Tag: Adventure motorcycle

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 ÂŁ100 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.

A Clutch Of Problems

‘Oh no big helmet heid, I really hope you’re not going to bang on about that clutch again. Surely Jesus fixed it and you’re now on the road to salvation?’

Listen, we’re in this together and when I have an issue it’s a shared issue. So, unfortunately, until this bloody clutch is fixed, it’s our problem. My sincerest apologies.

Let’s temporarily change the subject and start with some positivity – after 14 days in Nicaragua, we’re crossing the border into Honduras! That’s 10 days later than our schedule.

Leaving Nicaragua wasn’t easy. They added a tariff for the bike to leave. To even enter the Nicaraguan Immigration hall we had to pay $1 each. In Central America it’s pay, pay, pay to cross the borders. So I’ve written to Trump to tell him not to miss the Nicaraguan’s.

Getting into Honduras wasn’t easy. Susan sat on the floor eating Ritz crackers, sharing the space with stray dogs. I sweated buckets dealing with customs, using Mr Google Translate to obtain the temporary import permit. I smiled and waited and smiled and waited.

Here’s a photo of the Honduras immigration and customs building.

I was drained by the time we left the immigration and customs. Susan remarked, I kid you not, ‘that wasn’t so bad’. Oh, I just had to laugh. She did say she felt a bit uncomfortable as the stray dogs eyed her sitting on the floor with biscuits. What a princess!

Now where were we? – oh, yes we’re in Honduras!

Do you know we had to travel to London to get a visa to enter Honduras and they charged us for it. So I’ve written to Trump and told him not to miss Honduras either!

We stayed one night in Honduras and moved onto El Salvador. Another border crossing. Not so bad this time. Easy exit and the customs entry was fine because a nice guy helped us through the process. Overall, it was fine and no extortion. I’ve written to Trump to tell him hands off the El Salvadorans.

We headed for San Miguel, Honduras, and as we approached the city over the mountains, the clutch slipped and slipped. Nowhere near as bad as before and we could still make progress. But it wasn’t great.

I was a wreck by the time we got to our hotel as I was fearful of it giving out altogether. A break down on the mountain roads of El Salvador isn’t something I could cope with. Well, you know what I mean. I would have coped because I’ve got to cope. I just didn’t want to be tested. Not this day. Please.

We had one option the following day – we would go to the BMW motorcycle garage in San Salvador. Hopefully we’re not delayed too many days as our schedule is suffering.

That night we shared a pizza hut. Do you want to see a photo of Pizza Hut? What do you mean, ‘no thanks Clif, just move on with the story’.

Have you ever seen a pizza hut under an active volcano?

I thought not. Chalk up another point to me.

The following morning we were rolling by 0715.

It was only a 100 miles or so and we made good progress as I massaged the clutch over the mountains. After the fainting melodrama, I constantly monitor the princess on the back and we stopped at a gas station after an hour.

Into San Salvador was a bit of struggle for the bike and we headed straight to the BMW garage. The last few miles were over very steep city back roads and the clutch got worse as the temperature rose. The traffic was chaos like you wouldn’t believe.

We reached BMW. Wonderful. Happy. RELAX!

The lady in reception spoke good English and immediately give us bottled water. We stripped off our outer jackets and bathed in the air conditioning. Made it! We bloody well made it! RELAX!

Everything is going to be alright.

I explained the problem to the lady in reception. She smiled. She looked helpful. ‘Yes, well I’m sure the workshop can look at it’. Wonderful. RELAX.

Everything is going to be alright.

‘Its just that you’re at the showroom and the workshop is a few miles away’

‘whimper, whimper, whimper’ – that’s me crumbling.

We get our gear back on and staff come out the showroom to stop the traffic so we can leave the BMW garage. The traffic is that bad. Thanks guys.

We follow the sat nav through the city and after 20 minutes reach the workshop. I’m full of trepidation as to what happens next.

I ride right up the service ramp and park where I probably shouldn’t park. I know this but I’m setting out my position – this bike is going nowhere until you sort it. So there!

