2010: A Latin American Odyssey

Colombia : Tierradentro, Desierto de Tatacoa, San Augustín and beyond...

2010-12-10T05:38:00.000-08:00

The time had come to make a break from Cali. It was a great time out and well needed rest in a comfy hostel that felt more like a home. But even though the rain hadn't stopped, I needed to get back on the road. I loaded up my bike and said good-bye to Mike and Diana, Owain and Hannah and rolled out onto the road. I headed south towards Popayan but turned off into the mountains just before I got there. I was headed for Inza and the ruins of Tierradentro.

The roads were thick with mud. The rain was coming down pretty good as I headed up further and further away from the Pan American highway. I was warned that the area can be a little sketchy at times. I had my guard up but was simply met with smiles everywhere.

The landscape was amazingly beautiful. Clouds stuck to the peaks like cotton candy and huge waterfalls plunged down the walls all around. It was so green and lush it was hard to keep my eyes on the road sometimes. But the riding was super challenging. The roads were in the process of being improved but at most there was construction in the works. Packed gravel but mostly mud up to 8" deep at times threatened to bring me down.

I made it to Inza and was so relieved to get onto the concrete for a few minutes. But not five minutes out of town I got a flat rear tire. There were some road workers heading home from their day that helped direct the passing vehicles around me while I got to changing my tube. Just as I was getting things wrapped up a guy pulled up on a little Honda 150. It was cool to have local guys around to keep me company as I raced to fix the flat before the sun went down.

Jairo was the guy on the Honda 150 and though the local shop owners warned me that he could be trouble, he turned out to be a top notch friend. Jairo invited me out the next day to show me around to some of the ruins in the area.

Here's a sweet shot of my bike with Jairo's Honda in the background in front of his house in Inza, Colombia.

Jairo told me about some "pyramides" that were close by. Knowing that the area was occupied by lots of cocaine production I wasn't sure how badly I wanted to follow this guy into the backcountry to check out the ruins, but when he said his wife was going to come along as well, I relaxed.

The pyramids were a natural conglomeration of rectangular rock that created a pyramidal precipice. I thought that that was all there was to it but Jairo took me down the steep back side of the pyramid to show me the hollowed out caverns that were used in pre-Columbian times to store gold, salt and other precious commodities.

It felt like some real Indiana Jones set surrounded by jungle, hanging out in a sketchy zone in Colombia on my own with some guy I'd met on the side of the road while changing a flat tire. But it was awesome. Jairo was a top notch guy regardless of what the local old folks had to say about him.

I let Jairo use one of my pocket cameras to snap photos while we were exploring the area. It was fun to see how excited he got about making images. We went to an internet shop after our hike and burned all of his photos to a cd.

As always with new friends that I'm not sure I'll ever cross paths with again, it was sad to say goodbye to Jairo. We had a great day checking out his neighborhood. And it was a great lesson in trust for me. Everyone was warning against me traveling alone in the area and also about hanging out with this local bad boy... but in the end I couldn't have had a better time in Tierradentro.

My bike made quite the impression in town when I took it to the local vulcanizador or tire repair man.

This little girl was awesome. Once all the older boys cleared out, she came up and asked if she could have a picture with me and the bike. Her dad had his cell phone camera ready for the shot. When I said she should sit on the bike, her eyes lit up. Men and boys are always intrigued by the big KTM but this was the first little girl that was super excited about the bike. It really made my day to see how excited she was to sit on the bike and have her picture taken on it.

Check out the rear-view mirrors on this guy's horse...

I had a great time there in Inza. For the equivalent of two bucks, the tire man put a professional hot patch on my tube. I packed it away for the next time I got a flat. I rode back to Hostel La Portada near the base of the Tierradentro ruins and holed up for another night of heavy rain. It the morning I got up early and headed off for the Desierto de Tatacoa.

On the way I bumped into a German couple who'd been touring since July of 2007. They were riding BMW F650GS Dakar motos. They were on their way to San Augustín, where I'd be the following day. We talked story for a few minutes on the side of the road at a nice overlook of the Rio Magdelena before heading again in the opposite direction.

The light was perfect as I made my way into the desert. It was a pretty mini desert and pretty green for a desert too but plenty beautiful.

I was all set to camp. I had potato chips, some bread and cheese and a bottle of rum and a couple bottles of Coca-Cola. The evening light was incredible as I made my way out to the observatory and campgroud. The old man tried to get me to camp on some gravel in back of the observatory but I stuck to my guns demanding that I wanted to camp in the pavilion where I could see the sandstone formations from my tent in the morning. Other campers had followed my lead a little later. But when the rain came that night the pavilion filled with strange sounds. I had to pop my head out of my tent to take a look...

The rain let up an hour or so later and the goats stopped eating our tents and left. The sun came up and revealed this mini South Dakota Badlands'esque landscape.

Some crazy floppy eared cows on my way out of Tatacoa.

I left Tatacoa and continued roughly south to an archeological area near the town of San Augustín. I camped out at a little place called Finca El Maco.

Stunning scenery in the backcountry around San Augustín. In the morning I headed up to the Parque Archeological to check out the famous San Augusín statues and graves. Due to heavy guerilla warfare, San Augustín was out of most tourists' reach for many years, but now it has quieted down. There was a heavy military influence on the roads and I was stopped to have my documents checked several times. Always the Colombian military were friendly and super professional. Signs that the country is really making an effort to ensure the safety of it's traveling citizens and tourists.

Local banana farmer and horse near San Augustín, Colombia.

The San Augustín statues and graves date from between 500 B.C. to around 1600 A.D. Some have suggested that they could be an offshoot of the Maya civilization from Central America due to the ease of traveling between the Caribbean and this area along the great Rio Magdelena.

"As far as culture and society, archeologists have determined a few things: The San Agustin people treated women as equals and superiors (they did have female leaders), they had a grasp of advanced mathe- matics, they attemped complex surgeries and they were obsessed with the idea of life after death. People were ritualistically sacrificed, burned alive and sometimes buried alive under the influence of hallucinogens." Click hyperlink to read more about San Augustín.

From San Augustín, I rode through the countryside encountering several heavy rainstorms on my way to colonial Popayan.

From Popayan I pushed further south on the Pan American highway to the city of Pasto, where I bumped into this fellow on guard on a hillside above the city. He looked a little intimidating at first... maybe it was the AK-47, but after getting him to chat with me I found out that he was just a typical 18 year-old Colombian soldier hoping nobody would mess with their zone. The border area with Ecuador and Peru is notably a hotspot for drug trafficking and guerilla warfare. Only a month or so before I arrived to the area, Colombian military had captured several guerillas along with their intel, which included a laptop containing information that Venezuela's Hugo Chavez was supporting them.

I spent a couple of nights in Pasto, not really wanting to leave Colombia yet. But my visa was going to expire in days so I made my way to the border town of Las Lajas. The town was dusty, dirty and a typically chaotic border town. It did have some nice colonial architecture on the main plaza though.

And it is also known for this beautiful Santuario de Las Lajas, where the virgin Mary's likeness is said to have appeared in a stone tile. I didn't take the time to go check out the apparition but I did stop by the canyon to snap this token tourist shot.

COLOMBIA: The only danger is not wanting to leave...

This is the slogan the Ministry of Tourism has planted around Colombia and in their print and television advertisements. And after staying for two months, traveling most of the country, and leaving only one day before my visa expired... I couldn't agree more.

Thanks to all the wonderful Colombians that made my journey here absolutely fantastic.

Up next: Ecuador's famous Otovalo market and the coastal paradise of Canoa...

Colombia : Lago Colima to Cali...

2010-12-08T17:08:00.000-08:00

After such a great time in coffee country it was hard to move on. I felt like I could stay in that part of Colombia forever. The weather was good, the environment was beautiful, the cities were modern, safe and fun. And of course, the people were incredible.

Heading further south in Colombia I was greeted by rain. Not just a bit of rain: a total and utter flood of rain. I made my way to Lago Colima, a reservoir known for windsurfing and kiteboarding. I was mostly just looking for a place to stop on my way to Cali and a way to get off the highway. I was headed for the town of Darién. When I got there I was shocked to see the town packed with Ash Wednesday revelers.

I found a cool little hotel called Zuleuar that had a nice parking area for the moto. I got my gear out to dry and walked around to check out the town.

My motocross boots drying from the deluge the day before. The open attic of the hotel had a great view of the cathedral on the plaza.

Red Tilapia fish getting weighed for sale in the market.

Interesting little guy in the meat market...

A view of Lago Colima from the south end of the reservoir.

A view of San Salvador pueblo. A typical Colombian town with a big twin towered church surrounded by beautiful green countryside.

The riding was super awesome between Lago Colima and the city of Cali. I chose a route through the countryside instead of rallying down the highway directly. My destination was Casa Blanca Hostel. I'd known about this place since Mexico, when I met Bob from Washington in the backcountry of Oaxaca. Everyone in the Adventure Motorcycle Touring community talks super highly of Casa Blanca. Created, owned and operated by Mikkel Thomsen, a Danish guy, who a few years ago was traveling South America himself. He met his wife Diana, who is Colombian and started his family and business here in Cali, Colombia.

Mikkel (Mike) and his little daughter Laura...

Casa Blanca hostel is set up for long distance motorcycle travelers. Here Owain and Hannah from Australia chat on the front steps while David Kitson from England arrives.

David Kitson.

David's kit in the bunkroom we were staying in at Casa Blanca. David left from England and traveled in a generally eastward route through Europe and into Russia and then to Japan. His bike was sent across the Pacific to the U.S., where he continued his journey southward into Latin America.

Mike also runs a tour company for 4-wheeler tours as well as multiday motorcycle tours called Motolombia. Here he rips through the flooding Cali Easter rains in front of the hostel after a muddy tour.

Rain came in waves for days during Easter time. Cali, normally the center of Colombian Salsa, was dead because of the Easter holiday. David, Owain, Hannah and I spent most of our time drinking beer and eating Chinese food in between working with Mike's mechanic on various problems with our bikes.

Owain and Hannah with their new rear shock ready for their KLR 650.

Owain with his seriously dismantled KLR 650.

Owain not only has the skills to fix his motorcycle, but he makes up a mean Easter dinner as well. We put down a good amount of wine and rum and enjoyed the good food and company. During holidays on the road, nothing is better than having new friends around.

Santiago, our super awesome and helpful mechanic. He does lots of work for Mike on his rental and tour bikes and was great about letting us work in his shop and helping us locate whatever we needed to repair our bikes. I had him drop some new wheel bearings in my rear wheel while were holed up due to the flooding rain.

David Kitson in the tire shop. It was super cool to meet David. He successfully rounded the world on his old Yamaha XT650. With no major mechanicals he rode from England all the way around, well, to England. Nice work David. Can't wait to see you on the road again somewhere.

My time in Cali was a great rest but there was much more of Colombia to scope out. Next: Tierradentro, Desierto de Tatacoa and San Augustín.

Colombia : The South... Salento & Periera

2010-12-08T14:35:00.000-08:00

So it has been several months since my last post. And it has been nine months since the time I was experiencing the sights that I'm about to post on. Slacker. So what has been going on? Well, I'm currently in Iquique, Chile seeking advice from a KTM mechanic here. The bike rallied strong but now the ticking cam chains have become so loud I can no longer ignore them. So rather than chance breaking down in the middle of nowhere Bolivia, I decided on a fast paved route south through Chile's Atacama desert. I managed to make a novice mistake and leave Arica without topping off my tanks, which lead to running out of gas in the driest desert in the world. Nice move.

But none of this has anything to do with why I am so behind the times on this here blog. Mostly, lots and lots of traveling and less than par internet connectivity has left the blog in Colombia while I have long gone south. In exchange for getting way behind on my blog, I've gained love. Strange trade I know, but somehow I managed to fall in love and gain a passenger in this haphazard parade of South America. This little lady, Ms. Laura M. Cartier has added such a new dimension to my journey it is impossible for me to imagine being without her.

Laura suggested that I attempt to get caught up by sticking to photos. So with no further ado, I pick up here in the amazing Valle de Corcora, in the southern Colombian town of Salento...

Most tourists who visit Salento, Colombia are headed to the Valle de Corcora. This is a view looking towards the entrance of the park. Hiking trails are abundant here and if one hiked far enough, they'd end up in the Parque Nacional Los Nevados. (See earlier post.)

The Valle de Corcora is famous for its incredible wax palms. These trees are the national trees of Colombia. Reaching over 80 feet in height they are an amazing sight to see.

Though not a wax palm this tree reaches similar heights and makes a great silhouette with the setting sun in the distance.

Salento is a beautiful little colonial town nestled between coffee country and the mountains. I was fortunate to spend a fair amount of time riding in the hills surrounding town and met some great locals. Not far over the pass towns are still controlled by the FARC guerrillas so I couldn't venture too far into the mountains. I didn't have any issues though, and the people that I met were super friendly and happy to take a moment to chat.

This father and son were preparing some reclaimed wood for a construction project on their property just above town.

A view of the spectacular two-track road heading up and out of town.

More wax palms and mountains on the other side of the pass from Salento. I spent several hours here soaking up the solitude. While the Tolima region is a known FARC occupied area, I certainly didn't feel the effects.

