Southern Exposure

Friday, January 16

We slept in until 9, enjoying the plush bed. Our first order of business for the day was finding some maps of Colombia and possibly a guide book. Lew had drawn us a map showing how to get to two book stores, which would likely have maps.

By the time we had gotten into town the night before, the sun had been setting and today was our first good look at Bogotá. It looked and felt like a European city. It was by far the most cosmopolitan city we had been in and it was quite a different feel from Panama City. The layout of the city was based on an orderly grid city, so if you knew the address you would have no trouble finding it. If only more cities were laid out so logically.

The first bookstore we tried had no maps, but did have a Lonely Planet Colombia in English. However, it costs $40! Thanks but no thanks, we’ll figure it out by trial and error before I pay that kind of money for a slim 200 page book. The next bookstore had nothing for us but directions to a third book store. That store did have maps, and we bought the best one which was still terrible compared to the maps we were carrying for other other countries. Who prints a one sided map?? It would be good enough to get us to Ecuador.

After that minor success, we went to a cafe nearby Lew’s residence to have a snack and some coffee. The open air cafe, Oma, was very hip and wouldn’t have felt out of place in Seattle. It was cooler than many places in Seattle and the menu was full of big city deliciousness. We had coffee and pastries, then headed back to casa. As we walked back we walked by some sushi places and asian restaurants that left our mouths watering for non Latin food.

I called Raffael from the night before to see if he was still interested in taking a look at Inna’s bike. I was quite tired of dealing with this oil leak. We’d just had it looked at and a seal replaced in Panama City, three days before, but it was still leaking oil. Raffael said he was still happy to look at it, and rather than having me navigate through the unfamiliar city, he offered to ride over and pick me up. Inna would go out for sushi with Jennifer while I went over to Raffael’s shop.

After he arrived it was another ride through the chaos of Bogotá traffic. While I think he took it easy for my benefit, he still road more aggressively than I’m used to. Lane splitting on a bike with panniers makes me nervous, but it saves a lot of time in city traffic. Occasionally he would slip through a space between buses I simple couldn’t make and I’d have to catch up.

Once we were at his shop in his garage, he quickly went to work. He took the countershaft sprocket off, and looked at the new seal. It was in good shape, but leaking. I hesitated when he wanted to take it off, because every mechanic who had removed it before had destroyed the seal in the process, requiring a replacement. I was worried it would be tough to get a replacement this late in the day. Raffael confidently reassured me it would be no problem, so I said go ahead. Kudos to him, he was the first one to be able to remove the seal without damaging it.

Raffael also did something no other mechanic had done. With the countershaft sprocket off and the seal removed, he started up the motor and put it in gear, to be able to watch the oil leak in process. It seems so obvious in retrospect. There appears to be a seal or gasket inside the case that is not perfectly round around the counter shaft. This was bad news, as this can only be replaced by pulling the motor from the bike and completely opening the motor. He offered to do this, but I was extremely hesitant of undertaking such a major operation. We discussed it and decided it was probably better not do open the motor.

Raffael had another idea to replace the stock seal with a more robust seal. He measured the space available and a thicker seal would fit. We were off to get the new seal, and lucky me, I would get to ride on the back of his KTM. I really do not like riding as a passenger on a motorcycle, and to do so in Bogotá traffic was on the bottom of the list of things I wanted to do. I wasn’t going to wimp out though, so we were off. The KTM has a very nice motor, and he wasn’t shy about using it, lane splitting and cruising through the city. I just held on to the luggage rack and trusted he knew what he was doing.

The part of town we arrived in was a grouping of small stores all selling vehicle related parts. Rather than going to a dealer for a specific partner number, here you shop for a matching part regardless of origin. After shopping a few stores, we found a seal of the right diameters but 3mm thicker. It was for a Suburu I believe. I was really sad I hadn’t brought a camera as this was a very cool little neighborhood of shops and I’m jealous we don’t have anything like it back home.

Once back at his shop, he installed the new seal, which fit nicely. We started the bike and ran it for a long time. We were quite pleased with ourselves that the bike was not leaking any oil at all. He shifted the bike down into neutral, and as the countershaft finished spinning, a nice stream of oil leaked out and down the case. Arg!! While ultimately not successful, it was an improvement as it was leaking less. Hurray. We put the bike back together knowing it was the best that could be done without major surgery.

I was very impressed with Raffael’s mechanic skills as he was the first one to at least identify the actual problem. I was even more impressed with his generosity. He refused any form of payment and even managed to pay for the new seal. He had approached two stranger travelers on the street, offered his services, worked on the bike, all out of the kindness of his spirit. It was a bit overwhelming to be bestowed such a random act of kindness.

Before we left to guide me back to Lew’s, he introduced me to his family, who had me watch a YouTube video about Colombia. It comes up if you search for “danger risk Colombia”. It starts out misspelling it as Columbia, and shows all of the crazy drug war scenes portraying Colombia as a violent death trap from recent American cinema. It turns into a tourism ad for Colombia, listing off the country’s beauty and many other virtues and is entertaining.

When I talked to Lew, our plan for the night had changed. He wanted to take us to a crazy restaurant called Andre’s Carne de Res. We had planned on going Saturday night, but they had decided to have a party Saturday at home instead, so we’d have to go tonight. Raffael guided me back home, taking a few liberties with one way streets. At least I wasn’t on the back anymore.

We got into Lew’s car, and even though I’d felt very safe so far and just watching video extolling Colombia’s virtues, it was now my first time in an armored car. It’s just how Lew rolls. The windows were an impressive inch thick. Andre’s was about 45 minutes north of town.

