Prologue
In July I bought a new BMW F800 GS Adventure, my last motorcycle. Over the next few days, Diane and I put on the initial break-in mileage and the bike had its first service, prior to our returning to Guatemala. We were going to ride the bike back to Guatemala in October.
Come October our friend Josh Ascher rode with us for the first thousand miles into Tennesee as we tweaked our packing skills and gear distribution. Instead of camping, like the old days, it was moteling it. In Johnson City, Tennessee, we parted ways, Josh back to Albany, while Diane and I continued our ride. Our only goal was to meet our son Tristan for Day of the Dead in Oaxaca on October 30th We had plenty of time and most days were less than 300 miles. New Orleans, Monterrey, Real de Catorce, Guanajuato, ultimately to arrive in Oaxaca to the hotel that was reserved months ago. We spent a week in Oaxaca, then put Tristan in a taxi for the airport at 4 AM and left a few hours later hoping to make it back to Antigua in two days. It looked doable on the map, but road conditions and the like can make traveling difficult in Latin America. and mileages are deceiving.
To Tapachula:
We left Oaxaca through morning traffic and out along the Autopista to Mexico 190. As we learned on our tour of Monte Alban, Oaxaca was settled because it was surrounded by the Sierra Madre Norte and the Sierra Madre Sur. As we were making our way out of town, I commented to Diane that I regretted wearing only my Aerostitch jacket, as the thermometer on the dash read 50.4 degrees. With the heated grips on high, we turned on to Mex190. We had not anticipated that Google Maps had sent us through one of the top motorcycle roads in the world. Curve after curve after curve...it went on for almost sixty miles. At one point Diane asked if I selected the road on purpose, inferring that I knew that we would be on a great motorcycle road. Nope, it was Google's route. We rode this road for hours and enjoyed some great views. As we got further into the ride, I started to look for a gas station and the generally attached Oxxo, for coffee. For fifty miles I looked, none were to be found. The road eventually straightened out and we found both gas and coffee, and the temperature had climbed. We turned onto the Autopista and headed south in earnest. On this toll road as the others, I was often passed by guys going 100 mph, we were slugging along at 75-80.
The toll road ran through the Venosta area, a wind farm with hundreds of windmills. They were mesmerizing. However, the wind was ridiculous, equal to or windier than the interstate roads out in the Dakotas. (Little science lesson here: the Venosta area is the area in Mexico that is the narrowest point between the Gulf and the Pacific Ocean, the temperature differential of the waters cause the steady high winds. Sociological lesson: some people think the Natives got screwed in the deal.) However stable the F800 is, and it is very stable, the wind was enough to slow me down and see the windmills. During this stretch of road, the temperature climbed to 99.7 degrees, almost 50 degrees of temperature shift in a half a day. Diane had long ago abandoned her sweater.
Outside the Venosta area you could cruise along at 75 or 80, so we were making good time and Tapachula was looking very doable. That was until we saw a long line of cars and trucks. We moved over into the empty oncoming traffic lane and rode a few miles until we saw a gas station and store. We stopped at the gas station for water and to use the facility and I walked over to the shade and talked with some other local motorcycle riders. Apparently, the local populace had a beef with the government and they blockaded the road in order to be heard.(Evidently, this is a common practice as we had been stopped at a toll booth the week before by a group of protesters who were asking for the toll money because they were ignored by the gov't after the big earthquake). The motorcyclists told me that motorcycles could go through the blockade. We left the parking lot and immediately drove out into and through the lines of stopped vehicles. The blockade wasn't as far away as we had thought. When we arrived at the blockade we lifted a rope to ride under it and one of the men of the blockade moved aside a large tire for my larger than average motorcycle. We were off again down a now empty highway making good time. "Tapachula, here we come."
We met up with Mexico 200, the main route to the border. It was still hot, and we were thankful when it dropped below 95. Diane and I chatted about staying in this little beach hotel in Playa Linda, just outside of Tapachula, and eating seafood on the beach. Then we saw the line of trucks. We worked our way up. People told us that other motorcyclists (read people on 125 cc motorcycles) had gone to the front and returned. Motorcycles were not getting through. Not to be deterred we continued our way up, having people move their cars to provide me with enough space. I was dripping with sweat. Finally, we reached the point where a skateboard couldn't get through. We were not making it to Playa Linda. I turned the bike around and wove my way back to the town of Pijijipan about two hours north of our original goal. Some locals pointed us to a surprisingly nice hotel for twenty-five dollars a night. It had hot water, WiFi and good air conditioning. We were happy. I asked the hotel owner what time they re-manned the blockade. He said he thought at 6am and suggested we leave at 5am. We went to bed early in anticipation of an early start. On a positive note, we did manage to get our seafood dinner at a local restaurant, but somehow it just wasn't the same.
To Antigua:
We were up early and ready to go. We headed out into the darkness for the first time on the trip. The foglights helped light up the roadway, but the 16 wheeler hurtling down the road in front of me was pretty good protection from any errant animals. We rode on through the blockaded area and down towards our previous destination, Tapachula, the Mexico-Guatemala border. We watched the dawn's early light as we rode in the delightful temperatures of the low to mid-seventies. We opted for the Talisman border as our crossing point. At eight on the dot, we pulled into the Mexican border station to stamp ourselves out of the country and then into Guatemala. The border to Antigua was a five to six-hour trip away. We could get home in the early afternoon.
