Tag: motorbike

The Greasy Grass

We had a good few days sitting about Buffalo doing nothing much apart from walking to the local ‘historical’ bar. They call any bar ‘historical’ in these parts if it’s over 100 years old.

At least this pub had bullet holes in the walls and I had a drinking partner looking over me.

There was a multitude of stuffed animals in this bar including a huge moose heid and a standing grizzly bear. I like stuffed animals on walls. Susan doesn’t.

We left Buffalo and my stuffed animal friends and headed north to visit the site of the ‘Battle of the Greasy Grass’.

Where’s that? you most certainly will be asking? Well let me enlighten you once again.

It’s the site of the Battle of the Little Bighorn. You know the one – Custer’s Last Stand. Where the 7th Cavalry were defeated by the Lakota, Cheyenne and Arapaho tribes in 1876.

The Battle of the Greasy Grass is what the plains Indians called it and, as they always say, the victors get to write history, then I think it’s only appropriate we give it its correct name.

We stopped for lunch at the trading post run by native Americans and we each had an ‘Indian Taco’.

That’s deep fried bread with chilli and stuff. Delicious. Bit more calorific than a Scottish deep fried pizza and I’m not sure how Susan mentally coped with it. That said she certainly stepped up – there’s a real man in there somewhere!

So what happened at Greasy Grass?

Well the Native Americans were being persecuted, their ‘agreed’ lands appropriated and treaties ignored. Bad duplicitous white man.

The US Government, under President Ulyssses S. Grant, then ordered the Sioux to leave the South Dakota Badlands (their home) by the end of January knowing they wouldn’t be able to make the trek during the harsh winter. The government planned to use this as an excuse to expand hostilities. Really bad white man.

When the subsequent US campaign against the Native Americans began in mid-May, a large group of Lakota Sioux, Cheyenne and Arapaho tribes had already converged for a meeting called by Sitting Bull. An estimated 2,000 warriors and their families gathered on the banks of the Little Bighorn River. It was a huge encampment.

The Native Americans were no doubt wondering what to do next when along comes Custer and his 650 men of the 7th Cavalry.

George Armstrong Custer gained fame during the civil war (he was on the right side) and in post war conflicts with Native Americans. He was capable, experienced, vainglorious and eager for more battle glory.

Custer didn’t scout the camp properly, didn’t listen to advice, and was unaware of the true numbers of Native American warriors encamped there.

He split his forces into three battalions in an attempt to prevent any American Indians from escaping from either side. He wanted this to be a complete victory.

This was a huge tactical error when faced with an overwhelmingly superior strength enemy as his battalions were unable to support each other.

Of course, his batallion took the centre position, the position where he could get most glory.

The 7th cavalry engaged the Native American encampment thinking it would be an easy victory. They were eager for battle and thought it would be a rout.

The first action was the battalion, under the Command of Major Reno, flanking the village and opening fire on warriors, women and children. The soldiers were charged, defeated and retreated.

The other battalion, commanded by Capt. Benteen, was still approaching Little Bighorn and too far away to assist. Everything had started too early in a effort to stop any Native Americans from potentially escaping.

Once Reno retreated to a defensive position, the Native Americans turned their attention to Custer and his 210 men.

Custer’s Last Stand lasted under an hour as they tried to defend the high ground above the village. They were all killed and the only accounts of this ‘stand’ were from Native Americans. They said the soldiers fought courageously to the end.

The stones mark where some of them fell. It’s not widely known that Custer’s brother fought and died by his side.

Only a single, badly wounded horse survived from Custer’s batallion. Oh, I know some of you will be more concerned about the horse so I can tell you it subsequently lived a long life and was a bit of a celebrity horse.

Personally, I would like to have seen the horse’s head stuffed and on the wall in a ”historical’ bar I could visit. Wouldn’t that be great? Susan would disapprove.

The outcome of the battle, though it proved to be the height of Indian power, so stunned and enraged white Americans that government troops flooded the area, forcing the Indians to surrender.

Here’s a photo of the memorial stone at the 7th Army mass grave. Over 200 soldiers and scouts from at the ‘Last Stand’ lie here. Custer was reinterred at West Point Cemetery.

Let’s not forget Native Americans who died that day protecting their families, their freedom and their way of life.

Indian battle memorial outlook looking up to the mass grave of the 7th Cavalry.

Historians debate the pre-European population of North America and whilst disease and famine played a significant role, the American Indian Wars fought by European colonial empires against various Indian tribes has been characterised as genocide.

By the close of the Indian Wars in the late 19th century, fewer than 238,000 indigenous people remained. A sharp decline from the estimated 5 million to 10 million living in North America when Columbus arrived in 1492.

