The end of an Isthmus....

Jaco Surf

Costa Rican roads remind us of the people who live there. A patchwork of different colours, origins and eras, they get you there in the end but at their own pace and their own rhythm. Entering Costa Rica was relatively simple, a logical progression from one building to the next and not a bribe needed anywhere. We broke our own rules by riding a little after sunset hoping the rumours that Costa Rica was noticably safer that the rest of Central America were true. The first night we spent in Punteranas and while getting some food I got offered weed, cocaine and a hooker and we´d been there less than two hours. Beth said this was her kind of place but the next morning I convinced her we needed to move on. We spent the next few days in Jaco on the Pacific coast taking surfing lessons and enjoying the ocean lifestyle. Beth got her first fat lip when her board got between her and a wave. Soon it was time to move east to Turrialba to find some old friends in the hub of Costa Rica´s whitewater region. It didn´t take long to track down Mario Vargas, a local legend, and bump into a few other aquaintences from past seasons on the Gauley and the Arkansas. After a few false starts we got to run the Pacuare on Saturday, a great stretch of class III and IV whitewater, a few tricky moves and some awesome hits. The most impressve aspect of the river is the canyon it cuts through, the valley is alive with sloths, monkeys and birds of all shapes and sizes. Overhanging vines cling to dense virgin rainforest, the occasional native village visable through the trees. After the river we continued through to the coast and partied the night away in Puerto Limon as it celebrated the end of it´s own two week carnival with a huge free concert and an impressive fireworks display which began a little prematurely so the band had to compete for attention over the pyrotechnics above. That night we spent in a nearby barn sleeping next to the bike where a rooster with a poor sense of timing woke us up early the next morning.

Safety Meeting and Side Creek on the Pacuare

Back on the road we cruised down the Caribbean coast past beautiful beaches and sleepy villages to the border crossing of Sixoala. Stamping out of Costa Rica was quick and painless at this less used frontier but physically crossing the border was another issue all together. A disused railroad bridge spans the river separating the two countries. Random rotting sleepers were bridged by loose heavy planks. Fine if you have four wheels but on two it was quite a challenge. Too slow and you risked having to put a foot down but more often than not there was nothing either side of the plank to prevent the bike from dropping and plunging into the river below. Too fast and you risked missing a plank and losing the front wheel into the gaps between the sleepers. A new road beyond linking this part of Panama to the rest of the country made for a lot more traffic but neither side wanted to take responsibility for the bridge so it lies in ruins. It was the most tense I´ve ever been on a bike.

Festival Night in Puerto Limon

Getting into Panama was slow but free once we had all the paperwork in place and a smooth drive over the central mountains with a few other bikers took us into Santiago for the night. Back on the Interamericanan Highway saw us making good time but somewhere outside Penonome we got flagged down for our first speeding ticket. Well deserved, we were doing 98kph in a 60 zone but the $60 fine seemed a little excessive. When we suggested paying $20 "here and now to prevent all that paperwork" the officer happily agreed and we were soon on our way again. Unsurprisingly Panama City lacks any sort of useful signage and whatever logic the city planners employed is totally lost on us, we´ve come to accept that finding the cities is the easy part but finding an address is more about luck than anything else. Driving over the canal was cool seeing all sorts of ships passing underneath us. We got established in the city and set about finding a way into Colombia, we had originally planned to fly into Bogota but a significant hike in prices prompted us to search for other options. While Beth scoured the internet and called all kinds of boats I made for Colon at the north end of the canal, the major port for boats to Cartagena, Colombia. Saw a very different of Panama on that drive, a part that will be hard to forget. Panama city has gleaming skyscrapers but Colon is a slum, following a lead to Pier 3 took me into the worst parts of the city past signs warning tourists not to pass. Guns have become a common sight on this trip but here the police and soldiers were armed and armoured to excess. They travelled in packs and even then they looked tense. Some areas they didn´t even patrol. It may have been a fine city when they were building the canal but today it is in ruins, easily the most umcomfortable place I have ever been. I found the Pier, made my enquiries and left empty handed. Looks like we are flying. Spent a morning looking at flying options and it looks like we´ll have to bite the bullet and pay to airfreight. It´s still within budget but it makes a big dent on the buffer we had for emergencies.

Narrow Gorges of the Lower Pacuare

Rode to the Miraflores lockgates through a spectacular tropical storm and arrived thoroughly soaked to the bone to have a closer look at the canal. Extremely smooth and efficient after almost 100 years in operation. Ships are charged by weight the average being $30,000 but that day the most expensive transit ever took place at $230, 000. The lowest fee ever paid was $0.36 by Richard Halliburton who swam through in 1928. So from Panama it´s on to Colombia and who knows what will happen there. Time is short and the roads are long so we´ll need to pick up the pace a little in South America....

The Miraflores Lock, Panama Canal