Бесплатный фрагмент - From the city of angels to the land of fire

Welcome to America.: Onwards to la la land

Wednesday August 1, 2007

Welcome to America. This isn’t so much a beginning as a continuation of sorts. After five and a half months of cycling around Europe it is time to head to the Americas. You sit awaiting your final flight to LA. From there you’ll head south. That is about all the planning you’ve done. A guidebook sits somewhere in your luggage. No visas are planned. No research. No idea. Just take it as it comes.

First impressions of America are interesting. A round of applause is given when the pilot touches down on the runway. You’ve never seen that before. Security has been quite high all day. If Vienna was bad enough, New York is even worse. The initial immigration guy was very laid back but apart from him it is all very strict. Especially for domestic flights for some reason.

The bike is a bit of a hassle getting about. After trampling all over JFK the box is looking a little worse for wear. But after today you won’t have to worry about it anymore.

Have fun in LA whatever you work out.

From laxatives south.: Riding SoCal

Thursday August 2, 2007, 191 km (119 miles) — Total so far: 191 km (119 miles)

Welcome to Laxatives airport. You pull the bike out of the box. A close inspection of the front tire reveals the axle is missing. You find the axle but the nut on the end is gone. It is not to be found. You put the bike together regardless. It goes alright just so long as you don’t lift up the front. The front panniers cannot be attached so everything must go on the back.

You head south out of the airport but are presented with a freeway and a big sign saying pedestrians and cyclists prohibited. You go back. You try to figure out the buses but to no avail. Eventually you make your way out northwards. But shouldn’t you be heading south?

You skirt the airport perimeter. North, then east, then southwards. And wait. It’s the sea. Already? You ride the bike, timidly at first and then with greater confidence, getting to speeds inexcess of thirty km. Are you north or south of LA though? Well, you’ll soon find out.

Pancakes at four AM releves that hole in your stomach. You get going again. There are a few people out and about. A couple joggers and other cyclists out doing their thing. Soon it is light. Not long after eight, in Long beach, you find a bike shop and get a new front axle.

It is good cycling in SoCal (southern California). Cycle paths are often available making traffic an infrequent burden. You pass through an army base and have to show your ID. It gets late and the sun cools. Time to find a campsite. You find one. An expensive one. But it is booked out. You are directed seven miles further south to another campsite. When you get there a sign says ‘no vacancy’. You ask anyway and success. Hikers and campers can stay and for a considerably less amount of money. Three dollars.

To imperial beach.: But where can you camp???

Friday August 3, 2007, 91 km (57 miles) — Total so far: 282 km (175 miles)

Time to leave camp. Last night you met up with a guy, Dallas, who then proceeded to bum money off you whenever he could. A few beers last night, a burger this morning. He was quite eager to take your bag off your hands when you mentioned throwing it away. He should be buying you beers and the burger!

You did sleep well. And well you should after having being awake for three days. You trudge on south on what is first the Pacific Coast Highway and then some other major road heading south-eastwards. You veer back west and find a river blocking your path. The problem is not with finding a bridge but finding a bridge to cycle over. You find a bridge and get on the foot path section rather than the road.

You rim the outskirts of San Diego. You ask another cyclist “Is this the way to Mexico?” and are redirected back towards the harbour to catch a ferry to the island, which is actually a peninsula. There is a campsite on this island but when you get there they only accept ‘self contained vehicles’. So you keep moving.

You ask someone else and are given a couple ‘hot tips’ on where to camp illegally. Apparently the rangers, but not the power kind, and the police often raid these camps so it is important to pack up and go come dawn.

Welcome to Mexico.: And back into America again

Saturday August 4, 2007, 99 km (62 miles) — Total so far: 381 km (237 miles)

Neither the rangers nor police disturb your sleep. Nor any vagabonds for that matter. After breakfast you head west to the border. Then south. Then east. Then north. And so on until after a way too long detour you find the Mexican border, and Tijuana. And cross over. No one stamps you out of America and no one stamps you into Mexico. Apparently this is important if you are to continue further south. So you head back to America to sort out these formalities. But look at the queue. Wow. That’s huge. Maybe cross elsewhere, eh? Let’s go east then and cross at Tecate.

Along the canal is at first the best way to go. But it isn’t so good and there is a road to take. So you take the road. Mexico is hot and dusty. It is built up for a good many km. And lots of hills too. You ask for directions. Tecate is further up and not too far either. Except it is a lot further.

You leave all buildings behind and enter the freeway. You see a cop car but they aren’t interested in you. There is a toll. You approach and are turned away. “Yes but how do I get to Tecate?” You try to convey. They aren’t interested in your problems, only that you will not cross this toll. So you head back down on the wrong side of the freeway and back towards Tijuana.

Suddenly two local cyclists appear from behind. One speaks great English. They are going to Tecate too when they spotted you. They are amazed at the toll situation. You accompany them back where there shouldn’t be any problems.

At the toll the same asshole guard crosses your path. He blocks your friend from continuing on. He is as stubborn not to let you pass as your friend is to pass. They argue in Spanish and your friend tries to get past. The other friend says to you ‘go’, and you do. The guard doesn’t bother about you so you keep on riding. Like a second wind you keep moving forward, occasionally looking back and always ready to be stopped by security. You feel bad about them being left behind after helping you get past but there’s no point in all three of you being up the proverbial shite creek paddleless.

You never do see your friends again. It is still quite a way to go to Tecate with lots of mountains to climb. You make it into town and to the border crossing. You spend twenty minutes in queue with the cars until someone tells you to just go to the front. Which you do. You sort everything out at immigration, first with America and then with Mexico. Job accomplished it is time to find a place to sleep. And then some food.

After all that some normality would be nice. So you eat dinner in a Chinese restaurant. Just like home.

To Mexicali: Some great scenery

Sunday August 5, 2007, 136 km (85 miles) — Total so far: 517 km (321 miles)

It sure is great to sleep in a bed again. Not to mention having a shower after going the best part of a week without. The used condom in the trashcan is a cause for worry though. You follow the freeway east until a sign proves the illegality of this. You get onto the highway.

You spend a lot of time heading uphill. And then, oh yes, downhill. 7 km straight downhill with spectacular scenery of rock covered mountains all around. Police had sectioned off a lane where a truck had overturned on a sharp corner. Nearby and further down the road are empty microwave boxes were people had pilfered the truck’s cargo.

You get to the bottom and it’s straight on through to Mexicali. But by now the wind picks up and it isn’t the tail kind. It is after dusk by the time you make it into town. You find a motel. It seems that motels here are for five hours only. You pay for the entire night but will you get woken in the middle of the night?

You pick up some supplies from the supermarket. On the way back a dog jumps up from behind its fence barking. Its owner is nearby. He laughs. You laugh too in a this-is-not-at-all-funny kind of way. You both continue in this fashion. The man laughing at your fright and you fake laughing at the cunt.

Mexicali sure aint tiny. There must be stuff to do here. But after today all you need to do is rest.

