A Parade in Panama City

Day 30 - Sunday, December 1
David, Panama to Panama City, Panama

6am. Gary gets up singing.

"Get up...
get up get outta bed...
and start the brand new day...
Get yourself up...
I know you may be tired...
but don't you dare be late"!

Amazing memory Gary has. This was a little tune he picked many years ago from David, for whom it was very nostalgic to wake up to this song. Ten years ago, during David's cross country walk on the Great Peace March, there was a group of musicians that would wake up the entire camp, using this song to get them out of their tents and on the road for another 20 mile day. David had nearly forgotten this song written by his friend Mike Krieger. It was, however, another reminder of his friend and fellow Peace Marcher Ginny's recent death from cancer.

None of us were prepared for Alex's powerful negative reaction to being lyrically yanked from sleep. "Are you really trying to piss me off"!? he said in a very serious and frustrated tone. It seemed that Jim and Jay wanted to react this way too but Alex beat them to it. They went back to bed, so David and Gary packed up, munched on bread and cheese, and drove off to greet the Panamanian Cordillera Central Mountains.

This magnificient mountain range which runs from Chiriqui to Cocle lay in the distance over our left shoulders all day long. From the Panamerican Highway we could see its waterfalls and lush curves. We wanted to stop and breath the clean moist air but knew we had to push hard. Thoughts of the Panama Canal and five days in the Westin Caesar Park Hotel were just too much to get us off the throttle.

We hadn't filled up with gas in David, but we knew we had about 60 miles left in our tanks, and Panama's reputation for modernity surely translated into copious gas stops.  So confidently, we rode along.  (By the way, when any of us take off we are always confident. It goes with the biker mentality. It doesn't matter if a $1000 dollar camera is sitting loose on the passenger seat, ready to fall off. Once we snap our wrist on the throttle, we have to be confident and focused or else we look... and drive... stupid.)

20 miles pass by and finally a Shell station comes into view. We pull in, dismount, unsnap our tank bags to get at the refill cap, and then we hear "No hay luz" - no light , no electricity.  In Guatemala we were able to get the station attendant to break out the hand crank and manually pump the gas. No go here in Panama. We knew it was a hell of a lot of work to do it by hand so we didn't blame them for not wanting to bother. They said that up the road was another station. Without wasting any time we quickly transported to the next Shell 12 miles further. No luck here. Same problem.

With only about 10 miles left in our tanks we stopped roadside to take a photo and chat about possible consequenses of running out. At the worst the other guys would be by within an hour to help us out. Because of the embarrasment factor, we decided to chance it and as we cleared the next crest the golden Shell glimmered in our hungry eyes. And there was power here! We topped off our go-juice (which wasn't as low as we thought. God we love the range on these monsters), put some equally precious air into our sagging tires (#1 cause of poor performance, low gas mileage, and early tire wear, so keep those tires pumped up), and were back on the road, confident anew.

The map says GAS just up ahead!

Meanwhile back at the hotel, the others were finally getting it together. Unfettered by Gary's singing, they packed their things and ate some brekkie. Not wanting to take all day and possibly miss the Panama Canal due to poor nightime visibility, they tossed the national speed limit aside (whatever that is) and blew right by the magnificent Panamanian Cordillera Central Mountains with its waterfalls and lush curves.

David and Gary, immensely enjoying the natural beauty Panama has to offer, were moving along at a relatively pedestrian pace. It was, however, also above the posted speed limit (though we swear there really was no sign). At different points along the one and only road across the country, both groups of bikers ran into the long arm of Juan Law. It turns out that Costa Rica is not the only country using radar guns in Central America. 50 mph in a 40 mph zone is a charge of $100. Well for David and Gary, it was a quick song and dance routine, followed by a $10 handshake.

The others did not get off so cheap. Zipping along, Jim in the lead did not even see the cop motioning him over (or so he says). Incensed, the cop leapt in front of Jason, who did see him and decided to stop instead of run him over. Jim came back and finally Alex pulled up, innocent in actuality but guilty by association. Jim, ever the moral lawyer, would NOT pay a bribe, and threw a fit in front of the Panamian officer about getting pulled over at all. But the Panamanian wanted to call Jim's bluff and thus began a serious poker game - Jim taking names and badge numbers and the Panamanians threatening to impound the cycles. With Alex playing good cop to Jim's bad cop, the Riding to the Moon team won the hand and instead of three $100 tickets, the cop got a $40 pat on the back. All day long, both groups kept a watchful eye and managed to speed successfully thereon.

