Part 4: Mexico, Guatemala and Honduras
Link to Video:
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=i1saucitFL4
Day 9 Laredo, Texas
We encountered almost no rain from Austin to Laredo and
the traffic thinned as we ventured further south. All the trucks travelling south towards
Mexico were empty, unlike those traveling north. We asked around in a Laredo gas
station where we could camp for the night and were directed to the state park.
The park was on what must have been a man-made lake in the desert-like landscape.
There was swimming and fishing and the place had many camp-sites but it was
almost empty of people. Maybe it fills up on the weekends. We settled in and
were struck by a wild series of thunder storms. We gave up trying to stay dry
and just retired to the tent and went early to bed. The storms raged throughout
the night.
We were to cross the border into Mexico the next day.
Outwardly we try to project a self-confidence that serves to calm the surprise
and shock we see on the faces of people when they learn that we are going into
the unknown and shadowy world of Mexico. Peoples’ imaginations are fed with
fearful stories from television news and drama shows and not, it should be
noted, from personal experiences. They often warn us not to go. Intellectually
we know that their fears are irrational and that there are tens of thousands of
safe crossing in and out of Mexico each day. We have spoken with numerous
people who have nothing but enthusiastic things to say about Mexico and the
Mexican people. The odds of something violent or even just negative happening
to us are remote at best but the truth is that night we were both a little
nervous.
Sleep came in fragments that night, interrupted by
passing storms both real and in our minds.
Day 10 To Monterrey
We left our campsite this morning full of nervous
energy. We found the start of the border crossing without a problem but were
turned away at the first toll booth. They only took US cash and we had none. We
stumbled our way through a mangled explanation in Spanish with the guard. He
opened a gate and let us pass through it to re-enter the border town of Laredo,
Texas. The streets were narrow and uneven after the gate and the temperature
was already hot. Riding the streets was a little challenging. It was such a
rookie mistake to not have cash. Nerves had got the better of us. We had come
all the way through the US using only a Visa card, even to buy coffee at
McDonalds. Who needs cash?
We found a hotel that had an ATM inside then, armed
with a fistful of dollars, we wound our way back into the bridge toll lineup.
After successfully crossing the Rio Grande our tires rolled slowly along in the
traffic jam and came to a stop at the first check-point. Isabelle pulled her
moto in tightly behind mine. There was a “mean” police dog straining at its
rope nearby that was barking ferociously and constantly. It’s training had
clearly been effective. It was an intimidating sound. The armed Mexican
official, I don’t remember the colour of his uniform or if he was in the army
or the border patrol - I just saw the rifle, approached and he looked the bike
up and down. I became more nervous with each motion of his eyes. He spoke only Spanish and spoke very quickly.
I
prefaced with, “Lo siento, mi espagnol es mui pequeno”. I had practiced that
one along with, “yo no comprendo”. It should have been “no entiendo” but I just
didn’t understand that either.
I asked him to repeat and if he could speak more
slowly, “mas despacio por favor”. He spoke again and motioned toward the extra
tires tied to the bike. I eventually grasped that he was asking where I bought
them, how much they had cost and did I have a bill of sale for them? I
continued to offer a blank expression and a few really bad Spanish words as the
minutes passed, the dog roared and the traffic filtered around and past us. I feared this was going to be my first corrupt cop looking to slap me with a bogus fine.
“I’ll just wait it out”, I thought. What else could I do? He had all the power.
I asked, “Por favor, donde es aduana et immigracion?” using bad grammar and a little French mixed in.
I was unaware of my errors just
as I was unaware of the sincerity of the border official. He was actually being
very helpful and was smiling the whole time. I had trouble seeing the smile and
hearing the friendly tone. I was intimidated by his rifle and by all the
stories and warnings I had heard. He was also right to be concerned with the
resale of expensive motorcycle tires in Mexico. He wasn’t corrupt, he was just doing
his job.
The friendly border official did eventually give up on
the tires and advised me to follow the signs to immigration and customs to get
a tourist card and a temporarily importation certificate for the motos. The
people in the various offices we had to visit were even more cheery and
helpful. The fight or flight emotional state dissipated and the whole
experience painlessly lasted about an hour.
