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THE MISSION
By Dan Murre
The Mission: To get 2 Non-Denominational Christians and their
2005 KLR250's to their mission in Teguscigalpa Honduras and
myself and my 1993 KLR250 to a Catholic mission in Flores,
Honduras. the goal is to donate the bikes to the missions
The Players: (names have been changed to protect the ignorant)
Wagonmaster- (who we'll call Larry)
riding experience- 44yrs. if you include the time riding with
pa and uncles on old goldstars, yds1's, and other chicken
wired works of art. Offroad riding experience-39yrs if you
include the time upside down in a car.
Greenhorn 1-(who we'll call Curly)
riding experience- unknown by wagonmaster at time of departure,
but rumor has it that he took the training wheels off his
KLR the day of departure. Preperation for trip- intense praying
for guardian angels, 2 artificial titanium hips to make him
lighter and faster, and a haircut that resembles Curly of
the tres stooges
Greenhorn 2- (who we'll call Moe)
riding experience- unknown, but said to have owned a crotch
rocket years ago. He should do fine off-road. Preperations
for trip- packing every known medical supply for monkeybutt
and changing cell service so his wife could contact him at
any given moment.
The idea was to load the bikes in a van and leave on Valentines
day to save on the cost of chocolate and flowers. Drive straight
through to brownsville, unload bikes and take 10-11 days to
get to Honduras. Once we got to Honduras we would work at
the missions for a week and fly home. Everything was going
as planned. We arrived in Brownsville as planned and would
cross the border in the morning......
Day1:
We got up early and headed for the border crossing at the
old international bridge in Matamoris, MX. We were the only
ones there this looked like it was going to be quick. Larry
was checking to see if everybody had all their paperwork in
order and they headed in. Imigration was quick and painless.Next
stop banjercito(goverment bank were temporary vehicle importation
permits are issued.) Here's were Larry, the most exprienced
south of the border traveler runs into a snag. It seems he
took a motorhome into mexico and there's no record on the
mexican computers of it returning.Its a serious no-no and
they won't let Larry enter Mexico.Larry has a receipt of his
exit, but its back in Wisconsin and the young mexican DMV
worker says he won't take a fax. Oh well the greenhorns got
theirs with no problem. Larry had to wait until Mr 3rd shift
mexicanDMV workers boss came in at 8. After $12 dollars worth
of faxes, the 3 knuckleheads were on ther way.
The ride through Matamoris was easy and the boys seemed to
be balancing their KLR's well. Exiting Matamoris we encountered
40+ mph cross winds. Top speed 55 in 5th gear, bikes wouldn't
pull 6th. At this point Larry was thinking maybe he chose
the wrong bikes for the trip, but after 3 and a half hours
of a lean angle left that any roadracer would be proud of,
the winds subsided and we could see the mountains surrounding
Ciudad Victoria. We took the bypass around the city and we
were heading south to Gomez Farias, the last pueblo on paved
road in the El Ceilo Biosphere http://www.elcielobiosphere.org/index.html
. The road got more curvy and hilly. It was a beautiful ride,
with alot of interesting road side sellers of handmade furniture
and honey. Curly thought it might be a good idea to stop and
buy some and try and have it shipped home. The only problem
was Curly spoke no spanish and Larry only knew enough to feed
his face and get drunk on. So after some head butting, sycronized
slapping and some eye poking, Curly changed his mind. we continued
down mx.85 and tuned off on the road to Gomez Farias, but
it was lunch time and Larry remembered reading of a little
ejido(small village) off the main road that had a balnerio
and fresh longostino(huge fresh water lobster). We found the
balnerio(Florido) with no problem. It was a park on a river
in the middle of no where, basically a swimming hole for locals
and mexican tourists. Its unbelievably beautiful, fresh water
springs in a forest with little islands and bridges between
them and camping palapas on the islands. There was a bunch
of pretty young girls there , so Larry decided to test his
spanish and get directions to the restaurant(Boca Toma II).
With some pointing,spanglish and charades,we were pointed
in the right direction.When we were ready to leave, one of
the kids said he would ride along and show us the way, he
wouldn't even take a guide fee for his trouble. I'm always
amazed at the friendliness of the mexican people to americans,
we could definetly learn something from them.
The restaurant was actually a palapa next to a pond and river
where they raised fish and longostino. We ordered 3 plates
of longostino and a plate of fried fish. You know when you
order a plate of perch for about $7 and get 3-4 fillets, well
we got about 20-25 fillets for 80 pesos(about $8) , believe
it or not curly's eyes were bigger then his stomach.It took
a little while to get our food , but they actually netted
our food from the pond and prepared it. Definetly worth the
wait. We left Boca Toma II with full stomachs and headed off
to Gomez Farias to get a room for the night. The road climbs
up into a cloud forest, where it rains almost night. We found
a nice room with 3 beds for $40 , I'm pretty sure we paidhttp://www.posadaenelcielo.com/za.htm
white guy prices, but I wasn't in the mood to haggle. We settled
in for the night eager to start tomorrows adventure into the
biosphere.
Day2:
Day 2 started in a drizzly fog, or some might say a cloud,
since we were in a cloud forest . My head was a little foggy
from lack of sleep. It seems there was a cat in heat drawn
to our room window by Curly's high decibel snoring. It woke
Curly out of a dead sleep, he complained about the cat waking
him up, and fell back to sleep in about 2 seconds and once
again was serenading us with his throat flute.( mental note
to self- put Curly in his own room or train him not to breathe.)
The plan was to take the "short cut" through the
biosphere on an unpaved road. We left without eating breakfast,
with the plan of eating an early lunch a couple of hours later,
in Ocampo. Ocampo is the pueblo on the otherside of the biosphere
and the end of the dirt road and start of the pavement. We
put on our rain gear and headed out . The pavement ended in
about 300yds., and was replaced with large slippery cobblestones,
round side up with no fill in between them. Add to the equation
an overloaded KLR, with saddlebags, tankbags, 1 gallon of
gas on rear rack, a heavy backpack, a set of deathwing street
tires, a steep decent and a motor that runs rich at altitude.
Now we're having fun, anybody that knows me , knows I mean
this!!! I clicked her in 3rd and bounced down the road like
a pinball in a machine, trying to bounce away from the edge
that varied from a 300-1000ft. drop. I doesn't get any better
then this, life is good in my world. The cobblestone soon
ended and was replaced with a two-track of small loose rock
and Chadwick like edges. Wow it even gets better!!. After
a couple of miles I thought it might be prudent to check my
mirror for my buddies. No buddies, so I set up camp to wait
for them. Just kidding, they came plunking along shortly after.
I was relieved that they weren't riding over their heads.
The short decent ended and we began to climb and climb and
climb some more. The good news is that the sun came out and
we were able to shed the rain gear, the bad news was the trail/
road started to deteriate. After about a 3mile ascent, I stopped
at a flatter spot to wait for Curly and Moe. Wait, wait some
more..... nothing. Ok turn around and find them. After about
a mile retreat, I see Moe's bike perched over the edge of
a 300ft. drop, clinging to the side of the mountain by a large
rock, that ripped his radiator hose. First things first, get
Moe's bike back on the road. After a little teasing, some
retalitory excuses and some intense caveman like grunting
, we had the bike back on the road. Now it was time to unpack
my mule and fix the hose. Moe's a car mechanic, so all I had
to do was hand him some tools, While Curly found some shade
to drink water, eat beef jerky and prod Moe on with a stick.
Luck would have it, that we were able to cut the hose and
slide it forward and fill with water, 30 minutes and we were
on our way again. About twenty minutes more and we came into
the ejido of Altacimas. Everybody in the village came to see
what 3 gringos were doing here on moto's. We met them at the
gate, where we paid them 20 pesos to continue on. I'm not
sure what the money was for, but it definitly wasn't for road
maintance. I asked the guy at the gate how much farther to
Ocampo, he said 3hours.We were an hour into it already, so
I guess I was a little off on my 2hr." shortcut".
About an hour down the road we came to San Jose, where we
paid 40pesos to continue on. The guy that took our money said
we had 4hours left to Ocampo!!! We continued on and the road
got worse in Moes eyes.Actually in everyones eyes. Having
shared his water early with his moto, he was now out. So we
stopped to rest in a grassy clearing with a big rock. We ate
Curly's beefjerky and drank some water. When we left, we started
going down, which became more challenging then climbing. My
KLR wouldn't stay running at idle, which made for some interesting
dead engine decents. The road resembled the outside loops
at Chadwick, Mo. with bigger, steeper and longer decents and
climbs. Mental note to self- overloaded KLR's won't work at
chadwick. We came into another ejido, that I can't rember
the name of, 2 guys there told me 2 more hours to Ocampo.