San Louis Rio Colorado.: Hot, hot, hot

Monday August 6, 2007, 80 km (50 miles) — Total so far: 597 km (371 miles)

No one comes banging on the door in the middle of the night, at least not loud enough to wake you. There are a couple staffs on duty but they don’t seem to notice you leaving. So you just go. It is late by the time you really get going. The temperature is already forty degrees out. The road is flat and the shoulder is wide. You don’t really leave Mexicali until twenty km later and in no time after that you are entering San Louis Rio Colorado.

It is only four o’clock and still very hot out. The town is similar to the previous couple you stayed in, hot and dusty, but nice all the same. You find a place to stay and go for a wander about town. There are some mariachis in town, wandering up and down the streets. You follow for a little while but nothing much is happening.

Tomorrow will see you crossing what is dubbed Mexico’s mini sahara. Two hundred km to the next town of any size. Flat and hot. So the plan is to leave early evening when the weather cools down and ride all night. You will need to take a lot of food and water. It’s going to be a long ride. Oh, and watch out for banditos.

To Sonoyta.: Crossing the mini Sahara

Wednesday August 8, 2007, 210 km (130 miles) — Total so far: 807 km (501 miles)

You leave just after six with a belly full of Chinese and most of the day’s heat behind. Thirty km later it gets dark. Really dark. Hey, don’t coyotes live in the desert? Traffic is bad. A b-double semi truck runs you off the road. It is do or die time as the gap between the trailer and the edge of the road narrows. It is too soon to die. You land in the sand. You get a flat but when you change it it just goes flat again. You stop to make some sandwiches. Back on the highway a cop pulls you over. Your rear light is hidden. Hmmm possibly dangerous.

Under their suggestion you put the bike in the boot of the car, scratching the paint job, and are driven three km to the nearest road-stop. You’ve been advised to stay here until dawn. Sounds like good advice. It is now one. Dawn is in four hours. May as well stay up all night then.

You do nod off for a while though. Come dawn you leave again for Sonoyta. It is good to see the scenery. Lots of cacti. And signs pointing out the various fauna around. Coyotes, road runners and some kind of large looking feline. You never entirely fix the tire. You try a few times and even find the cause of the trouble. But it still isn’t fixed.

A truck runs you off the road. You decide to get further on the road to prevent further drivers from nudging you off at their convenience. Later a car comes up from behind as a large truck comes from the other direction. You are towards the centre of your lane. The car driver cannot wait. He goes around and then tries to ram you off the road from the side. It is of no concern to him what happens to you.

You continue on. It gets hot. Above forty degrees hot. You continue on. You drink the last of the water. The kilometers tick down. Eventually you make it into Sonoyta, hot, dusty and thirsty as all hell. There are three hotels in town. All are expensive. But over the border back in America is a campsite. Might be worth going to.

There is a motel just on the other side of town so you go there. It is cheap and basic. There isn’t much to do in Sonoyta except avoid people asking you for money. This town has no character at all.

To Hermosillo.: CHEATING

Thursday August 9, 2007, 33 km (21 miles) — Total so far: 840 km (522 miles)

Plans of an early departure are thwarted when you sleep in. It is just after eight when you go and the sun is already beating down hot. You don’t get far before the tire goes flat. The same tire which has hindered your travels these last two days. The same tire you spent last night repairing.

You change the tube and continue on. And then.. it goes flat. And again. You spend a lot of time hiding under a little shade trying in vain to fix it. Flies and other insects bother about as they only know how. But it’s not going to happen. You can still ride the bike. Kinda. So you head out, wobbling along the highway. It is still way over a hundred km to the next town so you decide to do the only thing for it. Cheat.

You try hitching on a couple of buses but they won’t have it. There is a small town just up ahead though with some kind of immigration office. That’s probably your best bet. You make it there and an immigration officer helps you find a bus heading your way. Some guy tries to buy your sunglasses for five bucks. Yeah, right. They may be crap but it beats squinting all day. And away you go.

You decide on hermosillo. It is a lot further south but you are sure to find what you need there, not to mention skipping a lot of desert. You’re in rattle snake country you know.

You find a bike shop but by the time you get there it’s closed. A tomorrow job. You find a hotel close to the town centre and very close to a local prostitute corner. You go for a look. Mingers.

To Guaymas.: The gay invite

Friday August 10, 2007, 152 km (94 miles) — Total so far: 992 km (616 miles)

You find the bike shop and get what you need. You don’t leave until almost twelve. It is hot but clouds sometime help to block out the sun. Leaving town some guy tries to hit the back of the bike. Why? For fun?

Zoom, zoom, zoom, down the freeway. It sure is hot though. With stops and everything else you make it to Guaymas on dark. The traffic lights are about to turn red. You speed through. But a deep pot hole is suddenly in your path. And ‘clunk’ as you hit it. Both tires go flat.

Oh well, not far now and you start walking into town. Except it is far. You ask at hotels but they are all booked out, not to mention a bit on the expensive side. You walk down a street when someone says hello. A local resident is curious. He says you can stay there the night. So why not?

You go to the store and buy some beer for your host and yourself. He says that his bed is big so if you like you can sleep there. Or on his fold out chair. That is the only room in the house with air-conditioning. “How about the bed in the other room?” You ask. “But no air-conditioning.” He says. Hmmm.. this is awkward. But you get your way and have a great night’s sleep spread out on your own.

The bike can wait until morning.

To Ciudad Obregon: Hitching in Mexico

Saturday August 11, 2007, 79 km (49 miles) — Total so far: 1,071 km (665 miles)

As thanks for your host you leave a big dump in the toilet that just won’t flush. Time to fix the tires. You only have one new tire but the one you got just yesterday seems to still work fine. You stock up on supplies, have a quick look at the sea, and away you go.

It is hot out but you zoom down the freeway. You should make it to Ciudad Obregon in no time at all. Except your bike doesn’t want to get there so quickly. The tire blows after almost twenty km. And you bought it only yesterday. You put your last tube on the other tire which blew yesterday and that works fine. Until you hit one of those reflectors on the road and the tire gets all wobbly.

A sign points to a restaurant a few km up ahead. You ride the bike there on the flat tire. It appears to be some kind of military check point. But there’s a restaurant of sorts here. You buy some water and see what you can do about the tire. Two hours later you ride off for the last sixty km on a flat tire.

Wobbling all over the road isn’t much fun. You alternate between riding along the road with you thumb out in the air and standing beside the road with your thumb out in the air. The rims are looking pretty chipped from the rough treatment. How much longer before they become royally screwed?

You walk the bike into a small town. You sit down on a bench and drink some water. And then somebody actually stops. A lift? Por favor. You load the bike on the back of the ute, sorry ‘truck’ and climb on in. Hurray.

And sail on in to Ciudad Obregon, which by the way isn’t in your crap guidebook for a city of over a million people. Your friends drop you off outside a bike shop and you get what you need. Then find a hotel. Then spend a fair while trying to convey that you want to look at the room before you hand over your pesos. She thought you wanted to shower first. What a day. Time for some cerveza.

