Arriving in Xela, we settle in for a couple weeks of Spanish classes. The non-profit school provides one on one instruction for 5 hours per day. Living with a local Guatemalan family is also a large part of the education as mine didn't speak a drop of English. This definitely creates an inspiring atmosphere as you stumble through dinner using more charades than vocabulary.
Before fully appreciating the new sedentary lifestyle we head off to the capital to replace our pathetic tires. Once again the process takes hours longer and we stare down the barrel of another night drive. Some day we'll learn. For now Steve translates the mechanic's warning as we fire up the bikes, travel at night no good, bandits on highway.' As darkness falls the first flashes of lightning appear in the distance. Fabulous. I quickly remind God of our little Chiapas escapade and petition that I see no reason for another trial.
What starts as a nice Washington trickle slowly gains steam into a tropical downpour. Stubbornly refusing to stop and throw on our Gore-Tex pants we are promptly soaked. Serves us right I suppose. I'm not sure what part of the human psyche prefers two hours of drenched legs over three minutes of preparation, but whatever it is, I have no shortage. Although for a short while I foolishly enjoy the refreshing chill.
As the visibility dropped to 20 ft in a thick, soupy fog my countenance changed abruptly. Rolling off the throttle we enter the curviest stretch yet, thankful for the light traffic. A mystical, swirling layer of steam chased across the road, entrancing me but also making navigation quite difficult. Obscuring the painted lines, the mist only allowed a 1/2 second glimpse into your future. It is an unnerving game of trust. Although you have no idea whether the road hooks right or left, when it turns you'll make the correct choice in time. Something akin to riding a roller coaster at night, only closing your eyes and screaming has decidedly negative effect.
Entering the last ten minutes before Xela it rained with such a fervor the road became a boiling sheet of white water. Distinguishable from the surrounding blackness by the faintest line of white, the road continued winding. On top of all this I managed to tweak my helmet so the shield wouldn't close completely. Thus drops of rain covered both sides, creating an interesting experience with each oncoming car. For a similar thrill, drive at night through a rainstorm without your wipers. I wish all those people that professed their jealousy of this trip could see me now. --J.M