Lew had really been building this place up for us since we arrived. We were expecting a huge place that was so over the top it would defy belief. As it turns out, he wasn’t overhyping it. As we pulled in, the place seemed to about the size of a city block. The parking lot went on forever and was organized by astrological signs. I knew it was the real deal when as we reached the exit from the parking lot to the restaurant, there was a booth offering the services of a driver to drive you and your car home after your dinner, all for about $30 US. Wow.

Once inside, it’s a very hard place to describe. If you’ve ever been to Chuy’s in Houston, it’s Chuy’s times ten million. The place is cluttered with completely random objects everywhere. While the entire restaurant is huge and seats probably 1000 people, you can’t really feel it. It’s not one big open room, but rather an endless maze of small spaces and dancefloors. The lighting was predominantly red. The wait staff was wearing a mix of funky costumes and era-inspired stylized outfits. There was music playing loudly and people were dancing, singing, socializing and having tons of fun.

We were seated at our pre table, the table we would eat at before our proper table was ready. The pre table was located near the kitchen, with a great view of the kitchen and the rest of the room. The kitchen staff was the opposite of the rest of the space, seeming very methodical and orderly. We ordered a bottle of Aguardiente, the local Colombian fire water, and a bucket of ice to keep it cold. Shots were poured and food was ordered.

It was really an amazingly well oiled machine. While the atmosphere was basically total chaos good times, the staff, mostly college students, are outstanding. You can make a request of any waiter passing by and it will be taken care of either by them or by your actual waiter. Service is timely. The food is actually really good. We ordered an assortment of platters, meats, and even a great salad. Whoever thought of stuffing cooked tomatoes with mashed potatoes was a genius. The corn on the cob arrived in its on tiny grill with hot coals to keep it warm and cooked to your liking. I want one for home.

We ordered a 2nd bottle of Aguardiente and hit the dance floor. Jennifer showed us her moves while Inna and I tried to keep up to the Latin rhythms and not look too gringo. Not sure if we actually succeeded or not, but we had a lot of fun. The evening was very entertaining and joyful – Andre’s is an absolutely crazy experience! I don’t think we even saw a quarter of the place and I imagine it gets crazier towards closing time. Once the restaurant closes, the parking lots kitchen (?!) serves chicken soup to tired (and drunk) patrons. It’s good to know such places exist, and I would say it’s worth going to Bogotá just to go to Andre’s.

Once we arrived back at Lew’s, we were invited into the theater room for some karaoke. For the first and last time in my life I actually sung karaoke and am grateful neither my singing nor everyone else’s laughter was recorded. Lew has clearly been practicing and scored 97/100 on some romantic classics. Jennifer sung quite nicely some songs in Spanish while Inna demonstrated her 80s repertoire. It was a late night and we were not in a hurry to get up the next day.

Thursday, January 15

We awoke feeling damp, as our hotel air conditioner wouldn’t even have qualified as a swamp cooler. It was cooler and less humid in the open air hallway. We sampled the breakfast buffet, packed our things and headed to the airport in a state of anticipation. We were finally clearing North & Central America and beginning the heart of our trip, South America. Since we had cleared Costa Rica, each new leg of the trip had taken us farther south than either of us had ever been, and now we were headed to a new continent.

We had a particularly nice surprise waiting for us in my email inbox this morning. My father had sent an email to a former colleague and friend who he thought might still be living in Bogotá on the slim chance of us having a contact there. To our great pleasure, his friend, Lew, had replied and was going to help us out. We exchanged emails, and by the time I checked mail from the airport lounge Lew had offered to host us in his home and to call him when we got there. Fantastic!

The flight itself was uneventful, aside from the strangeness of being on an airplane and separated from our motorcycles. We had done so little research on Colombia we were surprised to find ourselves at an altitude of over 8000 ft when we landed in Bogotá. We took a taxi to the Girag offices, which turned out to be mostly unnecessary, as unlike Panama, the freight terminal was hardly a block from the international terminal.

The Girag personnel gave us our paperwork and sent us over to the aduana to clear the bikes with customs. This was a much more civilized process to do at an airport than at a border. The lady who processed our paperwork was very efficient, and even provided free photocopies for us. We thought we were done until she handed our papers off to two seemingly random people who had been sitting in the lounge. They filled out more forms using carbon paper to make duplicates. I don’t really understand what was happening during this step of the process and who these people were, sitting around to fill out forms, but once they were done we signed our papers and were cleared.

Back at Girag we were shown to our bikes, which had made the trip without incident. Hurray! Now the fun began. We had to remove all of the luggage from the bikes again, so that I could reconnect the batteries. I replaced Inna’s blown Starcom fuses while I was at it with new ones I had picked up in Panama City. It took us over an hour to unpack the luggage, reconnect the batteries, bring the tires back up to proper pressure, repack the luggage, and suit up for riding. Although the Girag personnel had told us that bikes go through regularly, they crowded around us watching us work as if we were the first riders to ever go through their system. Perhaps they were just fascinated with Inna. All together the air freight process was very smooth and simple.

Once we were ready to roll, I called Lew and introduced myself. Lew was very friendly and told us we could just sit tight at the airport, he would ride over on his motorcycle and pick us up. How cool was that? Getting a motorcycle escort into Bogotá was a first class reception. Lew turned up to meet us at the gas station a short while later, with his son Jeffrey riding on the back.

We followed him into town and got our first taste of Bogotá traffic. Those people are insane. They are by far the most aggressive drivers we’ve yet encountered on our trip. If they wanted your space in your lane, they would just drift over into the lane until you got out of the way. Sometimes a driver can’t tell which lane is going to end up being faster, so they’ll just drive down the center stripe, blocking everyone behind him, until they finally pick the lane that is a clear winner. More than once I watched Inna get nearly sandwiched between two cars, the most memorable time when it was two small buses. Those drivers are nuts!

