Many of them are new and never published.

<>

MotoAdventureGal's last leg in the USA...riding to the border at Presidio

All the parents dressed their children up in the *campesino* costumes and had them blessed at the local Church

Lunch Break

Lunch Break

There sure were a lot of signs for them, but I never actually saw one crossing the road

Overloaded bike, soft beach sand...what did I *think* was gonna happen? (El Salvador)

Igorshen, MotoAdventureGal and Mad4Bikes

Stone Face at the Copan Ruins

No way was I able to eat all that, but what I *did* eat sure tasted good.

You better like rice & beans and fried bananas if you spend any time in Nicaragua...

Slow down for monkeys, dogs and kids crossing

Photo Credit: Igorshen

Tourist PicPhoto Credit: Igorshen

The Bike Lands in Bogota, Colombia

Bike Porn

Middle of the World, Mitad del Mundo

Painting on a Wall at Mitad del Mundo, Quito, Ecuador

Can you imagine that in the USA? (Ecuador)

Monkey Sanctuary (Baños, Ecuador)

Monkey Sanctuary (Baños, Ecuador) Yeup, that's Monkey Pee on my shirt.

Ecuador

Riding from paracas (Sea Level) to Cusco (8,000 ft) I crossed the Andes, and almost reached 15,000 feet on the DR650

Markets are so full of color and fun and good things. I love them.

Oh-My-Goddess Scenery

Local Color at the Ecuador-Peru border (Peruvian Side)

A local feeding the pelicans at sunset in Paracas. Afterwards he asked me for a "tip"

Cañon del Pato

I stopped to take a picture and this boy came running out of nowhere. Then his sister came along. He asked me for a "tip", presumably for enhancing my photo. I gave them each a piece of candy.

No, I did not eat one of the "coy" (guinea pig) that were running around the place.

The trip was not without injury...but you *can* choose to have a sense of humor about it.

How do you ride with a broken hand? Zip tie your fingers together and hope for the best.

No, I did not eat one of the "coy" (guinea pig) that were running around the place.

Waiting at the Bolivian side of the Peru - Bolivia Border for my paperwork to be finished

Bolivian Immigration

What goes up, must go down...and around, and around and around...

Rick on the Edge of the World

Off-Street Parking in the Bolivian Desert

Road Signs on the Way to the Bolivian Salt Flats

Road Signs on the Way to the Bolivian Salt Flats

Fill-Up in Copacabana, Bolivia (Lake Titicaca area)

Dedication to all the women, more courageous than I, who have battled against Breast or Ovarian Cancer

Scammed by Argentinian Police looking for a bribe

First Flat Tire of the Trip (Note to self: Make sure you put the bike on HARD PACK instead of sand before removing the rear tire...)

Parilla, or BBQ, Argentinian Style

Taken at the Lujan Zoo outside Buenos Aires, Argentina

http://rumbum.com/1138-the-kindness-of-strangers

They were celebrating the New Year as well as the anniversary of the signing of the peace accords ending the civil war in Guatemala in 1996.

And here’s a video that will give you an idea of the beauty of this ceremony.

Carlos, Doris, their son Esteban and their nephew all rode with me from San Cristobal to the border.

I crossed at La Mesilla and it was crazy!

It was market day in La Messilla and the frontera (border) was just like I read about–full of people, traffic, animals, noise, awful smells, just the general excitement that is a part of this journey. AND the pavement was slick as snot with all the, er, um,  gosh I don’t want to imagine, stuff ground into it.  I had to be very careful.

Carlos and Doris took turns watching my bike and walking me through the crossing process…Carlos also stood guard while I changed a few bucks at the border.

I made it through the order in about an hour and  half, and was finally on my way in Country #2.

At the border I met these British folks Angie and Philip traveling n their Italian overland vehicle. They’ve been traveling for four years and have some incredible stories!

<>

<>

Just on the other side of the mayhem at La Mesilla I found myself riding through this incredibly steep, lush,  jungle pass between the mountains.

I made it to Xela (pronounced Chela, short for Chelacastenango) where I got a hotel for the night. Not great, but a private room for 50 Quetzales [$1=8 Q] and a safe place to park the bike. quite a difference from Mexico where my hotels ranged from $20-$30/night!

I had a lovely tour around the city, took some cool night shots, and walked back to the hotel. And kept walking…where the heck was the hotel? What was the name of the hotel? Was it on 9th something steet? I found the next 9th…but it seemed the city was divided into Quadrants…which quadrant was my hotel in?  Oofa.  Maybe if I could find the plaza central I could find the hotel from there, so more laps around the City…then  I  asked someone…what’s the name of the hotel? You don;t remember? Which street is it on? You don’t remember? What was it near? which plaza? Oh. There are several plazas? Um…9th something? I’m not sure … ???

Wait! I took pictures at the plaza…(nearly in hysterics now) THIS plaza???!?!?!? Ahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh. Si. (sigh)

So the nice fellow waked a coupe of blocks with me, then gave me directions to the  plaza from that corner…and as I walked down that street, I passed my hotel.

Dios Mio.

Note to self: ALWAYS take a picture of the hotel AND take a business card!!!

<>

Sometime in the middle of the night heavy rain woke me up. I fooled around in the morning hoping for the rain to pass, but darn my luck it just continued to pour.

I rode to Solola, then Panajachel, where I stopped for lunch on Lago Atitlan. The weather cleared a bit, so I decided to ride around the lake

but about halfway around the sky opened up and gave a drenching rain like I have never seen before.

