Trans Americas 2009 - The Blog

Border day, as we cross from Honduras into Nicaragua... so as usual it's an early-ish start, packed and ready to go by 6.30am, riding in convoy out of the hotel car park and on the main road for the 20 miles or so to the border at Los Manos, where we once again went through the formalities... with a slight difference... first, there was no-one there when we arrived, the official offices not opening until 8am (it was now 8.15, but this is Latin America after all). When she did arrive, we started checking the bikes out of Honduras which involved collecting all the passports and temporary importation permits together and then giving them to the official who took quite a while to manually write the information in a log, then came out to double-check all the VIN numbers of the bikes before finally returning the passports (with a handwritten note and stamp cancelling the import permit stamp). Then we checked ourselves out of Honduras through the migration window, and into Nicaragua via the adjacent Nicaraguan equivalent, which cost $5 and $7 respectively. This took a while also, with 21 passports to process, so whilst waiting we bought the mandatory Nicaraguan insurance for the princely sum of 300-cordobas (about $15), a process which involved giving a guy who was wandering round with an official-looking pad the money, our driving licence and our V5 (vehicle title), he then wrote out the details on the form, signed and stamped it, checked the VIN and gave us the form (there were 2 guys doing this, each using a different form...). When we finally got our passports back we moved the bikes again, to outside the vehicle importation office where we queued to hand in our passports and V5s, and then sign the official form, which was put on a pile until they were all ready. Then the official came out and inspected each bike individually, checking the VIN and registration number. The bike in the van (Danielle's) caused some consternation, as they didn't want to give a permit to a bike that wasn't being ridden across the border, but Kevin persuaded them to anyway.

Whilst we waited, watching the comings and goings at the border, Al noticed some oil on my bike's shaft drive – it looks like the seal that Allan Jeffries' has replaced twice in the last year, has gone again. A quick chat with Kevin and Jeff and we concluded we'd get a seal brought out and replace it in Bogotá, and in the meantime keep an eye on the oil level...

After 4 hours we were ready to go, and mounted the bikes and rode them to the rope barrier marking the official entry to Nicaragua. Where we were stopped as the guy in charge of the barrier wanted to see all the permits and check them again (despite him watching us get them and have them checked). So we sat and waited whilst this was done, underneath the blue sign proclaiming “The Nicaraguan Immigration wishes you a pleasant trip” (which I'm sure it does, when it finally lets us get on with it!





When we were finally unleashed and allowed into Nicaragua, it was a great feeling – I've now ridden my bike all the way here from Anchorage, and every new country is the start of a new adventure... The road from the border was another exceptional stretch of tarmac, the sort of road UK riders would be swarming all over, fast sweeping bends rising and falling through beautiful tropical forest and across plains of bright green crops. Once again riding in convoy-style, having left the border together, we hurtled along, enjoying the feeling of moving across a new country again. How I love doing this...

Eventually, though, I had to stop for fuel, my tank lower than normal as a result of all the shenanigans yesterday, so I peeled off into a petrol station and watched like a hawk as the attendant filled it up, this time thankfully without any seepage, and was then on my way, riding alone through stunning scenery, enjoying the flow of hot air through my jacket and the quick overtakes of the sparse traffic. I found the junction marked on the route notes and took the turn, expecting to see Kevin's group in the Pollo Frita (fried chicken) eatery that they'd talked about at the border, but they were nowhere to be seen. Pressing on, I continued on my merry way, then on a very long straight stretch of road noticed some people and a car in the distance under a tree, partially hidden in the shade. As I approached I realised they were police, so I slowed down sharply (from around 120kph), and was then waved to the side. Pulling up, I removed my helmet, gloves and earplugs and was then showed what looked like a hairdryer with a number on the back reading 85kph (a Nicaraguan speed-trap, and I'd fallen victim...). I was told the speed limit was 50kph (about 30mph, ridiculous given the road), but my protests and look of innocence were no good, the cop taking my driving licence and walking away, saying that I would need to go to Managua... I protested some more, saying I was on my way to Granada to meet friends, and could I pay the fine there and then... to which I was told the fine was $80.... not thinking clearly, I got out my wallet and handed over the money, getting my licence back and heading on my way, feeling mightily displeased...

When I finally arrived in Granada I went looking for the hotel having ridden into the square, been unable to find it, done a u-turn and was about to ride round again when I noticed the hotel sign – I had stopped right outside it... First to arrive again, I checked in, enquired about laundry (having not been able to get it done in La Esperanza as intended) but the service closed at 3pm (it was now 4pm), so washed my smalls in the bedroom sink and showered before heading out to find an ATM. The rest of the group soon started arriving, and just like me as soon as they parked they were approached by the local beggars asking for money, and the cashew sellers trying to entice us to buy huge bags of nuts, and the cigar seller who didn't believe us when we told him we didn't smoke...

When we were all present and correct, Jeff arrived and checked my final drive oil, and I put some more engine oil in (the bike seems to be burning a fair bit of oil still, despite it now being thoroughly run-in). Then it was time for the group meeting to award the week's prat-hat. Nominations were plentiful this week, with Mac getting nominated for dropping his bike twice in 3 days (including into the van at the border) – despite being the only person on the 2005 trans-am not to drop his bike at all; Max – for leading Christine into the wrong room again; Christine – for leaving something personal in the room (which was really Aaron and Nigel's); Nigel – for disobeying the sticker-rule and pre-buying stickers; Jeff – for posing in town on the pretext of checking out interesting places to go; Julia – for the crappy hotel the night previously; Jim – for sitting on a 3-legged table and falling off (the table should have had 4 legs); and me – for 2 offenses, one for telling Jeff “I don't need you” (my actual words were “On this occasion, I didn't need you”) and for getting stung for $80 (the others almost all got stopped, the “fines” ranging from $20 for 4 [after Kevin negotiated it down from $100] to $40, my $80 being the steepest). Voting wasn't even close, Jeff's heart-rending tale of how I'd hurt his feelings only to then beg for his help (both extremely exaggerated) sealing my fate...





With my humiliation complete, Nick, Andrew, Al and I headed into town to find somewhere to eat, ignoring the very pretty, very young and very cheap prostitutes hanging out across the road from the hotel, or hoisting themselves on any guy that looked at them twice. We soon found a nice place to eat, on the pavement of the main strip, and I ordered a local dish – chicken in a chocolate chilli sauce – which was every bit as odd as it sounds, washed down with an orange juice (still off the beer). When we'd eaten, a pretty girl approached and started chatting to us in Spanish, and immediately Nick grabbed Al's hand and started stroking his arm, fluttering his eye lashes and saying “mes amigos... mes gay amigos” which made the girl laugh, before she finally gave up on us and wandered off. On the walk back to the hotel, Nick and Al walked hand-in-hand, which only made the cat-calls from the working girls louder... Then at the hotel, Aaron and Nigel were sat chatting, when 2 of the working girls came over just as we arrived, so Nick put his arm round Aaron and started his gay-act all over again... I think 9 weeks on the road has affected him more than we thought...