Lew took us to the area of shops where they make the special vests, chalecos, that motorcyclists are required to wear in Colombia. During the Escobar era, many people were assassinated by machine gun toting passengers on motorcycles. To help identify the assassins, motorcyclists were required to wear brightly colored vests with the license plate of the motorcycle in reflective lettering on the front and back. They are not required by law for tourists, but not wearing one greatly increases your chances of being pulled over or stopped at a checkpoint to verify your papers. After being stopped and searched ten million times in Mexico, we were happy to wear the chalecos if it would save us hassle.

The chalecos only cost $7 each and we waited while our license plates were stitched onto the vests. We chatted with Lew and Jeffrey, getting to know them a little better. Jeffrey seemed like a great kid who had a lot to say that night. While we were waiting, a guy pulled up on a KTM 950 and introduced himself. He was a local named Raffael who was very into motorcycles and who had a motorcycle and 4×4 shop run out of his garage. He was very interested in our journey and offered to help us out with Inna’s oil leak if we were interested. Lew asked him what his rates were, and he said he’d help us out for free. Amazing. We took his phone numbers and he was off.

Our chalecos were soon done and Lew took us to his home. When we stepped out of the elevator you could hear Inna & I’s jaws hit the floor. It was an absolutely stunning home. It occupied the entire floor and was immaculately decorated with art from around the world. Lew gave us the quick tour and introduced us to his charming wife Jennifer, who was a native of Colombia.

Since it was already a bit late, we quickly cleaned up and sat down for dinner. Jennifer had just returned from a business trip in Brasil, and was in the mood for home style cooking. Inna had just been telling me how much she was craving a good soup, and as our luck would have it, that is what Jennifer had in mind. It was a traditional Columbian soup that had chicken broth as its base. Served separately were pieces of sweet potato, regular potato, avocado, corn, two kinds of meet, and a few other ingredients I can’t remember now that we added to our bowl of broth. The soup really it the spot.

After dinner, we chatted for a bit and I played a few songs of Guitar Hero with Jeffrey before retiring to bed. Inna and were tired from a day of travel so we were ready for rest. It had been a remarkable day. Only 24 hours earlier we’d been struggling to find an affordable place to stay in Bogotá and wondering how our bikes would fare in transit. Now we had been taken in to a lovely family home and our bikes were secure downstairs. I know what a relief it was for my parents to know someone was looking out for us in Colombia, as their anxiety level went through the roof when we told them we were going there. We went to sleep counting our blessings.

Thursday, January 22nd

Now that Panama is posted, we’re making good progress towards getting caught up on our writing. We had a great time in Colombia that I’m half way through writing.

We have decided to interrupt our once in a lifetime journey to take another once in a lifetime opportunity. We’re taking advantage of a last minute deal for a 5 day trip to the Galapagos Islands. We’ll have no internet access for the duration, but we’ll have plenty of time to catch up on our writing. Expect lots of great pictures next week!

For fun, I will be updating our location while we’re there since it doesn’t require internet access, so check in to our location page and see where we’re touring.

Update: I’ve noticed the small version of our location on the right side of the main page apparently doesn’t accept southern latitudes. If you click through to the location page the big map is correct. I’ll work on fixing this as time permits.

Saturday, January 10

Today we planned on going to the airport to find out about shipping the bikes to South America. In reading other riders’ reports we were hoping to ship and fly to Medellin, Colombia by using Copa Airlines.

On the way to the airport we stopped by Panama Bikers, a custom Harley shop that was recommended on ADV. The place is popular with ADV riders, and has a log book that is signed by many riders who have made similar trips as ours. Matt was looking for oil for my bike, and while we were at the shop, he met the owner. The owner recommended a good mechanic – Antonio Cabassas (who Matt read about on ADV) to look into my oil leak problem as well a welder who could fix Matt’s splitting pannier. He called the mechanic from his cell phone and made an appointment for us for Tuesday morning. He told Matt that when we came back from the airport, his “second in command” can take us to the welder. What a productive shop visit!

When we arrived to the cargo terminal at the aiport, we found out that Copa was not flying to Colombia until the last week of January. We tried DHL, which directed us to Girag, another air freight company used frequently by riders. Girag had cargo flights to Bogota, Colombia every day for $900 per bike. We were hoping to pay at least $150 less, but apparently their prices went up just recently, and that was our only air freight option.

We decided to check with Ross as he had talked about taking a roll on roll off ferry to Ecuador on January 15, or possibly splitting a shipping container between our bikes and his car. Ross was going to see his shipping agent on Tuesday, so we made plans to go together.

After the airport we were back at Panama Bikers. In addition to selling Harleys and scooters, they also have a little cafe that serves a surprisingly good lunch for a bike shop. We ate, signed the ADV riders log book, and left with “the second in command” to see the welder.

Apparently this welder is the best in town and mainly specializes in building custom tanks for boats. He did a very good job on Matt’s panniers, but it cost us $45 (for 15 minutes of work!) We were quite stunned at the price, but the job was well done and we would not have to worry about it anymore, so we paid up and rode back to the hotel.

In the evening we went out to look for a place to eat. The neighborhood we were in seemed mostly residential and we could not spot a restaurant anywhere around. We finally stumbled on a street with a casino, a pizza place, a fancy Italian restaurant and an Italian take out joint, that looked like an upscale burger drive trough and seemed to have been on that corner for many years. We decided to make it a cheap night, and ordered from the take out place. We ate dinner and drank wine in our hotel room while watching a movie on the computer.

Sunday, January 11

Greg emailed and told us he moved to Hostel Amador, which was nice and cheap and had availability. So we decided to move out of our posh bed and breakfast that morning. After a torturous ride through the city trying to find the hostel we finally made it. Greg was hanging out outside, so we made plans to venture into the old part of the city and have dinner together.

