Peenie Wallie

Like...driving through Honduras seemed like a good idea before they rigged the election and stopped counting the votes. This place is fixing to melt down in a big way.

So, I load all of my gear onto my bike, and I head out. My initial destination is a town about 60 miles east of the capital. Then, I'll turn and go south and cross the border into Nicaragua.

But as I start rolling out of town, I'm just blown away by the destruction from last night (or nights?). There are huge boulders blocking the overpasses. Burned tires in the streets everywhere. Massive potholes. Open manholes with no covers. And these are on the main roads through downtown Tegucigalpa. It's VERY dangerous riding conditions. The worst I've ever seen. Like trying to ride a motorcycle through an active war zone.

I'm following Waze, but I come to a road block. They are making blockades out of burning tires, carry red flags, parading around. Everywhere are military soldiers with machineguns, local police, state police, nacional police. But where the roads are closed, the roads are closed. I see another motorcycle, and he's facing the same problem as I am.

So I ask him....donde Danli (Honduras)?

And he motions for me to follow him. So now, you understand, I'm following a total stranger through a revolution in a foreign capital. Waze is as useless as tits on a bull at this point. The situation is too dynamic. It's changing too rapidly. He asks the soldiers where to go, and they give him some feeback. Now, we're riding through Tegucigalpa as it melts down around us. Everyone is waving Red flags. Some are waving orange flags. It's as scary as anything you could possibly imagine.

Every road we try to take, it is blocked off, and so we turn and go a different direction. Slowly we work our way across the city, until at last, I can see the road we need to get on. I believe is highwway 61.

And he stops. I reach into my wallet, and hand him a 500 Limpira note.

"One milla mas", I ask. Like...ride with me for one more mile. I'll never going to make it out of this alive.

We start up the road, but, as always, it's blocked off with a fire burning in the streets. So he takes off again, motioning for me to follow him. And I follow him all through the streets of Tegucigalpa, as the city erupts around us. Finally, we get to a point where I can see that the road sign says Highway 61, but as always, it's blocked and burning. Finally, my buddy pulls up and starts talking to the fomenters of this revolution. As he's negotiaiting on my behalf, I decide I've had enough of this shit, and I pull up, and just crash through the burning roadblack. The Honda hits a boulder, and starts to go down, but I manage to keep the bike up, and take off from the scene, hell bent for leather.

Now, I take off on Nicaragua Highwy

Finally, I have escaped from Tegucigalpa.

Now, I'm running due south, headed for the border with Nicaragua, desperate to escape from Honduras. Like...you may think I'm overreacting. I'm telling you that scared the mother-loving shit out of me. I was as scared as I've ever been in my life. That country is headed for a meltdown, fast.

When I'm only about 20 miles from the border, I see a man walking down the road and I stop and ask him...."Donde Frontera con Nicaragua?" And he points the way I am going.

"Es abierto?"

"No. No es abierto." So, he tells me on no uncertain terms that the border is closed. Great. Well...nothing to do but go for it and try to break through at the border. But, as my friend Jack said, you push the envelope long enough, and you're liable to get a nasty paper cut. I don't know how long I can keep pushing my luck before one of these mobs assails me. This is what I'm thinking, as I'm racing south for the border. Maybe riding solo through Latin America wasn't such a great idea. How much worse can things get?

After about 30 minutes, I start seeing the infamous lines of parked 18 wheelers. "This is it," I think. ANd I turn on my GoPro. "here we go, boys." This is the exact same thing I saw yesterday before I got to the first line of fire/blockades that I crossed.

Then, as I get to the border, I just keep going. Like...I'm not stopping for anyone. And I keep expecting to see the burning roadblock.

But people are whistling at me...waving at me....slowly, it dawns on me....I'm at the border. There is no roadblock. The border is open. I'm going to live!

I go back, and apologize for running across the border checkpoints for Guatemala's Immigracion and Aduana.

Always, I get the helpers at the border. This is what they do. They tell you what you need copies of. You hand them every document you've ever been issued by any type of authority in your life, they make copies, and then walk you through the process of getting past Aduana and Immigracion, then you roll across the border, and go through Immigracion and Aduana again.

