One wheel on my wagon...

Writing can be so efficient at clearing your thoughts; stop writing and the mind becomes a quagmire again! Whenever I stop in one place my writing becomes erratic, and mind games increase. I've lost the dramatic plunges into grief, those were tackled riding the bike around North America; many a miles was spent with tears streaming down my face. It was cleansing, a devestating but beautiful experience, in awesomely beautiful country; it hurt like hell, but took me a long way in the healing process! I'd lost track of those times; fighting panic attacks whilst riding, bursting into tears with complete strangers. Wow, filming a Black bear from only six metres, an amazinf array of wildlife; the highs and lows eh? Those initial days were unbelievably hard to get through alone, but I didn't need to!

I had friends and family giving me all the support they could, whether by phone or Internet. My way of communicating with the world was my blog, it enabled me to involve those who cared about what I was going through, the good and bad. Through writing I have opened my world to you all, I have shared my journey with you all; both spiritual and physical. The power of the written word, eh? I believe it has been appreciated with as much enthusiasm as I've written with. For me, this has been a portal for my life, loves and fears. It's been my therapy, my tormentor at times, my motivation, most often!

At crucial times I've used my blog as a tool to my thoughts, to externalise them and understand them better; the journey has been my main inspiration. Despite the hardships, my commitment has been to completing as much of this trip as possible. Yeah, I feel emotional, damned sure I miss Cai, damned certain it still hurts! But I've come a long way already, I'm stronger now than when I began, much more capable of riding around South America. I have no doubts whether I can tackle adversity, I'm very aware of my physical limits and have been ensuring I don't push too much. For a change, I'm being kind to myself, caring over how I am; emotionally and physically. Obviously people will be concerned for me, maybe more for those closer to me. There again, people should know me better, should trust in me! As expressed before, the riding is just travelling for me. The art of travelling I find easy, it's the emotions I find it hardest to handle. And that's why I'm here, to allow myself the opportunity, the head space, to deal with the emotions. To find my own inner peace, and it is coming, slow but sure; but it is coming!

I was due to leave this morning, for Costa Rica; rain stopped play! I was woken up by Peitr to say goodbye (written with a Dutch accent), he asked why my bike was laying flat. I was instantly convinced someone had knocked it over, fooool! I got a puncture yesterday, it went down overnight, the bike fell over; simple! So I delayed departure for another day, to my luck. I found out about some really good diving in Panama, if I have time before my sailing to Colombia, I'd like to visit for a few days. But I know of a sailing February 15th, I'm trying to book it, but I need a new rear tyre before I leave Panama City. A bike service might not go amiss either, I now need to get back into travel mode. I've had only three days riding in the last six weeks, time to make tracks again folks!

Nicaraguan interlude!

A week, of mainly surfing, has gone by pretty quick, very enjoyable, with noticeable improvements in my surfing. For a number of days I've been getting out to the back line of surfers, and going for the bigger waves, it was exhausting battling through all the broken surf. Once clear though life got much easier; relaxed, riding over the smaller sets, just waiting for that wave. The one that's gonna let you have a rush of pure energy, sweep you along with such amazing power: or, lift you from behind, over the crest, and smash you into the bottom of the tube, nose first. Where your world becomes absolute mayhem! You'll experience being rolled and battered, unable to see anything, hear 'owt, but a crashing roar, or even sense which way is up! Hey, surfing is fun; isn't it?

For eight days I've been hiring a surf board, it has been worth it, though I used it less frequently after the initial five days. There were too many thoughts fogging my mind, too much diverting my attention away from surfing. But that is the cause for the sport not sucking me in, nothing to do with the fun of actually surfing. There is a time and a place, this ain't it, much to my regret!

Despite being physically exhausted I was loving the activity, a new, exciting form of past time for me. It was obvious after the first couple of days, it is no good pussy footing about; get out there and hit the real stuff. And so the battering began, time and again being rammed into the maws of the tube, pointy end first and having to bail out. But that one time you manage, to not only rise to the board, but stand/crouch and feel stable. Wahoo, just like a bike, you lean over and it turns! Each time you pull it together at the right time, the frustration is worth it. I feel happy to have managed to get up and ride a wave, the pommelling were all a part of it; but the fight against the breaking surf, getting out, was so tiring.

