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.
