The Interminable Wait

The first 20 miles into Costa Rica were peppered with military and customs officials who checked our documents with an almost approving smile, and waved us through.

With such good riding conditions, we knew we'd cover some serious miles and make it well past San Jose, the capital. David pointed out what a shame it was to be blowing by some of the most magical spots in the world, such as the Volcano Arenal and its surrounding thermal hot springs. A roadside discussion got a little heated, made worse by our growing hunger, but the majority of the group was ready to get down to Panama where we might have a few free days to do some more bike and computer maintainance, recuperate, and see some other sights none of us had previously explored.

This felt horrible to David who had been to Costa Rica on his cancer recovery celebration trip with Yolanda years before and knew first-hand how wonderful it is here. The jungles throughout this enchanting country are brimming with life. The sun, rain, and rich earth combine their efforts into an abundance of flora and fauna that is amazing to behold. Even on the electrical lines that paralleled the roads, on the wires suspended between high poles, flowers were in full bloom. The environment is so fertile that if you throw a seed into the air by the time it lands it will have sprouted. We knew that one day we'd be back for a more leisurely visit.

As we ascended into the mountains, we began to see how the dynamic environment affects the roads. The overabundance of rain water has become the enemy in the fight for free travel. It seems they have tried many techniques to pave the road, but even with the latest technology Mother Nature has a stronger hand. Land-slides, mud-slides and tree roots growing up through or within the cracks tear them apart in short order.

After yet another splendiferous serpentine cruise (despite a few patches where there was some heavy gravel and other road work) we came upon our first and only toll booth in Costa Rica. We each paid our 20 cents, a small and reasonable price to pay for such a drive, and started our descent into the capitol of San Jose. Jay took the lead with Gary close behind. David, Alex and Jim followed behind them. As David was trying to keep up to the excited pace set by Jay, he saw out of the corner of his eye a folded paper sliding across the road. A few miles passed by but the black lines on the paper stuck out in his mind, their pattern itched at him like a dog with fleas until he could bare no longer to continue without finding out what exactly was on that bleeding paper.

He let Alex and Jim pass and pulled over until all the cars had passed too. Since there was no way across the highway he had to drive in the road's shoulder for two miles until he was at the spot where he last saw that itch. No sign of it from the road, he decided to dismount and scout it out by foot. Back and forth he walked on the highway looking past the guardrail and down the bank; there it was, pristine, as if a forcefield surrounded it. Stepping into a mud puddle he knew his intuition struck gold when from a few feet away he could make out Gary's familiar signature. It was his priceless stamped vehicle papers, important documention to say the least. Without it, Gary wouldn't be leaving Costa Rica anytime soon.

Our first priority once into San Jose was to find the Kawasaki dealer. As you probably remember, Gary's speedometer cable was mangled and needed to be replaced. We got an escort from a local on a little moped. He took us down the most obscure little streets and up what must have been the steepest cobblestone streets in the old part of the city.

Gary got his cable and some bolts. A sizeable crowd gathered outside the dealership to look over the Beefers and hear about our trip so far. We grabbed a quick bite from a little streetside burger stand. We couldn't agree on a single plan for the rest of the day. so we decided, once again, to split up and meet at the border to Panama at 1pm the next day. Jay, David and Gary would go on South while Jim and Alex would hang back and taste some of the San Jose nightlife.

The group of three wanted to drop by a bank on the way out of town so Gary led the way out of the dealership. Thinking he was going in the wrong direction, David honked to get Gary's attention. Gary thought it was a car that had somehow escaped his sight rushing up on him from behind so he made an emergency turn to his right. Fortunately there was no car, because the bike's prodigious weight got the best of Gary in the tight low-speed turn and he dumped, right there in the middle of the street with all the motorcyclists of San Jose looking on. With a mighty heave, powered by adrenalin and embarassment, he hoisted the bike, shot David a look filled with daggers, and the three rode off through the busy metropolitan center to the bank.

While they sat on the side of the congested boulevard, Jim and Alex rode by on their search for affordable lodgings. They wound up at the youth hostel, which still wasn't that cheap at $10 per person. The nightlife of San Jose beckoned. They found a crowded nightclub and danced the night away.

With the two Spanish speakers back in San Jose, Gary, Jay and David had a bit of a problem getting out of the city. Once heading in the right direction they filled up for the long ride south. The ride promised to be one of the most wonderful in Central America. It would be a jungle mountain ride that extended from Cartago to San Isidro de el General, over 72 miles of pure riding extacy. After they got into the first leg of it, the fog set in fiercely, dropping visibility to zero and the temperature to match. No way did they want to ride in such conditions, so pulled off at the first available lodging.

What a jewel they discovered. Cerro Alto, a collection of small alpine cabins clustered around a main lodge, appeared from behind the fog. It took very little negotiating with Rodolfo, the owner, until we were well situated in cozy cabin with a huge wood-burning fireplace and a terrific view of, well, fog at the moment, but later that night, we could see far across the mountains and down into the valley.

