When I got through Nicaragua I had a hard time comprehending what had just occurred. Looking back it doesn’t feel real. I was angry, confused, sad, scared, happy, I felt all the emotions within that short 24 hour period.
Sitting in my hotel room in Libera, Costa Rica I talked through a conversation with myself. I role-played tying to recount my experience to someone unfamiliar with the situation and what I would say. Arriving at mental gymnastics defending and justifying, not attempting to do anything.
“What could I do? I’m just one guy, it’s the fault of the powers that be!”.
Realizing that I could complain all I wanted about no one caring but realizing, I didn’t really care if I didn’t at least attempt something.
I needed a response if someone would call me on it, cause I’d call myself on it in all my perfect world ideological wisdom.
Trying to tackle the problem logically, I googled Nicaragua and looked at the authors of articles. Stack ranking them on content, bias, relevance, and date. The big new agencies (CNN, BBC, Al Jezeera) hadn’t talked about it in while.
Overall, there wasn’t much on the subject. Then I saw an article that explained the history of how Nicaragua arrived at their current state of affairs.
The article was unlike the others and reading it I could feel passion for the subject at hand. It was written by Christopher Dickey and Bianca Jagger.
Looking at their respective profiles. Christopher had written a few books and was the World News Editor of the Daily Beast. Bianca runs a human rights foundation and was once married to Mick Jagger.
Alright, a world renowned author and the ex-wife of an international rockstar. Little intimidating but let’s give it a shot.
There was an email address listed for Christopher and I sent him a message before bed. Offering my videos as a way to help spread the word about the situation. Falling into an exhausted deep sleep with my conscience at rest.
Expecting no response and rationalizing the email was probably monitored by some intern, the message would go unanswered - and that to be the end of it.
At least I tried.
I’ve never known someone to get something published. I keep this blog for personal reasons and for cerebral exercise. I failed every English class I took and my younger sister was proof reading my college papers when she was in high-school.
I’m not a writer I’m just recording my experiences and attempting to capture moments to look back on in the future. Something to reference when my future kid calls me out for being lame. But as strangely as it happens, I am glad I did, because it acted as great practice.
In the morning I had a message in my inbox. Christopher was in Paris and while he was interested in the videos he was more interested in my words and story. Instructing me to craft a longer email detailing the ride. To capture the impact on my senses and agreed the story needed to be told more than once.
- What -
Rubbing my eyes in my morning delirium, rereading the message, I ask myself again: - What -
This doesn’t add up. So I google him, thinking, no-one who was real would reply to me like that. Quickly I see he is the real deal. Covering the conflict in Nicaragua for decades it’s clear we have found common ground on a passion of his.
All I wanted to do in Costa Rica was get drunk at the beach, now I have work to do; and am thrilled about it.
After a short ride to my next destination I get writing. Late Saturday evening I send over my writing. It’s way longer than an email and starts when I left Guatemala. I send everything with a disclaimer; I am not a writer.
The next day (Sunday) I receive a message from Christopher stating he is looking for a place to publish it. Using a shared google doc we trim, edit, and put the final touches on the article. I upload a series of images and videos to my instagram which his media team imbeds into the article.
Monday morning at 5am I receive a message from him stating that the story is live.
- What -
Sure enough there I am on the front page and first article within the world news section.
My face next to Trump and Kim Jong-Un. Number one google search result out of 353 million for Nicaragua. My article first, in front of every major news outlet.
I didn’t believe it until I saw it. I was listed as the author complete with linked author bio page. Completely surreal as if I was watching from the sidelines.
Accompanying the feeling of accomplishment was the feeling of fear. Fear of offending or portraying the conflict I really know nothing about in the wrong light. Fear of trolls, fear that my name and face were out there.
Then the news started to spread and the messages came in. Messages from friends and family congratulating me. My instagram followers doubled and messages from Nicaraguans came flooding in. An entertainment agent contacted me about the story and my imagination tried to keep up with this strange 15 mins of fame.
