If I haven't already reached the halfway point, I figure I must have by now.
I wish I could say that things have changed drastically for the better (recently had some VERY nice things happen though.) If you're looking for a story of happy trails full of positive accounts, then you should probably look elsewhere. This trip is about seeing new cultures, places, bla bla bla ... The truth is that when it's all said and done, this trip will be about overcoming extreme hardship. Dealing with something terrible, again, and again, and again, and again, for long periods. Then somehow, someway, finding the will to continue. Nearly reaching the breaking point, time and again, and continuing. Being so angry and frustrated, I can't help but cuss aloud and have been so close as to throw my bike down and hitch-hike a ride to call it quits.
Sometimes it's not that easy though. I've been in places, dealing with flat tires or something for instance. The nearest city is hundreds of kilometers away, I'm on the side of a road with a problem, and I simply just have to figure it out and keep going. By the time I reach a place that I could easily get on a plane and leave, I've usually calmed down enough and want to continue.
Talking of things like this might make people first ask why would I continue? If I'm not enjoying it completely, why keep going? After all, I'm paying my hard earned money to endure this. I knew full well (well definitely not entirely all of the things I would have to overcome) before starting this trip, that I would have some tough times. I just didn't realize that they would go on sometimes for such lengthy periods. I never thought of how difficult it would be dealing with the heat through Mexico, Central America, and now even in South America. Something I
always remind myself, especially struggling up a steep hill, in blazing heat drenched in sweat, with cars and trucks honking and shouting at me... that 'it will pass'. That no matter the circumstance, of how bad it gets, it won't stay that way. I've found myself numerous times stressed out dealing with city traffic, cussing at drivers that nearly crashed into me (or the worst is when oncoming traffic passes cars, and pass by me with maybe a half meter of space = instant death), to later in the day, coming around a corner and seeing a jaw-dropping view with beautiful evening light over the ocean for example.
To do something extraordinary, requires something extraordinary. When I'm done with this trip, I can look back with pride, and tell myself that I biked across two continents, solo, unsupported, and did it myself. People may not believe, and will probably even question that I actually rode the entire way - I don't care. For myself, I can say it knowingly what I accomplished. Completing North America is a huge step. Now, since getting rid of a ton of weight, relaxing and having some side adventure... I'm ready for more.
I will never forget a video I watched with some people that I stayed with in Utah, on my way down. These people were ecstatic to show me this video, telling me things like "oh you think you've got it tough? You should watch this, it will make you feel relieved". It was some documentary about some of the people that have ridden "The Great Divide" route. All of the riders carried next to nothing on their bikes, stayed in hotels lots, and told the camera while sitting down to a meal in a restaurant, how bad they've got it, for about two months. (This has me thinking I should ride the great divide when the trip is through, just for comparison...)
I know I probably don't have to say it, and really there's no point because what I'm doing is completely voluntary, but I think a good idea is to give some people more of a perspective of what goes on in my life on the road. I'm highlighting the Latin portion of the trip so far, because of how much more difficult it has been (riding through the states was mostly quite pleasant, besides being snowed on, and a few other things). Canada and Alaska were difficult with things like frigid days of rain, struggling to stay warm on the bike, but were marked with highlights of extreme beauty and solitude in nature.
The vast majority of the time I'm camping, so sleeping is a bit of an issue with noise from things like trucks, ranging to pouring rain pounding my tent (that even floods my tent sometimes). Getting up in the morning at sunrise, I'm usually a bit tired, and need a good couple hours to cook and eat breakfast, then pack everything up and get it on my bike (at this point I'm almost always drenched in sweat because when the sun is up, it's beating down heat). The first 10km or so, I'm usually still pretty tired, and after I start to get warmed up and ready to ride for the day.
The first 20-30km I usually feel pretty good (depending on hills, road conditions, etc), and stop for a solid stretch at this point, and something to eat. Starting again, the heat is usually full on at this point, and for the rest of the day until around 4, it is tough to ride. I have to take breaks every hour or so, just to cool off. There have three times I can remember vividly, that I nearly succumbed to heat stroke: once on the VERY hilly coast of Mexico, another time riding up the long hill from La Libertad to San Salvador, and the third... well I can't actually remember the third.
People are usually surprised when I tell them that I ride through the heat of the day. I explain to them that I sort of have to. If I didn't, I would only be doing 40km - 50km / day, and wouldn't be getting very far. I'm constantly reminding myself that the further/faster I get through the bad parts, the faster I will get to some of the better parts.