Two days in a row I had the board ripped out my hands by breaking surf, once trying to get through it, the other whilst nose diving from the top of a decent wave. My shoulder didn't like it at all, I thought I'd rip it out it's socket, not another old injury come back to plague me. Gave me serious concerns over injuring myself. And what a massive difference that had on my surfing! I halved the number of times I had been going out, even reduced the length of time spent out. That was about when I started getting my head into travel mode; knowing this wasn't the time to stop and take on a whole new meaning, or direction, in my life. It brought to light the battle within, the emotional turmoil, the conflict of competing desires. Do I really want to continue, can I, even should I, go home; have I done enough now? What is enough, who is it for, what is it for, and how much can I endure? This is proving to be a hell of an endurance challenge for me, and I don't mean physically!

The resistance to be setting off again was immense, too little motivation and too much indecision being the cause! For three days I've been withdrawing a bit more each day, emotions have been sweeping through me whenever I think of home, Cai or his birthday. For some strange reason his upcoming birthday feels a huge barrier, more than Christmas, New Year and my own birthday combined. At least that is the observation I've made, it's Cai and his birthday that bring forth the tears, I guess that doesn't mean it's the only cause though. Whilst riding down through Honduras and Nicaragua I was battling with thoughts of having a break, a respite home, or to the States, before tackling South America. My batteries are very low, shit and grit are the only things that keep me going. The shit that's recently happened in my life; the grit, my immensely stubborn streak that refuses to give up the ghost.

Whenever my thoughts have strayed home it is with mixed feelings! Mainly people have been getting on with their lives, no doubt preoccupied. Few will have been able to sustain the attention and depth of feeling to Cai's death that I've allowed myself. Whatever their intention, the inclination is to become more entwined with the immediate daily concerns. Isn't that why some of us work our butts off to overshadow the pain? Some can't do that stuff, at least not indefinitely? In bereavement, as in life itself, we have our own ways of getting through it. But folks, I'd love to be within a safe haven, to enjoy the welcome and hospitality of friends and family! I guess to have the protection of trusted people, a blanket against the worst.

So I won´t knock those who choose a more mundane slot, embracing life as expected by our culture and rules. After all if you fight against something, it's less of a struggle if you don't actually desire it. I do want to go home, I could face what that represents. The conflict is that I do not want to leave this trip uncompleted, don't want to risk giving up, don't want to take that leap from home back to south America again. Looks to me as if just getting on and doing this is the best way forward, bugger the soppy sentiments. Maybe folks feel I have every right to feel self pity, I don't! Self pity is not a very healthy feeling, and it certainly doesn't make you strong or improve your resolve. So stuff it, I have to face myself every morning. If there was ever any meaning in this journey it's still there, Cai hasn't come back to life! I still need to respect myself and my commitment to whatever I choose in life, and I still need to feel I've honoured Cai, by completing what we set out to do.

I'm not desperate to to go home, I´d so like to share some time with friends though. I miss the open pleasure gained from being with those you know and trust, even if there are things you don't appreciate about them. Hey, you can always accept faults in others, or talk about it. At least you should be able to, these are fairly simple social skills; whether difficult or not. We have so much more conditioned rules and expectations on our western society, what a shame we can´t just get on with our lives, and allow others that freedom; without bitching about it. Sounds like heaven, shame I've not managed to arrange a tour there yet, probably be filled with day trippers though!

Sun sand and.....SURF!!

Time can be so deceiving, over a week has gone since leaving Utila and it feels like forever. Well now, I'm on the opposite coast in Nicaragua, near San Juan del Sur. The beach I've found is the surf dudes hangout, is has the best surfing in this area. There is no development as such, a beach bar and cafe; where you can also camp or rent a very basic room. I've been camping since Thursday, today I move up in the world and rent a bed; yeah, what luxury! I guess that also seems like I've decided to stay for a while longer before continuing. There isn´t exactly a time limit to be home for, unless I include the sale of my house!

After a night waiting in La Ceiba I managed to set off gone mid-day, not an impressively early start. I wanted to go off road most of the way down to the border with Nicaragua, but warnings of no bridges and river crossings I bottled out. I took an initial loop, south east, round to Saba; then almost doubled back south west and took a dirt road through the mountains. I passed through La Union, actually stayed the night in a very grotty hotel, then continued south missing the highway loop through Terrigulpa (or something like that!; I dropped down south again to meat the main highway to Las Manos, the border town.