Gary went through a minor bout of food-poisoning from the burger in San Jose. By midnight, he had purged his stomach (profusely) and was able to join David who had been diligently writing on the computer. Jay stoked up a major fire in the fireplace, burning enough wood and lumber to build another cabin. The fog drifted in and out over the mountains as the three tired bikers slept soundly through the quietest night in a long time.

Miles - 211

The morning sun rose bright and early on the whole Riding to the Moon team, separated as we were, but we didn't rise with it, deciding to sleep in until the relatively late hour of 7:30 am. The Panama border lay only 200 miles away, which everyone felt they could make by 1:00 pm that day, but Costa Rica had a few surprises left before we would exit from her green embrace.

The lodge was again wrapped in its shroud of fog, but that didn't deter David and Gary, who was feeling much better, from taking a short hike into the nearby jungle. Breakfast was followed by photos with the lodge's personnel. Hoping the fog would burn off as the day warmed, David, Gary and Jay left the lodge at 9:30 am.



The fog never lifted for more than a mile or so before it drifted back, or maybe we just rode into the next cloud. All in all, we rode through chilly air, dense fog, mist, and an occasional light sprinkle. The worst, however, were the road conditions. Like in Honduras, the asphalt would just end for short sections, exposing gravel and dirt. Or a section of the mountain that had ripped free would be piled up in one lane or the other. Coming around a blind mountain curve and then having to deal with such obstacles kept us on our toes.

Loud pulsating dance rhythms still echoed in the heads of Jim and Alex as they worked their way out of San Jose to the foggy mountains. It was 8:00 am. They must have passed the mountain lodge not too long after the others had gotten on the road, but what they encountered was an entirely different ball of wax. Everpresent was the fog, cold and bad road, but the constantly changing weather decided it just couldn't contain itself any longer and began to dump rain. Speed dropped to a crawl, and then to a complete halt when the wet and damp invaded Jim's bike and shut it down. It took an hour until Jim could get the bike started.

Just ahead of this deluge, David, Gary and Jay finally began the winding descent from the mountains. The warm air of the lower elevations was a welcome change. A quick glance at the time was all they needed to choose a quick pace. It was already noon. The last 72 miles had taken 2 1/2 hours. Although they knew they would be late to the border, just how late was still anybody's guess.

Both groups of riders got soaked in more rain closer to the border. This heavy downpour lasted for an hour, though the flat and straight road allowed for a decent speed. The rain came to an immediate halt about 12 miles short of the border. When Jay, David and Gary pulled in, there was no sign of any precipitation nor signs of Jim and Alex. It was 2:30.

This border was unlike any except the entrance into Mexico. The town of Paso Canoas exists on both sides of the border and is a teeming border town of small wholesale shops, markets, buses, and taxis. As is typical with most borders, the majority of cross-traffic is on foot. There is no no-man's land and the whole atmosphere, although busy, is relaxed with no stuffy border officials.

David, Gary and Jay went to the Guatemalan border office, which was unobtrusively attached to the bus station. They took care of their exit papers and sat down to wait for their companions. A minute had just passed when another minute passed. Then another minute quickly passed. Then a minute which seemed like an hour but was only a minute passed. During the long wait, Gary called his parents, and the trio polished off several pieces of fruit, pastries, peanut butter and crackers, and two cans of tuna. Gary's wager that they would arrive by 3:30 came and went. David had bet on 4:30 but that too didn't win it. Jay didn't even hazard a guess; he thought they'd have been there on time - at 1:00!

At 5:05 Alex and Jim roared into town. A feeling of relief swept over the group. We were together again and ready for the assault on the Panamanian border. However, no assault was necessary. The whole affair was a civilized series of short forms, two small $5 fees per person and a quick spray down from the Insecticide Man. We were on the road into Panama by 7:00 pm.

Our night stop would be the town of David, 30 miles up the road. Within the first 4 miles, there were two checkpoints. It may be easy to get into the country, but not through it. Twenty miles further, a long line of cars stopped the riders in their tracks. Opting for the easy way around, David, Gary, and Jay, without waiting for the others to come up behind, took off on the dirt shoulder. The flashlight of the police officer a half mile up the road waived them to the side. At first, we thought we'd gotten nailed for driving where we shouldn't. Then we realized it was yet another routine document check. How do you spell RELIEF? Unfortunately, Alex still had our vehicle papers from the border. Miraculously, they asked only to see our passports. R-E-L-I-E-F. Alex and Jim took the same easy way around the line of cars but managed to pass unseen by the gaggle of officers.

David was a normal, average, typical, run-of-the-mill small city. It could have been Des Moines, Iowa, or Navajoa, Mexico, or Esquipulas, Guatemala, but with its own distinctive Panamanian flavor. We found an affordable and adequate hotel on our third attempt. David and Gary went for a walk and ended up tagging along for a few blocks with a Munado festival, an impromptu gathering of people dancing and playing instruments in the street. The fiesta is to celebrate the independence from Spain. Afterwards, they bought dinner fix-ins at a grocery store and ate al fresco in the town square opposite the hotel. Jay took a walk around on his own and ate. Jim and Alex went right away to the land of dreams.

Miles - 221