Jan 24

Written by: reh
1/24/2004

January 24, 7:00 AM, Saturday The Managua Best Western motel is directly across the boulevard from the airport. It consists of several hundred “bungalow” style rooms in a large fenced compound with the obligatory bars, restaurants, work-out room, etc. The rooms are filthy and the help, while outwardly pleasant, is not helpful. The only reason this place prospers is because of its proximity to the airport (you know what they say about location).

The super-bike races would be this evening. We had parted the previous evening saying we would meet around the restaurant during the morning to arrange plans for the evening bike races.

7:00 AM
I left a load of dirty laundry at the desk with the assurance that it would be back by 3:00.

9:30 AM
I met one of the riders and his wife and daughter at a patio-restaurant. He intended to spend the day shopping with his family. We determined that we would meet at the restaurant at 7:00 PM. I would follow them to the races, which would start at 8:00 PM.

I spent the day sitting by the pool drinking coffee, attending to the bike, re-packing the saddlebags, and generally relaxing around the compound.

The laundry was not ready at 3:00 PM. I was told it would be ready by 4:00. I instructed the attendant that she should have the laundry delivered by 4:00 PM even if it were not cleaned. At 4:30 PM, I returned to the room and the laundry, neatly folded and packaged, was on the bed. I busied myself packing things so I would be ready to follow the Costa Rican bikes, should they want to leave early the next morning. During the packing, I noticed I was missing a pair of jeans. I checked the room closer. I was also missing a knit shirt, my riding jacket, my spare helmet, and some tools (most of the tools were, presumably, with me at the bike during the incident). I reported the incident to the attendant who feigned concern and said someone from the staff would look into the loss and contact me. No one did.

Neither of the riders came to the restaurant between 6:00 and 7:00 PM. I left a note on the leader’s bike explaining that I must have misunderstood the time but would wait to hear from them in my room, which was 370. At about 9:00 PM, I put another note on the bike saying I was sorry for the mix-up but still wanted to follow the Costa Rican group back and requested that they call me, no matter how late.

I slept well with the false confidence that I would still follow the Costa Rican group across Nicaragua.

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