Topes and Lamb roast.

With a sore back from the Mexican affliction known as topes (topes are speed humps of varying sizes, typically located every 5 meters through the main streets of villages, or at the turn off for any lane, footpath or hell, just for the sake of it. Some are visible before you bounce over them, most are not!), I head for a rendezvous with Gary. Gary is an English guy who has lived in Mexico City for 30 years. He has talked me into visiting (It only took one email and an offer of somewhere to stay and somewhere to work on the bike - oil change this time) the big bad city of Mexico, explaining that it isn't as bad as people made out. Gary is very much into his bikes and met me in a small village outside of the city, enabling me to follow him for the 45 minute ride into what is the vastness know as Mexico DF. So, now I can sit here and write, Mexico City isn't so bad to ride in.


Mike, on the otherhand, didn't make the rendezvous. So whilst I sat there in airconditioned comfort playing on the internet at Gary's work, Mike had the displeasure to ride in the vastness of Mexico City, not really knowing where he was going. He arrived several hours later, very tired and frustrated. It was good to see him again!

I'm not the only one having problems with my bike. Mike's having problems with the BMW but as usual it's nothing major and we've time to spend chilling out and enjoying the sights and atmosphere of Mexico City.

How the local women do it. Mike takes me for a ride, old school style!

For the next few days we were looked after with all the creature comforts. A hot shower that worked, cute dogs to play with and delicious quesadillas. Gary and his son, Lloyd, took us to the world's third largest pyramid, just outside of the city. We also met Leslie, Gary's daughter, and basically, we were made to feel completely at home. A perfect antidote for my homesickness. Even Mexcio City obliged us when on a lazy Sunday, it started to rain as we tinkered with the bikes, just like London. AND we had a roast lamb for dinner with roast tatties and gravy. Mmmmmmmmmm...............................yum!

It was very hard to say goodbye to such hospitality. And Mexico City is great. It's just that it's vast!

Sadly we have to say goodbye to Gary and his hospitality.

Iron Butt Lady

Oh, what a shower and a good night's sleep on a comfy bed can do for one's spirits.


I rise early, nearly dropping the bike on the slippery tiles as I leave the hotel, and I'm off. Probably one of the earliest starts I've had.





An hour and a half of twisty roads, I arrive in San Cristobol de la Casas. Mike's blog read that he'd had a good time here but all I have time for is breakfast. But what a good breakfast, three fat pancakes and a decent coffee. The town seems really cool, plenty of Europeans rather than gringos too. Being a Sunday there are loads (well actually only 3 or 4, but that's a lot for here) of bikers out for a Sunday ride. I get some advice on some good routes and head north (North west really but it doesn't sound as catching).


More twisty roads, then through the narrowest part of the isthmus. The Pacific and Carribean Oceans are relatively near at this point, causing winds reminiscent of Patagonia. Only this time, it's like a fan forced oven. For the first time the bike overheats. Doh!


After a little wait, I set off again. I arrive at where I thought I might spend the night. Still three hours till dark and the town doesn't look great. Do I go via the coast or directly up to Oaxaca? It's a minimum four hour drive of twisty bends and military check points. Determined, I set off. Even the soldiers checking for those ellusive drugs, guns and smuggled people in my panniers get the idea when I rant about 'Mas rapido por favor. Este mucho peligro on la camina para moto en la noche'. (Hey almost a full sentence in Spanish, only one English word thrown in). The suspension is now set up beautifully and the KLR takes the curves easily. I arrive in Oaxaca before nightfall, and thanks to Mike, I have directions to a cheap hostal with parking. More than eleven hours of hard riding and I've qualified for the Iron Butt status. Although I think my butt would have other ideas about doing that length of ride again.





Oaxaca is a beautiful colonial town. There are tourists around but not too many. The only other person in the dorm room is sick, so she declines my invite for a beer - well earnt after the long ride. She is also hiding in the room. I didn't know this at the time and went out unawares to the Zocalo for a walk around, some food and an email check. Whilst in the ineternt cafe, a Mexican archiologist starts chatting to me. Seems harmless enough. That's until I leave, and he follows. We're still chatting and he invites me to see some ruins nearby. I'm ready to decline as I've had my fill of ruins, and then he tried to kiss me. A slap and I definelty decline. What is it with these men! The next morning the local men are at it again. They see a single girl walking around by herself and try to start talking to them. Trying their moves. 'Excuse me, what time is it?. Oh, where are you from?, What is your name? etc...........'


