Jan 22

Written by: reh
1/22/2004

January 22, 2004, 6:30 AM, Thursday (I think) I didn’t sleep too well last night. John’s observation and advice didn’t go down well. It didn’t fit with my observations either.

Josi and Tony guided me to the San Salvador Holiday Inn where I got a room. Josi is a cook in California. He has been there for 25 years and comes back about twice a year to help his mother and sister maintain the home-place. He needed a pickup for a few days. Day rental rates are half as much as a week rate. He said that if I were willing to rent a pickup for a week, he would agree to haul me, and the bike, to the Nicaraguan border. He would stay with me until I was in Nicaragua (that’s two crossings), whether it took one day or more.

An aside: I thought I needed Spanish so I could get directions, order food, etc. Not so, some finger pointing and jesters are sufficient. Fluent Spanish is needed to get past border crossing clerks.

Josi and his friend called several dealers until a deal was made. We went to the lot. The pickup was a four door with a short bed. My bike fit in with the back tire on the tailgate. We scheduled to leave 6:30 AM the next morning. They left.

I went to a bank to draw $1,000 from my Master Card as I was almost out of cash. The account was closed down! Over the next four hours, I was taxied from the bank (where they cannot make out-of-country calls) to the hotel trying to get money released. It seemed that the MC computer saw my account scattering money across Central America, which is an unusual occurrence for my account. Try being at a hotel without enough money to pay for the room and find out that your account is closed! It was not a good morning.

During my chasing around for money, a young hotel clerk that had heard the pickup arrangement, asked how long I had known the men. I said “Not long”. He said, “They won’t be back.” I replied “Yes they will”. The clerk was young. I hoped that my many more years of dealing with people had given me enough insight to make correct calls.

By now, the backfiring of the Guzzi had become a little more noticeable. If it was from burnt valves, they would simply gradually get worse, but hauling the bike across half of El Salvador and all of Honduras would save some wear and, right then, I needed every advantage I could get.

Every store, every business, every bank has an armed guard. Most have one outside and one inside. The weapon of choice for outside security is a pump shotgun with a pistol grip slung over the shoulder and held much like one holds a guitar. The weapon of choice for inside is a 9 mm automatic pistol. At first, I felt really secure. Then, I started wondering why all this artillery was necessary.

I tried to rest, but rest didn’t come easy.

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