Day 9

Despite our early night 3 am still seems early. We shuttle to the airport and fly out to Newark. In Newark our Montreal flight is delayed and we decide that we have enough time for a quick beer. As I am leisurely sauntering back to the gate after a quick pee I see Charles waving at me frantically. I see the ticket agent put the mic up to his mouth and then my name booms through the PA system. Seems our flight was not boarding at 3:40 but leaving. We rush down the aisle to the two remaining seats as they slam the door closed behind us.

Day 8

Awakening from a sleep not induced by Tequila has us both us feeling good. We have to return our two steeds today. We thought we could source some metric bolts to repair the bike but upon disassembly discover that they are a special hollow shoulder bolt.

We remove some body work and using our luggage straps create support for the rear frame.

Charles with the tools of the trade zip ties and a multi tool.

We have been using GPS throughout this trip and once again it proves invaluable. We make our way through narrow streets and roundabouts in a way that would be difficult with a map on a bike. The first gas station has no fuel so we move on to the next. It is a multi level affair and as the Super flows we notice several men prowling the grounds with 12 gauges at the ready as well as automatic side arms. These are not sleepy security guys leaning against walls. Their heads are on swivels, the guns are held with the finger on the trigger guard. No one else seems to notice. We the weave through some rough looking areas, some with piles of smouldering trash at the roadside until we are greeted by Hernan’s smiling face. His smile doesn’t last as we point out the structural failure we encountered. As the company mechanic I’m sure he wasn’t happy to have yet another bike join the two others he was already repairing. One had been in an accident and another was a bundle of exposed wires as he was trying to trace a pesky electrical problem. Nonetheless he waved us off and the shuttle bus returned us to the Britannia. We quiz our driver about the safety of the hotel area and he mentions that this an area frequented by the local transvestites. Charlie had mentioned to me on the night we arrived that he thought the tall woman on the corner was a man. Good eyes. We head into the city square for food and souvenirs. It’s Saturday and everyone is out. We meet a man at a shop who speaks good English and has spent time in Montreal. With a quick shoulder check he lets slip that he prefers us to our neighbours to the south. Mexicans are apparently the worst… Stocked up with trinkets we seek lunch. The shopkeeper’s recommendation looks a little touristy to us so move one. Then in a city of over a million who do we see walking towards us? Tony our hydroponics expert pops out of the masses with a look of surprise on his face to match ours. We make our excuses and shortly thereafter see a little corner restaurant where we try to bluff our way throght the menu. I end up getting a big plate of chicken and rice with a side salad. Charles receives a tiny stuffed pita like sandwich. The waitress seems to appreciate the humour when she is flagged over and another order is placed. Going with the non tourist theme we find a back alley bar where we soak up a little local flavour before nap time. For dinner we stroll down the street half a block where we are the only patrons at a Moroccan themed resto in an old mansion.

Day 7

We barely make it for the 10 am breakfast cut-off. The daily grind of riding in the heat, frolicking and drinking till the wee hours is wearing us down. Poor us. After scratching what we could out of the almost empty steam tables we head back to bed for a little nap. At the crack of noon we are rolling and have a big ride ahead of us. As soon as we leave town the highway is actually a gravel road. The washboard is incredible. I try going faster and it works but now I’m sailing along at 90kms an hour and every passing car stirs up a cloud of dust that leaves me blind for several seconds. After a half hour or so we are back on tarmac. We run into several construction zones where traffic is stopped since there is only one passable lane. We filter to the front and once the flagman gives us the nod we have first dibs on uncluttered highway until the process repeats itself. We cross a huge suspension bridge over what looks like a reservoir. We are still hurting from the previous night and stop to hydrate the bikes as well as ourselves several times. As we near San Jose we start to see some pretty scary driving. Guys pulling out to pass when there is clearly not enough room. The vehicle being passed will flash his lights to warn the folks coming head on to slow down. With everyone hard on the brakes and the passer hard on the gas it seems to work out with no panic, except for me who tucks in behind the semi I’m following so that if it all goes wrong he will hopefully clear a path. At one point Charlie pulls up beside me and motions that something is wrong with his bike. At the next stop he tells me that it seems as if the rear shock has failed or the tire has gone soft. Visually they both seem fine and we decide to wait till we get to the Hotel to have a better look. As we get to the city limits people are driving a lot more aggressively. They will accelerate when being passed and merge more forcefully. We hit the city proper right at rush hour and a steady rain starts up. Our KTMs are a little wide with the luggage and we don’t use the option of squeezing between the cars like the little Hondas. We ride through the very heart of downtown on a warm Friday night. The streets are busy, taxis, many bikes and throngs of pedestrians. We use a bank machine and are watched over by a shotgun toting guard. As we unpack the bikes we can see that the two bolts that support the rear sub frame of Charlie’s bike have sheared. A problem for tomorrow. Once checked in we opt for the Hotel restaurant and an early lights out. No pictures today, have some video I'll post later.