So after dealing with the heat all day, I can usually see the cumulonimbus building, and in a short amount of time the thunderstorms roll in dump rain. So much rain, there have been many times the roads are flooded, I can barely see with rain hitting my face and eyes, and I'm trying to navigate through a foot of water over the road without hitting potholes. With everything thoroughly soaked, and dwindling light, it's usually time to find a camp spot (sometimes it's still raining). After being stared at all day, I've had to camp in many places where all I want to do is have some quiet time to myself, cook some dinner, and sleep. Instead people come from all over to gaze at the crazy gringo cyclist, with looks of vampires searching for fresh prey.
At least in my tent, at the end of the day, I have time to myself and some actual privacy. Although of course my tent functioned like a teepee for all of Mexico except Baja, then in many parts of Central America, which lead to diminished space in the tent, leaking water inside during hard rains, and even just the difficulty of constructing the tent with broken tent poles. Mix in plenty of sickness, having to ride while sick, and some parasites I contracted somewhere in Belize or Mexico, that would cause extreme fatigue for a couple months, off and on. I had plenty of flat tires, things breaking, falling in tar, rough roads (construction, or just gravel/rocky roads),
horrible drivers that are annoyed by my mere presence on the road, the noise of the people in general - yelling things from cars or just on the sides of the roads. Not to mention I carried about 200 pounds of bike and gear, including a surfboard, guitar, computer, tools, clothes, food, stove, etc. The worst is the heat, such searing, unmerciful heat that seems to never end. I've had many nights, after unpacking the bike, setting up my tent, eating and looking forward to a good nights sleep, to only sweat, toss, and turn all night trying to get what little rest I could.
This has gone on for months at a time. Waking up in the morning, and knowing I have to go through it all over again... it's tough.
Now enough of all that, down to the nitty gritty, and more of some of the highlights of things that have happened since my last post, so long ago. The bad
and the good.
I stayed in San Salvador with Andres for a long a while, and found it difficult to get back on the road (lots times the case after taking a solid break). He gave me a ride back to the gas station where he originally picked me up, we said goodbye, and I road through and out of San Salvador (which was horrible with traffic and exhaust). I even had some kid on the side of the road fling some of his snow slushie at me. Oh I was pissed, stopped my bike, and walked back to talk to him, but he took off running. Later I had heavy rain, that would continue everyday (except for maybe 1 or 2 days), late in the day all the way to Panama city.
The following few days, the hills and heat continued to take their toll. I had some wonderful views of some volcanoes. Shortly I arrived at the border of Honduras. I had the worst encounter with a money exchanger I have ever had. I'm normally very paranoid about exchanging money in the first place, because it presents a great opportunity for someone to rob me. I stand out like a sore thumb, and it's a necessary uncomfortable experience I always detest when I cross borders. Not only that, but traveling solo, I feel more paranoid about everything and everyone. I have to be.
This instance, there was this older guy right near the checkpoint. They always have huge wads of bills they pull out and just start yelling "cambio, cambio", in the most annoying way possible. This greasy older guy, who seemed to just have the appearance of a scumbag, I tried not to judge and negotiated a rate to exchange. When he gave me my money, I quickly counted it and checked what he had given me. I realized right away he shorted me and demanded more money. My thoughts and paranoia were confirmed when he promptly handed over even more money. We continued to argue for what was probably 20 minutes until one of the customs officers came over. I counted the money in front of the officer (while the guy kept trying to touch my money as I was counting), and sure enough he still was trying to short me the money. I got the rest of it, and heard the cop tell the guy how he's always bothering the tourists and that he's not to exchange money there anymore.
Into Honduras, I tried to absorb as much as I could of the country. I was only there for a couple days. There more stretches of open land with less people, and I really enjoyed observing the landscape. As I mentioned, continued to have rain on a daily basis, with one particular night and incredible thunderstorm that I was waiting to strike my tent.
The time flew by and I was suddenly into Nicaragua. For some reason Nicaragua has always stood out among the Central American countries. I have met several different people that enjoyed surfing the most in Nicaragua. Also, I followed the story of Eric Volz who was wrongfully imprisoned for a year or two, for the rape and murder of his exgirlfriend in San Juan Del Sur. I really enjoyed Nicaragua (besides being so damn hot like the other places, maybe even more towards the first part of the country) for how flat it was. There were several different volcanoes that I had the fortitude to enjoy from the road on flatter roads.
The road from the border to Chinandega was real nice and mellow. From Chinandega, through Leon, Managua and on to Granada was mostly a madhouse of traffic blazing past (the worst of it closer to Chinandega and Leon. I hurried along and enjoyed some spectacular sights, like Lake Managua, and some monkeys near the road on the way up to the volcano from Granada. Later one day as I road from Managua, to Granada, I saw a car pull over. This happens relatively frequently, which I just assume people are stopping to check their map, or wait for me to pass and take pictures. This instance was different.