I didn’t receive a single message from Nicaraguans that was negative or condemning in anyway. They all thanked me for sharing my story and wished me well. Happy I had made it through safely and for portraying their fellow countrymen in a positive light. Surely saddened by the international response to their crisis but thankful that some news of their situation had reached the western world.
That felt good, really good, felt amazing. I had felt that I had actually done something good; contributing to something bigger than myself. It didn’t cost me anything besides my time. The only real resource we have.
On the other side of the messages there was some hate and negative comments which were expected. Messages containing name calling, questioning my motives, and were overall unproductive.
While I didn’t respond, I was surprised at my impulse to fight them and correct their judgement. Not one single negative message was from a Nicaraguan or someone who was invested in the conflict. And I found solace in that demographic.
Tracking the article I saw it reposted on different blogs and social media platforms. Interested in how it was interpreted.
Most interestingly I saw it shared on an immigration discussion. Attempting to invoke empathy for those leaving dangerous situations in their home countries and seeking asylum by crossing into America illegally.
My article is currently the only first hand account of the situation in Nicaragua and the only third party authored article who has no involvement in the situation.
https://www.thedailybeast.com/my-nicaragua-motorcycle-diary-racing-through-a-revolution
Part of the process of publishing the article was writing a biography about myself, an “About the Author”.
I recalled the last book I wrote in 5th grade about someone with a metal plate in their head receiving a warning about an asteroid. If I remember correctly, that “About the Author” section contained information about my dog and sports I was riding the bench in.
How do you write about yourself? Where do you start? What do you include? And what aspects are skewed by your perception and inner monologue?
I’ve written plenty of resumes but found it more difficult to compile an elevator pitch about my life.
Biographies don’t include many quantifiable metics. Sure maybe number of kids, wives, and whether or not you were a billionaire. But biographies are about milestones unique to the person that make them interesting.
I was left wondering ‘what have I done?’ and in this situation, what is relatable and interesting to someone who’s never met me.
I gave it a crack and with the editors help we created something that worked for print. The question is now in the front of my mind and I’m not happy with my answer yet.
Drawing parallels between a biography and an obituary answering the question of “How did I spend my time?” “How did I spend my life?” However long or short it was.
Can’t say I am closer to a completed biography but have set a goal for the remaining years of my life. I want to die long from now with a life fulfilled; defined by leaving without any regrets. It’s a bold challenge and one I think worthy of living and attempting.
One that does not rely solely on quantifiable metrics and one that does not rely on the approval of others. It is purely a conversation with yourself and one only you know the answer.
After the commotion settled down I finally had a chance to relax on the pacific coast of Costa Rica. Days were spent at the beach enjoying the sun and surfing coupled with nights spent partying with new friends from around the world.
Surfing is awesome and my tan looked great. Living easy on the beach the previous week seemed unfathomable.
Towards the end of the week a friend of mine from home was in town and came down to visit. We arrived at the AirBnb at the same time and looked as if we had traveled from different worlds.
Me in a motorcycle suit covered in mud, him in business casual coming from a meeting. After greeting each other, him stating “man, you smell like shit”. Yes I do old friend, I am well aware.
The juxtaposition of our lives glaringly obvious to each other and any onlooker. But it was great to spend a few days together and enjoyed his company.
His packed schedule of conference calls reminded me of how I used to spend my days and how much I don’t miss it.
Once leaving the beach, arriving in the rainforests of Costa Rica. Hiking through the national parks on a safari searching for exotic animals and reptiles. Spotting the ones that made the area famous and seeing ones I didn’t know existed. Learning about the natural habitat of air-plants and capping it off with feeding and petting a sloth. Checking off a personal bucket-list item.
Calculating the distance of my journey I realized that I had underestimated it significantly. I needed an oil filter ASAP and decided to venture into San Jose to the only Kawasaki dealer south of Northern Mexico. Quickly getting me what I needed I was back on the road.
The next few days in San Jose were unexpected but welcomed. Upon arriving at the hostel parking lot I spotted a few overland rigs, the first of the journey. Nice!
