Leaving San Diego behind, we headed into the mountains and south to the coast. A KLR kept us company for a while, and I found out why Fred’s nickname is ‘Fast Freddie’. I was soon one lorry and three cars behind them, but when we were stopped by road works I attempted to rejoin them. Unfortunately the lorry that was behind them was slowly inching forward anticipating the signal to move off, and I was so preoccupied with the rapidly closing gap that I caught the empty pannier frame of the KLR with my pannier and slowly fell over sideways at about 1mph.New Friends and on to Panama

Fred introduced me to a Texas couple, Curtis and Janet, who were riding a GS1150 and also to Roger from Alabama who was on a Buell. Roger was on a mission however and could not stay and chat. You may remember that I described a large pot hole the size of a tabletop that I had seen when first entering Costa Rica, well Roger hit it and it took out his front and rear wheels and his rear sub-frame. Lucky for Roger he was not injured and lucky for Linda that she was still in the States waiting to fly out and join him in Costa Rica. Being an ex-dealer, Roger was able to organise the spare parts he needed and Linda was going to fly in with them, thus hoping to circumvent the long customs delays and import duties that he would normally encounter if he had them shipped by carrier. The next day Linda arrived with all the parts required and then found out that a Yellow Fever jab was mandatory for Columbia, so she and Janet went off to the local hospital for their jabs and certificates. In the meantime Fred introduced me to the local travel agent and I signed up to fly to Bogota with the rest of the group.
While Roger oversaw the rebuilding of his bike, and Curtis, Janet and Linda relaxed in the hotel waiting for him, Fred and I lit out for Panama. It was our intention to travel along the coast, and the others, by following the PanAm would catch up with us in Panama City. Leaving San Diego behind, we headed into the mountains and south to the coast. A KLR kept us company for a while, and I found out why Fred’s nickname is ‘Fast Freddie’. I was soon one lorry and three cars behind them, but when we were stopped by road works I attempted to rejoin them. Unfortunately the lorry that was behind them was slowly inching forward anticipating the signal to move off, and I was so preoccupied with the rapidly closing gap that I caught the empty pannier frame of the KLR with my pannier and slowly fell over sideways at about 1mph. That put paid to my already damaged windshield, and severely my dignity. At the next town, Porto Cortes we all pulled into a MacDonald’s and I found out that the KLR was hired, but a bit of brute force bent its pannier frame back, and while Fred bought the guy a coffee I went over to a garage I had noticed to see if I could get something to put in my Radiator to stop the water leaking out. It was Sunday and no mechanics were on duty, but one of the girls from the office disappeared and came back with some liquid radiator sealant. I duly poured half of it in, figuring since it was probably meant for cars my small cooling system would not need it all. After handshakes all round and no hard feelings about the knock, Fred and I proceeded south towards the coast.. Fred had a desire to see Golfito, a natural harbour on the Golfo Dolce, (Sweet Gulf), which was famed as a pretty spot for yachts to make for having passed through the Panama Canal. We duly arrived, dismissed the first try at an hotel for being too expensive, and continued on past the small commercial dock and found a small hostel at reasonable prices. There we met a British couple who were on holiday here, he for the surfing, and she just to relax. As it was the off season they had the beaches and waves all to themselves which was perfect for them.
Fast Freddie

Golfito

In the morning I topped up my radiator and we headed for the border with Panama. This was another easy border crossing, I think both because they have the information infrastructure and, more importantly, both countries are stable politically and trust their citizens, unlike the other countries I had passed through recently, which until a few years ago had all had bitter civil wars. Fred set out at his usual high speed and I kept thinking that if this was his normal pace, then come Columbia I might have to bail out of the group. I prefer a speed of about 55-60mph, with lots of time to look around. I have no urgent desires to pass a lorry just because it in front of me, and will often slow down and let it get away from me, rather than speed up, overtake, and then have it sitting on my tail for the next half hour waiting to re-pass me whether it is safe to do so or not. Anyway our dash down the Pan-Am at 80mph bought us to the developing coastal area of Santa Clara on the Pacific, and we rode down a likely looking road to find a hotel for the night. What we found was a hotel complex that wanted $250 a night, but it did have its own golf course and tennis courts, but we informed the man at the gate that he would not have the pleasure of our company. The next bay had a rough little road leading to it and on the second try we found a little place with holiday cabins which the owners hurriedly got ready for us as the place was empty. Fred decided to go back up the road for dinner, but as I had serious misgivings about my ability to handle a nasty little hill in the dark, or the daylight for that matter, I stayed and cooked up a small meal using the food that I was carrying.
Near San ta Clara