The Salento area is primed and ready for adventure tourism. Here a singletrack trail begs for mountain biking or dirt biking. I met several local Colombians who come from surrounding areas in the region to practice both sports.

A local boy and his younger brother deliver lunch to their family in the fields on my way back down into Salento.

A local farmhand waits for a ride in the central plaza of Salento while camouflaged military men converse behind.

Another local Colombian near the plaza in Salento.

Taking care of Jesus before Easter...

John, Anna, and Peter... my English crew. We all met in Medellin a week earlier but had lots of fun in Salento. We stayed at Plantation House hostal. It wasn't spectacular in any way but served as a good base for exploring the area.

A local man watches as we attempt to play Tajon. Similar to horseshoes the players throw lead discs at a box filled with moist clay. A folded up triangle of paper contains gunpowder and rests on the edge of a metal ring in the clay. The idea is to get your disc to embed in the clay. Anywhere in the box is worth 1 point, in the ring is worth 2 points and if you make the gunpowder flare up by hitting the paper triangle just right makes 3 points, I think. Since we gringos were sucking so bad at this local sport and doing much better at downing local 'Poker' beer, we only succeeded at making the gunpowder flare up once. But like any sport that involves drinking beer, we had lots of fun trying.

Peter McNeill is a charismatic character that has a story for every moment. His English accent decorates his stories making each and every one a wild ride. I was sad when he and John and Anna had to go. But on their way out, they rounded back around the block and told me some local boys were on the next corner with a couple of KTM bikes. So as the adage goes... one door closes, another opens.

Jose, Andres and their wives and I after a tasty lunch in Salento. These guys had just finished dirtbiking and were loading up their bikes when I came around the corner on Peter's heads up. They invited me to lunch; typical super friendly Colombians. We had a great afternoon chilling in Salento eating trout and patacones and drinking aguardiente (sugar cane alcohol that tastes like black jelly beans). Andres told me that he had a road bike too and that when I was finished with Salento, I should come stay with him and his wife in nearby Pereira.

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Pereira is one of the cities that comprises the 'Eje Cafetera' or Coffee Axle. And to no surprise Andres' business was coffee. The next couple of days we spent touring the area and visiting his farm that he runs with his brother-in-law.

We pulled up next to this guy on the way out to the farm. Though I'm riding with tons of gear on a big huge moto, it was hard not to be in awe of this payload!

Stopping for a fresh pineapple snack.

Baby coffee plant.

Thousands of coffee plants waiting to be planted on a plantation in Salento.

Reject coffee beans drying in the sun.

Ripe coffee beans before and after peeling.

Peeled and washed A-grade coffee drying.

Coffee bush branch full of coffee berries. A single ripe red berry amongst unripe green berries. Red and yellow berries are ready for picking. It requires several rounds of the plants to harvest, as all the berries mature at different times.

Andres' brother-in-law Roberto showing me a fungus that attacks the leaves on their coffee bushes. This is only one of the challenges of growing coffee.

Token cheesy photo of me holding some ripe coffee berries.

Andres watching Roberto inspect the harvest for quality and looking for signs of insect infestation, another troubling problem the coffee farmers face.

How about a handful of sticky sweet coffee berries and a stellar moustache?

A plantation worker keeping an eye on the feeders that bring coffee from the hopper upstairs to the peelers.

Hoppers feed fresh coffee berries into the giant drum peeler.

Another view of the peeling and washing room.

A washing machine reduces the amount of water needed to wash coffee beans after they've been peeled. The traditional method uses huge tanks of water and requires a person to stir the beans with a huge paddle. Now, this machine washes the beans with pressure, which reduces the time and water needed to wash the beans. Now instead of feeling slimy from the sugars that surround the bean in the berry, the beans feel like smooth pebbles from a river.

Washed coffee beans in the drying area.

Dried and graded coffee beans bagged and awaiting transport to market.

It was really cool to see Andres' and Roberto's farm. They showed me more land that they'd just purchased from a neighbor lady who'd recently been widowed and would no longer be able to work her land. They also showed me their goats, that they used to mitigate weeds around the bushes and create fertilizer. And they again showed me the aguardiente bottle. We sipped our anise flavored liquor while watching the sun go down. I listened to the plantation workers gossiping and felt lucky to have such a personal tour and view into the world of Colombian coffee. Maybe Juan Valdez wasn't here but his spirit certainly lives on in El Roble.

Andres and I with our motos at his house in Pereira.

Guard dogs...

Next up... A quick visit to Lago Colima on my way to Cali and beyond.

Colombia : Manizales & Nevado Ruiz National Park

2010-08-08T23:41:00.000-07:00

I split off from Daniel Fernandez & his crew just outside of Santa Rosa and made my way towards Manizales. The coffee plantation scenery was astounding and the highway was spectacular as well.

Riding up into Manizales was fantastic. Perched on a ridge, the view from town out over coffee country was amazing. Clouds filled the valleys in the distance and gave the illusion of being high in the heavens. Houses were built seemingly on top of each other stacked all the way to the ridge top. A high tech gondola, serving as public transportation, ran from deep in the valley all the way to the crest of the city.

It was early in the day and the weather was sublime. I rode right through the city and pointed for the next ridge and the National Park of Nevado Ruiz. A glacier topped volcano is the centerpiece of the park. I was excited to head up and camp out near the high refuge. The drive was stellar on its own. The cool air felt great and the sunshine kept me warm. Ripping up the twisty, well paved highway was a little slice of motorcycle nirvana. Even fully loaded my KTM performed well eating up corner after corner until I came to the park turnoff.

I had read that there were also hot springs in the area, so it seemed a great place to be headed. I was loving riding solo. So I pushed on for the park entrance. Daniel had warned me that motorcycles are not allowed inside national park boundaries in Colombia, but I thought I'd be able to charm my way in and be able to ride to the refuge and set up camp for a cold night of solitude.

Daniel was right. No matter how hard I tried to convince the park rangers, they wouldn't give in, stating that motorcycles are strictly prohibited. The clouds had filled in and it was pretty cold way up there. Hot springs were sounding pretty inviting, so I found the back road down from the park looking for them.

I was pretty bummed out to find that the hot springs had been closed down for renovation. I pushed further down the back road not wanting to return all the way to the ridge road. The road quickly deteriorated into a four-wheel drive road. I managed to pick my way through the rocks and ruts occasionally stopping to photograph the misty landscape.

Soon the road got better, and I found myself in a little weekend retreat town for the city of Manizales. The roads were lined with bright purple bougainvillaea.

I stopped for some late lunch at a roadside restaurant. Minutes after I parked, two Americans approached me curious if I'd really ridden my motorcycle all the way from Colorado. We talked for a while there on the side of the road. Mark Mauricio and Kevin O'Dowd, both teachers from the United States living and teaching in Manizales gave me some good beta on the area. I asked them about hostels that may be able to host me and my motorcycle for the night. They said that most of the hostels were located on the ridge in the city and they couldn't think of one I could park my bike at, which lead to them inviting me to come stay at their apartment in the suburb of Manizales known as La Enea. I was stoked to join them for beers and dinner at their place. Mark and Kevin were great hosts. We had a good time hanging out for the evening.

I was able to negotiate a parking place in a key makers shop for the night.

My hosts needed to teach early the next morning. I woke up a bit groggy due to three Colombian cowboys prancing their horses in front of the apartment partying into the wee hours of the morning. But our early start to the day afforded me a rare view of the summit of the volcano Ruiz free of its typical cloud cover.

With the incredibly clear morning the views were simply staggering. Manizales could be seen in the valley, as well as the back road I took there the day before.

The area is dotted with incredible flora that reminded me of the strange silversword plants found high on the volcanoes of Hawaii.

I pushed on to through some road construction to the entrance to the park another time. I visited with the rangers for some time but still couldn't convince them to allow me into the park with my motorcycle. But they did give me some maps of the area and lined out a spectacular route that circumnavigated the park and brought me into a couple of great little towns that had only recently become safe enough for a solo tourist to explore.

The landscape and views were mind blowing. I rode for hours circling the huge volcano. Words fall short and photographs are only an approximation of the intoxicating beauty I encountered that day.

As I came down out of the mountains to the east side of the park, I rode through phenomenal farmland towards the little town of Murillo. I was now in the central valley. This area is still a little sketchy. Locals were continuously warning me to be careful traveling alone, yet all I seemed to encounter were incredibly friendly Colombians. Coming into the towns was great. When I pulled into the center of Murillo it was like stepping back in time. The town was tiny but well cared for and pretty.

From Murillo, I continued to drop into the valley. The temperature kept rising the further I descended down from the mountains until I was deep in coffee country again. Approaching Libano was super picturesque. The town's twin towered church could be seen miles away.

I searched around town for somewhere to get a bite to eat and found a great restaurant. I ordered up a 'bandeja paisa', a Colombian favorite. It has a little bit of pork chicharron, a bit of beef, beans, eggs and salad. It was incredible and was served up to me by a couple of young ladies that were enamored with my big KTM motorcycle. They said they had never seen such a big motorcycle before. They were really excited to have their pictures taken sitting on it. I was so stoked for their excitement, I had to have a picture with them as well.

The rest of the day was a mad rush back through the mountains, heading first through Ibague and then a big push to Armenia and back to Salento. When I rode into Ibague, I got lost in the city. A Colombian guy on a scooter pulled up next to me at a stoplight and offered to escort me through the city to the highway heading over the pass to Armenia. He told me not to stop for anyone while I rode this stretch. He was super adamant about this. He said not to even stop for Police or Military, stating that if they were in fact official, they wouldn't stop me since I was obviously a tourist. This part of the central valley is still heavily controlled by the revolutionary FARC army and is also a hot spot for cocaine production and trafficking. I rode fast and hard on high alert. It made for an exciting adrenaline filled ride. The scenery was spectacular, but I didn't dare to stop to make any photos. Fortunately, I passed over the pass without incident and rolled into Armenia around sunset. I decided that I would push on through the dark for another half hour back to Salento instead of staying in the big city. This ended up being one of my favorite days in Colombia. The scenery was more than spectacular and the riding fantastic.

Up next: Salento and the Valley of Corcora : a closer look...

Colombia : In Search of Juan Valdez...

2010-08-07T17:28:00.000-07:00

Ever since I was a kid, Colombia has been synonymous with Coffee: big tin cans of ground coffee at my grandparents house. And for as long as I can remember the image that joined these coffee memories was Juan Valdez with his trusty burro. I found him in Medellin. His image adorning the front of the coffee shop chain that resembled Starbucks in just about every way. Hipsters sipping away on super brew while hacking away on laptops enjoying free wifi with their caffeine boost. But as I rallied out of Medellin, solo for the first time in months, I was in search of a different Juan Valdez. One that looked more like this...

And what better place to search him out than the coffee growing countryside of Colombia south of the Medellin valley known as the 'Eje Cafetera' or 'Coffee Axle'.

I was excited to be hitting the road solo again. Butterflies swooped and swarmed in my belly as I rode down the highway headed out of the city. I climbed up out of the Medellin valley and crossed over a nice ridge where the road began its descent again. The countryside was beautiful and the weather was warm and wonderful. About two hours into my journey, I was starting to get hungry. I passed through a little town named La Pintada, crossed the river and moments later saw eight big motos lined up at a roadside restaurant. Perfect. I pulled my bike up alongside the others and sat down at the open air grill for a bite to eat hoping for some conversation with the other riders. I had no idea how much this decision would change the next few days of my ride.

As I was eating this tasty meal on my own, I saw the group of riders start loading up. The last of the riders to pass by me introduced himself as Daniel Fernandez. We started chatting about where they were heading in such a big group. Daniel explained that he was the owner of the Suzuki Superstore Medellin and his group was heading to Santa Rosa for a long weekend of riding through coffee country. I was wrapping up my tasty steak lunch as we talked. His group peeled off one by one ripping down the highway. Daniel was strapping on his gear and said that if I wasn't on a specific itinerary, I would be more than welcome to join them.

I was super excited to be riding solo again. Exactly for this reason. With no one to consult, the obvious answer was to jump on board with this posse of Colombian riders. I wolfed down my final bites, paid my bill, and grabbed my helmet excited to ride with a pack of locals.

Next thing I knew, I was racing behind Daniel trying to keep up with his strange looking Suzuki DL650. We raced along the river cruising on the fairly flat and only slightly curving road. After about a half hour we came up to the rest of the group waiting alongside a gas station. Everyone had their helmets off and were chatting when we pulled up. I saw a couple funny looks as Daniel explained that I was going to be tagging along. But soon they all came over and we had a quick group introduction before saddling up for the last 20 minute stretch into the hamlet of Santa Rosa.

Daniel had explained that they'd rented out a hospedaje on a finca, or coffee plantation. "What better place to continue my search for Juan," I thought.

We rode through town and then started heading out towards the famous hot springs. A couple of kilometers down the road we came to the hospedaje. The owner opened the gate and we pulled in one by one, eight bikes in total. That evening was incredible. The rum came out, the tequila came out and soon we were all sitting around drinking and sharing stories. The guys helped me out by speaking slowly but the majority of the night was in Spanish. It was really cool. One guy named Paul was from England and had been living in Colombia for the last ten years. He was the chef for the night and I helped him for a while in the kitchen.

