Costa Rica to Nicaragua; traveling for those without deep pockets.
After the Panama-Costa Rica border we rode a further 120km to Uvita: a costal town with long beaches and fresh coconuts to boot. Before arriving in Uvita we stopped for lunch at a happening local place, completely packed with people. We had to wait for a table, which is the first time ever since leaving the States. Enjoying some lunch at a table nearby was a couple from Florida who were curious about our bikes and the trip. We told them we were riding from Michigan to see every country in North America and that we are doing the trip in support of the Wounded Warrior Project, raising money and awareness for this important charity. He then revealed that he is a Veteran Navy pilot of 22 years, and that he flew a myriad of planes whilst serving. This lovely couple decided to move from Florida and live in the tropical(yet expensive) paradaise of Costa Rica. We said our goodbyes as they left for home and us to continue on to Uvita; however, when we went to pay for our meals and found out that this very kind couple had generously paid for us, without even telling us.

Very kind of them and we are extremely grateful, surprised by this act of selfless generosity we continued to Uvita. After arriving we ventured into downtown in the atempt to find a hostel or camping spot. After coming up with nothing we spoke to some locals who gave us the down-low on a good place to stay. Flutterby, a play on the word butterfly (or mariposa in Spanish) was the hostel we were looking for. A dirt road and lots of dust later we found our destination for the night. For $10 a person we could camp or pay $4 more for a bed in a dorm, we decided to take the marginaly more expensive option and sleep in a bed for the night (at least there was a fan, that was well worth the extra $4). The atmosphere of the place was calm, very surfy and communal. We walked through the gate and were met by a large bar, a communal kitchen, dinning area, bathrooms/showers, and ping pong area. The dorms were perched in amongst the tree canopy with a slight breeze which aided sleeping in this muggy habitat. From our previous experience in Costa Rica we knew how expensive everything is, especially eating out; we decided to purchase some supplies and chef Tim was to cook vegetable chilli for us. After filling up on delicious rice and chilli we meet two girls that were traveling together and they told us of this bioluminescant plankton that we would be able to see that night at the beach. Wasting no time we donned our swimmers and headed to the beach. All was dark, the sky, the water, everything. Some locals told us that we had to go in the water to see them so in we went and sure enough with our bodies disturbing the water it was as if it rilled the plankton up and the water began lighting up. Lighting bugs in the ocean! It was wonderous, nature produces the most intruiging and beautiful things on this earth. Bemused we spent a long time disturbing the water and splashing ourselves which led to glowing specks of plankton all over our bodies, on our shorts, in our hair and face. It was quite a sight, definitely not one to be forgotten soon. Back on the beach there was a bonfire raging so we headed in and joined the growing crowd of people chatting, relaxing in the sand, just enjoying the night air. A few hours later we decided to retire to our lofty beds as we were leaving to Honduras the next day.

The next morning we awoke with the sun due to having no walls around our shack amongst the leaves. We cooked a breakfast of eggs, something that we had not eaten in quite a while and missed sincerely. After re-loading the bikes we hit the road heading for the town of Puntarenas where we caught a ferry across to the peninsula town of Paquera and continued from there to the small beach village called Montezuma. Here we found a hostel for $10 a head, "Tienes estacionamieto para motocyclietas?"(do you have parking for motorcycles?). The receptionist replied: "Si, si! Aqui.." (yes, yes! Here..), as she pointed to the rocky beach behind the hostel. We rode our bikes down a narrow path to the 'parking' spot and left them standing in the sand for the night, after taking most everything off of them as we were told that it would all get stolen if we left it there. We then decided to relax in the ocean and cool off, afterwards we headed out to find some cheap local cuisine. After viewing the menu of practically every restaurant in this small village we decided on a little corner kitchen where were had "comida typicos" (typical food) which consisted of rice, beans, various other vegetables and your choice of meat. After dinner we trudged over to the icecream shop that was convieniently directly across the road from where we had dinner, clearly meant to be. We headed back to the hostel to get some rest for the long day that was to come: 300km and a border crossing, we just hoped that this border would take less than half a day.

