Quito, Ecuador

Dec 11, 2004

The bikes got here this morning and with any luck we will be able to get customs to release them on Monday and then ride up to the Equator for a photo op. I suspect one of my relatives in Colombia, a retired air force major, threatened to have one of the shipping company´s planes shot out of the air by mistake if the bikes weren´t here today. I wish I had her make that call when we were still in Colombia, but it takes some getting used to the idea that just because you sign a contract for something to be delivered in a timely fashion, with a reputable company, that doesn´t count for much in this part of the world. I see why they only accept cash.

Last night I lay in bed with a 39.3 fever (that´s 102.7 in American), but the doctor came to my hotel room, gave me some oxygen and a shot, and then I called a drug store that delivered all the prescriptions to the hotel for $12, so I feel better.

Quito is big, surrounded by mountains, and we´re definitely back in the third world. We have yet to get in a cab where the driver knows how to get to where we are going. Three times they have stopped to ask other drivers for direction, and one drove slowly up and down a street, slowing and peering up side streets. They are not metered, so you have to bargain before getting in. So in Panama they argue with you, in Bogota they try to run over pedestrians in their haste
to get you where you are going, and in Quito they don´t know where they are going. Towards the end of our stay in Bogota, Mark and I took special pains to pick out the cabdriver with the wildest look in his eye and the most beat up cab. Often this insures a most memorable ride.

We had dinner with Ricardo Rocco, who is well known to motorcycle travelers in this part of the world. Then we went over some maps of different routes we could take if we decide to go to Machu Pichu or stay on the coast and go south.

We met up with Scottish Mike, who traveled with Mark through Mexico. He is a retired military officer who is obsessed with cheap beer. He dragged us through the worst parts of town, through dark alleys and over bums to an absolute hole in the wall just because beer was a quarter cheaper. Mark asked if he could download GPS information from Scottish Mike's Garmin. Scottish Mike said no, then left. A few days later we got an email from Scottish Mike asking if he could travel with us, because he was having problems on the road. Mark wrote back that we wouldn't be able to find him because we didn't have GPS maps.

Two dutch guys staying at our hotel are making a similiar trip to ours, but they started a little north. They fedexed their Honda CB50 Super Cubs from Holland to Alaska, and are hoping to make it to Tierra Del Fuego by late in February. Their website is www.honda50.cc and really merits a look.