At one point, with a good buzz coming on, I couldn’t help feeling like I was in a scene from Motorcycle Diaries, while Daniel was telling a story in exaggerated Spanish and everyone watched and listened intently, laughing with mad intensity when the story reached its crescendo with Daniel up out of his seat gesticulating wildly. It was so awesome to be part of such a great group of Colombians and being treated as one of them.

The next day I awoke to an amazing view of the surrounding countryside.

We got up early and unloaded the equipment from our bikes while we waited for breakfast. After eating huevos pericos with tasty arepas and fresh cheese and home made mora marmelade, we got on the bikes for an all day tour of the back roads running through coffee country. It was a fantastic day of riding and socializing. We covered a lot of really awesome ground, stopping in the little coffee towns and making a scene with all of our big bikes.

I spent a lot of time hanging out with Daniel and came to find out that he'd become a bit of a motorcycle celebrity. Other than owning the biggest Suzuki dealership in Colombia, he'd just finished an amazing 40 day solo adventure moto journey through his country.

We kept ripping through coffee country for the day winding through the little villages surrounding Armenia, Pereira, and Salento.

We rode to the Valle de Corcora for a tasty trout lunch and some spectacular scenery.

I didn't find Juan Valdez but when we returned to the hospedaje, I did find these relic posters, which made me feel that I was getting closer to his haunt.

And the sight of this coffee maker was just one more clue that Juan must be close...

It was a big day of riding and what better way to wind down than some beers and chorizo sausages from Don Chorizo.

After gorging ourselves on sausages and beer we headed to the famous Santa Rosa hot springs for some soakin' to finish off an already perfect day.

I never found Juan Valdez but there's lots more coffee country exploring to come... A big thanks to Daniel Fernandez and company for scooping me up and showing me such a great time!

Colombia : Bucaramanga->Santa Marta->Taganga->Cartagena->Medellín...

2010-07-14T14:03:00.000-07:00

It has been ages since I've created a blog post. Actually an entire country and a half has gone by since I've posted last and currently I find myself preparing to post about experiences that happened back in the beginning of March. Not only is this difficult to write, it must be difficult to stay interested in as well.

"What the hell have you been doing all this time?" Would be a suitable and worthy question. My simple answer is... I have been ripping day in and day out from the beaches of Ecuador to the heart of the Inca Empire in Cuzco and Ollantaytambo, Peru. The roads through the interior of the Andes are nothing short of spectacular but challenging day in and day out. Needless to say, constant riding and very little internet connectivity have left me months behind... So upon request by my boy Matt Kienzle, in the comments area, I'm going photo heavy and word light, to get us all up to speed. Sit back enjoy some scenery as we cruise out of Colombia...

So with no further procrastinations... Sam Miller and I find ourselves poised for Santa Marta. Only 160km's to go after a huge 450km already from Bucaramanga. We left for this stretch twice. The first day we got out of town under great chaos and needed to turn back, having both left important items in the hostel in Bucaramanga. But on day two, we got an early jump out the door and found ourselves in Santa Marta on the Caribbean coast by the golden hours of afternoon.

We pulled into the little coastal town of Santa Marta, searching around for the malecon or boardwalk, so we could have a well deserved cold beer. We parked our overstuffed bikes right about where the police are standing in the above picture. I'll be the first to admit what a terrible picture it is, but I was hoping to capture the cops and the truck in the background that reads "ANTIEXPLOSIVOS" on it. We were quickly ushered out of our parking spots and into a side alley.

When we finally got our beers and cooled off a bit, we came to find out that the president of Colombia was going to be passing by. Colombian fighter jets roared by overhead. And the street was cleared. We enjoyed a couple of beers waiting for the grand promenade. After the second beer and still no Commander in Chief, we grew impatient. I called a friend of a friend... Jeff Campbell, who invited us into the next bay over to the fishing village turning tourist hot-spot of Taganga.

Taganga was quaint and beautiful huddled around its protected bay. Boats lingered bobbing about. We made our way through another military checkpoint and into town meet up with Jeff, our unofficial guide to all things Taganga.

The night progressed quickly. We were introduced to Michel and Christina a Swedish/Colombian couple that have set up residence high on the hill above Taganga. These two were lovely hosts and soon we'd been fed, had drank and had a swim in the pool watching the sun go down and the lights come on in town. Taganga had a bouncy Caribbean vibe much like Isla Bastimentos back in Bocas, Panama, but here it was distinctly Colombian. Fish and fisherman, fruit juice on the boardwalk... All with a buzz of its own. We danced long into the night and sometime in the morning made our way back to our tents on Jeff's property. My brain never stopped its disco beat well into the heat of the next morning.

The next couple of days were a bit rainy. I welcomed the respite from the humid heat of the day before. We explored around the area with Jeff. He took us on a nice walk over to Playa Grande, the next bay over from Tanganga.

Playa Grande is mostly devoid of electricity but serves as a wonderful escape from the busy bay of Taganga. Families and tourists alike come to kick back in the sand and frolic in the water. The rain had put a bit of a damper on things but neither bay suffered a loss of beauty.

After a couple of days of supreme relaxation and partying with Jeff & Co., we decided to push on to Cartagena. The riding was less than exciting. We rode down along the windy coast towards Barranquilla. Some of the most depressing shanties we'd seen lined a swamped out soccer field along the side of the road between Santa Marta and Barranquilla. The road was straight and windy and we raced along with the cars bettering 85 mph at times.

We made good time and soon were pulling into the outskirts of the big city of Cartagena. Colombia's jewel of the Caribbean. The road was flooded outside of town. Water rushed up from the underground sewers and Sam and I rode with our feet high hoping the filthy water would stay off our gear as much as possible. Soon we were riding around the old town.

Cartagena was edgy. There was the classic colonial part of town that the tourists flocked to and then there was the ritzy Bocagrande neighborhood just a little further onto the peninsula.

Surprising enough our hostel, the cheapest we could find with decent parking options, was located in the heart of flashy Bocagrande, only a block from a well air-conditioned and beautifully staffed McDonald's. We took our time chilling for a few days in the hustle and bustle of Colombia's version of Miami Beach.

With plenty of forays with other tourists from our hostel down into old town and to eat at the street vendors lined up outside the old fortress.

A couple of days here and I was really ready for the big push to Medellín. Another big day of ripping pavement from the coast all the way into the mountains. After a week down here in the heat and humidity, I was looking forward to cooler climates. My mind was filled with ideas of grandeur and beauty ahead. The rolling hills were brown but filled with flowering trees with bright yellow blossoms. We ripped along at high velocity heading for Puerto Valdivia. The air was still warm and the riding fast. Sam's moto started making some suspect noises and was spewing a bit of oil out of the crankcase cover.

We pushed on...

We followed the river further and further into the mountains. The landscape and culture changed rapidly when we got to Puerto Valdivia.

After crossing the river, we started our non-stop climb high into the mountains surrounding the Medellín Valley. Sam's bike was coughing and sputtering but so far was still pushing strong.

It was a shocking change to end up here in the milky fog and cold coming over the pass. But by the time we made it into the city it was sunny and warm again.

Medellín...

We found our way to Casa Kiwi Hostel in the Zona Rosa district of Medellín. Sam's bike was sounding desperate and kept killing on him in the traffic coming into the city. We picked our way around a bit before stopping to consult the Lonely Planet for a map. As soon as we stopped, several people gathered around trying to give us directions. Downtown skyscrapers towered over our heads and traffic raged down Carrera 48. We found the general direction and tore off towards the chic zone of El Poblado. When we were within blocks of our hotel Sam's bike would barely stay running. I flagged down a motorcycle cop that was waiting at a red light next to us. I told him what was going on with the bike and where we were trying to find. He made a call on his radio and said to follow him. This young motocop was stoked to give us a full lights escort. We raced behind him as best we could following the flashing blue lights on his Suzuki DR650.

We made it all the way to Casa Kiwi. When we checked in we were surprised to see Torben Pijpers still there. Turns out he was still having trouble with his KLR as well and had been holed up in Medellín for a couple weeks already. The good thing is he knew exactly where to take Sam's bike the next day.

So here is Sam at MR.BIKE Medellín, Colombia. His KLR650 on the stand next to him. And Torben's KLR can be seen behind them, both with blown top ends. Torben's a lasting problem stemming all the way back to Copper Canyon in Mexico and Sam's... well let's just say Sam rides his KLR like a Ducati and it was just time for a rebuild.

Lots of bikers come through Medellín and stay at Casa Kiwi. I took advantage of having the company of James and Tanner and did some maintenance on my bike out front as well. New brake pads all the way around and some fresh grease on the bearings and axels. Other than Sam, Torben, James and I, three or four other motorcyclists came through while we were there. One of my favorites was Sunny Unal www.la2ba.com. You should check out this pro-photographers website about his motorcycle journey.

The Parque Poblado area was super beautiful. I spent lots of time walking around and checking out the area. Lots of nice bars and restaurants lined the streets and the park. Juan Valdez coffee kept us jacked up, and Hooters just happened to be between the hostel and the coffee shop.

This moto bar had sweet KTM promo posters decorating its walls. Couldn't help to feel at home here. And two blocks up the street, Frederico Henao's Motoshop Medellín KTM provided a great parts resource for me. Well stocked with a super seductive sales floor filled with high-powered KTM's, Motoshop is a top quality KTM shop. Frederico offered up the shop to me, but my repairs were minor and easy enough to do on the sidewalk in front of Casa Kiwi.

(Well the colors are right, but that's definitely not a KTM hiding under that Orange & Black cloak.)

James and I got out for a ride to El Peñol while the others' bikes were in the shop. El Peñol is a gigantic monolithic rock in the middle of an area of valleys filled with reservoir water. It made for a nice day trip and afforded some awesome views from the top of a million stairs built into the side of this monster.

A couple more nights of partying meeting Peter McNeill and Simon Vaughn kept things interesting but my time had come... and once again it was time to move on or stay forever...

So with a fresh haircut and mustache it was time to break off from Sam Miller and hit the road on my own. It was super good to ride with Sam. We covered a lot of distance together. Too bad about all those KLR's in the shop! Bring on southern Colombia...

Colombia : Deep Backcountry Adventure

2010-05-06T15:36:00.000-07:00

DAY ONE

Perusing the Lonely Planet Colombia guidebook back in Bogotá, I found a section on the Sierra Nevada El Cocuy. The book said that if one wanted to get off the beaten path, that this tour out to the big mountains and glaciers of Cocuy would be it. "Off the beaten path," sounded great to me. I was sporting aggressive knobby tires, might as well put them to use. I looked at the map and it seemed like cutting through Mogotes from San Gil was the most direct route. Then hooking up with a bit of pavement into Soatá and cutting back into the wilds through Boavita, La Uvita and eventually ending up in Guícan at the base of the big mountains. It looked easy enough on the map. Of course my map didn't show topography...

Henry Valasquez, our new friend back in Barichara, said that we'd be hard pressed to make it to Guícan that day since it was already noon. But what did he know? Sam and I are fast and capable riders. He mentioned that 'just in case we were running behind', we could find a place to stay in Tipacoque.

According to the map, Tipacoque wasn't very far away. He must have been mistaken, we'd be there in no time. Or so I thought.

I stopped for a quick moment of relief at the most unique road-side restroom I've ever seen... anywhere!

We filled up with gas and blasted off into the unknown, heading vaguely east. The roads were winding with tight switchbacks but still paved. This lasted about twenty minutes. For the rest of the day we pounded loose gravel roads that varied from decent to downright terrible. It was a blast. And we were certainly off the beaten path. People stared at us as if we were aliens when we passed through their little villages.

The first couple of hours of this Sam and I were giddy. It was so much fun being off pavement and rallying the bikes like they were meant to be rallied. But later in the day, after a 25 km, hour long detour due to a wrong turn, we started getting hot and tired. We both crashed at different times. The challenge of dirt riding with fully loaded touring bikes became apparent.

Check out this ridge road... It just keeps going and going and going. Where? Well we accidentally found out when we hooked up with it instead of taking the right-hand turn we needed. We were told that it would eventually end up in the town of Soatá, where we were headed, but it would take us a full extra day to get there.

Yes. That is the road way up on the ridge behind Sam. All day we climbed, ridged out, and descended back into the next valley. And in every valley there was a little town, that had likely never seen riders like Sam and I. Being fresh to backcountry Colombia, we were also on high alert, not knowing if the next corner would yield a revolutionary guerilla roadblock.

Often people didn't know what to tell us when we were asking for directions. If we weren't diligent about knowing the name of the very next town on our route it lead to problems because often there were several routes out of town. And often they lead to the same place... eventually.

The depression in the foreground to the left is actually a several hundred foot dropoff into a raging river. Guardrails? What are those? It was amazing that there was even a directional arrow out here. They must have had it on a truck by accident and figured why not stick it there... See the mountains in the far background of the above shot? Those are in between where we are and where we are going, just to give a bit of scale.

Yep that's our road way over there on the other side of the valley...