I saw a guy get out of the car, and stood waiting for me to approach. He was a white guy who obviously seemed to be from up North somewhere. He introduced himself as John, mentioned he's got a place for me to stay on the beach, that he's traveled by bike through lots of Asia. We barely talked, he gave me his card and website of his hostel to check out (told me I could stay for free). I had planned to ride out to San Juan Del Sur, and his place was just North of there. He admitted it would be a further ride, plus a great section of dirt I would have to cross.
After he left, I thought about it quite a bit, and after staying a night in Granada, decided I should do it (since the surf is more easily accessible in Playa Gigante where he's at). I ended up arriving in Rivas later in the day, and after loading up at the grocery store, it was getting dark as I turned down the side road towards Playa Gigante with another ~30km to go. Passing Tola, the road turned from pavement to dirt, and I had an eekingly slow time riding over bumps, rocks, gravel, until I saw the Playa Gigante sign. After having to cross some massive mud puddles, and more hills/dirt/rocks/bumps, I got to the beach. I met John as he was walking down the dirt road in town, and happily showed me where I was going to stay.
I stayed in the downstairs of his house, which was in the process of being remodeled, and not in the cleanest condition. Like camping, it was just dirt, and didn't bother me a whole lot. I spent the next few days, surfing lots, and relaxing as much as I can. Turns out the surf is not that close, a "half hour walk" is more like a "half hour jog" to me. I had the opportunity to surf the barreling beach break "playa colorado" and did my best to get barrels, although a lot of the waves were closing out. The walk to the break goes through some very nicely forested areas along the beach with no one in sight. It's a shame I couldn't have my camera on these walks (no way I was going to leave my camera on the beach while surfing), or scaling some of the rocky points, or even nice sunsets on the water. Fond memories that I will have to remember for myself.
Fortunately John had to go to town to get stuff, and I didn't have to ride back to Rivas by bike. He dropped me off, and I ended up staying at his friend's place in town that I met while I was at the beach. In the morning when I was leaving, I had the sick symptoms that have been recurring since Belize. I was tested when I was in San Salvador, for what I thought was mononucleosis. Since the symptoms persisted, I determined I must have contracted some kind of parasite. The strange thing is that the symptoms usually appear
after I've taken a few days off, and return to the road (sometimes accompanied with diarrhea, so I know it's not all in my head).
Riding through, fighting on, persisting like always, I reached Costa Rica. My Mom had confirmed with me that her and my Grandmother were coming to visit me in Panama city. Since I had taken a couple extra days off that I didn't plan on, I picked up the pace and put in a few long consecutive days through Costa Rica. Costa Rica has a lot of protected spaces and parks. Because of this, there is more flora and fauna. Several times I could hear monkeys in the trees while riding, and even one time looked up to see a pair of brilliantly colored macaws fly over with long tails.
Stopping in a coffee shop in the small town of Parita to do emails, I started talking to the American owner. As I went to leave to find a camp spot out of town before it got dark, the chef came running out. He's Costa Rican, and when he heard I was going to camp somewhere, came out to invite me to stay at his house. Hansel, or Hans, is a baker at the coffee shop. He's been baking since he was a child. I'm not sure if his real name is Hansel, but sure was fitting when he reminded me of the tale of Hansel and Gretel. We went to his house, I showered, changed and we went to his girlfriend's house where she had cooked an incredibly tasty Costa Rican dish. After sleeping quite peacefully, we had a quick breakfast (of the same tasty food), and I stopped by the coffee shop to say goodbye before heading out of town.
Fond memories like this, people like this, really enhance my trip so much. If it wasn't for all the people that have helped me along the way, ranging from offering a smile and warm conversation, to taking me in and offering a shower, food and roof to sleep under, I might have quit long ago.
A few more days of riding, with tons of heat of course, and rain everyday, I reached the border of Panama. Crossing into Panama, was something I needed. Approaching the border, the roads in Costa Rica had really deteriorated, and for a whole day I could feel the anger and frustration just starting to build inside with dealing with the incredible heat, then the utter saturation of rain. Then things like dropping my ipod on the road, breaking my copper kickstand stick when my bike fell over, rough roads seem to make things just a little worse.
Panama was the first country (besides the U.S.) that I had to deal with quite a bit of interrogation. They asked me to remove my helmet, asked for proof of $500 USD in my possession, took a picture of me. I was probably at the Panama customs for at least 20 minutes, which normally takes about 5. Finally permitted to enter, I took off down the smooth open highway with an ample shoulder for once. I was excited to be in Panama, and kept trying to remind myself that finishing this country, meant I had completed riding across the North American continent.