Lessons from the road 2: Border Crossings

Borders, they've existed for hundreds of years and are, in almost all cases, the first experiences you will have of the culture and people of the country you are entering. Because this is the first opportunity a country has of impressing you, and they've had so much time to perfect it, you could expect that borders would be beacons of efficiency, designed to make your progress into the country quick, easy and pain-free; leaving you feeling happy and energised for the time you are about to spend in that country. While travelling in Europe or the USA you may have experienced such borders, and you may even imagine that this is what you should expect at all borders; however, such borders are merely a fantasy in Central America..

To date, we have spent almost 48 hours at border crossings in Central America borders. They seem to have been designed with the same logic that a three-year-old uses when he decides to eat crayons; although, perhaps that is unfair to three-year-olds. Generally they tend to follow a commonly illogical process, involving a zig-zagging pattern of movement (see attached map), going to one counter to get a piece of paper which you then have to take to another counter to get a stamp, then back to the original counter with the stamped piece of paper only to be told that you now need to produce a photocopy, but the only working photocopier is half a mile away in the nearest town, inside the country you are trying to enter. So you come back with your photocopy, get a signature on both pieces of paper, head to the nearest motor insurance company to pay for insurance then head to customs; at customs they throw the photocopy you just got in the bin, print off another piece of paper and tell you to get that photocopied (because they can't press the print button twice apparently).. Several hours later, after navigating the maze of immigration counters, insurance agents, customs inspectors and photocopiers; paying the six different fees you are required to pay (in US$, even though there is no ATMs to get US$ from); you emerge from the border into the afternoon sun, exhausted, hot, hungry and dehydrated, but incredibly glad to have finally made it through another Central American border.

General layout of a Central American border crossing.

Boquete, and a lucky run in with an old friend

Back on the road after the blown tire incident, we decided to ride to Boquete: a small picturesque town high up in the mountains surrounded by amazing views and a few volcanoes. Interesting fact: according to The Lonely Planet, Boquete is the number four place for US retirees, leading us to meet quite a few Americans with whom to share our experiences

Leaving from San Felix where the tube was repaired we rode to David, a much larger city, in order to find some spare tubes for the KLR and a new chain for Shaun's Wee-Strom. Riding into town, eyes peeled for a bike shop, a very familiar Harley Davison rode past. We pulled into a parking lot for a bike shop and the Harley pulled in right behind us and off hoped Gilberto our mate from Bocas Del Toro; fancy running into him again! After briefing him on what had happened since our last meeting we told him what we were looking for, and he knew exactly where to go and led us to the place that had everything (almost) that we needed. There we bought spare tubes for the KLR and even got a chain for the Wee-Strom which was changed right there and then. Our bikes were now good as new, however; this would not last for long. We told Gilberto about our plans to ride to Boquete and do the volcano hike (the only place in Central America where you can see both the Atlantic and the Pacific Ocean at the same time). He offered to guide us there and so we headed off together, following Gilberto through the rain (our ever faithful companion) to Boquete

Upon arrival we were all very hungry and Gilberto led us to a very nice restaurant called Baru and shouted us lunch (thank you very much Gilberto). We then searched around for a hostel and settled on Hostel Mamallena, conveniently next door to the restaurant Baru, for a couple of nights. We got in and decided to completely unload our bikes as we had heard of a trail that we could ride that went 5 km up into the mountains and 5km back. Our small room very quickly became even smaller with everything we had on our bikes now situated on the floor, under beds, and on hangars all over the room; we created a walkway to the bathroom and to each bed and that was all we had to get around. One thing you don't usually think about when undertaking a journey like this on motorcycles is the stench that all of your gear acquires.. Now all of that stench was in our small, single window room. Needless to say, we spent little of our time in the room and mostly had the door open in the effort to aerate the room. The next day we rose and had breakfast at a little coffee shop across the town square and watched the world go by. Ready for the mountain we geared up and headed off on our now very light and zippy motorcycles, our faithful pack horses now felt like Ducati's.