I’m immediately greated by Fernando. ‘How can we help you?’. What a nice smiling man.

I explain the issue as he ushers us into the reception and he immediately summons for a technician to look at the bike.

It’s jackets off, bottled water and bathing in the air con. RELAX.

Everything is going to be alright.

Here’s a happy cool princess.

As the technician takes the bike for a spin, I’m given a tour of the complex by Fernando, who it transpires is the BMW Service Manager. What a guy!

We also meet Armando and Paula. Originally from Portugal but now living in Texas, they are travelling with two other riders en route to Panama.

Armando is a bit of a mechanic and he offered to strip the bike in the car park and fix the clutch for free. He thought there was air in the clutch fluid.

Of course I politely declined. I was not bouncing this bike from granny’s garage to a BMW car park to be repaired. This time the bike was going treated properly in the care of the professionals.

One day I want my bike to have as much travel character as Armando’s. That’s how an adventure bike should look.

Paula said she liked the aluminium cases on their bike as they’re good protection when she falls off. With Armando listening, Paula rolled her eyes when I asked how often she fell off. Ah, she has so much in common with Susan!

The technician confirms the clutch is needing attention and there’s oil leaking from seal. Here’s the bike in the service area.

The technician confirms Josias had indeed fitted the discos correctly. Nevertheless, the technician refitted the discos, retightened the springs and bolts to make sure everything was going to be alright.

Further examination found my hand guard was bent following my Humpty Dumpty fall and was now, ever so slightly, touching the clutch lever. Nice spot professional technician because lots of bikers have had a pull on my clutch over the last few weeks and nobody spotted that. Suffice to say I hadn’t either!

New oil and a bit of work on the clutch fluid hydraulics and everything was going to be okay. We were sorted. Hear that – the clutch saga is well and truly sorted. Well at least until I rip the arse out of this one!

We were given a BMW courtesy driver to take us and our panniers to our hotel as the bike had to rest for a few hours for the oil seal to cure. I was then picked up at 5pm by another BMW courtesy driver and taken back to the garage. Susan declined to go with me. Tonight there’s no Susan in this team.

Unfortunately, the few miles in San Salvador’s rush hour took us nearly two hours to get to garage. I texted Fernando to say I didn’t want the garage to be closed as I needed the bike that night. He replied ‘don’t worry’. RELAX.

Everything is going to be alright.

We arrived at a BMW garage in total darkness. My bike was sitting at the front.

As I alighted from the courtesy car, all the garage lights came on and Fernando stepped out the reception area. He had waited 90 minutes after closing time for me. What a guy!

‘There was so something in the air that night’

The garage lights were bright, Fernando

‘They were shining there for you and me’

‘For liberty, Fernando’

Yes liberty – we’re finally free to continue our journey without fretting about the clutch. Sweet.

The following morning we were up early and on the road to Guatemala. The clutch was great.

Unfortunately we had a hell of a day.

Everything was not going to be alright.

Nightmare In Nicaragua 5

Okay, I’m happy – if you don’t count the add on movies we’ve matched Rocky 5.

So where were we?

Oh yes, the melodramatic Susan has just fainted on a motorcycle moving at 55mph on the Nicaraguan highway.

Be calm. Just be calm whilst I tell you what a hero I was – nobody falls off my bike unless I’m falling off myself!

So when I felt Susan’s head keep hitting my back I immediately knew what was happening. I shouted

‘Susan, Susan!’

I reach around and hold her with my left arm. I’m now riding one handed. No problem if you’re going straight. Big problem if you want to pull in to a very narrow hard shoulder with wasteland next to it.

I had to get her to sit up.

‘Susan’ I shout again.

Finally, I hear ‘whaaaaaaaaaaat’

‘You’ve fainted’

‘whaaaaaaaaaat’

Then, ‘have I?’

‘Sit up’, ‘SIT UP’ ‘YOU NEED TO SIT UP!’

I feel her sitting up, I let her go and steer the bike into the side. We’re right on the edge of the paved road and only just off the main carraigeway. Heavy vehicles thunder passed.