Day 6

We are awakened from our slumber at the foot of the volcano by some strange animal noise. Some creature is bellowing followed shortly by a very faint and distant reply. We never discover the culprit but the noise seems reminiscent of Chewbacca pleasuring himself. We had been debating whether we should spend some time in the area or head off to Tamarindo right away. The forecast decides for us. There is a low cloud ceiling and we can’t see any of the volcano. Luckily our room is graced with some art.

At breakfast we sit with the crowd we had been avoiding the night before. They all pile on to the huge buses that we will pass later in the day as they lumber up hill in first gear spewing out the soot that coats our visors. Just as finish packing it starts raining. We decide to just get moving and not worry about getting wet. The down pour makes the twisty roads a little more daunting so we throttle back and enjoy not being hot. The rain lets up and we start to ride some the best roads to date. At one point Charlie spots a sign for a scenic look out and we hang a u-turn to check it out. The road to the summit starts off innocently enough but gets progressively steeper and looser with fist sized rocks over a hard base. As I’m parked on the plateau at the summit I can see Charles tractoring up one of the switchbacks. When he doesn’t reappear I suspect he has had trouble. I come across his bike laying on it’s side with Charles standing unhurt nearby. With his bad back he can’t hoist the bike alone so we right it together and start the descent. I don’t take any picture but only because I’m shooting video…. On the way down I come to a spot where it is so steep and there is so little traction that the engine braking is enough to cause the tire to skid. If I pull in the clutch and ease off the rear brake the bike straightens out but gains even more speed. The bikes we’ve rented are enduro bikes but they have street tires which doesn’t help our cause any. I seem to remember it being better up ahead and take the speed penalty and am just able to scrub it off in a section ahead before another downhill. I get to the main road but after a few minutes there is still no Charles. I start heading back up and get to the tricky section and see Charlie’s bike on it’s side once again. Just to get by him and turn around requires spinning the tire while Charles pushes. I get turned around on a flat spot and now have to do the tricky section again. I skid and slip by the fallen bike and walk back up where we hoist the KTM upright again. Having done the section a few times I herd the second bike down the hill and we continue our little detour having added an hour to the days travel time. We stop at the first Soda along the road and regroup. The whole morning we have been riding along the shore of a huge lake and now we make a bee line for the coast. This town is much more touristy. Lots of bikinis and young shirtless guys with abs. We blend in perfectly.

Charles starts calling it Tamagringo. The beach is wide and surfers are riding the modest waves.

We even stumble across some beach art.

We hit the hotel’s outdoor bar and shortly thereafter are in a conversation with a gay couple from Colorado and another fellow who describes himself as a tea bagger, politically that is. The couple have been in town for a week and tip us off to a good supper spot. We make our way to a five or six story office tower where the roof is a Spanish Lebanese restaurant. Not a fusion of the two but a menu divided. The owner seats us and sells us on the merits of Nicaraguan beef. We both order the surf and turf and the meat is excellent. Charles gets in a serious conversation with our host but as soon as I hear the term “gross margins” I lose interest. We wander the streets and eventually find out that the happening night spot is the Number 1 club on the roof of yet another office tower. We hit one last spot before turning in just before 3.

Day 5 addendum

 Well after closing yet another hotel bar the two tired traelers only have to make it back to their little shack and a well earned respite.....as we pass the lobby I mention that oddly enough I`m feeling a little hungry. The concierge hails us a cab and after a scary ride into town we are left at a local eatery where we are the only non locals. Being the adventurous types we order a hamburger and a nacho platter. Both are excellent and of huge proportions. Our brew of choice , Imperial, is of course on hand. The return ride is equally brisk and our aspiring Villeneuve drops us off back at reception and we continue our walk home as if nothing had transpired.

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Day 5

We are off to a slow start. The toll from the previous evening means that we are only starting to get the bikes loaded and it is already after 10 and hot. We drive to the beach past all the touristy bars and decide to just keep going. We need gas. I stop several motorcycles and using the international sign of pointing at the tank am given directions which I don’t understand. Luckily the place is rife with bikes and finger point by finger point I’m getting closer. Finally an old man on a beat up seventies Honda motions us to follow him. We get to the station and once again the brilliant design of the KTM where the gas cap is behind the seat right were all our luggage is strapped down necessitates removing all our strapping. It is hot, we are dripping booze onto the oil stained cement. At this point Charles mention that a part of his bike is dragging on the ground. It seems that the passenger peg support bracket which also supports the rear rack has lost a bolt and has almost fallen off. I remove it and use the remaining fastener to re-attach the rack using the meagre tools supplied.

