TAXI!!!

Where there's a will, there's a way!

We woke up early, paid for our love hotel room and rode through the gate. We arrived back at the hotel with a courtyard in Maicao by noon and I proceeded to unpack and repack my bike, finding ways to stuff as much as possible into my Hepco & Becker dry bags (excellent travel luggage, fyi).

By 5pm, we were on our way to Chachi’s place between borders and we spend a couple of hours making a perfect space for my bike in one of Chachi’s garage units (moving random things like cartons of used oil) and disconnecting the battery, etc. I kissed my bike goodbye (really, I did, several times) and felt really good about leaving her under Chachi’s watchful eye.

Snug as a bug...

...And all tucked in.

I asked Chachi if there was anything I could bring her back from the states. I was thinking something along the line of some American novelty. So I was

shocked when she started describing Mac cosmetics and high end sunscreen. WHAT!

They could not get over the size of my bike

Before we left the border, we headed to the Venezuelan side so I could ask some questions for Roel since his plan was to cross the following day. When we had originally gone to check out Chachi’s place days before, a Colombian policeman asked if we were both going to go to Venezuela and when we responded that I (the American) would not, he said “Good” and then made a gesture of a knife cutting his throat… meant to convey that “they” would kill me if I crossed the border.

So when I went to the Venezuelan officials to inquire about the process for Roel’s crossing, I tried to conceal my heritage. They kept asking why only my partner was crossing and I wasn’t, and eventually I gave up the fact that I was American and hence couldn’t obtain a visa at the border. I was apprehensive for a moment, wondering what their reaction would be. Their faces fell, they lamented that I would not be able to visit their beautiful country, which they were obviously very proud of.

And then they asked: Your partner is Dutch? Do you not have another passport that you could enter Venezuela with?

HAH! Love these people!

After speaking with several people, we determined that it would not actually be possible for Roel to cross on the next day (Sunday) or Monday because the customs office would be closed. He was extremely disappointed that he would have to wait it out in Maicao, which doesn’t have a whole lot to offer. But eventually, we figured everything happens for a reason, and this would give him an opportunity to work on his Spanish now that he finally had a good reason to stop relying on me - bahahahahaha!

Early the next morning, I boarded a bus bound for Cartagena. The following 11 hours were fraught with misery I’m not looking forward to repeating on the return journey.
1. When not riding a motorcycle, I am afflicted with terrible motion-sickness.
2. They would not allow me to keep my luggage with me and agreed to lock it in a cabinet at the back of the bus.
During one of a few checkpoint stops, they made all of the passengers disembark while the police and driver went back on the bus. Never a good sign. I only found out when they threw me and a few other passengers off of the bus at what seemed to be a random intersection where we were thankfully guided to another bus to take us the rest of the way to Cartagena, that rather than coming off of the bus to ask the ONLY white girl on the bus to unlock her obviously white girl luggage, they just cut it open to remove EVERYTHING and go through it. Should have packed my remaining tampons on top. Lesson learned. The only thing that appears to be missing after all of that is my razor, which admittedly, is a nice men’s razor. Oh well.
3. Getting to the bus stop at night is a sketchy experience. Especially when all you hear about is cab scams and lone women being raped. (Mom, I hope you’re not reading this.) When I finally agreed to taking a cab, I made a big show of taking photos of the cabbie’s license plates and credentials and told him I was sending it to my boyfriend who had friends in the police. I felt moderately better. They laughed. And then when we were stopped at an intersection and another cabbie pulled up alongside ours, looked at me, pointed at the side of my cab, and wagged his finger “NO” before pulling off as the light turned green, I was again, terrified.

This experience made me realize how much I have taken for-granted the sense of security I derive from traveling independently by motorcycle (rather than public transportation). Sure, Roel's imposing 6'4" figure doesn't hurt my sense of security, but I've traveled alone in the past, albeit in a car, and it's really the dependence on public transportation that irks me.

I miss my bike, already.

I finally threw myself out of the cab as he pulled up to the hotel Roel and I stayed at (and changed my tire at) in Cartagena. They welcomed me back and helped me to my room.

It's Juan Valdez territory.

