We left Puerto Viejo on a paved two lane highway through the jungle. No shoulders, just jungle ready to encroach upon the road if workers with machetes forgot to keep it back. Sometimes the landscape would open up to reveal large farms of banana trees, making everything seem even more primordial. It was only about half an hour till we reached the dreaded border crossing at Bilxboa.
It was the easiest exit yet, we waited behind one guy in line to exit Coast Rica and then just handed in our vehicle paperwork at the other window. It took less than five minutes. (Note: Be sure to change your Costa Rican colones with the moneychangers on the Costa Rican side. There were none on the Panamanian side and we still haven’t been able to change them four days later.)
The bridge across the river to Panama was an old, converted railway bridge. They converted it by placing long wooden planks to the outsides of the rails. That way cars, trucks, and huge tractor trailers could cross while watching pedestrians scramble to hold onto the outside supports of the bridge. I knew it might be sketchy but I just wanted to get it over with.
As I rode slowly towards it I could see that there were only two planks side by side and that they weren’t wedged in tight. They were loose and I could see gaps that could snag my front tire. I could see that there were large gaps in the center between the railway ties and also to the outside of the planks. That left me with about two feet to play with, and not a solid two feet either. The planks moved up and down and a little bit side to side as I rode over them.
Well….I had been proud of my improved riding over the last four weeks. I’d say I’d even gotten a little cocky. This stuff sketched me out and about twenty yards into it I did what I wasn’t supposed to do: I didn’t look where I wanted to go, I looked at what I shouldn’t have. Instead of looking two or three plank lengths ahead my vision dropped down to the gap between the right rail and the adjacent plank. And that’s exactly where my front wheel went. And my other mistake was taking both feet off the pegs. You lose a lot of control.
The front wheel caught, my left leg stretched out to the ground and found nothing but air, just the gap between the railway ties, and the bike fell over to my right side. The right handlebar hit the side of the bridge and my right leg went straight through the gap and dangled over the river, twenty feet below. Shit!
I regained my footing, struggled with the bike, and got it back upright. Roar had stopped right behind me but there was nothing he could do. There was no place to put the kickstand down so he just waited behind me. I tried to get the front tire out but it was wedged in tight. Shit!
Luckily a couple of random passers by walked over and helped me lift the front wheel out. Once the front wheel was free I could get the back tire out myself. Back on the bike I took it slow. I feathered the clutch and kept one foot on the peg while the other foot took steps on the planks. It was slow going and I was sweating bullets. Everyone said that it was not possible to fall completely off the bridge but I beg to differ. There’s a section in the middle where the fence on the outer part of the bridge has rusted and worn down to where if you had a little bit of speed you could fall over the side. At this part I took a little breather and noticed that a semi was coming up behind us. Great….
I headed out at full concentration and brought my speed up. Thankfully, it opened up to three planks wide and I gained more confidence and speed and finished the crossing. Usually, I handle as much of the immigrations and customs issues as possible since I speak more Spanish than Roar. This time Roar handled everything as I recovered and let a couple of kids shine my boots. (There was no damage to the bike, the bolt of the handguard and the hardcase made contact with bridge at about 0 mph.)
I didn’t mind the 45 minute wait although Roar said he never saw anyone type so slowly in his life while in the customs office.
We rode through more cleared out jungle. Banana farms everywhere, other fruits, too. We were bombarded with fresh, stale, and spoiled fruit smells as we rode by the different farms. After taking one long route in the wrong direction, we found the road we needed and saw a line of stopped up traffic. Another railway bridge! No one told us about this one! We made our way to the front of the line and made it to the front just as our side got its turn (only one lane, one way at a time). This time there was traffic on both ends and I was determined not to be that guy that would cause a traffic jam with fifty cars waiting on each end.
This one was easy. Three planks wide but I kept my vision to the three planks ahead of me like a robot. When I hit gaps, I hit the throttle, felt the front wheel shimmy and kept going. There was no stopping for me and this crossing was twice as long as the first. Piece of cake! And redemption, too…
We arrived at Almirante and decided to park our motorcycles in a secure parking lot and become regular travelers. I took one of my hardcases and my backpack and left everything else on the bike or in a storage room. Roar and I took a water taxi and 30 minutes later we were in Bocas del Toro, one of Panama’s most popular tourist destinations.