We split a cab and were dropped off in Casco Viejo – an old part of town which reminded us of New Orleans – narrow streets, attractive colorful buildings with balconies overlooking the streets, some recently fixed up and repainted, and some completely run-down and crumbling.

To our surprise a lot of the ramshackle buildings that seemed unusable were occupied by families, and I was a bit appalled by the living conditions which we could spot from the street.

Overall, what struck me the most was a contrast between the old and the new – the old crumbled buildings in the historic part of the city and the futuristic high risers in the striking distance across the bay; and contrast between the rich and the poor – the immaculately remodeled buildings turned into five-star boutique hotels and dilapidated houses with the worst living conditions imaginable.

After looking for a suitable place for dinner (most places were closed on Sunday) we ended up at a famous (for being cheap) local joint Coca Cola. The place was kind of stinky and hosted a mix of people from local elders, to families, to tourists and everyone in between. The dinner was nothing to write home about, but we satisfied our hunger and headed back to the hostel.

Matt and Greg sat out on the patio for some beers while I stayed in the room trying to catch up on the blog.

Monday, January 12

Monday was a national holiday – honoring the martyrs who were killed by the US troops in the 60’s. Yep, so we figured it was a good day to do some tourist activities. On our agenda was a ride along the Panama Canal, a canopy tram tour in the jungle, and a date with Ross and Greg at the Miraflores locks to watch the ships in transit being lowered through the locks.

We started out riding along the canal, which seemed much narrower than I imagined.

We then rode on the Centennial Bridge which we have seen on the tourist post cards and in the distance coming up to the canal.

It was very dramatic in person, comprised of thick metal cables attached in a modern architectural pattern to a simple stately frame.

Our next destination was the Gamboa Resort where we hoped to catch a canopy tram. We found out that it was not running on Mondays so we settled for a Canal boat tour to the Monkey Island to see the monkeys in the wild. We grabbed a quick fruit drink at the resort’s bar, which was of course hugely overpriced (and terrible!) and went outside to wait for our tour.

A special monkey mobile picked us up and drove us to the dock. We were given safety jackets, loaded into the boat and headed off on our tour.

We were cruising the canal and passing gigantic cargo ships that moved slowly to the locks. Their size was absolutely mind-blowing.

I have never seen ships this big so up close. After about 15 minutes we started pulling closer to a group of islands and spotted Howler monkeys hanging around high in the trees.

Hawler monkey make very loud fearsome noises which make you feel like you are encountering a huge primate, but in real life they were cute little black rascals playing around and chilling in the trees.

Our next encounter was with white face Capuchin monkeys. As we pulled up to one of the islands, our guide made special monkey noises and a group of about six monkeys started descending from the trees. The guide had some food which is what they were really after. Taking turns and sometimes in pairs they would jump in the boat to pick up their treats. They caused quite an exciting commotion among the people in the boat. Everyone was thrilled to see the adorable little monkeys with cute white faces a foot away. In the end we were probably more satisfied with the monkey tour than the tram tour we missed. We were able to actually be in a boat in the canal and the monkeys were great fun.

During our boat trip we also saw a crocodile resting on the shore, a large turtle swimming near the boat and a sloth doing its usual sleeping on the tree. When the tour was over and we were taken back to the dock it started drizzling. We were already quite late for our meeting with Ross and Gregory at the locks, and the monkey mobile has not pulled up to the dock yet, so we decided to walk/run to the resort. By the time we got to the bikes it was raining very hard and we were soaked through.

We suited up and jetted to the Miraflores locks as fast as we could. We saw Greg’s bike on the parking lot and ran into Ross at the entrance. After a quick tour of the museum and a movie (in Spanish, wrong showing) about the building of the canal, we located Greg, and the four of us along with a crowd of people were impatiently waiting for the two large ships to pull up to the locks and get lowered from one lock to another. The process was taking a long time and was not that exciting. Ross had a tough day so he left shortly. We waited until one of the ships was lowered and left as the visitor center was closing for tourists. The visitor center didn’t even wait for a ship to pass through before closing.

We picked up some produce and wine at the supermarket and rode to the hostel where we cooked a nice dinner (home cooked meal is a such special treat on the road!), drank three bottles of wine and hit the bed feeling pleased and satisfied with our day.

Tuesday, January 13

Getting up in the morning was tough as we weren’t feeling too crisp after three bottles of wine last night. But it was our Judgement Day, when we needed to decide our fate for shipping the bikes from Panama. The plan was for me and Greg to meet up with Ross at 9 am at the shipping agent’s office while Matt would go to his appointment with the mechanic.

We got an email from Ross in the morning that he would be going to the agent at 8 am instead to make it to the very opening. We changed our plans slightly and decided to drop off Greg’s bike at his new hostel which was two doors down from the mechanic and for him and I to take a cab to the agent’s office. It took us about two hours to combat the traffic and get to the agent’s office. Protestors were demonstrating for or against something or other, closing down a central artery of the city. We found out that Ross will be taking the roll on roll off ferry on Thursday to Ecuador which was already full. The only option for us would be to split the shipping container between three bikes which could be arranged by Saturday and shipped from Colon to Ecuador. The price was about $650 per bike, but the process involved a lot of paperwork hassle, going to numerous governmental agencies in Colon and Panama City, so we decided to give it some thought before committing.

Greg and I went back to the hostel/mechanic shop to check on Matt’s progress. It was 11:30 am and the work has just started on my bike. Greg hung around for a few hours, but it looked like it could take a more time, so he left.