The next morning I surprised myself my negotiation the rubble strewn ‘nasty little hill’ without much difficulty, you must remember that while Fred was able to stand up on his foot-pegs, thus transferring all his weight to them and lowering his bikes centre of gravity, making it more stable, my arthritic knees won’t let me do this easily anymore, so I just have to sit there and do the best I can not to fall off.
Soon Panama City came into view and despite our best efforts we could not locate the shipping office that we needed to find to finish off our shipping arrangements. It was necessary that we did this as soon as possible because the coming weekend there was a big fiesta coming up and if we did not clear our bikes through the system by tomorrow, then we would loose four or five days. In the end we hired a taxi and since we only knew it was near the Panama Hilton, ( I think, but anyway a swanky hotel in the middle of town) we left our bikes there while we sought for our shipper. They we very good about it, and we had several of the guests talking to us about our plans with great interest. Eventually finding our shipper, we completed our paperwork and they helped us find a local hotel, being the eve of a big fiesta this was not easy, but we only needed it for a night as the next day we would ride out to a hotel much closer to the airport, meet up with Curtis, Janet, roger and Linda and ride our bikes to the cargo area for shipping. All this time there were emails flying back and forth to James Cargo in England who were the Shipping Agents, albeit that we were using their local agent to do the ground work in Panama. The agent had taken us the day before in his car to the cargo area of the airport and help us fill in the forms. Later that day, while browsing the shops, I found a shop selling Garmin GPS units and went in for a closer look. Now I have always resisted the temptation to get a GPS, but after wandering around many of the central American towns searching for the way out, your lucky if you find a signpost and then probably there is only one somewhere in the middle of town, I thought a GPS might help. The only units they had were designed for cars, but one had a suction pad and I thought it might stick on my redundant rev counter which had stopped working when I crashed in Canada. Apparently it did not have Garmins ‘World Map loaded’ but while I was away getting my passport from the hotel to verify my identity, I think they must have loaded it in, as it was there when I switched it on. Dissappointing then that it only includes the main roads and no details of town roads, bt at least it gave me a direction to head in! I told Fred about the Smelly biker maps and encouraged by him spent several hours trying to download them for us to evaluate. Due to firewalls on the hotel wi-fi links and misunderstanding the download instructions, I was not able to get this option working until much later, and it has proved a boon. I must say though that it does take a bit of ‘nerdification’ and would advise others to get it sorted before leaving on their trip.
Panama City skyline

We all met at the airport hotel, and the car park boy cleaned our bikes while we lounged around the pool. Fred, Roger and Linda hired a car to go and see the carnival in the city, but with so many streets blocked off and such a huge influx of people they saw little except the cars around them before calling it a day and heading off for a general drive outside the city limits. In the meantime I was puzzled by an itchy rash that had appeared on my right leg, until I realised that although the silencer for my exhaust is on the left, the pipes run along the right side of the bike after leaving the engine. What with the hot weather and the heat from the exhaust pipes, I had a nasty case of heat rash which I needed to make sure would not turn septic. Hmm I would have to think on that a bit, as I could not afford to let it get worse. I had also recently lost my big toe nail, but that was not unexpected as it had been black from when I tripped over something in my garage while getting set up to travel. I knew it would go when the black bit moved halfway up, what was unexpected was at about the same time as it came adrift, my left big toe nail also decided to part company, maybe it was my sweaty boots, but whatever it was I needed to look after my feet a bit better than just washing them and using talcum powder every day. Maybe I would find a solution in Bogota.
Heat Rash

