As I cautiously guttersnipe past a caravan of big rigs , a man with a contorted frown stumbles from the overgrown brush , lunging at my motorcycle while angrily pointing at a laminated badge dangling around his neck .
Having long-ago learned to ignore street dogs and lunatics with laminated badges , I give the throttle a quick twist , leaving him securely enveloped in a cloud of dust behind me .
Within seconds , he emerges from the dust aggressively weaving in and out of traffic on a beat-up moped .
Years of desert-racing muscle memory kick in , and I am successfully able to thwart every attempt to pass . He quickly weaves onto a footpath and disappears into the jungle , only to reappear ahead of me , a mere fifty metres from the border . He victoriously leaps from his moped and proceeds to shout indiscernibly while motioning me to pull over , not once managing to break the cartoonish frown frozen across his face .
I shout my classic " no gracias " and " no hablo the Spanish " through my helmet while attempting to maneuver my fully loaded Africa Twin around him . Realising I don ' t have far to go , he reluctantly allows me to pass before continuing his pursuit on foot .
I find a conspicuous spot to park and begin prepping for what will be an hours-long ordeal of filling out paperwork and standing in various lines .
Lock steering , open tank bag , retrieve cable locks , place gloves in tank bag , lock helmet to handlebars , lock tank bag , place earbuds in breast pocket , remove GPS & GoPro , open side box , remove document folder , put GPS & GoPro in side box , lock side box , take a look around to establish the lay of the land , determine who is watching me and who , in turn , I must watch , locate the Immigration office , double check everything , take another look around , proceed directly to immigration , keep a firm grip on my paperwork and a stern eye on my motorcycle … All this while repeating " no gracias ” to anyone who attempts to “ help ” along the way .
I may sound overly cautious , but anyone who has navigated these infamous and oft storied “ fronteras ” will confess to similar rituals . It simply becomes part of the journey .
Thus far I have successfully avoided my share of “ helpers ” - locals wearing official-looking identification badges who hang around border crossings and , for an undisclosed “ donation ,” will “ help ” unsuspecting travellers navigate the complex and confusing world of Central American bureaucracy . In many cases however , their help usually involves an associate on the other side of the counter creating
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