At about 3 pm it looked like the work was done. Antonio noticed the outer countershaft seal was not seated properly, so he removed the seal and rode off to get a new one. After installing it, Matt took the bike for a short ride and no oil was leaking. Antonio worked in a very deliberate and methodical manner, which was confidence inspiring. We rode to the DHL office to pick up the new head sets that Matt’s parents sent us from Houston which was another sweltering journey through Panama City traffic. Finally after a long and exhausting day we were back at the hostel around 6 pm.

We ordered pizza from the nearby restaurant and watched The Day the Earth Stood Still movie, which neither of us liked.

We made the decision to airfreight the bikes the next morning to Bogota, Columbia, using Girag and hopefully fly out tomorrow as well.

Wednesday, January 14

We got up early, packed the bikes and were at the Girag terminal at 9 am. Initially, the woman at the info window told us we could ship the next day, but we asked if it could be done today and after checking with the shipping manager she told us it would be okay. We just had to drain the gas tank (which we didn’t do and no one checked on it), disconnect the battery and pay $900 cash for each bike.

We read about the cash requirement on other riders’ posts so were prepared with a fat stack-o greens. The shipping manager took our passports and bike documents and while were were preparing the bikes, he prepared the paperwork.

The whole process took about two hours, and was very painless. We were out of Girag by 11 am, heading to the airport to see if we could fly to Bogota that day.

Unfortunately, there were no flights available, only for next day, so we decided to spend a night at the only airport hotel in the area that was VERY overpriced, but had a pool, which we were willing to pay for. We were willing to pay to not have to endure more city traffic.

After we took care of our ticket reservation online, we spent the rest of the afternoon swimming and reading by the pool. After dinner we were trying to find a suitable place to stay in Bogota. All reasonably priced places we could find online were booked. We agitated over it for a couple hours and finally gave up, hoping that the situation would somehow resolve itself tomorrow.

Thursday, January 8

We followed our standard border crossing day plan and rose early. We ate breakfast and said farewell to the beautiful Costa Rican ocean view. Following up on the tip about a small town border crossing, I researched on ADV and found a great guide to finding your way to Rio Sereno. We decided it would be worth the extra riding to avoid the monstrously busy crossing along the main highway. We rode down the coast until it reconnected with the Panamerican, but road away from the border rather than towards it. Riding the entirety of 237 seemed better than the guide’s choice of riding the Panamerican and then going north before the border.

We rode north along the highway following a river. Naturally, since we were leaving the beach, it was finally a flawless sunny day. The course of the river gave the road a nice series of curves to follow and we wound our way towards our turnoff.

The road was paved, but narrow and it quickly climbed uphill to ride along a ridge line between two valleys. This was a real treat as we had splendid views of the Costa Rican landscape on both sides of us. After about an hour, we reached our turnoff town where we filled up our tanks and asked the police for directions to the border. Since there are hardly ever street signs, we weren’t sure we were going the right way, but the GPS did show us heading towards the border.

After only a few miles on the dirt road, we reached Rio Sereno. At the intersection of two dirt roads there was the Costa Rican aduana and immigration, and the Panamanian immigration and aduana. We were the only travelers here so there were no lines and no “helpers”. It seemed too good to be true. We checked ourselves out of Costa Rica and I walked into town to buy our Panamanian tourist stamps. We got stamped in and moved the bikes over to the aduana. It was a rocky, steep downhill and poor Inna fell over while turning into park.

The aduana process went reasonably quickly. The border agent was very sloppy in typing up our paperwork and I was constantly correcting his spellings and VIN numbers. Once through, we went to the obligatory fumigation. The lady doing the fumigation turned on the taps for maybe 1/10 of a second and absolutely nothing came out of the sprayers. She insisted we take some cloths and wipe down the bikes to remove the non existent pesticides from the controls so we didn’t get sick. I don’t know if she really thought she had sprayed the bikes or if she was just going through the motions.

We were on our way and soon riding through more lush countryside. The road was a great ride, with much tighter turns than we had seen in a while. The Panamanian engineers seem to like sharp corner entries with late apexes. We stopped on the road to take some pictures and a local rider we had passed stopped to see what we were up to. He was some sort of salesman who traveled by motorcycle. After chatting for a bit, he rode off and it started to rain. We rode through it until we passed Panama’s large volcano, ???, which was as usual hidden behind the clouds. I’m sure it’s pretty. We stopped and put some rain gear on, which signaled the heavens to stop raining.

We descended from the hills back to the Panamerican and we were shortly in David, Panama. It was getting dark as we looked for a cheap hotel. We finally found a reasonable hotel with secure parking and after making a quick trip to the store for water and juices, we retired for the night.

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Friday, January 9

This day was a proper transit day. It was 440 kilometers to Panama City, and we only stopped for gas. The scenery was neither beautiful nor ugly and not terribly memorable. The road was nearly straight, so we just cranked out the miles.

In the late afternoon we took the exit for the Puente Las Americas, the famous Bridge of the Americas that crosses the Panama Canal. As we approached the bridge, traffic began to congest and move slowly. The bridge itself is a huge steel trellis arch crossing the Panama Canal. The traffic was moving slowly because two lanes were closed, but even with the traffic, the exhaust, and the intense heat and humidity, it was immensely gratifying to be crossing the Panama Canal. This was a major milestone for our trip as it signaled we had reached the end of our North American journey. I had a huge smile on my face as I looked out at all of the freighters and tankers parked outside the mouth of the canal waiting for their clearance to enter.

My joy was short lived. Once off the bridge the traffic got worse and we were both soaked through with sweat from the heat. I roughly knew where our hotel for the night was located, but I hadn’t counted on the maze of Panama City. Unlike most of the colonial towns we had been in, Panama City was not based on a grid. It was a series of occasionally connect, non parallel one way streets. The major streets are marked, but the vast majority of streets seem to have no street signs so it was a real pain to figure out where you were. Naturally, the route I had previously chosen to get to our hotel consisted entirely of one way streets going the wrong way.