Riley's bike...

Charlie's bike is missing something..

We decide that we need to take a photo since we are both sweating so heavily. A passing German with a good sense of humour volunteers to be the photographer.

After this we commence a 7 hour ride where we just roll. The roads are incredible. We blast along till we get stuck behind a slow moving truck. Then the fun begins. Dotted or solid lines mean nothing. Usually several others are trapped behind the slow mover so you use them as cover and follow them as they pass. Finally you pass the other escapees and have a momentary view of clear highway. Kick the bike into sixth gear and wind it out until you garb a handful of brakes and the cycle repeats. Throw into this mix the heat, the hairpins, the people coming head on who are playing the same game coming the other way and after 7 hours you are done. Near the end of the day we stop for a drink and find yet another stash of old pop bottles.

As we near our destination we are accosted by an elderly brit on an ancient dirt bike who offers to take us offroading. Charles explains that all we want is to get to our hotel and he speeds off with one foot up in the air and a mad grin on his face. Suddenly we see the volcano. It is right out of a movie. Perfectly shaped with a plume of steam rising from it’s tip.

The GPS leads us astray and we end up on a rutted trail that leads nowhere. Charles drawing on his ancient degree in cartography finally gets us to our hotel.

Once again our little cabin is a s far possible from the reception desk. Is the Harlton name know even in Central America? This time we can park right in front and don’t mind.

Charles has managed to get sunburned right through his riding vest which is perforated.

After a shower where we also do some laundry we head out in search of food and an early bedtime. The majority of the crowd are elderly and we decide to forego the dining room and search out some people with real teeth. The pool bar is deserted and we choose the side where you don’t sit in the water. The fact that we have to get up to use the washroom seems a small price to pay as our bartender Johan is great. We have the place to ourselves and an excellent steak is washed down with some of the local fire water. We discover a new variant of the local brew. Bavaria dark.

So this is me Charlie. I wanted to do a word of the day but am waaay behind so today’s words boys and girls are - Chica which means girl and Cacique Guaro which is the Costa Rican moonshine. Also my trip catch phrase is “Man I hate this trip.” (that is satire for you people from Ontario). Also I think I did pretty good with my margarita fueled Laval French ( quatre mois seulement ) - had a lot to do with the audience.

Day 4

Despite our 5 figure bar bill we both wake up feeling refreshed. At breakfast we are amazed at the buffet when we both experience the best bacon we have ever had. So far on this trip the food has been excellent. By 8:30 it was already getting hot. The forecast was calling for 37 degrees Celsius and the humidity must have been approaching 100%. Just as were leaving we meet a local motorcycle courier who is on his daily 300 km route riding a Honda 150. We had seen the local drug impresario at breakfast but his street cred was at an all time low since he was eating from a child size Frosted Flakes box at a table with his elderly parents. Despite his diminished stature we take his advice from the previous day and head to Playa de Balena even though it takes us out of our way. The coastal highway is nice and smooth with big sweeping curves and light traffic. We get to the beach and meet a nice German couple who warn us that their vehicle was robbed a couple of days ago at this beach. The water is like soup and we do a little body surfing before getting back into our sweaty gear heading to our next stop.

It is pretty much a high speed blast along brand new highway except for a couple of construction zones where we eat dust stuck in convoy with the trucks. We find a spot where although there is a bridge we do a gratuitous fording just to feel like real adventure riders. We get to Manuel Antonio and get lost. The town itself looks a little rough. Homeless guys sleeping on benches, garbage and an edgier feel to the place. We eventually find the Hotel California only to find out that there is a mix-up and we are booked at the Villas Liro. We pile on the sweaty gear once again… The Hotel Villa Liro is a nicer spot where the entire center courtyard is a jungle of live plants. As usual we are in the room farthest from the reception desk.

After check in we are told the parking lot is closed but will open at 4. Sure enough just before 4 we get a call to move our machines. It seems the hotel parking lot is actually the conference center. We drive them into a nicely tiled ballroom already occupied with several cars. After a nap we hit the “Welcome Cocktail” which coincides with the start of happy hour. We are the only participants. Our waiter an amiable young man prepares us each a margarita from the Joe Gaspar school of bartending….one drink and we both actually feel crispy…several more margs interspersed with a few Imperial beers for good measure and we decide it is time for supper. We retreat towards our room to change but the siren call of the hotel pool is too strong. Being of Harlton DNA we de-trouser and hit the pool in our underwear. Bear in mind it is now only 6 PM.

