1-27-10 Nicaragua

Within 30 minutes of crossing the border I had passed maybe five police checkpoints, most marked with a few cones on the centerline, some performing roadside searches of cars.  Sometimes the cops would wave me on, other times they'd do nothing and I'd keep on riding.

The roads were in excellent shape winding through tobacco plantations which further reinforced the fact that it was painfully hot and humid.

I saw a police checkpoint ahead and slowed down quite a bit (or so I thought).  I saw four cops all identically dressed in dark blue pants, baby blue shirts with epaulettes and mirrored aviator sunglasses.  Perhaps twenty yards before their checkpoint I saw one cop flapping his arms like a pelican, one cop waving me through hastily and one cop waving his hands over his head.  It all reminded me of a 'Men at Work' production but with all cops.   I don't recall what the fourth cop was doing, but I'm guessing he was holding the radar gun while striking a pose.

"Hmmmm" I thought to myself.  "Don't know what they want exactly, but I don't think I'll be stopping here either."

I rolled through the checkpoint at a reasonable speed and glanced in my mirror and saw them scurrying towards their Toyota Prius squad car.  I then rounded  a curve and lost sight of them.

Nobody had told me to stop clearly, and it was very obvious that one guy told me to go, so I had that going for me.  I downshifted two gears and pegged the throttle.  I wasn't about to have some foolish high-speed chase running from the cops but I wasn't going to putt around to see if they wanted to talk, either.

I raked through the gears, quickly hitting 100mph in a short straight section before downshifting and getting on the brakes hard into a series of corners.  I popped out of the last corner and encountered a few cars which I passed easily while accelerating again on another straight-away.  I checked my  mirrors but saw nothing. 

I rounded another set of corners and saw a lone car in my lane ahead of me with a line of traffic approaching.  I noticed a small gap in oncoming traffic which would allow me to pass the car in front so I braked gently the just as the gap in traffic opened I flicked the bike left then right, passing the slow-moving car before getting on the throttle again.

I next hit a series of roller-coaster hills which provided a good rearward view of the road behind me.  On one of the hills I noticed a pair of day-time running lights maybe half a mile behind me.  On the second hill I noticed them too.  Though far off the lights seemed to be staying with me which I didn't like as I'd blown past every car I'd encountered.

I continued my routine of slowing down for cars, darting around them and accelerating ahead for maybe 15 minutes before hitting the outskirts of Masaya.  There was a long line of traffic backed up to a round-about.  I passed the whole line on the inside then cut my way through the traffic circle before being hitting slowly moving traffic.  The bike was too wide and the cars too dense to allow much passing but there were no side streets to pull off to and a deep ditch to my left with a raised median on the right, neither passable.  I was stuck in this slow moving traffic for maybe a minute when I saw a large semi truck starting to make a wide right turn a few cars ahead of me.  I threaded the bike between the cars before pulling in front of the truck and making the turn with him maybe 2 feet off my rear tire so that he'd shield me from view.

After a few seconds of zipping down the side street I slowed down and looked back.  My jaw dropped when I saw a little Toyota Prius, tires squealing and smoking, sliding sideways past the road which I had just turned down.  Apparently they had gone in the oncoming lane while I was stuck in traffic.

I turned off the bike and dismounted.  Had I known where I was and didn't have all my luggage things might have been different. I hadn't done anything too grievous so I thought it would be best to have a little chat with my new friends. Let me be the first to say that getting pulled over by little Nicaraguan fellers driving a hybrid Toyota Prius while astride a BMW R1150GSA is a highly degrading moment in a man's life. Fail.

Four irate little cop hopped out and started snaping on latex gloves which I wasn't thrilled about.

"Licen!" One yelled at me, trying to speak English.  I told him to just speak Spanish which seemed to offend him before handing over my license.

I asked him what the problem was and he showed me a radar gun with 102 (kph) on the screen.  I was a little stunned and pleased when I saw this as I'd been hitting 170 on the straights, but I didn't bring that up.


The driver of the car came over to me, and walked up to me until his chest was almost touching my belt then tapped the BMW emblem on the bike and bonked me twice on the helmet with his nightstick. "I go screw you" he said slowly.

"You arrest!"

I stopped talking to the furious little man and chose to deal with two of the other guys who seemed to be more logical.

It was explained to me that I was doing 102kph in and 80kph zone (60mph in a 50mph) which I didn't feel too bad about.

"Oh, are you the cops I passed 15 minutes ago?" I asked

"SI!"

One of the cops handed me a little slip of yellow paper with my info on it as well as several infractions and the corresponding fines which totaled 500 Cordobas.  I asked if I could pay on the spot, putting the option for a bribe on the table and was quickly quoted 'One-towsand-fi-hunwed' which I passed on though, in hindsight, should have taken. Next time.

I was told that I had to report to the police station in the morning to face the consequences which seemed to still be up in the air.

The cops then piled back in their Prius and left.  I was rather bewildered by the whole event.

I rode another 20 minutes to my original destination of Granada which is a quaint little colonial town but nothing special.

The next morning I took off in search of the Masaya police station with a stack of cash in my jacket.  After asking a few locals I came to the police station and rode through a slightly-open gate into a sea of cops.  There were hundreds of them, all dressed exactly alike, same sunglasses, same shirts, same size, same hair color.  I explained to one my objective and was told to park the bike and come inside their office where I was instructed to go get photo copies of my ticket.  I was then told to go to the bank on the corner and pay the amount stated on the ticket.

Walking into the bank I saw two lines, one maybe a hundred people long, the other just a few.  I asked the shotgun-toting doorman if I could go in the short line and he complied.  I showed the teller my yellow ticket and slapped down five 100 Cordoba notes, all of about $23 US dollars.

I then returned to the police station, this time entering through the front door, where I found the proper window to deal with my little infraction.  I showed the lady my paperwork and she asked me where my license was which I thought was a rather strange.  "That's a good question,  I hope you have it" I replied.  Again, she asked me where my license was and again I repeated myself.  She then spoke slower and I was able to hear her ask "From where is your license".  Ah yes.  "Colorado en los Estados Unidos" She nodded in approval and disappeared through a crooked back door which could only open about a foot before getting stuck on the floor.

I leaned on the little counter while the line behind me grew longer and longer.  Inside the booth was another lady who did nothing but pull the staples from pieces of paper.  She had a huge mole almost touching the bottom of her eye which made my eyes water just looking at it  On the wall was a large whiteboard with columns for each type of motor vehicle in the city and the corresponding number.  In the corner was an old computer, the yellowish variety with a filthy keyboard and stacks of equally dirty manila envelopes stacked haphazardly.

After a half hour of waiting the lady who I'd spoken with earlier returned through the door and told me that she couldn't find my license.

Oh, the anger.

I thanked her for her help then went in search of the police chief.  Sr. Jiminez ushered me into his dimly lit office, took a long, deliberate drag on a cigarette and paused in a moment of relaxation before shaking my hand and asking me what he could do for me.

I explained to him my situation and how it seemed that the cops had intentionally lost my license, thus 'screwing' me as they had noted the day before.  I casually stated that it was my first day in his country and that I was suprised to find that cops hit foreigners in the head with night sticks. "Do they do this a lot?" I asked.  I was quickly reassured that this was not acceptable behavior.  He told me to return to his office first thing the next day and that he'd take care of the problem in the meantime.

I rode over to the police station the next day, Sr. Jimenez was on the phone but waved me then mouthed for me to go to the front desk.  I went to the front desk and was handed my ID before I could say anything.