Waking the following morning, I was just irritable and grumpy, having the kids at the nearby school sit and stare at me didn't help things. My only resolution was to ride on, hard and fast. I must have done about 40km in a couple hours before I came across a couple of other traveling cyclists, the first I had met since Baja way back in Mexico. They told me they had taken the side road that goes South and reconnects in Santiago. They told me it was well worth it, hilly, but I wouldn't have as much traffic. I decided to do it.
Earlier in the day, I came to the realization of what I put at the beginning of this post. How this trip is about overcoming all sorts of horrible experiences, or terrific difficulty. Fate it seems, is not without a sense of exaggeration.
I turned off and right away noticed how much more peaceful it was, a smooth road, with no cars. The rain came in shortly, and started to dump it's usual buckets of water. I approached a construction zone, with no one around, and a couple cones on one side of the road. Half the road was paved, the other half was dirt with rocks. Opting for the paved part of course, I maneuvered onto the pavement, passed the oddly placed cones. I noticed right away that something was terribly wrong.
Before I knew what was happening, I had slid out on the pavement, and crashed with my bike to the ground.
Tar.
Still hot enough to tell they had recently put it down. It was all over my leg, butt, hands, gear. I stood up and looked at my hands covered in a thick, black, glue of tar. Trying to use a branch to wipe it off was pointless. Fortunately a house was right there, and when they saw me started to laugh (hardly a laughing matter for me of course). I moved my bike to the side of the road, and just stood for a while trying to figure out what I was going to do. They let me buy a gallon of gas from them, and for the next few hours, into the sunset, I scrubbed the tar from my pannier bags, handle, and belongings with a rag and gas. It took me probably an hour, after stripping naked in the back yard of the people's house, to scrub with gas and remove all of the tar from my butt, leg and back. Then I had to scrub with soap and water. Exhausted, and feeling strangely relieved that the experience was over, I pitched my tent in their yard and slept. In the morning, I rode away from the scene quick as I could, to just get away from the memory.
I had to negotiate many zones of dirt and construction, up and down on the same kind of hills, for about 15km. The road finally turned paved, and I had such hilly road to travel over, almost all the way to Santiago (did get easier as I got closer).
One long day to get to Penonome, and I was waiting the whole next day in Rio Hato, and at Playa Blanca for my Mother and Grandmother's arrival. We had a jubilant hello together. We spent the following few days at a fancy resort on the beach at Playa Blanca. All the food and beverages were included (including alcohol). We indulged in exquisite food, and had to make difficult decisions like "should we hang out in our air conditioned hotel, or go down to the beach and lay under the shade after a swim in the ocean?". There were even a couple of sunfish sailboats on the beach, and one evening took my Mom out for a quick sail. It only wet my appetite to do more sailing (hadn't sailed a sunfish in a couple years since living in San Diego), and reminded me of the sailing I had to look forward to traveling to Colombia. After some relaxing time, we migrated back to the city.
My Mom had rented an SUV that was big enough for all my stuff. The topic came up about putting my bike in and the sort, and I had to explain that I would have to ride there and meet them in the city, or return after they left to ride the stretch. I of course was given looks of disbelief. I explained that I've ridden every kilometer from Alaska, why would it be any different now. All the times I could have taken a bus through the hottest of areas, the coldest rainiest parts, would have been basically for nothing.
I packed up the SUV, said a quick goodbye to my Mom and Gma, and took off for the city. I only had my handle bar bag, and a rear pannier with extra water and some snacks. Wow I could ride so fast with a bike that's about 35lbs, instead of 200. They passed me in no time, as they drove on to the city. I knew the trip was going to be about 100km, but when I stopped at Mcdonald's outside to use the wifi and check my map, I realized it was more than I thought - ~130km. It was already about 2pm at this point, sunset about 6. I knew right away that I would arrive in the dark, no matter how fast I rode. Still, I took off, blazing speed, racing against myself.
I only stopped that once at the Mcdonald's, then rode another 50km or so before stopping underneath a overpass to eat something hurriedly, and fill my bottles on my bike. I had some hills, one big one in particular, but having no weight meant hills were much less of a nuisance. I kept reminding myself all day, that this, in a way, would be the easiest day of riding I might have on the trip. I knew that when I got to the hotel, that I had a shower waiting for me. I knew I was going to have a warm meal with the company of my Mom and Grandma, two lovely women to look after me.
I arrived at the bridge of the "americas" in the dark, and excitedly gazed on both sides the hundreds of ships, waiting to pass through the canal. I was trying to remind myself, that this was basically the point that I had finished riding across North America. I would ride on to Colon (then take a boat), but this point meant I had finished a huge portion of the trip.
