Remember The Alamo

So here we are in San Antonio, Texas.

3,239 miles done. About 8,000 miles to go.

Feels like we’ve already motorcycled a lifetime.

It’s fiesta time in San Antonio and it felt like we hadn’t left Mehico! I’m not complaining, it seems like every time I’m in town the ladies start dancing!

Thanks ladies. It’s much appreciated.

Now please don’t be jealous – if you had a motorcycle they would dance for you too. Until then you can share a look at my dancing ladies.

Just look at the great motorbike parking space at our hotel.

Thanks hotel. It’s much appreciated.

So what’s the first thing we did on the first morning in San Antonio? Well we did the obvious thing, the big ticket thing. Surely you know what San Antonio is famous for?

We went to the Alamo! Yes this is where it is.

It started as an 18th Spanish Mission where a community of friars brought Jesus to the people. No not the guy that part fixed my motorcycle in Nicaragua, the other one.

This main building was the church but later, once the missionaries had left, the Spanish military added a few walls and defensive structures.

Much has been written about the battle of the Alamo but what do we know as fact?

‘In 1836, a small band of soldiers sacrifice their lives in hopeless combat against a massive army in order to prevent a tyrant from smashing the new Republic of Texas’.

Well that’s the truth isn’t it?

After all that’s how the movie website, IMDb, describes the 1960 ‘historical’ movie ‘The Alamo’, directed by John Wayne, starting John Wayne and Richard Wydmark that went on to be nominated for 7 Oscars (note: it only won ‘best sound).

Isn’t that how most people think of the Alamo? Isn’t that how it’s spoken about? Isn’t that what’s taught?

So what is the truth?

As you know this blog isn’t just a traveller’s diary – it’s a bloody education for people with short attention spans. Don’t thank me, it’s my calling. I’m an educational missionary bringing pint sized stories for pint sized brains. So let me tell you a story.

It all starts in 1821 when Mexico wins its independence from Spain. At the time, Texas was part of Mexico which had a federal government similar to the United States. So in 1829, when the Mexican government outlawed slavery, it allowed Texas to continue using slave labour.

In 1832, Mexican president and general, Santa Anna took control of the government. Everything was fine for a while but we all know what dictators do don’t we – they dictate!

The Texans didn’t like the centralist policies of Santa Anna and wanted a federal type government where they had control over their own laws. Basically they wanted to do as they pleased. In particular, issues of slavery, immigration and customs were very contentious between Texas and Mexico.

Growing tensions led to rebellion in 1835 and so begun the Texas Revolution.

As you can see, this isn’t a story of self sacrifice by freedom loving settlers fighting in the service of liberty for Texas. Oh no! – this was actually a fight for freedom to enslave people.

Ouch, that’s a uncomfortable truth!

Now, to the battle of the Alamo. I won’t go into the immediate lead up to the battle because this is a pint sizes travel history. I’m not giving you a quart. You quart sized brain people need to find supplementary information elsewhere. Sorry quart people.

Around 1800 Mexican soldiers, led by General Santa Anna, surrounded the Alamo. Inside were around 200 defenders, led by the frontiersman James Bowie, Lieutenant Colonel William Travis and the famous folk hero, Davy Crockett.

After a 13 day seige, the actual Battle of the Alamo began on March 6, 1836, and lasted 90 minutes.

Every fighting soldier was killed and, it is said, that even those who surrendered were executed by Santa Anna.

Although the Alamo was a defeat, it galvanized the rest of Texas against Mexico and General Santa Anna. A few months later, Sam Houston led Texas to victory and Texas gained it’s independence.

It’s often quoted that around 200 ‘Texans’ bravely fought and defended the Alamo. Let me tell you the facts.

Of the 200 or so men that fought and died at the Alamo, 29 are known to be from the United Kingdom.

It’s not been possible to trace all the nationalities of the men involved and it’s actually thought the UK defenders could have been as much as a third of the men. To that you can add a few other soldiers from other European countries.

Of these men, four were Scots – John McGregor, Richard Ballentine, Isaac Robinson and David Wilson.

John McGregor is often known as the piper of the Alamo. It is said that during the siege, MacGregor engaged in musical duels with David Crockett – McGregor playing the bagpipes and Crockett the fiddle. 

So that’s a full pint of Alamo history for you.

Talking of pints, after the Alamo we went for a beer. Look it was hot and humid and I felt sure Susan was getting near a Code 1 and needed to rest in somewhere cool.

You don’t get anywhere in San Antonio much cooler than this place!

You know what’s coming to you now – more pint sized history! Actually, I promise it’s only a half pint this time.

In 1861, a 17yr old bartender opened his own saloon but quickly learned people didn’t have much money. So he came up with the idea to accept horns and antlers in exchange for beers and whisky. The Buckhorn collection became one of the world’s largest collections of horns and antlers.

Cheers horns and antlers. Thanks for helping Susan recover.

Goodbye San Antonio we loved your company.

Border Bandito Country

Susan decided we would leave Mehico City at 6am to beat the traffic and as I always say, ‘what the big dog wants the big dog gets’.

The plan worked wonderfully well and we were soon making great progress towards San Luis Potosi (260 miles). The following day we did 325 miles to Monterrey.

Far too early for check-in at San Luis Potosi, we sat and smelled out reception until they gave us the first room available. Susan is of course fragrant whilst I, on the other hand, have a coating of grime and dust and smell like a box of fish. That’s biker life!

