Tag: Adventure motorcycle

Nightmare In Nicaragua 2

Once I connected with Josias we returned to the bike.

Thankfully, Susan says she was just fine and had reached ‘Amazing’ level on her NY Times Spelling Bee puzzle. She said the puzzle had relaxed her and she wasn’t even that hungry yet. Excellent.

Back outside in the 35c heat and humidity, Josias, Mr Google Translate and I talked over the issues with the bike.

‘esta hecho polvo’ he said – ‘its knackered’. Well, he didn’t exactly say that but I’m trying to give you some linguistical flavour in this story.

We agreed to take the bike to his ‘workshop’. Before we did that I reminded Josias of my priority – first, we had to get Susan to the hostel.

Thankfully I had chosen well – it was a largely flat route and we made it in a few minutes. We checked in and I left Susan sitting on a nice settee with a fan for cooling. I unloaded the panniers by myself and headed off for the second time today. Susan took it in her stride and appeared completly at ease. What a trooper!

I follow Josias, who is riding his small motorbike through the city. I can’t keep up. The clutch had well and truly gone.

We take the bike back to where I first met Josias and parked the bike in his workshop. To be honest, it was actually his grandmother’s living room.

As I’ve said before my heart wasn’t sinking because it had reached rock bottom. It had nowhere to sink.

I gave Josias my keys and he took me back to the hostel. I climbed onto the back of his small motorcycle. It’s tiny and I’m still in my big boots and trousers. I look like a gorilla sitting on a coconut.

I let Josias know I wasn’t experienced being on the back – only once in South America for a short journey.

Josias laughed, shrugged and pulled a quick u turn to get us on our way. He got a fright when two hands gripped him.

After a few minutes through the traffic I began to relax and dropped my hands and started balanced myself by squeezing him with my thighs. Suffice to say that’s the last time Josias offered to take me on his bike.

I took a photo of Josias testing my bike outside his grandmother’s living room garage.

And here’s the living room garage premises. It’s not the one with the white doors – it’s the one behind the bike.

At the end of this road there was a wooden police box where the police keep a permanent 24 hour presence. One police officer in a one person ‘lookout’. I would have taken a photo to show you but I thought better of it – the Nicaraguan police don’t have a good reputation.

As you can appreciate this neighborhood profile was not very reassuring for a guy without a clutch!

Once back at the hostel I was pleased to see Susan had made it through the afternoon. Such resilience.

I was fretting a bit. I was still fretting after a few beers in the evening and if I’m still fretting when I’m drinking beer then you know there’s a serious bit of fretting going on.

I was just too well aware I had just given my bike and its only electronic key to a guy in a Managuan backstreet.

I had taken photos. I’m not so daft – I was once a policeman in an alternative world.

I aslo had his phone number and we agreed he would WhatsApp me in the morning once he had looked at the clutch.

Would he really?

Jeez, how would I explain this to everyone? – you did what? you gave him what? you didn’t even know him?, he didn’t have a garage, just a grandmother’s living room? In bloody Nicaragua?

Yes I did. I bloody well did!

It’s actually not as bad as that. It’s a little bit badder.

Before Josias left me in the afternoon he asked if I could give him $20 for tools. I actually gave him $40 and the few tools I carry. Loaded up, he motorcycles off into the sunset.

I didn’t sleep well that night for dreaming of a granny riding about town on my bike. A kind of witch and broomstick theme, Wizard of Oz thing.

So that’s Nightmare in Nicaragua 2 – can it get any worse than a granny riding your bike?

Of course it can!

Please let me welcome you to Nightmare in Nicaragua 3.

Nightmare In Nicaragua

So there I am sitting on the bike on a fast carraigeway dealing with my emotions. That sinking feeling when I realised the bike was finished going forward. The despair knowing I wouldn’t find a garage in Managua that could undertake the repair. The hopelessness of not knowing what to do next.

Well, I soon snapped out of that! It was obvious what I had to do next – I had to get off this bloody road before someone rammed me up the backside!

I recalled we had passed a gas station at the roundabout. The only way to get there was reverse. For non motorbike people I will highlight that the bike doesn’t have a reverse gear. Nevertheless, gravity was on my side. Still, it’s not the best manoeuvre to reverse down a three lane ‘dual carraigeway’. You know what I mean – I’m sure there’s a technical term for it.

So with Susan as my back marker waving at motorists to stay out the inside lane, I slowly rolled back.