I try to put the side stand down. I can’t. The camber on the road is too high and the bike stand is too close to the ground. Susan has to get off.

‘You have to get OFF!’

‘mmm mmumble’

‘I can’t’

‘GET OFF THE BIKE!’

She has to get off the bike so I can pull the stand down and get off the bike myself. We’re stuck until she does.

Slowly, very slowly she gets off the bike and I get the stand down.

We’re in the middle of nowhere.

I get Susan out of her jacket, hat and BOom BOom vest, give her water and I lie her down in the leaves with my gloves as her pillow.

Twenty minutes later she sits up.

I know you want a photo so paparazzi Clif steps up. I’m sorry I’m only pandering to my audience and you’re my audience. It’s essentially your fault I take photos of Susan in her times of desperation. You should be ashamed of your behaviour!

Now I took two photos. The first one she looked awful. So I asked her to smile. Here is the second photo.

After 30 minutes she tries to get back on the bike.

She has two failed attempts – each time the jacket and helmet go on she falters, feels sick and lies down.

I strap the BOom BOom jacket to the bike. I strap her jacket to the bike. I pack her leather gloves.

Less safe on the bike with less protection. More safe on the bike being cooler.

At this point Susan decides to take my initiative to the next level – she wants her pants off!

Jeezo Susan!

Let me explain. Underneath Susan’s goretex double lined trousers she wears motorcycle lycra short pants with thick padding on the hips. Just in case we fall to the ground.

She decides she wants them off!

Jeezoooo Susan!

Now I’m a caring guy but this is not the place to take your trousers off. Anything could be lying under that straw and leaf stuff.

But she wants them off and who am I to say no to an irrational hot headed woman?

So I kneel and take off her boots.

I kneel and pull down her trousers. No easy task when they’re double lined and she’s behaving like she’s a rag doll.

Then I pull down the padded shorts!

Now I know exactly what you’re thinking – you’re thinking ‘oh paparazzi Clif I wish you hadn’t been so busy saving Susan that you had time to take a photo of this scene!

Well I was too bloody busy saving Susan and you should be bloody ashamed of yourself for thinking I would stop my rescue to take a photo for your salacious pleasure!

It’s just as well then I have a 360 degree camera on the bike that never sleeps!!!

Here’s Susan relaxing.

Here’s Susan with her personal man servant.

By the time I got Susan dressed again I was done.

As you can see I’m still wearing BOom BOom and everything else. I was so exhausted I had to sit. I felt this situation was getting away from us.

There we were sitting amongst the leaves and the snakes and the 40c. She’s done. I’m done saving her from being completely done.

So what’s next? Well the only thing you can do is keep on going.

So I get up and on the fifth attempt I got Susan on the bike minus jacket and BOom BOom and the rest.

My focus and concentration come back once I’m on the bike. It’s probably the thought of a beer at the end of the day that kicks in and pushes me on.

A few miles later we reach Leon, straight into the market square and chaos. People, kids, donkeys, market stalls, scooters, trucks all over the place. Chaos.

I get Susan off and walking. I just can’t afford to risk dropping her off the bike. Not today.

I ride through chaos and multiple near misses. At least if the bike goes down it’s only me.

We clear the market square and Susan gets back on the bike and we complete the last half mile to the hotel. I half abandon the bike on the road and get Susan into reception.

When I get into reception I could see the concern the staff have when they’re looking at Susan. They’ve given her a glass of water. They don’t realise that when you give Susan water in these situations you almost shout at her to drink it.

She sips. ‘thats enough’. I shout. She drinks a bit more. I don’t shout loudly but I’m quite clear – ‘drink the bl**dy water!’

Oh, I get many a glower every single day! But there’s an understanding – she knows I’m right!

I bring in the first pannier. Each one is heavy unit. Today I’m struggling. I’ve got tightness across my chest. I think it stems from my bruised ribs when I fell off and impersonated ‘humpty dumpty’. It might be a heart attack. Well, I am a bit of a drama queen and it’s about time it was all about me again.