At one point we stopped to look at our city map, and a stranger pulled up and asked us if we needed directions. It turns out he was a fellow rider and I think even an ADV member. Miraculously I had stopped to look at the map only two turns from our hotel. After making the first turn, we came across Casa de Carmen, a full but well recommended hostel. As we rode by, we noticed Gregory’s distinctive bike with the reptile skin stickers covering the tank parked up front. We had been expecting to meet up with him again in Panama City, but not quite so easily. We went in to chat and make plans to get together later.

Panama City was very booked, as we had tried many, many hotels before we found a vacancy. Baru Bed and Breakfast was very nice, with an incredibly modern interior including a plasma TV in our room, and the best shower yet! Unfortunately, we were paying for the luxury. Luxury did not include secure parking so we parked the bikes in the very back of the property hidden in the shadows. Once settled in, we scoured the internet for a cheaper hotel for the next night, but no luck, we’d be staying another night. We crossed the street to Panaderia Noel (the famous city bakery), bought some tasty sandwiches, and spent the remaining evening hours enjoying our plasma TV.

Wednesday, January 7

We woke up around 9 am and did yoga on the observation deck above the hotel grounds overlooking the ocean. The hotel had free breakfast that was quite delicious with fresh fruit and tasty bread from the local French baker. Our plan for the day was to spend an afternoon on the beach and at the recommendation of the the hotel manager have dinner a few miles down the road at a beach club that was hosting a special BBQ Dinner at sunset on the beach.

Most of the hotels on this strip of the Osa Peninsula are located at least 20 minute walk from the beach due to government regulations that prohibit building directly on the beach, and also because there is a river that runs parallel to the beach that makes some of the areas quite swampy and difficult to cross.

We could ride our bikes to an easier beach access but didn’t feel like suiting up and riding in the heat, so at the recommendation of the hotel manager we were going to go through one of the nearby hotels jungle routes to get to the ocean. The sign at the beginning of the route noted that it was a 20 minute walk to the beach and about 45 minute round trip hike, marked with yellow tape along the way.

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It was a hot day and we had a pretty heavy load of yoga mats (we use them to lie on the beach), towels and a bag with food and water. We descended down a set of stairs from the hotel grounds and started walking along the narrow trail, going deeper and deeper into the jungle. We were fascinated by hundreds of ants on the ground that were carrying pieces of leafs 10 times their size along a complicated network of highways.

We crossed a shaky bridge over a swampy river, and kept going until we reached a wide river that separated us from the ocean. We could hear the ocean but could not figure out how and where to cross the river. The marked trail veered away from the river and around seeming to be leading back to the hotel. We were quite frustrated, exhausted and soaked in sweat.

We could not believe we walked all this way and had to turn back without reaching the ocean. We walked back feeling defeated. When we reached the hotel, I took a quick swim in their pool, and we had a refreshing fruit shake at the restaurant before heading back to our hotel at the top of a steep hill.

When we told our story to the hotel manager she said that usually that river could be crossed on foot, but recent rains must have expanded it dramatically. We spent the rest of the afternoon in the hotel’s pool until it started drizzling, and it was time to go to dinner.

We were picked up by a taxi cab and taken to the beach club, which was supposed to be located near the best strip of beach in the area. Our plan was to enjoy the beach, swim in the ocean, and join the BBQ dinner at sunset. Unfortunately, the increasing rain ruined our plans. We grabbed a beer at the club and walked to the beach in the rain.

We have seen a lot of beaches on this trip, and I have to say this one was one of the finest yet. Even in the rain with heavy clouds above it, the beach looked magnificent, and we were the only people there. We felt sorry for ourselves, gave our love to the pristine beach and walked back to the club. Due to the rain the BBQ was held at the the club’s restaurant instead of the beach.

The dinner was okay, if a bit overpriced. We caught a ride to the hotel from an elder British couple, Margaret and Phil, who own a home in the area and were very enthusiastic about our story. They gave us a few recommendations for South America from their own travel experiences. We watched an episode of Survivor before retiring to bed.

The next day we were going to cross the Panama border. To our delight we got a tip from the club’s owner to cross at a small border at Rio Sereno instead of Paso Canoas on the Panamerican highway. He said the ride to that border was beautiful and it was a much easier crossing with almost no traffic and/or hassle.

Tuesday, January 6

Not desiring to linger in Cartago, we rose early, had our free breakfast, and packed the bikes. Although they had been behind a fence topped with razor wire, they were visible from the street so we slept poorly, waking several times to check on the bikes. We headed back out of town on the road we came in on and shortly found our way to the Panamerican Highway.

Our plan for the day was to ride to the southern Pacific coast of Costa Rica. We would leave the Panamerican to head to Dominical, then ride the coast road until we found a suitable place to stop overnight. The beaches along this stretch of coast were supposed to be remote, but spectacular. It was partly cloudy in the morning, so we shed the rain liners and dressed as lightly as possible, expecting high 90 degree temperatures along the coast. Cartago was located at 5000 ft so the morning temperatures were comfortably cool.

We were only a few miles out of Cartago before the road began to climb. The landscape was the usual lush Costa Rican green. The traffic was light with the exception of a few lines of trucks held up by a slow vehicle. The trucks would ride just a few feet behind the bumper of the truck in front of them, leaving no gaps. Passing meant passing the entire line in one shot so it required a relatively straight stretch of road to get through.

To our surprise, the road continued to climb ever higher. The map we were using had contour lines on it, but they were rarely marked with altitude numbers. We knew we were crossing mountains, but we didn’t realize how significant the mountain pass was going to be. The fauna changed shades, with the green becoming less intense while the density of the jungle remained constant. Dressed for sweaty beach riding, we were becoming fairly chilly at this point and we cranked up the heated grips.