When we got to Onzaga, we were about halfway to Tipacoque according to the map. It was already 4:20 pm. We'd be lucky to make it there by nightfall. I guess old Henry was right after all. The map showed two routes out of Onzaga to Soatá. One was shorter and straighter to the north, the other went more to the east and then picked up a paved highway to the north. Sam and I pondered this while taking in the view in the plaza. We saw a Policia Nacional station on the corner of the plaza and decided to ask them. The officer in charge was a little stand offish. This caught me off guard because in every other town we'd been in today, they happily pointed us in the right direction. Later I realized he was just unclear about what we were asking. Both roads went to Soatá, so what was he supposed to say when we asked which way to go... 'Whatever way you want crazy gringos!' "Which is easier?" I asked. He pointed to the road to the east.

So off we went rallying along the river. The road got really rough and started climbing precipitously. The air got cool. Then almost cold. We popped out onto a high mountain plain, know as an altiplano. The views were incredible. It felt as though we were on the valley floor because the mountains rose to the sky all around us, but we'd been riding for an hour out of the valley from Onzaga. Here the vegetation changed drastically. High mountain cacti filled the expanse. It was an otherworldly vista.

The light was incredible. I wanted to stick around and photograph. But we were still so far from Tipacoque, we needed to push on. But soon we got to the paved highway.

After riding such challenging dirt all day, it felt like we were flying when we finally hit the pavement. We swooped down from the altiplano, gliding past Sativanorte, eventually passing through Soatá and landed in Tipacoque finally, just as darkness settled in on the huge canyon country. Just before darkness we caught a glimpse of the mountains to the east. There was a giant canyon between us and the mountains. This would be our ride in the morning.

We found a makeshift motel at a truckstop just before the big descent into the canyon. The beds were good and the room was clean. And at the equivalent of $6. US a piece, the price was about right too. We asked the owner where we could find a restaurant. He pointed down the canyon and said that we'd need to ride another ten minutes down and there would be two of them. He said the one that was a little further and on the right was the better of the two.

The last thing we wanted to do was get back on the bikes, but we did. And we were rewarded for doing so. We found the restaurant. When we walked in, it was like a scene out of a movie. Everyone stopped what they were doing and looked up at us. No joke. The sound of silverware clanking on porcelain stopped like the needle slipping off a record. It was like walking into a biker bar with purple leathers on or something. Big mustaches watched our every move. I greeted them with a simple, "Buenos Noches, Como Estan?" and the record resumed playing. Just like that everything snapped into action again. They greeted us as we sat down at an open table. The proprietor came over to us and took our order. There wasn't much to choose from... We could have goat... or goat. So we chose goat, naturally. And we had our choice of soda or beer. "Cerveza, por supuesto."

And goat? Why not? I was so hungry 'I could eat the crotch out of a low flying duck.' To steal a verse from Daniel Hawes, that makes me laugh hysterically every time I say it.

When I busted out my camera to document our meal, a group of truckers started laughing like this was the funniest thing they'd ever seen. They yelled over, "how about a picture with the 'real' Colombians you're having dinner with?" We were more than happy to oblige. We got everyone in the restaurant bunched up for a family portrait with the token gringos.

The typical twenty questions ensued. I spoke mostly, for Sam and I, but often the proprietor of the joint, Luis Antonio, had to translate my Spanish to Spanish that the rest of them could understand. We told them where we were headed and where we'd come from. They just looked at us incredulously with jaws dropped, fuzzy mustaches hanging like moss.

But I had some questions of my own... mainly "were we the first to come through here on big motos?" They just nodded their heads. Somehow I doubted that we were really the first ever. But it didn't matter, a more unique experience couldn't be had, period. These moments were priceless.

We left Luis Antonio's restaurant with a light beer buzz and soaring spirits. A quick couple minutes up the pitch black canyon dodging headlights of oncoming trucks and we were back at our little motel oasis.

Trucks stopped to check their air brakes outside our door all night long. But really I was so tired it barely registered. The beds were comfy and though I felt like I was sleeping with one eye open, constantly concerned that someone might be loading our bikes up on a passing truck, I woke up pretty refreshed.

DAY TWO

We started the day backtracking ten minutes uphill to Soatá. The smell of fresh baked goods wafted out into the street and straight into my nostrils. I couldn't help it. I had to stop. We stuffed our faces with pastries before pushing out the back of Soatá towards Boavita. The road was paved and new. It was narrow and the switchbacks were really tight but it was a big surprise to have pavement.

Looking down on this road from above was astounding. We kept on towards Boavita. The views were incredible.

Boavita and La Uvita passed by quickly, as did the pavement. Soon we were back on the dirty stuff. We rode hard pushing for Guacamayas. Just before town it started raining on us. This changed the dynamic significantly. We suited up in rain gear and slowed way down. Luckily it only rained hard for a bit and then settled down to a constant mist.

Surprisingly we got to El Cocuy town without much trouble. A lot of the roads we took this day ended up being paved. But when we got to Cocuy we were a bit turned off by the plain white plaster and seafoam green trim on every building. The church was interesting, as it only had one tower instead of two and there was an interesting model of the mountains in the plaza. (If you look close you can see the mountain model in the foreground of the photo below.)

We had lunch while it rained. After looking around town, Sam and I decided that we didn't really want to spend the night here. It was early in the afternoon and we had plenty of time so we asked around to see how long it would take us to get to Guícan, another town here at the base of Parque Nacional Natural El Cocuy. The responses varied from an hour and a half, to four hours. We saddled up and decided to make a push for it anyway. We were used to rolling into places at dark anyway. It ended up taking us fifteen minutes. Yeah you read that right: fifteen minutes!

So we picked our way around town and eventually found the hostel that we were looking for. There was no one around to be found except for a crew of kids. They assured us that someone would be there soon, so we got to work on Sam's battery issue. Somewhere around the rain, his bike stopped starting with the electric starter, forcing him to push start the bike. The local kids were a huge help, running to get him water and a couple of drinking straws to facilitate filling his battery.

With the battery filled and replaced, the bike fired to life without issue. Sam haggled the hostel owner to a fair price and we dropped some gear. The weather had lifted so we headed out deeper into the backcountry. Now there were no longer towns between us and the mountains. A couple of outposts and nothing more. We rode the dirt roads high into the foothills hoping for a glimpse of the glaciers that we knew were hiding above us in the clouds. The scenery was incredible as we got closer and closer to the park.

At one point while we were stopped taking pictures, I saw this local boy sneaking up to us. His eyes were glued to our bikes. Then all of a sudden he slipped a cell phone from his pocket and started sneaking photos of me. The tables had turned. The photographer becomes the photograph. I chuckled. So many times I'm trying to sneak photos of people candidly, always wondering what they're thinking when they catch me. Now I knew. I asked him if he wanted a picture of just the bike or with me too. He smiled shyly and said with me... I was honored.

I asked his name... "Julio" he replied. I introduced myself. He rattled off the same twenty questions as everyone else before we fired up the bikes blasting off into the hills before the sun set on us. Julio was a cool kid. I felt like I knew him. As a matter of fact I did know him; I was the same way as a kid, I couldn't let a motorcycle get by me without a serious stare down. I hope Julio has the opportunity to have a motorcycle in his future. And if it is his dream, like it is mine, I hope he gets to travel far and wide on it.

We blasted up higher and higher on the bikes. They were light with the luggage removed.

The cliff in this photo is a source of local lore. The legend says that the indigenous people committed mass suicide off this cliff when the Spanish arrived in these deep valleys. I obviously don't know if this is true, but I'm certain that anyone who decided to jump off would meet their maker; quickly.

We came to a turnoff for some lakes. I had a gut feeling that we needed to go there. Sam was ahead of me, but I knew if I stopped he'd soon be back to see what the matter was. I told him I thought we should take the spur trail. He reminded me that it would be dark soon and that we were far from town. I nodded and rocketed up the spur road anyway. Seven kilometers up the road, we came to this sign next to a little locked cabin. We were only there for a couple of minutes when the clouds lifted giving us this amazing view.

That is a glaciated peak behind the sign there. It is called the Devils Armchair. And it looks a little something like this...

Pretty amazing. The clouds stayed aloft only long enough to snap these pictures before descending again covering up the peak for another day.

Behind this sign was this amazing singletrack... Neither Sam nor I could resist. We ripped down into the valley for several kilometers until it really turned into a hiking trail. We knew we were in the park now and decided it would be best to turn around and get back out before anyone found us. We weren't sure if it was strictly a hiking trail or not, but waiting to find out wasn't an option we were interested in.

The views back down to El Cocuy town were fantastic now that it had cleared up a bit.

There's another glaciated peak there in the background if you look closely. So incredible. It was awesome ripping around through all this amazing landscape. Words really don't do it justice, and sadly enough, neither do photographs.

When we got down to town it had a different feel than when we were there earlier in the afternoon. Now that the rain had subsided, the locals were out in the streets milling about. We pulled up to a little store that had beer and sat out on the curb drinking beers until it got dark. We zipped back to Guícan in the dark and found some cheeseburgers before bedding down for the night.

DAY THREE

Another huge day awaited us. Fortunately we were becoming accustomed to these huge riding days. We rode out of Guícan around 8 am. It was chilly in the mountain air and we dressed accordingly. We rode down out of the mountains, this time pointed for Capitanejo, deep in the canyon below Tipacoque. Within an hour we'd dropped several thousand feet in elevation. The air was hot and humid and we were overdressed. The landscaped had changed from bright green to drab brown and the vegetation turned from lush mountain greenery to cacti filled desert.

We were questioned by young military when we got to Capitenejo. And questioned by seemingly every member in town when we stopped to eat some breakfast. We filled up with gas and pointed it for Málaga, where we needed to turn into the mountains and start our massive dirt trek headed for the highway some six hours away in Piedecuesta on our way to the third biggest city in Colombia, Bucaramanga.

If you look closely at the photo above, you can see our road winding along into the distance.

Just another day as the living oddities passing through rural Colombia. By this point we were totally used to it, but the locals obviously were totally amazed every time we pulled through town.

I've run short of words to describe this amazing riding but it didn't cease to amaze. This section, we were warned, is home to heavy coca growth and the manufacturing of it into cocaine. We rode swiftly through this area only stopping occasionally between towns to snap a couple of photographs. These areas, between San Gil and Soatá and Málaga and Piedecuesta were some of the only roads I've visited that were void of military or police. We didn't encounter anything out of the ordinary. In fact the only thing we encountered were incredibly friendly, albeit inquisitive Colombians. But there were moments where it certainly felt like we were in the middle of nowhere. It felt a little bit like we were creeping around the boogey man's lair...

We hit pavement about seven hours into our ride for the day. From there it was a huge sigh of relief... My body was rattled. When we stopped to catch our breath and have a soda, I asked Sam how he felt. "Happy to be on pavement," was all he had the energy to say.

The road went by quickly to Bucaramanga.

We were happy to find out that Bucaramanga is host to a dozen Universities and so happens to be stuffed with beautiful young ladies. After three days of deep backcountry adventure, nothing sounded better than a shower. We posted up at Kasa Guane Bucaramanga, or KGB, owned by an awesome Colombian dude named Richie, who is also a ripping paraglider pilot and instructor. Lots of people blow right through Bucaramanga on the bus from Bogotá to Santa Marta and Taganga. We were happy to not be those people...

Thanks to Sam Miller for joining me on this one. Looking back, these were probably my favorite days of riding in Colombia.

(But stay tuned, there's more Colombia to come...)

Colombia : Villa de Leyva, San Gil, Barichara

2010-05-05T12:06:00.000-07:00

I was really excited to hit the road and start exploring Colombia. Since we flew into Bogotá, it seemed like a good idea to point it north heading for the coast of the Caribbean and then wrap around to the west and come down through Medellín on the way to Ecuador. "Easy enough," I thought.

I planned to spend a couple weeks getting to Medellín and a couple more getting to Ecuador. Plans are nice. Breaking them, when the going is good, is even better. I had convinced Sam of the route and soon we were off heading out of Bogotá. Our route for the day was to blast out of the city on the highway and then head slightly west through the quaint town of Villa de Leyva.

Villa de Leyva was pretty. Not much was happening though, so we zipped through the backcountry heading for the highway to San Gil. It was a nice ride. Small country roads wound around through the farmlands. Once we hit Arcobuco, we joined the bigger highway heading west and then north to San Gil. San Gil is adventure headquarters. This town is the jumping off point for all sports adventurous. Whether it be paragliding, whitewater rafting, canyoneering, rock climbing or mountain biking, you can find a tour here to set your heart content. We were just happy to find a nice spot to rest. Our initial search for a hostel with parking came up dry, but we eventually found an apartment to rent for the night, where we could park the bikes inside. It was a tight squeeze through the front door, but we managed. Once the bikes were in, it made for a funny scene as we needed to peek around the bikes to watch the t.v. Good thing the plaza was more entertaining.

(SamMillerphoto)

We took in the laid back vibe of San Gil hanging out drinking beers on the plaza and eating street meat straight from the grill. Our plan for the next day was to make a quick side trip to Barichara and then point it into the mountains for the first of our serious off road adventuring.