Highway 85 was next. It is a toll road that took us
swiftly to Monterrey. The government travel advisory sites all
said that the city of Monterrey is like an island of safety. One imagines that
after crossing the wild northern region and arriving in Monterrey you can begin
to breathe easily again. Northern Mexico is dry and largely untouched. All the
flora was new and different to us and in fact was fascinating to our eyes. It
reminded us somehow of the “Trans-Labrador” road, mostly uninhabited and with a
harsh beauty caused by the climate and the plants that struggle to live there.
A little before Monterrey there is a toll booth where
you can only pay in Pesos. You guessed it, I didn’t have any pesos – another
rookie mistake. Isabelle was beside me in the toll bay while we both held up
traffic. All of a sudden, a
man approached from his minivan behind us, family inside, to offer some help
with language. It took seconds for him to understand the problem and he walked
up to the booth employee and very graciously paid our tolls. We thanked him
profusely, offered American dollars which he refused, then got under way
thereby freeing up the lane for traffic to move again.
Monterrey was a short distance further on and we
stopped for gas, a late lunch and hopefully some pesos. The clerk behind the
counter in the convenience store couldn’t understand my bungled request for the
whereabouts of an ATM. Minutes later that same mini van pulled pulled in to the
gas station because the man from the toll booth saw our motos. He got out and
started talking with us again, offering help. He found out from the clerk where
the ATM was and helped me through the process of getting pesos. He once again would
not take any payment for the tolls. He said that he had and been a stranger in
a strange land many times on business trips and had received kindness from
others. He hoped that sometime I too would find an opportunity to, “pay it
forward” to a traveller in need. We ended up chatting for quite a while with
Eduardo, his wife Monica, their daughter Isabella and their friend.
We followed the GPS guidance towards the campground we
had chosen on the internet the night before but didn’t find it. Navigation
troubles in Latin America are a recurring theme that will be addressed later.
We happened to be in a popular rock climbing area and stumbled on a hostel
outside town that catered to climbers called Ranchero Sandero. The location was
gorgeous and our host was gracious. We spent a happy night in the bunkhouse,
our bodies drained from the stressful day.
Hostel in Monterrey
Our dorm room
Without realising it, and despite rational objectivity,
we had begun our day with a mindset that had hindered our thinking, caused us
to make mistakes and caused us to look for the worst in people. We had in fact
received respect, help and kindness at every turn from people we had been
taught to fear. We were in fact safely in Mexico, breathing clean mountain air.
Day 11 Matehuala
This was a great day of riding. The temperature was 26
degrees under a clear sky. We rode along some rough gravel roads through the
foothill suburbs to the main highway. We realised that motorcycles and cars
stayed very close to the right, in fact driving with at least one and if
practical even two wheels on the paved shoulder. The idea is to make it easy
for others to lane split past you on your left. Speed limits seem to be a
suggestion only.
Soon after joining the traffic on the two-lane highway
we were stopped by a Federal Policia car. The officer pulled in front of us
with just his lights on, no siren. He got out, put on his hat and approached
us. Stress began to rise within us but we were wrong again. It quickly became
evident that the officer was genuinely interested in our motos and in our
story. He was enjoying practicing his English which was quite good. He brought out his phone and began taking selfies with us and the motos. He called
over a girl passing in the street and asked her to take more photos. His name
was Capt. Raul Rosas Ramirez. We had a nice chat and gave him our business card
with the blog address on it. I hope he reads this. Thanks for the pleasant and
friendly surprise welcome to Mexico, Capt. Ramirez!
We rode on and into the mountains, all around was
exciting and dramatic scenery. We reached 2200 meters altitude at one point
then crossed the mountains and descended to an altiplano at 1800m elevation.
The plateau is massive and stretches for hundreds of kilometers. A huge
mountain rose up before us from the plateau we were riding on, its snow covered
top third beaming white light. All around was desert landscape. It was here
that we saw our first roadside herding. Goats and sheep were munching in the median of the four-lane
superhighway as we sped past.
We came across a few military check points but were
waved through them all. Riding is tiring and hourly stops are needed for our
old bodies. We stopped for coffee in mid-morning and inside the convenience
store were two security
guards with large bore shotguns at the ready, keeping and eye on things.
We rode until we were tired enough to stop. We found
an auto hotel with a private garage. The room was very clean and pleasant. We
had the option of renting it for just four hours at a reduced rate but we chose
to go big, spending $30 for the whole night. These “love motels” are everywhere
and offer discrete and safe parking for a romantic rendezvous. We took
advantage of the very clean and private garage, that connected through a door
with the very clean hotel room, to do some motorcycle maintenance and to string
up a line to dry the laundry we had washed in the sink. That and tea at 7 pm
occupied our evening. We are indeed old.