There’s Susan walking behind. As you can see the camera caught her not waving. I suspect she’s busy thinking about how much of my pension she gets if I don’t make it!

Time and time again someone would come right up behind me. Driving behaviour in this part of the world is abysmal. There was a lot of shouting, mainly from a guy in a nice helmet.

Slowly, so slowly, I reversed into the gas station car park, picked my spot and parked the bike. I was physically and emotionally drained.

I had to get a grip – it was now a matter of priorities!

Yes, you’ve guessed it – the bottom has just fallen out of our travelling world and the first priority is to get Susan out of this bloody heat!

So into the air conditioned cafe we go. I get Susan out of her hat, jacket and BOom BBOom vest, sit her at a table and buy a large bottle of cold water.

Right that’s the priorities sorted – so let’s see about the bike.

Now, let’s rewind 3 hours to my cock a doodle do, rice and beans breakfast.

In between the cocks and the doodles, I managed to recount our bike issues to out lovely host. She recommended a friend, a motorcycle mechanic in Managua who used to work for Triumph.

I politely listened and said everything would be fine and when she showed me a 3 year out of date Facebook profile I took a photo to be nice.

Standing in the cafe, as I contemplated what to do, I received a phone message from this lady – ‘may our Creator be with you and guide you safely to your destination’

I then remembered that Facebook entry, I remembered his name – ‘Josias’.

Now sit down when I tell you this next bit. Do you know the name ‘Josias’ is of Hebrew origin and means ‘God supports and heals, God helps’!

Wow! Here I was standing in an air conditioned cafe having a bit of a biblical moment.

It was a sign and so I tried phoning the number on Josias’ three year old Facebook entry but something was wrong. Wrong code, wrong something.

I needed a local who could help. A wise man. Well there were about 30 people in that air conditioned garage cafe and not one of them could help. Nobody could speak English and as I didn’t want a beer at this time, my useful Spanish phrases were exhausted.

So I brought out my old friend Mr Google Translate and suddenly I was like Captain Kirk who could talk to the Klingons.

One young lad showed an incling of helpfulness and I pounced on this. With his help, we phoned Josias again with a change of local code. No luck, the number appeared cut off.

Three year old Facebook. Cut off phone number. What’s next?

Well Josias had a three year old address on Facebook. I checked it on Google Maps. There’s no listing for a garage. No listing for anything.

Give up?

Of course I didn’t. I’ve got the ‘Creator’ leading me to Josias. I know I have. Nobody said the path to salvation was easy. I’ve got to find my way and not give up.

Next step? Oh yes, a quick check on my priority lets me know all is well. Susan is fine and working out the latest conundrum on her phone puzzle game. She’s looking relaxed and cool.

I spoke to the young lad and asked about getting a taxi. I showed him the addesss and he said he would take me. It wasn’t an area of town for a an old gringo to venture into alone. Just as well as I didn’t even have any local currency for a taxi. Someone’s looking out for me!

Within 5 minutes we were in his small, beat up car with no air con. I was still in half motorcycle gear, roasting and toasting.

Another 10 minutes we were sitting outside an optician waiting on his wife and mother in law. Apparently we had a pick up first.

Another 20 minutes and we’re still waiting outside the optician.

I texted Susan an update in case she was worried. She wasn’t. Somehow, just somehow, she manages to remain cool and collected in these stressful situations.

Meanwhile, back in the car like an oven, I multitask and search for accomodation in this city. I knew we were going nowhere at least for a few days.

I found a hostel with parking (not an easy thing to do) within 0.5 miles of where the broken bike was. I reasoned I could push it there if necessary.

So I booked two nights and texted Susan so she knew we had a plan for the night. She appreciated the reassurance. I just hope my message didn’t interrupt a crucial part of her puzzle on her phone.

Eventually, wife and mother in law appeared and we set off for my non existent garage. Mr Google Translate was our friend as we journeyed through the Managua backstreets.

We pulled into a small broken down road with broken down houses and nothing much else. We parked. The young lad looked at me. This was it. There was nothing here. I was nearly broken in broken down road.

But my heart can’t sink because it can’t sink any lower. Still, I could feel the energy flow out my body.

The young lad is about to turn the car around and head back. He’s given up. Is that it do we just give up?

Of course we bloody don’t! I’m on the road to salvation!

I’m about to get out the car and have a wander around when I see two guys sitting on small plastic stools outside a house a hundred metres down the road.

I stare at them. I recognise that guy. I pull out the three year old Facebook photo. It looks like him. I show it to the young lad. He shrugs. He’s unconvinced.