To Navojoa.: Just riding along

Sunday August 12, 2007, 76 km (47 miles) — Total so far: 1,147 km (713 miles)

The bed feels so good that it takes so much effort to get up. So you sleep in. But sooner or later you have to get up and brave the day. First things first. Fix the tire. You take the wheel outside but it is so hot that perhaps this is best done inside. The rim is chipped to hell. You try to file the inside smooth as best you can. Then fit the tube and tire. No problem. Let’s get out of here.

You try to get some supplies from a big department store on the edge of town but they won’t let you in with your bags. Buggered if you’ll leave your valuables behind. So you go to a nearby smaller store to get what you need.

You pass through a toll station but they’re not interested in you. On the other side traffic is diverted onto the oncoming lane. A little further up a truck is wedged across the road. Guess they were trying to avoid the toll by going up a side road.

It’s hot but cools down by the time you make it to Navojoa. The skies darken. It rains a little on dusk but you’re in town now. Lightning brightens up the cool sky.

It is 160 km to Los Mochis. That’s two easy days on the road. But if you get up early and get half of that done by the midday heat then you can spend an extra day in town doing nothing much. Maybe.

Los Mochis.: One very long day

Monday August 13, 2007, 171 km (106 miles) — Total so far: 1,318 km (819 miles)

Today is a day of snakes. There are quite a few of them waiting along the side of the road. Lucky for you they became road kill long before you chance upon them. There are two tolls today. You ride through both without concern. There is some kind of vehicular check point and soon after a military one.

It is a hot day. The sun burns your upper thighs despite putting on sunscreen. You leave Sonora state and enter Sinaloa. Roads for the most part now have shoulders. This does little to deter trucks and buses from driving as-dangerous-as-possibly close to you.

You stop at an Oxxo for an icecream and some rest. Some kids ask questions you couldn’t possibly understand. As you leave one says “Give me one dollar.” Fuck off.

The kilometers to Los Mochis dwindle down. There sure are a lot of them. But you should be able to make it by dusk. Closer and closer you get. Your legs become rubbery. Your hands and wrists hurt. Slowly the kilometers dwindle. You make it to the edge of town. And then the rear tire goes. Of course.

If you were too tired to cycle you sure are too tired to fix the tire. So you walk. It will be a good change for the legs, anyway. There is a hotel nearby. The price is a bit steep but they will barter. Kind of. They really don’t go down much on the price. So you move on. And on. Nine kilometers on you finally find a hotel, via burger king, and check in.

The plan was to spend a couple nights here to relax. But you are already ready to move on. Maybe a couple of easy days on the road is in order, find a nice beach and relax.

To Guamuchil.: A fly flew into my ear!!!

Tuesday August 14, 2007, 116 km (72 miles) — Total so far: 1,434 km (891 miles)

You enjoy the bliss of dozing in when suddenly a fly decides to investigate the inner workings of your left ear. It buzzes its way in and about and there is nothing you can do. What does this mean? Will maggots now breed inside your head? Aaagggghhhhhhh!!!!

It sure is hot so you waste time filling up on caffeine in Burger King and zoom on down the highway. You make good time too regardless of a couple early breaks. Your destination is just off the freeway about a hundred km into the day. The highway seems a little busier but the shoulders are nice and wide.

Just before Guamuchil you stop in a motel. Quite cheap but only for twelve hours. Hmmmmm 7:40 PM to 7:40 AM. How about I come back in a couple hours? The guy on reception lets you stay until 8:30 though. Just as well for him. After the extra four km into town you probably wouldn’t have gone back. Oh, and there is a TV in the room but it only has two channels and one of them is porn.

To Catalacan.: In the red light district

Wednesday August 15, 2007, 118 km (73 miles) — Total so far: 1,552 km (964 miles)

You sure didn’t get a good night’s sleep. The air-conditioner only has one setting, cold and loud. You turn it off and the room quickly saunas up. You get a get up and get out bang on the door an hour before check out.

You skip breakfast, not liking anything in town and not able to find anything else until after lunch. The nice wide shoulder of yesterday disappears, first half and then in total, not reappearing until much later in the day.

Someone drives up along side. “Australia?” He asks. This is the same guy two weeks ago who, on his bike, helped you get past that asshole on the toll way up near Tecato. You stop and chat for a bit. He’s off to do some crazy ride up a 3000 metre mountain, over 300 km in about 30 hours.

The destination today is Catalacan. With just ten km to go your rear tire goes flat. So you inflate it. But as you start to ride again the other tire goes. You start walking but doing the math in your head you are better off spending the time to fix the tires. So when the opportunity arises you fix the flats and move on. And into Catalacan. This sure is a big town. With absolutely nothing of interest. After a while trying to find a hotel you decide to just find one on the way out of town.

A look in the mirror is shocking. Dirt covers your face. Your legs are blue from fuck-knows-what. But some hard scrubbing fixes that. Time for dinner. You try to enter one of those Ley stores you see everywhere but security won’t let you in with your bag. “You want me to leave my valuables outside to be stolen?” Apparently so. You leave feeling disheartened. Oh and guess what. You’re staying in the red light district.

Towards La Cruz.: Camping along the freeway

Thursday August 16, 2007, 122 km (76 miles) — Total so far: 1,674 km (1,040 miles)

You wake up late. On the way out of town you meet up with a character who claims he was kidnapped not long ago. He’s on his way south to find a hospital and fuck knows what. Strangely enough he doesn’t ask you for money.

You head out of town, realizing only then that you are on the wrong road. Oh this road still heads south, just on the more dangerous highway. This means big detour to get to the freeway. Oh well. A friendly cop, on his own bike, helps with directions in the small town of Costa Rica, which is not even on the coast.

And zoom, zoom, zoom, down the freeway you go. You pile on the miles. La Cruz is the destination but it never seems to arrive. It gets dark. Time to start looking for a place to camp. You get a flat tire. Time to start looking for a place to camp very soon. And you find a place. It looks good despite being about four metres from the freeway. But it is semi-secluded and on flat sandy ground. Bed time. And look at all that pretty lightning.

Mazatlan.: More problems with the bike

Friday August 17, 2007, 85 km (53 miles) — Total so far: 1,759 km (1,093 miles)

After a sleepless night from the noise and humidity you pack up early and hit the road. It takes a while to sort out the tire and when you do it only lasts ten km anyway. But it doesn’t deflate that quickly. If you persevere and inflate the tire every few km you might be able to make it somewhere up the road. At least somewhere to find water. So thirsty!!!

Eventually the turn off to town arrives and you find a shop. You waste another hour or so trying to sort out the tire. Why is this so difficult? You head back out onto the freeway. Everything goes fine enough for a while. Road works are not too friendly. Nor are the big semi-trucks who absolutely insist on driving you off the road. By now you’re quite used to it, a natural almost.

It sure is hot. With the first day of wearing a T-shirt, your arms are burnt red. With just thirty km to go until Mazatlan your rear tire goes flat. Well, it was bound to happen really. It seems such an easy task to fix. So why do you spend two hours at it and you still can’t fix it?