My Mom's birthday was coming up, so I FINALLY had an excuse to do a little souvenir shopping

The next morning, they called me a cab, and before I knew it, I was covering the space traversed by bike in a matter of months, in the course of a few short hours.

Landing in Miami, with it’s rosy orange tinted horizon as the sun set on perfectly  manicured lawns and neatly arranged highways was only the beginning of the reverse culture shock I was about to experience.

Finding Chachi

 

We had done some research and sent out messages to the Horizons Unlimited community to find out about storage possibilities for the bikes somewhere in Colombia or Ecuador. There were several possibilities, with varying costs, but the issue we kept encountering was that our TVIPs (Temporary Vehicle Import Permits) would expire while we were in the US OR our time away from South America would have to be curtailed to under 89 days. With two weddings, time scheduled for QT with both families 89 days would leave very little time for getting a job.

Gasoline is available EVERYWHERE near the border... and for cheap as it's coming across the border form Venezuela.

We had heard about a woman who operated a storage facility between the borders of Venezuela and Colombia where a TVIP would not be an issue, but we were not able to get any concrete, up to date information about her. So, from the Guajira Peninsula, we headed to the border to investigate on our own, only knowing to ask for a Wayuu woman named “Chachi.”

Roel stayed with the bikes once we arrived at the border and I headed off in search of Chachi. I found the place where cars were stored and asked the woman in a blue mumu sitting in front of the gate if she knew of Chachi and if I could speak with her. She said she knew her but that she was not around, and what did I want to know. I wouldn’t say she was unfriendly, but she was definitely not friendly. I explained our situation and she opened the gate and led me through to have a look at the storage options. She explained the pricing and I told her I would need to return with my partner after discussing what she had said.

We moved the bikes in front of the storage area, and I stayed with the bikes while Roel went to talk with the woman and look at the space. He walked out and said he had met Chachi and thought the space was good.

We then walked in together and I asked him where Chachi was. He gestured to the woman in the blue mumu and she sheepishly looked at me and admitted she was Chachi. Her attitude had changed markedly since I first spoke with her. It seems I should have sent Roel in first to charm her.

Chachi and our potential storage space... looks like some room needs to me made in there.

The lock-able garage spaces with field spaces open on the right.

Chachi's family home is just across from the garages and next to the field.

The price range for outdoor versus indoor spaces was 4,000 to 6,000 pesos. But we got the idea this price was not set in stone. She is a real business woman. Regardless, not bad and a huge relief to finally have an option.

Hotel Trebol... home sweet home in Maicao... rooms available with fans or aircon.

The bikes parked right outside of our room.

We headed back to town and found a motel with a courtyard we could ride the bikes into. I called my Mom immediately to get an update on her health, and after 30 seconds of straight hacking, I made the decision that this would be my last week in Colombia. I booked my flight for 5 days later. And felt a sense of peace that a decision had finally been made and I would soon be with my Mom.

Our heads heavy with options, we enjoyed air-conditioning for the first time in a week and passed out. We got up the next day and decided the best way to spend my last days in Colombia would be to check out the world-renowned Festival de la Leyenda Vallenata in Valledupar.

This little guy was intent on scribbling on EVERY page of our notebook

On our way, I noticed a higher level of military presence than I have seen anywhere else in the world, perhaps in response to the FARC attack the week prior. We were actually questioned briefly at one checkpoint until a senior official with the most remarkably bright eyes I have ever seen, intervened and immediately welcomed us to their area and offered directions to the festival.

 

We met up with Cisco and enjoyed the music, dancing and ceremonies before getting caught in a torrential downpour and finding a love hotel complete with an erotic etching, telling price list and our own perfect private garage for the bikes.

CISCO!!!!!

 

 

Some cultural performances took place throughout the afternoon.

 

 

 

It's hard to tell from the photo, but in a matter of minutes, there was 5 inches of water in the street.

Funny, I've never seen a price list like this before!

Unique hotel, ahem, art.

The perfect way to end one of my last weeks in Colombia.

Our Mosko Moto Gear Review

 

We followed the dirt tracks out of town and before long we were riding on salt planes again. Salt Planes, as far as the eye could see. The heat made the horizon glisten. It was such a remote and harsh area but at the same time so incredibly beautiful.