We started to climb out of the village, when we came to a
fork in the road, to the right it climbed, to the left it
decended. Curly insisted that we should go down, reasoning
that we had to get off the mountain. Against my better judgement
we headed down. The road got less used looking and we dropped
from pine trees to palms. Passed a few abandoned cabins, came
to a gate that hasn't been opened in a decade or so and dead
ended 5miles later into some singletrack. The whole time I
was thinking, I hope we don't have to climb back up this.
It was slippery, leaf covered loose rock. My spider senses
were now tingling, we were in bear, couger and possibly drug
country. After talking over our plan of action, Moe remebers
a sign at the split in the road that said Camp something!!
Oh well, I guess I should have told them we were goig to O
Camp O. Back up we go, get to the fork and head the right
way. this is where the road started getting pretty tricky
for the KLR's. Moe was really struggling, out of water, feet
draging and looking like a used dish rag. I was starting to
worry he was dehydrated. On what turned out to be the last
decent, he took a rock sample and I decided to ride the bike
down for him. Mental note to self- riding a crotch rocket
may not be enough , to make the jump to black diamond trail
on a KLR. We all rested on the bottom and drank the last of
our water and headed out into fields of corn, sugar cane and
blue aguave(tequila cactus). On our way to the little pueblo
of El Tigre, we encountered a small cattle drive. We were
on a road wide enough for a pick-up and fenced in on both
sides with 5 strand barb wire, so we decided to stop and let
the big horned baka's pass. In El Tigre, we stopped at the
first tienda and bought a couple of litros of agua and BS'd
with the locals that gathered around us for 1/2 an hour. 5k
to Ocampo and pavement. Moes spirits were lifting. We stopped
and gassed up in Ocampo. 35 miles in 8hrs.We could have blitzed
through this road with normal moto bikes in 2-3hrs., but the
story wouldn't have been nearly as good. We jumped on pavement
and road another 160 miles to Ciudad Valles. where we got
aroom and meet a very interesting character. More to come...............
Continued from day2 :
When we pulled into Ciudad Valles it was getting late, so
I stopped at the first motel I found. It definitly wasn't
a timeshare, but we were not on the normal gringo route and
didn't plan to go there. I think it was $30 for a suite(i
use this word loosely). It had 2 beds in 1 room and 1 in the
other, no door between the rooms, but still a little distance
to seperate us from Curly's symphony. The room was freshly
painted and clean. Curly was the first to hit the showers,
in and out in record time. Moe was next, he took a longer
shower and when he was done , I just took a bath in the 3inches
of water on the floor. Seems there was a drainage problem
that Moe was unaware of. No biggee, some kid came up and swept
most of it out the door and over the balcony, while the owner
unplugged the drain. I'm not sure, but I think Curly was unaware
of the toliet paper in the basket rule in Mexico. I can't
prove this, but he was in there making a deposit before Moe
took his shower. We drove our bikes right inside the motel
to the inside courtyard, nice and secure for the night. The
owner was a very interesting guy. He's an author thats published
in Mexico. He spent 8yrs. in michigan in the 50's. We went
down and ate in his restaraunt, which amounted to some plastic
tables and chairs in front of the hotel. While we were waiting
for the food, he brought out a bunch of his memento's. He
had letters from presidents of the U.S.A, France, Iceland
all addressed to him. He showed us his book and other books
his name was mentioned in. He was personal friends with the
guy from Las Pozas, google it, Juan Altman turned me on to
this out of the way treasure. We had a good time talking to
him and ate a good meal for about $2.50 each. I went and called
my wife to let her know everything was ok, she informed me
that Moe's wife was close to being ready for a rubber room,
and to be prepared when he called her. His nextel walky-talky
service quit 5 miles from the border, and his wife was trying
to get ahold of him for 2 days. She was a little concerned
before he left, that he was being led through foreign countries
by someone he only met a couple weeks prior. He smoothed things
over with a $10 dollar phone call, and all was well again.
Day 3:
I planned to take the boys to Las Pozas, an 80acre site in
the cloud forest, covered with sculptures and really eccentric
stuff, but we were running a day behind from my earlier "short
cut", so I decided to bypass. Our goal was to get to
Real de Monte, and old silver mining town. The ride there
was unbelievable. We took mx. 85 to Tamazuchale and crossed
over to mx.105. This is where the road climbed up through
cloud forests, with beatiful vistas of mountain villages.
Words won't do this ride justice, you just have to do it.
We climbed out of the cloud forest into the pines and eventually
to about 10,000ft., where it leveled off. We then dropped
down into a canyon and desert terrain. This whole area between
mx.85 and mx.105 needs to be explored more at a later date.
there are lot of dirt roads through the mountains. It rivals
copper canyon in beauty. We dropped down to the desert floor
crossed a river and started to climb back up to our destination,
Real de Monte, at 8000 ft. The little KLR's were huffin and
puffin for air and we had to be a little more careful with
our split lane blind corner passing. It only took us a day
to get our Mexican combat riding legs back.
Real de Monte is a beautiful little town, similar to San Miguel
Allende, but not polluted by droves of retired norte americanos.
It retains its old world feel. I was looking for a certain
motel and found the sign, but the road was under destruction,
so we kept getting detoured in circles. Eventually I found
where I needed to get to, but we were stopped by a funeral
procession. This guy must have been pretty important, because
without exaggerating there had to be 500-600 people walking
his casket down the street, maybe more. The motel was owned
by a young man in his early 20's that inherited it from his
father. It was newly remodeled and we were his first guests.
We had to wait an hour for the electricity to get turned on
and until the next morning for the water main to get hooked
up. Pablo was a gracious host, that let me dial direct from
his phone, free of charge. He then took us to the best locals
restaurant, in his car, got us in before they were open to
the public and even offered to pick us up when we were done
eating. We enjoyed some of the best enchiladas I ever eaten,
with a big slab of delicious dead cow. The enchiladas were
served in a bowl with a green sauce, that was almost soup
like. It was similar to a green sauce tortilla soup. This
time Curly's eyes matched his stomach, and he ordered another
slab. A couple of coronas some limes and an excellent meal
to top off a perfect day.
Day 4:
A side note on last nights rooms- They were on the top floor
of a beautifully remolded old building. The view from the
top over looking the city was impressive. we paid 300pesos
for a double and 250pesos for a single. Curly got kicked out
of our room because he was playing the same song every night
and it was gettig a little old. I found out Moe also has the
gift of a musical throat. Mental note to self- get my own
room before I garbage bag those two in their sleep.
We started the day loading our bikes. When I came down Curly
and Moe were sharing the Word with Pablo, who definitly seemed
to find comfort in it. I have to hand it to those 2 knuckleheads,
they do know how to evangelize.
We headed to the Pemex to gas up and have our usual breakfast
of yougurt drinks cookies and Curly's medicinal bottle of
coke. Curly had a camelback that he was filling with water
everyday, but today he bought a bottle of agua de mineral,
which is carbonated water. He filled his camelback with it
anyway, which immediatily turned into a baking soda bomb on
his back and started squirting everybody in sight. Curly provided
me with numerous moments of humor, usually at his own expense,
that I'll remeber for life. Stepping back and looking at the
three of us bumbling our way through Mexico, I don't think
I could have picked any other character names more appropriate
for us.
Our destination for today was Tehuacan. It took us past the
snow covered peak of Volcan La Malinche and across Laguna
Totocingo, which was all but dried up. This is where Curly
decided to test the topend out on the mighty KLR. He leaned
down as far as his body would physically allow him, wiped
it out in the passing lane and grabbed a handful. What he
did'nt know was a semi had the same idea and glued himself
to Curly's license plate for about a mile. Curly eventually
wound her up to 85mph and left the semi wishing he had a few
more ponies. All this transpired without Curly having a clue
what was going on behind him. Once again.....humor for life.
After the laguna, mx.136 t'd into mx.140, where off in the
distance you could see the snow covered peak of Pico De Orizaba.
Its peak sits at about 18,000ft. We turned right and headed
south working our way towards Orizaba. We turned off mx.140
and went through the busy town of San Salvador El Seco. Splitting
lanes, passing trucks and cars on topes and running to the
front of the line at stoplights. There is just no better way
to travel Mexico on, then a motorcycle. About 13k out of town,
we came to the pueblo of Aljojcan. It has a senic overlook
of the volcanic crater lake below and the church on the hill
overlooking it.
Continuing down the road we arrived in Tehuacan.
I ran us down through the centro, looking for a hotel. We
found a couple, but none with secure parking. We headed back
north through centro again heading towards the toll road.
Traffic was heavy in this decent sized city. Riding combat
style, I gave my buddies a couple of interesting brake checks.