On the road to Monterrey we made good progress on reasonably well maintained roads. I’m mindful we’re in the region of Tamaulipas, an area of notoriety for the Gulf Cartel, one of the oldest cartels in the country.

The area has a US advisory notice ‘do not travel due to crime and kidnapping’ and mentions heavily armed criminal groups operating with impunity along the border region.

The banditos regularly set up armed road blocks and so I regularly check online chat groups for up to date information.

Personally, I didn’t feel safe though I was aware this was most likely because everyone was telling me it wasn’t safe. We were making good progress when Susan starts feeling hot. Well it was bloody hot I’ve got to agree but this is bandito country. We can’t stop at the side of the road fanning ourselves like a couple of fannies!

I think I’ve mentioned before we have a code system – Code 1 (I would like to stop when it’s convenient); Code 2 (I need to stop soon); Code 3 (stop now, as soon as you can).

Whilst that’s all pretty clear Susan now ‘kind of wants’ to stop and it’s ‘kind of not’ a Code 1.

Oh no, don’t start that!! I’m not letting you go on Susan’s side and say we should have a code 0.5! That’s ridiculous. You’re either a Code 1 or you’re damn well bloody fine!

We’re blasting along and I’m watching every vehicle around. We always have a problem when touring – trucks and cars come rapidly up behind us, see us as a novelty and cruise behind to have a look. After a few minutes they pass.

Now imagine what that feels like in this border area. As far as I’m concerned every car following is potential banditos. Every time it happens I slow and force them to overtake. Then I relax until the next potential bandito car follows behind.

At this time do you really think Susan should have access to Code 0.5!! Yes of course I don’t want another fainting melodrama but she really needs to stick to the agreed system.

It’s at this point I make a serious relationship error. I cringe as I sit here telling you. Honestly, it’s quite embarrassing for a new age metrosexual like me.

I don’t remember saying it but it was later mentioned in despatches. Apparently, I asked Susan if she was a Code 1 and when she said ‘no I don’t think so’, I responded by telling her to ‘man up’!

I still can’t believe I actually said what I felt but I’ve since been reminded many times that’s what I said. Honestly, sometimes I’m a bas*ard (I add this last sentence so Susan can nod along as she reads it).

I suppose I can only blame the state of tension although that’s no excuse. That said, at the first opportunity I stopped at a grocery store in the middle of bandito country.

It didn’t feel like the right place to stop but it’s not easy for me juggling the demands of banditos and Susan. Yes, thanks for your kind words – as you say ‘who would want to be me’!

There were a group of heavy lorries outside the store and I had to park 50 metres down the road. We walked back to the shop and bought drinks and food.

In grocery stores, we eat and drink standing in the shop. Sometimes they have a small table, often they don’t. We find the ice cream freezer is a good place to rest our gear and refresh. Everyone is always sympathetic and friendly.

On this occasion we bought a cheese and ham roll in a nitrogen sealed pack. They last forever but Susan is always looking for a sell by date. There isn’t one.

We’ve had these rolls a few times and I usually tear the roll in half and we share. This time, Susan decided to tear the roll as she thought my hands smelled of leather and sweat. She really can be a fussy eater.

I walked outside eating my roll as I was not happy leaving the bike out of sight in bandito country. As I walked to the bike, a truck driver started talking mehican to me.

Of course, I didn’t have a clue what he was saying. Then he pointed to the bike and said ‘bad boys’.

Oh yes, I got the message.

‘bad boys, bad boys’

‘what you gonna do?’

‘what you gonna do when they come for you?’

So I moved the bike to the shop door and, as I finished parking, Susan came out wondering where I was. It was at this point I realised my grave error – I had left Susan to eat her half roll unsupervised!!

Now please don’t be indignant and say Susan is quite capable of eating a half roll on her own! She isn’t! NOT this roll!

You see the usual script is, I tear the roll apart with my sweaty leathery hands, give half to Susan and we eat. I say it’s tasty and just what we needed. She agrees. We drink Gatorade to wash it all down. We get on the bike and off we go. Happiness.

We’ve done the same procedure time and time again. It works.

Leave Susan unsupervised and what does she do? She opens up the bloody roll and looks inside to examine what’s she’s eating!She sees the ham is Barbie pink, the cheese is like white sweating plastic and the butter is yellow like a dandelion.

Immediately, she feels nauseous at the thought of it and makes a decision she’s never eating that again. So we will never again share one of our favourite rolls that’s got us through Mehico. It’s a disaster.

Tasty, sweaty, leathery half roll I will miss you!

We both get back on the bike and I ask Susan if she’s feeling better. ‘Yes’ she says hesitantly – yup she’s thinking of that bloody ham again. Honestly, sometimes I just wish she would man up!

I know you will also be feeling a bit nauseous thinking about that ham so here’s photo of me. We all love a photo of me.

Interestingly, I thought this beer had a sweaty and leathery undertone to it’s taste.

The following day, from Monterrey we headed for the border with USA at Puente Colombia.

It was an anxious fast ride for three hours along a road known to have ‘troubles’ with banditos. We rode through vast desert wilderness and saw another vehicle now and again.

I had made a decision if someone tried to stop us, I wasn’t stopping. Sometimes I think too much about contingency plans as we journey and this wasn’t one of my best but I needed the reassurance that I knew what I was going to do. Thankfully, everything was going to be alright.

Oh yes, cars sped up behind us, time and time again, and then sat on our tail. I slowed, slowed, and they passed.

After a solid three and a half hours riding with no break we reached the border. Leaving Mehico was easy and entering the US was a breeze. After all the media scare reports of US border control we were a bit wary as to what we would face.

