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A Light at the End of the Tunnel
La Paz Another day in La Paz, the thirteenth day to be exact. For the Riding to the Moon team, despite the good times of the weekend, a new week meant a return to the problems and frustrations of our long stay in the Bolivian city. As Alex said, we really have no problems... Look at our problems...to cross the Amazon or go South...this is no problem...Poverty, that's a problem. None-the-less, whether we wanted to admit it or not, we had a problem, a disagreement that threatened group cohesion. Gary and Alex awoke in their comfortable hotel room and availed themselves of the modern bathroom facilities for another bath and shower. The aches and pains of the weekend were beginning to drift away. With nothing pressing to do, nothing arriving at the airport, and no work that needed to be done on the motorcycles, they decided to hang out downtown for the day. A tasteless lunch at a vegetarian restaurant preceded an expensive trip to an English language bookstore. With so much free time on our hands, we've been chowing through the books we brought and needed to renew our library. In the spirit of the trip, we stuck to Latin authors (in translation) and left El Amigo del Libro with two books by Gabriel Garcia Marquez and one by Maria Vargas Llosa. Then in an orgy of juvenile abandon, Gary and Alex finished up the afternoon with some video games and a double feature of "Independence Day" and "Maximum Risk", both movies mercifully in English with Spanish sub-titles. Oddly, David was in great physical shape considering the beating his body took the day before. With his night apart from the others, he and Carmen went out for some fresh fruit and OJ. He got in a bit of yoga and a short run and read over the days Gary had recently written up. In the late afternoon, we all met up at Top Shop (where else?). Until Marcelo closed up and kicked us out, we spent some time on the computers in our customary stony silence. But this whole bit about not dealing with the next leg of the journey was wearing thin. With the motorcycle parts due to arrive the next day, and the future looming large, something had to happen. Someone had to break down and open up a dialogue. Summoning up a tremendous amount of inner strength, David broke through the wall of silence and denial later at night and offered up a potential solution. Armed with maps and the guide book, he presented to the group a new route - going east through Santa Cruz and entering Brazil in the Pantanal, the vast jungle wetlands teaming with wildlife. For Alex, who wasn't as interested in the Pantanal, this would put him close enough to Sao Paulo to head off on his own and begin his long anticipated reunion with his family. For David and Gary, they would spend a few extra days in the Pantanal then join Alex in Sao Paulo, where the whole group would head south together to Ushuaia. David's gesture of solidarity took the others by surprise and they weren't immediately capable of a reply. Even David was a little suspect of the plan, so everyone decided to just gel on it for the night. We escaped reality with a few hours of motocross videos at Marcelo's. David left early to go sleep at Carmen's. Gary and Alex stayed so late they accepted the offer to sleep at Marcelo's again, turning the living room into an impromptu camping ground.
The parts from Kawasaki arrived. Alex and Marcelo went together to the airport to wrest them from the tight clutches of customs. Fresh from our recent success with the tires, everything went perfectly and the customs officials practically handed them over without a struggle. The parts were valued at over $400, translating into a $150 import tax, but smooth talking and quick maneuvering allowed Marcelo and Alex to skip the tax all together. Back at Top Shop, we tore into the box to inspect the goodies. To our slight dismay, a few items didn't make it, but the most important ones were there, (like brake pads, bolts and turn signals), and not to look a gift horse in the mouth, we took the parts straightaway over to Walter's shop to finish up the bikes. Excited about the prospect of leaving soon, we maturely and calmly talked about our route out of Bolivia, and Marcelo took the opportunity to throw a new wrench into the works. His birthday was in two days, and he would be honored if we would stay to celebrate with him. Hmm, we thought, that would mean leaving on Friday. His cute puppy-dog face was impossible to deny. What the hell, we'd just agreed on going east to the Pantanal, a far quicker route than going through the Amazon, so what could a few more days hurt? We celebrated this brand new delay with delivery pizza and more videos at Marcelo's house.
Another day at Top Shop. David made an appointment with Lucia
Ocampo, the LAN administrator at the U.S. Embassy, for the next
day to upload the journal entries we'd been working so hard on the
past week, and we spent a few hours putting the final touches on
everything.  Flying High across the Bolivian Sky In the afternoon, David and Alex made their farewell visit to the circuit, putting their ever-increasing skills to one final test. Both opted to keep the KLRs out of harms way, so they tore up the track on Marcelo's KDX instead. Gary, finally getting over the last of his soreness, opted to keep not only his bike but his whole body safe and sound and went to the shop to give his bike the twice over, including a thorough cleaning with the power hose. Marcelo wanted to begin his birthday celebration early, so we dressed in our cleanest clothes and tried once again to get into the Forum. Eduardo, who knew somebody at the club, accompanied us. In no time, we bypassed the crowd jockeying for admittance outside the club and passed through the first gate. But an eagle-eyed bouncer spotted a violation of the dress code among us - Alex's tennis shoes. All of our cajoling and pleading wouldn't make him relent. Everyone but Alex could go in, but we couldn't just leave him outside. David tried to rent the shoes off of a vendor at the corner, but Alex, pissed off at the club's ignorant policy, didn't want to go in at all now. We piled back into the cars and scoured the city looking for a suitable alternate, which we found at Club Nuevo Tokyo. For hours, we danced under the disco lights and drank toasts in honor of Marcelo until the short memory of the disc jockey grew too much to handle; he just kept playing the same songs over and over again. David, a maniac of a dancer, had already fallen asleep at the table anyway and Gary was struggling to keep his eyes open. Being the party animals Bolivianos are, Marcelo and his gang chose to remain while the three of us called it a night and took a taxi home.
