On the Road Again

Day 40 - Wednesday, December 11th
Panama to Quito, Ecuador -- for Gary and Alex
Panama -- one last time for David, Jim & Jason

Finally, a day that was worth waking up for. The air was full of hope and energy.

Gary and Alex woke up brutally early to go to the airport and crate up their bikes. Just finding the cargo office was difficult and a prelude of the ordeal to come.

Relegated to a dark, dank and piss-smelling corner of the cargo area, they began to dismantle the bikes, first taking off the gas tanks and draining them. The 24-hour rule would have to become a 12 hour rule. Gary, who had been on reserve for the last two days, was lucky he even made it the 20 miles to the airport; he had maybe an eighth of a gallon left. Next came the battery, handle bars, and front tire, all of which had to be removed.

Jay showed up about 10 am, tools in hand. His presence was not only a god-send, but good practice for him and the other boys the next day when they would all have to go through the same thing. Behind them, a lone worker was busy putting together the crates out of very old lumber and used nails picked off the floor. It was like they were packing our Faberge Eggs in toothpicks and rice paper.

When Gary's bike was crated up and ready to go, a cargo inspector showed up weilding his trusty tape measurer and sternly informed everyone the crate was three inches too high to fit through the cargo door on the plane. So the crate was hacked open. In order to make the whole thing shorter, the forks had to be dropped on the bike and the rear suspension compressed and strapped down. The same had to be done with Alex's bike. This unexpected adjustment took over an hour. Finally the bikes were securely (?) in their crates.

By now, it was 2:00 in the afternoon. Jay took off back to the hotel. Famished, having eaten only a thin empenada in the morning, all Gary and Alex wanted to do was go back to the hotel to pack and say their goodbyes, but the ordeal was not yet over.

The crated bikes had to be weighed, but they were too wide to be removed from the back area where they sat. A forklift had to be called in to lift the crates up and over some metal posts blocking the way. Even so, the sides of the crates scraped both walls on the way out. The bikes ended up weighing a whopping 580 pounds, about 100 pounds more than expected. (No wonder we've been dropping them left and right.) The Continental cargo agent graciously held the price at the estimated weight.

Gary and Alex waited for the paperwork to be finished up, which for some reason the shipping agent hadn't even start until after the bikes were weighed. The waybills were faxed to the Continental Cargo office in Quito so everything would be ready to go in the morning. Virginia, the Continental agent, agreed that it would take at least two days to get the bikes out, but possibly only one day for three bikes to follow if Gary and Alex laid the groundwork properly. But, she said, it was anyone's guess how cooperative the customs people would be in Quito.

While Alex and Gary were dealing with this shipping nightmare, across town David and Jim paid a visit to the Panamanian Cancer Hospital to confront some other nightmares.

They parked their bikes at the hospital. On their way in a thin and hairless woman, draped in a thin and embarrassing smock slowly exited the impressive front doors and walked down the stairs towards them. For David it was like he was transported back to UCSF for chemotherapy, only the conditions were nothing like the good ol' USA.

They could tell she was once a beautiful and vibrant woman but her eyes were now sunken and she forced a smile as she passed by them. David felt like turning away and going back to the hotel gym for a nice sauna and steam, but with Jim's support they continued into the head doctor's office to introduce themselves. They had telephoned earlier requesting a tour of the hospital hoping to meet some of the patients and offer moral support. The doctor began his tour with an MRI scanner, his best piece of outdated equipment fresh in from the United States. However it wasn't useable because they had no training in its operation and they couldn't afford the chemicals that need to be injected in the patients to add contrast when the scans are developed.

This facility was the only one of its kind in all of Panama and had to support cancer cases from the entire country. People would drive a hundred miles to be treated for all types of cancer under extreme conditions. There was no air-conditioning, only a few dusty fans to stir the thick air on this typical hot and humid Panama day.

The Moonriders walked on to the out-patient facility where they saw children and old ladies sitting restlessly in vinyl easy-chairs getting a chemo drip. They walked further into the in-patient ward where the doctor introduced them to a couple young men near the end of their treatment. Oriel had lost his left leg to cancer. Only 16 years old he had the best spirits of anyone they had seen with such an extreme illness. After 11 months he had only one more month of treatment until he could be released. His brother stayed there with him for most of the treatment and when he could afford not to work. Oriel and his family lived over an hour away, a difficult journey with no car.

With the doctor translating, David and Oriel sat talking about the future. Oriel had wanted to play soccer and other sports which would now be unlikely since a prosthesis wasn't affordable. He planned to put himself through college as soon as he was back at home. What was so amazing to both Jim and David was his unfaltering courage and spunk. They could tell that after 11 months of treatment he was a bucking bronco rearing to get out of his cage and experience things like dating women or saving up to drive a car one day. The doctor photographed them together as they said their last goodbyes.

On the way out of the hospital David and Jim wondered where they get their latest cancer treament information. It turns out that much of it comes from a research center in Texas which receives grants from, you guessed it, the American Cancer Society.