One in paticular had Moe tapping me on my right shoulder,
which I'm sure had him pucker his sphinxter a bit. We made
our way through unscathed and found a 5star hotel with underground
parking for 280pesos for a double and 200 for a single. We
showered up and headed down town for some food around the
square. Moe and Curly went out in search of pudos(cigars)
while I enjoyed some people watching in the square. They came
back empty handed, except for a string of sharply dressed
muchachos following them and smiling. I'm guessing they asked
for putos(gay men), not pudos(cigars). They seemed to find
Curly's strong masculine figure the most apealing. After dissapointing
the lads, we headed back for a good nights sleep, in anticipation
of what was to come tomorrow..........to be continued
WARNING: Though there is truth in every sentence,
names were changed and sometimes fictional characters and
circumstances were added for comedic value, but usually not
in the case of Curly.
Day 5:
We started the day with our usual "breakfast of champions"
and filled our bikes with the cheapest fuel available. No
sense spoiling them now. My bike, which I'll refer to as"
El Burro"or the jackass in english, because of its stubborness
to sometimes stay running at stop lights and its ability to
carry everything necessary to sustain life for 3 stooges and
their bikes, was using about 1/2 quart of oil every 300 or
so miles. Having only owned the bike for a couple of weeks
before departure and only ridden it 3 miles, I was neither
surprised or worried and just added 40 and 50 weight diesel
oil because it was the cheapest. After eating food, and blankly
staring at our bikes, to complete our gruelling maintainence
program, we headed for the toll road. I know, you purest moto
adventurers are saying NO DON'T DO IT!!!, but we're running
behind and need to make up some time, so we can spend a day
on the beach. You know fresh seafood, sun,sand and surf.....
I knew you would forgive me.
The toll road to Oaxaca is relatively inexpensive for mexican
Cuota roads, which can at times be extremely expensive, more
so then the U.S. Light traffic, 3 lanes, scenic, straighter
road, big decents and no stops makes it an ideal place for
Moe and Curly to take turns testing top speed on 250's. To
me this is like peeing your pants, you get an initial warm
feeling, but then end up with wet pants. These are KLR 250's
we're talking about, but they seemed to be enjoying themselves.
On one particularly long and steep decent, Moe claimed a 100mph
reading. Not bad for a bike that hasn't seen a change since
1986. I think this is the best way to break- in a new bike
with factory oil and under a 1000 miles. It stretches the
rod, so the ring wear groove in the cylinder is higher up
and never comes into play later under normal riding conditions.
NO?, well its my story and I'm sticking to it. The trip to
Oaxaca was otherwise uneventful. It was alot more relaxing
riding the toll road, I wouldn't want to do it everyday, but
it was a welcome change. Once in Oaxaca, we got back into
the bus,truck and car clogged streets. I think I missed the
main by-pass around the city, but with our little KLR's and
a total disregard for traffic laws, it was no problem. Oaxaca
is one of those cities on the must spend some time in list,
but we had none, so we continued through and put it on our
list for future trips.
We picked up the 2 lane road to Santo Domingo Tehuantepec.
It soon turned into a scenic,curvy, racing decent to the coast.
We were passing cars, trucks and busses like Nicky Haden at
an amuater event. Apparently the guy in the double tanker
trailer semi that passed me, on a short straight, before a
blind corner, in full view of an on coming truck, was Valentino
Rossi, and the guy behind him Colin Edwards. They both tucked
in, in front of me and took my race line away. Note to self-
don't pass empty double tankers on mx. 190 heading to the
coast. These guys can be best described as full throttle-
full jake brake drivers. Very impressive to watch from a distance.
I was warned to fill up with gas in matamoris, because there
was no Pemex until Tehuantepec. Assuming it was going to be
right on the road I continued on, only to realize I missed
it. Luckily there was a new Pemex some where around the 190km
mark, give or take 5k. A little before this gas stop, we stopped
after a military check for a water break. I gave a school
boy, wait for a bus, an ATK hat, so now there's at least one
ATK enthusiast in Mexico. I had to fight back a tear, thinking
about my poor ATK, back home, totally dimanteled, sitting
this one out. Don't worry baby, your going next time, Oh,
and you too Lisa.
We continued on, through about a 100 miles of scenic, crotchrocket
mountain road. Its hard for people to grasp this, but the
only real law enforced on roads in mexico is don't crash.
The people caught breaking this law, usually pay the ultimate
price, which is evident buy the many roadside crosses. The
mexicans know it's pointless enforcing laws for the stupid
and live their lives accordingly, in a relatively ambulance
chasing lawyer free society. Another thing we can learn from
our brothers to the south.
The road straightened and flattened out and we made the dragstrip
run to a hotel on the westend of Tehuantepec. It was a big
nice hotel, with gated courtyard parking. Once again, I'm
sure we paid the white guy price of about $35 for a room with
3 beds. They had a real nice restaurant, that served sopa
de mar (seafood soap) to die for. Stuffed full of crab, shrimp,
fish, octapus and other unidentifiable critters. A couple
beers and I went back to the room to rinse out tomorrows clothes
and relax. Curly and Moe wandered towards town to find a phone
and the intenet. I fell asleep early.......tomorrow was beach
day.
Day 6:
Today would take us to the fishing village of Puerto Arista.
It's about a 2 hour ride, with the only obstacle being La
Ventosa( the wind) , where there are steady strong cross winds.
I was warned of this prior to leaving, so we were prepared.
The road is inland from the coast about 20k and I assumed
the winds would come from the ocean, but they were coming
from inland. Don't know if this is the norm, not what I expected.
They were strong, but no worse then our first day crossing
the border. We continued down this nice deserted toll road
for about 10 miles, when it just ended. No barricades or any
signs I recognized, not to say there wasn't a sign, just not
one my limited spanish processed while driving down the road
at 65-70. Ahhh Mexico, stupid people will die. No big deal,
turn around and back track to the exit we passed. We stopped
at a Pemex that had an overpriced cafeteria, but the food
was good and it got us out of the wind for awhile. We jumped
back on the road and drove down to Tonala, where we stopped
at a Pemex, on the bypass to tank up. We then wandered over
by a pulperia, which is just a little roadside vendor of mexican
junk food. Here we were introduced to a middleaged, overweight,
loud mexican that worked there. He talked alot and fast, and
it didn't seem to bother him that I told him I didn't understand
what he was saying. He just continued on, with alot of hand
and facial gestures and sycronized whistling. He was entertaining
for a while, but I'm pretty sure he would of annoyed me faster
if he spoke english. I had been entertaining myself by telling
everyone that Curly and Moe were "close friends"
in spanish, so I continued the tradition here, and we said
our goodbyes and headed to the beach about 15 minutes down
the road.
Puerto Arista is a little fishing village, that must cater
to mexican tourists on weekends, because it was all but deserted
except for locals, a mexican couple and some dutch backpackers.
It has a lot of hotels, but no one was working them. We drove
down the beach road and back up and found one that had a pulse.
I know I paid gringo price here. $40 on the beach, but what
the hay, I just wanted to get into some shorts and sandels
and park my arsh under a palapa, pop some fizzy's and order
a big plate of cammarones ceviche(fresh raw shrimp thats cured
by tossing it in lime juice for 5 minutes and adding onions,tomatoes,
cilentro and hot sauce, served with tostada chips). You can
also rent a palapa or cabana for 10 bucks and sleep in a hammock
under the stars. It really doesn't get any better then this.
We just sat there all day watching the locals run out to the
7 or 8 large fishing boats anchored offshore. to buy fresh
catch. The only other excitement, was when the mexican couple
got sucked out to sea by a strong undertow, and had to be
rescued by the locals. A couple more fizzy's, a ocean sunset,
a meal under the stars.....yah, life on the road is hard..........stay
tuned
The Mission-
Part 4- Stooges leave the beach
Day 7:
We had no planned destination today. I knew the roads I was
going to take, but our only goal was to get close to the Guatemalan
border, or possibly cross. Knowing that the later was overly
optimistic, we had no sense of urgency to pound out a big
mile day. Why change now. The only goal I set, before I embarked
on The Mission, was to deliver my two packages still breathing
and unscathed. So far so good, other then a few offroad trophies
on Moes leg and hip, from the biosphere short cut.
Leaving the beach and its fresh seafood is always hard for
me. Especially, when I've only been there for a day, but I'm
on a mission and its back to work on the open road. This almost
makes you feel sorry for me, doesn't it. Blaaah,blah,Blaaah,
blah, Blaaaaah, ok I rubbed it in enough.
We loaded up and headed back out to mx.200 and headed south.