We have a current 10 year visa from our cycling days in our old passport. We presented our passports at a checkpoint and the guy was great. He even let Susan walk through the security ‘no go’ area whilst I was directed to the car park.

We were processed quickly by immigration and I can honestly say it was the friendliest, most polite and helpful border crossing in all of the Americas. By a mile.

We didn’t even require a temporary bike import permit. That said, they charged us $12 tariff to get in so I’ve written a stern letter the British Prime Minister to let him know what they’re up to with their tariffs on poor motorcycle travellers.

We were exhausted after the border. Yes, yes, what’s new?

So what did we do? We got on the bike and rode nearly three hours to San Antonio. It was a hard, fast ride with a vicious side wind.

We unpacked, showered and I was smelling of roses again. Then it was out for beer and pizza.

It’s festival time in San Antonio and at a road checkpoint we met BMW biker bros keeping everyone safe.

Looking good guys.

Welcome to America.

Mehico City

We set off for the 82 miles to our Airbnb in Mehico City (CDMX). The bike was running nice and the auxiliary lights were now working.

The journey took nearly 4 hours to complete and was completely exhausting.

The first 40 miles took an hour and the rest of the time we edged along in traffic jams the like of which you won’t see in the UK.

For over an hour we were at walking pace as 10 lanes merged into 3. As the road went up an incline, the sight of what lay miles ahead of us unfolded and the experience really can’t be described. I can’t do it justice. It’s absolute chaos and mayhem.

We’re wet inside our bike gear from the heat and the exertion. Arms and fingers ache keeping the bike upright over an uneven road surface as we inch forward. The clutch is working hundreds, thousands of times. It’s torture.

Nearly four hours on a motorcycle in heavy traffic, without a break, is no easy task. But we keep on going because, as I’ve said before, this is what we choose. This is what we do.

We checked into our home from home in a lovely residential area in Mehico City.

Then, for the next three days, we toured and experienced this busy, chaotic, wonderful city.

Founded in 1325, it is the oldest city in the Americas. First known as Tenochtitlan, it was built on an island and extended over a lake by the Mexica empire. During the final stages of the Spanish conquest of the Aztec empire, Spanish forces razed the city to the ground and founded the colonial Mexico City on its ruins.

There is an extreme water shortage in Mexico City. Nearly 70% of the water consumed comes from the aquifer beneath the city and this draining of water tables is causing the city centre to sink.

It’s estimated it has dropped more than 9 metres in the last 100 years. Currently, it’s sinking up to 50 cm in some places whereas other places, built on volcanic rock don’t sink at all. This differential subsidence is destabilising buildings.

This beautiful cathedral is estimated to fall within the next 60 years unless something is done. Everyone thinks the government will step in and so something before it’s too late but this is Mehico and I wouldn’t put a bet on it. The country is littered with half finished projects.

Interestingly, this cathedral was built by the Spanish over a temple complex and, as the cathedral is sinking, the ruined foundations of the temple complex are rising up.

The whole central city is leaning, roads have dips and humps, nothing is straight and flat. The Leaning Tower of Pisa doesn’t have a look in.

Today CDMX is the fifth largest city in the world with over 21 million people. On the day we arrived into the city I’m absolutely certain they were all returning home on the same road as us.

The city has the second largest number of museums in the world (second only to London). Of course, Susan and I had to visit the Anthropology museum – we like to show we’re high brow, cultured bikers.

Here’s a photo of two cultured people at the museum of anthropology.

We followed our museum visp with a walk through the local parks in Condesa-Roma where we were staying. Lovely park and more statutes for us culture bikers to enjoy. Here’s a woman with big jugs.

I share culture like I share my knowledge of languages. It’s my gift to you.

We followed our walk with a cultural experience – we went for tacos.

Later that day I wanted to sample the bar culture – we went for nachos.

You see we’re not like ‘normal’ tourists – we like to immerse ourselves in culture.

Goodbye Mehico City. Until we meet again.

Spanner In The Works

After wa-Ha-ka and Puebla we headed towards Mehico City.

What’s that I hear you say? I’ve rushed passed Puebla without saying very much? Well there isn’t much I actually want to tell you.

Okay then, here’s a photo of a cathedral. It’s pretty impressive because when they first started building it they thought Puebla was going to be the capital of Mexico and so the cathedral had to be a suitable size and quality.

That’s enough about Puebla, let’s move on.

What do you mean you think I’m holding out on you? I’m a pretty straightforward guy and I would never hold out on you?

The only other Puebla story I have is technical and you would be bored.

Here’s another Puebla church at night.

Oh come on, let me move on from Puebla. Let’s talk about fun times in Mehico City.

Surely, you don’t really want another technical story about a motorcycle? Surely, you’ve had enough after the clutch saga?

Sigh! Okay, okay I hear you!

Let me tell you about a day that started pleasantly and went so far downhill it quickly became one of my most stressful days of the trip. I really didn’t want to talk about this!!

We were in a nice hotel in Puebla with a parking garage under the room.

What a nice arrangement and so I thought I would take advantage of this facility and try to get my auxillary lights working – they’ve been kaput since Josias half fixed the clutch.

Now this is another story where I pass on a little bit of education to you. Today’s learning point is ‘never give an idiot a spanner’.

On this occasion, an Idiot opened the battery compartment and noticed the battery had been installed the wrong way round.

I won’t get too technical as the Idiot would just confuse himself. However, to be brief, the red ‘button’ was wired to the negative terminal of the battery and it should be positive.

