Bogota, Colombia

Thursday Aug. 7, 2008

Buzz never sounded better as I rode from Medellin at 1,500 m (4,921 ft) down through the hot and humid valley between these two mountain ranges at 190 m (623 ft) and up to Bogota at 2,600 m (8,530 ft). Evidence of the heavy rains could still be seen in the landslides across the roads where industrious workers were breaking apart and selling pieces of what looked to be granite.

Even though it wasn't very big, this highway was the main artery between these two huge cities and when there was a bridge under construction it meant long delays. It took me over an hour to weave my way through the tangled string of vehicles vying for position closer to the front of the line. Sometimes, frustrated truckers would turn their vehicle across the highway trying to block other vehicles attempting to work their way to the front. Fortunately for us bikers, there's almost always a way around traffic if you want it bad enough. When the single lane across the bridge finally changed directions and we were allowed to continue, I found the same looking lineup on the other side.

In Bogota I finally broke down and decided to allow a company named Centurion Cargo to transport Buzz to Miami. And even though I never felt like they gave me a straight answer, their price was among the lowest I could find, and there really weren't many other options. Besides, I was really tired of all the nonsense involved with dealing with these horrible companies. All I had to do now was find a broker to handle the documents.

While struggling to find his office one day (even a taxi I paid couldn't find it) Buzz's left pannier was hit lightly by an oncoming tractor-trailer with a pushy driver. Luckily, it was just a close call and the lug nuts from his front wheel only ground small grooves into the aluminum bag when he pushed the rear of the bike out of his way. Phew!

Then later that day in the rain, I dropped Buzz while making a quick stop to avoid a car just after I had started away from a corner. It was the type of tip-over that most riders know, where you just can't seem to hold up the falling elephant as it goes down in slow-motion. I took it as a sign of how truly exhausted I was with all this shipping nonsense. I was so frustrated that day that I just stood there looking at Buzz laying on his side in that dirty little side street and started to laugh out loud. I'm sure anyone who saw me would have thought I'd completely lost it.

Eventually I found the broker, his name was Oscar, and he turned out to be a really nice young guy who was just starting his own agency after having gained his experience working years for a large agency. He was the first person in this whole process that I felt I could trust.

Aside from having to rebuild the rear shock when I got to the US, I wanted to make sure Buzz was ready to roll when we landed in Miami. So I got a rear tire change and wash the next day. This will be something I'm going to miss back in North America. People don't wash a motorcycle for you there, and a drive-in rear tire change would cost at least $50 US. Here it's everyday business in the moto-zone. While a very efficient fellow removes the wheel from the bike and changes the tire for $3, there are two others doing a fine job of washing it for $4.

Now that Buzz was ready to go and a date had been set for his transport (Friday July 4th drop-off, fly 1-2 days later), I could book my own flight to Miami. However, as I found out while shopping for a ticket, flight prices changed radically day by day and there appeared to be no logic to getting a good deal. In one day I saw prices go up by $150 US for the same flight.

I'd heard horror stories of travelers flying out the same day as their bike was scheduled to leave, only to find that the bike never left when it was supposed to, leaving them in a strange city, without their gear, and worse, at the mercy of an incompetent cargo system to resolve the problem. I didn't think I wanted to experience that, so I booked my flight for Tuesday July 8th, a few days after Buzz was scheduled to leave.

After wrapping up all the business I could think of, I actually had a little time to experience some of Bogota.

It was Friday July 4th and the time had finally come to take Buzz to the cargo terminal near the airport for his preflight inspection by customs. Even though I was there first thing in the morning I had to wait until they finished x-raying, then opening and hand-searching, then drug-sniffing a shipment of maybe fifty boxes of alligator skins destined for Mexico. These guys were very concerned about maintaining a good standing with the US and would spare no expense to make sure what they said was clean, was clean. I liked hearing that, but I still insisted on being present while they inspected each and every item on Buzz. I couldn't afford to arrive in Miami and learn that somehow something had been found on him. The entire inspection, repacking and palletizing of Buzz took the better part of the whole day, and Oscar was there with me. With everything I owned except my laptop, cameras and a few clothes Buzz weighed in at 327 kg (721 lb), but I was charged for 520 kg (1,146 lb) because of his overall size.