After five minutes I go back out to the street and get the next pannier. I then sit and rest until the tightness recedes. I go and get the third pannier. I sit and rest until the tightness recedes.

We check in.

Susan’s looking a bit better and she takes the key and the helmets to the room. ‘Come back and get the jackets, I will get the rest’.

I wait with the receptionist. I wait some more.

Susan doesn’t come back.

After 15 minutes waiting I smile and say to the receptionist ‘I don’t think she’s coming back to help?’. ‘No sir, I really don’t think so’.

It’s okay, it’s okay, she was fine. Susan just decided it was much nicer to lie on a bed than help me.

That’s fair.

One at a time I get the panniers to the upstairs room. It had to be upstairs. The maid helped me. I needed help from a maid. That’s when you know things are tough! The maid couldn’t actually lift the pannier and so she just dragged it along the tiled floor.

When I eventually get to the room with the luggage, Susan’s having a nice sleep. It amazes me how she can relax when she’s worried about how I’m coping.

I have a cold shower and get dressed. Remember the bike is half abandoned on the road outside.

The hotel has an adjacent garage and, as usual in this part of the world, negotiating the entrance on a large bike isn’t easy. There’s a narrow door, a very tight left turn and a five inch kerb. You need precision and speed. These are skills that I’m struggling to bring to bear at this time of this day.

I’m manoeuvring into a position where I can give it laldy when a guy on a small motorbike with girl pillion speeds up the road, doesn’t slow and impatiently sounds his horn. They all kind of do that bullying driving and riding in Nicaragua. It’s their way.

I lit up Leon with my ‘colourful’ shouting. The rider got such a fright he nearly lost control. Sorry impatient motorcyclist but you just picked on the wrong guy at absolutely the wrong time.

So is that the end of Nightmare in Nicaragua?

Well yes it is, I’m not going to go for 6 to beat Rocky.

After a wee sleep, Susan was feeling better. She refused a cold shower that would do her the world of good and I didn’t have the energy to moan.

We walked into town and sat at the rooftop bar. Is there a better way to end a story than a photo of a bottle of beer?

Of course there isn’t!

Nightmare In Nicaragua 4

Now Susan calls me Contingency Clif because I’ve always got back up plans. She actually calls me a lot more than that but that’s not relevant to this blog.

So when Josias and I stepped off the bike and I said ‘esta jodido’ I already had back up plans. It certainly wasn’t going back to granny! One of these options was to get back to Panama, come home and start again in 2026. Yes, Susan had agreed to that if necessary.

However, Josias stepped up, used my spanner and released some fluid from the clutch. We both tested the bike and it appeared fine. Hallefuckinglujah!

We parted ways. Josias said he found me ‘frightening’ and I was surprised – he didn’t actually see that side of me. I told him he was a nightmare to deal with. He told me he really liked me. I told him he was a nice guy but a nightmare. Oh, we had a pleasant goodbye.

As a footnote to this relationship, Josias has since said he would like to visit me in Scotland and ride motorcycles. He was serious. So if any of you have vehicle repairs needing attended please let me know and we can sponsor him and granny.

Photo time to break up the narrative. The bike is ready to leave. I’m starving (no breakfast), sweating and a bit of an emotional wreck after the last few hours. Please don’t zoom in on Susan as she’s got some maple syrup on her chin from her lovely pancake breakfast. How the privileged live!

Off we go to Leon. Bike repaired. It’s only a two hour ride as well. Sweet!

‘Oh, come on Clif’ I hear you moaning! ‘You’ve strung us along with this Nighmare 1,2 and 3 and suddenly it’s all going swimmingly’. ‘You’re a fraud’. You’re just like the Rocky movies. You’re milking it when you actually have nothing more to say!

Well, it was going swimmingly until I felt uncomfortable with the clutch. It just wasn’t right. I was tender with it as tender as I could be. The old clutch massager was back in action.

Oh, I know you’re tired of clutch this, clutch that!