Better late than never, I read the guide book. Oops, there is a section in there that warns women to be careful about the 'Zocalo Boys' in Oaxaca. Men who try to pick up American women. Now I know why my room mate is hiding.

Oaxaca's beautiful San Domingo Cathedral

It's time for headphones and the iPod. I can ignore the men without being rude. Despite the locals, Oaxaca has some beautiful cathedrals and also a good mechanic (of course!)

I get a second opinion on the clutch plates, he tweaks some other bits and pieces and I'm ready to leave.

Good days, bad days

Hmmm, have a safe trip. I certainly hope so.

A quick ride out of Belize, it's not a big country, and I'm at border control. According to the border official who stamps me out of Belize, I'm 'remarkable'. I'm a girl and I'm riding a large motorbike and I'm travelling by myself. Ok, I'd better get used to these kind of comments.

Arrive at the Mexican Border. Oh look, a girl, riding a motorbike, travelling by herself! At the sight of my name in my passport, a rather jolly border offical starts to sing, 'Michelle, my Belle' (The Beatles have alot to answer for). Not one of my favourite songs, but I bare it with a smile - he's being very helpful.
It's all going too well. I'm across the border and I gain an hour with Daylight saving and I'm further than where I thought I'd be by that time of day.

Yup, it WAS going too well. I cross from one state border to another getting stopped by a military checkpoint. Yep, I've got room in those panniers for drugs, weapons, and the people I'm smuggling. While getting searched I can feel the eyes of all the men (Where are the women in this country?) waiting in the cars behind me. The eyse of all the soldiers - do they have nothing better to do? - watching. I do my best to stand up tall and not let it bother me. Get kitted back up and out of there. I notice the truck behind me in the que at the checkpoint is still behind me. Can't really call it following as there isn't anywhere else to turn or go, it's one straight long boring road. But still. But still, I'm very glad its there, when my bike decides to alleviate itself of a rather important and necesary item - the chain. 75km from my chosen destination for the night, Escarcega.
Carlos, a weird looking, short little Mexican who was travelling in the truck behind, is kind enough to stop and make sure I'm OK. He speaks English with an Atlanta, Georgia accent, but at least I can communicate with him. He and his uncle drive me 26km further to find a mechanic who in turn, drives Carlos and I back to the bike. An hour later the chain is fixed, Carlos paying out $40 for the service as I have all of $4 on me and I'm now obliged to give Carlos a lift to Escarcega. God know's how he survived 75km sitting on my luggage rack with barely any padding, carrying my backpack, but we get in just before dark.
It causes a bit of a stir, riding into this one horse town. Carlos is a local restauranteur and seems to know everyone, he seems quite happy to wave at everyone and I of course feel very, very self conscious. There is at least a bank here so I can pay Carlos back, but when it comes to my choice accommodation for the night, the guide book recommends a cheap hotel, I end up in another dilema. Carlos insists its too dangerous to stay there, I can't afford the accommodation he is saying is safe. After 15 minutes of his insisting, I submit and he pays for my accommodation. I was desperate for a shower. But don't fret, he left me in piece and went home to his mum, it was Mother's Day of course.
The next morning, Carlos shows up to take me to his mate's motorcyle workshop, just to see how badly the bike was damaged in the 'Chain' incident. 'Muchas Gracias, Carlos', he's off to see his pregnant girlfriend in Merida.
Did I mention what a dump Escarcega is? No? Well it is! There is a gringo who is also trapped in Escarcega who just so happens to be working at the motorbike shop. He's a yachtie who lost his boat in Hurricane Katrina and has been a bit of a lost soul since. He's building himself a motorbike out of scraps to escape Escarcega. My good fortune is that he a) Speaks English b) is a very good mechanic and c) has no problem sorting out my bike. Unfortunately it takes a lot longer then the couple of hours I was hoping.

I could always escape on this CBR900, no?

