A Deserved Break

The day broke calm and clear. Whether or not the weather would herald a solution to our predicament, it was a day filled with teamwork and group activities.

The morning was spent, as usual, putzing around Top Shop. At 1:00 pm, when businesses close up for a few hours of the afternoon, two teams gathered for the weekly futbol (soccer) match between the salesmen of Top Shop and the mechanics of Walter's shop. Today's special guests: the Riding to the Moon team.

The previous night's rain moved the venue of the match from a grass field (now mud) to a small concrete court. The smaller size was a god-send to us miniscule lunged gringos. Nonetheless, within the first ten minutes of the game, we were huffing and puffing, struggling for air in the 12,000 foot city. Fortunately, there were enough players to substitute for our winded selves. That's the way it went for 2 hours. We would manage maybe ten minutes of play, then sit out for ten to fifteen minutes recuperating.

In our ten minutes, however, we managed to do okay. Our ball handling skills weren't quite on par with our Paceño (as La Paz people are called) teammates or opponents, nor was our aim particularly accurate, but we towered over the competition and the three of us easily outweighed their whole team. With our bulk behind us, we managed a few good maneouvers, and even a respectable amount of goals. The first half, the score was 9 (us) to 12 (them). But then something went wrong in the second half, probably the beginnings of the pain and soreness that would plague us by the end of the day. The final score: 12 to 23. Our defeat was tempered by our relief that the game was over.

With hardly a decent rest after the game, not even a bottle of Gatorade, we returned to Top Shop to suit up for the circuit. Already, we could feel the ache in our legs. Not only had we not exercised since the hotel in Panama, but sitting on our butts for over a week and being force-fed by our hosts had turned us into big tubs of goo. Upon arrival at the track, we knew we'd have to ignore any pain and perform well. There were too many people to lose face in front of, including several people whose performance we were eager to see - Walter, Guillermo, Carlos.

David had, like the others, put knobby tires on his bike in anticipation of some weekend off-roading; so after doing a couple laps on one of the many bikes offered to us by kind and trusting Bolivianos, he took the KLR out onto the track. Taking it slow for the first lap, he was soon matching his performance with the lighter, more torquey bikes. He caught some air, slung his back end around on a few curves, and generally had a great time with his beefer.

After much nudging, Gary, who was having a ball with his first circuit experience, slowly caught David's enthusiasm for the KLR. Having already warmed up with Marcelo's KDX (and almost smashing up its front end on a miss-judged hill), he took his own bike out for a spin. Sure enough, the blue-green beast performed beautifully. What amazing balance these 650's have.

Alex couldn't be convinced to take his KLR out; he was having too much fun on the lighter bikes, practicing the doubles. While Alex cleared a few doubles on the KDX 220 he wouldn't chance it on his 650. One wrong landing and he and his Beefer wouldn't be heading anywhere south.

About a dozen laps for each of us around the track left us tired, panting, even more sore, but grinning from ear to ear. We finally brought the digital camera with us to get some pictures tearing up the terrafirma, and we also got a couple good shots of the others, particularly Walter, flying high over a jump with the red mountains of La Paz in the background.

Spirits were high, for once, and we were all feeling good about things. We decided not to ruin the mood by talking about where we were heading next from La Paz. Instead, it was movie time again. This time, "Jingle all the Way" topped the list of available movies. Or should we say "El Regalo Prometido." If it wasn't two-for-one night at the theatre, we would have turned around and gone to karaoke or something. (At least that would have had sub-titles.) So we suffered through Arnold Schwarzenegger dubbed in Spanish, which might have been a blessing in disguise.

Rise and Shine, Dogbreath!

Are we all ready yet?

Many familiar faces and their familiar bikes were there, as well as a few new faces and fenders. Alex took the opportunity while everyone got ready to finish his Spanish entry in the journals. At 11:00 am, after gasing and oiling and prepping and primping (motorcyclists are such a vain bunch), the 15 bikes, a colorful and eclectic collection of red Honda CRs and XTs, a pair of yellow Yamaha RMs, and a healthy contingent of Team Green (Kawasaki), roared off in unison through the streets of upscale Calacoto on our way to the countryside, Within two miles, the smooth paved road turned to cobblestones, then gravel, and finally rocks and dirt; the fine restaurants and shops gave way to ramshackle stores and run-down houses. And then all of a sudden, nothing, just beautiful vistas and awesome riding.

