Ed Caspers famous and endearing Mayan, Honduras Tour

My second paying customer and another old friend from tours gone by, Ed Caspers needed some time off and two weeks seemed enough to ride from Atenas Costa Rica, through Nicaragua, and all of Honduras right up to the Guatemala border to a little town named Copan.  Cobble stone streets, quaint little restaurants and markets selling everything native.

Ed, an engeneer and sailor in the Merchant Marine...Solid Rider, too.

Our first stop after crossing into Nicaragua was San Juan Del Sour.  Ed wanted to spend a bit more in the area of accommodations.  We used the same books you would, and came up with Hotel Villa Isabella.  Not on the beach…two blocks away…and uphill?  Yeah but two blocks away and up hill (sound is a linear thing) is where the peace is.  It’s quiet and comfortable there.   Mike is a gringo and knows a bit about what people want…..a nice roomy hotel with lots to do…Internet, restaurant, ambiance and, well, Mike.  He’s not “too much” and will take you around and show you the town when he has time.  $75 including breakfast is pricey but still affordable.

On the other hand…see Paul’s (different Paul), Landmark Hotel.   It’s across from the beach, $30 a night and you can sit with a bottle of rum in your hand and watch the people stroll by.  One night I strolled down to say hi to Paul and met a friend of his, Jose Sandino.  Jose and I shared a bottle of rum and talked into the night.  Turns out his father or uncle was “the” Sandino who led the Sandinista’s back in the ’80s during that unfortunate war.   Since I didn’t agree with any side, it was refreshing to hear his views, not what you’d think.  I think what most impressed me was his knowledge of our forefathers and the letters they wrote to each other.   Well, I have another blog for such foolishness…

There’s an air of openness in Nicaragua.  People are out in the streets and the kids are playing and I see no one worrying about being robbed or molested.

In fact, anything you’ve read (or heard on sensation starved TV)  about traveling through Central America is way out of proportion to the real threat of theft or violence.  Petty theft exists everywhere in the US.  Why should we be surprised that it’s here, too?  Watch your things….right?  Perspective…    Yes, Latinos are different, as different as Spain is from England….and that’s a good thing.   Throw in the qualities of people who crossed the Bearing Straight a gazillion years ago and you have a pretty solid mix….we should pay attention….Aztec and Mayan blood is here.   It’s like riding fast on a pot holed back road.  The minute you focus on what could happen, bingo, it happens.  …. This trip is best done with curiosity…  be awake, the purpose of adventure..    the water’s hot but, it’s soooo cool once you get in….

I believe we stayed one night on our way up and three days on our way back.  But that’s another story…

On to Granada and a day or two in the Alhambra Hotel and walked all over town.  About this time Ed was beginning to suffer from an old injury to his neck and he was always happy to get off the bike.  We continued the trip but stopped often and early at the end of the day.  There were moments though, when we got off on some back roads and just enjoyed ourselves riding alone except for a mule or tiny pueblos with kids playing outside.

Thanks to a friend in Granada, we found a nice route around Managua and up the west side of Lago de Managua to Leon.   A bit of hot, dusty dirt road to higher elevation and cooler temperatures.  Leon was once the capital of Nicaragua, too.

The architecture is more that of Madrid then Seville and there’s a comfortable cosmopolitan life there worth visiting.  We liked it more because, for the one day “snap shot” we had, it seemed a path less traveled by tourists and for that reason seemed more authentic.  We stayed at the Hotel Austria and were treated nicely there.  Ed and I began the habit of taking a taxi ride at dusk every day and had the driver give us a random synopsis of the places we saw and any interesting history.     The next morning we were ready to put some miles on and got serious.  We enjoyed some of the most picturesque mountains and interesting back roads that day.  Ultimately, we arrived back on the Pan American highway and headed north once again.

INLAND, East, North East

After lunch in Esteli, we followed some dirt road east of the highway and spent the rest of the day exploring miles of beautiful back country.  We made decisions at forks and spoke with people from a very old culture.  No discos, no cars to speak of…just women washing clothes in a river, a donkey with big plastic cans, and a ten year boy on top.

Sometimes there's mixed feelings...

We rode on till we came out to a town called Jinotega and spent the night there.  This was Contra country and heavy fighting took place here and in the surrounding mountains.  This, area, too, is still mined in places…but not in the bars or hotels so we were safe… We saw signs for the route Sandino took on his epic march north.