Cumpleanos feliz, Cumpleanos feliz, Cumpleanos, Marcelito, Cumpleanos feliz. Somehow, we managed to open our eyes before too much of the morning had passed us by. David split from Carmen's to the U.S. Embassy for another internet jam session. Much thanks to everyone at the embassy, and especially to Lucia. It's nice to see our tax dollars at work. (And they say embassies don't help out American travellers.)  American Soil in La Paz Gary and Alex made the daily trek out to Top Shop. All in all, La Paz is not an easy city to get around in. Large canyons criss-cross the city and the roads make great snaking patterns over and around these geological obstructions. There are a plethora of ways to get from any point to any point, but after two weeks here, we at least had learned the important Miraflores-Calacoto-Motocross Circuit routes. Driving customs, on the other hand, are not so easily mastered. In general, traffic on the cross streets must yield to traffic on the principal avenue, but 'must' does not mean that they always do. Instead, they inch slowly out into the main road until they are far enough out to block the intersection, then they cross while everyone with the "right-of-way" screeches to a halt. When approaching one of these vehicles inching out, usually a quick blast of the horn tells them you mean business, that you aren't going to give them any courtesy. On minor streets, cross traffic doesn't even stop, so blasting the horn a half-block before the intersection is essential. And at night, everyone is color blind - red light, green light, just go! Lanes are also an optional convention. Many streets aren't even painted. Usually cars make room for another to pass on a street wide enough for two, but quick and unexpected lane changes are common. It's sort of like the rule of the traffic circle: cars entering have right of way. In other words, if a vehicle beside you wants to move over, you make room... somehow. A Volkswagon Beetle trying to pass nearly broadsided Alex and Gary riding two-up on Alex's bike; the rear fender of the car bumped Gary's leg. Some angry words at an intersection with the driver didn't accomplish much. The young driver insisted he could do what he wanted in his own country, and Alex kept telling him he was an ignorant shithead (or words to that effect). Oh, the friends we make along the way! Not that driving in Bolivia is markedly different from most other cities along the trip, but for short visits to a city, we just get by with a rush of adrenalin and an increased sense of awareness. Being in La Paz for over two weeks and having to drive across town nearly every day, we actually found ourselves adopting new habits and riding styles, like keeping one finger poised for action on the horn and running red lights. Watch out when we get back home ! People were coming by Top Shop all day to wish Marcelo a happy birthday. Invariably, as they came upstairs to the offices, they were surprised to see us, thinking we must have gone already. (Was that a hint?) It was good to see most everyone again, and they all promised to come by in the morning Friday to see us off. Eduardo invited us to his offices around the corner for afternoon coffee and conversation. We discussed the booming construction business in La Paz (Eduardo is an architect) and, of course, motorcycling. Many of the bikers we met have been riding for years, but some, like Eduardo, only got into it recently. We were shocked to learn he has only been riding for a year and a half; we'd seen his prowess on the KLX on two weekend rides and told him how impressed we were. All in all, seeing some people for the last time and telling everyone we were leaving so soon really hit us hard. Though eager to get going, our time in La Paz had been very special if not too eventful, and the wonderful people we met had given us countless fond memories. Gary even pledged to return in April of 1998 to participate in the annual 11-day motorcycle rally around Bolivia. Marcelo's birthday dinner was an informal affair at the little hamburger restaurant next door to Top Shop, attended by much of the motorcycling gang. After burgers, a large group of us went bowling till late. Rightly so, Marcelo garnered the top score of the evening, but the award for most-improved over the course of the evening goes to Sandy, Marcelo's wife, who went from a score of 63 in her first game to 125 in her last. Casca-le!
We hoped you all enjoyed the gripping drama from the past 2 weeks. Now that we've solved our problems and the road beckons, we hope our tale of triumph inspires you to support the American Cancer Society and Save the Children, where the real problem-solvers are working hard. And thank you all for the wonderful e-mail you've been sending. It's nice to know people are still thinking about us at home. Keep it coming! We are also proud to report that for some time, we've been averaging about 700 hits per day on our website.
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