This stretch of road is pretty boring. It's a built up road
through low land with almost no curves, other then the little
detours around road destruction. Their road construction is
pretty similiar to the U.S. They have nice new equipment and
lots of county workers taking siestas standing up.(I can't
remember is Joe Stoppy on this mailing list?) One difference
I did notice is they don't have wash plants(Lisa was reading
this and was wondering if a wash plant flowers), for their
stone, they just go down to the rivers and dig it out, what
they get is, what they get. One thing different I noticed
on this stretch of road, was everyone we passed or passed
us beeped their horns and gave us the thumbs up. We had girls
blowing us kisses, guys hootin and howler at us. At first
I thought they were mad at us, not the girls,there's no mis-
interpreting a kiss. This went on for 2 1/2 hours. Apparently
they really like moto travelers down here. We stopped at another
Pemex and gassed up and I don't mean with refried beans, because
by day 7 of the trip, the 3 of us were close to putting the
Arabs out of business. We headed into the store for our usual
morning high octane snacks. When Curly and Moe came out, they
were stomping their feet and whinning something about no yogurt
drinks and the stupid raka,fratin mexican phones. Curly usually
gets like this when he forgets to take his advil and his butt
hurts from riding. I calmed him down and made him take his
meds, which by the way were soaked in bug dope. It seems his
bug spray gernaded inside his bag, I guess deet on the brain
would explain his eratic behavior the last week. Moe would
get this way when he"thought" someone ripped him
off for anything over 25 cents. It was fun to watch, so I
egged them on and told them I bought the last 2 yogurts and
the phone gave me extra minutes after he got ripped off. It
was like having my own personal comedians 24/7. Back on the
road we headed to Huixtla, where we got off to find a bank
to exchange some money and pay our $20 immigration fee. I
waited out side with the bikes, and again everybody thought
the bikes were cool, and big. A KLR 250 big? We norte americanos
are really spoiled. It was market day and the one-way's in
and out of centro(downtown area of all mexican towns and cities)
were packed with chickens, clothes, shoes, fruits, goats and
anything else you could think of to buy. I seen a mexican
first for me though, a mexican auction. The autioneer sounded
like he was rapping, I'm pretty sure that's where rap music
originated. Another thing they had, was motorized richshaws
running all over town. I GOTTA have one of those for the farm!!!
Just think, having a nephew drive me around, while I shlurp
fizzys and watch the famous RGN moto. Maybe I could even get
my wife to fan me and feed me grapes. Pinch,pinch oh, I must
have been dreaming.
Ok, back to the story. We left town on 211 heading north,
back up into the mountains. I chose this route for the scenic
beauty and the border crossing up in La Mesilla is painless
compared to the one Tapachula. This is another of those must
ride roads. We wound our way up through the mountains for
about 30 miles, starting in tropical, running up through pines
and over the top of the sierra madres of chiapis, where it
turned arid on the otherside. This road must have taken a
beating the last hurricane season. There was whole sides of
the roads missing all over the place, with some pretty impressive
drop offs. They had them marked well though, 3 or 4 twelve
inch high rocks on the edge of a 200-300ft. undercut drop
off, that covered half of the road. Most of you don't know
when I'm exaggerating, so let me say, this is no exaggeration.
Only Juanito de Africano Sur knows the truth. Anybody thats
afraid of heights, or thinks the goverment should take care
of you from craddle to grave, should probably winter in florida
instead of mexico. I take it back, you could fly into Cancun
and never leave your all- inclusive, you'll be protected there.
We continued down the road for another 15-20 miles and entered
Frontera Comalapa, where I led us down the wrong way of a
one-way street, for a couple blocks. No one seemed to care,
or slow down for us. We got back on track and came to Hotel
Lincoln, what better place for 3 gringos to spend the night.
3 beds, 30 dollars. You can bargain at any of the places we
stayed at and get a better price, it's just that, when I'm
on vacation, if the price is less then I'd pay in the states,
I just take it and move on.
At every new hotel, the first request I would get from Curly
and Moe was, do they have laundry service? With good reason,
our clothes were beginning to smell like the inside of my
moto boot after the Marquette enduro. Usaully they did, but
we would be leaving to early in the morning to have it done
in time. So, after we showered, we all wandered off in seperate
directions. Moe came back with some industrial strength laundry
detergent. I came back with an internet cafe and a good restaurant
to try. Curly, didn't come back. Well not right away, he got
lost, but luckily he remembered that we pinned his name and
the address of the motel to his shirt, and being the salesman
that his is, by pretending he was blind, he conned a pretty
mexican girl into walking him back. All this is true, except
for the part I lied about.
We all eventually hooked up and headed to the restaurant.
It was a higher class joint, with well dressed mexicans, I'm
sure everybody was looking at us because of the way we were
dressed, not the fact that we were the only white people in
town, and stuck out like a Harley in the winners circle at
daytona(my apoligies to my good friends at Harley Davidson,
I couldn't resist the playful sarcasom) There I go again,
blowing another test ride deal with my mouth. Anyway I digress,
(I always wanted to say that, makes me sound like I got past
the 6th grade), we ate, the food was great, and it was getting
late, not really but it rhymes. Curly and I went to the internet,
and Moe went back to try out some of that sulfuric acid they
call soap down here. I left Curly at the internet and headed
back. There was a carnival set up in centro. the rides and
the games weren't running yet, but most of the vendors were
selling, so I packed in as many deserts as I could on the
walk back. Carnivals in Mexico are another perfect example
of stupid people will die. All the rides are stacked right
on top of each other, and I mean right on top. Some of them
you have to turn sideways to get in between them. Not a single
fence around anything. Walk right up to what ever you want,
if you get to close, your one of the stupid ones. My plan
every night was to go to bed early, so I could get 4 good
hours of sleep before the symphony started. So I settled in,
only to be woken shortly by Curly and Moe asking if I wanted
to go to the carnival. In retrospect, I wish I would have
gone with them. I've been to a couple before, its hard to
describe what it's like to see a whole town enjoying themselves
with their families on games and rides that are 30+ years
old. When I say families, I don't mean mom, dad and their
toddlers, I mean the whole family grandpa, grandma, mom, dad,
and all the kids and their kids. Its something you don't see
at our fairs anymore, maybe 30-40yrs. ago.
I wasn't with the duo, so this account is somewhat as it was
told to me. You know sometimes when your doing things, they
seem different to you, then the guy watching you. I'm going
to try and be that guy watching them.
Curly is a fun loving, hard working man, that had nothing
to start with and has done very well for himself. He lives
life, with the love of an 8 year old. He's an open book. So
I get this picture of a 43yr. old shaved head 8yr. old, at
a carnival. He was running from one game to the next, and
probably trying to get Moe to go on the kiddy airplane rides
with him. Playing games and giving the prizes to the kids
in the crowd. Eventually settling on buying a throat whistle.
Now picture this a big, shaved headed, whiter then a ghost,
except for the sun burned red dot on the tip of his nose,
where it stuck out of his goggles and his equally white, slightly
smaller italian buddy, both towering at least a foot above
everybody in the main square, with Curly making laughing noises
with the whistle. He does all this with out drinking a drop
of alcohol. Those two had to have the whole town laughing.
I would have paid to see that show. Unfortunately, I got it
for free when they got back to the hotel, where I was no longer
sleeping. This is definetly funnier now, then when it happened.
Curly performed for me for a couple of minutes, then laid
his head on the pillow and was snoring in less then 30 seconds.
I was up most of the night stewing, and was grumpy the next
morning. I gave him the cold shoulder, but he's a natural
salesman and he had me telling him what was on my mind in
seconds. He tried to turn the argument around, but thought
better of it when I looked at him like I was going to give
him the vulcan death grip. We came up with a solution, and
our first maritial dispute was over. This whole time Moe was
in the bathroom, keeping himself busy. When he exited, he
was wearing the whitest, tighty whities and t-shirt I ever
seen. He smelled like someone from an irish spring comercial
and looked like an Italian Mr. Clean. I guess I won't make
fun of his soap anymore.
Day 8:
We were heading for the border, in 15 miles we would be in
central america. First stop, migracion to stamp out our passports
next stop, banjercito to turn in our bike permits, so we won't
have a problem like day 1. Jump on our bikes ride 3klicks
and do it all over again in Guatemala. This border crossing
is totally painless. Everything went smoothly, well almost
everything. Moe was having problems with a moneychanger. He
was saying something like this dirty, rotten rack a frattin
guys ripping me off. He looked a little like Yosemite Sam
pissed at the rabbit. We went over and took a look at the
situation, and Moe was indeed right. He got nicked for something
around 50 cents. We all had a good laugh over this, and preceeded
on our way.
We were entering into a lush tropical canyon road and a country
full of colors, from the clothes of the people to the brightly
painted and chromed chicken busses.........the best is yet
to come...............
I can't say that Guatemala is my favorite yet, because I
haven't spent enough time there, but it's a country that's
talking the loudest to me now to explore more. Guatemala is
probably less safe then Mexico, but still considered to be
safer then stumbling around drunk in the wrong area of Milwaukee.
And what countryboy hasn't done that?
Day 8: continued
......I want to start by clearing something up about Moe,
he's not a hotheaded italian, he just doesn't like getting
ripped off. He's honest and genuine and is easy to travel
with. He saved me numerous times from turning around and going
back for important papers I forgot, like a passport for instance.
