Peenie Wallie

In the morning, I wake to some screaming nino right outside my window. I'm not clear why they're all camping right outside my window. THis is a crazy nice hotel. I call the front desk (0).

She answers.

"What is going on out there? It's a complete zoo. Has everyone gone mad? Why are there children screaming right outside my window at 8:00 in the morning?"

"No hablo Ingles."

"Oh. Right. I forgot....que pasa? Nino is loco! Silencio!"

"Si.Si.Si. Pardon amigo."

I hang up and two seconds later they take the nina and quietly drown her in the hotel pool. Her gurgling sounds remind me of the tragic water fountain accident that claimed the life of my beloved fiancé a few weeks ago.

I think a man needs a woman tethered to him so that someone can remind him 24-7 that he's really a royal jackass and that he'll never measure up on whatever scale is available at the time of the screaming tirade. For a moment, I almost wish they didn't have to drown the child. Almost wish the water fountain drowning hadn't gone down the way it did. Those were my favorite boots, after all.

The lady at the front desks finds me shooting in the gardens, and asks me if I'd like breakfast.

"Por favor," I reply. Like...I don't normally eat breakfast, but if you're offering breakfast, then sure...I"m all in.

For breakfast, coffee, orange juice, pineapple and papaya.

I continue to shoot the grounds before I leave.

Talk to the gardener for some time, and he tells me the names of some of the flowers in Spanish.

Oil the chain on the bike driving down the street, as I do every morning. Wash my helmet visor off in the sink. The, turn back and collect my things. Now rolling south on the Panamerican Highway. Today is the first time I've heard it referred to by this name.

I don't have any local currency (Nicaraguan Cordobas), so I stop off at an ATM and get $2,500 Cordobas. Fill up with gas. This costs about 240 Cordobas. Some men come up to me an we talk in the parking lot. They want to know where I'm from. Where I'm going. We talk for some time. They tell me where to stay and what to do in San Jose. How beautiful Costa Rica will be. I've never had anyone tell me Costa Rica is nice, but from the maps, it looks like the Pan American highway should offer a nice view of the Pacifico.

They tell me to be careful in the busy towns. But I know this. I have this all figured out. I gauged how many people were walking around and carried my bag inside when I got cash from the ATM. A lot of this stuff is common sense. If it's a busy place, you should really try to avoid it. The more activity there is, the more likely someone could grab your belongings and fade into the blur of the crowd. So, I'm always looking for places where there's not a lot going on. Much safer this way.

I roll south, just following the "main road" through town. This is fairly easy. If you look at the turn-off roads, they always branch off into dirt roads, so it's not like you're wondering which fork you should take. It's pretty obvious.

A few times, I stop and ask "Donde Costa Rico", and always they answer "Derecho". Which means straight. Or Dereche. I get them confused. Left is Izquerda. Right is Dereche. Straight is Derecho. I think that's right.

The sky spits on a me some as if it wants to rain, but never really summons the courage. Instead, it's cloudy and cool, and the day's ride is just brilliant almost immediately. The road is really nice today. Smooth, two-lane blacktop road with no traffic. I'm rolling south at about 90 mph. Free-range horses and cows on both sides of the roads. Dogs. Horse and buggies. I'm dodging all of this at 90 mph. Just a dream. Just like a surreal dream that you never want to wake up from.

The problem is that someone told me I only have 600 miles left to travel. And, at that rate...if I'm going 100 mph, I only have six hours of riding time left. I decide to stop for lunch in the town of Rivas, Nicaragua, 36 kilometers from the border.

I order pollo frita (fried chicken). It comes with rice and beans. A CocaCola and a del Valle Naranja.

The children huddle around my laptop and cameras, like they've never seen them before. which is hard to imagine.

Busses roll slowly through the town, jealous eyes drinking in the Naranja moto. Like...in the U.S., this bike wouldn't turn many heads. But here, it's like a dream. Like a chariot. An escape from a country where people walk, peddle, or ride horses to get around. A clear demonstration that there must be some place much better than here. This is proof if it, incarnate. Everyone stares when I ride through town as though I'm riding a shooting star.

They should serve meals in Latin America with a knife, a fork, and a fly swatter.

Now, just a bit further down the road, I'll be at the border, crossing into Costa Rica. I hate to think about it. Too painful to consider.

And, sure enough, after a short drive, I sense that I'm at the border when all of these greedy maggots rush out to greet me. It's way too much. Very intimidating. As scary as anything I've ever experienced in a 3rd world country. A swarm of people rush up to me screaming, whistling, and grabbing me.

"Silencio! Alto! Alto! No necessito, entiendo?!!!" I shout.