That’s when the Idiot got a little bit of knowledge from Mr Google and read that it could be damaging the battery, the bike electrics and a critical failure could be imminent.

What do you do? Nothing? Something?

The Idiot consulted with his ‘Sage Advisor’ who kind of agreed that something should be done.

At this point, the ‘Sage Advisor’, the only sensible control the Idiot had, was actually agreeing with him.

At that point, the situation was fu**ed!

And so the Idiot picked up a spanner.

A few minutes later the battery was installed the right way round. Everything looked good. Now switch on the power.

Nothing. Dead as a donkey.

The Idiot’s heart sank. His legs felt like jelly. Breathe Idiot. Breathe.

Tomorrow we’re booked out of this hotel and into an Airbnb in Mehico City. We need an early start for the traffic chaos. We can’t have a problem at 1230hrs, the day before we leave. We can’t.

We have!

Breathe.

Let’s change it back to what it was like before. It was working before. The Idiot shouldn’t have touched it.

Breathe.

The Idiot and the spanner set to work again.

It’s ready. Breathe. Now switch on the power.

Nothing. Dead as a donkey.

Legs wobbling, breathing stopped.

Press the power button again. Again! Again! AGAIN!!! AGAIN!!

Jeeeeeeeezo!

Take a walk. Breathe. Just breathe and think. Breathe.

A few minutes later the Idiot briefs the ‘Sage Advisor’. There’s no recriminations, there’s no rolling of the eyes like you’re doing just now. The ‘Sage Advisor’ was calm.

Only the Idiot was panicking.

Breathe Idiot. Breathe.

Now to give the Idiot his due he accepted he was already well past the limits of his ability. Oh yes, he could consult Mr Google and look for a solution, cry and wring his hands, contemplate solutions and fall into self recriminations or…….

…… the Idiot could get a grip and put a plan into action.

The Idiot needed an expert.

The Idiot became an example of perpetual motion. Unstoppable today.

Within 10 minutes he was in a taxi to a BMW motorcycle dealer.

Within 70 minutes, he was in Carlos’s truck with the motorcycle on the back.

Within 90 minutes the bike was in the BMW garage.

The service manager said they would look at it tomorrow.

Carlos, a billingual Mexican, helped with the interpretation and there was only going to be one outcome – the bike was wheeled into the workshop.

Perpetual motion. Unstoppable.

The mechanics looked over the bike and the cause of the problem was quickly found. Yes it’s what we thought all along – it was the Idiot’s fault!

Whilst the battery was in the wrong way round and the red ‘button’ was indeed negative when it should be positive, Josias had also changed around the wiring looms. Everything looked wrong but it worked right.

Idiot with a spanner changed all that and blew the main bike fuse.

Did the garage have a replacement 50 amp fuse? After all we’re in a garage full of motorcycles exactly the same model. Of course, they didn’t! It’s Mehico after all.

Idiot gives the mechanics a great laugh when he told them to take one from another bike.

Oh they laughed out loud. Idiot laughed. Then they realised Idiot was serious. They shuffled hesitantly to stand protectively in front of their spanners.

With one mechanic guarding the spanners , the other chap found a 60 amp fuse. Not the same but it would do. We had a solution.

The fuse was installed, the bike sprang to life and everything was going to be alright.

There was no charge for their work. Nice. BMW looking after travellers yet again.

For me, Carlos, was the real star of the day. An independent breakdown guy who was on hand within the hour to help. He now keeps in touch via WhatsApp. Muchas gracias Carlos.

Tomorrow we can ride for CDMX.

Unstoppable today.

Welcome To Mehico

That’s how we pronounce it.

Just giving you a little bit of language tuition at no cost. No need to thank me, I know you’re grateful when I share.

Our first stop in Mehico was Tapachula. We soon recognised there were security issues in the area because we were processed through more than 25 paramilitary checkpoints.

In this area, the UK Govt. advises against all but essential travel and the US Govt advises against travel due to risks of crime and kidnapping.

Our travel in this area could be considered ‘essential’ as we were obliged to ride up and down the ‘danger’ area to reach the alternative border for our bike import permit. Thanks Mehico!

At each checkpoint we’re slowed by ‘topes’ which are suspension killing speed bumps. The topes in Central America are monstrous and regularly scrape the protective guard on the bottom of the bike engine. They’re deadly and you go slow, very slow, for a tope.

They even have topes on dual carriageways with no highlighted markings. They’ look just like a normal road surface from a distance – try seeing them when travelling at 80kmph!

The security checkpoints are staffed by military guys with machine guns. Often there’s also a chap pointing a hefty mounted machine gun at us. It all feels very intimidating and not safe.

I appreciate it’s better to have security than not and they rarely stop us. If they do I think it’s usually out of curiosity and after producing our documents and a cursory search we’re on our way.

From Tepachula we did some long days on the bike. The roads are better in Mehico and we rolled along nicely.

The road from Tehuantepec towards Oaxca was a stunning motorcycle road. 170km of motorcycle heaven over mountains, climbing over 10,000 feet with 54 bridges and 12 tunnels. Hardly a straight in sight and an average speed of about 55mph if you’re not faint hearted.

The road was only fully opened earlier this year and it’s wonderful. Perhaps the best motorcycle road I’ve ever ridden and all credit to Susan for taking it all in her stride. She’s as awesome as the road.

We reached Oaxaca. Now that’s pronounced wa-HA-ka. Again I’m happy to pass on my knowledge of Spanish. When a friend gains from my knowledge it’s no loss.

wa-HA-ka is recognised as the food capital of Mehico. That nicely brings us to the point where I’ve said too much and it’s time for a photo.