I get out the car and walk up to them.

‘Josias?’ I ask

‘Si’ he replies.

Hallelujah!

The Master Massager

During our stay in Granada I arranged an appointment with the BMW garage in Guatemala to look at the clutch.

There’s very few garages in this part of the world who can fix large motorbikes – they don’t have the training and they certainly don’t have the parts. They’re used to riding and repairing small bikes with generic, swappable parts.

Our most likely success would be in Guatemala City and that was another 450 miles along the main highway.

We were awake early at 4am on the day of our departure from Granada. In this biodiverse hotel we had two cockerels living outside our room. Oh, these guys could cock a doodle doo like it was a cock a doodle doo world championship!

After a breakfast of eggs, rice and beans, we headed for Leon, a nice easy 83 miles along the main highway. Or so we thought.

I was treating the bike nice and the bike was being nice to us. That’s how relationships work. Don’t they?

‘Not always!’ I hear you shout back! Yeah, I agree and in this relationship no matter how well I treated the bike it had made its mind up it was going to have a bit of a huff. That’s how relationships work. Don’t they?

We were rolling along nicely when we hit the outer main roads of Managua, capital city of Nicaragua. It was traffic bedlam.

We’re used to traffic chaos in this part of the world. Hell, we even survived La Paz. But this time it’s a little bit special. After each stop I have to massage the clutch to get the bike moving. My hands were tender and skilfull. Honestly, I was like master baker Paul Holywood making the softest, fluffiest white bread in the world.

We kept moving. Slowly through the traffic. The clutch and I began to overheat. I breathed slowly, the sweat dripped and I massaged.

We reached a large roundabout and the road ahead looked relatively clear. A wide roadway leading over a bit of an incline. Looked like heaven. I smiled. We had made it. I had massaged that clutch through traffic hell. I was the clutch massager. What a guy I am!

I sighed in relief as we negotiated the roundabout and headed up the hill. Take it nice and easy. Nice and easy does it, master massager.

Then the bike slowed. It revved. It wouldn’t pull up the hill.

I massaged, I shifted down to first gear but the bike continued to slow.

It had had enough.

It stopped.

The clutch massager stopped.

Stopped in the inside lane on a fast road, I checked the mirrors for vehicles racing up behind.

‘It’s finished’ I said to Susan.

‘Get off, it’s clear’.

Susan jumped off.

‘This bike is going nowhere!’

Nightmare in Nicaragua had begun.

Beer & Biodiversity

We reached La Fortuna, a bit bruised, a bit battered and a bit shaken.

The bike had a few more character scratches and a wing mirror stem was partially broken. I tried to fix it but I was a little too rough and it snapped. It was a just one of those days so we went for a walk, a pizza and a beer.

It’s a nice town but you wouldn’t send a postcard home about it.

It does have a nice volcano. The Arenal volcano was thought to be extinct until 1968 when it unexpectedly erupted, continuing until 2010. This event changed the geography of the entire region, making it one of the most visited destinations in Costa Rica.

Thankfully, we found BeerLand and all our troubles seemed so far away.

For the next few days we rested and did jungle things. Keeping Susan happy makes me happy. Here’s Susan happy and cool walking along hanging bridges in the jungle canopy. It’s a bonanza of biodiversity.

Back at our hotel, I tried to repair the broken wing mirror but it was beyond help so we bought a replacement at a local garage. I don’t think anyone will notice.

I also replaced the gas cannister in Susan’s safety vest and, hopefully, she won’t waste this one. I’ve still got a spare but that’s mine. Susan is on her last cannister until we get to Dallas where I’ve ordered her another. It’s like the helmet – she doesn’t deserve a new one until she learns to look after the one she’s already got. Okay, okay sit down! I’m only kidding. She’s the priority.

After La Fortuna, we travelled to Monteverde and did some more jungle activities. Nature and biodiversity make me so happy.

We went to a Sloth sanctuary. I could hardly contain myself with the excitement.

The guide explained that the sloth is the slowest mammal in the world. It’s a close call between the sloth and the koala.

When I heard this I immediately raised my hand and put the guide right – I’ve got friends who move much slower than that! Oh, the assembled party had a good laugh. What a great time we were having in a biodiverse world.

Okay, that’s all the biodiverse fun I’m going to tell you about. Back to the journey. Back to reality.

So it’s time to leave the mountains and leave Costa Rica.

