Goodbye to a Dear Friend

Day 18 - Tuesday, November 19th
Chetumal, Mexico to Dangriga, Belize

The day was hot and muggy, but no sign of the constant rain from the day before. We arrived at our second international border early not knowing how long it would take to cross. We turned in our Mexican vehicle permits first. Alex tried to get all the money back he had paid in Mexicali in lieu of a credit card bond. No dice. As foretold, he only received $100 back from the original $300.

Over a short bridge lay Belize. The border post was quite crowded but fortunately only going the opposite way - from Belize into Mexico. Unlike the Mexican border so long ago which is essentially just "drive on in," we had to park the bikes and go into a little building for passport stamps and forms for the vehicles. Everything was done in one building and didn't take too long for us all to pass - maybe one hour.

Outside, the money-changers were out in force. The rate, they said, was 2 Belizean dollars for 1 American. That is at least what was offered just beyond the border crossing at the banks and shops. But at the border, they had the special rate of 2.05 to 1. Unsure of what to do exactly, for in Mexico we changed money at either banks or just pulled it from the ATM's, the border officials said these guys were okay to trust. Money changed hands quickly, our left-over pesos and American dollars, even traveler's cheques, were converted into Belizean dollars called Belizean dollars.

"And don't forget to put the file in the cake"

Immediately, we could tell we were in a different country. The dwellings along the roadside were constructed of wood as opposed to brick or cement in Mexico, and most houses were up on stilts to protect them from the frequent flooding. For the past week, Belize had received quite a bit of rain, and many buildings were still surrounded by huge pools. The population was also markedly different from Mexico being a vast majority black, descendants of the African slaves brought to the Carribean. And strangely enough but perfectly acceptable to us, everyone spoke English; everyone in the country should, in fact, since English, not Spanish, is the official language. But with their heavy Creole/Caribbean accents, it was still difficult to comprehend at times.

The road to Belize City was in good repair and flat, the only difficulties were following the intermittent signage. Immediately upon entering Belize City, we were turned off. The roads were extremely narrow and the city plan made no sense whatsoever. Directions from some locals to a nearby restaurant had us driving around in circles. Eventually, someone escorted us in their truck to Marva's for the perfect plate of rice and beans.

Thoroughly satisfied from our first sampling of Belizean haute cuisine, we attempted to find our way out of town. A taxi came to our aid and we were soon on the road to Dangriga where a friend of Jay's from Canada lives.

Along the way was Belmopan, the new capital of Belize. Due to Hurricane Gladys a few years back, Belize City was seriously damaged, prompting the government to pick up and move inland. Up to the new capital, the road continued to be very good, but at the turn-off to Dangriga back on the coast, we were warned to expect poor road conditions. An unpaved shortcut to Dangriga which bypasses Belmopan and is more commonly used by the locals lay under four feet of water. Not knowing how bad the paved road would be, driving under water still seemed to be more difficult.

What they call poor road conditions, we would call unpaved, pot-holey, rutted, no shoulder, dusty, bumpy, rocky, and with bridges composed of two sets of 2x8 planks wide enough for only one vehicle at a time. This made the worst road we had encountered in Mexico seem like the Indy 500 racetrack. It took half an hour to go 15 miles, and that was fast compared to the snail’s pace kept by the local drivers.

Once past the bad section, we convened on the side of the road to gather our wits. To the left was an orange grove and on the right a coffee bean field. In the distance were the lush green hills of the Maya Mountains. The final stretch into Dangriga was through exceptionally beautiful terrain on very smooth road, a treat for the eyes and for the butt.

Home is where you hang your Helmet
We arrived and found Chris' house without a problem. It was a small two-story dwelling about 20 paces from the water, replete with bunk-beds but no sinks. Thieves had taken everything when Chris had been in Canada during the off-season, including the kitchen sink (for real)

As luck would have it, today was a holiday for the Garifunas who live on the Caribbean coast. The biggest party of the year was going on that night in Dangriga. Jim, a huge lover of this region's music and dance, didn't wait long before heading out to grind to the pulsating music we heard emanating from a nearby field. Not too reluctantly, the rest of us went with him and we danced into the night with a few hundred locals. When Jim jumped up on stage, took his shirt off and threw his hands up with the Harlem Boys, his white skin stuck out like a full moon on a cloudless night.