So my rear sprocket is 'F'd. I should have taken a photo. The teeth are shaped like waves, caused by my chain being too loose this time and the chain took a couple of chunks out of the engine casing, damaged the chain guards. The chain is salvagble the sprocket not so. So I'm sent off to Campeche with another generous Mexican, an excruciatingly boring 5 hour return trip, and can only return with a rear sproket for a Suzuki. I'm stuck the night in Escarcega. Damn!
Gringo offers a patch of floor of his bodega which I readily accept. He's the kind of guy you wouldn't mess with, so I feel kind of safe.
Day Two and while waiting for the Suzuki sprocket teeth to be cut and welded onto the damaged Kawasaki sprocket inner (You gotta do whatever it takes to get going again) Gringo, his name was actually Raul, gives the KLR a bit of an overhaul. Carb cleaned, yet again, thanks to really bad Mexican fuel, its adjusted, my suspension is sorted and the bike grows back to its pre new shock absorber height, exhaust is cleaned, boy did it need it. And fingers crossed, it's liking for oil may be sorted. We'll have to wait and see on that one though. Downside, he thinnks the bike needs a new clutch set. It's never ending, this maintanance malarky!
I escape at 3pm, leaving Gringo to finish his own escape machine. In a foul mood, tired and hot as hell, I splurge, $15, on a hotel with my own shower. No hostals in the town of Oscinga. Quick emails, a quesadilla and I'm off to bed. It can only get better, surely!

It's like being on holidays.

A bit sad and I admit, a bit nervous, to be leaving the security of Mike, I head east into Belize. To my suprise, I actually enjoy the ride, at my own pace and the border crossing is the easiest and quickest yet. I did embarrass myself with the Belizian border officials though, you see, they speak English and I'm only used to speaking to border officials in Spanish. So they had to politley remind me to refrain from my Spanglish and try, if I might, to speak English. It came out rather stuttered and slowly at first but I eventually got the hang of speaking in my native tounge and with a smile and quite a hefty insurance payment, I was waved through.

Belize is nothing like the rest of the Central America that I have seen. It is lush, green and colourful. The signs are in English, or a version of, there are many more Afro Carribean people milling about, and it is super expensive. It feels like a breath of fresh air.

I'd heard good things about the Belize Zoo, and when I whizzed past the entry sign, I did an about turn and went to investigate. It must be good, Camron Diaz and the late Steve Urwin had visited. And for the second time in two days, I wasn't dissappointed. It is a refuge for injured, confiscated and captive bred rare native animals. Everything from the howler monkeys, to the very rare Harpy Eagle, to a toucanette (Small toucan, obvioulsy) that sounds like a frog, to a tapir that may just pee on you. Mountian Lions and pumas and crocodiles. But what capped it off were the educational signs that went with each of the habitats, very funky carribean.

How could you resist the Toucan with a sign like this?

Unfortunately I then had the displeasure of arriving in Belize City. What a dump, and a dangerous one at that. I did find a 'decent' hostal where I could lock the bike up (read, 'park it far as possible into the garden at the end of the path to keep it out of view, god know's how I'm going to get it out of there!') and meet some Canadians and Belgiums. I heard good things about the Chinese food in Belize City but this time I was disappointed. So after an early dinner, I hide out in the hostal.

Early the next morning, no point hanging about, the Belgium lot and I head to the dock to catch a ferry to Caye Caulker. 50 minutes later, we're set up in Tina's Backpackers, sand between our toes and ready for the beach. There are a few backpackers, just enough to have the services that you want on the island, but not too many to ruin the lazy, chilled out atmosphere. I feel like I'm on summer holidays.

Not quite sure of the translation, but you get the idea. Bare feet only on Caye Caulker

Day two of my holidays, I'm off for a dive, might as well make the most of the little certificate I just got. I was a little disappointed as my mask kept fogging despite numerous attempts to clear it - it was like looking through my rather scratched motorcycle helmet visor. So visability was, in reality, probably a lot, for me it was less than an inch for my right eye. We did get to see a turtle, a bit like the ones in Finding Nemo, but there was only one and a baby drum fish, which is supposed to be a rare thing. A huge green moray eel and then, something that resembled a shark with an overbite, but he was only about a foot and half long. He took quite a fancy to me, much to my horror, and kept bumping into me. Maybe he had poor visability too! At least the Dive masters got a laugh out of it.

