Palenque, Mexico to Tegucigalpa, Honduras

28 August (Palenque, Mexico → Flores, Guatemala)

[The town of Palenque at night]

The crossing into Guatemala from Mexico was everything I had hoped it would be and more. After 4 hours of riding from Palenque down a dirt road with more potholes than smooth surfaces, I finally made it to the river separating Mexico from Guatemala. This was an unofficial border crossing generally only made by the locals—no vehicles—of the neighboring border villages. I eyed the thin oversized canoes that would take me across and knew that it would take some help as well as luck to get the bike on board and across safely. I approached one of the canoe captains and negotiated a 200-peso passage for both my bike and me. Knowing that if I could come across as a local—and judging by my attire, I knew I had a good chance, so I kept my helmet on during the negotiations. After pulling out my passport to register my passage with the village administrator, the captain realized that I wasn't Mexican and he practically cursed out loud. When I asked him what the problem was, he told me candidly that 1000 pesos was the going rate that all canoe captains were colluding on with foreigners. After a short five-minute canoe ride across the river and another hour to unload and repack the bike in the sweltering mosquito infested heat, I was officially in Guatemala and found myself staring down a narrow single track muddy trail which I was told would lead me to the next village about 5 km away. No immigration officer, no customs office, no people, just mud. At this point that I quickly realized that the tires I had on the bike were not quite ideally suited for these mud conditions, and in the process of getting to the next village, I nearly dropped the bike about a half dozen times. After about an hour and two liters of perspiration later, I had arrived to my starting point in Guatemala. Seeing as there were no ATMs nor anything else for that matter, I did some quick bartering with one of the local farmers for some Guatemalan Quetzals which I knew I would need whenever I came across the next gas station. While I was exchanging money with a farmer, several other locals who's attention I had attracted meandered over and struck up conversation. The standard fare of questioning proceeded and eventually I pulled out my paper map to get their guidance for the ride to come. Up to this point the GPS device and helmet cam was what had been amazing people, but here in this tiny border village which doesn't even appear on most maps, the locals were enthralled with seeing a map of their area. I couldn't believe it at first and thought that I was possibly talking to people with a mental disability before realizing that no, these people were not slow, they had just never seen a map before. I quickly turned off the GPS so as not to completely shock them with modern day technology—that and I didn't really want to have to spend another 30 minutes trying to explain to them how a GPS works considering their already limited exposure to basic tools. The dirt road leading me to Flores, my destination for the day, was another four hours and countless potholes away. And it turned out that every gas station along the way was closed for business which meant that I pulled into Flores on mere fumes. The positive outcome of that experience is that I'm now able to say with certainty that I can drive over 80 miles after the “low fuel” light turns on—not bad for a motorcycle. I also made another observation during the ride to Flores: everyone has a machete around here. For most Guatemalan people the machete represents a mere tool with which to complete basic daily tasks of country life: cut a trail, chop small branches for firewood, prod a stubborn goat or donkey, kill a chicken, etc. You know, the things we all use machetes for. But to a small number of people here, the machete is a sort of status symbol meant to be decorated, polished and taken care of like one would a new car. So in the spirit of attempting to fit in with the locals, I've decided to get myself a machete and maybe pimp it up a bit. Now all I have to do is find the local machete store around here...

29 August (Flores, Guatemala → Barton Creek Outpost, Belize)

In Flores—a small village built on a tiny island in a lake—I met several Germans and a few Americans with whom I explored the town with and early the next day made my way to Tikal, another famous Mayan ruin site in the Guatemalan jungle.

[Mayan ruins at Tikal, Guatemala]

After a few hours spent exploring Tikal, I headed for the Guatemala-Belize border where my plan was to make it to the beach and do some diving. After another 2-hour administrative headache involved in getting across the border with a motorcycle, I was in Belize and headed to a place called Barton Creek Outpost.