Day 12 “Follow me!” and more police stories
The communication devices we have in our helmets are
extremely important to us. They are tiny two way radios that let us feel like
we are travelling together in a car. Conversation is possible but more
importantly we are able to manage heavy and aggressive traffic more easily,
especially when we are momentarily separated. Our
communicators died yesterday. All our
energy today went into replacing them.
The day started by trying to find the Yamaha
dealership Isa read about on the internet. Our GPS brought us smack into the Matahuela
town square as things were being set up for market day. The place was hopping
and we were ducking our heads as we navigated our motos around tent poles and
vegetable crates. A few minutes later we gave up on the GPS and asked a cyclist
for directions. He tried to explain but we were lost in the language so he just
said, “follow me”. With that he hopped on his bike and led us straight to the
dealership.
The store was equipped to sell the smaller motos,
200cc and below, that can be seen everywhere in Latin America. They carried a
stock of parts and commonly bought accessories that didn’t include helmet
radios. They were very helpful though in searching the internet to find a
system for us. Equipped with directions
to a larger dealership in San Luis Potosi we set off on the superhighway, pesos
at the ready.
Incomplete GPS maps, confusing place name protocols
and signs, that often have road numbers faded out or never there in the first
place, all contributed to much confusion and frayed nerves in busy traffic and
uncomfortable heat. I gave up on the GPS once more and on sequential written
directions. They became obsolete the instant we took the first wrong
branch of a fork in the road. I instead tried to recall the google map of the
city in my head and to navigate by shapes and by feel. This might have led to
further problems but instead led us straight to the Yamaha dealership. It was closed. A
little down emotionally, we dismounted and began to discuss our options.
Some people have asked about the tires we carry, I’ll
explain. It looks a little unusual but we certainly are not the first long
distance over-landers to bring tires. We ride motos that have uncommon tire
sizes. Finding any tires during our travels that fit, let alone finding the
specific off-road tires we want for the high Andes, would be difficult. We
actually will need to find a third set of tires somewhere before this trip is
over but that’s a problem for another time. Isabelle’s moto has a set of spare
knobby tires mounted on top of her side paniers. These gigantic doughnuts
mounted high and to the rear have inspired her to nick-name her bike, “Princess
Leah”.
Princess Leah
(Our motorcycles were greatly overloaded. We didn't think so at the time. I write this edit 2 years later and 100,000 kilometers wiser.)
The sight of our huge and heavily loaded motorcycles,
especially the tires, is not inconspicuous. It often elicits stares and
sometimes a thumbs-up or a rock star fist pump from passing motorists. Isabelle
is most often the recipient of these when people figure out that it is a woman
rider they see.
It wasn’t long before a police cruiser with two city cops pulled
in beside us loiterers outside the closed Yamaha dealership. Once more they
were genuinely interested in the bikes and in our story. The Canadian flags on
our top boxes continuously break the ice and serve to spark a conversation.
We mentioned that we were tired and looking for
camping or a hotel. One of the officers suggested a mid-range hotel, “Mas o
menos”, he said accompanying this with a side to side rotation of an
outstretched hand. “Pero limpio!”, Isabelle said. “Follow me!”, he said and that’s all it took
for us to be on our way cutting through heavy traffic with our police escort to
a clean (limpio) mid-range hotel ($28 CDN).
We didn’t end up staying there. It was an auto or
“love motel” and the staff must have been expecting a brisk business that
night. They wouldn’t entertain the idea of letting us stay the whole night.
We found a three-star place down the road that was
full of police. They staffed the road block check-points and did other duties
in the area and this hotel was being used as their local lodging. We parked the
bikes beside all the police trucks, confident they would be alright in
the ungated compound. We chatted with some of the off-duty police officers and
then slept well in the knowledge that a police man with a loaded assault rifle
was on duty around the clock at the front door.
Day 13 San Luis Potosí to Querétaro
No escorts or adventures today. Just great riding. We are out of the
desert now and mostly gone are the sights of people desperately scratching a
living out of almost nothing at the sides of the road. It is a completely
different Mexico. We now see properly and safely constructed homes and
businesses that punctuate fertile fields supporting healthy looking crops as we
make our way through the rural landscape. People look happier here.