Miles - 210

Day 19 - Wednesday, November 20th
Dangriga to nowhere

The Queen of Dollar Bills

The Canadian hospitality, cool off-shore breezes, and exhaustion from dancing through the night convinced us to stay put for another day. Still dirty from the rain in Mexico, we washed the bikes lovingly, changed our oil, and sprayed them down with some Motul Multi-Purpose coating.

Chris needed to go up the coastal road to check the level of the Manatee River for an upcoming river trip and invited us to go along. Jim and Alex declined the offer, and Jay gave up his bike to Chris. Unsure of what condition the road would be in, David removed his Pelican cases for the first time in case we had to get down and dirty.

For twenty miles, the three of us buzzed up the dirt road hoping it would get gnarly. No luck. The warm weather had dried out the road and the water level on the river had receded to a navigable level. At the river, David noticed Jay’s license plate was missing, presumably chewed off by the back tire on one of the many big bumps we’d flown over. The return trip of twenty miles was a bit slower as we all took a lane, left, center and right, in search of Jay's beloved Canadian plate. Never expecting to find it, or at the most finding it bent like an open sardine can, there it lay in the middle of the road at mile fifteen, pristine and face up right as if waiting for us.

That night, we dined sumptuously on spaghetti and tomato sauce made in the sinkless comfort of Chris' kitchen. Finally, a real home-cooked meal.

During the day, Jim had attempted to get Chris' new internet account working so we could use it to upload the latest journals and get our e-mail. Unfortunately, the Belizean server was a little uncooperative, so when the rates were low enough later that night (Jim did it at 3:00 am), we just dialed up directly to the United States. Overall, we spent 45 minutes on-line and split 5 ways, it was only about $10 per person. (Aren't we generous when it comes to our commitment to all of you?)

We ended this relaxing day in a discussion about how to get to Guatemala. One option was to ride to the border and go to Tikal, where we would then head south towards Honduras. However, we had been told the roads in Guatemala would be very bad. Also we were four days behind schedule and didn't know if the Westin Hotel in Tikal would still have complimentary rooms for us. The other option was to ride south in Belize to Punta Gorda and hire a boat to take us to Puerto Barrios in Guatemala. By doing this, we would not only avoid the bad roads but also pick up a day. Chris called some people he knew to try and prearrange a boat, but it turned out to be much more expensive than we had hoped, so we decided to brave the roads in Guatemala and hope for the best with the hotel.

We fell asleep again to the gentle sounds of the Carribean just beyond Chris’ door. We wouldn’t hear such a sound or gaze across an open body of water for another 2000 miles.

Miles - 66 (of mostly dirt road :-)

SPECIAL MESSAGE

David received an E-mail this night he was hoping he would never see. A few months back during a Peace March reunion, a gathering of hundreds of people with whom he walked across the USA trying to have the global arsenal of nuclear weapons dismantled, he re-befriended Ginny Dean. Ginny and David had not only this walk in common but shared the horror of having cancer as well.

During a boat ride on a beautiful Iowan lake they discussed her chemo treatment and the medical system, death, life and what is important to each of them. Through her courageous lips he heard her speak of dying with dignity and as much consciousness as possible; being drugged into numbness was not what she could imagine. In the same weak breaths he felt her hope and fear.

Before the leaving on the motorcycle trip, they spoke. “David, I'll be praying for you. Have a successful trip and I'll imagine I am there with you for some of it. I want you to do a lot of good living on that trip of yours,” Ginny told him. David told her that while he was soaring through the Honduran mountains he'd picture her as a hawk flying over them, guiding them safely to their next home. As those words tripped out of his mouth, he knew she was preparing herself and those that loved her for her absence.

For months David had gotten e-mail updates encouraging those near to her to hang tough and keep up the well-wishing. E-mail updates became a life-line as David prepared for this long journey.

Finally tonight, the dreaded e-mail arrived. As he read the message, subtly laden with philosophy by Kahlil Gibran, David numbly understood what Ginny’s husband was trying not to say directly.. that Ginny was dead and he would never see her life-giving smile on this earth again.

David mourned this loss. Ginny was one of the best human beings he had ever met. The earth was a better place for having her upon it; those she touched were better for knowing her. He was also reminded of his own mortality and that lurking in the outreaches of his mind is still a kernel of terror. That unwatched, cancer can return. That of the two of them, one survived, and that chance had a big part in deciding who was next in line.

Odd that this ride is a benefit for the American Cancer Society and one of our friends has died during it. Statistically it is likely that before this trip is over at least one more of our loved ones will have the same sad fate.

In her last e-mail Ginny asked that in place of flowers a small donation be made to the American Cancer Society .