The Spanish shocks them, I think. Causes them to settle down just enough that I have time to floor it and blow past them. Thank God I got past them. Now, I see the officials that I need to deal with to exit Nicaragua. They're standing in the street. I hand the first one my passport. The second one wants my papers for the moto. So, I give them the passport and the moto papers, and I'm through with immigracion and aduana (customs). Now, I roll forward. What I've found is that, if you just go slowly, someone will usually whistle and point where you should go. Otherwise, worst case scenario, there's usually a bottleneck...a checkpoint up immediately ahead, and they'll stop you there and send you back to wherever you need to go. You won't get in trouble for skipping a step along the way. They just send you back.

Now, for clarification, the problem I have with the assistants is that there's too much pressure, too much heat, you're too tired, and there's too many unknowns. Like, generally, you're going to be dealing with a new currency, with which you're probably not very familiar. You're going through a process that is different/unique to every country. This is all happening beneath a scorching sun. In un-airconditioned rooms. So, you're exhausted, boiling hot, pouring sweat, trying to understand how much everything costs when you're paying with currency that is meaningless to you. At the same time, you're handing all of your most personal, private information over to complete strangers. Your passport, driver's license, registration, title to your motorcycle...all of this is handed over to complete strangers, who run and make copies of it, and then charge you an amount that is impossible to comprehend, given the circumstances. So that, at the end of it, you have no idea what just happened. All you know is they pat you on the back and say "Good to go, amigo." and you're left wondering what the fuck just happened.

That's what crossing the border feels like. And I should know. I've done it so many times in the last 3 weeks that I lost count.

So, now, I'm heading into Immigracion for Costa Rica. There's this long, winding third world line. I'm melting. Once we get inside, somehow everyone has these forms that they're filling out. I don't have a form. Or a pen, of course. So, I cut to the front of the line and beg for a form. Then I mooch a pen off some other people standing in line. And I fill out my stupid little form. When it's my turn, I hand him my passport and little form and after a while...he hands it all back to me and said I was good to go.

Now, hop on the bike and tried to blow through customs. Like...I'm really sick of all of this crap. Maybe I can just sneak past customs and hit the road. But the border patrol stops me and asks for the paperwork for the moto, which I clearly don'st have, and he sends me back to Aduana. I finally figured out that "Aduana" means "Customs". Who knew? Well that clears things up quite a bit. Wish I'd have known that before I came down here. So, the guy at customs shows me a form that I need, but don't have. He sends me back. So, I drive back to Immigracion on my motorcycle. But the guy there has no clue why I came back. He makes some marks on my passport, and sends me back to Aduana. Now, I'm back at Aduana. I tell him that Immigracion said I was fine. Now, he shows me the form yet again, that I still don't have, clearly. And, I'm not clear where I need to go to get it. Finally, somehow, I begin to realize that this form is related to paperwork for the motorcycle. Apparently, it's in a different building from Immigracion.

I return and notice another small building. I tell him that I need the paperwork for the moto.

But first, I need to get copias of my forms. Including my passport stamp from Immigracion into Costa Rica. Finally, I realize that this one line people have been standing in is for copies. So, I get copies of all my documents. Title, registration, driver's license, passport, you name it. Only problem is, I have no currency in Costa Rican Colones. So, I grab all my documents so that they can't take them from me, and ask them what I should do. They just wave me off. I leave, and no one calls the police.

Now, back to the little building for the moto paperwork. Now, he tells me I need "Seguro", which I finally understand is a mandatory insurance policy. Now, I've never had 1 cent of insurance on this bike, or the people I've run off the road on my blitzkrieg across Central America. But the Costa Ricans have this trick figured out. You're not getting into the country without the paperwork, and you're not getting the paperwork without the insurance.

Now, I have to go buy insurance. So, back to the building for insurance. Now, the insurance will cost about $30 USD, or....are you ready for this? 15,000 Costa Rican Colones. I kid you not. And, of course, I have zero currency in Colones at this point, because I have avoided all of the lecherous money-changers. She won't take a $100 USD bill, nor will she take Nicaraguan Cordobas. So, now, I have to go to the money-changers and convert some currency. And I despise dealing with these people, but this time, I did some research. I know that the exchange rate is $1.00 USD = 500 Costa Rican Colones. So, I ask the currency trader what the exchange rate is, and he quotes me 500 for $1 USD. Which is right, actually. I give him a $100 USD bill, and he gives me 5 x 10,000 Costa Rican Colones notes. So, he didn't rape me. I'm shocked.

I return, and pay for my mandatory insurance policy (Seguro). She gives me some paperwork. Oh, and I need a copy of it. Big surprise. Back to the copy place. It's a different person, they don't remember me from the last time when I stiffed them. Pay for the copy with money from the money changers.