Day 14 Querétaro to Puebla
Gas and tolls are expensive in Mexico! They really start to add up. It’s
the moving part of this journey that makes it hard to stay on budget. If we
just stayed still for a while…but then it wouldn’t be much of a journey.
Besides, we have a ship to catch.
It took some serious searching but we found our Airb&b for the
night. Martha opened the gate to her 1 acre walled compound in the city of
Peubla, Mexico. It was such a beautiful oasis in the hot urban landscape! Small
fences contained and footpaths connected the houses of her family members, six
in all, who lived here. The city had grown around the family farm and the
fields had been sold to developers long ago. The stables remained but the
horses were gone, Martha preferred lodging them further out of town. There is a
building that has a huge dining room and an industrial sized kitchen at the back.
This is where all the family events take place like weddings and christenings.
Martha with her mother in the doorway
Isabelle seemed to really connect with Martha, our host. She found her
to be generous, attentive, well traveled and above all she loves her family and
is proud of her children.
Day 15 Puebla to Acayucan
We met up
with our first “GS riders”, people who ride endure/touring motos like ours, 6
of them. We chatted for a while and then continued on. Today’s ride involved
some slow climbing and we reached the lofty height of 8800 ft on the plateau.
Ahead of us a huge mountain rose up from the plateau. The top third of it was
snow covered and threw off a white light. The plateau we rode on had rich soils
and prosperous agriculture.
After
traversing the mountain range at the edge of the plateau we descended almost to
sea level. The final 200 km put on a rich show of semi-jungle undeveloped land
and sugar cane and pineapples crops. This was another new ecosystem for us.
Our hotel
in Acayucan is modest and clean and it sits right on the town square. The town
is delightful and very safe feeling with lots of women out with children,
families enjoying the town square in a festival mood with vendors all over. We
see groups of children playing and plenty of women walking alone. Music and
street food is everywhere.
Day 16 Puebla to San Cristobal de las Casas
It was a hot day of riding 2 and 4 lane highways. After Tuxtlan the
climb began and we reached 2200m (7000 ft). The valley below looked so far
away. We followed another GS rider and learned how to lane split through
construction traffic. We learned how to ride on the paved shoulder to allow
others to pass us. We learned how to watch for and keep right to avoid oncoming
vehicles committed to a passing maneuver on the two-way highway. And we learned how to pass slow trucks at the
speed bumps. We also learned how to dodge potholes at highway speed. We chatted
with the GS rider when we took a break.
Our Airb&b was in the forest near the town. It was very hippie-like
and peaceful. We enjoyed it a lot.
Day 17 San Cristobal de las Casas to Comitan de Dominguez
The next day we got up with the birds and walked 1 km into the town
market buying $2 worth of fruits and vegetables. We soak everything in a
solution from the grocery store to make sure it is clean. Isabelle picked this up
from Martha who served us our first salad south of the US. So far neither of us
has been sick.
Ninety-eight kilometers took over two hours because of all the little
villages along the way. They each had a set of topes that contains a brutal
tope every 150 m. Surely a tope should be shaped to simply force you to travel
at the posted limit but very few of the topes do that. Most topes require you
to slow to a stand-still and then clutch out again into first gear. I’m convinced
it’s the local entrepeneurs that want to force you to slow down. Vendors of
trinkets or fruit or those simply looking for a handout frequent the traffic
lineups at topes and toll booths. Assault rifle carrying soldiers often there
to keep a watchful eye over the proceedings.
We arrived at Comitas early but were let in anyway. The house is
magnificent and is located on the town square, right next door to the church.
It is styled in urban chic and our room is huge with its own bathroom,
shower/toilet combination and loo for a second toilet. We went for a walk
around town for about an hour. Our hosts were pleasant and helpful.
Day 18 Comitan to San Pedro la Laguna, Guatemala
What a day! We are both pooped, so much happened today. We got up early
and left just after eight, arriving at the Guatemalan border by ten. I changed
some Pesos for Quetzales at a loss of about 8%. It was a small amount and we
needed cash for border fees. We were finished at 11:39! Then we began to
experience the roads in Guatemala. We rode through town after garbage filled
town for a while after the border. Things got cleaner and more prosperous
looking the farther we rode from the border. We followed a spectacular river
valley for a long time, constantly slowing for topes. We average about 50kph
because if the topes, traffic and turns. We dodged potholes, people and pets.