I haven't know either of these guys , for more then a couple
of weeks before I left. Where Curly is an open book and provides
many instances for me to make fun of him, and takes it well,
I might add, Moe is more reserved and doesn't provide me with
as much material. So when he does, I take full advantage of
it and exploit it the best I can.
We were driving through a narrow, steep, lush green canyon
that follows a river. There's a couple things you notice right
away, in this part of Guatemala. The color it's everywhere.
Their chicken busses are the coolest busses period. I would
also like to see a race between them and the double trailer
tankers on Mx.190. I know they would hold their own. The people
show the color too. Alot of the different groups of native
indians still dress in their brightly patterned clothing.
Some of the villages in the mountains, spanish is actually
their second language, they still speak their native tongue.
The other thing you notice on this stretch of road, no mexican
topes(speed bumps that may or may not have warning signs).
We were continuing down this beautiful road with the intention
of turning off towards Huehuetenango(pronouced way-way- taa-NON-
go), when we came to a scenic overlook. I pulled over, because
Curly and Moe had been complaining I wasn't stopping enough
for photo opps. Preferring the ones in my head, I guess I
was being a little selfish. While taking a break to snap a
few pics, you could hear drums, like a war scene from a tarzan
movie, coming from a house, on the side of the mountain, directly
below us. Then we heard some spanish yelling and camotion
coming from down the road. A kid came running out of a house
across the road, and seconds later, an old guy peddled up
this mountain road, in the middle of nowhere, with a 3 wheeled
ice cream bike. This is my lucky day. We all bought cones
for 1 quetzal a piece(8Q.= 1 dollar),ate and enjoyed the view.
The ice cream man also informed me I missed my road to Huehue(refered
to as way-way by the locals). Ok, no biggee, we changed our
plan to go to either Antigua or Panajachel on lake Atitlan
both places on the must see list.
We decided on Panajachal, which is sometimes refered to as
Gringotenango. Back in the early seventies, alot of idealistic
hippy types came down here to do drugs and get away from the
Man. Now you see alot of long gray haired leftovers that are
the Man. They bought businesses and decided its ok to be capitalists,
as long as they still wore sandels and no bras.
The road there is all down hill, a little skinny road with
alot of switchbacks. When you get about 3-4 miles from town,
there's an overlook that looks out over the lake, town and
the 3 volcanos in the background. I sent a picture of it in
the last mailing. As usual, it doesn't compare to the one
in my head. The town is set up for tourists, and english is
spoken in some places. I found a hotel called Sueno Real 1/2
block from the lake. The rooms were excellent and the owner
and his family very friendly and they did laundry. My single
was under $20, in a tourist town!! Although Curly and I kissed
and made up after last nights smackdown, we were no longer
sleeping together. On the 3rd floor there was an open covered
sitting area that had a good view of the town and lake. Ho-hum,
another day in paradise. I was fighting back urges to ride
the dirt road around the lake, said to be an excellent ride,
but I promised my mom not to take any unneccesary risks on
this trip. Knowing that there has been a string of armed robberies
on that road in the last couple of months, I debated if it
was just a risk or an unneccesary risk. I eventually decided
to save it for my next trip down, when I had more time. I
could dump all the gear from the bike, put an expired credit
card and 30-40 dollars in the wallet, if I got robbed it wouldn't
be any different then taking the Illinios toll road, with
the added benefit of a scenic drive. The rest of the day we
acted like tourist and wandered around town buying junk and
eating. I checked in with my wife, she said she was starting
to shovel her way through her second snow strorm and it was
the coldest feb. on record. I tried to act concerned and told
her to just leave it, I would shovel it when I got home in
mid march.I love you hun, I gotta hang up , I have to poop.
It works everytime. I heard some grumblin to my right, looked
over and seen an Italian guy slam down a pay phone, yah you
guessed it, IT RIPPED HIM OFF!!!
Another fresh fish dinner, a couple strawberry& banana
smoothies and back to the hotel for a sunset......I wonder
what the rich people are doing in wisconsin. Back at the hotel,
Curly was proudly modeling his freshly washed jammy's he purchased
earlier in the week. They were the fancy pressed kind, with
the button up pattern shirt. He was working it like...........well
just like Curly of the three stooges. He wanted to know what
I thought of them, ahhhh, well.... if I die on this trip,
DON'T bury me in them! More laughter and off to bed.
*Random thought of the day- God will talk to you, if you shut-up
long enough and listen.
Day 9: Stooges lost in the city-
I woke up fresh, 6 straight hours of sleep, up to the bathroom
and another 2 hour nap. I should of thought of this sooner.
Actually it was Curly's idea. We set out knowing we would
have to by-pass Antigua and save it for the next trip. We
headed towards Guatemala City, known for heavy traffic, smog,
and little to no traffic signs. The city sits in a big hole,
so the smog problem is intensified, along with it being the
dry season. I was looking for the periferico(by-pass) that
went around the north side of the city. It wasn't marked periferico,
but I found it by luck and jumped on it. The only trouble
was I was going the wrong way on it. We pulled in a shell
station to get our bearings and way our options. We could
take our chances and pick our way across 4 lanes of heavy
traffic jump over a curb and on to the 4ft. wide median strip,
then just merge in with another 4 lanes of traffic going the
right way or run through a parking lot down a street and up
on to an overpass, and hope there was an on ramp on the other
side. We took the later, piece of cake, cross the overpass,
round a 3 lane glorieta(traffic circle) and on the periferico.
This was going to easy, I don't know why everybody complains
about getting lost here. And then it ends, 4 lane by-pass
turns into heavy traffic and stop lights as far as I can see.
Well, we might still be on the right road, keep going straight,
we'll eventually see a sign for the town I want to head towards.
15 stop lights later nothing. The only good thing, we can
split lanes and run to the front of the line at stop lights.
But here the rows and lines of busses try to crowd you, definitely
not as courtious as the mexicans. Horns blowing everywhere.
I'd ask people crossing the street if the town I was trying
to get to was straight ahead, and always got a yes. Though
everything wasn't perfect, it seemed to be going ok. Until
the this last stop light, we ran to the front of the pack
again and went straight on green, but everybody else turned
left, not a good sign. Our choice dead-ended us at some railroad
tracks, with lines of dirty small cardboard looking shacks
on both sides of the tracks for 2-3 blocks. When we pulled
up, my first thought was to sneek between the shacks and mobs
of people that seem to appear out of nowhere and the tracks.
When we pulled up people were running and scattering everywhere.
I stopped to look things over and it became pretty clear.
It seems I ran us dead center into the wrong side of the tracks
Red Light District. My first thought was my born again buddies
can do some evangelizing and save some souls here, but when
I looked for them, all I seen was a cloud of dust. They turned
tail and were running like the apostles out of the garden,
on the mount of olives, after Jesus was arrested. I followed
suit, smiled and dumbly waved to the shady looking characters
milling around, while grabbing gears. We weren't that far
off track and eventually found our way out of the city. It
seems, I should have taken a 1 lane unsigned exit ramp before
the stoplights to stay on the periferico. Who would of known,
you have to get off a by-pass to stay on it.
We were heading to Zacapa, its only real claim to fame was
being the hottest city in the country during the dry months,
and guess what months we were in. It was kind of depressing
coming from the mountains hours ago and now being in this
hot dirty looking desert town. I picked an equally impressive
motel, above an eating/ beer joint on the main highway. $10
rooms with cable tv, a fan, and a pipe sticking out of the
wall for a shower. One of those pictures I took with my mind
I wish I could erase. The only plus side, was the balcony
facing the highway, where lots of street legal CRF200's and
their china equivilent were going by in droves. There were
alot of moto's around this town. Moe and Curly went into town
and had a pizza, they had a good time and said it was nicer
in town. Tomorrow was going to be a short day to the honduran
border, get a room and see the ruins at Copan.........
* I was sleeping peacefully with God, until my wife woke me
up and told me to pay attention to the priest.
Day 10: Zacapa- Copan Ruinas
We started our trip doing 200-300 mile days. As we got closer
to our final destination, the miles per day was shrinking.
Today it was a whapping 50 miles. A hour ride out of the desert
and into the mountains and we were crossing the border. A
half hour at the border, to check out of Guatemala and check
into Honduras. This crossing was really easy. The Guatemalan
and Honduran Migracion were in the same building, and the
aduana's were combined in another building. We had to wait
a little while for the Honduran guy to type up our bike permits,
with a typewriter, and then stuff the $30 entry fee we all
paid him in his front pocket. I think Moe thought the guy
was ripping us off. $30 is the official entry fee, I didn't
much care where the money went, as long as I got the permit.
Bikes will be confiscated on the spot with out it, in Honduras
Which, I would have left with the guy in the aduana office,
along with my passport, if Moe didn't have that sharp eye
for people ripping him off. All Moe needs is a little better
math skills, because he was going at it with another money
changer that "ripped him off", only to find out
he again got nicked for something around 4-5 Limperas(2L.=
11 cents).