I was watching the altitude on the GPS as we crossed through the clouds 6500 ft. What we had expected to be a fairly routine day of transit had turned into a spectacular ride. The hillsides were becoming rockier, some covered in a fantastic red algae or moss that we never managed to photograph. As we crossed over 9000 ft the jungle was still thick, which we northerners were unused to. In the Seattle latitudes, 9000 ft would be above the treeline and rocks only. Here near the equator we were surrounded by jungle.

The highest GPS reading I have tracked was 10999.7 ft. We found a great viewpoint where we could stop and admire the view. We were looking down a forested valley in the clouds 4000 ft below. We lingered here for a while, soaking up the natural beauty of the scene. Without the rushing air from riding, we were able to warm up before remounting.

We descended a thousand feet to another scenic viewpoint where we took more photos. As we continued our descent, I felt a bit tipsy or lightheaded. It took me a moment to realize it was because of the altitude. I slowed down and within a few miles of downgrade I was back to normal.

Our turnoff point from CA-1 (Panamerican) was San Isidro. We had dropped 8000ft from the peak to 2300ft. We rode through the town on the road to Dominicali. As we road up a hillside overlooking a particularly scenic valley and San Isidro, we found a nice restaurant, and had a tasty lunch on the terrace overlooking the valley below.

After lunch we continued on down to Dominical, and started our search for a nice play to stay. It was early afternoon, so we had the rare luxury of being able to slowly work our way down the coast stopping in at several hotels to compare facilities and beach access. This part of the coast was a wildlife sanctuary, so none of the hotels were actually on the beach. They were all set back along the highway half a mile from the coast. This is good for the wildlife but makes the beach access difficult.

Few of the hotels we stopped at seemed worth their price, but we eventually chose the Lookout. The owner gave us a break on pricing, and the hotel was set high atop a hill with a panoramic view of the Pacific Ocean. We unpacked the bikes and quickly jumped into the pool. We had descended from the cool air of 11000 ft back to the sweltering heat of sea level in one day. The pool felt wonderful and we enjoyed a overly cloudy, but still nice sunset from our hilltop hotel.

Dinner was a short walk down the hill and down the road. As is typical in Costa Rica, foreigners owned the hotel restaurant we were headed towards. This particular one was owned by a clan of Estonians, and they had all of their friends from the area over for drinks and dinner, so it was quite a lively scene. The food was as good as the people watching, and after our walk home, we made it an early night.

Monday, January 5, 2009

The winds that had been howling all night long were still howling when we rose in the morning. They had been joined by a light rain. Our plan for the day had been to do yoga overlooking the lake and then ride to have lunch at the famous restaurant with a view of the lava flows on Arenal. It was time for plan B.

We had the Typical American Breakfast cooked up by our typical American boy chef. By the time the bikes were loaded and we were ready to go, the rain has slackened to a drizzle. I really can’t complain about the weather – we had had an amazing streak of good weather luck going. We had not had a rainy day since Northern California, nearly 2 months of riding in sunshine. The Miraflores cloud forest rain didn’t count to me because we deliberately rode from a partly cloudy day into a cloud forest, where it’s supposed to rain. Today was the first day of unavoidable rain and the rain liners felt awkward and uncomfortable.

We rode clockwise from the south end of Lake Arenal around the top and east towards the base of the volcano, although not even the base was visible through the clouds. I just knew it was in that general direction of the low gray wall of mist. Once past the cleverly named town of Arenal, across Lake Arenal from the volcano Arenal, the road narrowed and the vegetation thickened. I was actually enjoying the ride at this point. Many forests we had been in prior were technically called jungles, but this was the first time it actually felt like a jungle.

Deep, deep green plants, trees, and mosses towered over the road from both sides. Mosses grew on plants that were growing on other plants that were growing out of tree branches whose trunks were obscured from view by the giant leaves of the ground plants. Leaves with the familiar shape of an oak leave were as big as your torso. Proper jungle.

At some point, we came across people parked on the side of the road, feeding a pozole. I’d never seen one before. The occupants of the car didn’t believe in the theory of not feeding wild animals as they were feeding the creature everything they could find in their car. Apparently pozoles love cheetohs as it was worked into a frenzy of epicurean joy chasing after each one. Its fur was soon covered in orange flecks of cheetohs dust.

We rode across the dam and past the base of the volcano, which was actually visible from the back side (the base, not the volcano). I was even able to see the very bottom edge of an old lava flow on one slope. The only time I was able to see what the volcano looked like was on a billboard we drove by. The rain was steady by now, but we were both dry except for our hands. We had both chosen to stick with the summer gloves as the waterproof winter gloves were just too hot and we kept hoping the rain would end. Wet hands aren’t so bad if you turn the heated grips on.

We continued our ride east, towards another town at the base of another Volcano, Cuidad Quesada. The actual name of the city is San Carlos, but is referred to on the maps and road signs as the Burnt City. It was a decent sized town. We rode past a Suzuki and then a Yamaha dealer, so we stopped at the latter and I went in to look for a spare quart of oil. They had nothing suitable so I walked down to Suzuki who only carried synthetic oil. Annoying but not dire yet.

While we were remounting to head out, I asked one of the employees for road directions and his opinion of the road further east. He said the road was terrible and very dangerous. I hadn’t figured out yet how pointless it was to ask locals for directions as they have rarely, if ever, have left their home town. With that seed of doubt planted in my mind and the fact that it was already 2pm, we passed on the more interesting road to the east and headed south through Alajuela to rejoin the main highway. The local had told me we’d be crossing a 3000m pass so I was looking forward to the views.