I rode through a terribly dangerous part of town, and even stopping at a corner to ask a couple military guys standing guard, they simply told me to go straight down the one road, and "ride fast, and don't stop" (in spanish). I arrived at the hotel and met my mother and grandmother, who of course had begun to worry a bit, because it had been about an hour into the dark (I had told them earlier that I should arrive a little earlier, when I thought I had less distance).
After having a shower, clean clothes, delicious pizza, and cold beer, I felt so much better after a long day of riding (too bad I can't have that everyday!). Talking with my 'ladies' (as I'll just refer to them now which is easier), I told them a bit more about why it was important that I rode that stretch, and continue to do so. I think after I got there, and explained a bit more of why I had to do it, I could see that they understood my perspective.
We went to see the canal of course, which was so enjoyable to see a ship go through. While I was there, I just kept trying to picture a map, and remember what Panama looks like, and what it means for the world to have this simple stupid piece of water go through an area of land. It changed world commerce.
While in the city, my mom being a nurse as well, we went to some clinics to get me checked out. Good thing because the notorious symptoms returned the day before they were supposed to leave. Turns out I was a bit anemic, with a lower hematocrit and hemoglobin count (saw this from the tests in San Salvador). I've been taking a multivitamin, but not daily. As well since I probably had parasites, they were probably using some of my bodily nutrients. I think the only test to accurately determine if I actually had parasites, was a stool test, and I couldn't perform under pressure. Still, I took anti-worm, anti-bacteria, and anti-parasite medication. I've felt much better since.
Also, we went to an ophthalmologist. A week before seeing them, a strange phenomenon had started in my left eye. I suddenly noticed that my left eye had blurred vision. My left eye was always better than my right eye, now it was worse. My eye is so bad that a lot of times, if I look with just my left eye, I can't even see people's faces, they're blurred out. Apparently I have "retinitis", basically fluid leaking onto the retina and causing the blurred vision. It's rare, and most times temporary, only it takes months most times to go away. It still persists, and I'm just getting accustomed to it. It does make for a more difficult time riding or walking, because now my depth perception is affected, and I have to choose wisely in where I put my foot or tire.
After having such an extremely relaxing week, getting pampered by my ladies, with new parts, gear, food, comfortable places to stay, and loads and loads of hugs and kisses, it was time for them to leave. We got choked up saying goodbye, knowing it would be a long while before seeing each other again, and they left for the airport and I finished packing up at the hotel. I rode out of town, through the usual torrential downpour, but with LOADS of traffic, and had to evade potholes in the flooded streets. After camping at a military checkpoint near the road, I rode the rest of the way into Colon.
Both these times riding, I noticed a significant difference in the weight of my bike. After having cut so much stuff, getting rid of everything I didn't think had a use for the rest of the trip, the bike felt lighter. I noticed it mainly on the hills. Normally, any other hill, I almost always have to get into 1st and eek my way up. Riding to Colon, I had plenty of hills, and lots that I could ride up in 2nd or even in 3rd, but went to first thinking to myself "I've got it, why not use it, it's better for my knees?" It made me excited for riding in South America, and relieved to know that I was better equipped to tackle the next great obstacle of the trip: the mighty Andes mountain range.
Colon is aptly named. Like a few parts of Panama city, was dirty, dangerous, and my gutt was telling me to get moving. I asked around about the ferry (was supposed to start in May, from Colon to Cartagena, but heard from many travelers that it never started), and nobody knew. Nobody even seemed to know where a lot of the other boats leave from. I finally heard of Calle 5, and was given explicit instructions to go right, and not left. That if I went left, it was very dangerous (somebody later mentioned about trying to find a boat ride down that road, that I should take a taxi just to pass through the area of the street to get to the boat yard... no thanks). I went, to the right, and found a boat launch and small boat yard. Finally confirming what I heard before, that I need to go to Shelter Bay on the other side of the island.
I rode to Shelter Bay, and started to ask people on their boats about the possibility of a ride to Colombia. The first boat I asked was a catamaran that was on stilts on the land. A nice woman with a broad smile and an accent I couldn't place, said they were going the other way, but invited me for dinner nonetheless. Dianna is Scottish but has lived in Norway most of her life. Stein, is from Norway. Both are retired doctors, and apparently very famous in Norway. Both, solo, unsupported,
rowed across the Atlantic ocean. Not only that, but they sailed with their 3 children, around the world, for 5 years.
We had a lovely dinner, with another sailor, John, who was working on his boat next door. After dinner, I had planned to ride down a ways towards the jetty and find camp somewhere. Dianna and Stein offered for me to stay with them, and they gave me a nice bed in one of the hulls. They let me keep my stuff on their boat as I continued to search the marina for a boat ride to Colombia. It was looking bleak, and I started debating whether I should bike to Portobello, or ALL the way back towards the city and up to Carti to find a ride.
