Beautiful and terrible Guatemala. Shes given us some of the best and some of the worst times we´ve had so far. Right now Shannon and I are killing time waiting on parts to be delivered from the US in a little working mans town called Patulul. He´s leaking oil, I´ve burnt my clutch to a crisp and we´re both feeling a little under the weather. My tank bag was stolen and in it was our SPOT locator. The thieves played with it and sent an OK message the night it was stolen. Here’s a link to the message. Shame they didn´t press 911 and call in the Search and Rescue crews.
Oddly, I expected this. Maybe not so soon, but I knew we´d get here, and I´m OK with it. Patulul is Guatemalan town for Guatemalans and so far we´re the only white faces. Mostly we´re ignored and I like that. Its been interesting to watch as people just go about their business, going to market, riding 3-up to school or simply rifling through the pockets of the drunks passed out in front of the tavern just down from the square. For them its business as usual.
How we got here:
Roads marked as highways on my map have turned out to be nothing more than steep, rutted dirt tracks, washed out by the rains. But, they´ve taken us through jungle with flowers and colors and vistas that take your breath away. We visited Semuc Champey, a place where an entire raging whitewater river drops into a cave and disappears while above it there are deep, clear blue pools with water gently spilling from one to the next. We´ve ridden twisty paved roads through black and green volcanic valleys with sides so steep that around any corner they may be blocked by landslides. Locals with shovels dig just enough of the slide away to allow a single car to pass.
And speaking of locals, they line the highways. I have no idea why. Kids sleep in the V of the drainage on the side of the highway and people just stand and look as we pass. Women in traditional clothing walk with loads wrapped in brightly colored blankets balanced on their heads and men with stacks of wood strapped to their backs heavier than they are plod bow-legged toward an unknown goal. And this is miles away from any town.
The ride from San Antonio to Semuc was a full day of alternating steep rutted gravel and deep slick mud. It finished just above the river with a slide that reminded me of a rapid on the Talullah river called Oceana. At the top the slide we waited while the paying passengers in a 4 wheel drive mini-van finished pulling it up the grade with ropes they had just for that purpose. They got back in and drove away. Our turn now and we started sliding down with our cruel mistress, Gravity, the only one in control. Shannon and I both fell. A few times. Getting off the bikes it was so steep and slick we could barely walk. We helped each other up, and then slowly down the hill. One bright spot – The pools, or pozas, in the river were so unique that it was worth all the work to get here. Or so we thought.
If getting here was hard, leaving was going to be nearly impossible. We had to go back up that grade. We wanted to get it behind us now in case it rained that night, which had been the pattern. Water on the road would have made it even harder to ride up and out. Knowing that, neither of us would have been able to sleep as we listened to it come down.
So, with night falling fast we started out. The road got steep and my front end bounced around but I held it together. I couldn´t believe it. I made it up. Only, that wasn´t THE grade. Shannon was riding in front when we hit THE grade. In first gear with the RPMs high and controlling our speed with the clutch we started climbing. Standing on the footpegs for better control we went steeper and steeper with back tires sliding all over and front wheels bouncing. Shannon went down to the right and I went down to the left. We got off and picked up Shannons bike first. I´d hold it while he got on and then I´d try and push from behind while he revved and clutched his way up. He´d go 10 feet and slip and fall again. And we´d pick him up and do it all over. Next it was my turn and with a lighter bike, which should have been easier, I had no better luck. When we finaly got past this section of “road” it was pitch black and we were both shaken. Our plan had been to ride to a town about 9 km. above the river and get a hotel but after that we didn´t have the 9 k in us. We passed a place that had a dorm for about $1.50 a night and pulled in just as the rain started, grateful for the shelter and beer, but mostly for the fact that we had that hill behind us.
The next morning, walking down the molded wooden stairs from the attic dorm I slipped in my Crocks and twisted the hell out of my knee. This took a little more wind out of my sail, another day like yesterday with a messed up knee was going to be a challenge. But when we got to the top of the mountain and turned left toward Coban and Huehuetenango the road was paved and the ride was beautiful. When we got to Huehue that evening Shannon was leaking oil from both his forks and the top of his engine, and my luggage rack had broken again.
We took Sunday to pull everything back together and get some clean laundry. My riding cloths were SOUR. I headed out and found a welder and we rebuilt my rack using thicker bolts and welds. I think this should be it for the luggage rebuilds. He did a really good job. On leaving I asked how much for the work. He wanted 40 Quetzales, about $5. I gave him 100 Q. It was Sunday and he did great work.