The next day the four of us rode down to the shipping company’s warehouse at the airport and prepared our bikes for shipment by removing the mirrors and odd loose parts. We did not need to drain the petrol or disconnect the batteries as the cargo plane was listed as carrying ‘dangerous cargo’ which covered us as far as the bikes and contents of our panniers was concerned.
Getting to the airport was easy as it was just down the road, but the security was very tight and even had me take off my boots to walk through the checking area. Why I’m not sure as they contain no metal, but there I was walking through the airport lounge in my bare feet looking for a seat to sit on while I put my boots back on. It had seemed curious to me that the group had reached the airport on the same shuttle, but once there, it appeared that it was every man for themselves. This did not bode well in my mind as I am used to my friends, even temporary ones, keeping an eye on each other and aiding where necessary. The loose dynamics of our group is not unusual I was to discover by talking to others who have joined up in ad hoc partnerships, and these temporary mutual aid partnerships often just fly apart for no real reason except that the members do not really know one another well and are only hanging together while negotiating a difficult period of their journey.

And so we land in Bogota, where my Britishness comes to the fore as I refuse to jump the queue to join my friends, having been last off the plane by allowing various families with children to exit before me, instead of just barging into the aisle. It has always puzzled me why people surge to get off a bus or plane, why don’t they just relax and wait for everyone else to do the pushing and shoving? Of course in the airport concourse you have to join in as there is a constant stream of passengers arriving from other flights, but even so a few minutes delay will not usually cause a problem, and we had a hotel booked, and there were plenty of taxis weren’t there/ Yes there were, and were soon installed in our hotel, but we thought it was in the downtown area, but this chain had three hotels in Bogota and were well out into the suburbs.
Janet and Curtis have no interest in cultures or history, this they freely admit, while Roger and Linda enjoy visiting museums and trying local food. Fred has his own agenda that takes him off on lone walks, so it is no surprise that Roger, Linda and I find ourselves bidding Fred farewell for the afternoon in Bogotá’s main plaza. While we three wander around searching for the ‘Museo del Oro’(Museum of Gold), we notice that there are many groups of young people about. We eventually find the museum, but it is undergoing renovation and some of the exhibits have been temporarily moved to the bank just off of the main square that we left earlier. Deciding to take a round about route back we encounter a huge column of chanting protesters, and we decide to join in. The protest has been organised to take place all over Columbia to demand that the FARC people release their hostages, some of whom have been held for six years.
Army guys look on.....

....while Linda, Roger and I protest...oh and another 999,994 people as well

Having done our bit, we leave the throng at the main plaza and carry on to visit the museum we were seeking. The exhibits are were interesting mainly due to the fact that they were in the old mint, and nearly all of the machinery on display originated in Birmingham. I visited a church to see the stained glass, which was extremely good, while Roger and Linda had lunch. Roger wants some socks, and while he is browsing through the little market it occurs to me that this may be the answer to my overheating leg problem. Until now I have eschewed socks as my boots had been tight, and they were yet another thing to carry. I had a pair of thin socks but had only worn them while camping in Canada to keep my feet warm. I bought a couple of pairs of ‘tennis socks’ and was surprised and pleased to find that not only had my boots expanded a little, (and my calves shrunk) but it made taking my boots off easier. The local pharmacy provided a tube of antiseptic cream for the tiny blisters that were now beginning to weep a little, so I was all set to continue.

If it's a mint, where's the hole?

Modelled on a cake perhaps?

The next day we set off to recover our bikes, only to find that three of them, Fred’s, Curtis’s and mine had been strapped onto the same pallet, and at some stage fallen over into one another, causing miner damage to all of them. Lucky for me, mine had only broken a front indicator lens, but the others had greater, although still minor, damage and dents. Roger’s Buell had been on it’s own pallet and was unharmed. After calling in the agent and getting the shipper to agree that their bikes had been damaged in transit, we went to get our customs clearance before rejoining our bikes. Here we met another difficulty; there was a four foot drop to the ground off of the loading dock and no ramp! ‘Surely’, I thought, ‘they must have had bikes through here before.’ We were not allowed to drive onto the airport apron and around to a gate at the side, and eventually had to drive onto a pallet held up by a fork lift truck, and be lowered to the ground that way. After about four hours we eventually made our way out into the rush hour traffic of Bogota and returned to our hotel. Perhaps tomorrow we can at last get under way and head out into the Columbian countryside?

Next: Friends lost