Jungle Romp

Marcelo scrambled for tires and scored with two rear Pirelli knobby loaners. The departure time was 1:00 pm, so we rushed to the shop to remove the rear wheel, rushed out to swap baldy for knobby, and rushed back to put the wheels back on the bikes. At 1:15 pm, the KLRs were ready to roll, but Marcelo had neglected his own preparations for our own. By the time he picked up his riding gear, gased/oiled his two-stroke KDX, and by the time Sandy and Erica along with their little brother and a friend were loaded up in a little Nissan pickup, it was almost 4:00 in the afternoon.

The ride to the Yungas only took three hours, but it wasn't an easy three hours, for Gary especially. The drive over the 15,000 foot pass to the other side of the Andes is considerably colder the later in the day it gets and around 5:00 pm when we hit the top, it sure was cold. On the way up to the cumbres or summit, Gary noticed his engine temperature was completely pegged. For the descent down the other side of the cumbres, he cut his engine and coasted down to allow the engine to cool, the steep decline allowing him to still keep up with the others. At a police checkpoint, with his engine idling, he saw to his dismay water dripping out from under his engine. The symptoms didn't look good - an overheating engine, water dripping from the engine case - and the final diagnosis: a blown water-pump seal just like back in Culiacan, Mexico. Lightning had struck twice.

The options were few. The road into the South Yungas was just ahead and from there, it was only thirty miles. They loaded up the truck with some bottles of spare water, topped off Gary's radiator, and headed out, hoping the injured pump seal would hold on just a little longer.

The dirt road into the Yungas was fantastic, cut into the steep mountains overgrown with lush vegetation, waterfalls everywhere cascading into the deep canyon where a white-water river charged to some distant sea. Eduardo, a new acquaintance, on his KLX 650 and Marcelo on the KDX kept the pace. Gary and Alex surprised themselves with their improving abilities, special thanks to the new knobbies holding up the back of the KLRs. Tires really can make a huge difference. Good thing too, as the steep drop consistently on one side of the road would make big mistakes into last mistakes. Brains and reflexes became focused on one thing, keeping upright on two wheels. Unless of course, a dog saunters into the middle of the road and then nothing helps, which is exactly what happened to Gary.

Only a few meters behind Eduardo, front tire gallantly grabbing the dirt road, back tire sliding around beautifully on the curve, a large black dog ignored all thoughts of personal safety and stepped right out in front of Gary's bike. No time to do anything but roll over it and hang on tight. The dog's body begrudgingly ceded to the bike, but the impact sent the front tire every which way and down went Gary and his KLR, sliding about twenty feet before coming to rest on the side of the road.

Too intent on the road ahead, and without rear-view mirrors, Eduardo and Marcelo continued on ignorant of their fallen camarade. Alex and the pickup were a little ways back, so Gary shook off the impact, feeling a little pain in his left leg but otherwise okay. The bike looked fine also. What a tough mother she is. The dog didn't sound too good on the other hand; it limped away yelping in pain out of Gary's sight. Angry at the dog's stupidity and all other dogs before and after, Gary hoped the dog was going off to die. After all, it had nearly killed him.

When Alex and the truck arrived, Gary was starting the bike back up. They didn't even realize anything was wrong until Gary told them what happened. Concerned but relieved that all seemed okay, the trio of vehicles continued carefully on the darkening road the last few miles to the Hotel Tamampaya. The final approach to the hotel showed how remote the whole place was. Hardly more than a two-wheel track up a steep grade, rutted, bumpy, with small streams crossing the road, the approach ended in a charming compound of wooden buildings - one main lodge with restaurant and game room, and several long buildings with individual rooms. A large pool sat beside the main building, beckoning the exhausted group to dive in fully-clothed and forget the hardships of the road. The jungle sprang up full force just beyond the perimeter.

