Riding South 1981 CX500
March 24 2009 Tuesday
They say there are people who are dumb, and then there are those who are dumber. We are dumber. But there is nothing better then being 21, on a motorcycle, broke, and in Latin America. You´ll have to agree
We found “La llorona”, our 1981 Honda CX500, on Craigslist going for $500, so we talked the guy down to four and called it a deal. I, unfortunately, only got to see it three months later when a friend of mine in a dodge caravan dumped it and my brother off in el Salvador, were I was volunteering. That’s when I found out that la llorona liked to piss out coolant when she got hot, would not tell you how fast you were going and had the tendency to lock up her front breaks and through you into the ditch. She also didn’t have high beams or left signal light, but she was read and clean looking and our ticket to adventure. My brother Eric, my name is Dirk by the way, arrived with a helmet, a freshly completed motorcycle training course, to green jumpsuits, a red beard and a camera.
Actually this was more Eric´s fault then mine, the motorcycle part that is. I had been in El Salvador volunteering as a carpentry teacher since Feb of 08. Some time in November I noticed that I was still going to have a couple grand of the money I had save up for my year volunteering left over. So I purposed a little traveling to my brother and him, being older, wiser, hopeless latin America junkie and raving radical said “Let’s do it on a bike”. So he took the riding class and worked, and I saved and bought the bike, and in January 2009 it turned into reality. The Plan, ride south until we or the bike got broke. Then try to get home.
The beard was the first to go; it did not fit in the helmet. Then we got rid or the jumpsuits, not enough room to pack them. The camera lasted till Nicaragua, were it got stolen, and the face shield fell of the helmet in San Blas. For every thing we loose we pack on another great adventure, new amigo or catastrophic bike frailer.
Like all great trips it started with a fizzle. Day one we left bright and early from El Salvador got to the Honduras boarder by 8am and 5 hours and $50 later finally managed to get in. We only had to cross three hours worth of Honduras but that was enough for some cops to what to fine us for not having a fire extinguisher on board, thay later admitted that even if by some random chance we would have had one, they would have got us for not having seatbelts. On a Motorcycle? That night we enjoyed our one liter Toñas in Nicaraguan, a toast to the absurd
Other then take our camera Nicaragua almost succeeding in blowing us of the road in a 60mph wind storm. We also spent two lovely days in the historic Ciudad Darrio, the birth place of the poet Ruben Dario and our friend the director of the notional Folk Ballet, “Concho”. Three days camping on the beach in Playa Madera and we were in Costa Rica drinking Imperial with a 80-year-old Italian cologne sails man watching the sun set behind the beautiful pacific bay of La Cruz. The next few days were spent fruit stand hoping with Lukas, a Lithuania-Canadian who doesn’t eat anything else, and swimming in Costa Rica’s cool steams. Then came Panama, the real undiscovered paradise, which we unfortunately did not get to see much of because that is were La Llorona burnt out her Stator( the alternator that keeps the sparks coming and the lights on).
Like anywhere in Latin America it did not take long for help to show up. The local schoolteacher stopped and with the help of a passing glue salesman we got her up in the truck and on into Santiago, Panama.
Cholo is Santiago’s best and only bike mechanic. He also has the uncanny luck of lots of bikers braking down on his piece of highway. The 1500cc Kawasaki chopper from some Mexicans was still haunting his shop when we arrived. Never the less you could not ask for a better guy to run into. Cholo is one of those guys that lives to ride. You might mistake him for Frankenstein but every one of his scars is a story from his thirty odd years on two wheels. He still had half his right leg under raps where a truck had taken a gouge out of him a week ago. Anyhow we put our Honda on the center stand pulled out the manual and a voltmeter and started hypothesizing. To make a long story short Cholo found a guy about 50miles away with a 82 CX500 and after switching out some parts we narrowed it down to the stator which happens to be somewhere deep inside the engine and requires complete engine removal to get to. They of coarse don’t sell new stators any more, but in the third world they can do any thing. With hope in our hearts that we might not have to end up on the bus after all we left for Panama City with faith that the bike would follow us in the back of the local tier shop’s truck. Cholo by the way only asked us to maybe help out with the gas in return for all he had done for us. We left him twenty bucks, one day’s budget but he deserved more.
The bike came to pieces easer then we had expected and a day after we delivered our nicely wound, but burnt out stator, to the rebobinador (coil winder) we picked up the rather lumpy looking rewound stator and wondered, would it work? Then came Carnival and everyone, including the guy who was supposed to be charging our battery, left town. With out a battery we couldn’t do much so we went too.
Thing are always a little trickier to put back together, especially if the parts are a bit lumpier. So we got a bigger hammer and when that very important moment comes when you press the button… well damn the thing ran.
La Llorona (the cry baby) is still putting along today a month or so later. Interestingly soon after leaving Panama City our trip took to the water. We spent three weeks, $350, and four boats crossing over to Colombia. The biggest wave was 15ft, the biggest boat, The Cisne, was 100ft long, and the smallest, a johnboat, 15ft. I have to admit I got a little worried when we offloaded La Llorona from the 10ft high Cisne to the johnboat while anchored on the open ocean.
I will let Antonia “The Mexican” Gonzales sort out the truth from myth. He falls into a different category of crazy, but his 125 Honda scooter, which he’s ridden form Alaska, was a bit easier to get on the boat.
As we continue down the road south we are constantly amazed by the beauty of the land and the hospitality of its people. And we never look a gift horse in the mouth, so if there is anyone between here and the end of the word willing to put up some brothers in exchange for good conversation, let us kow. What is really interesting isn’t us but what you are doing. That is a good place to stop
Dirk Wright Cartagena
Last edited by guanaco; 29 Mar 2009 at 20:23.
|