Leaving Monteverde was a rollercoaster road but largely downhill. The clutch wasn’t happy and everything was overheating and slipping. It was a little bit fraught. Actually, it was a big bit fraught. You wouldn’t believe how fraught we were.

Out of the mountains, we stopped at a gas station at the junction with the Panamanian Highway and let the bike rest and cool.

What do we do?

Do we go back 70 miles to San Jose where there is a BMW garage or do we push on?

It was a huge dilemma. I knew the sensible option. I knew the riskier option. I knew the ins and outs, the upsides and the downsides, the good and bad, the pros and cons.

Yes of course, we pushed on.

We were now on the Pan American highway where inclines are more gradual and I kept it smooth, we rolled on and reached Liberia. The following day we crossed the border into Nicaragua.

It was the worst border crossing we have encountered so far in South and Central America. Three hours of awful checks, queues and bureaucracy.

Susan suffered in the heat of the immigration queue but I found her a nice chair, gave her water and a cool place to relax and eat a few snacks. She always carries a few emergency snacks and her current favourite is Ritz crackers. Meanwhile, I struggled through the heat, the bureaucracy, the idleness of officials and completed the police and customs processing.

Once we got our temporary import permit for the bike we headed for Granada. Seemingly it’s one of the highlights of Nicaragua with a genuine colonial feel.

We reached our nice hotel early afternoon and parked the bike.

Now, I really don’t know why other hotels don’t offer this convenience. There’s the bike safely parked, under cover. You can see Susan checking in at reception and the tables on the right are for breakfast. What a sweet arrangement.

Our room was rustic but that’s what you get in this biodiverse part of the world.

We were at one with nature. I can tell you it’s fulfilling to be living a biodiverse life in this frenetic, wasteful world. You should try and be like me. It makes you so happy.

After a quick cold shower (us biodiverse people don’t waste energy on heating water) we went into town to explore the colonial setting.

Now I would like to tell you about a colonial biodiverse paradise and make you envious of the life I was living. But I can’t. It was a dump!

Yes, there was the odd okay bit

But largely it was a dump.

Thankfully we found a nice restaurant and had some nice food and okay beer.

Welcome to Nicaragua.

BOom Bang a Bang 2

So there we were twisting again like we did last summer, round n’ around n’ up n’ down we go again.

We negotiate each bend, each hairpin, on the narrow road moving higher and higher into the mountains. We’re not going fast, just enough to maintain momentum.

Time and time again we make the corner. It’s never easy. It’s never comfortable. We’re constantly on the edge of failing and falling.

It had to happen. Our luck ran out.

We swept round a hairpin corner and at exactly the wrong moment a car descending came round the hairpin corner above us. The car kept coming. Oh yes I have a photo!

We were both travelling about 15 mph and closing fast. I tried to accelerate to the concrete on the right. You can’t really see it from the photo but that’s the inside of the corner and steepest part of the road. I had nowhere else to go. The car kept coming.

That’s when I realised we had a problem. I asked for more power from the bike and it just wasn’t there. The bike couldn’t take us up that side of the road. It didn’t accelerate. The car kept coming.

The bike stalled. It stopped and went down to our right. Oh yes I have a photo!

What an action shot!

As you see I have a foot down. I’m lightning fast. I’m already looking at the spot I’m going to fall because my first priority is to protect my shiny new helmet.

Susan on the other hand is (as we say in Scotland) ‘going doon like a sack o’ tatties’.

Now if you look closely at Susan you may think she’s put on a lot of weight on this trip. Please can I tell you that’s her BOom BOom jacket already inflated. BOooooom. Pssssssssss. Beeeeeeeep beeeeep.

Down we go. We hit the ground then bike and us continue to slide downhill into that concrete rain gutter. Thankfully I stopped when I slid into Susan.

It’s quite disorientating falling off the bike. No matter how many times we do it we just can’t seem to get used to it.

As I’m falling I hear the BOom. I thought it was the bike. Then I realised it’s a BOom BOom vest. Jeez I didn’t feel it going off! Then I realised it wasn’t me.

As well as the beeping from Susan’s BOom BOom vest, the bike is trying to make it’s automatic emergency call.

I’ve said it before and I will say it again. It’s ridiculous to think an old guy like myself can fall off a bike and get to the ‘off’ switch in 30 seconds. I’m still going ‘what the fu*k, what’s happened’ before trying to get my trapped leg out.

