how I became part of the problem

Plan a trip to Central America and the first thing that will come up is the issue of the corrupt police/ border officials.
[the open road in Nicaragua- that volcano is smoking!] Spend some time on the motorcycle chatrooms like advrider.com or horizonsunlimited.com and you will soon start to develop paranoia over ever single person in uniform that you will ever encounter.
As we have been heading south on this trip, this myth has slowly started to evaporate from our heads as each and every encounter has been, if not courteous and professional, down right friendly. At first, we used to stick Megan up front to talk to anyone official looking because the very nature of a woman on a motorcycle is surprising and fun for most people. We figured this would break the ice and allow for easy passage through checkpoints. However, we started to realize that this wasn't necessary as everyone we have encountered has been great.
Every police officer helpful. Every border official efficient and happy. Every military captain funny.
[amazing steak tacos] Take for instance Honduras. There are a lot of police checkpoints in Honduras. Every 10-20 miles are a bunch of cops hanging out under a tree randomly pulling over cars. At first I was nervous to be stopped, but for two days we never got pulled over.

On the third day we must have changed the way we looked because we were pulled over at 4 consecutive stops. The officer points a bit aggressively at the side of the road for me to pull over and as I drive by him I hear something about my motorcycle and that he wants it. Oh shit.... I stop the bike, take off my helmet and hear him look at me very straight faced and say: "I want to ride your motorcycle." I nod "no" with a smile. He repeats himself. "I want to ride your motorcycle down there, and back."
[posing with the guy who wanted to ride my bike] I'm not the wittiest guy, but I needed to think of something to say. My first thought was: "O.k. he can ride the bike, but I need some sort of collateral to ensure I get the bike back." I point to his gun and say: "Yo quiero su pistola." No reaction from him. But then his buddy looks at him and the officer starts to crack a gold toothed smile. Ahhhhhhhhh. Problem averted.
So now onto the part about how I became part of the problem. Crossing from Honduras into Nicaragua is notoriously bad. You first have to leave Honduras. This actually went quite well. We changed some money from the money changers, they told us where to go, we got everything stamped, and jumped back on our bikes for the Nicaraguan side.
[negotiating a rate with money changers] This is where things started to go wrong. Nicaragua is the poorest of the Central American countries and the chaos at the border shows it. As far as I could tell there were 4 people working and about 100 tourists and 50 truckers needing to get through. It was my turn to do the border crossing at this one (Megan stayed out in the 95 degree sun and watched the bikes). I managed to get the passports stamped in only about 1/2 hour. I had randomly chosen the proper line to stand in and this really helped out a lot.
The problem was the bikes (the problem is always the bikes). I had to get them registered in Nicaragua but this was the same line that all the truckers were standing in to get their trucks registered. I got in line. Within a few minutes a very nice fellow approached me and asked how I was doing. We conversed in Spanish for a while which I always enjoy. At the end of the conversation, he lowered his voice and asked if I wanted to get through the line "mas rapido." I asked what that would take and in an even lower voice he said he had friends and that 20 dollars would help smooth things out. I politely declined thinking I could just get through this on my own. Hey... it is part of the adventure.
[hordes of people waiting in line] About 45 minutes passes and the line hasn't moved one bit. It is starting to get late and I have no idea what time the office closes. So I start to weigh my options. I could pay this guy and become part of the problem or take the moral high ground and do this with the rest of the commoners. I chose to wait it out.
Another 15 minutes goes by and the line has finally moved up two people.
So I look at my friend who is walking around and do the little eyebrow raise. 10 minutes later and we are on our way to the final checkpoint.
So yeah, I sold out. I fed into the system of bribery and elitism. I cut into the lunch line and made all the other suckers wait it out. And it didn't feel very good. But I honestly think I would still be there if I hadn't.
[kids dressed up as jesus and his helpers for Holy Week] And when we left Nicaragua, it was even crazier. Friday was the start of Semana Santa (Holy Week), the biggest holiday of them all down here. I have never seen a crazier zoo than trying to get out (just exit) Nicaragua. We took one look at all and instantly flagged down a little helper (a guide as they like to call themselves). I don't think that I would have been able to figure out the 4 random guys in the parking lot whose signatures I needed and then which two of the 10 different lines of people I would have needed to get into. This guy knew them all, and had access to the "special line." It still took 2.5 hours, but Megan chatted with people who hadn't hired a guide and had been there for 7 hours and still hadn't finished.
[the perfect way to end a day] Anyway this little video is of me feeling totally beat down by the system. We were at the final checkpoint for entering Nicaragua. You just have to show all the completed paper work to a woman at a kiosk and then you can be on your way. However... she needed a copy of the paperwork. She first told us to go back to the office (where I payed off the guy) but then relented and told me where a copy machine was about 100 meters down the road. In this video, I am running back with copies in hand, about to pass out from dehydration and heat exhaustion (did I mention it was 95-100 degrees) and fully expecting to be denied. When Megan asks me if I am o.k., you can see me nod my head no.

Moral of the story: be careful for Nicaragua, especially on Holy Week.