The border crossing I used to exit Guatemala and enter Honduras today was at El Florido. To get out of Guatemala I had to show my temporary vehicle import license, go through immigration and then I was done. On the Honduras side I had to get a temporary import permit which required 3 copies of my passport, driver’s license, bike registration papers and the paperwork the Guatemalans had given me for taking the bike out. There was a charge for this which was NZ$50, US$35. Once done, I was off to the Macaw Mountain bird rehabilitation centre. There were all types of Toucans, Macaws and other Central American species. I love these places, the passion these places have in the rehabilitation and protection of these species into the future is heart warming.
I arrived into Gracias and camped the night.
I was up bright and early, packed and on my way south before the heat came.
Today’s riding was a mix of all sorts. From rocky rutted gravel/ dirt roads to smooth sweepers. I can thank my GPS for the rocky, rutted gravel /dirt sections. My GPS is running the open source maps which are normally reasonable. The Honduras map is missing quite a few roads consequently the GPS sends me up all sorts of tracks. The one I was on today was over 200km long. As I rode along It, and it progressively got worse I thought to myself, there must be another way to get to the Nicaraguan border than this. I can’t believe all the traffic comes along here. After a while I came to a bridge that was in disrepair. I wanted to cross it but thought if I do I’m sure the road ahead will only get worse. The bridge really was a sign that very few people use this road, only locals.
I decided to turn back and head to the sealed road. From there I spoke to a police officer who wrote the names of the towns I needed to get to and I followed the sign posts.
After 400 km I ended the day at Choluteca, 45km from the border.
The trip to the border was an interesting ride. The roads in Honduras are probably the worst I’ve ridden in the Americas so far. The road to the border had so many pot holes it would be impossible to count them To overcome the problem of driving into them the locals weave all over the road and into oncoming traffic. I don’t know how many times I had a Mac truck with a 40 foot containing head straight for me. There’s only going to be one loser in that battle and it won’t be the Mac truck.
At the border I went to immigration. The queue was long and it was a sticky 35 Celsius. The air conditioning was off and the immigration officer was so slow in processing that it was clear he was paid by the hour. After one and a half hours waiting it was my turn to be stamped out. Then a short walk to customs to get the permit discharged for the bike and I was out on Honduras.