Yes, I know you expected a photo of food but you shouldn’t expect the expected. It’s a photo of a wa-HA-ka street.

Okay, here’s something better. It’s me with a 950ml bottle of beer. Doesn’t get much better than that! The beer I’m talking about, the beer!

You want more? Here’s Susan with a tiny glass of beer.

Now that’s not so good! The beer I’m talking about, the tiny glass of beer!

What else can I show you?

How about a mural or two?

Yes, yes all very nice but I know what you’re really thinking? ‘Come on Clif it was Easter weekend when you were in wa-HA-ka and we want to see a guy with a cross’.

Okay here’s a guy in the ‘Silent Procession’. Susan loved it but I found the whole ‘silent’ thing a bit of a challenge.

Here’s some more silent people. Shhhh shhh!

And while we’re being religious on what was Easter weekend, how about if I throw in a 16th century Spanish Cathedral.

Oh I did mention food, didnt I?

Here’s lovely shin of beef in the famous mole poblano. Mole is a big deal in this part of the world. Some are reasonable, some are a bit too sweet for my liking. The mole poblano is fine.

Now I’m going to ask you a history question – who’s this guy?

Well of course, this is Pancho Villa. I’m sure you will have heard of him but let me add a little background.

Pancho is considered to be one of the most widely known Mehicans of all time throughout the world. If I told you who the other top famous Mehicans were there’s a good chance you wouldn’t have heard of any of them.

Okay, okay I will give you Carlos Santana but I’m certainly NOT going to allow you Salma Hayek!

Pancho is seen as a Robin Hood, bandit, killer and, since 1812, is the only foreigner to have actually invaded and attacked USA. He was a key figure in the Mehico Revolution 1910 – 1920.

The President, Porfirio Diaz, ruled as dictator between 1876 and 1911. His time in power ended decades of economic stagnation and, even today, Mexicans recognise his achievements for Mehico in terms of the economy, transport and infrastructure. However, as is usual with dictators, corruption and power got to his head and despite promising democracy he reneged.

Pancho Villa, a General with his own small army, aligned himself to the uprising against Porfirio and after a stramash or two, a new president was installed. He didn’t last long and what followed thereafter was years of armed conflict and changing heads of state.

Now the first casualty of war is truth and Pancho reportedly signed an exclusive contract with a leading American newsreel company in 1914. Hollywood, not far from the border where most of the stramashes were occurring, came to Mehico.

Newsreels were a coming force and cinemas were growing rapidly in popularity. There were obvious advantages in controlling the way in which these newsreels portrayed the revolution and Pancho himself. In this way, Hollywood helped finance Pancho, his army and the revolution.

Pancho even starred in a 1914 silent movie titled ‘The Life of General Villa’ shot on location during the civil war, incorporating authentic footage from real battles. This movie has since been lost but the making of this movie was dramatised in the movie titled ‘And Starring Pancho Villa as Himself’ (2003) with Antonio Banderas.

Pancho was a brutal character and although he semi retired from politics to his ranch, his enemies eventually came calling and in 1923 he was ambushed in his car. Seven gunmen fired 40 dumdum bullets (usually used on elephants) into his car hitting Pancho seven times. He died at the age of 45.

Now that’s Pancho and the Mehican revolution. It took many years for him to be regarded as a ‘hero’ of the revolution but today, on balance, he’s better regarded than he once was. As they say ‘history is written by the victors’ or I suppose we could say, in this case, perhaps history was written by Hollywood.

So let’s now fast forward. Zoom zoom. We moved on from wa-HA-ka to Puebla and did you know the first shots of the revolution were fired in Puebla? Of course you didn’t and, as I always say, ‘a good friend teaches you something’.

Here’s the damage.

This was the home of the Seridan family and it’s now known as the Museum of the Revolution. Aquiles Seridan was a ‘revolutionary’ who opposed Porfirio Diaz and his house was stormed by the police and he was killed. The Mehican Revolution had begun.

Let’s finish with something more cheerful. It’s party time in Puebla and my friends are dancing.

Viva Mehico!

Bordering Chaos

Antigua provided us with the rest we desperately needed and allowed us to recharge our old batteries.

That said, despite the hardships, heartaches and frustrations we have experienced in our journey to date we wouldn’t want to be anywhere else.

It’s not a journey for those who want to travel sanitised and pampered and, as Anthony Bourdain said ‘do we really want to travel in hermetically sealed popemobiles’ (thanks to the excellent ‘Trawlercat Chronicles’ blog for referencing this quote).

We’re all different. This is who we are and this is what we do. These are the best times of our lives.

Leaving Antigua, we journeyed 100 miles over mountain roads to Quetzaltenango. It took us over four hours.

There’s nothing special about this city, it was merely a stop point before the border with Mexico.

The evening rush hour gave us an indication of what the morning traffic would be like.

That’s the queue out of town and I would estimate it’s at least two hours before you reach a point where you’re not in a jam.

You can’t lane split with our motorcycle in these lines of traffic because there’s not enough room and, like this photo shows, there’s inevitably a guy pushing his old mother in a wheelchair begging.

So, with that in mind, we left our hotel at 0545hrs to successfully beat the morning traffic and get through the border in reasonable time.

We stopped for coffee and pancakes after a couple of hours.