Time to start walking. It’s hitching time. All seems hopeless. But someone does stop to give you a lift. You jump in back with the bike and cruise into town, pass all the expensive resorts, and are dropped off on the main strip in town. You wheel the bike around until you find a hotel which is not astronomically expensive. “Can I have a look at the room?” You ask. “No.”

No wonder he wouldn’t let you check it out. Dump is the only word to describe this. But it will do for tonight. Tomorrow you can find something in the old town where prices are not so extravagant.

Mazatlan.: Prostitutes and madmen

Sunday August 19, 2007, 30 km (19 miles) — Total so far: 1,789 km (1,112 miles)

A couple days rest is what you need. And you kinda get it. You use the half useless tube on the tire, re-inflating it every couple km or so until you get to the old town. You find a hotel a little cheaper, but no better, and check in. With the bike as it is you really don’t want to be tramping around looking for a hotel.

After the hotel is sorted what you need is a swim. And the water is oh so nice. You ask at a café directions to a bike shop and after wandering about town in the heat you find some. But two tubes is all that you can acquire. With the luck you’ve been having they will barely last until you leave town.

And it’s true. During the night the front tire also goes flat. You need to use both tubes. But before all that.. You go looking for a third hotel to stay in for your third night in town. And find one which looks nice. Another hotel looks pretty bad, and expensive too. As you walk out one of the ‘ladies’ inside asks if you want something else. But you don’t understand the Spanish. That’s okay as the fucky fucky gestures are obvious enough. Also obvious are the blowjob signs she gives. “What?!? You want me to pay you? It aint gonna happen lady.”

You meet some guy and he invites you to go for a ride with him and his friends. You um and ah over the safety of it and go along anyway. So you jump in the back of the ute with a beer in hand and cruise around town. Later, just the three of you inside the cabin your new friends pull up and chat to a hooker. They are trying to get you laid. But she wants money first for drugs so you leave unloved but still disease free. You find out later that your friend was asking for all three of you to, um, do her.

Your friends take you to there soon to be gas station. They even invite you to work tomorrow. “No, thanks.” You say and hope things don’t get awkward. It rains. It rains a lot. The town floods. On the way back into town your friend screams around a corner sending a wave of water all over a pedestrian. He screams out and you just can’t help but laugh.

You kill eight roaches that night. Hopefully the next hotel will be better.

Late and hungover you fix the bike but a new tube still leaks. It gets you to the next hotel though. It must be the valve. You fix it and the tires don’t seem to go flat anymore. But for how long?

You don’t do much today. You look for a bike shop but they are all closed. Well, it is Sunday after all. You go for a swim and chill out at a café. You want to see a bullfight but it’s the wrong time of year for that. Too hot apparently. No shit.

To Escuinapa.: A real Mexican town

Monday August 20, 2007, 98 km (61 miles) — Total so far: 1,887 km (1,173 miles)

You wake up late feeling very lethargic. Indeed with the luck you’ve been having lately you really are reconsidering the whole trip. You pack the bags, get a bite to eat, some spare tubes and are on your way. You get six spare tubes. That should be enough for a day or two.

The tires are holding up well for now but you are very careful not to run over anything. You really are quite nervous about the whole thing now.

It is hot but soon clouds over to the point of rain. Perhaps thunder and the whole shebang. The road is great. It narrows down considerably at one point but the traffic is so slow you just nudge right in with it all. This is supposed to be the start of the most dangerous stretch of road in the world. But the new toll freeway may have negated this. It is near vacant of traffic too.

To escuinapa you go. This has a real Mexican feel. Some kid throws a ball at you. You pick it up and take off with it. But what do you want with a ball? So you drop it and keep going. You find a hotel but it is too expensive so you cross the road and find one for half the price.

Ruiz.: Another real Mexican town

Tuesday August 21, 2007, 147 km (91 miles) — Total so far: 2,034 km (1,264 miles)

You leave Escuinapa in hope of finding the freeway. But first there is a stretch of highway to cover with the all to frequent trucks running you off the road. The highway runs parallel to the freeway, which is closed for construction. This means you have the freeway all to yourself while you watch all the other traffic battle it out on the single lane highway.

The kilometers fly by but soon you need to top up the tanks again. You have shite all hope of finding anything to eat but road kill on the freeway so you head off and detour fourteen kilometers to a restaurant near Acaponeta. There is also a road toll here. The girl waves frantically as you ride out but catches you on the way back. What she wants is you to put the big onto the raised ‘sidewalk’ for all of four metres and take it off again. It seems uselessly official and it probably is. You have read about this before but never bothered, succeeding quite easily with riding through. But if it makes them happy then sure, I’ll play along. Oh and you do get a flat on this detour too.

More km go past. An exit to Santiago sounds nice until you see that there is still thirty km to go on a semi-truck packed death road called route 15. So back onto the freeway you go where, sooner, you are promised haven in a town called Ruiz. The name is a lot longer by the way.

You find the exit and ride the rickety road into town. Then walk through town on the cobbled roads, across the train line and to the hotel. You see some women wearing traditional garb but have no idea which people they belong to. Well the Mexican people of course. Yeah, but which tribe?

The plan is to follow the coast all the way to Guatemala but the freeway has been so nice compared with the highway and all the buses and trucks trying maim you that it really is quite a dilemma. The decision needs to be made now.

San Blas.: Trouble buying beer

Wednesday August 22, 2007, 85 km (53 miles) — Total so far: 2,119 km (1,317 miles)

You wake up early to the sound of something turned up really loud. The host is watching television. Oh well. You wanted to get up early anyway. Some sandwhiches and coffee from a restaurant nearby and you’re off. Directions to San Blas take you to the dreaded highway 15 which you follow for near forty km. Thinking you should have just back-tracked to the freeway 15D you realise with no uncertainty that you very well should have when the highway literally takes you onto the freeway for a couple km until the San Blas turnoff.

But traffic is quite accommodating for once. It doesn’t last long though as this traffic is soon replaced by less friendly drivers bent on squeezing you off the road. One truck comes up over a hill, overtaking another truck and heading straight for you. You stop and jump out of the way at the last moment as it sure aint. Quite a few snakes end up as road kill on the side of the road. Some are impressively scary. One or two might be something else entirely, a boa maybe.

There are many little hills on the way to San Blas. Up and down you go like a never ending roller coaster finally at last smoothing out the last few km into town. Off the highway traffic is much lighter but some drivers insist on being unfriendly, driving as dangerously close as possible. Of course others are friendly, not overtaking until absolutely safe to do so.

And into San Blas. There doesn’t seem to be much about this town. It has the facilities for tourists, ie hotels, but not really. And it doesn’t have the character Ruiz had. Maybe all the character is to be found on the hotel strip towards the beach.

So you head to the beach. Restaurants line the beachfront. A cerveza on the beach sounds nice. You make conversation with some foreigners. You say hi to some other foreigners but they are somewhat less responsive. It gets late. You head back into town. Some food, a banana milkshake, and it’s about time to call it a night.