We lane split past traffic jams.
At 100 km to go before San Pedro the road became crazy with constant
curves and switchbacks. It was slow going but I found it very fun. The last 35
km were very difficult for Isa especially since she was so tired. The road was
paved and became very steep, too steep even for engine braking in 1st gear. We
had to use real brakes too - a lot. The first half of the descent, about 1000m,
was a good quality concrete surface but tight and very steep.
Then the road to San Pedro became broken with deep potholes of gravel,
rock, broken concrete and the switchbacks were even steeper and sharper. We
later found out that no trucks will go on that road, only the “chicken buses”
and they need to make a 3 or 5 point turn around the switchbacks. Isa fell on
the first of the really difficult switchbacks. She was tired from a lot of
riding that day and the last 100 km of it had challenged her a lot. We arrived
in San Pedro to cobbled streets on crazy slopes with traffic everywhere and
started to look for a hotel. The traffic directing staff on the four corners of
the market area had walkies and were really helpful guiding us to a hotel. We
managed to find a hotel and I rode them through the pedestrian gate and along
the footpath to park the bikes beside the office. The job was accomplished without
falling but soon after that we fell into bed.
Day19 Touring Lake Atitlan
We got up with the sun and to the very loud and delightful sounds of
Guatemalan birds. There was a tremendous variety of both birds and their songs.
Isabelle counted 17 different songs from a single bird. The dreadful sounds of
the grackles were not to be heard this early. They come out later in the day.
The Guatemalan grackles are not as loud and unpleasant as the ones we saw and
heard in Texas.
We strolled through the town and had breakfast in a hippie café. After
breakfast came a stroll down to the water taxi dock. There are at least 5 towns
on the mountainsides that rise from the waters called Lago Atitlan. These
waters fill to a depth of 300 m the caldera of an extinct super volcano that is
surrounded by three smaller ones. Its multiple eruptions spewed sand and ash in
a circle the circumference of which reached the tip of the Yucatan peninsula. Aldous
Huxley, the writer, described Lake Atitlan as the most beautiful lake in the
world. It has been the centre of the Mayan world for a long time.
We took a water taxi to one of the other towns, Panajachel that morning.
The two museums we visited told of the geological and paleontological histories
of Lake Atitlan. There is a good road out of Panajachel and much of the
supplies for the region come in there by truck. Motor launches distribute
supplies to the towns and villages, many of which have no roads connecting them
to the outside world. The people of Lake Atitlan are almost entirely Mayan and
we stayed with the Mayan family of Tula and Francisco Mendez.
Mayans here seem to have a very defined social order. The men work hard,
the boys are very well behaved. This is a strongly Catholic culture. Tula prepares
and serves our food but does not eat with us. Adult people of both genders
greet us in the street, often wishing us a pleasant and safe journey if we are
obviously on the road, otherwise, “buenos dias” and a smile. Young girls are
curious, young women are very reserved. It is forbidden for them to a marry
non-Mayan and somewhat common for them to marry at 14 and 15 years old. The
women seem to wear traditional dress all the time. Men and boys are much more
informally dressed, a t-shirt and jeans combination is normal.
Tula's food was delicious
Day 21 Spanish school
Four
hours of private instruction is intense and tiring. We go home for lunch and to
start the homework, lots of it. Then we go again for club de conversacion.
Today, this was followed by a townsman named Felipe giving a talk about his
experiences as a fifteen-year-old in the civil war in San Pedro.
Private lessons for four hours per day = mental exhaustion!
Four from
his family of ten children disappeared during the 56-year war, 22 people in
total from the town of San Pedro. While being arrested, he was shot in the
right triceps and right hamstring. He was accused along with four others of
collaborating with the guérillas. He said he had no weapons, no guérilla
papers, nada. They tortured him for 8 days. The first torture was being forced
to eat stones. The second torture was a form of waterboarding. The third was
pulling on ropes attached to his testicles. Then the government captors
pretended to release one of them only to shoot him in front of the others. Filipe
was eventually released and recovered completely. He is now 36 years old.
Downtown San Pedro
Tuk-Tuk ride
Walking around town after dark we see school children walking home, solo
women and women in groups of up to 6 walking to and from, we assume, church in
traditional dress. It seems safe here.