The dirt roads were brilliant; loose, dusty, cratered, slimy/muddy, but brilliant! I started riding very reserved, only up to 30mph, though this didn´t last too long. I was actually surprised to glance down at one stage, the speedo was reading around the 70mph mark. I was given a slight shock to slow me down though, and I did, for a short while on day two! I'd slowed down for a bend and lost the rear end in gravel, for a lifetime I fought to gain some form of control over the bike. I was managing to get it slowly pointing in the required direction, the rough nature of the ground was causing a decrease in speed, and just before the engine stalled I popped in the clutch and came to a nice stop. The words flashed through my mind, "..and he makes it, Yaaahooooo!!

No damage to bike, me, or my pride. I was well chuffed, surprised, but chuffed; I really thought I was about to come off. It was only a matter of time though, the horrendous steep dirt hill leading onto the beach saw me spat off the beast. It´s nice on a well frequented track, I could just hang around, wait till someone came along and they helped me lift the bike. Not that they had any choice if they wanted to pass! Its also nice to have it confirmed you are on the right track. I've not had a map of Nicaragua, so I've been navigating blind. I took a list of town names I needed to pass through and that's all I've had. It worked really well!

Riding through the mountains of Honduras was lovely, there are very active, even busy, communities spread throughout them. They may be dusty and far off the beaten track, but the people are well dressed, happy and amazed to see me thrash past on the bike. They are more than happy to wave, smile and even cheer me along. Especially if I'm up on the pegs, throttle wide, with the exhaust blaring. The best response is as I go past other vehicles like that, it always brings hoots of encouragement. One guy I passed, on a Yamaha XT250, paid a great compliment. He meet me later, as I was resting at the highway intersection, but done little more than praise the bike and shook my hand for my riding. And yes, I am vain enough to get a kick out of that.

So, about this surfing thing! I found it so mellow sitting and watching the surfers out playing, it gradually slipped under my defences and the next thing I knew I booked a lesson. That was two days ago, I surfed all day yesterday, and would have done again today, had I not run out of money! It would be an awful shame to start and leave without getting a feel for the basics. And Of course, that would be a bit of a waste; I'd better stay for a few more days and make the lesson worthwhile, eh? If I could just stay on my feet for a little bit longer, then I would have time to steer it! Just a little more practice, I'm sure that will be enough then. The beaches here are the best since leaving the Baja Peninsula, and the hot season is just starting.

Westernisation of paradise...

The last few days I’ve been exploring the Island, there is so much more than the thin strip on the south side, the town side. When I first arrived I was told the whole north side was one huge swamp; far from it! The majority of the Island is undeveloped; the north side is virtually completely empty. There is the odd house, a few dirt tracks and a whole lot of realty signs. The development is slowly spreading, few people want to live over there, yet; the beaches are very rocky with no decent access to the water. It’s not safe to swim, and you can’t land a boat; despite some lovely surf you’d rip yourself to pieces if you tried surfing there. So the coast is deserted, just lovely sandy beach hardly anyone visits, perfect for me to sunbathe. Unfortunately more foreign visitors are seeing the potential and houses are gradually appearing.

It’s easy to see the average foreigner’s house, they are the ones surrounded by palisade fencing, or iron railings. They are the ones fronted by imposing signs, “PRIVATE PROPERTY – NO TRESPASSING!” They aren’t necessarily the only large houses; there are many local people who’ve made a good living from the tourist boom. But how about the other local people; I guess there are those who had land, and those who have stayed on the poverty line. So many pieces of land have been divided up, sell your garden and keep your house; make a handsome profit in the bargain. Real estate has soared, it has been priced way out the range of most local people. Who can blame poor local folk for selling off their land to gringos!

I won’t condemn people for wanting to sell up in the western world and settle into paradise, best of luck to them. I do condemn those who buy a piece of paradise and don’t actually live there; I heavily condemn those who have a second home, when there are too few for others to have a first home. This problem is global, and getting bigger, where ever you go in the world a large portion of idyllic situated properties are owned by absent landlords. The affluent like to spread them selves around, unfortunately their money doesn’t so often get spread around. If local communities benefited for such affluence it would be great, they rarely do! Is it any wonder local people, especially the youths, have a dismal attitude to incomers.