 

And only because of our setup were we able to fully appreciate it: In these remote, hot areas, water is the main concern and this is where the Mosko Moto Bags on the front of the Africa Twin come in. With over 10 liters of water in each of the 25 liter bags we were able to call Pilon de Azucar home for two days. And we were able to share water with those we came upon who were broken down, including a family we encountered on the salt planes.

First breakdown encounter of the day... roughly 20 minutes into our ride. These guys had a flat and had been working at it for a while. We lent them our tools for a bit and shared our water with them before continuing on our way.

For a while, we could see nothing but shimmering heat on the horizon. Then there was a dot. As we got closer the dot became five dots. A family of 4 next to their broken down motorbike. They were literally in the middle of the salt flats with no shade in the blistering heat. Before I went to work on the guy’s bike, Azure dug a water bottle out of one of the Mosko’s and gave it to the mother who was very grateful and eagerly poured water in her toddler’s mouth. The guy thought he was not getting any spark but could not work out why. We messed around with the wiring but it would not work. I took one of my used spark plugs I carry as a spare to clarify the culprit. It worked, and somehow it was the same size spark plug! They thanked us, most of all for the water, and turned into one dot again as they rode off into the distance. We downed a bottle of water ourselves before getting back onto the bikes. We were amazed that in all of the time we were stopped with them, not a single vehicle or bike stopped and at least 3 went by during that hour. Who knows how long they had been there before we rode up. 

After 8 months of putting the Mosko’s to the test on a day to day basis, it’s time for a review.

We first learned about Mosko Moto at the Overland Expo in 2014. About a year later, at the Horizons Unlimited meeting in California I managed to get my hands on a set of Mosko Moto Scouts and mounted them on my crash bars while Pete, one of the founders of Mosko, was busy selling his products hand over fist. The bags fit and looked much better than my old soft bags that needed to be replaced (a squirrel had eaten through them in Idaho to get to Azure’s granola). Pete figured out what I was doing and admitted that he had never thought of having the bags on the front of a bike. He knew of our journey and decided to send us off with a set of Scouts for a unique kind of product testing... on the front of a motorcycle.

Mounting the Mosko's was very easy. It is a very strong construction with two plates with a 45 degree angle hooking into each other. The bags are very sturdy and even when they are empty they hold their shape. They consist of a very tough waterproof outer layer with a removable drybag inside. If you do manage to damage the outer bag, whatever is inside of the dry bag will still be dry. Smart design. I have dropped the bike a couple of times since mounting the bags. They have never come off and you can hardly see a mark on the bags which attests to the durability of both the frame and the bags construction.

All the Mosko bags have military type webbing on the outside so you can attach a Mosko Mole or any military pouches for more storage space. It’s a convenient place to store a water or gas bottle, wet clothes or in my case, flip flops...

The military-type webbing on the side is where I usually keep my flip flops, but a Mosko Mole pouch also attaches here for even more storage capacity.

 

The double layer means that if the outer bag gets damaged, the dry bag will still key all of your stuff dry.

After riding the Mosko’s through many heavy downpours and several deep rivers I have found them to be completely waterproof. I love having the extra storage space on the front of the Africa Twin. Whether it is an extra can of oil (for Azure’s bike) or a big load of groceries and drinking water to be able to stay of the beaten track for a few days, it really makes traveling life a lot easier and more comfortable.

What I like most about the Mosko design is the mounting system: you can take them off and put them on the bike in a matter of seconds. If we’re not camping out next to the bikes, the bags come off and come inside wherever we are staying.

 

The mount on my front crash bars

The latch on the back of the bag, that clips onto the mount.

The only point of improvement I can think of is the possibility to put a padlock on the locking mechanism so it’s not too easy to steal the bags in case you leave the bike somewhere.

Mosko Moto is a small American owned company, founded by riders and run by riders, which strives to make the best possible soft luggage. And they're good people. You can follow and contribute to their product development on their website, by sending in your own ideas for improvements. For more information and the full array of Mosko Moto bags and equipment check out www.moskomoto.com If you're interested in a set of bags please get in touch with us via our facebook.com/MyTicketToRide page or mytickettoride.com for a code for free shipping in the US or a special deal on international orders.