Gary and Alex got a ride back to the hotel from the shipping agent, arriving at 5:00 in the afternoon. There was just enough time to shower and pack and say the briefest and most unsatisfying of goodbyes to the wonderful people at the hotel. They were in the Business Center figuring out how to pay the shipping agent for the aircargo since she didn't take credit cards (now she tells us!) when Jim came in with the letter from the Ecuadorian consulate. He also had a copy of the Saturday edition of the Panama American newspaper which featured an article on us. The interview had taken place last Monday at the COPA event. As precious minutes ticked by, the copy machine dutifully churned out a few sets of the letter and the article for Gary and Alex to take with them.

The flight was at 8:10 pm, and at this point a taxi wouldn't make it through the late afternoon traffic to the airport in time, so Jim and David offered to take them. One thirty minute hair-raising ride later, Gary and Alex were waving goodbye to their comrades. Despite their excitement about finally moving onward, it was a bit sad to be putting so much distance between us all. Gary and Alex were also admittedly nervous that the other three would again change the plan and stay for the weekend. But Jim and David assured them we would all be together again the following night in Quito.

The plane ride was short and pleasant, made even more so by the celebratory cocktails consumed with exhuberant good cheer by Gary and Alex. Together, they joked about being slighted and having to make it to Ushuaia by themselves.

The cool mountain air of Quito was a welcome change from the hot and humid air of Panama. A nice little residencia was within walking distance of the airport, and Gary and Alex were soon nestled down under their blankets, happy to be in a new country, a new continent, even a new hemisphere.

Miles - 28

Still in Panama, the three riders made good on their promise to get out of town. Jim and Jay left in the morning for the airport to prep the bikes for transport; David would be joining them a little later. He had one more trick up his sleeve.

Unbeknownst to anyone, David had called Continental the day before to set up a meeting for a sponsorship. All the night before, until 3:00 in the morning, he had stayed up creating a mock web page for Continental, akin to the one for Westin, naming them as a special sponsor of the ride. Armed with this powerful visual aid and copies of the information booklet, he strode confidently into the Continental offices in downtown Panama and gave the shpiel. Final approval would have to come from Houston, and they told David they would call him at the cargo office at the airport at noon with an answer.

Next David went to AeroPeru. If he could get something out of them, he had decided that he would stay in Panama for the telethon and join up with the rest of the group in Lima. They offered him a 20 percent discount, but even that was not enough to justify the much higher costs of flying himself and the bike all the way to Peru.

His last stop before the airport was the Panama America newspaper office to pick up 5 more original copies of the newspaper article. He finally made it to the airport at 2:30 in the afternoon, only 6 hours before flight departure. Jim happily informed him that Continental had called to offer them three complimentary passenger tickets but no discount on the cargo.

Jim's crate was only a few rusty nails away from being finished, Jay's was about halfway, and David had yet to begin. Time was of the essence. The shipping agent took Jim back into the city to pick up the free tickets from Continental, to the hotel to get Jim and Jay's belongings, then rushed back to the airport for the flight.

In the meantime, David and Jay had finished with the bikes and were ready to go to the terminal when a cargo official informed them that the bikes can't be shipped due to the 24 hour rule - the gas tanks, particularly David's, hadn't been vented for anywhere near the required time. It was 6:30 pm, the flight was leaving in less than 2 hours, all three bikes were crated, weighed, and were sitting on a rolling platform ready to be taken out to the plane. There was nothing to do but cajole, convince, and pull every trick in the book to get those bikes on the plane.

The cargo official would have made an exception, but a representative from the home office in Houston was visiting the airport training other cargo officials, and the Panama office wanted to stick to the rules. David insisted on talking to this visiting VIP, so he and Jay grabbed everyone's gear and hitched a ride to the terminal with a family of four in their little Toyota Corolla.

They piled out at the terminal like clowns from a circus car and ran inside to find the man from Houston. David affected a little bit of his childhood southern drawl and soon the two of them were chatting away amicably. David showed him the ride booklet, told him how important it was to get to Quito before customs closed for the weekend, and informed him that two bikes had been shipped the day before that hadn't had their tanks drained for 24 hours either.

The man from Houston made a phone call back to the home office to confirm the 24-hour rule and to everyone's surprise, he discovered that it wasn't a requirement at all. The only thing necessary was that there was enough room left in the tank for expansion due to pressure changes. David had been so desperate, he had been ready to buy a hair-dryer at the duty-free shop, go out to the tarmac, and blow dry the damn tanks. All of this was now unnecessary, and with only 40 minutes to take off, the Houston man went out to make sure the bikes made it on the plane.

Jim showed up at this point, and since the waybills hadn't been done yet, the shipping agent got right to work. She tucked herself into the back of the Continental office to do some zippy typing, away from David's nagging.

With the exception of the temporary confiscation of Jay's tools and chain lube the three bikers were deliriously overjoyed that all had finally worked out. When they walked onto the plane, they already felt in the clouds, flying high after such a hell-raising day.