As my stay on Utila has lengthened more disagreeable instances have been seen, all against white tourists. Nothing really bad, just shows of disrespect, crappy attitude; but with specific direction. All I have to do is bring up the subject of property purchasing, talk about opening a can of worms! Even those with some form of business i.e. a small hotel owner, can not envisage how his kids will ever afford to buy a house on the island. It really is a shame; I wish there were not the international barriers stopping natural migration of people. Don’t we all deserve a chance to make more of our lives, not everyone wants to, it would be nice if it were a choice though!

Each time I remain in one place for long the pain of loss catches up with me, when it does, it doesn’t go away; until I start traveling again. I can’t run away from this the rest of my life, or should I say I won’t? I’m not in the habit of running from difficulties, yet every time this comes up it’s still as strong, still as devastating; or so it feels. Now I have to be extremely self aware, and honest with myself. Having a slight weep, feeling sad and holding it in; even allowing a few tears to flow whilst writing blog entries, or reading emails is much different than total devastation. I must keep that in mind and use it to give myself strength, to keep me going. It is obvious though, when this journey is over the real work begins. Then I will have to start integrating my loss into everyday life, into a future!

For now, I must move on! I don't feel as if I'm running away any longer, nor do I feel I need to avoid North Wales and the abundance of memories it holds. I don't feel ready to stop travelling yet though, I've not even got as far as Colombia, my entry point for South America. I've got to travel enough to feel satisfied with my own effort.

To finish on a humorous note, here's a sign I came across. I don't know how you're meant to know which one you want, maybe it's pick and mix!

Just hanging around, with Dolphins!

Utila could be seen as the backpacker’s paradise of the Bay islands, a cheap option for the Caribbean. It is small, with little in the way of modern development, that doesn’t mean it isn’t completely taken over by tourism. For the local people this is a great economic boom, it does have it’s price though; as anyone who lives in an area heavy tourism will know. There is only one main road going most the length of the Island, it isn’t wide enough for two cars to pass; yet there is a constant flow of golf carts and quads. These are the tourist mobiles, combined with the numerous small motorcycles, ridden at breakneck speed, it makes for a very busy thoroughfare.

All the useful land has already been developed, the houses aren’t quite stacked on top of each other; the main drag leaves no space for anything other than the occasional dog kennel though. Now new building projects are generally extensions into the sea, reclamation of the sea bed. You’ll see an area staked out with wooden stakes, the next stage is filling it in with coral waste, then a concreted border and sand or gravel to level off the interior. Hey presto, a new building plot. You can see in the photos the transformation from one to the other.

I thought I was coming for gorgeous beaches and a tranquil paradise; it is generally tranquil, but quiet it most certainly is not. It isn’t every bar that is banging music and loud, pissed up westerners, but you can never quite be sure which ones will go that way any given night. There are the certainties, many would be glad to know, but wanting a quiet night out, to have a drink and write my journal, can’t be a surety. There is a plentiful choice of hotels, from the over priced to the squalid. In fairness though, the cheaper price bracket are better value than most places I’ve visited. However the beaches are few and far between, though I am discovering a way of finding a couple that are out of the way.

So what is it that makes Utila a bustling, backpackers paradise? Probably those things I've noted in a negative way, they ain't my cup of tea, but it's what so many of the younger backpacker types want. And of course, there are plenty who are trying to maintain their apparent youthfulness, by hanging around the same places as the cool, young travellers. I'm getting older, and glad to admit it; if I still had the attitude of a young loud mouthed piss-head me and Cai would never had started on this journey together. So is that good or bad? Ain't life strange, just when you want it to make sense!