Barichara was as beautiful as a town could be. Many Colombian movies and telenovelas are set here in this historic town. The streets were clean and the buildings restored perfectly. The woodwork all had a fresh coat of finish and the white plaster walls were fresh and clean. Terracotta tiles covered the rooftops and a lazy vibe mated perfectly with the ideal temperature. We checked out the big church on the plaza scoping for a way up into the bell tower to get some photos over the town.

When we exited the church, we met a friendly member of the town admiring our motorcycles. Henry Velasquez was his name and he was excited to give us an impromptu tour. We asked about the bell tower. Henry told us that normally he'd be happy to bring us up into the tower but the caretaker had misplaced the key during recent festivities. Sam said he'd have to call the locksmith. Henry corrected him saying that the lock was so old they needed to call a blacksmith.

Henry was soon off for a trip to Vancouver, British Columbia to visit a "green" water processing plant to investigate the possibility of instituting a similar plant here in Barichara. He and Sam chatted about British Columbia while I wandered around snapping photos of the church. Henry offered to take us by the oldest home in town. He said it was right next door, putting our minds at ease. We ambled out of the church and crossed the tiled street to the neighboring house.

It didn't look like much from the front, but once through the entry, I was thoroughly impressed.

It was cool to see a house this old. I'm not sure on the exact age but I think Henry said it was around 300 years old. Amazing.

We took a walk up to his house to see a modern take on housing design. Henry was an engineer by trade but he dabbled in architecture and interior design as well. He gave us some history on the main church as we walked up the road.

And pointed out the original chapel as we passed by.

Everywhere we went, the streets were perfectly cleaned. It seemed as though we were walking through a living museum.

Henry opened his doors to us and his wife Pilar brought us fresh made lemonade. We sipped lemonade and listened to Henry tell us about the different design elements he incorporated into his home. He explained that he tried to combine just enough old aesthetics with new to strike a fine balance here. He wanted something contemporary but didn't want it to clash with the historical nature of the town. From the outside it fit perfectly with the town.

But inside was a totally fresh approach.

Instead of a central courtyard, the courtyard wrapped along the living space, giving a fresh light air to the whole home.

Everything in the house had a story... From the dining table that was originally from England and had been recovered from a dismantled sailing vessel to the paddles proudly displayed on the living room wall, that were the actual wooden paddles used to pack the concrete walls of the house to the old ceramic pot in the corner that was found on the property when they excavated for the house. Henry and Pilar's designs were exquisite.

But my favorite was this installation in one of the many open air courtyards. The rock fossils decorated around the base of a stone water basin that was a geologic formation recovered from nearby. The iron plating bolted together and mounted to the wall sat about four inches from the white plaster wall and was backlit at night to create a stunning decorative feature.

We bid farewell to Henry as we walked back down to the bikes. He gave us some pointers for the journey ahead and told us we absolutely needed to stop by Panaderia Barichara for some tasty baked goods on our way out of town.

Though our journey into rural Colombia had only begun, we were constantly rewarded with friendly people everywhere. Here Sam was given the twenty questions by a group of local Baricharans...

Our side trip to Barichara turned out to be a greater success than we could have ever imagined. And the road from San Gil to Barichara was a joy to ride as well. Climbing and curving above San Gil it gave us incredible views out to the Central Valley. Thanks to Henry and Pilar Velasquez for the incredible hospitality.

Can't wait to come back to Barichara and spend a longer time soaking in the history.

Colombia : Bogotá

2010-05-02T19:00:00.000-07:00

It was dark and raining lightly as Sam and I negotiated the dark streets from the airport to downtown Bogotá. I was on high alert as we raced to and fro, trying to find our way to the La Candelaria sector of the big city. All the local motorcyclists were wearing reflective vests with their license plate numbers reflecting brightly. Their helmets had their license numbers as well. We stood out immediately as foreigners. But with huge bikes and Sam's surfboard, we stood out everywhere we went anyway.

We got close to the hostel we were looking for but when we pulled over to consult the Lonely Planet guidebook we got our first dose of Colombian courtesy. A young woman named Lorena Lemus approached us with her boyfriend and asked us in English if we needed help finding our way. When we showed her the map in the guidebook, she nodded and said that we should follow them. They took us right to the correct neighborhood and turned us over to another young lady, who showed us right to our hostel door. We'd barely been here for an hour and already people were coming out of the woodwork to help us on our way. This became the trend.

We checked into our hostel and got the bikes parked in a secure parking lot and set out to see what the city had to offer. In moments we were sitting in a chill little drinking establishment filled with students and young Bogatanians.

We spent the next few days taking in the sights of Bogotá. We visited the Botero museum and got some insight on why some Colombian women feel the necessity to get butt implants.

The museum was actually really beautiful and even had some Picasso works as well. It was nice to spend some time getting cultured.

Coffee, as one might imagine is a nice part of the culture in Bogotá as well. We found a couple little places that were nice to chill out and have a cup of joe while taking in the surroundings.

Cafe Pasaje was a really busy place with the locals. The coffee was good and the atmosphere was excellent. There was a nice mix of people both young and old. But one wall in the place was dedicated to images of the twin towers of the World Trade Center. Images of 9-11 and the terror of that day really caught me off guard and made me feel uneasy.

I guess it just really disturbed me seeing those photos while I was trying to drink my coffee and enjoy the atmosphere. But once we were outside again, I let the sights of Bogotá's architecture calm me.

It was a pretty night, which we took full advantage of by partying all night long. On the walk home in the morning, we were stopped by a tv crew and interviewed about our visit to the city. They asked how we liked Bogotá, if we felt safe in the city and if we thought we'd visit again...

I was chatting with Tim Henkels on Skype clear across the world in Turkey and he insisted that I visit the BBC or Bogotá Beer Company. I hadn't had a real beer since I left Colorado so I was more than keen for a visit. Sam and I hopped on the bikes and made the cruise from La Candelaria up to the Zona Rosa and found this little heavenly haven of beer. We sat for a couple hours savoring the quality brews.

Towards the end of our stay in the city, we made an afternoon out of a visit to Monserratte. This beautiful church high on the cliffside overlooks the whole city and has both a gondola and a cable car funicular transporting people to the top. The views were incredible and the setting was idyllic. We went on Sunday when the fares were slashed more than half.

The military presence was strong. There were military police everywhere we turned, but this gave the place a very secure feel. I found them to be super friendly and helpful on every occasion. I asked to have my picture taken with military in just about every country on this journey and here in Bogotá was the first place that they agreed. Colombia has enjoyed a huge decrease in violence since the heavy handed Uribe administration came into power eight years ago. I'm sure the constant police presence in the streets is responsible for this.

Bogotá was a great warm up for Colombia. I couldn't wait to get out and visit more of the country.

(several photos in this post appear courtesy of Sam Miller)

Panama : Panama City

2010-04-30T11:52:00.000-07:00

After the madness of Las Tablas' Carnival, it was time to head for the big city. But first we needed to take care of some important business...

Sam managed to run his rear tire just a little thin... So we were in a dire situation to locate some new rubber and get it installed for him.

A couple of hours later, we were off for the big city. The highway was straight and not very inspiring. But soon we were crossing the Panama Canal and heading into the city.

Panama City was the hotspot to figure out a way around the roadless Darien Gap. The Darien Gap is the only interruption in the Pan-American highway that runs from Alaska to the tip of South America. The road stops in Yazviza, Panama and for some 80 miles and creates a logistical hurdle for all overland travel. It is possible to get a motorcycle through the Darien. Helge Pedersen, adventure motorcycle guru made the crossing in the '70's. Using several canoes and lots of sweat and blood, he made it through with the bike intact. But between natives, drug traffickers, revolutionaries and paramilitaries, not to mention deadly snakes and insects, it wasn't high on my list of things to accomplish on this journey. So this left two options that I was aware of... put the bikes on a boat or put them on an airplane.

We checked into a great hostel called Luna's Castle in the Casco Viejo, or old town, area of the city. The hostel didn't have a secure parking area so we had to lock the bikes down on the sidewalk outside the building. But they did have a night security guard that kept a close eye on things. A few other riders came through while we were there as well.

Luna's Castle had a great bar that filled up at night with locals and foreigners alike. They also had a ping-pong table in the common area, had cook your-own pancakes until noon and endless supplies of coffee. And the view out the back provided a window of voyeurism into the local lives of the people of Casco Viejo.

It was a fun comfortable place to be hanging out while we sorted through the details of available sailboats and airplanes to get us to Colombia.

Dan found out that he needed to head back to Canada to work in the high Arctic, so he had logistic hurdle of his own to deal with, namely, where he was going to store his motorcycle until November, when he could return. We worked on logistics during the day. And rode around town enjoying our last nights together.

It was becoming increasingly obvious that the easier choice was going to be to put the motorcycles on an air cargo plane and take a flight ourselves. We'd been getting poor reports of the boat crossings from guys that were ahead of us. And the soonest boat that was leaving big enough to handle our bikes was still ten days out. After a week or so of hanging out in Panama City, I was getting anxious. Sam, who was originally leaning heavy towards a boat crossing, started to think more about the plane option. Being concerned about my piggish KTM, I was leaning towards the plane from the start. It was expensive. Only one company surfaced, which meant no real competition or bargaining. Girag Air Cargo charged us $901 US Dollars, which for the budgets we were working with, was a ton of money. But all in all, looking at the time we'd need to stay in Panama and the incidental costs we'd incur, mostly lots of drinking, it was only a couple hundred bucks more than the boats. Once Daniel left, we made the decision quickly. Off to the airport we rode.

Our Girag agent was sweet and assured me that my baby would be safe in their hands. The process took us a bit longer than we'd planned for, which left Sam and I late to the passenger airport. We missed our flight. The manager of Aires Air, Christian, pulled some strings for us and got us a plane the next day for no extra cost. We'd still make it to Colombia at the same time as the bikes. So we headed to a cheap motel and tried to relax. The next day we rushed off to the airport. I was excited. And for the first time on this huge journey, I found myself in the familiar surroundings of air travel.

We boarded the DASH 8 turbo twin prop, a plane I'm very used to as it is the type of plane that runs the mountain route from Eagle to Denver. And soon Panama, and Central America were reduced to a fleeting view out the plane window. Bring on South America!

A short hour later we were getting our first glimpses of Colombia. I was beside myself in excitement. Colombia... So many preconceived notions, fears, concerns...

I thought back to the graffiti that was scribbled on the kitchen wall at Luna's Castle and wished that I'd been eating more during Central America.

When we landed in Bogotá it was raining. We searched out the Girag offices. Our bikes had arrived and short of running the paperwork through the customs offices all that was left to do was get the bikes off the 4' loading dock.

With darkness fast approaching, it is hard to describe the excitement and anticipation I was feeling now that we were finally here in Colombia. A place I'd heard so much of but never had set foot on before. A whole new adventure was about to unfurl. A new continent. In many ways I felt a great sense of accomplishment. But in others an overwhelming sense of awe... Thousands of miles ahead of me now and no turning back. We'd made it to South America! The adventure continues...

A long way from home. And seemingly endless exploration ahead...

Panama : Carnival 2010 Las Tablas

2010-04-30T09:52:00.000-07:00

The first hurdle in getting to Las Tablas.

But we managed. Dan succeeded in explaining to this officer that even though we were all weaving through traffic, we weren't really going 'that' fast. Somehow he lets us go.

We arrived in Las Tablas on Friday just as things were getting set up for the five days of madness. I'd been to Mardis Gras in New Orleans back in the late 1990's. That was a trip to remember as well... 25 Rugby players, two Winnebago's and a crazy thousand mile road trip from freezing cold Minnesota descending on Bourbon Street for the Fat Tuesday parade. So I had grandiose thoughts in mind as Sam was telling me that this Carnival celebration in Las Tablas, Panama was supposed to be the second biggest in the world after Rio de Janiero, Brazil.

Carnival is big in Latin America. I knew I wanted to end up somewhere good to celebrate. Since Barranquilla, Colombia, another hotspot was out of reach, we decided that Las Tablas would be perfect.

All I really knew at this point was that Dan had a contact for us. Some old friends of his were set to be here with a rented house and a slew of party goers. We were invited to set our tents up out back of the rented house for the week and get our party on. There ended up being a mix of 25 Panamanians and us foreigners. An awesome mix of people and madness.

We had a couple of moments of difficulty finding the house as every road seemed blocked with awaiting parade floats.

Sam managed to break part of a float while trying to slip by along this float. I thought we were going to get strung up somewhere on the outskirts of town, but we made it to the rented house afterall. The rest of the five days is pretty much a blur of dancing behind the floats to live brass bands, drinking cheap beer and cane liquor, eating street food, cramming into outdoor discoteques, blaring music twenty-four hours a day, and fireworks, lots and lots of fireworks...

So unlike Mardis Gras, beads and boobs were not a part of the procession. Instead the floats and the bands would pass round and round the plaza. Two factions... Calle Abajo and Calle Arriba duel it out the whole weekend, trying to out do each other. The princesses and queens of each appear on different floats in different motifs throughout the five day festivity. And the crowd follows and cheers and dances with the Calle that they support. During the day, huge water trucks spray river water on everyone and it is a mad spectacle of drinking, dancing and wetness. And pickpockets love it. We watched several pro pickpockets attempt their skills on us. Fortunately we were warned and keen to their intentions.