You stop off at the off license for a couple of beers. “How much is one?” “Ten.” You take two and give the guy a fifty peso note. He gives back ten. You stand, waiting for the rest of the change. “Ten plus ten equals twenty. I gave you fifty. Thirty change.” You’re not getting the rest of your change. The guy looks a little mentally challenged so you try your best not to resolve to asshole mode. You ask a question and he gives you an almost nod. Is that yes or no? Ten and ten equal twenty. Not forty. You put the beers back in the fridge and leave with your fifty. Fuck that.

Los Ayalas.: Helmets are used for a reason

Thursday August 23, 2007, 101 km (63 miles) — Total so far: 2,220 km (1,379 miles)

After a restless night you head off down the coast to Los Ayalas. The first twenty km follow the coast along for an idyllic ride. After that you head inland up and down tall hills. But the road is nice and traffic minimal. You even feel safe riding helmetless. At one point the road is blocked by two cowboys, complete with lasso herding cattle.

It rains. Hard. You come to a town and pull up at one of those OXXO stores you like so much. They have stools set against the side. You lean the bike against the wall. You lock the bike. But by the time you step inside the stools are taken by two staff members. You stand dumbfounded just inside the door for a few moments. The staff look at you, wondering what this foreigner in the strange clothes is doing. Then you go. But fret not, a nice restaurant is close at hand for you to wait out the rain.

The rain doesn’t stop so you move on anyway. One, then another truck reinforce the notion that helmets are there for a reason. So you put yours back on. Most of the traffic is very cyclist friendly. It’s the loud minority you need to watch out for.

You make it into town and cruise down the hotel strip looking for a bargain. But none are to be found. You spend over an hour heading up and down the strip but eventually go back to one you found early on. This place looks touristy and fake. San Blas was the place to chill for another day or so. Okay, maybe not THIS day being wet and all but once you found the beach it was alright. There must be a defect in your guidebook. You are best off throwing it away and getting a different brand. It isn’t in sync with where people actually go. Oh well.

Puerto Vallarta.: Dangerous? No shit

Friday August 24, 2007, 76 km (47 miles) — Total so far: 2,296 km (1,427 miles)

The road is narrow and hilly. Traffic is for the most part unwelcoming. The usual array of buses and trucks pass with as little room as possible no matter what conditions you are present. A cop pulls you over. “It’s very dangerous.” He says. “No lights. No mirror. No registration.” After a while of this and your agreeing with him he lets you on with the assurance you’ll buy a mirror in Puerto Vallarta.

At the peak of the tallest and the last hill traffic builds up and remains constant for the remainder of the day. But it’s not that bad. At the foot of the hill, and on the coast, the road widens allowing an extra lane of traffic and nice wide shoulders just for you.

You ride past the expensive resorts and through all the built up area into town. There are three or four lanes each way. Bus drivers still manage to make assholes of themselves though.

And welcome to Puerto Vallarta. Yesterday saw some hurricane action so some streets are still a little wet to say the least. It looks like gringo land too. Lots of white faces about chilling in cafes and relaxing. A few places offer massages but they are all a bit expensive.

Puerto Vallarhta.: The Mexican from hell

Sunday August 26, 2007

It is Friday night. You go out. You get drunk. You dance. And you meet a man called Tony. Tony is a middle aged Mexican. On Saturday you meet Tony again. You sit in a café reading your book and Tony walks past. He invites you to go up town where the real Mexico is. To go where the girls are pure. He invites you to smoke dope. You say you aren’t interested in smoking.

You take a bus to a village on the edge of town. To where the jungle is. “I’m going to need ten dollars for the dope.” “No, I’m okay. I don’t really want any.” “Okay. Five dollars.” “No thanks.” “But that’s why we came here.” Tony is angry. He buys some dope. You sit near the river and drink water. Tony comes over. He’s not happy. “Why are you so bad to me?” He asks. Company doesn’t look so good. Tony wanders off. You see him board a bus back into town. He’s ditched you. Good. You get on a different bus for the ride back into town happy to be out of there.

You see Tony again that night at the bar. You wave when you make eye contact and he comes over. He says the police were there on horseback and he had to bolt. “If they caught me with the weed I go to jail. You go to jail.” Tony is full of shite. It is all you can drink again. You have a metal bucket full of ice. One corona in your hand. One in the ice. Tony wants some drink. He’s already half drunk. The bar manager isn’t happy with him. He swaps the full corona in the bucket for an empty one. The bar staff see him and the manager comes over. He tries to hide it under the table but they are on to him. The manager is not happy. “No more open bar for you.” He tells you. Tony says he’ll sort it out. Tony leaves. You speak to the manager and apologise. Eventually he says okay. You go back to the bar and drink your cerveza.

They don’t give you any more buckets full of ice. You order your beers one by one. You get drunk. You go back to the hotel. You stay one more day. Sunday is uneventful. You sit in cafes reading books and chat to an American guy looking at buying property here. He says you were lucky nothing bad happened. Perhaps you should be a little more careful next time.

Towards Tomatlan.: Bad doggy

Monday August 27, 2007, 92 km (57 miles) — Total so far: 2,388 km (1,484 miles)

You have nightmares about fixing flat tires. You wake early. The bed feels good. You get up late. It is after one by the time you get going. You head south out of town. Up and down the little hills. Then the hills get bigger. No matter. It rains. You get wet. It stops raining. You are still wet. Wet with rain. Wet with sweat.

Traffic is light. In fact it is idyllic. All day traffic is minimal and courteous. But of course that one asshole bus driver does have to appear and try to run you off the road despite the rest of the road being open. But after dealing with a hundred such assholes each day a single cunt is of no bother.

Some dogs run out to attack. Usually in Mexico dogs stop the chase after the second shout. They all seem to ignore the first. You stop for a break at a roadside stop. Three dogs come out to attack. You swing at them. You’re not welcome here. You go up the road and eat where you are welcome.

Tomatlan seems to be today’s destination. But will you make it before dark. You eat dinner at a restaurant. Thunder calls out. It will rain. Tonight. In one hour? Two? Is it enough to find a place to stay? Back on the bike a gang of dogs attack. You shout and swing you whip at them veering all over the road. They don’t give up easy and you are glad no other traffic is about.

You pass through a town about twenty km from Tomatlan. It is on dusk. You find a hotel. The price is about right so you call it a day.

To Melaque.: A nice fine day

Tuesday August 28, 2007, 124 km (77 miles) — Total so far: 2,512 km (1,561 miles)

You leave town without breakfast hoping to find something further up. There are restaurants but you pass on them and soon it is time for lunch and you are hungry and you need food. You stop and get a bite to eat. The front tire hits a pot hole and punctures.

The day is fine. There are hills but they aren’t too bad. There aren’t any dogs out attacking you today except for a small gang towards evening. It rains all day. Just a drizzle and it feels good. But around dinner time it gets heavy and you wear your coat. Kilometer markers count downwards. Closer and closer you go. You haven’t really eaten all day and with less than twenty km to go you feel fatigued. No more water. No food. You press on.