A couple klicks down the road and our ride ended in Copan
Ruinas. We parked just off the square, and left Moe to watch
the bikes so Curly and I could look for Hotel Yaragua. Turns
out we were parked right in front of their secure parking
and the office was 30ft. up the sidewalk. Real nice place,
$20, hot water, and it included a breakfast buffet. I know
all my friends are saying, " I know why Larry likes Guatemala
and Honduras so much, He's cheap!!! But guys, thats only half
right. I also want to "go where no white man has gone
before".Warning: editorial to follow- Not the case in
Copan, lotsa whitey tourist types here to see the ruinas.
The town also had that sanitized for gringo consumption look
to it. This ain't a bad thing, and can be a welcome change.
Its just, that you don't want to ride a couple thousand miles
south of the border to be in little america. You come to see
things a little more raw and real. Unfortunate for the people
of Honduras, you only have to go a little ways out of town
to realize that Honduras is the 2nd poorest country in the
Americas. The tourist dollar helps these communities, with
schools and hospitals, but creates a whole host of new problems.
Like crime, alcholism and begging. Copan is safe, and relatively
beggar free, for now. In tourist towns you get a lot of smiles
from the people, but they don't seem as genuine as the ones
you get in the off the beaten path towns, where, if you initiate
conversation, or in my case "try" to speak their
language, you get the smiles that you can see and feel. We
have poor in our country, but our poor are provided with more
tools to work their way out of poverty, then any other country
I visited. Our large middle class is evidence of that. The
saying that, " you can't keep giving a man fish, you
have to teach him to fish on his own", makes alot of
sense. In Honduras, you might have to dig them a pond before
they can use the poles you gave them. We could learn alot
from the hondurans, their kids have fun playing a games with
a stick and ours are complaining they don't have the newest
gameboy. Random thoughts still open for discussion in my often
times incoherent mind.
Back to the story- We walked around town looking every bit
the tourist type. Spending money on food, internet,and phones,
and looking more at the things around us, then what we were
stepping in(a sure sign of a tourist). In my case, dog droppings.
We met a Honduran that owned a tour company. A real nice guy,
whose family owned a 2000acre farm, that grows coffee, spices,
cocoa and they raise fish. He went to college in the U.S.
and spoke very good english. His tours into the mountains
were cheap. $160 for 4 days, food, lodging, horses and guide
included. His partner from belgium had moto tours and moto
rentals. I'll look these guys up next trip. We ate lunch at
his partners restaurant and headed to the ruins. The ruins
were cool, alot of sculptures and hyroglyphics, not knowing
alot about it though, I was more impressed with the larger
temples and wildlife at Tikal, in Guatemala on my last trip.
Don't go to Copan without seeing the ruins, but if you get
a chance, go see Tikal also. Curly, on the other hand , learned
alot, by slipping in with a tour group with an english speaking
guide. I think he thought he was invisable, but Moe and I
could pick him out, as he was the only one without a name
tag and under the age of 65. Moe and I watched him from on
top of a temple, while he slowly worked himself to the front
of the class. More humor for life. We spent about 2 hours
wandering around and headed back to our bikes. I unloaded
all the gear off my bike, and this was the first time riding
my new "light weight KLR". I was having fun on the
way back doing rebound and jerk assisted wheelies and bunny
hops over rocks. Moe and Curly were happy making noise with
their throttle hand and looking back to see if anyone was
watching. Back in town we found an internet phone buisness,
where you could call home for 11 cents a minute. They had
4 or 5 private phonebooth/ saunas, where we all caught up
at home, and shed 5 pounds of water weight. The town is full
of restaurants, so we picked one, more for the view then anything
else. After dinner Curly and Moe went carousing around town
wathcing flame throwers, live music and other street performers.
As usual I slipped off to the room to plan tomorrows attack.
Day 11: One more dirt road please....
I woke up early and walked around town. All the locals were
getting ready for another tourist day. I was looking for a
cup of coffee, but nothing was open yet. I asked a lady walking
down the street where I could get one. She led me to a house
that doubled as a hostel. I think she worked there, because
she went in and made me a cup to go. 2 limperas(11 cents),
I only had 5 limperas, so she got a tip. This vacation is
going to break me. I headed down to the plaza across from
the church to drink it and started a conversation with two
19 year old kids in the military. They taught me some spanish
and I taught them a little english. They asked all the usual
questions-name,age, what I did back home. I liked these kids,
they were polite, and had no reason to be, they were carrying
M-16's. We all shook hands and said goodbye, and they thanked
me for talking to them. I thought that was unusual. I headed
towards the hotel, the restaurant was open and their buffet
was calling my name. The food was good and it was even better
knowing it was included in the room price. Curly met me there
and we had a good talk about God, I think he was trying to
save me. I might of let it slip that I didn't believe(wink,
wink, nudge, nudge, know what I mean), so they would talk
to me the whole trip. Moe never showed up. When we went back
to check out, he was waiting out front to go to someplace
for breakfast. Curly must not of given him the memo about
free breakfast. We made him load up and leave with an empty
stomach. Our first stop was about a hour and a half down the
road in the town of Santa Rosa. I was looking for a cigar
factory that was suppose to be here, to buy some for friends
back home. Not knowing where it was, I headed for centro and
ended up at the main plaza in front of the Cathedral. I was
a little late for the start of mass, but jumped in anyway.
Standing room only in this big Cathedral. They had a spanish
guitar mass, the music was awesome. Curly was in the park
satisfying his fetish for shoe shines, I didn't have the heart
to tell him we'd be on a dirt road in a little while. With
a tourists guide book of honduras and a cartoon map, we located
the factory, but it was closed on sunday. So we headed down
the road. I remember reading about a water park/fish farm
before the next town and wanted to stop for a fresh fish lunch.
We located the road to it, where there was a crazy looking
old guy waving his arms around, with green snot halfway down
his face. I felt bad for him and wanted to see what the trouble
was, but he looked like he was carrying something I didn't
want to catch, so we scooted past him. We road back to a nice
park setting packed with locals, that looked surprised to
see us. My buddies were once again surprised I found us a
fresh fish restaurant in the middle of nowhere. All the people
there were real friendly, and wanted to talk with us. We ate
another great meal, said our goodbyes and headed for the dirt
road to La Esperanza. I didn't have a map for Honduras, except
for the cartoon one out of the tourist book, but it gave the
towns that had roads between them, so I knew where I wanted
to go. The only spanish you really need to know to travel,
is the name of the town you want to go to and how to point.
In this case it would be La Esperanza and point straight,
if they say no, you point in a diffrent direction. Then you
drive a little farther and point some more. I know more spanish
then that now, but I didn't when I first started traveling.
It would help to have one of those high fluent college educations
like my friend Juan, but then you might get to much info,
like don't go down that road its to dangerous.
The road wound around through the mountains. It had a lot
of pot holes, g- outs and rain ruts, but a nice 3rd and 4th
gear road. It dumped us out in a town, that I don't know the
name of , because its not on my pirates treasure map, where
the road turned to pavement. Which shortly ended in another
town not on my map and turned to dirt again. Where I had to
stop and play the pointing game again. This time we got pointed
down a skinny road heading into the higher mountains I kept
seeing to my left. This road was awsome and climbed up at
least 10 miles. where it started getting cold again. We crested
it and went down into La Esperansa. We stayed at Hotel Ispan
Nah. A real nice place with a restaurant they opened up for
us and secure parking for the bikes for under $20. We had
a good meal in the restaurant on the roof of hotel. We chose
the inside seating. Two days ago we were in the hotest town
in Guatemala, now we were in the coldest town of Honduras.
It actually dipped into the 40's that night and the wind was
howling. I used all the covers that night. Tomorrow I'd be
delivering my buddies to their mission.......
The Mission:
Day 12-
Today started, with Curly wandering around, in his "father
knows best" jammies, because he gave the rest of his
clothes to the laundry at the hotel. They promised them back,
"manana". This translates to tomorrow, but is more
often used to say yes to any question you ask and means not
now, but for sure someday. To my surprise, they had them delivered
to him on time as promised. I warned Curly about taking a
manana in the future. He complained about not telling him
sooner, but I explained to him a computer born in the sixties
can only handle so much info without losing other valuable
info, like don't pet snakes. Manana, was todays download.
They had some good strong coffee waiting for us downstairs.
We had a couple cups and Curly had a medicinal coke. Its hard
to find good coffee in Honduras. They grow it here, but most
of it is exported. The locals prefer a watered down instant
coffee, with about a pound of sugar in it. I think this is
changing a little, because of the tourism.