Take all of this paperwork back to the little building. Now...understand, each trip, I'm driving back and forth on my motorcycle, getting more and more pissed each time. I'm now riding wheelies, spinning out, cussing like a sailor, and exploding every time someone tells me something else I've missed. Like...you people are freaking idiots. It shouldn't be this freaking hard, people!

I lose track of time. I've been here so long that I'm not sure what time it is any more. Can't think clearly at this point. Everything is breaking down. I'm hungry. Tired. Thirsty. Exhausted. Mentally broken. Like a beat dog that flinches when you go to pet it. Unsure who to trust. Or who's on my side. Lost. Exhausted.

I begin to fear that I won't be able to complete the border crossing today. I'll be stuck in between the two countries, and have to spend the night out-of-doors. This is not good. I'm fading fast.

Finally, now I have insurance, copies of everything, and now, finally, the man gives me the magical form I've been after all day. I fill this out. My clothes are literally soaking wet. Sweat runs off my hair, my face, my neck, hands, arms. Everything drips onto the paper. I just fill it out as best as I can. By the time I hand it back to him, you could wring out the water from the form like a sponge. Finally, all is good. He checks the license plate on the bike. He's happy. Hands me a stack of paperwork and sends me on my way.

I show the Border Agent my paperwork for the moto, and he waves me on.

Finally, I'm rolling south through Costa Rica. You always want to open the throttle up once you get across the border, just to prove to the maggots that they didn't break you. That you still have a spine. That you still hate them, the law, and the police just as much as you ever did. But many things should keep you from trying to hit 130 mph in the straightaways right away. You have to watch for dogs, chickens, ducks, goats, pigs, horses, tires, bicyclists, pedestrians, horse-and-buggies, pot-holes, road construction, cones, security checkpoints, cars, motorcycles, 18 wheelers, and buses in your lane, etc.

So, instead, I just push it up to about 90 and run like that for some time. I gave up on the jacket a long time ago. It's too hot to wear leather. I don't need the skin on my arms that bad. I'll do without the jacket.

I drive and drive and, once I get into the country, I start to find my center again. I can't tell you how bad that border crossing was. There aren't words. But it was the worst one yet. The worst so far. It makes me want to stop traveling. To go home and curl up on the couch in my basement and never travel again. It wasn't good.

But, as bad as the border crossing was, driving through Costa Rica made it all worth while. Costa Rica is beautiful, of course. I watched a grown woman split wood with an axe wearing flip-flops. I saw a woman and a man walking down the road with buckets on their heads. It's hard to imagine how primitive it is down here, but you have lots of people living in a stone age culture. Really hard to describe.

But still beautiful, of course. I roll south, mostly trying to get in some miles before it gets dark. I wasted so much time at the border. I must have been there 3 hours. A total nightmare.

Now, the roads are insanely nice CA-1, the PanAmerican highway his two-lane black-topped road and I'm just racing down it. Now, pushing it up over a hundred. Really just screaming down this asphalt ribbon in top gear, just sailing up behind the other vehicles, blowing past them so fast that they have no clue what's going on. Just racing down this road. No real destination, per se. Just trying to put up some big mileage before the sun sets.

The sun does set, and I get to some road construction. I'm at some town, but don't want to stop here for the night. This town is too big. I want a very small town. Less crime. Less criminals. Less problems. I love the small little towns with a hotel that has internet access an hot water showers. This is all I need. Not much. But this isn't it. So, I just keep rolling south because, in my experience, when you need a town to pop up, one always does at just the right time.

It's getting dark now and I can't see and I need this town to appear on the horizon. And I roll into a town called Canas and I stop at the first hotel I come to and ask her how much is a room for the night.

She tells me it's 16,250 Costa Rican Colones and I'm like..."How much is that in US dollars?"

"$32.50," she replies.

"Ohhhh....yeah....that's a little more than I was wanting to spend...."

But I check in for the night and I'm off the road, safe, for another night.

At the restaurant, Costa Rica is playing Mexico. I guess it's world cup? I'm not clear. The room explodes every time Costa Rica gets a shot on goal or a penalty.

When it's time to pay my bill, I'm a complete wreck. I dunno where all of my Colones went. The guy gave me something crazy like 50,000 Colones. Now, somehow, they're all gone. I guess I spent them on insurance, gas, and the hotel room. It's hard to know. They're gone now though.

So, dinner was 4,565 Costa Rican Colones, or about $9.00. So, I give her $100 USD, and for change, I get back over 44,000 Colones. This is a nightmare. Every transaction requires a calculator at this point, because I'm just too tired, old, and confused to do the math. My wallet is a complete nightmare. A rats nest of currencies from US, Mexico, Belize, Honduras, Guatemala, Nicaragua, and Costa Rica. It's impossible for me to pay for a bill, or even leave a tip. It's all well beyond my abilities now. I feel like I should be in an old folks home and some woman comes in and takes off my glasses and turns off the television and says "It's time to turn off the night."

