Jan Gerben – Harley-Davidson flathead 1943 World Travel

Granada, Nicaragua, may 22th 2009,

Sorry folks for the delay in my blog messages. Life is exhausting here, the heat is intense. So fixing the bike takes a lot of time. Finally released from Coca-Coco, I go and look for a better mecanic. I search all over in the barrios of Granada, barrios are the suburbs where the ´poor & dirty´ live and those who can just make ends meet, no paved roads, just animals and houses in variety of OK to plate cabins. No problem for me in daytime, in the night a no go-area because of drunks (cheap home brew liquor, last year in one month 144 dead due to bad liquor) or junkies (glue sniffers). I don´t find a suitable mecanic. I do find the electro guy who helped Coco and so managed to screw up my part. He is an expert in wind fans by looking at his ´shop´, but not capable for my part. In the end, Jimmy Three Fingers brings about the solution. He goes to the States for a few days to visit his parents. I find a part in Ohio (Flatland Motorcycles, thank you for excellent service) and they manage to get it in time in Florida. With the new part I rebuilt the generator myself. Anything that can go wrong, goes wrong. Missing screws, wires are broken and the new part is just somewhat longer than the old one. Finally, on last saturday I have it all working. Just in time for a testride to Leon (picture) and beach. The ride from Leon to the beach is a hell ride, the signs said there would be construction, it turned out they broke away the whole road, so nothing but sand and lots, loads of rocks, for 15 miles! In the night it rains, so back through mud and rocks. The bike behaves perfect, my generator charges, life is good!

Coming days I will be preparing the bike for the next stage (rain season will start one of these days)and there probably will be a ´ET go home´-party, Nica-gringo humour: ET= Euro Trash go home-party. I wish I could tell all the jokes when I go on my bicycle allover town, by the way the gringo love my stories but love even more to make fun of me, I don´t mind.

For the whole story, please use the translation services on the Dutch text. I can´t wait to find the time to do you folks justice and make a proper full translation, but until then I really am sorry.

Granada, Nicaragua, may 5th

Waving me off in Granada takes a few days. Starting on wednesday at the motorcycle club, friday with Wayne eating fish with little teeth from the sweet water lake, going over in a big party at saturday night at Jimmy’s restaurant. He plays sixties, rock ‘n roll & country. A variety of people show up, I seemed to have gathered quite a bizarre collection of Gringo’s, Nica-Gringo’s & Nica’s in the few weeks that I stayed here. The whole human spectre is present, a fitting statement says: Nicaragua, land of the wanted & unwanted. On sunday Jimmy, Brian and myself go to the Hippica in San Marcos. The whole town is closed for th annual horse parade. The motorcycle club has a deal with one of the restaurants, if we show up on our bikes and park them in front, we have free food & drinks all day long. Great! In the evening we terurn, but it takes time. Brian’s light goes down, Jimmy’s rear wheel sprocket turns loose and in the dark we wrench with the light of some mobile phones, my bike falls over on the wind. When we finally enter Granada my generator goes down. This is the third time since the start of this roadtrip in Alaska. There are two days left before my import permit for the bike expires!

On monday I start with my permit. With Brian I hop onto the bus to Managua. From the offices of Immigracion, Policia Transito Nacional (national traffic police) we end up with Aduana (customs). On tuesday I have to come back. On the appointed time they are closed! Later I learn that it is custom to show up two hours in advance. On wednesday I finally receive my permit. Time for the bike.

Following advice I go to a local mecanic who wrenches on Harley’s. We make a deal and start working. As expected my armature within the generator broke down. Coco, the mecanic who looks like if he could be Maradona’s twin brother, needs more money to get the armature rewinded. Thursday everything will be fixed. Thursday turns into friday, turns into saturday turns into monday. In the weekend I hear stories about Coco’s cocaine habits. On tuesday more money is needed. To make matters worse Coco’s lying about doing tests etcetera when I notice that they just fucked up my armature, so no tests possible. Nighttime I make my decision. I want my bike out. But to say it rudely, he has got me by the balls. My bike and parts are in his dirt floor shop. Now it’s my turn to lie. I make up a story about commitments next week in Panama and I manage to get the bike out. Then Coco disappears and I don’t have my parts. His helpers (12 and 7 years old, no school for them!) don’t know where the parts are. We look all over. I even search in his bedroom (big word for a bed and giant tv screen in a corner of the shop separated by curtains). Nothing. Eventually Coco shows up again. With my parts. He wants a lot of money for his work. We negotiate and I can leave. But I am worse off than before, they screwed up my armature!!!

Granada, Nicaragua, april 14th 2009

Still in Nicaragua. The week before Easter is not a good week to travel since the entire country has a week off and runs to the coast or the lakes. I decided to go to the mountains. Away from craziness and (over-)loads of people. Good choice. Took a local friend along on the back of my bike and went north. In the mountains it´s somewhat cooler, especially at night. Great riding, roads are almost all excellent. The only worry was finding a restaurant that´s open.