I get past the Immigracion and Aduana exits for Honduras no problem. So glad to have that nightmare behind me, there arent' words. But now, I'm heading into Nicaragua, and it's not like Nicaragua is a lot better.

I give them all of my paperwork, all of my "copias", that my 2nd helper told me to provide. But I'm just going nowhere. I'm just sitting outside, and they're BLARING this fucking music and, let me tell you, the first thing Latin America needs is a fucking noise ordinance. That should be the first thing. Before paving the roads. Before banning the open burning of trash. First change should be that anyone caught blaring music should be hung by their thumbs at sunset and then shot between their eyes at sunrise.

But they just go nowhere with my paperwork. Everyone else comes up to Window 1-6, processes their paperwork, and leaves. But I'm still sitting here for something insane like 2 hours.
Finally, I just start getting pissed and telling them...."Give me back my fucking passport and I'll go back to Honduras. Anything is better than this. What in the fuck is going on?"

Eventually, they explain that there's a form that needs to be filled out asking permission to get into Nicaragua. "Permission" is code for "bribe". And I'm like...just tell me how much fucking money you want and I'll give it to you, but I'm leaving. Like...I'm tired of wasting my time in this third world sand trap. I want out. Fuck this. This has to be the low-point of the trip. These are the inflection points. That make you question your decision to embark on this journey. It wouldn't be nearly so bad if these 3rd world idiots could get their shit together and process people into their country.

They need a $12 USD "fee" for "permission" for me to get into the country. I've already told them I don't have any money, so I go around behind the building, take out my money belt, and dig out a $50. One of my biggest mistakes was not having more $5, $10, $20 bills. A $50 bill is too large for most people to grasp, and it's the smallest bill I have. The USD is preferred currency in Nicaragua. They'll hardly even accept their own currency. (Many places will only take USD down here). Then, when I pay her $50 USD for the $12 fee, she pays me change in USD. LIke...why do you even bother to print your own currency if you don't use it, morong? Very frustrating. Maddening.

But they still have my passport, and I can't leave without it, no matter how pissed I get.

Finally, they give me my passport back, and now, I'm leaving. As I roll towards the border, they have a horizontal bar/pole that crosses the entire road. Another blockade, as it were.

Now, they're beating me up for insurance. ANd like like..."No. Fuck that. We're through here. 'No necessito'"

I'm looking at driving around the cross-arm that blocks the road. I've had enough of this shit. I have my passport. I'm leaving.

Just then, an 18 wheeler comes North-bound, towards the border from Nicaragua, and the woman lifts the bar that allows the 18 wheeler to come through the checkpoint. I see my chance, and I take off, hell bent for leather. Like..."fuck you and the horse you rode in on. I am out of here."

And I just take off.

I ride south for some time, until I come to the first police checkpoint. "This is where they'd stop me", I think to myself.

But no one stops me. I never stop at these checkpoints. I just slow down. Sometimes I wave. I never stop. They're stopping the trucks. People aren't smuggling things on motorcycles. There's not enough cargo space.

I drive through the mountains and countryside of Nicaragua for some time. The roads are definitely better in Nicaragua. Better than Guatemala and Honduras.

At about sunset, I roll into Sebaco, Nicaragua. This is where I planned to get, actually. It seems to work out that, if I have to do a border crossing, it's going to cost me a 1/2 of a day's ride. So, on days when I have to cross a border, I'll plan on going 150 miles instead of 300. There's no other option, really. It's just impossible to ride any further on these days.

Thoughts:
They aske me to declare my currencies in Nicaragua. I told them all I had was $300 Limpiras. And some credit cards. And he wanted to know the limits on my credit cards. And I was like "No se".

The roads are markedly better in Nicaragua than they were in Guatemala or Honduras. Roughly equivalent to Mexico's, I'd say.

There are not nearly as many speed bumps (velocidad reductors) in this country, for whatever reason.

I am noticing all of these brightly painted buses. They have been in every country (except Mexico). (Guatemala, Honduras, Nicaragua). Also, the 3 wheeled taxis are prevalent in these 3 countries as well, but not so much in Mexico, that I saw anyway.