With our cases still off the bikes and the knobbies on our rims, the Riding to the Moon team fell in somewhere in the middle of the pack. We all rode hard for about 20 miles until the first reststop, a small mountain town. One of the Bolivianos suffered a flat tire just before the town, so in the town square, at the steps of a small church, with a large percentage of the town's population looking on, fifteen eager bikers tripped and stumbled over each other trying to fix the flat. The tire came off no problem, the tube was removed and the offending hole located. Then it was David to the rescue with his Progressive tire kit strapped to his front fender, complete with patches and air cartridges to pump the tire back up once fixed.

The group got a bit spread out during the next leg of the ride, a winding, steep descent into the valley at the base of Ilimani, the 22,000 foot snow-capped mountain that towers above La Paz. We regrouped on the shores of a river, and en masse, attempted the crossing. The water level was low so most of the river bed was exposed, but there were about five swiftly moving fingers that had to be crossed ranging in width from 10 feet to 30 feet. The first bikes across tested the waters and the river bottom to find the best way across. Even so, it wasn't easy. the trick being to keep your feet on the pegs and give it gas (Jay's old mantra).

One Bolivian rider lost it on the first crossing, his bike swept a few yards downriver before a rescue team jumped into the water and pulled the bike out. David decided to scout the river by riding ahead, crossing all five fingers, and leaving his bike on the other side. Once across he waded back to try and help everyone else through the wakes. On the third crossing, the river claimed two more bikes, one of them being Alex's.

It took some time to get the bikes which had gone swimming to start again. Water had poured in through the exhaust pipes and air filter and invaded the engine; sparkplugs had to be removed and dried out. Even some of the bikes that successfully crossed sucked up enough water to cause start problems. We are proud to report that our KLRs, even Alex's that took a nice bath, started right up, though Alex did need to refresh his water-logged oil in the next small town.

Another bike, a Honda XR 600, wouldn't start up after the oil in his engine turned to milk. David and Gary took the belts off their Aerostitch Darien pants, tied them together and made an improptu tow rope. After a few hundred feet of trying the tow in the boulders, a task that is difficult on flat terrain and nearly impossible in the rocks, David recommended they put the bike in 3rd gear and try the tow for a couple hundred feet to get it started. Luckily it worked.

On the return loop to La Paz, another Bolivian's tire fell victim to the sharp stones in the road, and David's Progressive kit came in handy once again (and the three of us gave silent thanks for the umpteenth time to the Slime in our own tubes). With all of the delays - the river crossing, a distance of only a couple hundred yards, took 2 hours - we rolled into La Paz as the sun was setting.

Our hopes at attending the professional soccer game between Bolivia and Ecuador had vanished at the river, but the jubilant crowd that jammed the street outside of Top Shop were proof of Bolivia's victory. We ravenously wolfed down silpancho and other forms of meat at the Grill Palace. Marcelo's wife and sister-in-law joined us, as did a few other wives and girlfriends; it was a raucous affair recalling the triumphs and defeats of the day, sipping Coca-Colas and cocktails, boots off, feet-a-stinkin'.

As we returned for the evening to Carmen's house, the adrenalin of the day finally wore off and all of our old aches and pains, along with some new ones, came back with a vengeance. Gary was suffering the worst; his first experience at the circuit the day before had already beaten up his body, and he knew that another night in the sleeping bag would not give him the proper night's rest he needed. With Alex as a willing companion, the two of them went downtown and plunked down some big bucks for a night in a nice hotel. A hot bath (in a real bathtub) followed by a hot shower (with lots of water pressure) helped loosen up the stiff muscles. Still, only utter exhaustion coerced sleep to come to our wasted bodies.

Miles - 71