What about my vest? Well it hadn’t gone off. Probably because I didn’t go down like a sack of tatties. Saved us £100 for a replacement gas cylinder. Nice. Chalk one up for the dainty big guy.

By this time the two chaps are out the car and helping Susan up. I’m left to get up myself.

Petrol is running out the bike but its just because it’s kind of upside down on the hill.

Thankfully it’s fine. Thankfully I’m fine. Susan is fine too, just looking big.

With the help of the two chaps we righted the bike and I got on. I tried to get up the hill but it kept stalling. We unloaded the cases off the bike and tried again. It stalled. I fell. BANG.

It’s okay though Susan wasn’t on the bike. Just me. She was hot though. I mean sweaty hot. And Big.

The guys helped us for about an hour. We pushed and pulled that bike. One guy was great at helping take the weight of the bike on the steep hill. The other guy was not much use. He must have been the boss. I’m pretty sure he was the driver that kept on coming.

I was absolutely knackered and trembling from the continued effort. One more go. The bike stalled. I fell again. BANG.

This time I not only fell off the bike I rolled down the hill like humpty bloody Dumpty. Oh yes I have photos for your absolute delight.

Humpty Dumpty had a great fall

It’s all good though. Yes, I now have bruised ribs and rips on my jacket but just look at what Susan is carrying – yup she’s got my nice new shiny helmet keeping it safe. Nice.

What was causing our problems was the bike’s clutch was knackered. Right from the start, we both fell off when it didn’t engage properly and by now it was just downright reluctant.

It was sooooo hot and we decided to wait, let the clutch cool whilst exploring other route options.

A nice couple in a jeep thing arrived and offered to take Susan and the luggage to the next town. They loaded the panniers into their car.

I was hesitant about trying it again. Everyone is looking at me. The two guys from the car that kept on coming. The two people in the car that were trying to take Susan and luggage to the next town. The five of them were silently staring Humpty down.

Then in the quiet of the mountain stillness, Susan uttered these immortal words ‘one more time Cliff, one more time’.

Now I’d like to paint a movie scene where Susan looks at me (you know the kind of looks you used to get on Little House On The Prairie), pats me on the shoulder, comforts me with encouragement in her eyes and says those immortal words.

But I always paint the truth.

She said these immortal words as she started climbing into the bloody car!

I shouted. ‘Don’t get into the bloody car, I have even decided if I can do ‘one more time!’

To be honest, I don’t know when I would have given up. I was nearly there but not quite. I had one more try. I felt the pressure from the silent five pairs of eyes looking at me as if I needed to get a grip.

I really was at my limit. I was struggling. I was soaking sweating. I was trembling from sheer exhaustion. I felt battered and bruised.

By this time the clutch had cooled a bit and I gave it ‘one more time Cliff’.

The bike roared, the clutch slipped, it shuddered, it picked up and touch and bloody go, I made it to the top of the hill. Humpty rises!

The 10 mile journey to the next town was helter skelter and treacherous although the road improved. It’s okay don’t worry – ‘one more time’ Susan was quite happy in the car.

Here’s a photo of the changeover when the couple gave me the luggage and ‘one more time’ Susan back.

We packed up again. Susan had to zip up her inflated BOom BOom vest because we still had another 90 minutes of riding over mountains to our destination. Did I mention I was shaken and at my limit? Well we couldn’t stop, there was no other option.

Thankfully, the roads were two way and not so hazardous.

And so we’ve seen photos of humpty rolling down the hill so it’s only fair we see a photo of Susan to make us smile. Here’s 42 GG ‘one more time’ Susan.

So that’s part 2 of BOom Bang Bang.

What about the dodgy clutch ‘humpty’?

Well that’s another story for another day.

It got worse. Much worse!

You wouldn’t believe how much worse if I told you!

BOom Bang a Bang

‘Come closer, come closer and listen’, BOom Bang a bang, BOom Bang a bang’

What on earth am I talking about? A Lulu song from the 1960’s?

Well the words are appropriate and all will be revealed. You’ve just got to read on for a bit. Patience please.

So we’re in Costa Fortune and it’s time to move on from Manuel Antonio to La Fortuna in the mountains. We’re going to look at jungles because Susan likes jungles.

You will have noticed I’ve changed the country’s name to Costa Fortune. That’s not a typo.

It’s probably because of the influence of American tourism (yes the Yanks are here in numbers) but the cost of everything is sky high. Food is expensive and buying a beer is just legal extortion. I pay less for a beer in central London than I do here. It’s unacceptable.

