from me, and starts filling it in, asking me for the various doucments in turn. Then he calls for Julio an inspection official to come inspect the bike. It was the first border where they wanted to see the motor number as well. Back in the vehicle office, while one lady entered information from the title in her ledger, my "guide" took my passport to another official who filled out another form, which the lady supplied him with information for by calling out my vehicle registration and plate numbers across the room. They in turn yelled out my passport number to her. Then the form was taken across the room to a third official whose sole job it seemed was to verify what the other official had written. Then it was back to that official who, reading from the form he had just filled out, typed out another form which served as my official vehicle document. Then I paid the C160 (US$20) the guidebooks indicated would be required for a vehicle. As I walked out to the bike I offered C10 (US$1.25) to my "guide" and it must have been in the ballpark of being an acceptable amount since he didn't protest. I always wonder, when giving guides tips like that, what they're really thinking. Probably "Cheapskate gringo." The Nicaraguan side wasn't nearly as bad as the guidebooks had made it out to be, and I probably could have figured it out on my own, but my "guide" undoubtably helped me get through quicker than I would have on my own. The Nicaraguan side took a little over 45 minutes to clear and by 11:45 I was headed south into Nicaragua.

Road conditions in Nicaragua are worse than in Honduras. The road was heavily potholed, and would remain so for the rest of the day. I got to Esteli, the first major town of about 27000 people about 1pm, where I hoped to cash some more travellers checks at a better rate than at the border. The various fees had left me with only C35 (US$4.40) and I needed money for a hotel tonight and for gas since I had over 350 miles on this tank and didn't like pushing it beyond that if I didn't have to.

There was one intersection with a bank on every corner and another bank several doors up the street. I parked across from that bank, locked and covered the bike and began a frustrating 2 hours of trying to obtain money. I first went to 4 of the 5 banks and tried to exchange my American Express Travellers Checks for Cordobas. I ultimately also hoped I could cash some for dollars to replenish my supply of those as well. None of the banks would accept American Express Travellers Checks. Several would accept Visa or Mastercard Travelers Checks, but not American Express. One bank suggested a Travel Agency down the street and I had to wait until 2pm for it to open. They wouldn't accept them either and said that only a bank in Managua would cash them. Now my guidebook had said that Nicaragua was the only Central American country without an American Express office, but it also said that "all banks will cash travellers checks".

I next decided to get an advance on my Visa card and returned to the bank which said it would accept Visa Travellers Checks. They would not give me an advance on my Visa. I made the rounds to the other banks I had visited earlier, and none of them would give me an advance on my Visa either. In one last desperate attempt I went into the one bank I hadn't been to yet and asked if they would give me an advance on my Visa. The teller said yes. Somewhat shocked, I hesitatingly asked if they would cash American Express Travellers Checks. She said yes! Wouldn't you know it, The fifth of 5 banks I tried is the one and only bank in town which would do what I needed to have done! I made sure to note down the name, Banco de Finanzes, for future reference if needed. I was even able to cash a US$100 travellers check for dollars, though they charged a $10 service fee. By that time I was just happy to get money so I didn't mind. Later I thought it might have been cheaper to first exchanged it for Cordobas, then exchanged those for dollars, since a sign indicated they bought and sold cordobas and dollars and didn't say Anything about a fee. I got a rate of 8.33 Cordobas per dollar for my travellers check, compared to only 7.5 at the border. The official rate at the bank for cash was 8.8 Cordobas per dollar. I left Esteli at 3pm after buying a cheeseburger, fries, and coke for C18 (US$2.05).

From the border the road had gradually dropped, and Esteli was at the northw t end of a wide flat agricultural valley between two ranges of mountains. A I rode southeast, dark rain clouds hovered over the mountains to both sides d over the mountain away to the east where I was heading. At the small town Sebaco, where the road east to Matagalpa split off, a celebration of some k d was in progress and a parade with a small marching band was crossing the r d. I snuck through during a break in the parade.

In the various small towns I passed through along the highway, baseball diamonds were more common than soccer fields. In contrast to other Central American countries, baseball is the national sport in Nicaragua, and Denis Martinez, a pitcher in the big leagues in the States is a national celebrity.