Some of our crew...

Queen Calle Abajo...

Queen Calle Arriba...

All in all a really fun five days taking in another culture's take on the pre-lent blowout known as Carnival. I have to say, if given the choice, I'd take the chaos and nudity of Mardis Gras... But this last photo can be a testament to how much fun I had in Las Tablas...

One last oddity... Instead of giving out condoms to push the safe sex message, they handed out these bars of soap with the "Use a condom" message printed on it. Crazy.

Panama : Bocas del Toro...

2010-04-29T13:32:00.000-07:00

Finally. Here we are in Panama. The border crossing was a breeze. Partly because it was 8 a.m. and partly because we were in the middle of nowhere. We chose the Sixaola, Panama border crossing for exactly this reason. We were on the opposite side of Costa Rica from the busy Pan-American highway. After numerous unorganized and timely borders further north in Central America, this was a breath of fresh air. We waltzed into the office on the Costa Rican side and our passports and import visas were stamped in no time. Not only did it make our crossing process quicker and easier but it left us only a short ride from Bocas del Toro, an archipelago off the coast of northern Panama.

We were now officially ready to cross no-man's land. In this case an old, now defunct, railroad bridge. We'd read some reports of other motorcyclists' adventures across this bridge and were a bit apprehensive of what we would find. Some reports said that it required pushing the bikes across the bridge to avoid tire swallowing gaps in the boards laid haphazzardly over the railroad ties. Fortunately, it wasn't as bad as it had been made out to be.

And just like that, Costa Rica was behind us and all of Panama ahead of us. A quick stop to get the bikes fumigated, typical run through at Immigration to get the passports stamped, a jog down the road to buy some mandatory liability insurance and then the final processing of the bikes through Customs and we were on our way.

(Looking back into Costa Rica...)

We motored away... I'm not sure about the other guys but I was singing Van Halen's "Panama" at the top of my lungs in my helmet. I was giddy. I'd been waiting months to sing that song so appropriately. We raced along the sunny pavement. The roads were instantly good, with wide shoulders and few potholes. We raced through banana plantations in the building heat.

We stopped in Changuinola for some rum and other basic necessities. Back to paying with U.S. Dollars. And back to reasonable prices, not to mention some old favorites in the beer cooler...

Who can resist an ice-cold Hamm's at 60¢ a can?

There were three things to get done in Panama. A quick trip to the islands of Bocas del Toro, to get in a laid-back state of mind in the Carribean, five days of non-stop partying for Carnival, or Mardis Gras as we know it, and then off to Panama City to figure out how to get the bikes to Colombia.

I was pretty sure by now that I wasn't turning around and heading home. I'd set Panama as turnaround point when I began this journey. For any reason; financial, physical or mental, I could turn around here in Panama and ride north. It would have been an epic journey and I could feel good about making it this far. But like I said I'd pretty much decided that I was South America bound.

So first up was Bocas. I'd heard great things from friend and documentary filmaker Anayansi Prado, who grew up in these idyllic islands. I was really looking forward to getting a chance to see them with my own eyes. We got to Almirante and found out that the only auto ferry had left for the day. With great hesitation and apprehension, Dan, Sam and I decided that we would leave the bikes in a "secure" parking lot.

With the bikes locked to each other and our riding gear locked in the security guards sleeping quarters, we crossed our fingers and walked down the road to catch a water taxi to Isla Colon.

A new world. A world of water. And water transportation.

Our first stop was the busy main island of Isla Colon. We stopped in here for a minute, looked around until we found the most local looking food shack and started our Panamanian beer tour. Coming into a fresh new country, it is important to try all the new local beers immediately.

Atlas was light and refreshing: think Michelob Golden Draft... Balboa and Panama were a bit stronger, like Pabst or Miller High Life. Balboa took the prize with Panama coming in a close second. We managed to put a six pack down to cool our nerves from being so far away from our beloved motorcycles. Sam and I took in the street scene while taste testing. We let Dan do the dirty work and look around for a suitable hostel.

When Dan came back we had a quick pow-wow and decided that jumping on another boat for Isla Bastimentos was where we ought to be.

Two bucks and ten minutes later we were being dropped off at a random wooden dock seemingly a world away. Reggae music wafted through the air like a fine aroma. Little black kids splashed in the water. Laundry danced Caribbean rhythms on the line. Time slipped down into the vortex. We'd arrived.

Town was a cluster of houses known as Old Bank. The island wrapped around the bay in a crescent. Locals idled in doorways and on balconies greeting us with smiles. And colors filled our eyes. To say I was instantly relaxed would be an understatement. I felt oddly at home in this lovely lazy island paradise.

We settled into Hostal Bastimento overlooking the bay. Plenty of time for relaxing in hammocks soaking in the sounds of island life. No cars, no motorcycles, no car alarms, no honking, no traffic, just a doublewide sidewalk as a main street, some bicycles and an occasional outboard motor whisking goods and people into the bay.

In typical American fashion a large rather out of place sign proclaimed the help of USAID. I wasn't sure how to feel. Great that we are helping the people of Bastimentos restore their watershed and yet a bit embarrassed that it needed to be proclaimed so brazenly in their faces. Ahhh propaganda.

Upon recommendation from our Rastafarian bartender, we sauntered down to Rest. Alvin with beers in hand. Ducking through the entrance and walking down the old wooden dock to our waiting table on the deck over the water, we weren't sure what to expect. What we found was a portly black woman with an infectious smile shouting orders to her kids. They would run down the dock and get what she needed from the storehouse on shore. We dined on fresh fish and rice with fried plantains that had been smashed into discs and deep fried; patacones, a staple here in Latin America. We loved the food and atmosphere of this place so much we ended up eating here every night. Sitting on the dock dining area, watching boats come and go, listening to the waves ripple upon the shore was sublime.

Quite relaxed, but feeling odd so far from our motorcycles, Dan, Sam and I discussed how this was the first time we'd slept more than a couple feet from our bikes. With three incredibly chill days on Bastimentos, a quick snorkeling trip and lots of reggae in our souls, it was time to head back to Almirante.

We caught an early boat back to the mainland. We all breathed a sigh of relief when we found our bikes and belongings exactly as we'd left them. We loaded up, found some tasty breakfast and resumed the life of adventure motorcycling. Zipping off into the beautiful jungle, we ate up the perfect pavement winding through in big lazy arcs with only memories of the island life we'd just left behind.

Now it was time to party. We rode hard and fast joining the Pan-American highway for a while on our way to Las Tablas. Known for the biggest Carnival celebration in Panama, we readied ourselves for five days of madness...

Costa Rica to Panama...

2010-04-11T22:28:00.000-07:00

I left Costa Rica on a Monday morning. The weather echoed my mood. It was cloudy, overcast and lightly raining. I made my way from Tres Rios out towards the town of Turrialba. It was a downhill ride the whole way. My thoughts were heavy and stuck on the fun days I was leaving. My mind was questioning leaving Nathalie and her family. But I knew I had to move on. Sam and Daniel had gotten ahead of me while I was enjoying the election day scene at the local tavern in Tres Rios.

I raced down into Turrialba feeling the warmer air through the opening in my helmet. The light rain continued to come down. I pushed through the little town finding the road out past the botanical gardens. The vegetation got thicker. The leaves were getting bigger and the plants were turning more jungly. Once I crossed the river the road started climbing towards Pavones. The road was typically narrow. I rode to the summit of the pass and started descending again towards Siquirres. As I came up on a slow moving truck in one of several switchbacks, I decided to pass it on the inside of the corner. This turned out to be the biggest mistake yet.

A semi was coming up the pass full speed pulling an empty trailer. Just as I got alongside the pickup, I met the oncoming semi. I quickly swerved missing the front bumper of the semi by inches. The semi trailer swept past me and the next thing I knew I was on the ground sliding across the pavement. I held on to the handlebars instinctively sliding in a slow rotation on the ground. When I came to a stop, I jumped up full of adrenaline and picked up my huge bike while the lady in the truck was yelling at me from her window. She was panicking and yelling in Spanish that it wasn't her fault. I told her that I knew that. As best I could I yelled to her that everything was fine and that it was all my fault. I got the bike to the side of the road as another semi blew past me at full speed. I reattached my gear bag to my engine guard and did a quick assessment of damage on myself and the bike. Fortunately, no miraculously, I had suffered zero injuries and my bike only scratches and a broken front blinker. I didn't know what to do. The lady in the pickup truck had driven away and I was there on the side of the road shaking a bit. But the only thing there was to do was get back on and keep riding towards Puerto Viejo.

I found the road to Limon when I got to Siquirres and a couple of hours later I was pulling into Rockin' J's Hostal and Campground in Puerto Viejo. I had replayed the accident in my mind over and over again during those couple of hours of riding. I couldn't believe that it had all happened really. But the blinker swinging by its wires on the front of my bike was testament that it had really all transpired after all.

When I pulled up to the hostal, Sam was sitting in the restaurant and came out to greet me. I told him what had gone down and we looked over the bike and my riding gear checking for further damage. He brought me an ice cold Pilsen beer and we had a quick 'cheers' to my good fortune. What a day!

My riding gear had functioned perfectly and I was stoked that I was wearing my motocross boots and all of my gear. Here are a couple pictures of the minimal damage that my riding jacket took in the crash.

I found out the next day that the plane I'd photographed Gigante in front of back in San Jose had a crash landing the very same day as my crash. Crazy coincidence.

I spent the evening chatting with other motorcyclists while a poker game went on late into the night. I finally was wound down enough to get some sleep around 3:30 in the morning. Thinking that we were going to spend one more night in Puerto Viejo, I wasn't really worried about getting to be so late. Seemingly moments after I put my head down in my tent, Dan was calling my name waking me. It was six in the morning and he said that we were going to head for the border. He and Sam had changed their minds while they were out partying and decided we'd make an early push. We were loaded up and riding out of Puerto Viejo by 7:30 am riding through early morning sunlight and banana fields.

Panama! Pa-na-mah-ah!

Costa Rica : Nathalie Jimenez Rodriguez

2010-04-05T14:45:00.000-07:00

OR how much fun is possible in 10 short days?!

I mentioned in my last post that I met Nathalie at Casa Mafalda Hotel and Cafe on the beach in Jacó. Nathalie was a really nice and outgoing young woman that was really interested in the journey I am on. I think the idea of complete freedom and aimless wandering struck a chord with her. When she found out that I was heading to Colombia, she offered up contacts in Bogotá and gave me some suggestions to check out. It was really nice to have someone pumping me up for my journey and the road ahead. Since repairing the bike, I was pretty sure I was South America bound.

Nathalie or Natty as I quickly dubbed her, invited me to come and stay in her home town of Tres Rios, a suburb of San Jose, Costa Rica. I was really excited to spend some time with a local Costa Rican family. I hadn't really had much of a connection with locals since leaving the Hernandez farm back in Oaxaca, Mexico. Natty suggested that I take the Cerro de la Muerte highway from Dominical to Tres Rios. With a name like Mountain of Death, how could I pass.

The highway was instantly incredible. I left the hot and sticky temps of Dominical behind, shooting into the jungle in the late afternoon golden sunlight. Instantly I was climbing. Consistent switchbacks wound round and round with walls of lush green jungle foliage cascading down to the highway. My smile was barely contained in my helmet as I throttled my way upward. Farm houses dotted the sides of the road and the vistas became broad and wide looking out over the steep valleys falling down to the ocean behing me. I could see clouds touching the mountain ahead of me and wondered if I should suit up in my rain gear. Enjoying the fresh cool mountain air for the first time in over a week, I decided to ride on into the clouds. There were moments of mist but no rain. My golden views vanished and I was in a room of light purple and the road continued to climb like a serpent on a vine.

I couldn't believe it but after another ten minutes of climbing toward the highest point of highway in the whole country, I actually broke out of the clouds back into the sunshine above them.

The air got nice and cool and the light was sublime...

I was wondering where the "Mountain of Death" was lurking because so far this was feeling like the "Highway to Heaven." But not long after clearing the pass it became obvious. Semis raced in the oncoming lane trying to keep their momentum on the way up, and around every blind corner was a descending semi trying with all its might to stay in control. This equated to engine braking and spewing clouds of thick black smoke out of the stacks. And of course doing 10 - 15 mph to stay in control. It is nearly impossible to do 15 mph on Gigante, so I was forced to pass groups of semis on these narrow mountain roads. "Mountain of Death," not so much a mystery anymore.

I made it through the madness and came into Tres Rios shortly after sunset. Natty met me at the local shopping mall and escorted me to a nice little Bed & Breakfast run by a feller from Washington State, who had settled here in Tres Rios long ago with his Costa Rican wife. I was able to do my laundry and make some small repairs to my bike while Nathalie finished her work week.