One of the biggest attractions here is the diving, it's cheaper than most places in the world and there are more dive schools per capita than anywhere else I've seen. There has to be at least fifteen of them, and the population is tiny. Of course, it is exclusively western instructors and divemasters working in the centres. The diving is good quality on most sites, their attitude to the marine environment is exceptional; buoyed mooring only. As with the rest of the Caribbean though, large Groupers and Conch are fished almost out of existence. But there is a good diversification of species, and I've been swimming with Dolphins again. How could I have forgotten about that the other day? Just before New Year, just getting out from a dive, the Captain informed us there was a pod of Dolphins heading our way. Luckily he was as quick to tell everyone not to jump in, and scare them away! I counted five, one surfacing right next to me and another passing close enough to touch, but of course I didn't. Both those close to me had scars along their backs, which I'm not sure how they get these, whether its from boats or other marine creatures. Whatever, they were obviously in good health! They were purely cruising past, all they done was to briefly check us out as they passed. A lovely end to a dive though, much nicer to have only snorkel gear on as well.

That was on my last dive trip out from Jewel Cay, on new years eve. It made for a good celebration that night; hey it's only the second time I've managed to be in the water that close to Dolphins. It really is a magnificent experience, and one that I doubt I would have shared with Cai; he couldn't be bothered about diving over here, but we'll never know now eh? He'd surely of appreciated the sunsets from Jewel Cay, so many excellent examples. No matter how hard I tried, my fire breathing paled into insignificance!

Lastly, for all those who constantly accuse me of having a wonderful tan, a photo of yours truly. I took this myself the night I got ridiculously drunk, but while I was still fairly sober. I confess, it was a matter of seeking solace in the bottle! Reading the poem Kris read out at the funeral tore me to bits, ripped out my heart and shredded it; it was the worst day I've had for a long time. Its also brought it all back closer to the surface again. I don't agree with holding back the tears, but I think I should be able to hold it together in public; its different on the Internet! And now it feels like it only happened yesterday! Isn't it reassuring our love meant so much? Maybe, but if that is the case I don't ever want to move on; and I know I must!

Honduran ride - Utila, one way trip!

With the Christmas rush I completely missed the ride through Honduras. Not wanting to miss a vital part of my journey, I'd like to fill in the gaps. The ride up through Honduras was a desperate one, despite knowing I was going to make it to Utila for xmas! By the time I got through the border I didn't want to hang around. The crossing was a pain, the most blatant corruption seen yet. There was a huge poster warning of corruption, stating quite clearly the amount shown was the maximum to be charged for vehicle tax: trouble was, the amount had been blacked out! After I was on a mission, barring the traffic bumps I gave my throttle plenty of exercise; it can look quite impressive hitting one whilst opening the throttle wide. I assume those around me thought the massive wheelie was intentional, they must have thought it utterly mad, or dead cool; probably both!

Having been warned about the drivers here I was a bit wary to begin with, but this has become a habit with new countries. Chill out, allow the subtle differences to come to light and adapt my riding accordingly. Generally the knack is to travel at a faster average speed than those around you, given slow moving traffic, and my innate ability to overtake more efficiently, I make better progress and am rarely a concern for other road users. The road acclimatisation is more to discover the little foibles of each country, Mexico with rough sections, Guatemala with its minor landslides; Honduras is deeply potholed, with un-announced rows of metal domes across the road. Whatever they are, they become apparent quite early on.

The first 50 km or so of Honduras seemed much the same as Guatemala, lovely lush green hills, high and well cultivated. The small villages were Mayan in appearance, from the dress of the women anyway! This didn't last too long, as the hills reduced in size, and the potholes increased the nature of cultivation changed. No longer was there the smaller, self sufficient style of agriculture! Banana plantations became as common than as a home stand of plantain, date palms lined the road for a number of miles, so dense it was impossible to estimate how extensive the plantation was. Large spreads of crops were seen everywhere, making it more of an industry than I've so far seen in Central America. The methods of tending the crops are all on the industrial scale too, no oxen here, all mechanised!


My first port of call was the town of Copan, cash was desperately needed, the border guards had stripped me clean. It was so hot I was in danger of melting, the town roads were cobbles, not cobbled, so very uneven. It was a nightmare for slow speed control, and there was no way you could travel faster. Why, oh why, do I insist on wearing full bike gear all the time? Mission successful anyway, cash withdrawn, partially cooler and re hydrated, I got on my way. I was in no condition to consider visiting the Mayan ruins of Copan, too hot and nowhere to store my bike gear; no way was I going to walk around with it!