It’s sad to see what war does and how completely each side believes in it’s cause.  Civil war is worst kind of war…  In those first heroic charges, it’s easy to forget they’re trampling through their own families…their own wives and children ground to a weariness and loss of heart that goes on till the money runs out.  Then there is peace.

There’s Peace there today.  It’s a hard life in Nicaragua but  people manage.  They do it quietly, they work hard and they play just as hard.  There’s a sense of pride and “can do” about them that makes them one of my favorite people.

After finding gas, breakfast and taking Ed for an unplanned ride through town as I got my bearings, we continued north and ultimately found our way to the border of Honduras in Los Manos and crossed in a couple hours.  A short ride to Danli and Hotel Mario Chavez.

A taste of motorcycling through Central America

Understand, one could spend weeks in each of these towns and learn the history and meet people who might have an effect on your life.  Motorcycle touring, at least the way we (can afford to), do it, is more that of sampling a buffet on your way to enjoying the prime reason for being there…to ride a KTM motorcycle through Central America.

We liked this little town and it was so strategically placed near the border, that we stayed there twice.

Hotel Mario Chavez, Danli, Honduras

We decided to get a move on and cover some ground.  Ed’s neck was cutting into his enjoyment of the ride and we had to stop often for him to rest.  He thought he’d be all right but it would be best to get up to Copan and see the Mayan Ruins while he still had the desire to ride.   We rode through the City of Tegucigalpa without stopping till we got to the other side.  We’d been warned it was not a safe town but we met some Brits later on who thought it was a great place.  I’m constantly reminded of the people who tell me not to go into Mexico or down through Central America because of the dangers there.  After eleven years of doing this, and having friends in other motorcycle tour companies down here, with even more time than me, I haven’t heard of one verifiable instance of armed robbery or violence on a tour.  Petty theft exists anywhere if you’re foolish enough to leave a back pack or camera alone on a table or beach, but even then I doubt it’s as bad as Miami beach or other tourists places in the states.

Sometimes the land itself morns it's past

Central America's history is worn on the outside, so you can see it.

….so don’t let worrisome grandmothers or scar-die-pants co-workers talk you out of a good time.  I have a friend who’s father was a general in the Army.  His dad told him that, on average, when troops begin to take on twenty percent casualty, they’ll turn and run.  Twenty percent…that’s sixty million people in the United States….I think I’ll stay where the fun is…

The day we spent on the the Pan Am and made some time,  we stayed in Agua Azul  on Lago de Yojoa.

People understand wanting your bike close to you.

It’s roughly half way through the country and one of the places in Central America that bring me back to Delaware in the ’50′s.

Where old Land Cruisers go to die...

I believe Ric discovered this while cheating with his Lonely Planet Central American Guide book.

The hotel, Hotel Agua Azul, is a small group of cabinas on the lake.  We parked our bikes on our porch and relaxed from the ride.  There’s a bar and restaurant…

Just an ongoing show...sun up, sun down

……and no reason to leave.  Just a quiet little place on the lake.

So, as I might have been saying…we left the next morning and headed north east to San Pedro Sula…not anything to write home about but it seems I keep passing through there.  We resolved to miss it on the way home, and did have an adventure doing it.

But mostly, we just burned highway.  The first thirty miles or more was just some beautiful riding…in the cool morning with the light right….yes this is why we ride and why we’re willing to suffer a hundred miles of desert for just for the possibility of fun, sweepy stuff.   This is what the tour is about…serious good riding with little or no interference.   In Central America,  there’s so much good riding it’d worth it if they really were shooting at us.

I must have ten good pictures of this place, Agua Azul, but there’s only so much text to wrap around so I’ll put one more in and go on to Copan….

As we put in saddle time running up the highway, we came upon a local Indigenous fellow by the side of the road.  He had his ear to his engine and was twisting the throttle with little effect to the sound of the engine.  Ed and I peeked around the carburetor and fuel tap and gas tank…  Surprised at not finding anything obvious, (we’re both mechanics), we stood back and pondered …  It was Ed who noticed there was little exhaust coming out of the bike and there was this ting-gy- rattley sound around the muffler.