I finally found a boat, that was under repair by a guy named Andres. He's Colombian, and doesn't speak any English, so that was a bit of a factor. Said they were going to Colombia, and sounded like the cheapest option (besides taking a "backpacker" boat through San Blas islands which are insanely expensive). He said he had to do some repairs, and would be leaving in a few days. Also mentioned the captain was coming soon (didn't come until the day we left).
Dianna and Stein were leaving to head up the coast, and since I had some time to kill, they invited me to come with them and checkout Rio Chagres. We motored out of the harbor and up the coast, then got the sails up for a while before reaching the river mouth. We anchored off a beach and went swimming before having lunch. Motoring up the river further, the water was a sheet of glass, and all sorts of animals made noise from the jungle on both sides. We had a very relaxing night on the river, and woke to pouring rain. After exploring the Spanish ruins on the point, we said goodbye, and I rode back to Shelter Bay.
Intending to sleep out near the jetty when I got back (I found a very nice hard packed dirt area over looking the bay with the ships and colon, protected from the wind, away from people), I first stopped to find about out the boat ride across and make sure everything was in order. Stopping at a boat I had already asked when I first arrived, on the same dock, Larry and Anne Marie invited me aboard their boat to stay with them. After a hearty meal at the potluck, and a shower, I slept deeply on of their beds in their comfy air conditioned yacht. They were kind and helpful, let me stay on the boat until finally Andres had come over and announced they were leaving.
Scrambling to get my stuff aboard, and below, we took off of the marina, my second, and last time. We motored across the bay back to Colon to get diesel, avoiding massive oil tankers and container ships. Sometimes they would blast their air horn, alerting us of their presence, when we mistook them for being anchored when they were actually moving towards us. We slept on the boat that night, and in the morning saw that the alternator was bad because the batteries had died (to be honest I really wasn't surprised with a lot the stuff that happened like this on the boat). So I had to wait on the boat all day, waiting for the guys to go get a new one in the city. After another night, we finally left Colon for the open ocean.
I didn't know what to expect getting out onto the open ocean for days at a time. I'm usually real susceptible to motion sickness, especially on a boat. I've always heard that one just needs a few days to overcome. I've always wanted to sail, and figured I'd do my best to try to get accustomed to it, without medication if I could. Anne Marie had give me some pills that I could take if I became terribly ill, but I'm glad I didn't need them. This first stretch to Porvenir, we had a little chop, and I felt a little bit dizzy, or mareado as I came to learn, but not too bad.
There were four of us on the boat. The same guy Andres, another Orlando (deckhand) and the captain, Marcos. All three are from Colombia, don't speak english, and most times I had no idea what they were saying. I've never heard anyone say "niño" as much as I heard them say it, all the time "hey niño!"
I got to do some sailing, and drove for almost 4 hours into the night without autopilot. Watching the sunrise in the morning, maybe 30-40 dolphins came to greet us as we approached Porvenir. We hung out on the island all day, and in the morning with a different captain Tilsen, we set sail for Cartagena. I was feeling a bit frustrated, and regretting my decision. I knew deep down that I should have coughed up the extra money to see the islands (although double the price). It was probably very noticeable and after talking a bit, Tilsen offered that I could come back, later on, help work on the boat and would have to pay so much. Whether it can happen or not, the thought of it made me feel a bit better.
In a couple days, we were in Cartagena, and after dumping my stuff at the hostel, cleaned up, I took off walking to check out the city. The historic part of Cartagena, is probably one of the prettiest or breath taking that I've seen. The architecture is very unique, and coupled with the idea of how old the city is, like trying to keep out the French, English, and pirates, brought a different kind of thought to the place.
I've been here a few days, had to get a few odds and ends, and of course the laborious time to put this piece together that I hope you're enjoying. I had to go find the only decent bike shop on the other side of town, dealing with the usual horrible city traffic of latin cities. Still having problems with my headset. This time, one of the bearings had started to rust from water getting inside. I had planned
long ago that when I get to Medellin, I'm going to change all of it. Also, since back when I was in Guadalajara, I had planned to tune up my bike when I arrived in Colombia, and it definitely needs it. I've had so much throughout Mexico and Central America, that things are rusting bad. I'm going to give my bike some serious TLC, to get through South America.
I've got about another week of misery in the heat, before I get to some serious mountain climbing. I'm actually looking forward to the climbing, if it means getting out of the heat finally, and especially now that I have a much lighter rig. I'm hoping and thinking, that once I get to Medellin, that the heat is over in the trip - this will help me tremendously. I'll be in the mountains for the rest of Colombia, and through Ecuador, then what little I'll be along the coast in Peru, the Humboldt current brings frigid waters from the Antarctic, and will hopefully keep things cool.
