Trans Americas 2009 - The Blog

Border crossing day... Woke at 5.20am, before the alarm clock had the privelege of dragging me from my slumber, and finished my packing and loading the bike, before grabbing a cold croissant and cup of luke-warm coffee for breakfast. In the pre-dawn darkness we headed out of San Cristobal, through the narrow cobbled streets in convoy, 15 bikes in formation followed by the van... soon we were on the open road, back the way we'd come into town and heading for the border. It was cold as we climbed into the mountains, the sun not yet up, and I was glad I'd followed Kevin's lead and put my waterproof jacket on over my riding jacket, as it kept the wind-chill factor down. We passed through a number of villages, including Comitan, where the air was filled with the acrid smell of cigar smoke, there being a factory nearby, and through other villages where the preparations for the day ahead seemed to consist of burning a lot of wood, filling the air with dense wood-smoke and reducing visibility significantly. It was nice to be on the road so early, to see the locals getting up and starting their day, as they must do every day, whilst for us, each day is unique... how strange it seems now to contemplate life following the same pattern, in the same place, every day, when every day for us involves new experiences and new places...

After a couple of hours we arrived at the petrol station before the Mexican border and re-grouped, riding in convoy meaning that inevitably we got split up. Once all together again we rode the last few miles to the border, where we parked up and started the process of clearing ourselves and our transport out of Mexico. First task was to get our passports stamped, which required us to hand-in the tourist form we had been given on entry, challenging our filing system (we all passed), then it was to vehicle importation in order to check the bikes out. This involved handing the importation forms to the customs guy, who then inspected each bike in turn, checking the VIN numbers before removing the nice sticker from the screen (leaving a remnant that will need getting off at some stage). Once done, he then entered the details back in the computer and officially the bikes were cleared from Mexico. The only problem we had was with the bikes in the van, the customs guy having to climb inside the van to read the VIN numbers...





Once we, and our bikes and the van, were all cleared out of Mexico, we rode the 2 miles up to the Guatamala border, passing an enormous land-fill site just outside Mexico, complete with hordes of buzzards. The Guatamala border was a complete contrast to the calm of the Mexican border, a large market running either side of the narrow street leading to the border, people everywhere and a general feeling of chaos... first job was to get the bikes fumigated, a process which involved handing over some quetzals (Kevin negotiating a job-lot so we didn't each have to pay to speed up the process), then riding to a guy holding a pressure lance who arbitrarily pointed it at the tyres before waving us on.





After being fumigated, we found an area to park the bikes, squeezing them all in together and then started the process of getting ourselves and the bikes officially into Guatamala... Then we needed to change some money in order to pay the border formalities... a process which involved negotiating with one of the many money-changers that had appeared from nowhere holding big handfuls of tatty notes and calculators...





First step, as always, passport control and immigration. As I want to be first across the next border into Honduras (to give me chance to get to La Esperanza on the day we cross the border), I was going last, so joined the back of the queue to hand my passport over. Once keyed into the computer, my passport was stamped and I was in. Dead easy. Next step, the bike. Off to the vehicle importation office, and handed over my passport and V5, and then filled in a form with details of where I was staying and the guy printed off my importation form and handed it back to me, but when I checked it he'd got my name wrong (Pau instead of Paul) and VIN number wrong... so I handed it back, he made the corrections, initialled them and stamped them and handed me the forms back again. Off to the bank next door to pay the importation fee (40 quetzals or about £3.50) and then back to the nice guy again to get my documents back, a copy of the amended form, and a new sticker for my windscreen... once attached, we're ready to roll. But first, I attached the Guatamala flag I'd bought to the inside of my windscreen, and off we went, with Nick and Andrew following behind...

No sooner had we passed under the security barrier than we were thrown into the absolute chaos of a Guatamala market street. Here the road was single-file, with cars going our way being directed down a diversion, whilst we were allowed to carry straight on, to do battle with large crowds of pedestrians thronging the street, market sellers pushing carts, oncoming cars, pick-ups and trucks, tuk-tuks (yes, they have those here, and just as mad as those in India and Thailand...). Tricky riding, but immense fun, the complete madness of it all making me once again laugh out loud as I led our little band through the chaos...