View From the Breakfast table

I knew I’d seen this problem before but it wasn’t till Ed mentioned there must be something blocking the exhaust, that it sunk in.  I said to the guy, “we’re going to make a hole in your muffler…”  At first he thought we were having a translation problem…  I repeated myself in my clearest Spanish and explained why he had this problem….  after all, this was a pretty new bike and one in ten thousand with a stock muffler.   But he wasn’t buying it.   The three of us kicked the dirt and looked at the ground, the sky and the bike.  “well?”  I said.  He began with the carburetor again….we smiled and began to say goodbye.

“Ya ya, hagalo!” says he….I pulled my trusty chisel from my tool kit while Ed found a three pound rock.  Ready to make the hole, I took a peek at this poor Indian’s face.  Dark with doubt, unhappy with the prognosis, he nodded….  WHAM!  Wham, wham, wham!  The corner of my chisel began to make a triangle sized hole.   The engine was still running and began to breathe a little easier.  Three or four more licks and he had a nice little gash there…  he twisted the gash….gas… and the engine began to rise in RPM.  Smiles all around, Whack whack whack….the gash got bigger and the engine sounded right purty.  Whiiiiing! whiiiiing!  whiiiing!!!  said the little motor…  Our friend thanked us profusely and like the Lone Ranger and Tonto, we mounted up and rode off into that hot sultry desert day.

Sometime later we stopped for gas and a snack.  Presently, we saw him ride by, hunched into the wind, poncho flaying in the breeze.  Gassed and watered, we settled back on the highway and soon passed him again.  I waved and gave him the thumbs up in a kind of questioning way…back came a thumbs up, affirming things were good in little moto land.  Ed and I congratulated each other many times that night.   I’ll have to buy my own helmet cam…

At last we arrived in Copan, Honduras.  It was only a few miles to Guatemala now but we’d decided to make Copan our northernmost point.  When we next rode our bikes, we’d be going south again, and home.

This is how almost everything is carried

We had time on Ed’s tour .  This was a two week ride and it left us room to spend extra nights if we liked.  I think we spent three days here.  Ed needed it and took massages for his neck when he could.  It was on the second day that we went to see the ruins.

Copan is one of the largest of Mayan sites, and surely one of the best and most preserved.  I took twenty or thirty pictures but even the best of them only show a kind of reflection of what was something very different indeed.

We had a guide who spoke very good English and was knowledgeable about Mayan history.   Many of us believed they were here…poof….and they were gone.

This indigenous woman, spoke through her heart. Taught herself English on her own, and made friends with us.

Foolish me, our guide has always been Mayan; she never left.  Left only as in “changed into indigenous people”, No one in Central America likes the term, “Indian”… being fully aware they aren’t from India.  The history of how they fell into disorder and lost their way is worth listening to.  After all, what will they say about us in a generation or two?

She took our pictures…

Ed and me

and explained to us the meaning of the Lempira, which is the money they use.  Lempira was  a great and noble king.  When the Spaniards came, he fought them to a standstill.  They invited Lempira to a talk, but instead, they murdered him under truce.  Later, on the way home, we rode through the town of Gracias Lempira…or Thank You Lempira [for fighting those devils to the end].  Somehow it’s evident the Spaniards won.

But, I’m out of order there.  Here’s a couple photos of the ruins..

This next photo is of a Stadium of sorts, where games were played, For the Gods and for their very lives.  About eight years ago when I was there, I was told that Royalty played, aiming a sort of ball up to hit a vertical kind of plate.  They could only use hips, elbows and ….oh..I forget but no hands or knees or heads…to get a score.  It was a great honor to win.

Grisly Sport field...and the picture on the 100 Lempira Note

Such an honor was not wasted, and the winners were sent to see God right away.  Some clever ways of separating the head from the body and  pedestals to drain the blood, as the person of honor kept his lips moving in prayer as long after decapitation as possible.  The good news was they got to eat magic mushrooms before, so they could get into the trip.  Personally I like that I lived through the ’60s…  But now the story has changed, and it was prisoners, not royalty who spilt their blood and spoke to God.  …no mushrooms either I’d guess….

Most of the statues and pyramids we saw were way too serious for a couple guys on bikes.  Still this one took my fancy.

The Mambo in more serious times...

Then there were the underground pyramids.  What is above, is also below.   And they built it below, yes, the pyramids.  It cost a little extra but it was worth it just to see.  Here’s one of the many.  I figure if I only show you one or two, you’ll take my tour to see the rest.