Well I better get some sleep, back on the bike tomorrow and will surely have to adjust to long days pedaling again. South America, a different continent, another country. I've now traveled to ten different countries. I'm excited to ride tomorrow, I've felt excited to ride in a while. Excited to see what happens next, as I continue PEDALING THE UNKNOWN.
Some Thoughts While Riding:
Having arrived in Colombia, now, no matter what happens next, at least I
can say that I biked across North America. That every kilometer from
Alaska, down to the last one before getting on the boat leaving Panama, I
pedaled every single one. I've been offered a ride numerous times by
people. Even sometimes had to retrace my steps sometimes when
somebody's picked me up in a city (like in San Salvador). More
recently, when my Mom and Grandma came to visit, they gave me some
strange looks when I told them I couldn't ride with them to the city,
that I would have to bike it. I think later when I arrived, and
explained how I've pedaled every kilometer from Alaska, they understood a
little more. I know that if I started taking rides, that it might just
turn into a slippery slope, and start taking rides whenever I can.
After camping in a small village in El Salvador, a kind young girl came up to me as I was packing my things. She gave me a nice sea shell as a present, and in English, had the words: "Peace to you free forever, because peace is the only weapon that breaks boundaries".
I thought it was hilarious when my friend Hans in Parita, Costa Rica told me that he thought Mexicans are very vulgar in the way they speak.
Some parts, and especially riding through Panama, I thought of how amazing it is that a tiny sliver of dirt between two massive oceans, connects to giant land masses.
The noise of Latin American people of interest, besides the annoyance. I'm still not accustomed to it, and probably never will, but these people make so much noise. They honk all the time driving, approaching intersections, or behind people (like me riding). People yell at each other, even when they aren't angry. They blare their music from cars, houses, or wherever, paying no mind to what other people may want. Semi
It's interesting to see that like Belize, Panama (and now it seems in Colombia as well) has lots of diversity. There are again lots of black people, Asians, whites. The big difference than before is that no creole is spoken. It's interesting and so different to see black people speaking Spanish perfectly (even the flip side of that seeing white people in parts of Central America speaking perfect Spanish, whom I assumed had immigrated from the US or somewhere else but are actually born and raised in the region).
Panama was the only country so far that proved to have some difficulty entering (besides the US of course, here they even had X-ray car scanners at the checkpoints like the US - the feel of the police state). First they asked to remove my helmet (a first). Then they wanted proof that I had at least $500 (which doesn't make sense to me at all, why would I be coming to Panama with less than $500, or then trying to live, on that amount of money... it just seemed inappropriate). Fortunately I located a receipt from my bank account in the bowels of my handlebar bag. After taking a picture of me, and a half hour of time, my passport was stamped, and the line that had formed behind me, shuffled forward towards the window.
So many times people think internet and/or wifi is food. I'll ask trying to pinpoint a place I can check emails, skype, check the map... then be directed the local taco place down the street saying they have that dish. It's amazing sometimes how I forget some people live without much technology in their lives. For example I'll start talking about skype, or emails, at the end people are like "oh yeah... internet" - like it's the only thing they understood.
I never liked how in Mexico, to say straight, you simply say "derecho". Well to 'go to the right' in a direction, you say "derecha" - this obviously led me to a lot of confusion with people's accents, missing teeth, or what have you. In all of Central America, from what I remember, everyone just says "recto" for straight. I like this a lot more.
In Central America, people call this time of the year "winter" like it's the same seasons south of the Equator. They simply call it winter because of the rainy season, and it sounds like the temperatures don't deviate a whole lot besides.
I hear lots of times how people usually see bike travelers in groups or pairs, that seldom do they see (sometimes never) a single cyclist.
I've always been told about the Colombian women, yes I've seen a few
beauties. We all know what Colombia is famous for, but apparently
Bolivia produces more.
I don't understand what it is about religious people. Numerous times on the trip, I get people asking me about what I believe, and even why I don't believe in religion. It just ends up turning into a lengthy debate, I don't see the point in even asking. Why do they feel like they need to try and convert me? I am perfectly fine without having religion in my life, and fine happiness without, isn't that good enough?
If I am to perish on the road, if these terrible Latin American drivers finally succeed in terminating my life... Then I hope that something good can come from my death. That perhaps more respect for cyclists can be garnered. While on the touchy subject of death on the road (I'm sorry mom, it's only realistic to mention it...), I wanted to mention that I would much rather die behind the bars, than die behind the walls. I would always prefer a sudden death, then a drawn out one, say from cancer or something.