According to Centurion, all cargo flights left at around 4 am every morning except Monday, and Buzz was expected to leave soon after I dropped him off (Saturday July 5th or Sunday July 6th).

Monday July 7th at approximately 6 am I received a phone call from Oscar telling me to turn on the TV. I found almost every station showing an undefinable, flaming wreckage in a farm field. He said he was sorry, but my moto was on board that flight that had just crashed. I remember the silence as I tried to grasp what had just happened while I was still half asleep. I asked him if he was sure Buzz was aboard, because Centurion told me there were no flights on Monday mornings and that Buzz was supposed to have been on the previous day's flight. He said he was sure.

We met at Centurion's office at 8 am and they confirmed that Buzz was on board the plane that had crashed, but couldn't tell me anything else useful. Oscar suggested that we visit the crash site in person immediately so we got a taxi and left. When we arrived at the site just after 10 am it was still smouldering. Oscar spoke to several of the surrounding military and police personnel to get us as close as possible to the wreckage, telling them I was the owner of a special motorcycle on board, which seemed to be sufficient for them. Amazingly, we able to get within a few meters of the wreckage.

I thought I'd lost everything; all the specialized gear that had taken me years to acquire and refine, my trusty moto and all the memories it was emblazoned with, all the gifts I had collected for my family and all the precious gifts I had been given by friends along the way. But as I walked through that field looking at the destruction I remembered that a family of three had died there that morning when the huge 747 aircraft descended on their little house while they slept. I stopped and said a prayer for them.

We looked for pieces of Buzz amongst the burned out bits and pieces strewn across the field but couldn't see anything resembling a moto, nor had the officials we asked. We'd been told about pallets full of new cell phones that were all stolen before the police and military secured the area (but they arrived right away, so that meant we couldn't trust them either) and I was worried that if Buzz did somehow manage to survive, all my stuff would have been stolen.

The only piece of the aircraft that was not completely destroyed was the very front part of the fuselage containing the cockpit. The violent crash had crushed whole bottom side of it and it from this side it looked like a garbage pile of metal and wires. But somehow, amazingly, the upper section where the eight crew members were was spared and they all lived, although I understand the pilot was injured.

From where I stood behind the safety rope, about 5 m (16 ft) away, I stared hard into the fuselage to see if there was anything that looked familiar. If Buzz was here, I wanted to see what happened to him. That's when I thought I saw something familiar inside. I thought I could see the pallet (which was unique because it was actually two pallets together) and straps that only days before I helped to secure him to a metal pallet with. But I wasn't allowed to cross the line and get any closer to the wreckage so I asked a fellow there to take my camera, reach his arm inside and take a picture. When he returned and I saw Buzz on the camera I was so instantly happy that I almost fell over. He was there, complete with luggage and not burned. We stayed the remainder of the day trying to find out when Buzz would be removed from the wreckage, but nobody knew.

Oscar said we should be there in person when Buzz was extracted, so the next morning we returned (Oscar was always with me to help in any way possible). That day they allowed me to climb up onto the edge of the fuselage to have a look at him for myself and I could see that he was loosely hanging upside down from the heavy straps that once secured him to the pallet, but he'd been thrown forward into something that looked like a bulkhead. I could tell he was damaged, but it didn't look serious.

Again, nobody would tell me when I could have him back though. Now they were talking weeks rather than days because of the seriousness of the investigation. Oscar and I gave our phone numbers to all of the head people on site and called Centurion with the same message: Call us when Buzz was going to be extracted so we could be there. We were promised we would be contacted when the opportunity presented itself.

Finally (and without notice) on Friday July 11th at 8 pm I received a phone call saying that Buzz had been removed from the aircraft that day and was transported to Centurion's warehouse where I could view him the next morning. A lame excuse was given about how someone had tried but was unable to contact me earlier that day so I could be there. When we arrived at the warehouse first thing the next morning we were given the runaround about them not expecting us and that the manager wasn't there. This held us up for more than an hour.