Here was the first gas station I passed since I got money where I remembered before I passed it, to fill up, and it took 9.7 gallons. It still had 2.1 g lons. That's what I like best about the large tank. Not that you absolutel need it, but rather it gives you more flexibility as to when to stop and dea ng with situations like not having any money to fill up with. At 384.8 mile since the last fillup I was getting 39.7 mpg. Considering that a good porti of that was at 60-65 mph that was exceptional for this bike. At the bank e hange rate of 8.5 Cordobas per dollar the gas was US$2.46/gallon. In Hondur it had been about US$1.98/gallon, in Guatemala about US$1.90/gallon, in Bel e about US$2.54/gallon, and in Mexico about US$1.20/gallon. Those prices are r premium or Super, which I buy when ever its available, which has been ever time except a couple. Actually this fillup in Nicaragua was with regular si e that was all that was available, so for comparison with the other countrie Nicaragua is even higher. I honestly can't remember what the price for Pre um in the States is since I just fillup and pay for it with my credit card d don't really pay attention to the price. But Nicaragua definitely wins th gas high price award.

About 20 miles from my destination of Matagalpa, as the road climbed into the mountains, it began raining heavily. I put on my Aerostich pants, covered the tankbag, and for only the 2nd or 3rd time used my modular BMW Goretex raingloves. BAter having through the hot and humid Yucatan and Belize, it was becoming increasingly difficult to put on and remove my lightweight BMW Goretex gloves because the liner would be soaked with perspiration and would stick to my fingers, pulling out of the gloves when removing them and getting all bunched up when putting them on. In Belize I carefully cut through the liner where it was sewn to the leather glove at the cuff. I could then remove the liners. However I kept the liners and by putting them on first, then pulling the gloves on over them, I had a modular waterproof glove system! In addition, sans liner, the gloves were much cooler in the hot humid weather. The only disadvantage I had found so far, was if I failed to put in the liners when it rained, my hands emerged from the gloves black from the leather dye.

By the time I arrived in Matagalpa the rain had stopped and I got a room in the Hotel Plaza, right on one of the towns two main plazas for C25 (US$3). They had an interior secured courtyard for the bike. The room was very basic, and in fact the walls between adjoining rooms didn't go all the way to the ceiling, but then I had no amorous prospects so it wasn't a problem. Baths were shared.

Strolling the streets that evening, many tiendas (stores) had Christmas decorations uo, as they had in Tegucigalpa, and one would occasionally hear recognizable Christmas music being played.

The two Cinemas in town had seen better days and appeared to be closed.

Saturday November 16 58947

After finishing lunch of fried chicken and gallo pinto, a common Nicaraguan dish of rice and red pinto beans, at a local restaurant, a small boy who had been watching from the front doorway approached the table and asked if he could have the chicken bones I had piled on the side of my plate. I said yes and he grabbed them and the piece of lettuce they were sitting on and retreated out the front door. This was not an uncommon occurance either here in Nicaragua, or in Hondurasa or Guatemala. Generally would wait until it was clear you were done or were leaving before they would approach.

One of the frequently seen, and heard, sound trucks with large loudspeakers on top drove by blaring the song Jingle Bells.

Late in the afternoon I decided it was time to try my luck at getting a haircut so I prepared a small cheat-sheet with the Spanish terminology I would need. However when I got to the barbershop, which had not been busy earlier in the afternoon, all chairs were occupied, and a half hour later, after an icecream cone, they still were. I guess everyone was getting ready for their Saturday night dates. Since I didn't have any date lined up I decided to postpone my haircut.

It rained heavily several times during the day, usually for a half hour or so, after which the sun came back out.

That evening, while watching a local TV show in Spanish on the TV in the sitting room downstairs, a loud parade went by in the street out front. We went out on the front porch to watch it go by. Everyone was in vehicles, mostly pickup trucks and cars, but they included a band and numerous people waving large flags. Fireworks and rockets were being fired into the air from some location. I asked the proprietor of the hotel what it was about and he said it was to celebrate the election of the President which took place sometime in '96, but I'm net exactly sure when or why the parade was occuring now.

druth@bayarea.net

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