Above: Breakfast in the Mi Bohio Hotel in Diriamba, Nicaragua.

Above: The grounds of the Mi Bohio Hotel in Diriamba, Nicaragua.

Above: The grounds of the Mi Bohio Hotel in Diriamba, Nicaragua.

Above: Hibiscus on the grounds of the Mi Bohio Hotel in Diriamba, Nicaragua.

Above: Bougainvillea on the grounds of the Mi Bohio Hotel in Diriamba, Nicaragua.

Above: Bougainvillea on the grounds of the Mi Bohio Hotel in Diriamba, Nicaragua.

Above: The grounds of the Mi Bohio Hotel in Diriamba, Nicaragua.

Above: Bougainvillea on the grounds of the Mi Bohio Hotel in Diriamba, Nicaragua.

Above: The grounds keeper of the Mi Bohio Hotel in Diriamba, Nicaragua.

Above: Gassing up in Diriamba, Nicaragua.

Above: Heading south on the PanAmerican Highway out of Diriamba, Nicaragua.

Above: Heading south through Nicaragua on the PanAmerican Highway just south of Diriamba, Nicaragua.

Above: Heading south through Nicaragua on the PanAmerican Highway just south of Diriamba, Nicaragua.

Above: This is what Nicaragua looks like at triple digits.

Above: Boata blanco a el Lago del Nicaragua.

Above: Boata blanco a el Lago del Nicaragua.

Above: KTM 990 Adventura Naranja on the playa at Lago Nicaragua.

Above: KTM 990 Adventura Naranja on the playa at Lago Nicaragua.

Above: KTM 990 Adventura Naranja on the playa at Lago Nicaragua.

Above: KTM 990 Adventura Naranja on the playa at Lago Nicaragua.

Above: This is major Tom to ground control...

Above: Nicaraguan license plate on a moto.

Above: Idiotic waste of taxpayer's money on the shores of Lake Nicaragua.

Above: Lunch of pollo frita con arroz a in Rivas, Nicaragua.

Above: Lunch of pollo frita con arroz a in Rivas, Nicaragua.

Above: Lunch in Rivas, Nicaragua.

Above: Lunch in Rivas, Nicaragua.

Above: Lunch in Rivas, Nicaragua.

Above: Lunch in Rivas, Nicaragua.

Above: Lunch in Rivas, Nicaragua.

Above: Dealing with Immigracion to get out of Nicaragua. No hay problema.

Above: Dealing with Aduana (Customs) to get out of Nicaragua. No hay problema.

Above: Dealing with Aduana (Customs) to get out of Nicaragua. No hay problema.

Above: Dealing with Aduana (Customs) to get out of Nicaragua. No hay problema.

Above: Dealing with Aduana (Customs) to get out of Nicaragua. No hay problema.

Above: Dealing with Aduana (Customs) to get out of Nicaragua. No hay problema.

Above: Dealing with Aduana (Customs) to get out of Nicaragua. No hay problema.

Above: Dealing with Aduana (Customs) to get out of Nicaragua. No hay problema.

Above: Cement truck? Who needs a cement truck? Mixing cement for a new highway, one bag at a time.

Above: Cement truck? Who needs a cement truck? Mixing cement for a new highway, one bag at a time.

Above: Yeah...we've been meaning to fix that 'Welcome to Nicaragua' sign for years...

Above: Immigracion into Costa Rica...this is where it all started to unravel.

Above: This was the man in the box that I missed that caused me such a headache.

Above: Purchasing the mandatory insurance (Seguro) para el moto.

Above: Rolling south in Costa Rica on the PanAmerican highway.

Above: Rolling south in Costa Rica on the PanAmerican highway.

Above: Rolling south in Costa Rica on the PanAmerican highway.

Above: Rolling south in Costa Rica on the PanAmerican highway.

Above: Rolling south in Costa Rica on the PanAmerican highway.

Above: Rolling south in Costa Rica on the PanAmerican highway.

Above: Rolling south in Costa Rica on the PanAmerican highway.

Above: A Costa Rican woman splitting wood with an axe in flip-flops.

Above: Rolling south in Costa Rica on the PanAmerican highway near sunset.

Above: Rolling south in Costa Rica on the PanAmerican highway near sunset.

Above: Rolling south in Costa Rica on the PanAmerican highway around sunset. Time to find a room.

Above: Rolling south in Costa Rica on the PanAmerican highway around sunset. Time to find a room.

Above: Rolling south in Costa Rica on the PanAmerican highway around sunset. Time to find a room.