[Nice Chinese family from my old neighborhood in Beijing with whom I spent a couple hours brushing up on my Mandarin with. All proceeded by a huge traditional Chinese meal. (Belize)]

Now on the map this place was only a few miles off the main road and I thought I could set up my basecamp there and then make a quick ride to the beach after getting cleaned up. I should have guess that things wouldn't go quite that smoothly since even on the detailed map that generally showed all the dirt trails in the area, Barton Creek Outpost didn't have any roads or trails leading up to it. While I slowly made my way down the rocky trail toward the outpost, I started riding past people on buggies who reminded me of the Amish in Pennsylvania. After asking a group of them for directions, I realized that they were in fact Mennonites and some seemed to speak better German than English. I stopped and talked to a group of them and they were absolutely enthralled with my means of transportation. Many of them had never been to a village larger than several thousand much less seen a motorcycle loaded down like a pack mule--something they were more familiar with. I eventually found the outpost, 2 hours and one river crossing later, and decided there was no way I was going to make it to the beach that day considering the remaining sunlight, so I strung up the trusty hammock and made the best of it. The Barton Creek Outpost is wonderful little place situated on a delightful river bend in the middle of the jungle and is run by a family who immigrated many years ago from Tennessee, amongst whom, there was an 11-year old blond-hair blue-eyed girl who is considered by all the locals to be area's expert when it comes to jungle medicine. When I mentioned to her that my muscles were sore from riding all day she started naming off the ingredients for a salve which she promised would relieve my pain. I decided to skip the homemade salve considering it sounded to involve some bat guano from a cave nearby, maybe next time.




While at the outpost I met an English fella named Phil and his girlfriend Angie who had been traveling around the world in a converted cargo van since 2004! He had literally toured the entire world in that van and Central and South America were to be end of the trip--although he still had another few years to go.

[The ultimate world travelers, on the road since 2004!]

We bonded instantly over some cuba libres and spent hours recounting travel tales from around the globe. In the end we parted ways after committing to a reunion in Colombia sometime next year. I also coincidentally ran into one of the girls, Marilyn, whom I had met the day before in Flores. With her I explored the local cave which turned out to be a fantastic little venture.

[Entrance of Barton Creek Cave, Belize]

One kilometer into the cave was an ancient Mayan alter where human sacrifice was regularly performed. There was even a human skull that was petrified into the cave rock as evidence of the area's previous role within the Mayan empire.

30 August (Barton Creek Outpost, Belize → Chisec, Guatemala)

[Guatemalans training for World Cup 2010]

After the cave trip, I packed up and decided to head back into Guatemala and make my destination Lake Atitlan. I made it as far Chisec, a small town in the middle of nowhere with nothing of any interest, and woke up early to continue to Lake Atitlan.

[Just one of the many delays while on the road]

31 August (Chisec, Guatemala → Lake Atitlan, Guatemala)

Once again on the map Lake Atitlan looked like a 2-hour drive from Chisec which in the end turned into an 8-hour ride through some rough terrain. I arrived just in time to catch a few hours of remaining daylight and see the sun set on the three volcanoes that border the shores of Lake Atitlan. This is one of those picture-perfect locations that one wishes they had to time to stay and grow bored of. But alas, I'll have to make due with just one day. Below is a series of pictures I took of the lake and surrounding volcanoes:


At this point I've been on the road for 12 days and the motorcycle and my clothing are starting to show battle scars. In about another two thousand miles the bike will be ready for a new set of tires, brakes, valve adjustment, chain, sprocket and air filter. The aluminum luggage is also taking a massive beating with all the rough terrain I've been hitting recently and is getting to the point where I'll need to get a mallet to hammer things back into their correct shape soon. Another problem I'm having is with my jungle boots, specifically the hard rubber soles are slowly ripping off from all the high speed foot plants into the dirt I've been having to do throughout the day. I've temporarily duct taped the soles on until I can get around to epoxying them back on properly. My helmet cam is also taking a beating. Even the industrial strength double sided tape wasn't strong enough and actually peeled off the mount earlier today. Luckily I had forseen this happening and had jimmy-rigged a shock cord attachment to the camera as a backup in the case that the mount wouldn't hold otherwise I would now be writing about having lost the helmet cam somewhere in Guatemala. And finally, my GPS is developing an intermittent power problem as the unit is resetting itself every 10 minutes or so. I suspect dirty/corroded connections from all the rain. By the time I get to Panama I'm going to have to dedicate an entire day to fixing all of these problems.

To give you an idea of what kind of damage these last 12 days of riding has done, I've listed the things I've used during equipment repairs:

2 containers of super glue
1 roll of duct tape
5 spare tie down straps and shock cord belts
1 paperclip
1 staple
1 roll of velcro
1/2 sewing kit
1 bottle of epoxy
½ bottle of rubbing alcohol
Handful of zip ties