At the border we sailed through chaos and checked out of Guatemala. At the immigration desk I have to kneel on the ground to look through the tiny opening in the black glass where you hand over the passports. After a brief conversation we’re stamped out of Guatemala. Nice.

We cross a bridge and we’re into Mexico. This is going well. Nice.

Susan gets off the bike and I ride through a garage spraying insecticide. It certainly tastes like it will be effective.

We speak to Mexican immigration and are told we can’t enter Mexico at this border because the bank is closed.

In Mexico, they have the ‘Banjercito’, a military bank that processes import permits for vehicles and fleeces the traveller with tariffs. Once again I’ve written a special letter to Mr Trump to make sure he’s aware of the hassle I’m having with tariffs.

So the Banjercito is closed and we can’t get an import permit.

Let me now summarise our experience. It’s a painful log of events but I feel I need to share my pain rather than bottle it up. Sorry.

The immigration lady imforms us we need to re-enter Guatemala and travel an hour south to another border at Hidalgo where they have a ‘Banjercito’.

She says Guatemala will let us back through without going through the processing.

We’re searched by the paramilitary guard as we leave Mexico.

We return across the bridge into Guatemala.

Inevitably, they wont let us in without a re- entry stamp in our passports so I again kneel on the ground at the immigration counter and we are officially back in Guatemala.

I tried to ignore Guatemala customs and ‘persuade’ them to let us through the barrier but they’re having none of it. They wont let the bike back into Guatemala.

They send us back to Mexico.

To do that we need to exit Guatemala. I kneel at Guatemala immigration and ask for a second exit stamp to match our two entry stamps. We’re told one exit stamp is enough.

We return across the bridge into Mexico. Thankfully, I don’t have to ingest more insecticide.

Mexico immigration lady says she’s surprised Guatemala won’t let us back though. I smile and keep calm.

It’s now explained we can actually get a temporary seven day visa at this counter and enter Mexico to travel to the other border.

I’m boiling inside and it’s got nothing to do with the heat. I smile and keep calm.

We fill in their forms and get our seven day visa.

We get on the bike, leave immigration and are stopped by the guys with guns at the security barrier. Where’s the import permit for the bike they ask?

We explain and after some persuasion they let us through.

We ride southwards to Hidalgo and into town.

We’ve got no idea where to go. Google doesn’t know where to go. The locals don’t know where to go. The police officer doesn’t know where to go.

I know where to go. By this time we’re quite exhausted and dehydrated and I go for drinks and ice cream. We sit on the kerb to recover and attract the attention of a local. Nice guy and he actually knows where to go. Good bit of luck. We were just about to return 20 minutes up the road to the freight terminal.

We ride to the huge customs building which is one minute away. Thankfully it’s very quiet – that’s obviously because nobody knows where it is!

We enter, get our passports stamped to extend our 7 day visa to a 30 day visa. Their tourist tariff is $95.

We ask the Banjercito for temporary import permit for the bike. We have some major issues with who actually owns the bike but after 20 minutes we establish its mine.

They now ask me for photocopies of my passport, driving licence, V5 and the form the immigration counter (10 metres away) gave us.

This is when I lose my pleasant, cool, calm and collected manner. F*ck the keeping calm Clif, f*ck the keeping calm!

Susan will want me to edit the swearing out. She will tell me that ‘people’ don’t like the swearing in my story. But I’ve got to convey my frustration. So hopefully you’re reading a good lot of swearing and I’ve managed to get it passed ‘Censor Susan’.

I do carry photocopies but the recent border crossings throughout Central America have exhausted my supply. I’m told to take my documents to a copy shop in the local neighbourhood.

I point out to a ‘banjo’ man, there’s a photocopy machine beside him. He says he can’t. I express my feelings. He said I have to go and get my own photocopies.

I sit down beside ‘censor Susan’ and take a long drink of water. Susan is calm and tells me I’m not going to achieve anything by shouting at the the ‘banjo’ people.

I know she’s right. You see she’s not just my censor when I’m writing the blog, she’s a real live censor that moderates my language and behaviour. Everyone should have one.

I do listen but I have one last shout – just like a dog having one last bark when it’s told to stop barking

Then I start walking the 15 minutes to the copy shop.

I get my photocopies. The guys in the shop are nice enough. They take my photocopy tariff and I leave. I’m writing to Mr Trump about that shop too! They’re obviously part of the tarrif scheme!

It’s a longer walk back to the customs hall because the entry gate is further away than the exit gate. Yes I do try to re-enter the exit gate but as we all know, the rules are the rules.

I hand the ‘banjo’ guy the photocopies and he photocopies them on his machine. He hands me back my new photocopies.

I remain calm. ‘Censor Susan’ is sitting behind me and I can feel her staring at me with one of those looks.

I pay $460 dollars to get the bike into Mexico. I believe I get most of this back.

We leave the customs hall and get on the bike.

We wait in a queue of cars and are stopped by guys with guns who want us to produce the papers we’ve just been issued.

We leave 10 minutes later.

We’re officially in Mexico.

We arrive at our hotel an hour later. Exhausted. If you think that was our day it wasn’t – I haven’t told you half of what happened but I’ve already used up too much of your patience.

C’est la vie.

We will fondly reminisce about this border crossing for the rest of our lives. This is who we are.

Viva Mexico.

Antigua R&R

1,430 miles done. Approximately 10,000 to go.

6th country done. 3 countries to go.

Let’s start with a holiday snap. Here’s us having a beer on a rooftop bar in front of Volcan de Agua. I like to cater for my volcanologist friends.

Here’s some of my colourful friends in Antigua.