One last hill to climb and then down, down, down for the last few km to town. You head into Melaque and find a place to stay. It seems nice here. You are close to the beach and it isn’t so touristy, more like San Blas.

Towards Tecapan.: The wrong way

Wednesday August 29, 2007, 110 km (68 miles) — Total so far: 2,622 km (1,629 miles)

It is nice here in Melaque and not as touristy as it’s supposed to be. Well, like San Blas the hotels are here. It just aint tourist season though. A day on the beach sounds nice but not if it’s going to rain all day. So you head off. The rain’s not bad. You feel good about life.

For the third day in a row you wear your coat. Traffic is heavier today but wide shoulders more than compensate. Soon the road follows along the coast and you ride up on the esplanade towards Manzanillo. The road turns abruptly inland and uphill. Signs indicate also. Ahead there is remnants of a road. But you can see many buildings and cars driving about. So you continue along the seaside and it does hook up with the Manzanillo road.

You chat to some surfers you saw earlier. And again when you see them further ahead. Before Manzanillo is the new town where it all happens. They also have a Burger King so you stop inside for an early dinner to get your fix of foreign food. You continue on to the old town where it looks much more Mexican and much less touristy than its northern counterpart.

You continue on. Perhaps now is the time to call it a day. You head out and when the time comes to choose between the toll road and the highway you choose the highway. Well, traffic is light and you should find a town up ahead with a hotel and a bed. A sign indicates a hotel on a beach another ten km further. Surely that must be on the highway.

You choose wrong. Another road connects onto the highway and traffic increases. There are no shoulders and trucks heave along. One truck forces you off the road. All the day’s happiness disappears in a flash. An insect flies into your eye. Two more follow suit. It gets dark. There is no hotel. You chose the wrong road.

By the time you adjust the lights it is only about twenty km to Tecapan, the next town on your map. But with only thirteen km to go you pass through a small nondescript town. It has a hotel. You get a room. It is overpriced for what it is but it has a bed and beats heading on. For what was planned to be an easy day you sure knocked up the kilometers.

St Juan de Lima.: The wake up call from hell

Thursday August 30, 2007, 67 km (42 miles) — Total so far: 2,689 km (1,671 miles)

You awake to the sounds of loud awful music next door and even louder banging from outside. Two trucks are outside. Evidently there owners have decided that two meters from your front door is best for fixing their tires. And of course the music needs to be loud to hear it above the noise of all the banging. This is the least value for money hotel you’ve stayed in so far. Yes, it is even worse than the one with the eight cockroaches.

In town another hotel exists. Too late now. The road continues as it did yesterday, ie narrow and full of asshole truck drivers, for just a few more kilometers. Where yesterday the scenery around the lake was nice you now ride through an evidently poorer barrio. You join up onto the freeway and enjoy a nice wide shoulder. A few more opportunities of accommodation present themselves. Too late now.

Except for Tecoman you enjoy forty km of nice wide shoulder. The traffic is heavy but it feels good to be riding. The road narrows but that’s okay because it also coincides with a reduction in traffic. In particular a reduction in trucks.

You spot a large hairy tarantula crossing the road. You ride on to St Juan de Lima, a nice little beach resort area. There isn’t anyone here. It’s off season. You find a cheap hotel and relax for the rest of the day. You’re out of pesos and there aren’t any ATMs about. No breakfast for you tomorrow.

Along the Pacific.: A great little camp spot and restaurant

Friday August 31, 2007, 113 km (70 miles) — Total so far: 2,802 km (1,741 miles)

You skip breakfast. You are out of pesos and the next bank machine is sixty km away at Maurita. Land around here doesn’t like to stay flat. There are always hills to climb. But with the ascents come the descents and they are always fun. Two towns lie before Maurita. Both have accommodation but neither have a bank machine. You find the town. It’s small. Just a beach community really. No paved roads and certainly no bank machine.

You do have some US dollars though. You exchange five dollars and buy some lunch. And away you go.

For more than forty km there is nothing but tarmac. The scenery is quite nice. The road winds around and around, skirting the Pacific. At around six o’clock you do a quick calculation. Two hours of sunlight left. And at least forty km until the next known town, Campos, with a bank machine no doubt. You’re almost out of water. You’ve only eaten two hotcakes all day. The road has many ascents and is bound to have more. Time to push on.

There is a small village with about three shops. Soon after a sign points to an RV and camp ground. They have a restaurant too. One problem. No pesos. Americano dollars. Not important. Bueno. It is nice here. Very quiet. Cheap. And friendly. You relax with a few beers. It rains. It gets dark. Your hostess warns of a storm approaching. A typhoon or hurricane or something of the sort. No use worrying about that now. The tent is already pitched. It’s under cover. You’ll be fine.

Playa Azul.: Out of cash

Saturday September 1, 2007, 115 km (71 miles) — Total so far: 2,917 km (1,813 miles)

It rains all night and all day today. There is a storm with lightning and all that but no hurricane. Apparently it is crossing through at Playa Azule, 100 km to the south and today’s destination.

A couple small villages cross your pass at nine km intervals and then nothing for thirty five km where you reach Campos. Lucky you stayed where you did last night. There aren’t any bank machines in Campos. You exchange some more Americanos and get some lunch.

It continues to rain. It lets up a little around lunch but returns with a vengeance. It’s not so bad though. The road is half covered in land slides twice further on. With only a couple km to go the road is flooded entirely. You put the bike in a low gear and go forward. You can see where big pot holes are under the water. Some of them. The water gets a little deeper and you need to rely on the ripples to spot the pot holes. Near the end the water is well deep. You peddle harder. Your feet get wet.

The kilometer markers end but you haven’t quite made it there. The road turns off and Playa Azul is another five km down the road. There isn’t so much here. And guess what. no bank machine. You find a hotel for about ten dollars which will also take your Americanos. It’s not much but it is better than the five dollar cabana otherwise available. Apparently there’s a bank machine at the next town. It’s not far, ten km or so, but haven’t you heard this one somewhere before?

Zehuenjeno.: A freeway all to yourself

Sunday September 2, 2007, 130 km (81 miles) — Total so far: 3,047 km (1,893 miles)

It rains. You finally find an ATM, after only four days of searching. You stop for lunch and to wait out the worst of the rain. It lets up to the point where you can now remove your coat. There is a new toll freeway in place for fifteen km but it’s closed for use. The busy highway passes over at one point and you find your entrance on. There is no traffic at all. Just you and the tarmac and nice ocean views.

But the freeway ends as far as you’re concerned and you are forced onto the highway with all the not so nice traffic. But not everyone’s an asshole. You sure do meet a lot of them though.

After about a hundred km a sign points off to a hotel. It looks nice. Too nice. And not worth the six km detour to find out. You press on. Closer to your destination more hotels and motels present themselves. The price looks right until you see that it’s only for two or three hours. You keep going.