During this entire ordeal, a country, continent, and hemisphere away, Gary and Alex were having their own action-packed day. It began early with a visit to the Continental Cargo office in Quito. The man they had been told to see was not in yet, so they took a walk to some nearby hardware stores to buy some tools that would make putting the bikes back together quicker and easier. If they were extremely lucky and got the bikes out that afternoon, they would be without Jay's well-stocked toolkit.

Finally, the Continental man showed up and signed the waybills, only charging Gary and Alex $5 each. (For what, we have no idea.) Next it was off to the customs office at the airport. This place was a zoo. Dozens of well-dressed customs agents were running around, stacks of paper in their hands, cellular phones pressed to their heads, anxious merchants following them nervously from office to office, upstairs, downstairs.

Gary and Alex went straight to the main man, Senor Cevallos, to present their case. The first question out of his mouth was, "Tienen su triptico?" Do you have your triptico? Triptico, we querried back? The bikers feigned ignorance, but secretly knew what he was asking for.

While prepping for the trip back in the United Sates, we had come across this triptico, official name: carnet de passage en douane, a mysterious document that some countries require when you travel through their borders with a vehicle. By placing a bond with an international automotive organization based in Venezuela, each countries is assured you won't sell your vehicle in their country. Of course, failure to get the proper stamps from each country would result in foreiture of the bond. According to the guidebook, only Ecuador might possibly ask for it. Confident we would get around this problem when it presented itself, we decided against spending the money and did not get the triptico.

When feigning ignorance didn't work, Gary and Alex tried persuasion. They had crossed many countries already, they explained, and never needed a triptico, plus there was the letter from the Ecuadorian consulate asking customs to help as much as possible. Senor Cevallos was impressed, but his hands were tied. The only solution was to get a letter from the United States embassy in Quito guaranteeing that the bikes would not be sold in Ecuador.

A long but very cheap cab ride later, Gary and Alex were in the office of the consul of the United States explaining the situation. Within a half an hour, they had the letter in hand and were heading back to the airport, arriving just in time for Senor Cevallos' lunch break. Making the best of the situation, Gary and Alex took the opportunity to eat as well; but not wanting to be gone when Senor Cevallos returned, they satisfied themselves with a bag of spicy peanuts and some other things we couldn't figure out sold by a poor vendor making the rounds of the offices. At 2:30 pm, all parties involved had satisfied their hunger and were ready to work things out.

Gary and Alex were escorted to an office downstairs where their paperwork was graciously accepted by a pleasant woman who seemed like she only had ten thousand other things to do. She got to work right away on our forms, but still the wait seemed interminable, made all the more so by the incredible bustle of activity happening all around. When the proper forms were completed, it was around to the warehouse in the back. A few more forms to fill out, a stamp here, a stamp there, $20 for some fee, and at 5:30 in the afternoon, the bikes were carried out of the warehouse by forklift and deposited in a far corner of the parking lot, away from the constant rotation of trucks loading and unloading cargo of some form or another.

It would take a few hours to put the bikes back together, possibly longer since a light but steady rain was falling. A very curious crowd gathered to watch the bikes emerge from inside the huge crates, a bit beaten up by the plane flight but otherwise intact. It must have been the first time any cargo had driven itself out from the customs building. As night began to fall, we doubted we'd be done before the the customs building closed up at 6:30, but the guard stays all night and said he would open the gate when the bikes were ready to roll away.

Slowly, the bikes took shape and at 8:00, under cover of night and mist, the rain having stopped an hour ago, Gary and Alex fired up the Beefers to drive them away. It had not taken a week, it had not even taken two days, it had taken one afternoon essentially to get the bikes out of customs. Triumphantly, the gates opened, the bikes drove through, went about 50 yards, sputtured, coughed, and died. No gas. Luckily, a Mobil station was just around the corner, and the Meier plastic jugs came in handy.

All during the day, Gary and Alex had speculated about whether or not the others would really get on that plane and show up. Unsure but hopeful, they went to the airport when the plane landed and joined the crowd of people gathered around the exit to the international gate. Lo and behold, there they were, lugging a huge amount of gear around, including one of Jim's Pelican cases. David was working a new scam, trying to get customs to let them get the bikes that night, even though the office was closed. Amazingly it almost worked, but some little detail prevented this coup of international shipping. A young man was filling in for the senior customs official and though he could authorize the request he was afraid too. Gary and Alex assured them the next day would go like butter getting the bikes out.

Between the two bikes and a taxi, everyone and their gear made it to the residencia except for Jim's tank bag which was forgotten in the cab's trunk. Fortunately, the cabbie was honest and met them back at the airport, bag in hand. David, Jim and Jay weren't quite so enamored with the little hotel, it was a bit of a change from the Westin Caesar Park, but their room had three beds and a private bathroom, and after their long day, they were soon looking at nothing but the insides of their eyelids.

Miles - 5