As I am creeping around a particularly large and impressive truck, a voice in the darkness asked if I wanted a tour. It’s owned by a retired American couple spending a few years heading south.
We spend the evening swapping stories and discussing our respective machines. We had actually already met before, online, and she recognized my bike. Small world.
I didn’t have any plans for San Jose and after completing the bike maintenance, my todo list was complete.
Through a strange series of events while purchasing a dog crate; the Costa Rican news was now doing a story highlighting their journey and asked if I wanted to be apart of it. Filming starting at noon the next day.
That evening I received a message on instagram from a Costa Rican guy who ran a motorcycle blog. Offering to take me on a ride and do an interview at some point over the next few days.
WhatsApp groups are huge in Central and South America and my Nicaraguan article had made the rounds. He recognized me while commuting on the bus and snapped a picture of me. After posting to one of the groups they quickly found my instagram and sent me a message.
In the morning I got my haircut in preparation for the interview and finalized details for the ride the following day.
Promptly at noon the news van arrived with one of their reporters. The story was primarily about the couple but I had a short feature which I was thrilled with.
After a few hours of filming and after the reporter drew a caricature of me on the tank and it was finished. I didn’t really understand the questions nor what was happening but nonetheless a really neat experience.
That evening I packed my bags in preparation of an early start the following morning. My new motorcycle friends were going to escort me to my next destination along the coast. The plan was to ride, take some photos, and do a short interview about my trip.
Four of us arrived at the discussed location and everyone was incredibly nice. Me being a bit taken back and flattered that anyone, let alone people who heard about me on the internet, would want to spend their day with me.
They run a user experience based motorcycle blog. Driving marketing for the companies who provide bikes for them to ride.
The idea being, give us the bikes, we ride them and showcase them in articles, potential buyers read about the experience, which drives sales. It’s a long game but one that makes sense in the social first world and they have made work.
Kawasaki gave them two new motorcycles in order to ride with me and they picked up the tab on any expenses.
Throughout the day we got a chance to speak more about their goals and how the situation came to fruition. Telling me that my bike and journey has gotten a lot of questions in the community.
Their goal is to get more Costa Ricans riding in Costa Rica and eventually more Central Americans active in the community.
Frustrated at the excuses used be people for why they are not going out and having adventures. Citing the need for a big expensive motorcycle and professional sponsorships.
Both of which are out of reach for the normal rider. As well as common responses to why people are not ‘following their dream ride’.
Sharing that I am the example he was looking for to show both are unnecessary. That you can have an amazing experience that takes you around the world and it is a reality for most people should they choose to explore it.
It was a humbling day and flattered by their kind words. The further I go and the more my trip deviates from the norm, the more and quicker people start to open up to me.
They share their dreams and fears. Asking what scares me and how I was able to overcome it to take the steps towards my goals.
In these moments I feel like I get a lot more credit than what is warranted. Honestly, as a kid I can’t say it was my goal to travel around the world. By any sort of transportation.
I recall Spanish class in high school thinking it was useless because if I was ever going to travel it would only be to Europe. As a kid my dream was to have a pizza shop guarded by Komodo dragons - which is still in play.
Two years ago I never would have considering I would be where I am right now. Two years ago I couldn’t even ride a motorcycle. As terrible as it was, I am thankful for the last lesson my dad taught me.
Thinking back to my own journey I am not sure any amount of inspirational stories or people could have had any larger impact.
It was just recognizing a choice and making a decision that was my own. I’m not sure how you convey that to others and if anyone would heed the warning if you could.
Maybe at the end of this someone I’ve never met will credit my experience as a factor for setting off on their own journey, that would be cool.
I am also understanding how different our internal self-perception and how others perceive us can be very different. Someone asked me what I did for work before traveling and was surprised at my answer.
“You’re just so laid back I could never see you in a fast paced high pressure sales environment.”
Yet, in my head that is the only environment I have known and how I still view myself. I still find comfort in excel and analyzing data. I may still process those skills, but those skills aren’t the ones that define us.