Your feet hurt. The day wears on. Eventually you get into town. Only a couple more km now so you ignore the hotels on the outskirts. You’ll stay for a couple of nights so what’s the use of staying on the outskirts of town. To pack up and move three km further on? Bear the pain now.

It is dark by the time you find the main drag and a hotel that looks good. Ten dollars isn’t bad. But a look at the bike and the price hikes up to fifteen. Luckily the ol’ bat’s daughter, you think, lets you go with ten. It sure aint the Hilton though.

This looks like a pretty happening resort. Lots of people about and even a few foreigners too. It might be worth staying up for a cerveza or three. Tomorrow needs to be a rest day anyway.

Tecman.: Too many bus drivers make Danny go a little crazy

Tuesday September 4, 2007, 141 km (88 miles) — Total so far: 3,188 km (1,981 miles)

Yesterday is a day of rest, spent, well, resting in the resort town of Zehuenjeno. Or whatever it is called. You meet people and you enjoy yourself. This is a nice place. Better, and smaller than the other resort towns you’ve been through. Iztapa to the north draws the richer crowds.

It’s two long days to Aculpulco. You aim to ride about 120 km today. That’s half way. Traffic continues as before. It’s a little busy and once you are out of town roads cease to have shoulders. Bus drivers continue to endeavor to be the biggest assholes they can be. Ten overtake way too close for comfort in the first hour alone.

About an hour out of town, just before a bridge and on the right, is a nice looking restaurant with pool. Silly you for not turning back. But then you would be there all day. You pull in to a restaurant further up. It takes you a little while to realise that this is a school cafeteria. You keep looking.

Accomodation is plentiful except for where you want it. Tecman is only another twenty km further. Can you make it? There are a couple hotels just before Tecman but you press on. If you’ve made it this far you may as well do the five km more. Tecman only has one hotel in town but there are two more just on the other side as well. Ten US is cheap but of course you get what you pay for. Or you don’t get what you don’t pay for. No aircon, no TV, no toilet seat.

Acalpulco.: Riding without gears

Wednesday September 5, 2007, 104 km (65 miles) — Total so far: 3,292 km (2,046 miles)

Vowing not to go back to the overcharging restaurant you ate at last night you find a nice little place and have tortas. You break your rear gears leaving you with just the front ones to play with all day. This means having to walk up whatever hills lie ahead.

After an hour, 80 km before Aculpulco there is a restaurant with swimming pool. It looks very nice but you keep going. Lunch can wait a little later.

With just twenty km to go a toll freeway presents itself. You stay on the highway where traffic does increase tremendously. You make it to Acalpulco and meet Sofia, a Chilena girl you arranged to travel down the coast with. And now it is time to get acquainted.

San Marcos.: Local parts on a nice expensive bike

Thursday September 6, 2007, 84 km (52 miles) — Total so far: 3,376 km (2,098 miles)

A guy from the hotel goes with you to find a bike shop and help not to get overcharged. It’s a long way until you find one. He does some interpreting and you go to eat breakfast. You go to pick up the bike but there’s a problem. The gear system is too complicated and will cost 150 US to replace. Or for 5 US you can have a new brake installed on the side of the handlebars. It all sounds well dodgy but it is a bit of price difference involved.

Best not to hang around watching so you go to find a second breakfast. It is now afternoon. Sofia left much earlier to beat the midday heat. You’ll catch up with her sixty km down the road. Hopefully.

It’s another twenty km or so to get out of town. Traffic is heavy. There is a big hill to climb. You get a flat tire, and another out of town. Your new gear system looks well dodgy but it works fine. The hills aren’t so big around here. Lots of pigs running about the place. You stop to let a sow and her two piglets cross the road.

You make it to San Marcos and find Sofia in the first hotel there. It’s quite cheap and even has a pool which you take full advantage of. There doesn’t seem to be much in town. A pizza restaurant looks like your best option for dinner.

Mequense.: To beach or not to beach

Friday September 7, 2007, 83 km (52 miles) — Total so far: 3,459 km (2,149 miles)

It seems that there is a sizable town every forty km with a smaller town about half way between. After the first twenty km you stop and chat to some high school kids who call out. Lunch in Cruz Grande where for the only time today traffic is dense. And on to Mequense. You head off to the Playa to find Sofia but see her on the way back. It’s dirty she says so you find a motel in town, which is probably dirtier, and stay there instead.

This looks like an alright town. Enough options for food and supplies. Lots of hotels which make you wonder why you’re staying in probably the worst one you could find.

Puenta Nacional.: Festival in Oaxaca

Saturday September 8, 2007, 118 km (73 miles) — Total so far: 3,577 km (2,223 miles)

It’s 120 km to Puenta Nacional. There are many kids about shouting “Gringo’ at you. You don’t reply. You pass Sofia at around one o’clock and arrange to meet for lunch in the next town. But she never comes. You make it into town by dusk and seek out a hotel. One is cheap but it doesn’t have a toilet seat. Oh, by the way, you really do need a toilet seat today.

You find a place which does tortas. A retired English/American couple come by and you make conversation. Their truck broke down and are trying to sort all that out. You go for a walk and find a big fiesta for indepencia day. Naturally you join in and are given food and beer. There is also a party not far from your hotel.

As you’re away Sofia comes by looking for you. She is staying at the hotel you passed up on. If only you were here you both could be staying at the nicer hotel a hell of a lot cheaper.

Towards Puerto Escondido.: Riding on.

Monday September 10, 2007, 131 km (81 miles) — Total so far: 3,708 km (2,304 miles)

Yesterday was a much needed rest day. You certainly weren’t in any position to continue. Sofia continues on, probably. The day is spent watching TV, drinking lots of water and failing at trying to get the girl at the pharmacy to give you some drugs to combat this illness.

You leave this Penotipa Nacional and continue on towards Puerto Escondido. You make it to the Rio Grande before deciding to call it a day. You ask at the hotel but their 12 hour policy means you’ll be leaving by six AM. Fuck that.

With just twenty km to go a sign points the way to a campsite and restaurant. Sounds like one of those ideal places so you venture there. Two or three km down a crappy dirt road you finally turn back when the road becomes mud. It probably isn’t much further but it is possible to be closed. You make it back to the main road in the last of the daylight.

Another few km later you find a hotel. An expensive hotel. It’s not going to happen. But you can camp at the restaurant next door for fifty pesos. Sadly you are too late for dinner though.

The question which now remains.. tent or hammock. The hammock is tempting but shall you risk the mosquitos?

San Gabriel Mixtepec.: Over the mountains

Wednesday September 12, 2007, 67 km (42 miles) — Total so far: 3,775 km (2,346 miles)

You awake with hands and arms covered in red spots. Bites? But from what? You look diseased. Breakfast consists of coffee and a bun. You will have to wait until you get to town before getting any real food.

19 km later you roll into town and find Sofia booked into the hostel opposite Zapotepa beach just south of town. This really is the best area to stay. Lots of foreigners about too. It gets hot in the day but the evening is a cold wet thunderstorm. You sit with Sofia on the beach watching the lighting until one particularly close strike temporarily blinds you both and you decide to head back to the hostel.