We got to the head of the trail and set off gung-ho, supremely confident in our ability and now with the feeling that our bikes were pro dirt bikes. Down the first hill there were no incidents, however; we were quickly finding out that the trail that we thought was mostly dirt, was in fact mostly wet river rocks with some mud thrown in. What goes down must come up, so after reaching the bottom of the hill we now had to ride up a rather steep hill to continue on. After a quick break to get the camera's sorted and make sure the bikes we ready, Tim rode up on the KLR without incident. Once clear Chris followed on his Wee-Strom once more without incidence. Now came Shaun on his Wee-Strom, powering up the hill (if you were to go slow there was no chance of making the top) everything was going well, into the fist corner with the bike bouncing all over the rocks the rear end bounced and changed the direction of the bike.. Straight into the dirt wall and ditch. Shaun later realized that the throttle lock had been bumped on thus making it impossible to roll the throttle off in time. Shaun's leg was pinned beneath the bike and the wall, thankfully he was uninjured however, the bike was well and truly in the ditch. About 5 minutes of lifting and dragging the bike out on its side it was finally out, and in relatively good condition. The only damage was to the right foot peg which had snapped but thankfully stayed on. Slightly shaken, we continued on in the hopes it would get less rocky, however; further up the mountain only got steeper and seemingly more rocky. Up the next hill following too closely behind Chris who stopped about 30 feet up, Shaun had to stop so to not run into Chris. Stopping on a rocky mountain has its own intricacies, if you don't use the rear brake or can't you will slide. This fall was more of a slow lay down of the bike nevertheless, it snapped off the left foot peg. So after some patching, Shaun's Strom now has a KLR rear foot peg as the left foot peg and can be considered a "hybrid". At this point we re-evaluated the ride and came to the conclusion that wet rocks, nearly bald road tires, and our bikes could not quite handle this degree of off road. Only 1 mile in, we decided to turn around and head back; we came upon the last hill without any crashes and prepared to ride up. This time Shaun led the way and powered up it sticking in the middle of the road after learning quickly about how bouncy the bike got on wet rocks. The bike leapt and bounced over the rocks making it most of the way up the hill until the rear bounced off the rocks and into softer dirt, which it instantly dug into and threw him off the bike landing knee first onto a rock. Unfortunately the kneepad in the protective pants Shaun was wearing shifted to the side as soon as it hit the ground so it was more or less knee meeting rock very quickly and hard. After rolling in pain for a while, with a few strong words thrown in, he got back up and lifted the bike up; Chris rode the final 20 feet to the top with Shaun following by foot. Shaun rested at the top whilst Tim and Chris went back to their bike and rode up. A wrapped knee later we were on the mountain road heading back to Boquete, where Shaun rested the remainder of the day and iced his knee. Lesson of the day: there's a good reason that dirt tires were invented.. 

First leg on the road back

After departing Panama City we began our journey back to the US, a strange feeling to be heading backwards for the first time! The first half of the journey that day was relaxed and easy; open highway, clear skies and very little traffic made for quick progress. Of course, it wouldn't be an adventure though if we didn't run into challenges and once we'd passed Santiago we hit road works and delays. As the afternoon drew on, progressing at half the speed of the morning, we wer...e beginning to wonder if we'd make it to David, our destination for that day. We didn't have to wait long for an answer to that question; 70 miles from David, the highway was blocked by indigenous Panamanians, protesting the construction of a dam nearby; the traffic was backed up for miles but lucky for us we had the advantage of being able to slip past on the side of the road. After reaching the front of the traffic, we navigated our way past the road block and the crowds, pushing through to open roads again and the relief of getting through all that without having to wait for hours! 