At a roadside cafe, David called Yoli and had a pleasant conversation, then the two bikers refueled their bodies. Alex, Jim and Jay passed by, staring intently ahead, not noticing their two companions, jaws agape, wondering how they'd caught up so fast. Wanting to be first to the Panama Canal, David and Gary suited up and rode off in hot pursuit.

(A quick note about speed and physics. It takes roughly 1 hour at 60 mph to catch up to someone who is going only 5 mph slower when you are five minutes apart at the start. This is why in the past, it has taken us a while to catch someone who's taken off in the wrong direction.)

During the ride, David and Gary were a veritable symphony. David's bike developed a chirping sound somewhere in the back end. Gary's bike was still backfiring when rolling off the throttle. Just a couple more things to take care of in Panama City and another reason to get there quickly.

Sure enough, it took David and Gary two hours to pass the others. Actually, Jim was riding solo and joined up with David and Gary while Alex and Jay went slack jawed from their gas-station food stop, puzzled why David and Gary were behind them at all. Oh, what a twisted web we weave.

Then the rains came, with a vengeance. Warm, dense, and stinging. At times, visibility dropped to 20 yards. As was typical with the rain we have encountered on the trip, it came in patches and spurts. But each spurt was enough to soak our exposed parts and pool up in our boots and crotches. Jim dropped back when he was caught unprepared riding in only a t-shirt and had to suit up.

Despite all of the obstacles, the miles to Panama City ticked away. Kudos to Panama for having accurate and plentiful mileage signs (virtually non-existent in other countries, especially Nicaragua). When we were within 30 miles to Panama City, everyone began feeling giddy.  Just ahead lay the infamous canal, and with it came the promise of a new adventure, a new continent.

The rain ended maybe two miles before the canal. Cold and damp on the outside but a raging fire on the inside, we rode triumphantly over the soaring span of the Bridge of the Americas over the Panama Canal. In the distance, out in the blue Pacific sat numerous freighters awaiting passage through the canal. Just ahead lay the skyscrapers of Panama City. From a distance, it looked like the Emerald City, gleaming towers of steel, reflecting sparkles.

We were ten days late for our reservation at the Westin Caesar Park. But confident from our experience at the Westin in Guatemala, we rode up en masse to the welcoming doors of the hotel, strode in bold and sure, looked the front desk manager straight in the eye, and proceeded to beg and plead for our rooms. It must have been our cute unshaven faces, because it certainly wasn't our odor. In no time, we had our keys in hand and were blithely skipping through the lobby, excited and relieved.

The first matter of business was cleaning up. Here there wasn't the slightest fear of not having hot water. Jim took his Aerostich Darien suit right into the shower, as if it hadn't gotten wet enough during the day, but here in the shower he stomped on it like he was making grapes and pummelled it clean. We split off in groups to go find food on foot.

Jim and Alex found a small diner with a buffet line, decent enough and very cheap. They heard the roar of motorcycles from outside and were shocked to see a group of bikers ride by in formation, all bedecked in the same colors. One of them was a Kawi KLR 650, an older model. Curious, Jim and Alex followed the bikers just up the street. At the intersection were even more bikers, hanging out in groups of different motorcycle clubs. Also here were marching bands, baton twirlers, floats, and police barricades. Unwittingly, Jim and Alex had stumbled into the beginnings of a parade. Wally, the guy with the KLR, was excited to meet some American KLR bikers and extended an invitation to join the parade, which was to start within the half hour. Without a second thought, Jim and Alex ran back, found Jay, got on the bikes, and went back to the parade. David and Gary were nowhere to be found.