It was also great to be on the road again. In my head there´s a lot of confusion going on. the things I experience and see over here are so totally different from my Western mindset that my moral compass needs some calibrating. Prostitution, drug dealing, abuse of woman and children, poverty, it´s all out here to see. Maybe beacause I am not a passerby that I experience it, but still, I don´t like it, hate it, but is it wrong? That used to be an easy question but over here the (moral) lines between good & bad are not easy to draw. Is prostitution wrong when you can feed your kids by doing that because there are no jobs and you got your first kid at 17 or 18 beacause the church dictates a strict anti anti-conception policy and the father has moved on in true all present macho-style to another party & girlfriend? There are a lot of different questions going on in my head on these kind of problems. Next days I will either flee for them by going on the road down south or chew on it some more and calibrate my moral compass again.

For the full text please use Google Translator on the Dutch text, thanks.

I have a hard time finding a hotel in Granada, no place to park my bike properly, or too expensive or just plain unfriendly. I almost decided to got to Managua, it´s still early so I gan get there in daylight, as I see a Harley parked in one of the small streets opposite to a hotel. The girl at the reception assures me of a good parking spot and the room is fine.

In the evening I meet the guy who owns the hotel and Harley. ´Jimmy three fingers´ is an entrepeneur pur sang and I inmediately warm up to him. There are 37 Harley´s in Nicaragua and number 38 and it´s owner are killed a few weeks ago on one of the roundabouts in Managua. Jimmy organises a remembrance evening for the guy, that means I just can´t leave before that date.

At the day of the remembrance the evening is called off due to an upcoming Harley weekend in Guatamala where 8 riders are headed for. So we decide to hit town, with the bikes. Well, it sure turned out to become an unforgettable evening. After a few drinks in one of the best bar´s I´ve seen since Oakland, Zooms bar, we go down to the lake. In the old ´complexo turistico´ it´s quite in the open air discotheque. Jimmy drops me at a table with 5 gorgeous ladies after an introduction and donation of a family size beer bottle. I love it, but honestly I´m tired and with just one drink too much it´s better to go home, I think. ´All right´. Coming from the washroom I notice there´s a fight going on between my table ladies. I manage to get them out of each others hair (amongst other body parts) and walk up to my bike. Jimmy is already out there. Betsy won´t start. One of the spark plug cables turns out to be loose. An easy fix, Betsy starts inmediately and I leave first. At the end of the street I still don´t see Jimmy. Even after counting to 10 he´s still not at my back, so I go back. Upon returning I see Jimmy trying to unknot an even bigger group of ladies who are assembled, fighting, around his bike. I go over, turn my bike and I see out of the corner of my eye one of the ladies crawling under a pile of fighting ladies, running towards me and she just jumps on my back fender. I hit it and this time Jimmy is right behind me. At the end of the street we decide we just can´t leave the girl. So we go to our own place and have some more drinks. It is already light when it is obvious our lady of the night just wants money. Since I took her along, I have to pay which means we manage to get her into a cab and pay the ticket. To Jimmy this whole scene reminds him of a movie in which Martin Sheen declares when he´s interrogated on sexual adventures, ´I paid her to leave´. What a great line to end the evening!

Esteli, Nicaragua, 23 march 2009

I leave San Salvador with a tear in my eye. In just a few days I got accustomed to this bizar city. The people I met, Walter whom I teached counting in German so he could phone his brother his cellphone number in German, Mirna (‘la Bonita’) of my hotel who takes care of me in daytime sending me to various great destinations (‘puerte de diablo’), the security guys who take care of the bike day & night and who are just nice guys. It is in El Salvador where the best question about the bike so far is posted: ‘is this the bike in the old days of the president of the US?’. He was sure, he had seen it in the movies and on tv.

The El Salvador customs is easy. Just an exit stamp and I can go on, it´s almost 4 ´0 clock. I decide to use one of the locals as a helper (´tramitadore’). My passport is OK. I am already on the Honduras side and have a lot of trouble with a few drunks, junks and beggars. Then the situation changes for the worse. The customs guy sees a problem with the papers for the bike. ‘Problemo, problemo’. The year of manafacture is incorrect on the El Salvador form (by treaty the bike travels on the same type of form from one Central American country to the other). The year of manufacture they filled in is 1954, which is the date the bike got it´s civil registration after being in the Dutch army since 1946 (and being in Canadian army service since 1943). That year is also on my papers. I try to make it clear but to no avail. Then he spots some oil on my bike. ‘What´s this´he asks, ‘is this oil?’ and he looks as if the Exxon Valdez just came by. ‘Problemo for inspection’. Review with collegues is reguired. This is where the bingo starts. After review for quite some time it is decided that if I pay some dollars they´ll let me go. ‘OK’. The formal payments have to be made at the bank office. BINGO. The bank just closed because it´s 5 ‘o clock. ‘Opens on monday’… After 70 dollars for the bike and 20 dollars for my passport in bribes I can go. I get a permit for just 3 days because of the so called problems. Welcome in Honduras.

On the road again I feel as in a Mad Max movie. Fires next to the road, shacks, animals, some people. In the first real town the hotel is fully booked, with some luck I find a room in a convention center.

Next day the bike gives me headache. In the blazing heat it stops time after time just after some miles. After a short prayer and some work the bike starts and keeps going.

Leaving Honduras is easy and with the Nicaraguan helper I set a fixed proce. For 39 dollars of which 20 as a bribe I am within an hour in Nicaragua!

For all the dirty & nasty details of this story please use Google Translator on the Dutch text. Thanks!