I appreciate that and let me tell you that Nighmare 4 isn’t really about the clutch. The clutch only has a bit part role in this sequel.

Oh, you’re listening now aren’t you?

Well let me explain. It’s 40c. It’s hotter than a pizza oven.

You know what’s coming don’t you?

Who doesn’t like pizza oven temperatures? Well, we all know Pancake Susan doesn’t!!

There I am massaging the clutch when I hear in the intercom ‘if you see a garage can we stop’. ‘Yes, but there’s no garages about here’ I reply.

We’re in the Nicaraguan countryside and it’s pizza oven hot with no shade. Let me assure you, this isn’t North Berwick on a nice sunny day! This was Nicaragua, in the middle of nowhere, jungle all around, hostile and did I mention it was pizza oven hot?

It was at this moment, Susan decided to make it all about her.

So you remember the earlier story when Susan got so hot she could only see white light?

‘Oh, yes Clif we’ve heard that story before – don’t tell me she’s at it again?’

Well, we had none of that white light nonsense this time. She bypassed all that!

For at 55mph on the Nicaraguan highway she fainted!

No melodrama. No swooning. No moaning about the heat.

Just ‘thump’.

That’s the ‘thump’ from her head hitting me on the back.

‘Thump’ that’s her head hitting me for a second time further down my back.

She’s coming off.

At 55mph on the Nicaraguan highway.

Welcome to Nightmare 5.

Nightmare In Nicaragua 3

Next morning I waited for a text from Josias – I needed reassurance granny wasn’t off with my bike.

Susan and I discussed and made a plan. We decided if I didn’t hear by lunchtime I would text him. At 10am I broke and sent him a message – ‘Hola Josias, como esta mi moto’.

Yup, our plan was ‘oot the windae’. It failed on first contact with my nerves.

Uppermost in my mind was you lot – oh yes, I could already hear you laughing at me being robbed by Jesus and his granny.

I had pinned the location of granny on Google Maps. Yeah, yeah, I’m not so daft. Well, maybe I am but at least I knew where granny lived – I had a big red heart (favourite) on my Managua Google map labelled ‘Granny’.

Thankfully, Josias soon replied and I didn’t have to follow that red heart to granny. What a relief!!

Josias explained the clutch was finished and he sent a photo of the bike. Thank goodness granny doesn’t have carpet.

And here’s the burnt out clutch plates or ‘discos’ as we call them in this part of the world.

We needed a new set of ‘discos’. Big problem – nowhere in Central America has these ‘discos’. Nowhere. We were in a disco desert.

Two days later, we sourced discos in Connecticut, USA, and arranged for them to be shipped via Miami. It would take a week. That’s the best we could do.

The Nicaraguan shipping agent was a nice guy and very helpful. He had a warehouse and he shipped things. He bought the discos from USA and then sold them to me on arrival for cash. It was a reasonable deal.

Before I go any further, I should add some context because I know a few intelligent people read these stories and will be shouting ‘didyounotthinkabout….. etc etc.’ That’s how intelligent people think – they call it joined up thinking.

I tried BMW garages in Guatemala, El Salvador and Costa Rica. They all replied it would be a month to source the ‘discos’ and if they’re saying a month then that’s best case scenario.

Going back to Costa Rica would have meant our visa for Honduras would expire and that’s us finished if we can’t pass through Honduras. Transporting a broken bike across borders with no guarantee it would get fixed would be another problem altogether.

So now we waited.

We were in a nice hostel with nice friendly people. I mean very friendly people. It was a hostel and so like South American hostels there were a lot of young ‘backpackers’. We were all very cool.

Unfortunately, although our room was comfortable, it looks like a jail cell.

Fortunately, it had a nice area outside where hostel cool people can chill, talk about ‘discos’ and do their ‘yard time’.

Unfortunately, there’s not much to do in Managua. It’s safe enough if you take a pragmatic view as to what you should do and where and when you should go. Its not a pretty place. It’s not a place for tourists.

Fortunately, there is a shopping mall down the road from our hostel.

Unfortunately, it’s a twenty minute hot, humid walk.