Unless of course, you are David and Gary, who knew exactly where to be found. They were at the time walking to a nearby restaurant for some dinner themselves. The first restaurant was too fancy and expensive, the second too dingy with not the slightest hint of vegetables on the menu. Going further up the street, they heard the sound of instruments tuning up. Up a wide boulevard they saw what appeared to be a street festival. What a coincidence to run into this two nights in a row, they thought. As the two walked up to check it out, they could see it was a marching band making the noise, and it wasn't the only one.

Having a good time walking amongst them, David and Gary kept going up the street, snapping pictures, when they ran smack into the same group of bikers amassed at the intersection. Spotting a '89 KLR, they sprang into action, introduced themselves, learned that Jim and Alex had just been there, and were in turn invited to join the parade also. David and Gary ran full speed back to the hotel only three blocks away, leapt on their bikes, noticed that the other bikes were gone already, and zoomed back to the parade.

Jim put it best when he said, "We've been in Panama City for 2 hours and they're already throwing a parade for us!" Well, folks, you just really can't imagine the scene. It turns out that all of the motorcyclists, about five clubs and 60 motorcycles in all, plus the 5 of us, were the preliminary exhibition meant to keep the crowd entertained by riding back and forth, up and down the boulevard, for what is the largest parade of the year in Panama - the annual Christmas Parade. People come from all over the region to see the marching bands and elaborate floats. This is no third-world parade, but a top-notch, first-class affair that Walt Disney himself would be proud of.

When it was all over, the Riding to the Moon team had the express pleasure and great honor to flaunt their stuff in front of, oh, about a quarter MILLION people.

Not knowing what to do exactly, or which motorcycle club to ride with, we more or less stuck together, riding with different groups at different times, up and down the 1 mile stretch of road over and over again. We rode with the older, cruiser gang, the young guys on supersports, the smooth, in-sync Yamaha off-roaders, even the police bikers with blue lights spinning. There was even a clown on a little Kawi 100.

Jay popped about 200 wheelies, causing the crowd, which packed the curb on both sides, to cheer wildly and cry out for more everytime we passed. Jim did acrobatics while riding, standing up on one leg on his seat, eliciting a similar reaction from the crowd. The rest of us just rode with disbelief, snapping photos of each other and the crowd, beaming from ear to ear the widest, craziest smiles.

Over the course of 2 hours (the parade started a bit late), we rode 20 miles in front of the great people of Panama. Finally, our task of warming up the crowd was over; the official parade was beginning.

Completely pumped from the experience, we pulled over with two of the bike clubs and just hung out for a while watching the parade, giving short rides up and down the street to the young ladies bold enough to ask. A huge fireworks show heralded the end of the parade and the end of our energy. 

Just before we parted from our new biker friends we learned they were involved in a charity event for children the following morning and asked if we wanted to come. "Charity is our middle name," we said (sort of). We would be honored. Wally (Mr. KLR and a master mechanic) would meet us at 7:30 in the morning at the hotel to take us to the rendezvous point with the other bikers. We said our good-nights and went back to the hotel, high-fiving each other and laughing in disbelief at our incredible experience all the way.

Miles - 298

Day 31- Monday, November 2nd
Panama City, Panama

To those of you who don't believe the story of the previous day, you aren't alone. We woke up early for our appointment with Wally, sure that the night before had been some strange shared dream. But the proof was in the digital camera and in the congratulations of the hotel staff who had seen us riding in the parade. Wally arrived right on schedule and we followed him through town, hooking up with the other bikers and continuing to Casco Viejo, the oldest part of town and home of the city's orphanage.

It wasn't clear at first what was going on this morning, but as the today's events unfolded, the pieces slowly fell into place until we had a complete picture. And once again, it is a completely amazing story that we can't believe we were a part of.

Every year, COPA, the national airline of Panama, selects a group of disadvantaged children and gives them a very special Christmas treat. Last year, the kids all had leukemia (boy, wouldn't that have been appropriate!). This year, the children were all orphans or came from broken homes. The children are picked up in two large tour buses and carried to the airport.

Here is where we, the biker entourage, come into the picture. Morning traffic is incredibly congested in the city, and the bus must traverse it all to get to the airport. Imagine 30 beefy motorcycles rolling slowly in front of two massive tour busses, blocking traffic, opening up lanes, finding the holes, etc. Of course, to add to our revelry this morning it was pouring down rain, but we thrilled and excelled at our task of escorting.