Down in the Pyramid, Where Life Doesn't Go On

Time was still with us but we knew we needed to head south and maybe get some beach time again.  Ed felt better about his neck and wanted to take it slow and enjoy the ride.  This is the point where we decided to eliminate the loop to San Pedro Sula.  It was way out of the way and boring highway to boot.

So we got out and down the road as far as La Entrada and hooked a hard right.  From here, I must say, we had an adventuresome trip with no real idea where we were going except south and generally headed to each new pueblo…Gracias Lempira, ran out of paved road and wondered if we’d be all right up there in the mountains if we didn’t find gas or a place to stay.

What looked like a short ride on the map was not so short and there were all these forks in the road with no signs.  I took my chances and asked the few people I found.  Damn the cost, I’ve ordered a helmet cam so days like this won’t be lost again.  Hot, dusty and tired, we arrived in La Esperanza, a poor sweet town with a history I can only imagine.  We were told the best hotels were out of town, so we rode to La Paz, where they told us our best bet was Comayagua on the Pan American Highway.  Late, almost dark, we found a hotel and a room that was just okay.  There we spent a quiet night and rested like the dead.

The next morning, we breakfasted in a modern, well equipped and well guarded supermarket; the best restaurant in town, and decided to make a mission of getting back to Nicaragua for some R&R.  This long story shortened as the miles clicked by on the Pan Am highway.  We spent the night again in Danli, crossed into Nicaragua and kept honking till we came upon a good hotel in Esteli.  Here we enjoyed high speed internet and a good night’s sleep.

The view is tremendous from a volcano

Up in the morning and out into lowland desert heat.  Buffeted by blustering, blistering winds, we hunched down and made the miles.  I knew Ed was suffering but he hung in there.  Talk about a pain in the neck… we took breaks…we rode and it seemed like we’d never get to Masaya but you know, we did.  That great gash in the earth called the Masaya Volcano.

The Gash that killed Elvis...

It’d been years since I’d been there and I got us lost but you know, people can point you to a volcano…   I’m afraid the pictures I took don’t do it justice but that’s yet another reason for you to take my tour.   There’s funny story’s from friends about rocks being lobbed out of the creator onto tour buses parked in the lot.  There are signs that say to spend twenty minutes and leave!  During this twenty minutes, if the wind is right…or wrong, you can smell sulfur and it’s easy to believe the devil is down there mixing up a batch just for you.

The Yin Yang of Volcanoes; the Beauty and the Mofugly

A good place for a Cross

But I figure a motorcycle is a small target and sulfur …well, as often as I go there, the odds are in my favor.  Is it deep?  Find a good size rock and work your arm up so you can get it into the center….now listen ….hear anything?  I didn’t  ether.

On my tippy toes, I'd come up to a third of this pitched rock

Many volcanoes have people living around them.  Talk about tempting fate!  … long term Russian Roulette played with fiery holes in the earth.

Central America pushed off the ocean floor some five million years ago.  Pretty young compared to say, the Appalachian Mountains.  Young indeed, complete with zits popping up with gaseous regularity…. a land, still in the making.  Living here is interesting, and rewarding, you should see…

….and on to Granada, Nicaragua.  Been there, done that…easy to say but each time there’s more to see and folks who’ve been living there for centuries and Gringos who only arrived a few years ago, bought property and still live there.  Of course there are the three day’ers who come up from Costa Rica to get their passport stamped, spend seventy two hours there and go home for another three months.   Beats flying to the states and the expenses incurred.  Plus, Nicaragua has that Voodoo Commie thing going on.  I know this isn’t the place, but really, I don’t see any difference between one government in control over another.  What are they controlling?  Us, right?   Sitting with Paul (other Paul) in his hotel, we watched a bunch of Gringo tourist kids lofting a solders AK47 for photo ops.  You too, can get your pictures taken.  It’s safe, don’t be a sissy…come out and play.

How you gonna know...if you don't go...?

Ed and I arrived in San Juan del Sol again and Ed was determined to stay in a nice place.  We consulted our guide books and knocked on three doors.  The third was perfect, not too hot or too cold….as I said earlier, Hotel Villa Isabella was cool and we had three wonderful days there.

Eco Travel is alive and well in Central America

Mike showed us some special places and sent us on great rides that took us along beach fronts and through country dirt roads.

I believe this is the last photo I took before heading for the Costa Rican border and home.  Ed was burning from the sun and we kept to the shadows as best we could.  Still, I needed this picture of a boat near the sea and all that blue sky above…

The last Picture