Crossing over into Panama I elected to use the Caribbean border crossing. Less traffic and cuts through the mountains which was beautiful. Enjoying the sounds of frogs and bugs providing the soundtrack for the last few weeks.
The ride through the mountains was mostly paved but had elevation changes that resembled a motocross course. Steep curvy sections followed by gap-able bridges made for a fun ride.
At one police checkpoint they commented on the liquid covered engine. With my broken Spanish concluding it wasn’t a problem and just some water from a previous river crossing. Just as I arrived into the first town, I realized I was terribly incorrect.
Engine temps surged and the bike lacked any power. Pulling over to access the situation I realize I had punched holes in the radiator. I hadn’t crashed in a few weeks and confused where the damage came from but I was immobile.
Stranded on the side of the road, I reached out to my new Costa Rican friends for help.
Through the power of WhatsApp within minutes I had 5 different numbers of mechanics and enthusiasts from the surrounding area. One of which had a shop close to my location.
Limping down the road and reaching his shop just as the radiator emptied on the road. The tank catching their attention.
“That tank has more graffiti than a prison wall!”
Nacho is a professional motocross rider and runs a shop fixing bikes. He is known as the best in the area and says he can get me back on the road fast. At the shop are his shop guys and a Brazilian guy who is riding a Harley to Alaska trouble shooting a spark issue.
Quickly the bike is torn down and we find the holes. It is late in the day and need to wait until morning to weld it. Crossing our fingers that it is the only issue.
Nacho sets me up at a hostel close by for the night and gives me a ride to my home for the night.
8am I am back at the shop waiting on the news and by noon we have the fixed radiator back. The holes are welded but it is suggested to get a new one as there are many weak spots.
While his guys are fixing other items I broke on the bike, Nacho and I get talking about the dreams for his business. A combination hostel/garage for overlanders to come and fix their rigs and relax. I write out a business plan for his online presence and how I would get the word out if I was him.
We settle on a bill that is more than fair for parts and labor and wish each other well. I hope next time I am in the area to stay at the location we cooked up.
Panama City was the first big city I have seen in a long time. It looks like Miami and has all the familiar billboards to convince you you’re in America. The highways are confusing and traffic is never-ending.
I had two items on my Panama City todo list and both were completed without too much trouble. The first was to ride down to the Darian Gap. The second was to complete the paperwork needed to enter Colombia by sailboat.
Contrary to what many believe, there is no way to cross from Central America to South America. The road ends in Panama creating a gap in the road at the Darian jungle; hence the Darian Gap.
The jungle is controlled by the cartels and is currently a major drug running route in addition to a protected environmental space.
Very few people have successfully crossed the Darian by car or motorcycle. I had no interest in attempting it but was curious what it looked like. How does a road just end?!
Using one of my free days I made the 10 hour round trip journey to the end of the road. I have never seen any pictures or heard of anyone going down there. But hoped there would be some sort of signage signifying the end of the road.
The road itself is surprisingly well maintained sans a 60km section that resembles the surface of the moon.
Police roadblocks litter the journey who asked for identification and my papers. Not much traffic on the road but there are some locals on buses.
After ~4 hours or riding I reached the end and can confidently report, the road just ends.
It literally just stops. The two lane black tarmac Pan-American Highway ends abruptly and is continued for a short distance by a network of narrower concrete path ways.
The small village is traversed by foot traffic on the wide concrete slabs. Connecting businesses and residences who call the area home.
At the end of the town is a narrow pedestrian only cable suspension bridge that connects to the other side of the river.
No sign, no fan fare, it literally just ends.
It was a long day to learn that but glad I made the trip. The way back was long and full of military searches. They had a hard time believing I rode all the way down there for a photo. They kept asking where the drugs were hidden. After ripping through everything were forced to believe my narrative.
The customs paperwork ended up being easier than expected and was finished in two days. Fingers crossed I got all of it.
My remaining time in Panama will be spent along the coast at this beautiful ranch that overlooks the water. I’ve had harder days and worse views.
Thursday we will load the bikes on the boat. Friday we will set sail for Cartagena, Colombia and start the long road to the end of South America.
- Joe