Once clear of the town the road opened out, clinging to the mountainside as it rose away from the border, affording spectacular views of distant tree-covered mountains, and little villages nestled in amongst the trees. We passed through several villages, and encountered our first tumulos, the Guatamalan equivalent of the topes – and as promised, they're a lot less frequent, so the riding is much less stop-start... Soon we caught up with Kevin and Julia who had left the border just ahead of us (checking first that we'd completed all the necessary and were legal), and dropped in behind them. Riding in glorious sunshine, on a great, twisty tarmac road was a real pleasure, the road easily as beautiful as any in the alps. Stopping at Huehuetenango for lunch (stuffed chillies) was most welcome, it already having been a long day and we still had some 90 miles or so to go, on twisting mountain road...

Shortly after lunch, the road climbed steeply towards a darkening sky, and lightning flashed in front of us. Rounding a corner we hit the storm, raindrops the size of bullets pouring from the sky, and we quickly pulled off the road onto a muddy truck-stop to put on waterproofs, before setting off again into the deluge. Visibility was dreadful, the rain on the inside of my visor making seeing Julia in front of me difficult, never mind the way the road went. We passed 2 cars that had obviously very recently left the road, the first in the ditch on the right, it's wheels well and truly off the ground as it was wedged between 2 little hills, the 2nd on its roof, the occupants sheltering in a bus shelter nearby and cheerfully waving to us as we slowed to check all was well. But worse weather was to come, despite the road improving and turning into a dual-carriageway with 2 lanes in each direction and swooping bends as it climbed up and down and around the side of the mountains. As we climbed we rode into heavy mist or clouds (it was hard to tell which), reducing visibility to about 20 feet, and speed to below 30mph. Unable to tell which way the road went, I was reliant on Julia's faint tail-light, barely able to see Kevin in front of her when the mist thinned. We climbed up and down, eventually dropping out of the mist, only to re-enter a band of it rising from the valley below, then climbing again into clear air and up into the mist above once more. This went on seemingly endlessly, until in one clear patch we encountered some road-works, the smooth tarmac giving way to rutted, pot-holed and muddy dirt road, the type of conditions that would previously have had me all tense and nervous, but no longer, as I feel much more confident having negotiated both the Dalton and Copper Canyon... They were tricky conditions, though, as they caught Aaron out, despite him being one of the few not to have a topple in Copper Canyon. Overtaking a truck, he was running out of road, so stopped but when he put his foot down he lost his footing and the bike toppled over into the ditch... no damage to rider or bike, but an indication of just how tricky things can get...








After an eternity of riding in the pouring rain and thick fog, we found the turn-off towards Solola and our destination of Panajachel, joining Max & Christine for the last stretch as the road dropped steeply down the hillside towards the lake. Solola town was the next major obstacle, more chaotic than San Cristobal or the border, with the bright buses of Guatamala (painted in bright colours and covered in religious slogans like those in India), honking their horns and general traffic chaos coming from all directions. But following Julia closely, we got through quickly, and on to the final drop towards Panajachel, which the route notes describe as having stunning views of the lake and the volcanoes that surround it. Only all we could see was mist and fog, the grey of the lake blending in perfectly, hiding its beauty from us rather effectively. On arriving in Panajachel, I was looking for the petrol station mentioned in the route notes, when Julia took a right turn straight into town, then another down a narrow street lined with market stalls and people and tuk-tuks, before sending us down another narrow street... I was confused, until I saw the hotel and pulled into the car park, to be met by a grinning Kevin who explained the petrol station had been demolished! I was surprised to find everyone else had managed to find the hotel, as had it not been for me following Julia, I doubt I would have...

That evening we had a few beers to celebrate arriving in Guatamala, before walking into town and finding a terraced restaurant where we could watch people walking up and down the main street in the pouring rain. We ordered chicken, which took ages to come, increasing our expectations, which were then dashed when it arrived and I was presented with a single drumstick... hardly enough to feed a budgie, but for just 35 quetzals, I could hardly complain... Whilst we were waiting for dinner to arrive, a young girl, probably no more than 7 or 8, came into the restaurant selling bracelets made of wool, her big brown eyes and beautiful smile melting hearts all around... including mine...





Later I supplemented my dinner with a taco from a street-seller (I managed to eat about half before throwing the rest away) and a cinnamon bun and excellent coffee from a coffee shop on the high street. The town was alive with people, mostly foreigners who come here to learn Spanish, the bars in particular very lively with young folk enjoying themselves to loud music. But we're not young any more (and after 11 hours of riding and border formalities, quite tired), so we headed back to the hotel and turned in... it was 10.30pm after all... (only in fact, it wasn't, as we'd crossed another time-zone despite what the Internet time-zone map I'd consulted said, and gained an hour, so it was really only 9.30pm.... something we didn't discover until breakfast the following morning).