Not expected such weather, we didn't have our jackets with us and wound up sopping wet, and the rain felt like acupuncture needles pricking our skin by the thousands. There was no escaping it. We had to stay in front of the bus and keep up with the local bikers (who didn't even wear full-face helmets) or be branded whimps for life. Before reaching the airport, the temperature rose considerably, but the humidity rose at the same time, so as our shirts dried out, our pouring sweat made them wet all over again. It was a no win situation.

Once at the airport, the children checked in for their "flight", one by one, at the front counter. This took a while so we cooled off in the airport and met some of the other attendees, including the president of the airline. The children were then led into an awaiting airplane. The plane took off and flew around for about 20 minutes. The children, none of whom had ever flown before, were told they would be visiting the North Pole to see Santa's Workshop, and thus the name of this whole event, "Visita al Taller de Santa."

As they flew in circles above the airport, an older crowd made up of airline employees, invited guests, the bikers and the press all went to the gate where the children would come back into the airport. The gate was chock full of presents and decorated like Santa's Workshop, with Santa and Mrs. Claus, Santa's helpers and Elves busily making toys. The adults stood around talking and salivating at the delicious buffet that we couldn't eat until the kids arrived. However we could drink the coffee! David and Alex stood around sipping their strong brew (made tame with cream and sugar) and philosophized about such things as self-knowledge and denial.

The Riding to the Moon team, hot news from our appearance at the parade, took advantage of the press and were interviewed by a few newspapers and television stations. One gentleman we met, Pepe, was involved with a Christmas telethon for a children's hospital in Panama, so in one TV interview, we pleaded with the people of Panama to support their own local children's charity this holiday season.

Pepe is an amazing and inspirational character. He is a Panamanian working full time in the US Army making shipments to the USA. In his spare time he is a coordinator for the "Teleton" which will raise millions for the local hospital. He is an avid deep sea diver and he will never walk again due to a paralyzing car accident that has him fidgiting in his wheel chair all day. He has a terrific atitidude about his condition and it is very easy to see his abundance of energy overflowing into what he loves most... helping others.

Finally, the kids landed and entered Santa's Workshop. The looks on their faces were just precious, if not a little confused. But when the presents were handed out, the looks of wonder and confusion tranformed instantaneously into excitement and pleasure. The week before, each child was asked what they wanted for Christmas. The list was handed out to COPA employees who picked one and bought it for "their" child.

Torn wrapping paper and flying ribbons filled the air. Dolls and action figures were the most popular, but some kids even got basketballs, skateboards, doll houses, and science sets. A trio of clowns led the kids in Christmas carols, and the kids were served a meal of sandwiches and fries. The adults finally got to eat as well, thank God. It was 1:30 pm at this point, and we hadn't had a thing all day.

The sun was beating down as Channel 4, RPC, interviewed us outside next to the Beefers for tonight's news. Alex, the native Spanish speaker of the bunch, had masterful control over his delivery and it was apparent that we'd improved and refined our message since our experience on Mexican television. Jay popped a few wheelies and Jim did his tightrope impersonation for the camera for a little icing on the self-promotional cake.

Soon, it was time to go.  We gave hugs to as many of these special kids as we could get a hold of and shared tearful goodbye's with them. We knew they had to go back to a life of struggle and poverty, that most will grow up knowing only the orphanage instead of a caring and loving family. In our thoughts, as we rode to Wally's for a much needed tune-up, were the already fading faces we had just been blessed with.

At Wally's, we pealed off our sweat-drenched shirts and got busy on our rugged machines. The battery water levels were surprisingly low, and oil nearly black. Radiators topped off, K&N air filters cleaned, bolts tightened and lock-tighted, K&N gas filters changed, cables lubed, levers adjusted, chains tightened and greased, spark plugs checked and changed, brakes checked........

We dropped off our scummy laundry at a laundromat near the hotel and walked around the corner to a buffet we called "24" for din-din. "24" because of it's hours.

Bloated and exhausted we packed it in for the night and tripped quickly into a slumber filled with frantic dreams.

Miles - 44