At one point he pavement ended and I had an absolute adrenaline moment when I had to suck it up and ride up this crazy washed out road

going on faith that what the locals had told me was true–that the road went all the way around the lake — and that I hadn’t actually gotten off the main road somehow.

I reached my destination right before dark — San Pedro la Laguna — and dripped my way into the Spanish School where I was to start classes the next morning.  I opted to stay in a hotel to dry out that night–in an attempt to dry out– and dripped my way over to gringolandia where I stayed at Hotel Jarachik with a private bathroom and free WiFi for 35 Q (that’s about $4 folks)

Monday I started my Spanish classes at http://www.cooperativeschoolsanpedro.com/

Four hours of private instruction per day, 5 days per week,  and staying with a family with three meals per day cost $150.

My instructor was Jose

Jose with the idiomaatic dictionary--I asked to learn some bad words on the last day

I spent the week, which encompassed the Christmas Holiday, with Pedro and Alejandra and their teenagers. I got a good review of Spanish grammar, enjoyed chatting with my instructor, Jose, who liked to act and dress like a bad boy but was really quite sweet underneath it all.

Christmas Dinner

What's inside the banana leaf

<>

I said my goodbye to my host family, and rode to Antigua Guatemala.

My Spanish is getting better every day, but I am still a little unsure, when a local tells me that a certain road is dangerous, if it’s because the road itself is dangerous, if the people driving on the road are dangerous, if there are lot of trucks on the road, if there are robbers on the road, or whether it’s just dangerous because they think a girl cannot ride a motorcycle it.

I was advised that the southern section of road around Lago Atitlan in Guatemala was “dangerous”. I was headed to San Pedro La Laguna, and my choices were to ride between the volcanoes around the lake (2-3 hours) or take the lancha across the lake (30-40 mins.)

I’d been riding in the rain all morning, athigh elevation from Xela to Pana. I stopped in Pana to get something to eat,

and the day seemed to clear up a bit, and turn warm (ish). I thought, what the heck, I’ll ride.

How could I refuse this view?

So after about an hour of beautiful twisty roads, through small villages, always with a spectacular view of Lago Atitlan to my right,

the sky cracked open with a giant clap of thunder, and the Mayan Gods that live at these elevations let loose their fury.

Thoroughly soaked now (as opposed to mildly soaked before lunch) the road turned to this

then to this

then to no real road at all. And I seemed to be in the middle of a…
um…
banana tree farm?

was this the right road?

the pavement had completely disappeared, and I was getting a little panicky…

no one to ask…untili spied a shy country boy…who did not speak Spanish. Ugh. My voice on the edge of hysteria I kept repeating, with as many variations on accent as I could, San Pedro? San Pedro? Gopd help me, SAN PEDRO?!? Finally comforted by his toothless grin, I plunged forward towards this

Finally (to my relief?!?) I found myself having to modulate my speed behind a pickup truck struggling to get up the muddy, rocky hill. I gave him a chance to get ahead whenever I could stop, and I could hear his wheels slipping. I had to take a deep breath there and just hope for the best. Strangely comforted by the presence of another vehicle, I charged up the hill…and made it to the top…and narrowly passed the truck with a big (toothy!) grin and wave.

Sheesh. It took about 15 minutes for my adrenaline rush to wear off.

But it was worth it to get to this

<>

I’m a tough chick. I arrived here in San Pedro La Laguna in the middle of a drenching rain, it had been raining on me for two days. The road was completely washed out in one section, and I bumped and jostled my way up an impossible hillside over impossible surfaces, without dropping the bike or falling into one of the woman-eating gullies full of rocks and rainwater rushing against my path of travel.

About in the middle of all of this my body decides it’s time for another round of woman’s issues. Great. Whatever. Nothing I can do about this now, but when I get settled, I clean up the mess and go in search of feminine goods. Oh, they have them alright. Kotex. Name Brand. But Pads. I don’t want pads, I want tampons. Of course I do not know the Spanish name for tampons, because my last feminine issues were in Texas. I do not have and tampons left. I try describing, to the 14 year old boy running the first store I go to, what I am looking for. He doesn’t get it. OK, so I go to a store run by a woman. Nope, Kotex. Pads. Next store, Nope. Kotex. Pads. I ask the nice grandmother that runs the hotel I’m in, surely SHE will know of such things, nope, No Tampons (“tubos”). No tubos in this town she tells me. Uh oh.

I don’t believe her, so I sneak out and find yet another store, run by a woman. Nope, more Kotex Pads. She also tells me there are no tubos in this town. At this point I am nearly hysterical. I am completely demoralized because now TWO DAYS have passed by, and I am telling practically everyone that will listen that I am looking for a damn tampon…no, I’m not really that much of a princess, but for 30+ years I have used tampons, and I am just not USED to this feeling of leaking all the time.

I’m a walking medical waste hazard, and I just don’t know how non-tampon users do it. I mean, gravity helps keep everything in it’s place during the daytime, but at night? Oofa. I was up and down all night. And not a dang thing I could do about it!

Well, thanks to my extensive social network here (and the fact that I am willing to tell everyone how desperate I am for a tampon), the mother of the family I am staying with has sent her daughter out to all the pharmacies to inquire. Ah. Pharmacies. Never occurred to me.

Voia’! The daughter takes me for a walk across town…..and……Tampons! I buy BOTH boxes they offer. Very expensive ones at that, but I do not care. I buy both boxes. But wait, a lady I met two days ago was traveling across the lake and I asked her to look for them for me when she goes to Pana (Panajachel) and voia! Another box of tampons! Life is good!

<>

At the internet cafe just now I overhear the crass English girl at the next table say to her friend she has to get some tampons. I smile. Good luck girlie!