Scanning the depressed landscape around Cerro Negro, near Leon, Nicaragua.

24-29 Jun 2015 – Bobsledding at volcano velocity, air raid sirens & Pearl’s umpteenth saving grace

Negotiating a decent rate with Gonzalo, owner of Cabinas Corobici in Cañas made our final overnight stay in Costa Rica a good one: peace-of-mind parking, a rudimentary but comfortable room and a cheap Chinese restaurant nearby where the portions were substantial and the prices not too shabby. Topped off with an invigoratingly cold shower, I could ask for no more post a hot day’s ride.

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3-24 Jun 2015 – A moto-damsel-in-a-rear-wheel-snag & an unforgettable MOO!

“Oh, it feels soo good to be back on the bikes, and finally making headway through Central America!  Eh, Jase?” Riding carefree at a cruisey 50 miles per hour inching our way out of Costa Rica while her sun caressed our faces, a flash of worry began to flicker inside my head. Why was Pearl susceptible to the odd tremor on the smooth stuff? Her tyres weren’t flat, not even the front one—forging ahead after 23,500 miles—so why the wobbling, missy? Mmmn?

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The power of four!

21 May-2 Jun 2015 – 57 lost miles, flying by the seat of our pants & loose wheels

“How many milos back to San José, Jase?” I casually enquired astride Pearl having spent my energy and half the day with the hummingbirds at Chichona.

“According to the sat nav, 57 miles” was the succinct reply received down the helmet intercom.

“Really? Well, what’s that massive city down there then?” I queried as we contoured down the mountain road towards a metropolis of urban sprawl.

“I don’t know but we’ve still got nearly 60 miles to go yet.”

Blindly following Jason who was blindly following the GPS took us into the concrete heart of said unknown city, whereupon I enquired with stronger conviction, “Look at that sign Jase, it says we’re only three Ks from San José, this must be it.”

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A green and black poison dart frog, Costa Rica

13-20 May 2015 – The Blue-jeans frog & hummers in every hue

At risk of becoming full-time residents at Camping Maria near Cahuita, it was a wrench to go and meander into pastures new. After moving camp a couple of times—shoreline tent pitching can be a little damp at best with those boisterous Caribbean waves—we got settled having made a pleasurable little routine for ourselves in which to indulge daily, such as taking long beach walks, fortifying ourselves with home cooked meals in Maria’s beach-garden and amusing ourselves with the Jason’s production of Mission Impossible about the black and green poison dart frog.

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Caressing the golden sands in Costa Rica

5-12 May 2015 – Camping in Costa Rica: seesawing the Pacific’s calm & Caribbean palms

The air, leaden with its usual heavy humidity was also laced with thick vegetation and alive with the noisy chirps of crickets. As well as the deep bulging calls of howler monkeys, affording us a quick glance as they were beckoned into the black heart of the forest. It provided a melodic background to the faint purl of an ebb tide; its subdued waves gently stroking the sandy shore. Manuel Antonio usually tended toward a manic tourist spot throughout peak season, although we greeted it—a small oceanside village in the Pacific region—in the serenity of the off-season.

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About the most majestic dragonfly I've ever laid my eyes on...

30 Apr-4 May 2015 – Costa Rica, mi chica bonita: my fair lady!

Sure, Costa Rica knows how to charge for her unapologetic beauty but there are a myriad of workarounds in order to keep on budget while indulging the ‘rich coast’. For us, it was time to step up our camping game—iOverlander, S&M Boiler Works, Nomadic Matt, A Dull Roar and Horizons Unlimited were excellent sources of cost-saving accommodation and value-added information on Costa Rica.

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What was that about three points of contact, Jasey babes?

22-29 Apr 2015 – A drop of the Pacific, a dash of Panama & a delicious dollop of Costa Rica

Rather than hack our way through a 99-mile swath of malarial, guerilla-infested, roadless swampland separating South America from Central America—with a machete in one hand, throttle in the other—we took the cowardly route and boarded the Ferry Express instead. Actually, Jason towed Pearl and me up the ramp onto the vessel. After gaining 22 grand on the clock, I could hardly call her anything but admirable—having mosied me partly down and up an entire continent—albeit with a couple of hiccups along the way.

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