As you can see I’m quite a popular person in Antigua.

I kid you not, I went to the town square and shouted ‘who wants to come with me on my motorbike to Alaska?’ and when I turned around this is what I saw:

Yup, you’ve said it before I said it – Susan had better play her cards right if that’s the reserves waiting in the wing!

Now let’s move on from my friends and talk about Antigua.

Founded in 1543 by the Spanish Conquistadors it was once the capital of Guatemala and one of the greatest cities of the Spanish empire.

The city sits on an active tectonic zone and has been repeatedly devastated by earthquakes and volcanic eruptions. The evidence of these times remains.

It’s a quaint colourful place retaining much of its Spanish colonial character.

The star attraction is 3,768m Volcan Dr Fuego, one of the world’s most active. For the last 20 years it has been constantly erupting, shooting incandescent lava bombs and clouds of ash every 30 minutes.

I took time off from sipping my beer on my roof top bar with my colourful friends to take a photo of Fuego just for you.

That guy is sparking away as I relax.

Through all this volcanic and earthquake drama one thing endures – Starbucks!

Oh stop rolling your eyes – you should know by now if I’m going to show you a photo of Starbucks it’s going to be better than any photo of Starbucks you have.

This is reckoned to be the best looking Starbucks in the world! That’s another point on on the board for me! It’s just a pity the coffee is still like pond water.

Now I’ve got something special for you – yes the treats just keep on coming in this post. Here’s a colourful bus driven by one of my colourful Antiguan friends. Toot toot.

Please don’t get jealous of all my new Antiguan friends – I still care about you.

What’s the food like? Well it’s marvellous. Here’s my good friend Chef Mario Godinez at Barriga Llena and Susan’s prawn dish.

I had chicken and chips and it was the best damn deep fried chicken I’ve had since New Orleans.

Then I had the most unusual beer of my life! Oh yes, that’s made you listen. Well actually, it’s a beer cocktail.

I accept it looks like a can of average lager and a glass of muddy water. But have you ever heard of a piscositas?

It’s a can of beer topped with salt, worcestershire sauce, lime and a hot chile/onion salsa. Variations on this beer cocktail even have shrimps on the tin.

All I can say is it’s an acquired taste and I haven’t acquired that taste yet.

Regardless, don’t tell me you’ve had a more unusual beer cocktail than this! – chalk up another point to me!

I’m now going to finish with another photo of an old friend.

Yes, it’s Volcan de Agua again.

Explanation? Well, let me tell you this is the second time we’ve been to Antigua. Last time, 20 years ago we were young hippies on a backpacking trip.

Has Antigua changed in this time? You bet it has. It was once a wonderful backwater of colonial splendor. Today, like almost any place in the world, it’s blighted by too many tourists.

It’s still a great place to visit and Guatemala is a really lovely country. However, if you really want to see a country outwith the tourist hotspots then you need to travel by motorbike.

No, I’m sorry you can’t come with me – I’ve got a queue of girls in party dresses ahead of you!

The Friday Of Sorrows

Today we were leaving El Salvador and heading for Antigua, Guatemala. A reasonable 160 miles, crossing the border at Las Chinimas.

The roads are in relatively poor state, single carraigeway with many slow moving heavy vehicles. Our average speed was about 35mph and it took us just over two hours to travel 65 miles to the border.

The border crossing was a mix of experiences. Leaving El Salvador was easy and entering Guatemala was a pain. In Guatemala I had to stand at an outside counter for over an hour adjacent to workmen using a Stihl saw to cut concrete. The screaming, screeching noise was relentless.

I also got fleeced for $16 for the bike import permit. I was told to go to a money changer to convert dollars into quetzals to pay into the customs bank. More tariffs for poor motorcycle travellers – get them Donald, get them!

We were a bit frazzled after the border and heading towards the outskirts of Guatemala City en route to Antigua.

It was the Friday before Palm Sunday and this day is ‘The Friday of Sorrows’. This is the day set aside to honour the Virgin Mary. I just add that in case you were wondering.

In this part of the world, this time of the year is very important to most people. In this part of the world, ‘The Friday of Sorrows’ was an apt summary of our day.

So there we were on the road on a day when everyone appeared to be on the road. They had obviously decided to respect the Virgin Mary by going for a run in their car or clapped out lorry.

The roads were a new level of chaos.

Our average speed dropped to 20mph and we relied on Waze navigation to get around some deadlocked roads. Waze is a nightmare at the best of times and Waze on ‘The Friday of Sorrows’ was hell.

I won’t go into the dead ends and blocked roads we encountered, the times we struggled, the times we crumbled – it was one of the most exhausting, frustrating, confidence sapping experiences on the bike we have had in the whole of the Americas to date.

Forty miles and an estimated three hours to our destination, we reached the bottom of a very steep mountain with hairpin after hairpin bend. There’s nothing as bad in the UK.

The long line of vehicles went as far as the eye could see and they were crawling up, almost at a standstill.

As I’ve mentioned before some of the old heavy lorries are at 2mph on these roads and it’s sometimes difficult to see if they’re actually moving.

Now, on level roads in traffic we can go as slow as 3mph as long as Susan doesn’t wiggle. However, on a very steep incline we have to at least maintain 7-8 mph. I could explain why but I expect you don’t care about the details so I will move on.

Stopping suddenly on a steep incline with a bad road camber means there’s a possibility Susan will use up another BOom BOom jacket gas cannister and at £100 a time we don’t want that!

However, once we reach the back of the line of traffic we stop. It’s really not a nice place to be.