This was done in the name of civilization?

‘When we show our respect for other living things, they respond with respect for us’.

Arapaho Proverb.

Wyoming Wind

From Manitou Springs we headed north to Boulder, Colorado.

Short journey and so I took the opportunity to visit people who can help people with worries about motorcycles.

The problem I didn’t mention was a starting problem. Twice over a week the bike wouldn’t start first time. That’s pretty unusual.

It meant everytime we stopped in the middle of nowhere I was wondering whether the bike would start. That’s a little bit stressful. Believe me.

Without getting technical I suspected it was to do with either the clutch or stand switch. Ten days we lived with this issue, wondering if and when it would reoccur.

Well I say ‘we’ but Susan was quite chilled about it. She delegated the worrying to me and wasn’t even fussed about the bike getting checked in Boulder. Good approach – ‘ forget all your worries and your strife’.

She wasn’t quite so happy that we were taking less and less breaks in our riding. Several hours without stopping was quite commonplace by now. We often stop in the back of beyond and whilst Susan looks at the scenery, I wonder how long it would take a tow truck to get there.

So when the guys at this garage, who are BMW specialists, told us they couldn’t find an issue, we were reassured. So it’s all fine again. Except maybe it isn’t. You see as far as I’m concerned, we haven’t explained what happened?

Oh, and whilst I’m getting bike issues off my chest I may as well tell you about the other.

We have a fuel filter, which is basically a perforated filter bag, inserted into the fuel tank and retained at the tank nozzle area. This was done before South America because the fuel can be dirty especially in places like Bolivia.

All fuel served in South and Central America is by attendant and some can be less than careful placing the fuel nozzle in our tank. Gradually, they knocked the fuel filter into the tank. I didn’t think that could happen but it did. I don’t know when it happened and only noticed the first time I had to fill the tank myself in the USA.

So now we have a 9 by 6 inch filter bag with plastic nozzle floating randomly inside our fuel tank. I’ve had a peer into the tank and can’t see it. All I can see are electronic switches inside the tank – that’s not reassuring!

Boulder, our destination that particular day, is another lovely place to visit. We had two great days doing tourist things. Susan looked at interesting geology ..

And I bought a bottle of single malt whisky ….

… made by a Scot, trained at the Arran Distillery and distilled in Boulder using Scottish imported malt in stills imported from Scotland. Nice.

I drank as much as I was allowed by Susan in two days, poured the rest into a plastic water bottle and then it was time to head north.

We decided to join two planned days of motorbiking and complete 350 miles to South Dakota, on mixed roads, in a day. Ambitious plan.

Unfortunately, the weather also had plans for the day – gale force cross winds, gusting over 65mph! Jeezo!

We waited until 10am to leave our motel as the weather advice was for the wind to reduce in late morning. It didn’t.

My insides were uneasy at the thought of what was to come. I had memories of our experience in South America. It’s one thing to deal with a bike and yourself, it’s completely different feeling when you’re fully loaded and responsible for the safety of another.

Also when two up and with a top box the surface area for the wind to hit high up is increased significantly. If only Susan was disproportionately skinny and 7 stone it would be so much easier.

Personally, I think part of our ‘baggage’ problem occurs because she’s got too many snacks and biscuits and cream bars and muffins and porridge and peanut butter satchets secreted in her bag and jacket. Oh please don’t think I’m being flippant and making this up! She even carries plastic bloody spoons to eat the porridge!

Yes of course I moan and say it’s ridiculous. Yes of course she does what she wants and replies – ‘what the big dog wants ……. Damn!

So we set off on our journey with trepidation and were absolutely hammered by the wind. The roar in our ears and the force on the side of the bike were relentless.

The first 90 miles were on the interstate and it was frighteningly turbulent. There was no consistency to forces on the bike and it was difficult to handle and impossible to keep in a straight line.

We stopped at Cheyenne for a break and I wasn’t sure it was safe to carry on. But it’s amazing how a coffee and time to relax helped. Susan watched me the whole time we were stopped. Yes, you’re absolutely right – she’s wondering if I’m going to go for that plastic bottle of whisky in the side bag!

We decided to give it another try. Well, I decided.

Susan was okay about it. She just sits on the bike and doesn’t worry about it. That’s pretty calm when we’re not going in a straight line and regularly heading towards a heavy vehicle or off the road.

I’m full time struggling keeping going. But we keep going. And we keep going. Hour after hour.

Then we crossed into Wyoming. F**k me!