Food, we need food. We stumble out on to the main drag and start the steep descent towards town. The facade of the first restaurant only seems worthy as a bathroom break. The next spot looks more promising and lures us in. The host is the Spanish equivalent of Herb Tarlek and we order the mega fish platter.

Enough food arrives for 5 or 6 humans and we proceed to devour crabs, shrimp, maui maui and a bushel of vegetables. Luckily copious quantities of Imperial are dispensed to aid in digestion. Distended we now roll farther down hill to find Sa bar. One of our servers a good looking black woman overhears me drop a French word and we are then forced to endure Charlie’s “French” for the rest of the evening. The climb back to the hotel which was so easily accomplished earlier in the day with help of 690 cc of Austrian motorcycle proves far more difficult. We arrive at the gate to the fortress like compound (the gate which when Charles asked we were told is never closed) and it is padlocked with a huge chain. Sweating profusely we optimistically press the intercom button on the wall of the darkened compound. Eventually a guard saunters up and lets us in. We stagger to bed. It is just after midnight.

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Rollin', rollin', rollin'

Location as of 12:45

Manuel Antonio

Location as of 1:15pm

Day 3

Road to The Hotel at the End of Day 2



Charlie gets up at 5:30 and goes on the bird watching tour. I sleep in till 7:30! Charles returns with tales of seeing the mighty Quetzal.

We are moving pretty leisurely and don’t get rolling till 10. After we are kitted up and ready to go the Charles mobile won’t start. We roll it down hill and with a pop of the clutch it comes to life.

We have mounted the little HD cam on my helmet now since the high frequency vibrations from the KTM’s handlebars were wreaking havoc with the CMOS rolling shutter. We head farther down the twisty track we descended yesterday before turning around and starting our climb out. Hairpin turn after hairpin with big drop offs to the valley floor keep us on our toes. Shortly we are back on the Pan-American highway. We spend the next few hours catching up to gaggles of cars stuck behind tractor trailers on a very curvy highway. Being on bikes allows us to pass more readily than our four wheeled brethren.



Charles is leading and later says "I was the biggest asshole out there today". we make good time despite the traffic. The reserve light has been blinking for some time on Charlie's bike when we finally find gas. He has been running his bike in a lower gear with higher RPMs and it is thirstier. All the pump attendants are cute young girls. Ours declines the offer to have her picture taken.

We turn off at San Isidro de el General and the road gets even twister. Decent pavement with amazing curves as we climb. We stop and notice the HD camera isn't recording...more on that later. Some of the best roads so far are missing from the record. We stop for lunch at a scenic overlook “The enchanted Valley” and both order something from the menu without really knowing what it is. A good size portion of tasty chow washed down with fresh squeezed juice hits the spot.

After lunch we back track a few miles to recapture some of the twistiest sections of road with our malfunctioning camera. We still hadn't figured out the card was bad. Back on the road it is non-stop curves with very light traffic all the way to the sea. Once we hit the coast we have a hard time finding the resort. Eventually we are stopped at a Police roadblock and the man in black fatigues with the automatic points us in the right direction. The construction crew working on the bridge we have crossed 3 times seems amused by our predicament. It is now HOT and really HUMID. We are really sweating in all our protective gear. Charles as administrator on the trip checks us in to our little house.

We plug in our widgets and head to the pool. At the pool we see the usual crew of aging Germans frolicking. The status quo takes a turn when the only youngster at the pool, a man in his twenties with a ball hat with a huge dollar sign emblazoned on it, asks if we party. After we both make excuses we ask how long he has been in country. 4 years. Hmmm….what do you do for a living. I’m into hydroponics big time…. mind if I smoke…he has a hard time digesting my answer. I’m a housewife I respond. We see a Toucan in the tree above us.

Tony tells us of a beach 15 minutes away shaped like a whales tail. We put it on tomorrows agenda.

At our now mandatory 5 pm happy hour we both order Pilsen in honour of uncle Earl. We had seen the signs at some of the roadside cafes where it replaced the more common “Imperial” brand we have grown accustomed to. Costa Rica has Pilsner!

We spend the night watching CNN with no sound. I hope Dick Cheney is OK. Tonights bar tab 39,827.00$

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Day 2 part 2

Cottage number 7

After a lunch we head out for a hike in the valley. It is steep and we zig zag up the hillside. Man am I out of shape...

While I'm taking the picture below Charles takes a tumble in the stream and ends up waist deep. I resist taking a picture of his predicament and only his pride and his iPod are harmed.

Mandatory waterfall snap.

We get back to see a couple of the staff members hauling in some fresh trout from the same stream for the evening meal.

We spend some time mapping out the next day’s route and charging our widgets. Tomorrow we see the ocean.

The bar runs out of our favorite beer Imperial so we are forced to switch.