Well, the shift changed at eight o'clock and luckily for us, the bank to cancel the TVIP (Temporary Vehicle Import Permit or El Permiso temporado) opened at eight too. However, shift change at Migracion did not proceed in a quick and orderly manner. Eventually, they sent out the one woman to do the work. She was fairly efficient and I got to the bank to cancel out the TVIP. There were a few other guys waiting and we got to be line friends. They were all driving cars back from the US to resell in Guatemala. I got all my papers done and then she told me to move my motorcycle from one end of customs back to the parking lot I had originally parked in, and where I had been told to move my motorcycle to the other side... Ahhh, Latin America. I moved it back to the parking lot where the bank girl was taking photos of everyone's number identification plates. It
seemed as if she needed to get the entire number on one photograph. Between the plaque being mounted on a tube, and there being a bunch of wires and tubes passing in front, it took at least forty photos until she either got what she wanted or just gave up. It was after nine now and the temperature was rising. We went back inside to get the refund processed and Diane and I were finally off to the Guatemala side.
Now the whole time at the border, since the Mexico side, we had been pestered by this one ayudoro, a helper, who seemed to latch onto me. I told him in every way possible, that no, I did not want his help. I got our passport stamped and the migration officer had me fill out the regular immigration form, as he said I would need it to process the TVIP for the bike. I asked him if I needed photocopies of anything, (they love photocopies of everything in Central America) and he said no. The ayudoro was pointing me over to the photocopy shop. "No thanks, don't want your help, don't need any photocopies." I went to the Aduana, customs, and gave the lady all of my paperwork. She asked if my title was an original or a copy. It was an original. She was worried because it looked strange to her so she asked if I had the registration. I did and that seemed to give her the relief that she needed. She told me to go get the motorcycle. Immigration and Aduanas are about two blocks apart in this shady border town. I rode up and parked. She looked at the bike and saw it was a motorcycle, and then gave me a bill for 160 quetzales, for the permiso, about twenty dollars. I needed to pay at the bank in the adjoining building. Finally, the ayudoro perked up, he saw his chance and asked if I wanted to change some dollars into quetzales. "Nope, I have plenty of quetzales," and that was the last I saw of him. His last effort had been for naught. I paid my money, got my papers, had the agent affix my TVIP and off we went. It was now 10am and the temperature was climbing up into the 90s. Our goal: to be home before dark.
Forty-five minutes later we encountered a long line of trucks. We rode up to the front to discover a manifestation (protest) against Guatemala's current president, Jimmy Morales. He was the candidate who ran on the motto, "Neither a crook nor thief." Well, it seems like that might not have been really true. Jimmy is a well-qualified president, having served as a tv clown prior to the highest office in the country. Need I say more?
I got to the front of the blockade and the crowd swelled towards us, respectfully, on the other side of the rope. The last time I came up against this I played English speaking tourist. This time we went back and forth in Spanish. I played the old man card, I played the tourist card, I offered a bribe, which thankfully they were not duplicitous enough to take. Though they wavered they would not yield. They said they were lifting the blockade at 3 PM, which would get us back to Antigua well after dark, a poor option on this potholed route. We went back towards the border to regroup and look for an alternative route. We stopped at a local cafe, had some cold drinks and asked about alternate routes The guy installing the CCTV gave me three routes, all of which seemed a bit convoluted, all of which were beautiful, all of which went through the jungle, all of which had no services. He also said the blockade was supposed to be lifted at 2 PM. His recommendation was that we wait it out. We found a local swimming pool where we could while away the hours until the blockade was lifted. It was a local experience that ended with the owner's family taking pictures of the young daughter sitting on the motorcycle with the exotic foreigners. We left the pool at 1:30 figuring that we could slowly make it to the blockade just before 2 so we could get out in front of the trucks. The blockade was well gone when we arrived and we were off on the potholed, tope (speed bumps) filled National Route CA2, one of the main corridors down Central America. We passed truck after truck and avoided the potholes, well most of them anyway. We reached the traffic jam known as the town of Coetepeque. It seemed like their blockade involved many more trucks and they were not yet dispersed down the road. I passed two miles of trucks and finally got past the remnants of the blockade. More horrible CA2. I came upon a police car and rode behind it hitting speeds of 80, our vehicles weaving in and out of traffic. Finally, after Mazetenango, where there are parts of a rehabilitated four-lane road, we pulled over, finished the water and got ready for the final stretch, hoping to avoid the ever looming darkness. We reached the last road that climbed into Antigua and the GPS said we had almost an hour to go. We headed up and continued our passing ways until we reached home at 5:50, still daylight, but just barely.
The total trip was a bit over 4700 miles with zero days of rain and fifteen days of zero miles. The temperature range was from around 46 to 99.7 degrees Fahrenheit. The last two days, were by far the most difficult after almost a month on the road.