The High Plains of Wyoming have a mean elevation of 6,700 feet. Its vast, totally open countryside as far as the eye can see, with absolutely nothing to stop the path of the roaring wind until it hits two old ‘cracker barrel’ people on a bike.

It’s ferocious.

We can’t stop because there’s nowhere to stop. It’s just road and countryside. Even if we did stop at the side of the road we can’t park the bike. It would be blown over and we would struggle to get it up.

It takes us over eight hours to reach our destination. Oh yes, I know you’re waiting to hear me say this – we’re totally exhausted!

We couldn’t get a photo of the high plains of Wyoming but take it from me they’re absolutely stunning. Breathtaking. America doesn’t get enough credit for it’s wonderful landscape and, in my opinion, it’s unparalleled.

Our destination that night was Custer. Named after the guy who fought the native Americans and lost. More about that another time.

So no photo of stunning Wyoming. Sorry. Here’s the next best thing – another photo of me in another bar. Sweet as a nut.

This is the kind of bar I would ride for 8 hours in tortuous, terrifying winds.

Wonderful atmosphere. Wonderful food. Wonderful beer. Wonderful Susan dealing with the day.

Yes, of course there was always the option for us not to travel that day and we did seriously discuss it and start making alternative plans.

But we’re not that kind of people. If we were that kind of people we wouldn’t be here in the first place. To be honest, in hindsight we should have stayed but with hindsight we would do the same again.

Next day we went to see the Presidents. You know the guys I’m talking about – these stoney faced guys.

Wonder if there are any quart people who can name these guys without looking it up? Well, you’ve got Washington at the front (left); Lincoln at the back (right); Thomas Jefferson (second from left); and Chuck Norris at the back.

Yes, yes, you’re gonna have to look it up now!

We added a couple of heads – ‘big heid’ and ‘big dog’.

The monument was completed between 1927 and 1941 by the sculptor Gutzon Borglum and his son.

Each head is 18m tall and the sculpture was originally intended to be depicted from head to waist but a lack of funding cut them short. It’s a pretty spectacular monument in the flesh – well, you know what I mean!

So what is the meaning of Mount Rushmore? Is it just three random presidents and Chuck Norris?

They symbolise different principles. George Washington signifies the struggle for independence and the birth of the Republic. Thomas Jefferson the expansion of the country. Abraham Lincoln the permanent Union of the states and equality for all citizens, and Chuck Norris, the 20th century role of the United States in world affairs, the rights of the common man and the ‘Code of Silence’.

Awesome.

It should be recognised, however, the Mount Rushmore sculpture is in land that was illegally taken from the Sioux nation.

The US Govt seized the Black Hills of South Dakota in 1876 because gold was discovered and settlers began to encroach onto Native American land that had been agreed by treaty. In effect, the ‘immigrant’ Americans reneged on legal promises made to the ‘native Americans’.

In 1979, the US Court of Claims decided that said seizure was wrong and awarded the Sioux $17.5 million. With interest, this amounted to $105 million.

The Sioux refused to accept this ‘hush’ money because acceptance would legally terminate Sioux demands for the return of the Black Hills. The money continues to accrue interest and stands over $1.5 billion today.

Activity continues on behalf of the Sioux but recent presidents, including the superficially supportive Obama, delivered nothing.

To show our support for the Native Americans we went to see Crazy Horse. Yes, of course he got bayoneted by the US Cavalry and we didn’t see the guy himself but we did see him larger than life.

They’re currently carving out Crazy Horse from a mountain. It’s a quite astonishing venture.

Below is a representation of what the sculpture will look like.

Started in 1948, the sculpture was the inspiration of Chief Standing Bear and started by sculptor Korczak Ziolkowski who had also worked on Mount Rushmore. It’s a significant undertaking and relies on private funding. Progress is slow but continuing.

Crazy Horse, leader of the Lakota, was chosen as the subject because he ‘never signed a treaty or touched the pen’.

The sculpture depicts his left hand gesturing forward in response to a derisive question he was asked ‘where are your lands now?’

Crazy Horse replied ‘my lands are where my dead lie buried’.

Shine on you crazy diamond.

Long live the spirit of Crazy Horse.

Border Bandito Country

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Oh yes, I got the message.

‘bad boys, bad boys’

‘what you gonna do?’

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Looking good guys.

Welcome to America.

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!

The Friday Of Sorrows

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The roads were a new level of chaos.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Well that was exactly my position!

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

I wait.

I wait.

15 minutes.

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

Then I hear her shout.

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

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

So what do I do?

I shout into the intercom. No answer.

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

I shout again into the intercom.

I walk.

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

Another 15 minutes later she reaches me.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

What a plan. And it worked!

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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!