Jan Gerben – Harley-Davidson flathead 1943 World Travel

Miranda, Colombia october 4th 2009

Sorry folks, translation will follow a.s.a.p.

jan gerben

Medellin, Colombia, september 21st 2009

‘What do you think of Colombia?’ asks the motorcycle cop at the Esso station. ‘Well the country is really, really beautiful as far as I’ve seen it, the people are open and friendly, so all good’. ‘Where to and from where?’. ‘Cartagena, to Medellin, via Cali to Quito, Ecuador’. He gives me a chance to just brabble on, which I do when I can, about the roadtrip, the bike, the wheather or now about Cartagena. I keep it positive. ‘Beautiful city but also a lot of street hassle at night’. ‘I can’t walk the streets at night without being asked what kind of drugs I want to buy’. I don’t particularly like that. The cop understands. i can’t tell him about Mick & Marcus, two Ozzies who were also on the catamaran from Panama to Cartagena. Walking with their backpacks from one hotel to another they got stopped by a police car and got searched. Unfortunately Mick had something on him. To the police station. Questioned and threatened to go to jail. Being accoused of possession leads to a quick trial on which you have to wait in between 6 to 8 weeks, in jail. The cop shows the handcuffs to put some theatre to his nonsense. After emptying their wallets (some odd 200 USD) and handing over goodies, iPod, mobile phone, their credit cads can stay where they are. They can go now, the cops are satisfied. Mick was an obvious target, blonde rasta hair, big red sunglasses, cowboy hat and above all, always a friendly smile. Similar happened to me in San Jose, When barhopping on my own, I used the same taxi driver to bring me from one to another. The barkeepers phone him. Waiting outside a club in a no to nice neighbourhood, from out of nowhere two cops show up. They don’t believe I don’t possess some drugs. Spread eagle to the wall, and again questioned. The just don’t want to believe it. The cab driver is waiting and they let me go.

After Cartgena we end up in Planeta Rica, a small town along the beautiful road to Medellin. A typical roadside place, trucks passing by all the time, some restaurants and for us a nice little hotel downtown. Next morning before I loeave and want to change shirt. I forgot the low ceiling and the fan, I hit it full. My left hand bleeds allover. Although it is only 2 meters to the bathroom, I keep my hand in the sink to let it coll off, the bathroom looks like a scene from Scarface. By motorcycle taxi (125cc single cilinder Suzuki) I go to a private hospital fo a speedy treatment. The doctor puts me on a brancard and sews my finger together, without sedation and loaded with pills (anti-biotics, painkillers, ant-swelling) I go back, Maria Louisa (eyes to drown in) the reception girl, acts like my private nurse, cleaning my hand two times a day. Not a good day for driving.

Cartagena de Indias, Colombia, september 14th 2009

Work in progress, landed in Cartagena, loads of stories to tell but short of time. For now just this short message. Tuesday will be going to the mountains, coca & coffee, to Medellin and from there on to Cali and the border with Equador, will take a few days.

Stories, pictures will follow, promise.

Just a very short update, arrived tuesday in Panama City, great ride, still on the road with Marcus, loads of rain in the mountains after San Jose, border crossing sunday just sweet. Met up downtown Panama with Tony and Andy (England, BMW GS), Mannfred (Germany, BMW GS), Marcus (Canada, Kawasaki KLR 650) and Wallis (Canada, Ural with sidecar). Wednesday we met Fritz, agreed he will load our bikes on his catamaran, Fritz the Cat on saturday. We sail on sunday from the Caribean, via San Blas to Cartegena, Colombia. Expect to arrive there on saturday

San Jose, Costa Rica, august 27th 2009

The second attempt to leave La Vida Loca is succesfull. The first one on sunday turns into a late night party, what else can I say, I like Jimbo’s parties. On mondaynight, despite good intentions, it gets late again but this time I don’t sleep in & we leave. Sweet memories swirl in my brain as I take Betsy for her final spin on the beach. As Marcus and me ride out of town it rains, just a little bit and that will be on and off during the day. On some unpaved road of about 15 miles I’m just happy it’s dry. We could reach San Jose before dark if we wanted but it doesn’t seem smart to me, everybody says the city is a traffic nightmare. So we sleep in Atenas, which is supposed to have world’s best climate, always between 17 and 37 degrees Celcius.

Next day we hit San Jose easily. Can’t be missed. Soon we loose our way in town, just no directions! I stop at a gassattion. The guys there can’t really help me, but a mecanic next door can. When we walk together out of his small but deep transmission shop, he almost jumps in the sky from joy seeing Betsy. You believe in coincidence? This guy owned a bike like mine when he lived in Texas. Blindfolded he can name and point all typical Harley flathead parts. He has a nice solution for our destiny for the day, hotel La Castilla, managed by Darren, a friend of Jimbo’s. He calls his buddy Johann who has a day off. Within half an hour he shows up on a 1966 Harley. It takes a small hour to ride up to the hotel. Next Johann (see me and Johann riding through the San Jose streets at YouTube, press on: Johann) directs me through motorcycle shops and H-D dealers. I find my oilfilter and buy the genuine heavy weight (single grade 60) oil, yihaa! When we are back at Dante’s shop to change the oil, he tells me that a lot of people showed up when we left his place on our bikes. The guys of the gassation where unanymous talking about Betsy and me, ‘man that guys’s gotta have either big balls or no brains’, they just couldn’t or wouldn’ believe I drove a 1943 motorcycle all the way from Alaska to Costa Rica.

The hotel is in the heart of the nightclub area. Ever since Nicaragua I’ve been hearing stories about La Rey in San Jose, Central America’s most famous brothel. In the evening Dave, one of the regulars of the hotelbar takes me on a cultural tour. From club to bar to club to bar, a beer at every joint, to La Rey to the bar the daughter of his girlfriend works as a bartender. Dave could be my father but he almost turns in to my father-in-law when I meet his ‘daughter’. I had to take a deep breath to leave. Going by cab we skip the transvestites, well, I couldn’t see it but the ‘experts’ tell me they are boys, but sure good-looking ones!

Friday going into the direction of Panama.