Anyway, back on the road again. Yes, yes I’m coming to BOom. I’ve not forgotten! You like a BOom and a bit of hardship. I appreciate you prefer stories about me suffering rather than Susan and I can let you know, on balance, (two bangs to one BOom) I probably did.

Oh you’re happy now and can’t wait for that story!

Our journey started after breakfast about 0730. The sun was shining and it was hot and humid. We stopped when we saw a crowd on a bridge and parked beside the polis.

We looked over the bridge to see what all the commotion was about.

Now, Susan likes animals, birds and insects of all kinds. I’m ambivalent to looking at animals unless they’re medium rare with a side portion of chips.

On this occasion, I was impressed. Crocodiles. I love these guys!

Susan was disappointed they weren’t moving but that’s the point. They don’t move. They don’t give a …….. (‘big editor chief’ will delete the word I was going to use so please use a word you think is appropriate). 2% of my friends will choose the right word.

If you drop your phone over the bridge when taking a photo then nobody is going for it. These guys are top tier hard! They don’t need to move to impress.

It was then goodbye to the polis and goodbye to the crocs and we headed into the mountains. We headed along the small, winding, steep roads recommended by sat nav.

Now before you roll your eyes to the sky and say (whilst sipping a latte in the comfort of the latest Instagram cafe) ‘oh, did the ‘big knobber’ follow sat nav and get himself into trouble?’ ‘Did he really?’ Well, yes ‘big knobber’ kinda did!

Let me give you some mitigating circumstances – I cross check these routes as much as I can and in central America the information is patchy at best. I reviewed this route countless times and well, to be frank, I still failed.

So, there we were on roads that were a little bit more than single track, paved but broken, multiple potholes, steep, acute bends, going higher and higher. On a big heavily laden two up bike it was tortuous. We were in the back of beyond and only saw the occasional local in a pick up truck.

At some junctions the turn was so tight Susan had to get off and let me manoeuvre the bike myself. She then jumped on and off we went. Up and up. Higher and higher. On a wing and a prayer.

We came to a Y junction on a 30 degree incline. I had a left or right choice. The sat nav faltered. I had to choose in a split second because I couldn’t stop moving. I chose right!

Well I fuc*ing didn’t!! I chose WRONG.

I’m sorry about the profanities but you need to try and empathise how I was feeling. This wasn’t good. Really it wasn’t!

Right away the road surface turned to broken rubble and the aspect changed to 45 degrees. I don’t exaggerate. It could have been more. Get your protractor out and have a look at a 45 degree slope!

I immediately knew it was the wrong road. I knew it was the wrong fuc*ing road two seconds after I took the right road!

And I couldn’t stop!

If I stop the bike’s going down. It’s too steep to stop.

I keep it moving.

I’ve no idea what Susan is thinking because I can’t talk. I’m too busy trying to deal with the situation and the rising panic. I would like to say I was cool but I wasn’t. My mind was racing. The bike was racing. You can’t go slow. To go slow is to fail. And failing is going to hurt.

Thankfully, Susan says nothing. She can sense things are wrong and knows it would have been better to have gone for a swim with the crocs.

‘So what are you going to do ‘big knobber?’ ‘What have you got poor Susan into this time?’ Careering up a mountain! Careering ‘big knobber’!

Well I had a plan! You hear that, I had a plan!!

My plan was to keep going until I got to the top!

Don’t smack your forehead! Yup, it’s not a great plan but it was the best the ‘big knobber’ could come up with.

Have some thought for poor Susan. She didn’t know we even had a plan. All she knew is that the ‘big knobber’ wasn’t speaking and if the ‘big knobber’ stops speaking we’re in serious sh*t.

Jeezo, the bike bounced and skidded and we were all over the road. Then, after what seemed like an eternity the incline reduced slightly. Then the road stopped. I stopped. It wasn’t the plan. It was the end of the road.

I managed to hold the bike and Susan lept off like a woman dismounting after an Olympic event on the parallel bars. Whoosh. Jump. She’s down. Feet on the ground.

That’s a relief. I’m sure you’re all happy for her.

Now it’s just ‘big knobber’ and the bike. Unfortunately, the bike was in control as it started slipping backwards down the road. Brakes were on. Bike was still reversing. Gravity is a bugger.

I knew we had passed an entrance to a field about 100 meters back down so I released the brake, stopped the skidding, started rolling. A metre it rolled then applied the brake. Another metre we kept skidding. I let it roll another metre. Braked. Another metre it kept on skidding. Another metre I let it roll ….. you get the picture. Perpetual motion.

