Tuesday, June 16, 2009

Riding Costa Rica

Back in '05 Harlan and I decided to take a trip down to Costa Rica to find some property to buy and we figured the only way to see the not so white washed areas of the country was by motorbike. We would get so lost up in the jungle and find the coolest little mountain villages. The riding on the intercontinental highway was by far the best riding I've done in my life, crazy twisties and cliffs for miles and miles. I remember this guy that flew by us on a KTM duke with California plates, he was tearing the intercontinental up and I was thinking "damn, I wish we had a couple of those". One of our last legs was from dominical back to san jose, I was horribly hung over and unaware of how fast the climate and altitude can change.

We left Dominical, it was 100 degrees at sea level. After a bus takes my clutch lever off crossing a river bed and we make some trailside repairs we get up the mountain about an hour and Harlan stops to throw on a jacket. I'm like "what are you doing man?" He says, "dude, we've got alot of climbing to do, it's gonna drop". Whatever, I throw on a sweatshirt, all I had. 4 hours later at 11,000 feet above sea level it's 40 degrees, raining and almost zero visibility from the fog or clouds for that matter. I'm so cold, hungover and some how pissed at Harlan because I've now turned my misery into his fault. Harlan stops to take a pic on some bluff and I pull in behind him, well here comes this snarling dog from some hut tearing at me like fucking Cujo so I get on it and lose it trying to avoid Harlan and not spill over the cliff. Wrench my knee laying it down and the peice of shit mut didn't even come near me. Now I've had it, I'm so pissed and Harlan is laughing his ass off.

We finally come down the backside of the mountains into San Jose about dusk. Find some shitty hostile full of teenage hippies who are talking all this shit about how their lives have been changed from roughing it in CR. Whatever kid, go live a little. Anyway, we end up at some creepy bars full of old white dudes and young hookers. We were quickly over it and on the way back to the hippy house these linebacker trannies are everywhere and at us like flies to shit, after getting my dick grabbed on the corner by one of these Mutant freaks and of course listening to Harlans cackle, I was so done and ready to get the fuck out of San Jose.

Great trip with somebody who knows how to travel and not give a rats ass. The only way to do a trip like that or any trip for that matter. There are a ton more stories from this trip but this is the one that Harlan likes to tell the most, anything with my demise. Since this trip I haven't gone on a vacation that didn't revolve around getting on two wheels and I don't think I ever will. Thanks for the memories Harlan. Cambodias next.

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