Yesterday, when I rolled into Tenosique, I spotted a lavado de auto (car wash). That is what Tiggrr needs! So, this morning after breakfast, I went to see if they would wash my bike. I met two young men who were more than eager to knock the layers of mud off. One of the young men was from Belize and spoke English. He told me that he grew up on a banana plantation but had been working abroad for the last several years. He had worked at a brick factory in Dubai for two years and now is washing cars in Mexico. He said that he had recently been approved for a green card to the US and was going to be working at an apple farm in Georgia soon. While the boys were washing my bike, I wandered next door to a small shop and asked for coffee. There were two old men in the shop sitting on lawn chairs. They asked me where I was from and where I was going. They were quite surprised when I said I was traveling by motorbike and they came out to have look. I had to admit, Tiggrr was looking especially good in the sunlight after the road grime had been removed with a power washer. The boys had detailed the engine and wheels too! The older men walked around the bike for several minutes while I reloaded and suited up. They said it was a "Magnificent Machine" (magnifica maquina). They wished me safe travels with smiles on their faces. The bike wash cost $6 and I gave my new friends a $4 tip. They were thrilled and took selfies in front my bike. Now, it was off to the border. I didn't know what to expect and of course the internet had put a whole lot of fearful thoughts in my head. I felt like I was sneaking into Guatamala through the back door as the road from Tenosique to El Ceibo was little more than a paved forest road (without lines... my favorite!). The Mexico side was pretty much what you would expect at a boarder. A modern facility with several buildings and handful of armed law enforcement officers. As I rolled up, I was desperately looking for signage that would help direct me but just like my ferry experience there were no such markers. A guard pointed me down a lane but after talking to the agent he sent me to, I was directed another way. In the end, I had to ride the wrong way (against the indicator arrows) down a lane to get to immigration. Once I found the right office it really was pretty easy. I went in to cancel my vehicle importation permit and receive my $400 deposit back. The agent came out to inspect the bike, check the VIN numbers and took pictures. She handed me a receipt and I was off to immigration to get my passport stamped. That took less than two minutes and I was free to leave Mexico. All in all, that part only took me about 15 minutes. I got back on the bike and rolled the 1/4 mile down the road to enter Guatamala. Instead of a modern facility there were about 10 orange traffic cones isolating one lane of the road and two temporary huts along the side. One (unarmed) security officer told me that the immigration officers were at lunch and I should sit in their waiting area. He pointed to a bench made of a plank sitting across two paint buckets. The bench was positioned under a corrugated metal shade structure that was almost high enough for me to sit under. About 20 minutes later I saw the two immigration officers walking back from lunch so I went out to my bike to gather my paperwork. One of the officers approached me. He was a slightly overweight man in his fifties with greying hair and square reading glasses. He said to me in English, "I will need your passport and title for the bike". As I was digging out those documents I noticed the officer eyeing my bike with appreciation. "Triunfo?" (Spanish for Triumph... I just learned this yesterday) he asked. "Si! Tu Montes de Motos?" (Yes! Do you ride motorcycles?) I replied. Before I knew it he was showing me photos on his phone of his Yamaha V-Star 1100. He referred to it as a chopper but actually it is a cruiser. I didn't correct him. I thought... This is going to be so easy. I'm going to get the friends and family treatment and I did. He took me in his office and continued to tell me about his motorcycle club, where he had ridden and about other bikes he had owned over his life. He would pause every once in while to have me sign something. After about a half an hour he sent me on a short walk into the town to get copies of six documents including my passport identification page, Guatemalan immigration stamp, bike title, registration, drivers license and the import permit. Two boys in the copy shop were very helpful and gave me a cold bottle of water while I waited. They also bought my remaining Mexican pesos, selling me Guatemalan Quetzals. I walked back to immigration and the officer gave me some advice for riding in Guatemala and told me if I needed any mechanical help to contact one of the motorcycle clubs in Guatamala. They will be happy to help you he said. He shook my hand and wished me a happy journey. I was officially in Guatemala. All told, it took about an hour and a half but it didn't cost me a dime (other than the cost of six photocopies). Away I went riding into the Guatemalan country side. It was immediately apparent that I was in a different country and a much poorer one at that. I could see a lot of deforestation where the jungle had been destroyed to make way for grazing land and other cultivation. It was still quite beautiful and green but where Chiapas' jungles were so lush, Guatamalas' were sparse clumps surrounding grasslands. I arrived in El Remote as it was getting dark but I'm staying in the coolest little hotel. Tomorrow I'm hoping to visit the archeological site of Tikal.