We headed out on the only paved road leaving town, so we would
of had to try pretty hard to get lost today. It was another
one of those good crotch rocket roads, except for the land
mine potholes occasionally sprinkled over the surface. The
road climbed over the crest and snaked its way down to a valley,
where the Lenca women grow all the vegetables for the area,
only to climb again out of the valley. We desended into Siguatepeque,
where we would catch the road south to Tegucigalpa, but not
before Curly and Moe would have another moment. After gassing
up, Curly and Moe rolled their bikes over to the carwash.
Curly had been bugging me the whole trip about washing the
bikes. I successfully ignored him, reasoning that we didn't
need any KLR 250 chick magnets. This being day # 12, I decided
to not hold their hand on this one. I chose not to wash mine,
knowing that polishing a turd was futile. I stayed behind
drinking pineapple juice and packing in as many sweets as
I could. It was only a couple days to Lent and I had to fill
the camel hump. It seemed to be taking too long, so I walked
over to see what the trouble was. Approaching them, I could
feel the ground trembling. Knowing that this was the earthquake
that preceeded the volcano that was going to erupt on Moe's
shoulders, I tried to defuse the situation. Having a hard
time translating the tongues Curly and Moe were speaking in,
and the spanish the others were talking, I never fully understood
what transpired. It seems Moe paid one young business man
50 limperas(about $2.50) for washing the 2 bikes. It was 30
more then what the wash was suppose to be, but Moe was ok
with giving him the rest as a tip. The only trouble was, the
two guys that actually washed the bikes now came over and
wanted to get paid. The young business man, immediately jumped
in his car and locked his doors. He apparently thought that
he was similiar to a matrede(sp?) at a fancy restaurant, that
you have to bribe to get a table. Curly paid the other two
guys and I thought we were ready to leave and chalk this one
up as one of those things. Then the manager came out waving
the phone. Moe talked to the only somewhat english speaking
manager of the whole station and came away with 40 limperas.
Moe apologized for holding me up, but I knew that he did the
right thing and was also adding to my humorous memories of
the trip. I leave these knuckleheads alone for one minute...........
We headed down the road to Tegucigalpa hoping to find the
mission I was going to later in the week. I only knew the
name and that it was somewhere south of Comayagua. The name
of the village is Flores. We went past Comayagua and came
to a dusty group of houses on both sides of the highway and
stopped to ask directions. We were in Flores and we stopped
almost right in front of the mission, but I still managed
to drive around a little until a lady pointed at the mission
for us. I went in, in search of the only english speaking
contact I had for the mission. I was quickly informed he no
longer lived there. So I found the director,who spoke a little
less english then I do spanish and handed him a title to a
pristine 93 KLR, and told him I would be back friday, with
the hope that the bureaucratic ball would already be rolling,
and left.
The road climbed out of the comayagau valley over a ridge
of mountains and dropped down into the valley that Tegucigalpa
sat in. The traffic in this city is every bit as bad as Guatamala
City, maybe worse. The biggest difference is, the Hondurans
incredible lust for blowing their horns. This started the
day we crossed the border and steadily got worse the closer
we got to Tegucigalpa.They have some secret horn blowing code,
like I'm taking over your lane, I'm pulling out in front of
you, I'm running a red light and a whole host of other ones
I couldn't decipher. One time when we were stopped in traffic
and everybody was blowing their horns, a cop turned on his
lights and siren, only to have the guy behind him start blowing
his horn at the cop. Nobody paid any attention to the cop
and didn't move an inch to let him by, even when the traffic
started moving. All road territory had to be conquered and
if you where the smallest vehicle, you had to keep conquering,
because you couldn't hold your territory very long. We had
excellent directions to the boy's mission, but decided to
stop for lunch before giving the bikes up and picking up shovels.
Curly didn't seem to mind that there was going to be Manual
Labor at the mission, until we explained to him that it wasn't
the name of a Honduran man living there. I think thats why
he had us stop for lunch.
At the mission we got a warm welcome from the other guys that
flew down to work. We were there to pour footings for there
new school, Honduran style. This amounted to having a machine
come in and dig trenches for the footings before we got there,
so we could dig them over by hand in the right place. We dragged
our feet as long as we could, before reluctantly going over
and asking with fake enthusiasm what we should do. Knowing
that I was a carpenter, they asked what kind of tools I would
need to make cabinets. I told them I was a framing carpenter
and would only need a 28oz. hammer with some sharp straight
claws. They handed me a shovel and sent me in the ditch to
dig, who'd a figured. I hooked up with some local hired help.
Santo Rey was on top with a bar busting ground for us to shovel
out. He filled my shoes with dirt, so I threw a shovel full
into his boots, and had all the locals laughing. We immediately
started bonding and I handed out rosearies and taught them
how to say the Holy Mary, until the Non- Denominational police
came and confiscated our prayer weapons. We continued to tease
my gringo friends in spanish, so they couldn't tell what we
were talking about. This is the truth except for the part
I lied about. The rest of the day was consumed with pickaxing
and shoveling.The hired Hondurans were hard workers, especially
considering the average wage is $3.50- $4.50 a day and $5.00-$6.00
for skilled labor. I don't know what these guys were making,
they were working for the general contractor and not the mission.
We followed the van load of guys back to the house they rented
for us. The guy driving the van was weaving in and out of
traffic, and passing people with authority. I thought for
sure he was a local, but found out later he's just a crazy
realator from Fond Du Lac named Brian. I have a lotta respect
for his abilities. I went to bed that night with blisters
in diffrent places than a set of motorcycle grips or framing
hammer leaves calluses. My plan tommorrow would be to do moto
maintenance and teach it to the misionary, Juan Carlos, receiving
the bike........
DAY 13-14 -
The next two days I spent teaching maintanence and starting
drill to Juan Carlos and Pastor Gary. After we had the maintance
done, I had Juan Carlos start the bike and asked him if he
wanted to ride it. He looked at me a little puzzled, which
I chalked up to my spanish, only to see him go about 20ft.
and do a face plant. I found out later that he was a cowboy
and never rode a bike. Off to the soccer field for riding
lessons. He eventually figured out what the clutch, brake
and throttle were for and was balancing better then a kid
without training wheels. Can you imagine going to the local
football field in the U.S. to teach your kid to ride!!! I
liked Juan Carlos alot, he's a missionary that walked into
the mountains to teach, and was now going to have a bike to
ride. I completed the first part of my mission. Tomorrow I
would be saying goodbye to my new friends and heading out
to finish my mission......
There's not much left now guys, I'll wake you when it's over.
This is the Larryless adventures of the Curly and Moe, as
written by the great Curlyator-
As our mission group of 13 headed to the airport to leave
Teg. we accompanied them knowing that we would not fly out
for another two days. Moe and I devised a plan to catch a
flight to the Island of Rotan for a quick side trip of scuba
diving. We negotiated a discount on the flight for 5% off
because of our middle aged status and headed for the beach.
It was a incredible time of relaxation, diving, good food,hammocks
and a little witnessing to the hotel owner. If only Larry
was here to enjoy. The end came too quickly and we flew back
to Teg and waited for our flight. as we were looking out of
the window at the plane we just got off we noticed a middle
aged man being pulled out of another plane next to ours. Apparently
he was very sick and on his way to the big city to get aid
at the hospital. He died during flight. Many thoughts rolled
through my mind as they wrapped him in a big plastic black
bag and took him away. First was he saved and will I see him
in heaven? Did he live life abundantly? Does he have people
who love him? I thanked God for giving me this opportunity
to go on this trip and live life abundantly, to know I have
family and friends loving and praying for my safe return and
most of all I am saved and know through Roman's 10: 9,10 and
John 3:16 that heaven will be my home. P.S. Thanks Larry for
getting us two non-denominational Christians to our destination.
God knew you were the one and heeded the call to guide us
through safely.
The Mission:
Day 14-
I said my good byes to all my new friends, American and Honduran.
I only knew these guys for a short time, but had gotten pretty
close to them. There belief system is more similiar then different
to mine. They're geniune people that try as hard as anybody
to practice what they preach.
It was a nice morning for a ride and I was enjoying the 50
mile trip to Flores. I was taking my time, knowing this was
probably the last ride on the mighty KLR. I was stopped at
a police check, where a cop blankly stared at my paperwork
and license, I'm sure not having a clue what he was looking
at. He handed my stuff back and gave me the international
sign, of tipping his thumb to his mouth, that he needed money
for a couple of beers. I pretended not to understand, smiling
the whole time. He seemed to get a little short and sent me
on my way. The 50 mile trip was going a little to fast, so
I took a couple dirt side roads. They turned out to be deadend
driveways, I guess it wasn't meant to be.
At the mission, I turned the bike over to the guy that was
going to be using it. He looked like a kid on Christmas morning,
biggest smile I've ever seen. I gave him all the particulars
on maintence, by using my caveman spanish and pointing alot.
We lowered it a couple inches and sent him on a test ride.