I recognise the gradient is too steep to start with our heavily laden bike. Yes, I can give it a go but in a couple of metres I have to do it again, and again, as I catch the back of the slow moving line of traffic. I really don’t want to fry another clutch.

There’s only one option when you have a heavy load. You ditch the cargo. We’ve all seen it in the movies – picture the scenario, the plane is going down and they have to throw the gold out to gain height to clear the mountain range.

Well that was exactly my position!

I was immensely pleased with my strong leadership qualities for I didn’t hesitate to discharge my precious cargo – ‘Susan you will have to get off!’

Susan didn’t hesitate and jumped off. As we like to say in football parlance – ‘she took one for the team’.

Susan started walking up the side of the mountain, up the side of the road with no pavement. It was unbearablly hot and the slow moving passing heavies were spewing thick oily black fumes.

What did I do? Well, I’m now the pilot with a light plane and I’m able to shoot up the mountain, make a few scary overtakes and forge ahead.

Now this is when I arrive at the same situation as my story in South America when I leftt Susan to walk up a snowy mountain. Today there were remarkable parallels.

After half a mile my helmet intercom makes a certain noise to say it’s lost contact with Susan. I can’t stop. There’s nowhere to stop and so I push on.

I soon come to an area where the incline is less and I know I have to stop. Susan is being left far too far behind. The bike is on the edge of the carraigeway and I’m causing chaos, partially blocking the road.

I wait.

I wait.

15 minutes.

I know she will have taken off her ‘hat’ and so even when the intercom now tells me with a certain tone that she’s within range, I still can’t speak to her.

Then I hear her shout.

I don’t know what’s happening. I genuinely think she’s been hit by a passing truck or bus.

Let me paint a picture – if a passing truck or bus stays on our side of the road they will pass within a foot or less of Susan. With the oncoming traffic they have problems pulling out to give her space. It’s that bloody tight.

So what do I do?

I shout into the intercom. No answer.

I decide to abandon the bike in its precarious position with everything we currently have and walk down the bloody mountain.

I shout again into the intercom.

I walk.

Then she answers – she’s fine! She’s still walking. She’d been shouting at a bus that had come too close.

Another 15 minutes later she reaches me.

Oh, she looks hot! No,no no! Not like that hot! I mean tomato heid hot!

It’s not a pretty sight but I take a diplomatic decision at this time not to tell her – ‘you’re doing great’ I say. That’s good leadership – sometimes you shouldn’t tell your team mate they look like their heid is about to explode.

She looks ahead of me and the parked bike. The road goes up like a rollercoaster and takes an unimaginable sharp hairpin. Susan knows what’s going to happen next.

‘Shall I keep walking?’ ‘Yes I think you’ve got to’ I reply.

I wait for a space in the traffic. I move the bike to the middle of the road. I wait. I block the traffic behind. I wait. I wait until I have enough clear road ahead that I can take a run at the corner.

Thankfully, the drivers behind are calm. They will be taking in the scene of a guy on a bike and a hot headed woman with a heid about to explode walking up the mountain. I’m sure it is better viewing than Guatemalan telly!

So off I go. Zoom, zoom around the oh so very steep hairpin. Hot heid is left walking behind.

I stop after a quarter of a mile and wait where I again really shouldn’t be waiting. Hot heid eventually arrives. She’s absolutely knackered.

‘Shall I keep walking?’ she asks. ‘I’m fine’.

Now under extreme pressure I remain diplomatic. She doesn’t look fine! But I say nothing! What a guy I am when I’m operating under pressure.

‘No, its okay’ I reassure her. This could go on for ever as we didn’t know where the summit was. As we were now on a slightly less steep area before a very bad hairpin it was time to give it a run.

Hot heid got on and I blocked the traffic. I waited. I waited. When I think I’ve left enough space ahead and eroded the patience of the drivers behind I go.

I could only see as far as the next upward hairpin, probably about 100 meters and I maintained 8mph. A steady 8mph. The queued traffic rolled behind me.

Why was I going so slow? Well the slower I went the longer it took me to catch up with the heavies ahead. With luck we would clear the top before we reached the end of the next tailback.

What a plan. And it worked!

Next mountain I did the same. Next hill, I did the same. I caused frustration but I kept moving, 8mph moving. Cars that did manage to overtake me, in the face of relentless oncoming traffic, just caught up with the 4mph queue ahead.

Later, I made overtakes that I really shouldn’t have. Susan remains calm and doesn’t take me to task. I put such overtakes into one of two categories – ‘I would do that again’ and ‘I wouldn’t do that again’.

Today’s overtakes were in the category ‘I would do that again’. We just had to get moving and get out of this absolute chaos.

Now there’s more to this story to tell but I think I’ve told enough. Unfortunately, I didn’t have the 360 camera on the bike as we were crossing a border and had to leave the bike unattended. So no photos. Anyway I wouldn’t want you to see a photo of Susan – she still thinks she looked fine.

We reached our destination, Antigua, checked in, and parked the bike in the hotel garage. That’s yet another story I could tell involving ‘nick nack’ (there’s a movie reference for you) but I’ve said too much already.

At last here’s a photo. There’s Susan at the door of our room. I’ve made sure she’s in shadow so you can’t see her hot heid. I’m doing yourself a favour and it’s no problem. Thank me later.

We were a bit shell shocked by the time we arrived at our hotel. Genuinely, it was that difficult. So we had a shower, put on our least smelly clothes and ended our ‘Friday Of Sorrows’ in the best place possible. Salud.