I knew if the bike fell I couldn’t pick it up again on this slope. I knew nobody else was coming up this road. I knew we were on our own. My arms and legs ached. A painful ache.

Before you get concerned, let me remind you Susan is okay. She’s probably a little hot but she’s fine. So just relax and read on.

Well, I rolled and skidded the bike down to sanctuary of that field, turned the bike around and faced down the rocky road.

By this time I was in a bit of a physical wreck from the exertion and the heat. I couldn’t get off. I had the next issue to face – getting back down again.

My first thought was for Susan to walk to the bottom. About a mile. It’s 35 degrees centigrade. 45 degrees slope.

That’s not the option I chose. Remember I’m a ‘big knobber’ today and I thought we can do this and asked Susan to get back on.

Well I tell you, there’s no hesitation. No winging. No wimping. She gets on and we bounce and slide down that bloody mountain. I’m telling you she’s got balls of steel!

At the bottom we rehydrate with warm water whilst I try to stop trembling with exhaustion. We then get back on the bike and continue.

This time we take the right road on the left. Still with me? Up and up we go.

‘Oh come on ya ‘big knobber’ where’s the BOom, bang a bang you promised us?’ ‘You said you came off worse than Susan!’ ‘You said be patient!’ ‘We want to hear about ‘big knobber’ coming a cropper!’

Yes, yes I hear you – did I say I was finished?

Did I say we had reached La Fortuna, our destination for the day, and I was relaxing with a cold beer?

No I didn’t.

However, after all that narrative I want to leave part 1 of this story with a photo. Here is the cold beer I eventually had in La Fortuna.

But I had to get there first. And, unfortunately, there was still worse to come that day ………

Pura Vida

‘Pura Vida’ is the quintessential Costa Rican phrase. It’s everywhere.

It means ‘pure life’ but for Costa Ricans it represents a way of life, a simple life, a sense of well-being, positivity and gratitude. It can be used as a greeting or as a thank you, a way to saying everything’s good or an expression of joy.

The barman serves me a cold beer. ‘Pura Vida’ I say.

As you can see I immerse myself in each country we visit. I’m a cultural chameleon.

Let’s start with a photo of a ‘big dog’ on a beach.

We all know ‘big dogs’ love beaches.

And a photo from our hotel balcony. Yes I’ve splashed out again. It’s not all goretex and sweat you know.

We went for lunch nearby after the beach walk.

‘Oh big deal! Cliff took Susan for lunch. We have lunch every day but we don’t bang on about it in a blog’!

Yes, yes I hear you but you should know by now that my lunch is better than your lunch. Still not convinced? Well, my lunch had a C-123 cargo plane!

As we say in Scotland ‘I bet that’s put yer gas at a peep’!

Oh it hasn’t? A genuine C-123 cargo plane isn’t enough? You’re a hard lot to impress.

Well what if I told you a story about this particular C-123? A story that involves the Americans, the Iranians, the Contras, the Sandanistas and the Nicaraguan civil war!

Want a further clue? What if I say Colonel Oliver North? Oh I bet that’s got some alarm bells ringing in some auld heids!

Yes of course I’m talking about the 1986 Iran-Contra affair involving Ronald Reagan’s government. To briefly recap – the Americans sold arms to Iran; the Iranians used influence to release American hostages in Lebanon; profit from arms sales was diverted to the contras (rebels) who were fighting the Sandanistas (Nicaragua Govt).

The whole scheme was run by covert CIA who through a ‘front’ company bought three C-123 cargo aircraft to smuggle arms to the Contras. One of the C-123’s was shot down and another ended up being the backdrop for my beer and lunch.

It was she biggest scandal of its day and they even made a movie starring Tom Cruise. I think I’ve just played the lunch story trump card.

Pura Vida mis amigos.

Hola Costa Rica

We had an overnight stop in David and as Susan had a difficult day with the onset of heatstroke I gave her the choice of evening meal. Yes, I know sometimes I just ooze kindness and empathy.

She chose McDs. Honestly what gets into her? In the UK you would have to drag Susan kicking and screaming into a McDs but on the road she’s like a donkey looking for a carrot!

Next day we made a dash for the border with Costa Rica. Up at 0530am and at the border for 8am when it’s quieter. As they say in the army somewhere ‘we don’t fanny around’.