We walked to the mall twice a day for exercise, coffee and food.

That was about it.

We lived a simple, extraordinarily boring life waiting for the discos.

One day we walked to the market.

Another rubbish market in another rubbish city. They’re all over the world and only Tic Toc people and Instagrammers find them fascinating. I’d like to put these markets into some context though – they’re still better than Benidorm!

On the way to the market we passed through a neighbourhood we shouldn’t be in. I saw a teaspoon of white powder being passed through a grill in a door. Yup, it could have been sugar for his tea. Just didn’t get the feeling it was.

So we got a taxi back.

Eventually, after being in Managua for 8 days the ‘discos’ arrived and we went with Josias to collect. Oh, I know – you want a photo and so here it is. Discos 👇

Josias took the discos and went back to granny. That was Friday lunchtime and I was hoping we might get the bike on Friday evening. Josias said we would. Excellent.

We celebrated in my favourite restaurant – beer and wings! Nice! It only has one downside – I have to sit and watch Susan’s face as she has disdainfully eats the food. She puts up with it because her life is all about putting up with me. Life can’t always be about hummus, pitta bread and veggies – sometimes life is beer and battered wings. As Oasis once said ‘you’ve gotta roll with it’.

Late in the day, I received a text from Josias – did I have the technical manual for my bike that showed the position of the ‘discos’ within the clutch?

Oh, my legs crumbled and I whimpered.

After a week waiting for the ‘discos’ he was now asking me for the technical installation details.

Be calm, Clif. Be calm! Granny has your bike hostage. Be calm!

Thirty minutes later I sent him 6 photos from the appropriate technical manual downloaded from the internet.

I crumble, I whimper, I rise. Honestly, somtimes I’m immense! I’m sorry I’ve got to say that but if I don’t say that it goes unspoken. And we wouldn’t want my immenseness to go unrecognised would we? Would we?

Now, Josias is a lovely guy but he just can’t deliver. Oh yes, I know we’ve all worked with these type. As a manager would say ‘he’s not task orientated’. Of course, the other side of that Myers Briggs coin is empathy. Well I can tell you Josias was not empathetic either because he was driving me fu**ing mad!

Friday went. Saturday came and went. Sunday came.

Promise me this. I promise you that. Guarantee this, guarantee that. On and on, text after text. I just think he never sat down and worked for any length of time on the issue.

All our conversation was in Spanish. Hundreds of texts. Believe me if you’re not delivering I’m on your case. Oh, I was persistent.

By Sunday afternoon I was a bit of an expert on my motorbike clutch. I studied the manual and I watched countless videos. I honestly think I could have done the job myself.

Josias had difficulty working in the evening because granny’s leccy had been cut off so he worked by torchlight. Not that I think a lot of work was getting done.

Things were getting tense on Sunday evening. I wanted the bike that day. I was promised the bike that day.

It was about the fifth broken deadline and I went to sleep that night at midnight after failing to get Josias to deliver.

We agreed I would get the bike in the morning and Susan and I would travel onwards that day.

Josias said I was definitely getting the bike in the morning and I could pick it up at 4am if I wanted. You’ve got to laugh!

Next morning at 6am I’m on his case.

By 8am I was in a taxi to granny’s whilst Susan tucked into her nice breakfast of pancakes, syrup and fresh fruit. I know you always like to know what Susan is doing and we don’t want the blog to be all about me, me, me.

So Susan is having pancakes and I’m in a taxi to I don’t know what.

When I get to granny’s, Josias is still finishing up working on the bike. Why couldn’t this have been done before I arrived? No reason – that’s just how he is.

I didn’t take the cash to Josias to pay him. I’m not travelling to backstreet Managua with cash. I tell him he has to come to our hostel and Susan will pay. Susan looks after our dosh.

Josias jumps on the back of the bike and I test ride it to the hostel. When we get there I’m sunk. I’m finished.

The clutch is slipping!

Nightmare in Nicaragua 4 is unfolding.

And it’s perhaps the scariest yet!