I try not to be a materialistic person, but it's tough. What little possessions I now have, each one is tremendously important, and helps maintain my sanity. A few weeks ago, I thought I had lost my ipod and after a couple days had begun to accept the loss. Although I knew full well I was losing so many digital notes ranging from songs that I discovered along the way (when listening to them remind me of the memories associated with them), all the songs in my library, contacts, all sorts of different things. After finding it deep in the bottom of my handlebar bag, I was very relieved.
Having the ability to listen to music sometimes, is tremendous. Listening to any genre of music has helped me in so many situations to really help me feel better mentally.
Traveling through Central America, I was trying to pay attention to any differences I knew of from Mexico. A simple difference I enjoyed noting was how to describe something as "cool". In Mexico cool is Chido. In Guatemala cool is calidad ("esta calidad"). In Nicaragua it's mata (although mata means killing also, guess it's like in English when someone might say "he's killing it"). In Costa Rica it's pura vida. In Colombia it's chimbre.
Having just barely arrived in Colombia, one thing I've noticed is some of the people say "niño" so much. It's like saying "hey man", but instead they say "hey niño". Some people say it
so much, like the Colombians I was with on the boat ride over. I still have "hey niño ringing in my head... Besides chimbre to describe something as cool, Colombians also use the word "plata" a lot to describe money in general.
I've noticed recently, and realized I've observed it throughout my time in Latin America, that latinos (and lots of people from other countries) tend to listen more in conversations. It seems like lots of Americans and Canadians like to talk about themselves, and when they are listening, are really just waiting for their turn to speak.
There are so many different words, mainly nouns that are different through all the countries. Things like sandals, or thatched roof huts, are all called something different throughout the countries. Words I thought were unanimously understood to mean something, ends up giving people a blank face when I say them.
I had rain, everyday since leaving San Salvador, all the way to the city of Panama, except for maybe two days. Nearly everyday, getting rained on, at almost the same time. During the rainy season, this is just how it is. It's interesting that it was
almost always around the same time - late afternoon. The rain would
almost always seem to build out of the South East. So then I started to think sometimes that maybe I could outrun it, that if I biked hard enough earlier in the day, I could get past it somehow, but of course this wasn't the case, and always ended up wet.
Sure the rain helps keep me cool, I would have rather had the rain, than the heat all the time. However, the worst part about the rain, is how hard it is. Sooooo hard, it almost feels like little pebbles. The worst part about the rain is the complete saturation, the spongy feeling in my shoes with my socks on as I pedal through it. Believe me, I would love to have a light cool drizzle all the time, this makes for excellent riding weather, but clearly the saying about raining buckets, derived from the rain in Central America. Besides the complete saturation, and spongy feeling in my shoes, is the stinging sensation that I get while being wet. Through most of Mexica, and all of Central America, I've been getting heat rashes off and on. When I get wet in the rain, for some reason the heat rashes are more pronounced, and I get VERY intense stinging sensations that feel like needles stinging me over my body. They feel similar to the insects biting me - a whole different story.
When I stopped for water at some random restaurant in Costa Rica, a guy mentioned that he knows of somebody that claims to have ridden 80km/day, everyday, from the North pole to the South pole. I would definitely say that this is impossible, especially a place like Central America with sufficient hills and awesome heat. I barely do 80km a day a lot of times on a bicycle.
It will probably continue until the end of the trip, and I'm doing my best to ignore it and get it over it, but people constantly staring at me is always so bothersome. I know I have probably already mentioned. For those that want to tell me that I shouldn't mind, or that I should appreciate their curiosity... I would say that you have no idea what it feels like. Not to be looked at, nor watched, but stared at. Stared at, gawked at, ALL day, everyday. I'm probably a bit egocentric, but I would imagine for the
most extreme egocentric person, it would get old. Of course something like this is a cultural difference, where it seems perfectly normal for people to just stare until they are content or bored. I think people get the point though when I sometimes turn the tables, and just stare back, and they finally look away for find something else to stare at.
I'm always using an online dictionary to try and verify the words I'm using are in the correct context, or simply sometimes I just don't know what a word means. Fitting that on one particular site I use, the 'word of the day' happened to be "recusant". I thought that was fitting.
I wrote down a few weeks ago, how "I need a change fast". Before
meeting my mother and grandmother, the trip had worn me thin. This trip
has been wearing me down, for so long, and lots it seems it recent times (although in the recent past, I have been having much better fortune mixed in with the bad and it makes it so much more tolerable). I feel like the the trip's going to end real soon, or there is going to be some significant change for the better. I hope it's the latter. However, after a lot of the wonderful things I've experienced recently (and paying a hefty fee just to get to South America), I feel recharged and ready to face the new challenges that await me.
After continuing to confront and deal with terrible things, of all different kinds, I'm only left asking one question:
What does it take for me to quit?
Kilometers ridden so far: 16, 849