1 September (Lake Atitlan, Guatemala → San Salvador, El Salvador)

I was saddened to leave such a beautiful place so soon but the calendar days keep on flying by unfortunately. On the ride to the border a bird literally flew right into my lap while driving about 110 kph. Had it hit me just a few inches from where it actually hit, I would probably have had a much bigger problem, but as it is, it's just a small laceration with some bruising. The bird was completely disoriented from the impact and even waited a minute or so after I had stopped before flying off. On a sadder note, I saw another animal today not be so lucky. An ambulance with its lights on was driving towards me on the other side of the road and directly in front of it was a golden retriever was running full speed on the road in the same direction the ambulance was driving. The driver didn't even make an attempt to slow down or swerve as it plowed right over the poor animal. If it wasn't dead from the first impact, the two eighteen wheelers which were closely pursuing the ambulance unequivocally finished it off. Every day I see several dozen of animal carcasses lying on the road, but I'm actually amazed it isn't ten times as much considering the number of animals that can be seen constantly running about in the middle of the road. I myself have nearly hit several cows and countless dogs so far and I still have quite a way to go.

When I entered San Salvador I quickly made my way to La Ruta de Flores which I've been told is the best drive in the country. Unfortunately the flowers aren't in season till November which meant that it was a relatively colorless drive. The roads here are in amazing conditions and there were times when I felt as if I was driving on U.S. highways or even Germany's autobahns. I started getting a little overzealous to reach San Salvador and cranked up the speed a bit just in time to get pulled over by the cops. The is the first place in all of Central America where I have seen police pulling people over for speeding. After a delightful conversation with the young man of the law, during which I not only stated my feigned ignorance of the speed limit but also lauded their wonderfully constructed highway system which facilitated me to unconsciously exceed said speed limits, I was let off with a warm handshake a wishes for a safe passage.

The best part of the day came at the end of the ride just before reaching San Salvador while I was passing some fields of tall grass near a volcano right around sunset. I seem to have an affinity for these fields and thought it would be a great place for some pictures. About 40 minutes of driving down some tiny rocky muddy trail just off the main road, I came to one of the most picturesque spots during the trip so far (see picture below) and later decided to jump into a nearby river for a sunset bath with the local villagers before heading into San Salvador for the night.

[Near San Salvador, El Salvador]

San Salvador is your typical Central American capital practically indistinguishable from the rest with the exception that U.S. dollars are accepted everywhere. Finally a place where I didn't have to convert prices.

2 September (San Salvador, El Salvador → Tegucigalpa, Honduras)

The ride from San Salvador to Tegucigalpa was very scenic yet exhausting after a four hour delay at the border with meaningless paperwork on the Honduran side to get permission for my motorcycle to transit the 300km I needed to traverse before entering Nicaragua. I must have gone to nearly a dozen different governmental offices where some insignificant amount of money was paid in order to receive a slip of paper with an illegible stamp which would then allow me to proceed to the next little office, all of which were inconveniently located about 500 meters from each other. And all the while fending off the swarm of people offering either to help me with the paperwork shuffle, to watch my motorcycle, or to shine my boots—all for a small tip. That part is actually part of every single border crossing but they've generally left me alone after realizing that I'm a native Spanish speaker. After finally crossing into Honduras, I felt like I had just driven into a huge open air NRA convention. It seemed like even sweet little old grandmas were walking around packing heat. I think I'm starting to develop a mild case of gun envy. Now the idea of getting a machete seems a bit weak for these surroundings.

I almost forgot to mention that right before pulling up to the Honduran immigration office, I had raised my helmet visor and taken off my sunglasses just 100 meters before stopping. During those short 100 meters, a wasp found its way into my helmet and proceeded to furiously sting my right lower eyelid. I couldn't do anything until I had safely stopped and secured the bike since there was traffic flying all around me, but by then the wasp had finished having its fun. By the time I was done inflicting a commensurate amount of pain on the wasp, my eye had nearly swollen shut. Five minutes later I looked my Mike Tyson after the Holyfield rematch. At this point the stinger was too deep to remove without shedding some blood so I resolved to finish the entire paperwork process at the border before taking care of my eye. Four hours later when I finally got around to removing the stinger, I still couldn't see anything out of it and ended up using the blade on my trusty swiss army knife (thanks Christian) and the side view mirror on my motorcycle to cut it out. Most of the locals gathered to watch the gringo perform surgery on the baseball-sized formation on my face. There were even a few generous people around who kindly offered to help. The last thing I wanted was a stranger with a knife near my eye, so I tactfully turned down their offers. Right about that time two other motorcyclists whom I had passed on the road near Tikal drove past me on BMWs loaded just like mine. We briefly waved to each other in the midst of the chaos. Something tells me I'll be running into them at some point before hitting Panama.

[One of the many accidents on the road to Honduras]