Oh, on the way out from Managua the cops stopped us for crossing over the solid yellow line to pass a truck. There are tons of checkpoints throughout the country and we’ve only been stopped before throughout Latin America so that the cops could check out our documents or the bikes or both.

This time the cop saw us cross the line and he ran out into the middle of the highway to stop us. I followed the advice from other people on the motorcycling forums and just sat there on my bike and played dumb and said no entiendo a bunch of times. It worked. The two cops tried and tried to explain the violation and the whole process of a multa (fine or infraction, I think) but they eventually tired of the frustration. We got our licenses back and went on our way. If we had done something dangerous or really wrong I would have understood and went along with it but passing people on the highway under any conditions is completely normal. Besides, unlike most others we’re pretty safe in our passing.

On to the dirt road to San Carlos…on the red line on our map it showed 125 kilometers (about 78 miles). We started at 2pm and the road quickly deteriorated. Big holes, whoopties, gravel, lots of rocks. At first I flew over this stuff, it was like fun riding out in the California desert. But then I saw the sharp rocks and I bottomed out a few times when I got air on the little jumps. I thought about the bikes and how they need to last the whole trip. I thought about the possibility of puncturing a tire and was more worried the farther we went as it looked more and more primitive.

So, we slowed the pace down but it was already kind of too late for Roar’s baggage. It had suffered some damage earlier and the difficult road and the constant pounding brought the moment of reckoning much more quickly. Roar noticed that the case was bouncing off the frame and had to stop to readjust everything so that the cases were empty. He put everything in a duffle bag and a backpack and strapped it to the tail. It’s pretty much the same set up as the Swedes and it’s genius. Simpler is better and I plan on doing this for the next motorcycle adventure. Everything in one large duffle bag strapped to the tail of the bike.

Advantages: duffle bag weighs just a few pounds, our hard cases and frame weighed 35 pounds….easy to take off and carry to the hotel room…bikes are narrower for easier passing….indestructible hard cases are not in reality but how do you really break a duffle bag?

The sun started getting lower and we knew that we only had a short time before it turned dark and it SUCKS to drive at night on unfamiliar roads in unfamiliar conditions. Plus, if you have a mechanical problem or a flat tire, everything is complicated when you can’t see. In the race against the coming darkness we got flagged down by two excited campesinos.

I know, Lucila, you said never to stop for anybody trying to stop you on the back roads because that is how they ambush and rob you. But I made a judgement call. The people in that area seemed very friendly and it wasn’t too isolated. The guys spoke so rapidly to me and in such an accent that I could only understand the words “bolsa” (bag) and “bicicleta” (bicycle). We continued riding and a couple of hundred yards later another guy flagged us down. This time I made out bolsa and autobus and he pointed down the road. A bus had passed us a few miles back during one of our breaks. Now, it made sense. He had forgotten his bag on the bus and needed help getting it.

I motioned to him to get on the back of the bike and he did. He just hopped right top of my bags so he didn’t even have a real seat. Mr Toad’s Wild Ride commenced as I hauled ass trying to catch up to the bus. We jumped across ditches, bottomed out several times, and were passing onlookers with their mouths wide open. Nobody rides like that out there. Heck, there aren’t any bikes out there big enough to do it. Roar told me later that he thought that the guy was gonna fall off the back since his butt came off the back about a foot a couple of times.

After a few minutes, we got sight of the bus and I slowed a bit because I knew that we would catch it. I’m sure he appreciated it. We stopped the bus and the guy hopped off and gave a nice thank you. Knowing we still had a bunch of miles to go, I nodded to him and we took off. That bag must have had some important stuff for him to consider riding with me but maybe he didn’t know what he was in for. At least he’ll have a great story like I’ve got.

We didn’t make it to San Carlos by nightfall. The last half hour or so was in the dark. We slowed down because it was tough to see. We hit one narrow section that worried me but that was it and we rolled into San Carlos. It had some of the friendliest people we’ve seen on the trip. People went out of their way to give us directions and even the kids were fun and interested in us. I let some sit on the bike while I held it straight up and they loved it.

The next day (Tuesday) we went on a jungle tour. It was a small tour, just us and two backpackers, one American and one Israeli. The highlight was seeing spider monkeys and white faced monkeys climbing and jumping from tree to tree. I bought a machete right before we headed out and I broke it in on some inconsiderate plants that were in my way. That machete is now strapped to the back of my motorcycle and for me it completes the image of the adventure motorcyclist…actually, a shotgun would be pretty cool now that I think about it….