Back on dry land, I avoid the local men, who are almost as bad the 'overbite' shark and hangout with some Watford crew (Watford being to the north of London and where my mate Stevo used to live) and one of the Belgium girls. Time to try the local brew, Belikin Beer. Catch phrase of Belikin Beer - 'You´d better Belize it', Yup, bad ey!

On the mainland, I struggle to drag the bike kicking and screaming backwards out of the garden and down the path. Holiday over, time to get to Mexico.

Guatemala

After spending several hours driving through Guatemala City (Which included an impromptue stop in the McDonalds carpark waiting for the BMW to cool down - air cooled bikes aren't so clever in horendous traffic) we arrived in Antigua. Somehow we landed in some decent accommodation at a language school with the obligatory parking and over friendly dog. She liked to come into our room in the morning and once tried to snuggle up with Mike in bed, Oi, just hang on a second, that's my job!
We also bumped into Volker (I've learn't how to spell his name now) again, worked on the KLR - yet again, the BMW got a new spring for the rear shock, we saw one of the guys from Buena Vista Social Club perform in a small restaurant (although the keyboardist was so bad, we actually left early) and basically just hung out for 5 days, relaxing. Antigua's a rather cool colonial town. And although I had visited when I travelled into Guatemala 6 years ago, I don't remember too much of it as I spent most of that time in bed sick. So it was good to come back and see it again.
The highlight would have to be climbing Volcan Pacaya. We set off mid-afternoon and climbed for only about an hour and half, more than enough for me. But the idea of setting off late is so that you're up on the lava flows for dusk, when they glow rather spectaculary. It all got rather exciting when some lava decided to erupt rather close to us and head our way. All fun and games except our path of retreat was blocked by hundreds of tourists trying to get closer to take photographs. You can't really blame them but when you are the closest and it's all a bit hot and red, you kind of just want to get out of there. If you can believe it, some girls wore flip flops and carried their handbags, not particularly appropriate.

After a nice breakfast to celebrate Mike's 37th birthday, we went to get some petrol and head up to Lake Atitlan. A bit of a rule for riding in a group of two or more is that if you lose someone, you go back to the last place you actually saw them and wait. So after I missed a left turn that Mike took, that's what I did, unfortunately Mike didn't. He filled up with pertol, did a lap around the block and headed out of town without me. I also filled up with petrol, at a different station, but then got held up by tourists unloading from a coach, for 10 minutes. By the time I eventually got back to where Mike had been, he'd long gone. I spent the next four hours waiting for him, wondering how long was long enough to wait before you got worried. Eventually I left the bike parked with instructions for some of the locals working in sight that if they a saw a BMW they were to get him to wait by the bike. I walked back into toen to email Mike, our only form of contact and somehow ended up with the local motorcycle police sending out a search party. Eventually I checked my emails and I get an 'Ooops, I'm already in Lake Atitlan'. Obviously he fancied a ride without me for his birthday and all.

Lake Atitlan was as beautiful as I remember, but god, when it rain, did it rain! We did a boat trip around the lake to some other towns, all a bit boring to be honest, the highlight was skipping the last village and getting a lift back to our town in the back of a truck. We also saw some rather good muscians at a local bar and met a rather lovely and informative lady from Cumbria (that's in the UK for those of you who didn't know).

Tikal was our last stop in Guatemala, and it didn't disappoint. Although the guide book did say it could take two days to see it all, we arrived super early (advantage of having your own transport) to avoid the crowds and the heat and being the keen archeologists that we're not, we were done just after midday. Tikal was a large Mayan City dating from before Christ to sometime afterwards (Helpful with dates aren't I!) And is quite spectacular with temples jutting out from the jungle below like skyscrapers. The only dissappointing thing is that the decorative stone work has mostly warn away with jungle growth and rain, limestone just not passing the test of time. There are preserved decorative details within the museums but out of context, they kind of lose their meaning. Still worth a look though.

Back in Flores, our base for visiting Tikal, Mike and I bid each other farewell, Mike heading for a dodgy border into Mexico and me to Belize. It's time to have some mini adventures on our own.