I made the bike ready for a two-up adventure back to the Nicoya Peninsula to meet up with Curt and Melissa from Colorado. A new highway had just been opened from San Jose to Puntarenas. A long awaited thoroughfare that had been under construction for many years was finally open for business. We hopped on Gigante and roosted off for the coast. The highway was a toll highway, and having Nathalie on the back ready to pay the tolls as we passed through was very convenient. We reached the coast just as the sun was setting.

It was a good thing I'd given Nat a quick lesson on how to properly jump off the bike in case of a slow motion tip over. When I raced off the highway to snap this shot of the setting sun, I pulled right into deep sand in the parking area. Of course the front tire washed out and unable to hold up the weight of Gigante, gear and a passenger, the bike was soon on the ground. Like a pro, Nathalie had gracefully jumped clear of the bike and was instantly there helping lift the bike back to its wheels all in time to still grab a shot of the sun sinking behind the Nicoya mountains on the other side of the bay. I was embarrassed for dropping the bike in the sand but we laughed it off as the near full moon rose over the river on our way to the ferry docks.

It was well after dark when we reached the docks. We had missed the 5:30pm ferry to Paquera, but there was another leaving shortly for Playa Naranjo, which was only 30 km's or so North of Paquera. It seemed like an easy decision as we'd arrive in Naranjo before the next ferry even departed for Paquera.

We watched the lights of Puntarenas fade away in the distance and enjoyed some icy Imperial beers on the ride across the Golfo de Nicoya. An hour and a half later, we were riding off the ferry into the dark night of Nicoya. What I'd forgotten about my previous trip through this area is that the road from the docks in Playa Naranjo is rough dirt all the way to Paquera. During the day, this isn't much of a challenge but in the dark following a line of cars fresh from the ferry, it turned into a dusty white-knuckled affair. The distance to Cabuya on the southern tip of the peninsula suddenly became longer than I wished in the black night. Not to worry though, Natty quickly came to the rescue pulling her cellular phone out saying she might have a contact that could help us out.

Next thing I know, we're headed to a friend's house in Playa Tambor. I didn't really care who's house or where we'd sleep, I was just ready to be off of Gigante and relaxing. We pulled up to a security gate and were soon whisked into a high security golf resort. Josh from Holland was our gracious host for the evening. With some quick introductions aside, he pointed me up into the carport and instructed me to park next to the 6 seat golf cart resting on the white tile floor. Before I could even get my riding gear off, Josh had a cold beer in my hand and was leading me out to the poolside palapa.

O.k. this will do...

We relaxed for a while in the refreshing blueness of the pool, sipping on cocktails before heading down to the beach to take in some Tambor moonlight.

The next day we were off in search of my Vail friends Curt and Melissa. I had a clue that they were in Cabuya but wasn't certain. We rode through the beautiful Nicoya countryside past Montezuma and pulled up to the Howler Monkey Hotel. Sure enough, they were there and stoked to have a beer before they set out to catch dinner.

We relaxed in the picture perfect tranquility of the afternoon hoping the fish were biting for the Colorado Contingency.

The Howler Monkey Hotel was a conglomeration of "A" frame cabins set in a cluster around the pool with a fantastic shoreline. Complete with a toe munching guard dog, not much could improve this little oasis.

When the boat returned and I saw this catch unloaded from the boat, I was a bit worried that we'd be going hungry...

But Curt and Melissa, red from the sun and buzzed from the beer, managed to haul in a couple of nice tuna as well.

Nathalie grabbed a pad of paper and jotted down the necessary supplies needed from the grocery store, while Curt and I gathered wood for a fire.

The full moon rose perfectly out of the calm bay while we readied ourselves for dinner with more cold Imperial cervezas.

It is pretty much impossible to beat tuna cooked over a bed of coals on the beach. Especially tuna that has been out of the water for less than an hour. We dined until our bellies were about to burst. The beers gave way to a bottle of rum and soon we found ourselves bouncing about in Curt's rental 4x4 SUV through the backroads of Nicoya night. Sitting in the back seat with Natty, dj'ing from the iPod, high school nostalgia of riding around listening to music on a mobile party cruise flooded my headspace. It was the third full moon in sixty days. We made our way to the big beaches of Santa Teresa, stopping here and there at beachside bars buzzing in bliss.

Big Moon. Big Fun.

The next day Curt and Melissa made their way back to San Jose to catch their flight back to the snowy cold of Colorado. Natty and I made our way back to Santa Teresa to spend our afternoon on the beach soaking in the goodness of this little slice of surf and sand.

Natty put us up in an incredible hotel called the Luz de Vida. We relaxed on the beach all afternoon and a better part of the next day.

Eventually we had to saddle up and head back to the real world of San Jose.

We had a beautiful ride back to Paquera and made the ferry with perfect timing.

The extended weekend may have come to an end, but the adventure certainly had not.

Tuesday morning found us out the door at 6 am and headed for the airport. But neither of us would be flying today. Nathalie is an air-traffic controller and we were bound for radar control. I was fortunate enough to get a backstage view of the wild world of air trafficking.

Natty's current job is to rewrite the flight plans for the whole country. Here she shows me the current route to Limon on the Caribbean coast. The radar office was busy with activity from the moment we arrived. When the bossman arrived I wasn't sure if I'd be booted from the chaos or welcome watching the action. Instead I was escorted straight to his office for an official Q&A session. Manuel was an incredibly friendly fellow. Dressed for business aside from a pair of riding boots poking out from his pressed dress pants. We talked excitedly about motorcycling and the pure freedom of riding. Turns out that most of Nathalie's coworkers are riders as well. I thought I heard a familiar rumble when Manuel arrived...

He rides a fine specimen of American Steel. A far cry from my filthy black beast, I was a bit jealous seeing all that chrome and raw V-twin power.

After work, we made a quick departure heading back to Tres Rios to get Gigante out for some excercise. Nathalie was even more excited than I was to get back out on the Costa Rican roads. Lucky for us Costa is packed coast to coast with killer riding. Today, we were off for a tour to the clouds again. This time onto the flanks of Volcano Turrialba.

The whole place was vacant. It was awsome to be there relaxing in the sunshine looking up at this big beast of earthly creation sleeping peacefully. But without warning the clouds came in. In a matter of minutes it turned from cool sunshine to cold mist.

We saddled up and followed the cowboys down the road. Slipping and sliding on the muddy gravel, relieved when we made it to the shiny wet pavement that switchbacked down into the town on the sides of the volcano. When I saw this little oasis in the misty rain, I had to stop for a sample.

Chicharrones are my favorite snack. I first got hooked back in Mexico. Fried pork fat. Who could resist? Certainly not me. Healthy? Certainly not. Tasty? Yes.

On the way into the funky little roadside diner, we found out why we had Turrialba to ourselves...

The town had been evacuated only days earlier for a pending eruption. Interesting.

I had other things on my mind preventing the news from sinking in too deeply. Fried pork. Unlike the dry crunchy creations of Mexico, these Chicharrones had more meat attached to the fatty skin and were fried in a pan instead of being deep fried. Our pastoral hosts were happy to give me the full instruction on eating these delicacies. With a squeeze of lime and a touch of salt I quickly found myself in adipose heaven.

Washed down with some piping hot coffee, I couldn't be better prepared to brave the wet and cold. We got on Gigante and b-lined it back to Tres Rios. What a great day. Again!

By now this would have been a full vacation for most, but Natty had more adventure in store. When she came home from work the next day to scoop me up from her mother's incredible hospitality, she announced that another Volcano was in store. The weather was incredibly beautiful and beckoning us to come play in the sun. So off we went for another winding climb. This time to the Irazu Volcano crater. Last time this guy blew, it covered the whole of San Jose in thick ash.

Talk about Imperialist expansion... All I could do was laugh when I found this token of USGS presence here in Costa Rica. Some 11,350' above sea level in the center of their country, Washington D.C. making itself known.

We soaked in the views until the park ranger raced up in a Toyota Hilux sending us on our way down the volcano. The green countryside hid any sense of previous explosive behavior. Natty guided us to an incredible little Italian restaurant for a glass of vino and a killer sunset.

Another awesome day.

When I awoke, I was surprised that Nathalie was still home. She told me she'd taken the day off of work so we could have another adventure before I made my departure for destinations south. So I readied my gear and the motorcycle. Topping off my coolant tank with fresh florescent fluid and the oil tank with fully-synthetic racing oil, we were set. She came to the garage with a huge smile on her face... "G. we're going flying," she stated matter of factly.

I haven't mentioned that not only is Nathalie an air-traffic controller but a pilot as well! Lucky me. So hours from the ocean by bike, I was told to get my suit packed, we were going to the beach! Moments later we were pulling into the General Aviation hangars, meeting our host and pilot friend, Heiner Rojas. (Who reminded me quite a bit of one Steven Heideman.) Our plane TI-AWA, Tango India - Alpha Whiskey Alpha, was waiting in the sunshine.

I got to fly shotgun while Heinar flew us out to the coast. I can only imagine how hard it was for Nathalie to sit in the back seat. It would be like me sitting behind someone on a motorcycle. But after visiting with an expat pilot from Alaska that owned the private strip we landed on in Quepos, and a nice swim in the ocean, we were back on our way to San Jose. Nathalie flew us back. It was fun to watch her flying us. It's got to be such a rush flying a plane. I mentally added "learn to fly" to the bucket list.

Back on the ground in San Jose only hours after originally leaving.

I snapped a token shot of Gigante in front of a Piper Cherokee trainer. Little did I know that the two of them were about to have more in common than I'd care to admit.

I was having such a great time with Nathalie that I decided to stay for the weekend as well. I was waiting for Sam Miller, a rider I'd ridden with back in Mexico, to catch up to me. The plan was to ride with he and Daniel Hawes into Panama, party for Carnival and then start looking for a way to get us and the bikes to Colombia. But since Sam and Daniel were still a few days behind enjoying the surf on the Nicoya, it gave me some extra time to chill with Natty.

We had stellar weather again on Saturday so we went for a ride up into coffee country. I had seen some nice dirt roads from the air as we flew over and wanted to get a ground level view as well.

It was election weekend so we spent Sunday voting and showing support for my favorite candidate. In the evening we went to my favorite pub and watched the results roll in. I was amazed that the election tallies took second stage to the NFL Superbowl being broadcast live. Too bad for the Colts...

Laura Chinchilla won the election quite handily. We'll see what she does for the people of Costa Rica. I managed to get my hands on a Costa Rican flag for my mirror. My time here in Costa was quickly coming to an end. In the morning, I prepared my bike, said some teary goodbyes to Nathalie and her mother and sister: my adoptive family. Sad to be going, but knowing that the show must go on. If I didn't leave Tres Rios soon, I knew there was a good chance I never would.

Thank You Nathalie for such a great week to cap off an outstanding visit to your beautiful country!

Leaving is never easy...

Natty and Piper...

Costa Rica : Santa Ana to Dominical...

2010-03-19T23:23:00.000-07:00

My bike had been performing wonderfully but I could tell that my clutch was wearing. During high speed passes, I was really lacking the snap that I'd grown used to. It wasn't slipping entirely, but I knew that it wouldn't be long. My bike had surpassed the 30,000 mile mark so it wasn't too surprising that the clutch would be wearing out. With a little research and a recommendation from Al VanDyke, who I'd ridden Baja with months before, I was able to locate a shop just outside of San Jose. I left Arenal on a bright sunny day and really enjoyed the narrow country roads heading south in the middle of Costa Rica.

The views were exceptional and the weather was perfect. Unfortunately with no shoulders on the roads stopping to take pictures was difficult. I only managed to get a couple of shots on my way to San Jose.

I made the mistake of looking up Breyman Motor Sports KTM on Google Maps. I found it and thought that I had a great idea of where it was located. I followed the directions that I'd jotted down and found a day parking lot where the shop was supposed to be located. After circling the block numerous times in busy city traffic with my KTM almost overheating, I finally stopped and asked the parking lot attendant for help. He called the number I'd written down on my map. Turns out Google Maps had pulled up a mailing address. The shop was actually located 20 minutes out of the city in the suburb of Santa Ana. With proper directions I found myself there shortly. The next hurdle was that I was going to need to leave my bike there to get worked on and the closest hostels were back in the downtown area. Unfortunately all of the hotels in Santa Ana catered to business travelers and were well over $100 per night. This was going to blow my budget severely which had me in a bit of a funk.

The owner Herbert von Breymann arrived shortly after I had. He knew who I was from my emails inquiring about service. Fortunately he picked up on the financial situation I was in and totally saved the day. He not only offered the use of the motorcycle delivery van as accommodations but told me that I'd be able to work with the mechanics to save some money on the repairs of my bike. I was stoked. My mood turned around immediately and I was really fired up to get to sleep in the motocross van. Not only would this save me hundreds but it made for a great story much more fitting to the theme of this journey.

Herbert showing off the new Aprilia Caponord to some prospective buyers.

My home for two nights in Santa Ana.

I was given a key to the front gate and they turned the van around to give me privacy from the street and a nice view overlooking the Santa Ana nightscape.

I found a little Chinese restaurant around the corner that had giant homemade shrimp wontons. Which I ended up eating every night while I stayed.