The lower altitude and the heat were welcome changes for everyone, especially Gary and Alex. After a delicious dinner of gnocchi a la Boliviana and a quick dip in the pool, everyone retired to the great room for games. Alex demolished the competition in foosball, while Marcelo and Gary were an invincible team in billiards, Gary adjusting roughly to the bizarre rules of Bolivian eight-ball. For starters, a scratch on the cue ball meant the other side gets a second shot once an unsuccessful one is made before ending their turn. A successful bank off three walls but not hitting a ball is still considered a scratch, and most strangely, hitting the cue ball in on an eight-ball attempt is not a loss, but just a scratch. Well, that rule is okay.

The incessant night sounds of the jungle lulled the group to sleep, dreaming of more hard riding to come the next day.

Miles - 65 (only?!)

Half way on the road to Chulimani, Gary looked at Carlos bike and Carlos looked at Gary's bike. The meaning was clear. For the next few miles, Gary burned up the road, or tried at least, on the lighter more torquey total dirt-oriented KX. It was like riding a bicycle, the moto so easy to toss around in a curve, responding so instantly to shifting body weight. The rush was too much, and for Carlos, the beefy 650 was fun but a chore for his small body.

Marcelo's KDX was next, a little heavier, a little less torquey than the KX, but still like a toy. Eduardo's big KLX was the most like his usual mount, but Gary found the similarities disconcerting, almost the size and weight of the KLR, but with a suspension that threw him around the seat like a ping-pong ball. Back on his own bike for the final stretch into Chulimani, Gary found new confidence in the KLR, big and heavy, smooth and powerful on the top end, but just as capable on these roads as its smaller cousins. Alex also rode the other bikes with similar comments to report.

While Gary and Alex were tearing up the jungle, David was back in La Paz enjoying some time alone. Not only did he miss his family, friends and life in San Francisco but his 'marriage' to the other guys was wearing thin. After riding, dining, sleeping, arguing, and spending almost every waking hour with two other guys, enough was enough. Solitude equals sanity.

Lamenting his growing separation from Yolanda, David's parents and sisters called from the Southern USA to cheer him up. Thank's y'all!!!

Dirty Boys: Alex, Marcelo, Carlos, Eduardo and the Beefer

Back in the jungle, Chulimani was a hot and dusty little town in the middle of nowhere, its main square a beehive of activity, buses loading and unloading, vendors selling everything from apples to zapatos. The dusty bikers gulped down a few Coca-Colas and ice-cream cones. Gary's radiator had barely made it to Chulimani from the hotel, so he filled up with water. Everyone fired up their motos, Gary traded again with Eduardo and Alex with Marcelo, and the gang sped off back to the hotel.

Gary's bike went down again, but this time at least he wasn't on it. On a hairpin downhill curve, Eduardo nearly collided with a family of three riding one small motorcycle. The tire tracks told the whole story. The small bike swung wide, almost going off the cliff. Eduardo cut tight to the inside, locking the back tire in the process. When he came to a halt, sitting awkwardly at an angle on a downhill slope, big heavy bike under his not-to-big body, plop went the bike over on its side. Gary came around the curve not a minute later to hear the sad tale of his baby going down again. But no damage done. Eduardo and Gary switched back for the second half back to the hotel.

At the turn off to the hotel, easy to miss if you don't know what to look for, four bikes made the turn. One bike, trailing the pack, missed the group and missed the turn. Alex went nearly halfway back to La Paz on the dirt road before he finally realized something was wrong. Back at the hotel everyone was a bit worried waiting for him, so Marcelo rode back out to the junction and intercepted Alex on his way back.

The whole group now safely back at the hotel, Alex pulled out his Mamiya camera for some top-quality, kick-ass photos. We lined up the Kawi line - KX, KDX, KLX and KLR - for some nice product shots. Then we went back down to the river for some romping fun in the water, Alex snapping away with the camera, capturing gorgeous images on the large-format Kodak Ektachrome and Fuji Provia film stocks, kindly donated by these two great companies.

Eduardo and Carlos and his family had to get back to the city to be at work on Monday, but the rest of us looked at our watches and decided to stay one more night; it was already late in the afternoon, and no one wanted to drive over the cumbres so late again. We'd leave early the next morning instead. More swimming, more eating, more billiards and foosball finished up the day. A lullaby of jungle sounds sang us to sleep once again.

Miles - 38