A warning I'd had off a few people was San Pedro Sula; you can't avoid it, but don't stop are stay there. One in particular advised me to keep going, even if someone walked out in front of me; knock them down and keep going! It wasn't quite that bad, but I didn't fancy getting stuck there over night. The City centre looked nice, architecturally, the presence of police where-ever I looked made it feel a bit risky though. Some cities just aren't meant to be stayed in, and I don't need much for me to avoid them. Anyway, my focus was much further afield; I didn't think I'd make La Ceiba in one day, but it wouldn't be for the lack of trying.

From 4 pm I start looking for a place to stay, recently this has meant hotels. The intention is to be settled before dark, bike parked safely and me safely ensconced in a luxurious hotel; well a cheap dive anyway! I overshot the mark this time, I hit five and I'd passed all the road houses, next stop was Tela. It was nearly dark and I still had over 20 km to go, I hit town well after dark and just left the bike while I found myself a flee pit to sleep in. I'd promised myself a spot of luxury, that had to mean hot water; as none could provide that I went for the cheapest option, but without the woman included! Tela was meant to be a seaside resort, it was like Blackpool; without the illuminations, the fun fares, the abundance of restaurants or choice of bars.

However, pushing it that day meant only having to travel a short way to La Ceiba the next; just as well too. I thought finding a port wouldn't prove too hard for me, follow round the coast, you can't go wrong. OK, so if you do go wrong just ask! Yep, and get sent to the Airport; they tried that one twice. Luckily I found an Internet cafe, hey presto, a map and the port was reached in a jiffy. I couldn't believe it, I'd been heading to it when I realised I'd overshot the city by some way, and turned back. What a delight it was to reach the ferry, until they told me they couldn't get the bike on the ferry. Boy, wasn't it just my lucky day, a freight boat was about to leave; yes, they had room, for me and the bike! Phew!! So I arrived two hours before the punters on the ferry, got my bike off, found a hotel and was in a bar before the ferry was even in sight.

I felt relief at reaching Utila, but to be honest, it wasn't what I was looking for. The beaches look great on the approach, but they are almost non-existent, are far from private. If I was going to find a place to sun myself for the festivities, it would have to be somewhere else. And Jewel Cay was the answer, it still didn't have a beach; a private sundeck was the next best thing! The dive boat turning up each morning on our dock was an added bonus, as was finishing the dive and stepping straight into my room for a sluice off and change of clothes. But the squeezing in and out of a wet suit proved too much for my swim shorts, a good excuse to buy some more new clothes. And to bare my arse!! At least its a chance to show my tan, without my bits on display!

A new year, let's hope it can be a happier one

It would be wrong of me to call our celebration a non-event, we had fun, we played and drank. I done my damnedest to create havoc with my fire breathing, but the dive store simpley refused to ignite! Yet again we went out for a midnight snorkel, the phospherescence wasn't as spectacular as it had been previously, but still nice. Unlike Christmas, my mind was full of thoughts and memories of Cai. I feel fairly low after this, lost a lot of motivation. Maybe that is more down to the amount of alcohol drank, though last night was very limited. I missed not having everyone at home around, much more so than at Christmas. But I would be most unfair, to those I spent my new year with, to detract from our enjoyment. They were all lovely people, great company, and it is failure on my behalf to come out festivities feeling on a low ebb.

My time on Jewel Cay is over, I've done nearly a dozen dives, had my perfect Christmas of sun and seclusion; so now I must face my world again. I didn't want to start the mew year winging about things, so I bit my tongue and didn't make any points about my dives. The divemasters and other folk at Captain Morgan's have been great, it's a shame the dive sites were always picked with the new trainees in mind. It meant there was a lot of repetition for me, and no chance of diving to the extent of my qualifications and experience. This was frustrating, I think the organisation certainly favoured the new punters, even though they earned more from me than a new trainee. I didn't receive free accomadation either, so if coming over this way check up what deals you can get. Ensure the dive centre will cater to your needs, get you diving the sites and the level you want; not just fitted into everyone elses routine.

Now I again play a waiting game, for more bits, I hope it won't be very long. But the things we have no control over are the most frustrating, if you allow them to be. By getting this delivery sent ahead of me it's supposed to be less hassle, who knows, postal services leave a lot to be desired where ever you happen to be. Between Latin America and the US this problem seems wildly exagerated, and it's a problem from the US end. I swear if there is anything else of importance I need delivered, I will fly back to the states and fetch it in person.