The Panamanian border was chaos. It’s like a shanty town and there’s random screwballs everywhere trying to ‘help’. I abandon the bike and some guy asks me for our passports. He looks like a random screwball. No chance. Trust no-one is my philosophy.

We enter immigration office, get processed and then it’s back out into chaos. Another random screwball asks me for the bike import permit. No chance. We walk into the customs hall. It’s empty. Back outside. Ah, that random screwball is actually the customs guy. He takes our bike import permit and logs us out of Panama.

On the bike and off we go looking for the Costa Rica border which is supposedly 4 km down the road.

10km zooming later we’re in Costa Rica and heading to our hotel. Great you think. Well we just have a minor problem – we haven’t been though Costa Rica immigration and we don’t have an import permit for the bike.

We had passed a big building that looked like an Amazon warehouse but there was no indication we should go in. In fact I’m comfortable saying only stupid people who didn’t know what they were doing would have entered.

So we entered the compound where the stupid people go and found to our intellectual surprise it was the border station.

It was hot and so Susan stood in the air conditioned customs hall whilst Clif worked like a middle Eastern donkey and unloaded the bike.

(authors note: the previous paragraph has been changed by ‘big chief editor’.I actually wrote that ‘I worked like a hot roasted monkey with a rocket up it’s arse’. However, ‘big chief editor’ changed the content and I was given the following feedback – firstly, it’s cruel to animals; secondly, only 2% of ‘my’ friends (‘my’ friends, totally excluding ‘big chief editors’ friends) would think it was funny!)

So there you are. I’ve been censored and the content is no doubt more acceptable to ‘big chief editor’s’ friends and 98% of my friends. All I can say is you lot need to stop worrying about animals and get a sense of humour!

We stripped off our motorcycle gear and walked through the scanners and Susan remarked that she was glad she decided that morning to wear a t shirt under her BOom BOom vest. Close call Susan! She was nearly walking through the customs hall in her bra.

Some guy then stuck us with a pin to get a blood sample for a malaria test. It was nippy sore but I was a brave wee soldier.

Whilst Susan stood under the air conditioning, I completed the customs and insurance procedures and loaded the bike. Honestly, I was running about like a ‘hot roasted mo…..’. Oops there I go again. Sorry.

As we were about to leave, almost as an afterthought, a chap asked if the bike been fumigated. No says ‘honest Susan’. ‘Where do we get it fumigated?’ ‘Back in Panamanian Border Shanty Town! Three cheers for honest Susan!

As soon as we hit the Panamanian Border Shanty Town all sorts of random screwballs were all over us offering to ‘help’.

We spotted a big wet shed that looked like it could be the place. An ‘official’ guided us in and in reasonable English helped me place the bike in the right spot to get sprayed.

It’s time for a photo and as Susan wasn’t in her bra in the customs hall the best photo you’re going to get is a bike in a wet shed.

Meanwhile it turns out the nice English speaking ‘official’ who helped us was actually a bloody random screwball!

Well done random screwball you got under my screwball radar. He earned his $2 tip. On reflection, I should have spotted the real official because he was grumpy, spoke no English and had a clipboard. You live and learn.

As a side issue, the disinfectant spray started my driving lights working again. It must have been bugs in the system! (groan).

Once we were all legal we motorcycled down the lovely twisty well paved roads in Costa Rica. Unfortunately it’s single carraigeway with double yellow lines down the centre of the road. No overtaking!

You may think we’re two easy riders ..

‘moving on the Queens highway lookin’ like a streak of lightnin’. If you gotta go, go, gotta go motor bike ridin’

(there’s a song reference for you)

Except we’ve got a conscience. And more to the point it’s a bloody mind reading conscience! Oh and I think you’ve already guessed it can’t possibly be me with a conscience!

You see there we were, happy zooming along at the 80 kph speed limit with a few cars in front of us when all I hear in my ear is ‘these yellow lines mean that this will be an accident area and so it’s dangerous and the police will be patrolling’.

Who needs your own conscience when there’s one on the back of your bike! Yup I’ve got my own Jiminy Cricket!

(there’s a movie reference for you)

Oh, I know she’s right. We all know she’s bloody right! And she’s right to say it to a man that’s singing ‘streak of lightnin’ to himself.

Then, fate puts a slow moving lorry loaded high with wood and a twenty car tailback in front of the man with no conscience……..

Suddenly Pinocchio can’t hear Jiminy Cricket and with a quick swerve and a twist of the throttle we’re ‘lookin’ like a streak of lightin’ …..

Hola Costa Rica highway.