The relief was short lived though, Tim noticed an increasing vibration from the front end of his motorcycle and, pulling over to investigate the cause, we found that he had somehow punctured the tire while passing through the protesting crowd. Being prepared for such eventualities, we filled the tire with Slime and re-inflated it with one of our portable tire inflators, hoping that it would be enough to get us to David. The goo didn't work though, the hole was too high up and air continued to leak out, albeit slower than without Slime. Not wanting to stop get stuck in the middle of nowhere, we attempted to continue our travel to the nearest town with a mechanic, stopping every 1.5 miles to re-inflate his front tire. After travelling this way for about 10 miles the Slime lost all effectiveness and the tire wouldn't inflate past 10 psi, less than half of the required pressure; thankfully though, there was a small village right near us. Talking to the owner of the local mini-super (a tiny store to buy groceries), they were more than happy to help us out by letting us camp there for the night. Tim parked his motorcycle in their garage, removing the front tire in the fading evening light so that we'd be ready to go to the next town, San Felix, to find a mechanic that could help us remove the tire and repair the tube.

The next morning we awoke, packed up our sweat soaked camping gear (the night didn't get below 80!) and waited on the side of the road for a colectivo to pass by and take us to San Felix. We didn't have too long to wait thankfully and we ran into a German expat at the mechanic that was able to help us translate what we needed to do to the tire. Within 10 minutes, the mechanic had removed the tube, patched it up and we were ready to go; all for only $3! Now we were ready to continue our journey and head to Boquete.

The indigenous road block

Attempting some roadside repairs

Cardboard cops, always ready!

Our campsite for the night

The local mechanic at work

The cause of our troubles

New directions

With great effort and determination we forced ourselves to abandon the tropical paradise of Bocas del Toro and continue our journey southbound; our destination Colon and, finally, an answer to the question "will we be able to get to Colombia?". The journey to Colon was itself took almost 10 hours longer than the 5 hours estimated by one of the local firemen working at the station we had left our motorcycles; winding mountain roads, thunderstorms and road works delayed us so long that we had to stay overnight in Santiago and continue the trip the next day.

The second day of our journey to Colon had another surprise in store for us, our first speeding ticket! Shaun was leading and, although the speed limit was 80 km/h on a four lane highway, we were doing what we usually do and follow the example of the local traffic doing about 100 km/h. Despite going the same speed as local traffic, a motorcycle police officer hiding in the shadows of a tree just after a hill decided that we alone were speeding, pulled Shaun over and proceeded to write him a $75 ticket. Deciding that we didn't want to get another ticket that day, we agreed to go exactly the speed limit, regardless of how many cars honked their horns at us as we slowed the rest of the traffic down. Not more than 5 minutes later though, another member of the policia pulled us over again and told Shaun that we were doing 90 km/h; he must have had specially calibrated eyeballs because he definitely didn't have a radar gun with him. Lucky for us though, he decided not to give us another ticket after we showed him that we had just got one from his mate down the road.

When we finaly arrived in Colon late that afternoon we were surprised with what we found: a decrepit city with sewage clogged streets, crumbling colonial buildings and an overall feeling that we were not welcome there; if Panama City is the mouth of the canal then Colon is aptly named as the other end.. Still, we had made a committment to get to Colombia, so we had to stay there and see what we could find out the next day. In the light of a new day we began our enquiries with the hotel reception but the only advice they could offer us was that it wasn't safe to walk around the town. Not to be deterred, we put on the steeliest gazes we could muster and set out on our quest to find a boat to Colombia; after several hours of walking and asking people though, we were still no closer to finding a way there. Feeling a little dejected, we dodged the crowds running through the streets and returned to the safety of the hotel in order to decide what to do. We had come so far, it felt unfair to be stopped by something that seemed so simple; if only the ferry we had planned on taking before we embarked on the trip was still running! Disheartened, we decided to ride to Panama City and discuss our options.

And so here we are, after much discussion (and some examination of our bank accounts) we have decided that it is not economically feasible for us to pay the extra $1000 each it would cost to fly with our motorcycles to Colombia. Do not worry though dear reader, although the dream of riding to Brazil may be put on hold for now, it doesn't mean that the adventure is over. We have decided that we will change our plan and take our time riding up the Pacific side of Central America, in to Baja California then back up through the US, with a brief sojourn into Canada before finishing back where we started; 15000 miles, 4 months and every country in continental North America later.

