This is part of an e-mail sent to the long-distance riders list from Bob
Ray at the Intercontinental Hotel in Managua, Nicaragua on Wednesday
evening, 7/22/98:
"Bob [Higdon]: you're probably the only person I know
who can understand what we've accomplished just in
terms of driving in the past few days."
Dr. Ray is overly generous. I can think of at least two people who can
appreciate what Greg McQueen and Bob Ray have done since last Sunday night
--- McQueen and Ray themselves. They've made it farther into Central
American than I ever did, and they did it under circumstances that would
have turned me back to Gringoland with my vestigial tail hunkered securely
between my frog legs a long, long time ago. I think what they've done is
impossible.
On Sunday evening last, attracted by a 3,000-point bonus in the deepest
part of Belize, they headed south from Cancun. It wouldn't have been a
bonus nearly large enough to attract me. I've have beelined straight for
the mountains in Chiapas and tried to make San Cristobol or Comitan near
the Guatemalan border by Monday night. It's good, paved highway the entire
route. You discount the wandering bands of Zapatista rebels in the
highlands; they're more interested in nailing a guest shot on "Sixty
Minutes" than in nailing tourists. On Tuesday I'd have tried to make El
Salvador, maybe even Honduras if the wind was right. Tonight I'd be
hunkered down in the Hotel Intercontinental in Managua, wondering where the
rest of the kids were. No fuss, no muss, no problema. Que tal, and see
what the senorita at the end of the bar is drinking!
As noted, the easy way is not the Hardy Boy way, or Team
Tramfladmodlordelmar as they are affectionately known among their fellow Iron
Butts. To Belize they went, arguably the rottenest country this side of
Chad. The road is paved to Belize City, but from there it turns to goat
track. To reach the 3,000-point ferry from Punta Gorda, Belize to Puerto
Barrios, Guatemala required covering some 150 miles of bad dirt. You only
hope is that the ferry, which will cut maybe a day of rotten dirt road
travel off your excursion time, doesn't sink while you're on it.
That turned out not to be a problem for Team Tralfadlemordel. After
humping the poor Suzuki Samurai over roads that no self-respecting Japanese
bandit would have ever tried to negotiate, they made it to Punta Gorda by
nightfall on Monday, only to find that the ferry had already sunk --- two
weeks earlier. Generous bribe offers produced no takers, possibly because
this northern edge of the Mosquito Coast is the only site in the North
American hemisphere which has a recent, documented history of an outbreak
of something suspiciously similar to Ebola virus.
Now Team Tralmaforledro's options had been reduced to one (two, if you
count suicide, or three, if you count sitting around and waiting to be
eaten alive by hemorrhagic fever): Backtrack.
At this point, naturally, I would have taken the Samurai's sword (the
accessory Greg McQueen chose instead of air-conditioning) and stabbed it
straight into my face. I've been to Belize. I don't care for the place
much. Team Tarfadmarlode chose the more difficult path to extinction:
hardpan, car buster roads to southern Guatemala. They actually made it to
San Pedro Sula in Honduras by Tuesday night. The crow distance from Punta
Gorda to Sula is maybe 200 miles. The overland route is at least 5,000,000
times that length over the worst roads I have ever laid bike tire upon.
You also cross two international borders. At this point in their travels
they are as close to the Hanta/Ebola virus as any human being ever wants to
get.
And it is at this point that I leave the word of scientific fact and enter
the world of conjecture. I don't know which route they took from Sula to
Managua, but they did it in a day, throwing $20 bills at every guard who
popped up with something more threatening than a BB gun. You might recall
that when the demobilization came to El Salvador, Honduras, and Nicaragua
some years ago, about 100,000 soldiers were released into the stagnant
economies with nothing to show for their service to their various countries
but entire warehouses of AK47s and whatever loose hand grenades they found
lying around the mess hall. Combine that kind of armament capability with
a high unemployment rate and you will cease wondering why tourist traffic
in the region is off a bit.
There are lots of bonuses waiting in Costa Rica, just another day's drive
down the Pan-Am highway from Managua. They could practically push the
Samurai the rest of the way and make it to the final checkpoint by Saturday
evening. But perhaps they're thinking of the one gigantic bonus --- 20,000
big ones --- that is waiting at the Panama Canal. Costa Rica is easy. If
they take a handful of those plums, they probably can't be beaten. On the
other hand, if they head for the canal and make it back in one piece, the
rally is theirs, period. But that is not so easy. As I've said before, if
it were easy, anyone could do it.
Irrespective of whatever choice they make tomorrow, they made the right
choice tonight. The Intercontinental is the n'est plus ultra of hotels in
the area, la creme de la creme, and it has secure garage parking manned by
guards who tote bigger and meaner guns than those of the local used car
dealers. Team Trafmorledoral wisely, for once, followed the advice of the
great dancer, Isadora Duncan: When in doubt, stay in the best hotel.
Bob Higdon
Washington, D.C.