After some research at an internet cafe, Shannon found out that the fork leaks were a common problem when dirt got in the seals, so he spent the day cleaning them and that seems to have done the trick. The engine oil leak may prove to be a little harder to fix, but for now we can keep adding oil.
We went from Huehuetenango where the women wear a ring of white lace around their neck and the men wear red and white striped pants and woven hats, down to Lake Atitlan where, depending on the town, the men may wear blue and red shorts and white hats, or a brown kilt and fedora. We wanted to work with Habitat for Humanity here, but it didn´t work out, so we decided to head for El Salvador. We took the secondary road that went around the lake, thinking that we could visit some of the small towns and then hook back up with the main road to the south. After about the second town the road started to get bad. There were deep ruts running down the part of the road where a trucks tires would travel, leaving a domed track down the center for us to ride. If your tire slipped to either side it was like a slot car and you had to fight your way out.
You know you´re in trouble when you say to yourself “I can handle this as long as it doesn´t get any worse” because its gonna get worse. We came to a creek crossing in the crook of two mountains. Shannon went down on the approach and took the opportunity to scout. He said it was good if you stayed left at the top and the rode it down the middle between loose basketball sized rocks. I felt like I do when I paddle a rapid on the Green River in NC called Boof or Consequence. You can´t see what you need to do, its technical and you have to do it right or its gonna hurt. There’s a fear deep in your belly and you have no choice. So I did it. Really slowly with one foot on the ground most of the time. I was hating this.
From here the road got really bad but we had been passed by some locals on foot that said the road got better about ten minutes ahead, so we kept on. I stalled on a particularly steep section, and the problem with this is you can pull your front brake as hard as you want, but with no weight on the tire its not going to do anything. You just slide backward. The back brake is controlled by your right foot, but when sliding backward you need that for ballance. Sometimes I stop, sometimes I fall. This time I fell. I picked the bike up and put it in first, let out the clutch and nothing… Adjusted the cable and still nothing. I was going nowhere.
We decide that the best plan was to get Shannons bike up to this mythical “regular” road above us, then come back for mine. So we pushed, pulled and cursed his to a place that was reasonably flat and put down the kickstand. Returning to mine, we took the clutch apart and found that the discs had been burnt down to metal. After cleaning them and putting the pack back together I still had no power. There was nothing left to do but to hike out and see what kind of help we could muster.
The road was too rough to ride double so I walked the mile or so to town. When we got to the little town the first person we saw was a drunk ranting in the street. We needed help, but not badly enough to ask him. The second guy tried to sell us some crafts he had, but instead ended up helping us find a 4WD Toyota driven by Santiago, proud holder of an American passport and speaker of english. Santaigo rounded up two friends and the six of us were able to retrieve the bike. When we got to the bike the tank bag had been stolen and the dry bag I keep strapped to the back had been cut off the rack but was laying by the rear wheel. I keep the dry bag in a net made of cable that draws closed and locks to the bike so they couldn´t steal that. The only thing of value in the tank bag was our SPOT, so now I’ll have to update the map myself.
We needed a new clutch pack and everyone agreed that Tocman was the best bet to get one, so, for a few Q more Santaigo was going to take me and the bike there while Shannon followed. I watched a little confused as we passed the sign for the town. Turns out Santiago has a lady-friend in Patulul and we were his excuse to visit. Its a bigger town and he found us a nice hotel with a covered shed and we can work on the bikes under it. Its also across the street from the biggest auto parts store in the district.
Santiago and his buddy wanted to take us to a place they knew for home food. It wasn´t a restaurant, but it kind of was. He´d take us. Its his girlfriends. We´d see. The girls are nice. And clean. They´ll make us dinner.
Needless to say, it was an odd night, exhausted, making conversation in spanish with five women from fourteen to forty that may or may not have been prostitutes, but who, at least from a distance, did look clean. And they fried some mean chicken for us. As far as I know, those were the only birds plucked that night.
The next morning the auto parts place called all over and faxed tracings of my clutch to the Kawasaki dealer in Guatemala city to try and get me my parts. The best they could do was delivery in about 20 days. WTF? I got on line and ordered some from the states that will be here Monday. It wasn´t cheap but it´s what I needed.
So yesterday morning was a bit of a low point for both Shannon and I. The roads been hard for us both. He´s been a little sick and worried about his oil leak, my bike is dead in the water and we had no idea when we´d get it back on the road, my belly hasn´t been right since Putitas fried chicken dinner, my knees not too good, and I hadn´t slept well in three nights.
I can only speak for myself here, but despite all this, or maybe because of it, I’m happy and still glad I´m doing this. If it was easy, doing it wouldn’t mean much. I didn’t leave home on a little motorcycle for easy. This is what I came for.