Eventually we were allowed to enter the warehouse. When I first laid eyes on Buzz I couldn't believe what I saw. I felt nauseous. All of the locks were missing, the hard bags were opened and emptied, the soft bags were missing and 99% of my belongings were gone. This wasn't how I saw him in the aircraft. I had pictures to prove it. But that didn't matter, nobody knew anything, that's how he arrived they said. I was extremely upset and it's a good thing the manager of Centurion wasn't there that morning.

I photographed the few remaining items because they wouldn't let me take anything, claiming the accident was still under investigation. Then I thoroughly inspected Buzz and determined that even the damages I could see (some of which seemed to have occurred while being extracted from the wreckage) would be too severe to repair, not to mention any concealed damages that would have been incurred from such an immense and violent impact.

It was with a heavy heart that I said farewell to my good and trusty steed that day.

And so now started the frustrating battle with Centurion's lawyers over how much and when. But the one thing that hurt the most was no matter how many times I asked for my belongings they continued to repeat the same statement "none of your belongings were ever found after the crash". Accidents like this crash happen without intent, theft and lies are another crime altogether. I will never forget how Centurion chose to handle this event, but I will not let it ruin my respect for all of the good people in Colombia that I've had the pleasure of meeting.

Of all those wonderful people, I will be forever grateful to my friends Adriana and Oscar. For without them, I don't know how I would have been able to survive such a difficult situation. Their kindness, generosity and deep friendship is something few people are fortunate enough to experience in their lives.

As could be expected when dealing with US lawyers working for an international airline contracted by a Colombian cargo company; nothing positive was happening regarding replacement of Buzz and my belongings. Throughout my journey I had experienced all kinds of obstacles and even though this was the largest, it reminded me that it's never easy to pursue a dream. And if I wanted to finish this like I intended, then I needed another moto. The goal was still to visit Prudhoe Bay, Alaska before returning home on September 25th, exactly two years after it all started.

So while still in Bogota, I dug deep and bought Buzz II over the internet from a fellow in Missouri with the help of my good friends Herb and Reno Anderson, the owners of Grass Roots BMW Motorcycles. He was a used 2006 Suzuki DL1000 V-Strom with 12,875 km (8,000 mi). He needed allot of the accessories that I'd become accustomed to, and more importantly, had been true-life-tested on Buzz over the past few years. I tried to order all the same items whenever possible, but it was not easy because things change so fast these days. Aside from the accessories I also ordered a new helmet, motorcycle clothing, camping gear, tools and spare parts and had them shipped to Herb and Reno or to my other friend Jerry Watts in Florida. A few of the companies I approached for new gear graciously gave me a special discount and rush shipping to help get me back on the road again as soon as possible. That's help I really needed. and you can find their names on my 'Amigos' page. Even Expedia stepped forward to help me re-schedule my flight to the US.

So, as I looked out the window of the jet and said goodbye to South America I realized that ultimately, the bad experience of the plane crash turned out to be an opportunity to make new friends and experience things I never would have otherwise known. But most importantly, I was reminded of the good within the average person.

Here are some things I learned in Colombia:

- There seems to be more bomb-sniffing dogs checking vehicles in Bogota than other cities. Probably because it's the capital

- I never got used to the surprise visits by women cleaning the men's washrooms (I once asked them if men cleaned the women's washrooms and they seemed shocked)

- The right of way when driving in large cities is dictated solely by the nose of your vehicle being ahead of the one beside you, change lanes at will after that

- Rude, abusive, intimidating are all words you could use to describe the way taxi and bus drivers treat their passengers with their driving

- As a North American, doing business within a Latin American culture can be extremely frustrating. Many processes feel very counter-productive and it often seems likely that even a monk would go postal trying to do business here

- Never, ever trust Centurion Air Cargo (Ceilos del Peru) with anything you value