We have not forgotten the reason for our trip

We are now in the last country of Central America and will soon (hopefully) be crossing the Darien gap into Colombia, and towards our final goal of Brazil. The trip so far has been filled with amazing sights, people, and culture, more than we could have imagined! It has not been without its own challenges and hardships. Language, traffic, accidents, and the fatigue of riding so far for so long. Our trials however, are small compared to those of our service men and women. Those who have decided to serve and protect us endure much more difficult and enduring hardships not only overseas but on the home front as well. As a result of injuries received overseas, 7% of warriors are permanently housebound, an estimated 400,000 soldiers have Post Traumatic Stress Disorder (PTSD), and a slightly lower number estimated with Traumatic Brain Injuries (TBIs). This is the price of our protection and freedom. For those who have given so much for us it is only right to give back in any way we possibly can. Currently we have raised $1,350 out of our $100,000 goal through our Wounded Warrior donation page. We are immensely happy with the way the public has received us and are grateful for the donations to the Wounded Warrior Project and the service people who project our country and its freedom. We hope to keep spreading the cause and raising funds for our service people in need. If you are currently serving or have served previously, we would like to thank you for your sacrifices, it's people like you who make this country great.

Boat ride onto Boca del Toro

Best $10 I ever spent? Well it goes like this, after travelling for close to 10 hours, a 5 hour border stop and twisty mountain roads we arrived at a city called Almirante. Turns out we spent too long at the border(not by our choice) and arrived just short of the last official boat leaving to the island of Bocas. Confused and without a clue of what to do we are about to walk into a shop when a man pulls up on a very nice Harley and says: "hey guys what's up?" After some conversing he says that he can help us not only get to Bocas but also find somewhere to park our bikes safely... at a bombardos (firestation). After paying the $9 fee we take a taxi to the water taxi dock and find this man who is going by his own boat to Bocas with his family, after settling on a fee of $10 we are on board and committed. As we are leaving the dock the engine is clearly struggling and spluttering frequently. Not to far away are massive black storm clouds. Great. About 10 minutes in it starts chucking it down: rain, thunder and lightning. The weather looking worse and worse by the second, the boat driver flags his friend down in another boat. Basically he feared that he would have engine problems and get stuck so he had us transfer mid ocean to this other small vessel. Once on board the rain came down even harder, making it impossible to see. By now it had gone dark and the only way we had of knowing where we were going was by the bright flashes of lightning that helped illuminate our way. After about thirty minutes we stop and I am tasked with holding on to a buoy so we don't drift away (I don't remember that being included in the price) whilst we wait for our original driver to catch up so they can figure out what's going on the rain let's off a little. After about 15 minutes we decide to leave to another island where both boat drivers live and wait there. Eventually he catches up and after a small discussion it is decided we will hop back into his small, very run down boat with a busted engine and he will take us the remaining way to Bocas. What was a '25 minute boat ride' took us an hour and a half..
Even so it was the honest best $10 I've ever spent. What an experience, not one you would get catching a regular water taxi!

It has been a crazy couple of weeks here in Central America. We apologize for the lack of updates, the wifi we have found down here has been rather unreliable.

Our story left off as we were heading to the quaint little town of Bacalar which is nestled in on a beautiful, turquoise lagoon. At our beachside hostel we met some fellow travelers and shared stories and advise while enjoying some delicious food. After waking up and emerging from our bug-netted beds, we set sail for San Ignacio, Belize. 30 minutes of riding brought us to our first Central American Border crossing. Would we be arrested on sight? Perhaps publicly beaten to make an example to other would be travelers? Despite all of the horror stories we heard the crossing only took about an hour and we were on our way. Belize is a rather small country so we were able to cross most of it in a day and arrive in San Ignacio to find an empty hostel to call home.

