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.