I was glad to see this went a lot better then the test ride
a couple days ago. I left him my old moto boot, moto helmet
and googles. This guy was stylin!!! I met with the director
and handed over the rest of my paperwork and he drove me where
I was going to be staying for the next couple days, while
he arranged the transfer.
The place I was going to be staying at was used for the volunteer
groups that came to help at the mission. Driving up to it,
it looked like a small block prison set off the road in a
dusty field, with cows and donkeys wandering around it. Once
inside its appearance changed drastically. It had a garden
courtyard that all the rooms surrounded, with hammocks hanging
between the posts on the walkway around the court yard. There
are 4 American long term volunteers running the day to day
operations of the groups that come in from the U.S. Betty
is a Catholic convert that sold her home in the states and
is there indefinetly.Betty is the mission mom and performs
the role well. When you're there, you're in her house. Jerome
is a 38yr. old big texan that has been there for a year and
I believe is there for the long haul also. Jerome is the resident
interpreter that coordinates the work projects and activities
that the volunteer groups do.Yvonne is a 23yr. old college
graduate that signed on for a year and was planning on going
to a mission in Liberia when she left here. She teaches at
the girls school and runs the volunteer's chapel. Frank is
a retired farmer that nobody can keep up with. He is here
for 3 months and is the resident maintenance man. This is
just a short description of their duties. I'm sure there's
a lot more that they all share the load of. These are not
paid positions, they get room and board, no hot water and
wash their clothes by hand. These people inspired me with
their sacrifice and made my little donation pale in comparison.
I enjoyed talking to all of them.
I met Jerome as he was leaving, he was taking a volunteer
to the airport. Betty gave me a tour of the place and set
me up in a room. Yvonne was with a group of volunteers from
a Catholic college in Dubuque, Iowa. It was a free day and
they were sightseeing at a lake in the mountains. This group
of college kids gave up their springbreak to volunteer at
the mission. These kids showed me that there is hope for the
future. All you ever hear about is how bad things are getting,
you never hear about the good kids. Frank was working on the
houses at the Moms Project. It's part of Mission Honduras,
and provides food and housing for abandoned woman and their
children. You can read more about the mission at www.missionhonduras.com
.
The next morning Jerome and I met with the director. Seems
there was going to be a slight problem. Honduras doesn't allow
you to import a bike older then 1999. My bike is a 1993 and
its stamped on my passport as entering Honduras. Without getting
the proper import papers, I may not be allowed to leave Honduras
without the bike. We piled in a truck and headed to a lawyers
office. At the lawyers office there was alot of foreign talking
going on and no smiling yes nodding heads, so I translated
that into, not to promising. They typed up a bunch of papers
I couldn't read and sent me to a bank to buy a noterized paper
I couldn't read. I left the lawyers office with a promise
that, maybe they could help me. Ok good enough for me. Whats
the worst case senerio? I have to ride back to Texas. Not
really a burden, unless you ask my wife. There is the little
issue of a $550 non refundable plane ticket, but still no
burden to me. I would feel kinda bad repoing the bike from
the happy guy at the mission, but it would be no use to them
if they couldn't get the import papers. We went back to the
mission to wait for the answer......
When the answer came, it was pretty much NO WAY can you import
it. They(lawyers) suggested calling it in stolen. They couldn't
keep me in the country if my bike was stolen. I ruled that
one out. Nobody could use the bike then. At a mission and
lie about my bike being stolen, I might as well walk around
with a lightning rod on my head. It was friday afternoon and
my flight leaves at 1:00pm monday. I decided to try and get
out of the country by plane, if that didn't work its an extended
vacation for Larry. About a half hour later the director from
the mission called and said we would talk to somebody else
tomorrow. That somebody else was the number 1 congressman
for the state we were in. We went to his house!!! The congressman
had himself setup on his patio in a big comfortable chair.
There was chairs lined up in rows in front of him and 2 nice
ones to his left. most of the 20 or so chairs were filled
with people waiting their turn to get in the good chairs next
to the congressman, who we'll call Fat Tony. There didn't
seem to be any order to who got to discuss their problems
with Fat Tony next. He would pat his hand on the chair next
to him, and beckon whoever he liked to come and talk to him.
It was hillarious, I would have paid to come and watch this.
Honduran politics in action. Fat Tony was like a mafia don
and he had everybodies respect. He would say something smiling
and everybody would laugh. Or he would get aggitated with
the guy that was asking for a favor and reach out to shake
hands with the guy, this was the signal that he was done talking,
and was sending you on your way. We watched this go on for
about a half hour, when my guy walked up and got us a seat
next to Fat Tony. The director explained the situation to
Fat Tony, which got him a little aggitated and then he explained
some more and, Yeh, you guessed it, we got the hand shake.
The director wasn't taking no for an answer and kept shaking
his hand. This convinced Fat Tony to call his cousin in some
other official office. We had to wait for his cousin to call
him back, so we stayed in the comfy chairs and watched the
show for another 15 minutes. A real poor looking little old
lady came off the street, yelling and smiling her way to the
front. Fat Tony yelled back at her and got up and went in
the house. When he came back he had 3 notebooks of paper,
which he hit her over the head with and chased her out. She
left laughing, apparently she needed some note paper, problem
solved. All in a days work for a Honduran congressman. Primo(cousin)
called us back, but it didn't sound to promising. We had to
get a official paper from a mayor of a town stating that the
bike was broke or unsafe to ride out of the country and come
back and talk to Fat Tony again. It was saturday afternoon,
but somehow he got a mayor from a small village to sign something.
The Fat Tony Show was all done for the day, so we had to wait
until monday morning. When we returned on monday, there was
about 100 people waitng to talk to Fat Tony. There was no
way we were getting in to talk to him and still catch my plane.
Off to the DMV office. No luck there either. A few phone calls
and a mad rush to the airport. We were heading to the aduana
office at the airport to talk to someone important there.When
we got to the aduana, it was already 11:30. he talked us through
3 security checks and got us to the office we needed. Now
wait.......11:45.....12:00 and a guy comes out and says,"
I think I can help you, but it will take a little while".
Keep in mind my flight leaves at 1:00 and I'm not checked
in, I don't even have my e-ticket yet. At 12:15 I told the
director to get my paper work back, I was going to try and
bluff my way on the plane. He came back with the paper work
and said it would be no problem transfering the bike after
it sat in imbound for 3 months, but he wouldn't be able to
get my passport stamped off or give me any official paper
work in time to make my flight. OH well, here we go. Showed
my passport got my e-ticket and checked my bags, no problem.
Go upstairs show my passport again, pay my exit fee, again
no problem. One more obstacle, get past airport security.
I had Jerome to help me out with this one. I handed one guy
my ticket and the other official guy my passport. He started
paging through it, thats when Jerome started distracting him
with a deep and loud Texas/ spanish drawl. Saying things like
Viva Olimpia and doing the secret Honduran hand shakes. It
worked I was headed home. The mission was getting a bike and
worse case senerio, I would have to rip a page out of my passport
to get back in Honduras or possibly pay an "extra fee"
next time(nudge,nudge, wink, wink). I had an excellent flight
back to Brownsville reflecting on all the great things that
happened on this trip. I decided to write it done and thats
how the mission story started.
Summary:
The Bikes-
The bikes performed flawlessly. They did everything we asked
of them. I wouldn't hesitate to adventure tour on 250 KLR
again. You have to pack as light as possible, but they work
great on all the kinda roads I want to ride.
The Players-
My new friends were excellent traveling companions and I thank
God I was able to share a great experience with them. I was
a little skeptical of their riding abilities before we left,
but they came through with flying colors.
The Mission-
The mission was a complete success. I've done alot of moto
adventure trips before and loved all of them. The friends
I went with and everything. This trip meant more to me though.
It felt good to do something that wasn't just self serving.
I would encourage any of you guys to try something similiar
in the future. I feel I got closer to God on this trip, through
the people I traveled with and especially the people I met
at the Catholic Mission. This God talk will scare some of
you away, but I know you all believe in God and you believe
that God is good, so it can only be that "other guy"
that is telling you not to learn more about him, at least
it was in my case.Problems and obstacles in life get real
small when you trust in Him totally. If you ask Him for direction,
even only once a day, He'll give it to you. Thanks for joining
me in my journey, - Larry
The Future-
The Sunday I got back, we went to church and there was a flyer
in the bulliten for a new mission being built in Nicaragua.
Now if that ain't a sign from God!!! I'm pretty sure they're
going to need motorcycles. To the dismay of my wife, I'm in
the planning stages as you read this. My goal is to start
a non-profit moto mission tour company. We would deliver bikes
or even trucks and cars to what ever mission or charity the
clients were willing to travel to. The clients would pick
their mission or charity based on personal preference and
how far they wanted to travel. What do you guys think? I'm
open for suggestions.
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