The next morning Shaun and Chris went on a tour of the ATM caves that reside nearby. The tour involved a 1 hour drive, 45 minute hike and 3 hours of walking/crawling/swimming through a cave. This cave became famous because of the ancient Mayans who would go deep into it to make human sacrifices to the rain god in an attempt to end droughts. Of course no tour is complete without a car crash so as we were winding down a narrow dirt road a massive oncoming dump-truck decided to play a game of chicken. As the vehicles neared, our van began to shudder and jump violently throughout the entire length of the truck. The end of the battle was signaled by one last jolt as the rear bumper was ripped off. A few kind words were exchanged between drivers, pictures were taken, and we were on our way.

The hike gave way to the entrance of the cave as we all put on helmets and checked our headlamps. The cave fluctuated between tiny, jagged corridors barley big enough to fit through and massive caverns covered in shimmering stalactites. The deeper we went the more Mayan artifacts we found, mostly bowls and bloodletting dishes. After climbing a ladder and entering another cavern we came across some human remains. There was only one fully intact skeleton that was at the very back of the cave because many of them were washed away by the waters. Mayans would drug their sacrifices and lead them into the cave to be offered to their gods. Thankfully there was no drought occurring so everyone in our group emerged unharmed.

Getting into Guatemala was not quite a seamless as we had hoped. This border was a chaotic scene with hundreds of people running around and and an endless stream of vehicles honking and squeezing by. After four hours of jumping from window to window, getting copies, signatures, and sweating in the 95 degree heat we were granted permission to enter the pearly gates of Guatemala.

Our first stop at Tikal, the largest Mayan ruins in Central America was incredible. We arrived late so we had the entire park to ourselves (minus the monkeys). These ruins were massive! Most of the guards had left by that point so we could climb all over and conduct a self guided sunset tour of the area. We had to camp at Tikal in a field just outside of the park. If you have never heard the jungle at night, it is quite a sound to behold! At one point I thought we may have been moved to a zoo.

Leaving Tikal behind we rode the winding mountain roads all day to get to Rio Dulce where we found a relaxing little hostel only accessible by boat. We paid some family 25 Quezales ($3) to watch our bikes for a couple of days and took a 5 minute boat ride to the Kangaroo hostel. It was a fantastic place to stay! We highly recommended if you happen to find yourself in the area. On our day off here we took some colectivos (private shuttles) to local hot springs and found a canoe ride through a towering canyon. On the way back we found a colectivo but it was completely full. The definition of a full vehicle is very different in Central America than it is in North America. If there is enough room for you to lift your arms, then there is is room for 12 more people to pile in. So we looked at the luggage rack on the top and pointed and the driver gave a nod so we hopped on. 30 minutes of weaving through mountains while clinging to the top of a van and we were back in town. The smell of adventure was thick in the air. Of course we negotiated a bit of a discount.

Sadly we had to leave Rio Dulce behind and head for the Honduras border. After arriving at the border we were told that we were missing an exit stamp from Guatemala so we had to backtrack 10km to find a small booth to get our passports stamped. Then when we returned the customs officer had gone on a lunch break. Long story short, we had to hang out near the window for over 5 hours because the “system was down”. But the wait was worth it as Honduras has the most enjoyable roads for riding motorcycles that we have seen on this trip. We rode for over 9 hours and the bikes were constantly leaning into gentle curves that cut through the mountain ranges and grazing fields.

After spending a couple of days traveling through Honduras, we came to the Nicaraguan border. As soon as we pulled up, a flock of people surrounded us and our motorcycles and started to speak rapid Spanish to us. Thankfully there was one person who spoke English as well and he helped us get around to all of the randomly scattered booths and stamp locations. Everyone we met was very friendly and willing to help.

After leaving the border we rode for a little over 4 hours in torrential rain to reach the colonial city of Leon. When we arrived it took about an hour of looking to find a hostel with open space. Finally we drug our soaking wet gear and bodies into the Tortuga Booluda hostel. It was almost instantly lights out when we hit the beds. Now we are using their Wifi to update our followers and reconnect with home. In a couple hours we will catch a shuttle to go sandboard down Cerro Negro, a nearby volcano. Sorry for the long-winded post, it has been a long couple of weeks. We are just getting adjusted to traveling through Central America, Costa Rica awaits for tomorrow! Cheers!