The climb up from the town wound through incredibly bright green hillside farms. The low clouds wrapped around the rounded hilltops as we zoomed upwards. I wasn’t used to the map scale for these small countries and was shocked to see that the city 2/3 of the way through this mountain route was only 29km away. The Mexico maps really affected my sense of scale when reading a map dedicated entirely to Costa Rica.

The ride through hills was pleasant, but the local was incorrect about the altitude. The peak pass was only 2000m and we were soon winding our way down to the central valley. We rejoined the Pan American highway and were soon dumped into downtown San Jose. The bypass street signs are never clear. We stopped for a late lunch and then continued through the city, again missing the sign to the main highway. We rode slowly further in the dark until we reached our stopping point for the night, Cartago.

Cartago (Carthage) had been the capital for 300 years, but it was a rather charmless commercial town. Our hotel was across the street from the cathedral, which provided the only beauty the town had to offer. It was colorfully lit at night and looked like a Disney castle. We slept poorly that night, waking up several times to check on the bikes which were highly visible from the street locked behind a chain link fence.

Sunday, January 4

We had a leisurely morning at the hotel, had breakfast, hit the pool and rolled out by noon. The ride to Arenal took about 4 hours. We both were stunned at how much better and smoother the bikes rode on the dirt road after we loosened the chains. Needless to say, my bike didn’t wobble as much since we put in the missing bolt that was holding the rear frame.

The road took us through lush green country side, crossing the inlet, more country side, and finally arriving to the Arenal area. After doing a little bit of hotel research online, we were conscious of the fact that most hotels could be full or would be very expensive.

We took the road heading east around the lake and pulled into the first hotel that advertised all the amenities we were looking for. To our surprise, the hotel/lodge was almost empty which suited us just fine.

After unpacking, we took a hike down to the lake through a jungle forest, planning on having a quick picnic of sandwiches we bought at Cafe de Paris that morning and watching the sunset.

The lake front was not very impressive, it had a couple of places offering wind surfing lessons, and that was about it.

The water was definitely not see-through like on lake Atitlan in Guatemala ( I later found out Arenal is a man-made like, thus the muddy waters), and it was a bit too windy and cloudy for our taste. We ate our food and headed back up to the hotel, anticipating to spend some time in the outdoor hot tub.

We opened a bottle of wine and headed for the hot tub. It was a tiny hole in the rock, big enough for only two people but deep enough to cover us from head to shoulders. It felt amazing – sitting in the outdoor hot tub with perfect temperature water, gazing over the lake and the stars, drinking red wine, listening to the sounds of nature – a truly divine experience!

It was dinner time. We were one of the only three couples staying at the hotel. We noted to ourselves that the lodge seemed too big and too grand for its current purpose. It had a Hellenic-inspired decor (the owner insists it is Minoan), native indigenous scenes frescoed on the walls, panoramic windows overlooking the lake, mighty columns supporting the inner facade, and a lot of hollow space. It felt like a palace that used to thrive with life many years ago but was abandoned and turned into a lonesome place that hosts an occasional traveller. There was even a complete brewery set up, though obviously not a functioning one. If you’re a brewmaster reading this, the owner is looking for you.

I was quite surprised but happy that the hotel restaurant served dinner. Interestingly enough, the cook/server/the only person in the kitchen was a young skater boy from Califronia. He told us he stayed at the hotel for free, worked for free as a cook and “learned to run a boutique hotel.” The owner, a gentlemen from New Mexico, had built the hotel in the 90’s, and frequently hosted kids from US as interns in exchange for labour. One of them had been a serious skater and convinced the owner to build a huge skate park overlooking the lake, the largest in Central America.

We finished our bottle of wine at dinner, did some work online and went to bed looking forward to the next day of riding around the lake and checking out Volcano Arenal, one of the most active volcanoes in Southern hemisphere.

Saturday, January 3

We woke up around 7 am and went to a community yoga class at the Nosara Yoga Institute.

There are four different outdoor practice spaces at the Institute all located in the jungle setting. We were in a Tree Top room, overlooking the jungle, listening to the sounds of birds and smelling the fragrant flower scents in the air during the practice. After 90 minutes of deep stretching and breathing we had a healthy and tasty breakfast at Cafe De Paris and hurried down to the beach.

A few hours on the beach was enough time in the excruciating sun and decided to spend the rest of the afternoon in the hotel’s pool. When we arrived to the hotel, the keeper girl told us the owner was coming and we needed to clear the room as soon as possible. When I asked her if she had another room ready for us, she said she was all booked. What a bummer! I went to check on the two other hotels we tried last night and they were also booked for that night. We had a few other hotels in the area recommended to us so decided to try them out and if they were unavailable we would ride to Arenal.

On the way out the keeper girl told me they bought a new faucet to fix the pipe and I owed $20 for it. Can’t get out of paying for that one, clumsy bee.

We tried the one recommended hotel, but it seemed empty and too far from the beach.

The other place was a lot more livelier, catering to the surfing community, so despite an awfully high price (the highest we have payed yet for a hotel), we decided to stay there for one more night, do bike maintenance, and have a nice dinner at a restaurant on the beach.

We were definitely glad we stayed, as the bike maintenance revealed a few problems that we had to deal with immediately. (See Matt’s earlier post)

After spending a few hours working on the bikes, we cooled off in the pool and it was time to take our sunset walk along the beach to La Luna restaurant that was about 30 minute beach walk away.

The sunset was not too impressive because of the cloudy sky, but it was amusing to see tens of the surfers floating in the water waiting to catch the wave.

We very much enjoyed our special dinner on the veranda overlooking the ocean. We made our way back to the hotel walking in the dark on the beach, gazing at occasional stars slipping through the invisible clouds in the night sky. After a bit of stress in the afternoon the day turned out to work out perfectly.