Day 25 Last day of classes
We loved our time at Escuela San Pedro. We learned much and feel more
confident trying new things in Spanish. We can listen and understand better
now.
The roads, mountain curves and traffic in Central America make a 200 km
day on a moto a full one. We have decided to continue on to Panama after just
one week. We have 2000 km to cover and a deadline to meet. We said goodbye to
our teachers today. Isa’s teacher took her to the market in the next town to
buy gifts for our hosts. She bought Tula and Francisco a table runner and a
donation of baby clothes for grandchildren
"Chicken Bus" in San Pedro
People in the centre of San Pedro get water between 6 and 8 am three
days a week. They often have a cistern on their roof. Not enough water means
most people walk to the lake to wash their clothes by hand. San Pedro’s
inhabitants, besides hippie visitors and those studying Spanish at one of the many
schools, are almost entirely indigenous people. They have very little but are
happy. They love their own culture; the climate makes their needs few and they
don’t seem to mind not being able to travel. Home is good enough. The life of
the villages and towns around Lake Atitlan has a flow that is predictable and
is punctuated by Catholicism and Fiestas. One side or other of the lake seems
to have a fiesta each weekend and the sounds of “bombas” can be heard all
night, all over the lake.
My teacher Manuel expresses pride and satisfaction with life in the
villages. He seems well educated for the region and clearly is intelligent,
having taken most of the entrance exams to Guatemala University successfully.
At 23 he hopes to begin his studies soon and return to San Pedro to teach
Music.
View from the far side of Lake Atitlan
Day 26 Guatamala City
We said an emotional goodbye to Tula. Her tears were real, I felt them on
my cheek. Isabelle connected especially well with Tula. Perhaps we will have
the opportunity to stay a while with this wonderful family on our return trip.
We had planned and walked our route out of town to the beginning of the big
climb the previous afternoon. The actual ride out of town and up the mountain went
very well and no one fell. I rode Isa’s moto for her through the tough section
that bit her on the way down. We had a great view of the cauldron from up high.
It was a fun day of mountain riding on good roads.
Kendall and Miriam, our hosts in Guatemala City
Day 27 Chiquimula
I noticed a missing crash bar mount on the 700 a couple of days ago. We
wasted the morning in Guatamala City looking for a Touratech outlet to get a
new part, then rode to Chiquimula. The mountain riding was really fun and we
easily found our resort for the night. We paid a small fee to camp and to use
the pool. We were almost at sea level and the temperature was 39.5 degrees that
day. Sleeping was a little uncomfortable but we will get used to it.
Day 28 Into Honduras
We had to cut short our planned ride, instead stopping in La Entrada and
taking a room in a swanky hotel. This morning we ate a camping breakfast of
oatmeal and coffee then rode for an hour to the Honduran border. The border
crossing took 3 ½ hours this time, our first long one. It cost $100 in fees. We
rode on but were slowed by poor roads, pot hole dodging and then a flat tire.
Isa’s rear tire was sliced by something sharp and hard and strong. We
think it might have been a piece of re-bar sticking out of a tumulo (concrete
speed bump), they are common. Many passersby asked if we needed help. I put in
three tire plugs and waited a bit for the glue to set. Then I slowly and
gingerly pumped in some air and listened – nothing, even at 20 psi! We rode
together to a tire repair shop a couple of kilometres down the road. A friendly
man and his wife had stopped to help us and told us about the shop. He drove
his little pickup truck ahead to show us the way. The vulcanazidora down the
road declared my plugging job roadworthy after topping up the pressure to the
required 42 lbs. We’ll try riding with it tomorrow.
Day 29 Tegucigalpa, Honduras
We rode all the way to the far side of Tegucigalpa (325 km) today and
the tire held. Tire pressure at the end of the day – 42 psi! We began the day
looking for cash. I visited at least a half dozen banks before success came. I
was asked to remove my sunglasses, patted down, wanded and watched by numerous
shotgun guards before entering each of the banks. It took an hour then I said
to Isabelle, “I’ve got 6 grand in my pocket (about $300 CDN) and a full tank of
gas. Let’s rock!”
The road was better today, less pothole dodging right from the start.
The second half of today’s road was even better, often 4 lanes but mountainous
and slowish. It was a long day of riding, very tiring. We took a really
expensive hotel room because we were too tired to move on. We’ll have to make
it up soon. There’s good wifi here so I’ll try to upload this posting.