I passed my time drinking beer and working on my journaling in the back of the van. The temps were ideal so sleeping was really comfortable. Everyone at the shop thought I was hilarious for camping out in the van. I laughed along with them at the thought of what a low budget bum I was being. But with months and tons of miles ahead, I was forced to be diligent with my budget and expensive hotels just weren't an option. Plus I had everything I needed. (On the second night I found out that if I sat on the loading dock, I could even get wireless internet.)

Bright and early the next morning I awoke to the traffic of the busy street, unloaded my gear from the truck and started disassembling my bike to be ready when the mechanics showed up to start their day. Denis, the head mechanic, arrived and showed me a good spot on the loading dock to put my bike. I figured that I would removed the engine guards and gas tanks and he would take it from there. Instead he gave me instructions in Spanish and I did the work.

When I got the clutch cover removed, Denis noticed a white film that was covering the inside of the cover. This was an indication that my water pump seal was leaking water into my oil. This is a common problem with KTM LC8 motors and fortunately I was carrying the parts to make this repair. It was amazing that I had gotten here to the shop without overheating the motor. Only a day or two more riding with the bad seal and I could have found myself broken down on the side of the road.

Here the clutch and the water pump are opened up.

Denis installing new clutch friction plates.

Posing for a self portrait tightening the pressure plate bolts.

On Day 1 we replaced the friction plates and the water pump seal. I would have been set to ride out this evening but as it was getting late and had the option to spend another night in the van, I decided to stay. On Day 2, I replaced the spark plugs, cleaned my air prefilter and inspected the main filter, did a complete coolant flush and replacement, and a complete oil and filter change.

Denis had the young shop hands give my bike a complete and thorough washing and waxing while I got my things organized to hit the road. Herbert gave me a great route to ride through the mountains near Puriscal and also totally hooked me up on the parts costs and labor rates. BMS is the best shop I could have hoped to find to get me back together and running. The staff was top notch helping me with everything. Kenneth, the do everything sales guy, even bought me lunch! A huge thanks goes out to everyone that helped me out. I didn't have much but I had a box of cigars from Nicaragua. I brought one up to José the parts guy, Martin the salesman, Daniel the junior mechanic, Giovanni the delivery guy, of course Denis the master mechanic and I was lucky to be able to thank Herbert in person just before I left. I can't say enough how awesome these guys treated me. I felt like I was part of the BMS family and it was hard to leave them all. Thanks guys!

The ride to Jacó was excellent and Herbert had picked a perfect twisty road for me to break in my fresh clutch. I ripped through the twisties loving every corner. The road took me high up into the mountains with great views before dropping continuously down to the little surf town. I pulled in just after dark to Hotel Kangaroo and was stoked to find another bike there too.

The hotel wasn't much to speak of but at $12 the price was right and I ended up meeting Bridger, who is riding a KLR from the states down to Argentina. We had fun hanging out and partying together in the bustling little psuedo Miami surf town. The hotel owner was a drunkard and displayed some pretty nasty business skills. I'll save the details but let's just say I'd be surprised if he's running the place much longer.

We all got some good laughs at his expense though.

I spent much of my time chilling at a little beachside restaurant owned by a woman from Argentina. They had good wireless and tasty coffee. I met Martin, the woman's brother, who was visiting from Buenos Aires. He is a motorcycle fanatic as well and we spent lots of time chatting. If I ever make it all the way to Buenos Aires, I can't wait to meet up with him and check out his vintage BMW.

I stayed in Jacó for a couple of days before pushing on to Dominical. I met a local girl named Nathalie, who had studied in Colombia and was really excited about my trip. She was staying at Casa Mafalda and saw my bike while I was there working on the internet and chatting with Martin.

We exchanged emails hoping to catch up again later...

When I got to the little hippy surf hangout of Dominical, I was super surprised with instantly how chill it was. The drive down the coast was pretty mellow. Lots of coconut palm plantations and really nice road. The new paved highway past Quepos was nearly finished so getting to Dominical was really a breeze. I pulled up to the beach after a couple of hours in the saddle and chilled in the shade drinking fresh cold coconut water from a coconut that was hacked open just for me for the bargain price of 50 cents.

As I was sitting there surrounded by sarongs for sale swaying in the breeze, I saw a guy coming up looking closely at my bike. He couldn't see me yet and I was preparing to tell my story yet again when I hear him exclaim, "No F'in Way!"

I turned and was shocked to see Curt from Vail, that I'd met back in Sayulita, Mexico. We couldn't get over the fact that we'd just run into each other again. He was down for another short vacation and as luck would have it here we were. It was way too crazy for either of us to wrap our heads around so we went straight to the bar, got some ice cold beers and reveled in the coincidences that had evolved to leave us sitting here sharing beers in Dominical, Costa Rica.

We spent the rest of the afternoon sitting in the open air bar of Tortilla Flats drinking like good ole Colorado boys should. Too funny... I never met Curt in Vail when we live less than 5 miles apart but now I've met him by accident twice on this journey. Uncanny. Super fun.

Costa Rica : Nicoya Peninsula : Playa Avellanas to Santa Teresa & beyond...

2010-03-16T21:07:00.000-07:00

I read in the Lonely Planet Costa Rica that if one was looking for a real adventure on the Nicoya Peninsula it would be to ride the coastal road from Tamarindo to Santa Teresa. It said that there were numerous river crossings and lots and lots of dirt 4x4 road. It sounded wonderful but I was a bit hesitant because I was alone. I decided against it when I was backing the bike out of Casa Surf, but by the time I made it down the dirt road leaving Playa Avellanas I was having so much fun that I decided to go for it. It was a typical beautiful Costa Rican day and adventure was calling my name. So I checked the map, wrote down the towns and beaches that I would need to pass through and grabbed the throttle spewing gravel behind me in a cloud.

Early in the ride I came upon this scene... So I laid off the gas a little bit. Luckily it had happened the night before so there weren't any gory details to stumble upon.

The scenery was instantly amazing. When the road would get away from the coast, the land became agricultural and then it would wind back close to the ocean passing by beautiful beaches of all types.

My first interesting challenge came when I came upon this suspension bridge. It was designed for pedestrians and bicycles but the river looked intimidating and it was early in the day. So I went for it crossing the bridge. When I was in the middle of it and it started swaying, I really started to wonder if it was going to hold the weight of me and my huge bike. I could barely make it through without the sidecases rubbing on the cables. It is hard to see in this picture but it is there...

When I came up to Playa Ostinal, a really famous surf beach, I stopped the bike and took a little walk out so see what was going on. I met Nick, a surf photographer who was snapping some shots of the tubing barrels rolling in.

After Ostinal, the road started getting more demanding. The river crossings came more frequently and there were no more suspension bridges. It was time to get wet. Riding through rivers with a fully loaded KTM is a real test of faith, balance and lots of holding my breath while I hoped to miss the big rocks lurking invisible beneath the surface of the water.

If you look close up river, you can see the road that I need to make it to. And this is how I felt about that...

Luckily as I was preparing to cross. (i.e. getting my guts in check) A local guy came by with two passengers on his Suzuki 250 and crossed. I watched closely to see the line that he took and was able to follow right after him. Even though it was dry season the water was almost over my front tire when I was in the middle. Needless to say I was soaked since I needed to keep some speed to keep 'Gigante' from getting bogged down or losing momentum. Other than the slippery exit, it was pretty much a breeze though.

Another river...

There are lots of different roads breaking off in different directions and a huge part of this adventure is route finding. Unfortunately when I missed my turn and came upon this sign, I failed to stop and ask directions...

I made the wrong call and headed in the direction of Altos de Mora. Blackberry Highlands or something along those lines. Well about ten minutes in the road started to get tough. About twenty minutes in it became a two-track jeep road. It was fun and I was having a blast riding the technical terrain. Like a typical lost wanderer, I figured it would get better. Thirty minutes in the jeep road turned into a singletrack trail and I knew I was in the wrong place. The jungle was hot and steamy and there was no place to turn around my big pig of a motorcycle. So I sweat and sweat and sweat and finally I got the beast heading back the other direction. Adding to the intensity of this situation was the fact that there was no one out here. And no one knew I was out here. So being on my own the intensity of the situation was real and I was sweating profusely. Literally and figuratively as well. This is what it looked like when I finally decided I was going the wrong way.

On my way back out of the jungle, I was riding fast. I knew I had a long way to go to get to Santa Teresa and it was getting late in the afternoon. I had no idea how many more rivers lay ahead, and I'd heard there was a river that couldn't be crossed at high tide. Of course I didn't know when high tide was but I knew that the later it got the worse off I'd be. So I was hammering through the wet and slippery trails and when I launched through a creek this happened when I hit the mud on the other side.

Now, I really don't like crashing my moto. I really like it less when the luggage gets ripped off by force. And I like it even less when there is no one around to help me pick it up. Plus seeing as there were no recent tracks here, the chance of anyone coming by soon was slim to none. So I set to removing my helmet, jacket and the remaining luggage and heaved and heaved. I slipped several times in the mud before I finally managed to right the enormous monstrosity and then had to ride to dry level ground and lug all the luggage there and reload. This is how I looked after that...

But once I got back on the right road. And got cooled off again. I was pleasantly surprised to come around a steep cliffy corner and get treated to this wonderful view.

I kept riding as fast as I could, hoping for town before sunset.

O.K. maybe just town before dark. I rolled into the dusty one road town of Santa Teresa shortly after sunset. I had no idea where to stay. I stopped next to a little pizza joint called Pulpo, where an employee was hanging out having a smoke. I asked him where I should stay and he pointed me up the hill to a little surf hostel called Wavetrotters.

A super friendly Italian guy named Julio was working at the front desk. I asked him about a room and a place to park the moto. He smiled and said he had just the right place for both. But the smirk on his face made me wonder what he had in mind. I was filthy and pretty soaked still from all the river crossings. He pointed to a perfect area in the back yard for the moto and said, "I've got one bed left in a six-bed dorm room with five Argentine girls. How's that sound?" I laughed with him and said that'd be just fine with me provided there was a good shower and somewhere to put my stinky riding gear. What luck!

Here's what my feet looked like when I peeled my wet boots and socks off...

The showers at Wavetrotters were the best showers I'd had since leaving the states. Lots of water pressure and steaming hot. Here's what I looked like after a hot shower, reminiscing about the sweet ride I'd just finished.

I was so thrilled with Santa Teresa's laid back surf vibe, I stayed for three days. Julio and crew were super hostel hosts and the sun and the waves were spectacular. The Argentine girls kept the dorm clean and smelling especially fresh. I'm sure they wondered how they got stuck with the stinky American motorcycle guy. The house dog at Wavetrotters was a 3 legged Doberman that had a fierce bark, which made me feel like my bike was very well protected. I spent lots of time lounging in the hammocks and swimming in the surf.

I left my boots outside the first night in consideration of my roommates. The next morning one of the surfers found one of my boots a block and a half away from the hostel in the middle of the road. Fortunately he recognized it was mine and brought it back to the hostel. Part of the velcro closure was chewed off, but fortunately the buckles were still intact and no real terrible damage was done. I thought maybe the Doberman had got it but Julio assured me that he knew who the culprit was. Later that afternoon he introduced me to Canela the boot stealer.

She sure was cute though. So I just gave her a pet and decided to keep my boots on the balcony.

I felt like I needed to keep on moving so on the third day, I bid farewell to Julio and headed off for more rough road the back way to Cabuya and Montezuma.

The drive was technical and rocky but super super fun. And the views were totally epic.

The beaches were really beautiful as well.

But Montezuma was pretty crowded and I kept scratching out on finding a place to stay, so I just decided to ride the sweet section of road again and went back to Wavetrotters for another night. Julio laughed when I pulled back up a couple hours after I'd left. The next day I got up early continuing my circumnavigation of the Nicoya. I rode out of Montezuma and decided against the ferry to the mainland opting for tons of high speed gravel road instead. The weather was pretty steamy inland but the riding was fast and fun through lots of ranch land. Saw some monkeys in a tree...

And soon found myself at the big bridge crossing to the mainland.

I fueled up and pushed on for Arenal, which is a big Volcano that often spews lava into the air. On a clear night you can see it all the way down in the town of La Fortuna. I came quite close to dying on the Panamerican Highway heading north towards the Arenal area. I'd gotten so used to riding on the nearly empty roads on the Nicoya, that I found myself riding way too fast on the pavement. As I came around a corner, I found several stopped trucks in my lane, no shoulder and cars and a box truck coming towards me in the other lane. I tried braking with all the bike could manage. My rear wheel started to skid. And with less than 20 feet between me and the Land Rover ahead of me and still doing 45 mph, I made a split second decision, got on the yellow center line and throttled it between the oncoming cars and the stopped vehicles in my lane. Truly, I couldn't even believe it when I shot out the other side unscathed. My heart was beating about 200 bpm and my whole body was tingling from the adrenaline flowing through me.

I was happy to get off the highway and onto the winding roads heading towards Lago Arenal. I hoped for a view of the volcano but unfortunately it was covered in clouds. But the lake views made up for it.

The riding around the lake was nice and curvy and it cooled down significantly making it super enjoyable. I was happy to find the Arenal Backpackers Hostel where I got a dorm bed for $11 and was able to unwind in the pool.

Not too shabby for $11 a night.