But all that was yesterday. This is today.

Yesterday you awoke with your arms covered in little red spots. Today the rest of you is now covered. You were bitten to all fuck last night. Your hands and feet are the worst. Don’t stay in the dorm room of the hostel in this town. You have been warned.

It really is difficult to decide how to get to Oaxaca city. After speaking to the very nice and funny lady at the tourist information office yesterday you have a lot of information but are still indecisive. In the end you decide on the sissy route, the 131 directly north to Oaxaca from Puerto Escondido. Sofia will stay another day here, then tomorrow ride to Puerto Angel and take a but from there north on the 175. The 175 has the best scenery. It also has a 3000 metre climb. You’ve done it before and you will need to do it again before this trip is over. But for now the sissy route looks like a nicer easier ride.

You don’t leave until after one and there is a lot of climbing today. It rains hard. You find shelter in a, um, shelter. The rain eases up and you continue on your way. Not far to San Gabriel Mixtepec now where apparently a hotel exists. It rains hard before you can make it there though. You get into town and find a couple nice restaurants on the north side of town to wait out the rest of the rain. It is still early but maybe not early enough to make it to the next town an hour’s drive away. How many kilometers is it? Many kilometers.

There is a hotel in town. But it doesn’t exist. The building exists. The sign exists. But when you go to ask apparently it doesn’t. There is some kind of unofficial hotel almost opposite the non-existing hotel so you stay there for cheap enough. It’s not much but at least they have hot water in the shower.

To the summit.: Just before San Pedro

Thursday September 13, 2007, 101 km (63 miles) — Total so far: 3,876 km (2,408 miles)

You set the alarm for a quarter to seven and although it does wake you you decide to remain semi conscious in the nice warm bed. Tortas make a nice breakfast. You enjoy some very nice local coffee too.

It is 19 km to the next town, Santa Rosa. There’s not much there but you could probably pitch a tent there or at the restaurants a few km before and after town. The road keeps heading up until you reach the summit 37 km later. It rains hard and there is nowhere to hide. You continue on until a few km after the summit you come to El Vidrio. There’s not much there but you find a restaurant to shelter out some of this rain. Apparently there is a hotel in town but you’ll be damned if you saw it.

The views up would be nice if they weren’t clouded by, um, clouds. The rain doesn’t seem to ease up at all here so you press on. Not far down the mountain the rain stops and you cruise in luxury. You hit a stone and your front tire immediately goes flat. The tube is fucked. The tire is fucked. The rim is fucked. Luckily you picked up a spare tire yesterday and of course you now have a few spare tubes. The rim is fine as long as you don’t mind a clunk, clunk, clunk, every time you use the front brake. Looks like you have a few things to replace in Oaxaca.

Thirty km down in the valley is San Pedro. It is a descent enough sized town with a hotel. But it’s not on your map. From there it is a grueling 34 km up hill to almost the summit. It gets dark. It gets very dark. Energy levels drop and you start walking. Well you still are going two thirds of your pedaling speed. Besides, after riding in wet cycling shorts all day your inner thighs are red raw.

You find a restaurant. It is open but no one’s about. Barking dogs soon wake the owners though and dinner is served. They even let you sleep inside for the night. Dinner costs thirty pesos with a free hammock. They don’t have any change and you only just have enough so give the rest over anyway. It’s not much of a tip but they are grateful and it makes you feel like less of a sponge.

Oaxaca: Danny: TV personality

Friday September 14, 2007, 121 km (75 miles) — Total so far: 3,997 km (2,484 miles)

The hammock is small. Too small. It is cold up on that mountain too. You don’t sleep much. It’s another two km uphill and then seventeen all the way downhill to Vega. The road is mostly fine but best not attempted at night as potholes and such do exist. Yesterday’s troubles mean that it is difficult to use the front break. A dog suddenly jumps out and attacks on a rough section of road. Not fun.

Vega is a descent enough sized town with TWO hotels. After that it’s another dozen km uphill. You have no energy. You even attempt hitchhiking. But fret not as this is the last real long section of uphill. Then back downhill again. Then up and down again. There is another large looking town but it’s not on the road so you skip it. There are a few more towns now with places to eat but you don’t see any more hotels until after 85 km coming into a large town not far before the 131 joins up with the 175. You try to find food but it proves too difficult. Really.

Traffic increases a lot now. For the last two days it was virtually nil. Now it is plentiful. Buses overtake very closely and blow their horns when they have the world to maneuver around. Something hits you. Someone threw bread at you from a bus. On the 175 the road is wide with wide shoulders. But the shoulders are crap and often used for parking making them more of a hazard than anything else. Cars expect you to use them even though they are crap and get aggressive when you don’t.

It rains. A bus is at least two meters away but drives through a puddle splashing water all over you. Probably calculated. You get into town and find a hotel. Sofia will get here tomorrow so you tell her to meet you at nine tomorrow. You hang out and drink beer. They are doing promotions for Victoria beer and you are filmed saying “La Victoria se mia.” Or something like that. They give you a bracelet which doesn’t fit.

Mitla.: Need a good rim job

Monday September 17, 2007, 48 km (30 miles) — Total so far: 4,045 km (2,513 miles)

Oaxaca city is nice. Saturday day is wasted wandering about the market trying to find a bike shop for some new rims. All without success. You head out Saturday night with a couple of new friends. It is independence day and there’s a big fiesta in town. It’s a fun, hazy night.

On Sunday everything is free. You take the bus to Monte Alban which is nice and then visit Santo Demengo Cathedral, monastery and museum. You also meet Jacob, another cyclist who started in Alaska.

Monday morning you visit another bike shop to try to sort out those rims. Bike shops here sell. They don’t service. So what you need to do is buy the rims at one place and take them to another place to put them on. It sounds a bit complicated, even more so by your lack of Spanish, and more so again because what you want nobody has. Your wheels take 32 spokes and the only rims which cost less than your entire bike all take 36 spokes. So you need to replace some other things too to fit it all on. But nobody sells that and it is all very confusing and you still don’t get anything done. Perhaps the next town.

You ride to Mitla where some more ruins lie. There is a bike path leading out of town and then a nice wide shoulder almost all the way there. The ruins close by the time you get there so you will just have to wait until tomorrow. There’s not much to do in town.

San Jose.: Some great descents

Tuesday September 18, 2007, 98 km (61 miles) — Total so far: 4,143 km (2,574 miles)

I hope you fancy big long hills today cause that’s what you’re going to get. But don’t worry as there are more descents than ascents. A twenty km detour up the autopiste doesn’t help matters. Someone tells you to go back and get on the highway.

You already started the day late with a visit to the ruins at Mitla. They are okay by the way. Not very extensive or anything but nice to see if you are in town anyway. There’s an uphill section on the highway followed by twenty km of straight downhill. Someone painted ‘cyclists returno’ with a returning arrow on the road before the downhill. Cacti is in abundance out here. Head and side winds dog your day slowing you down even further.

Then get ready for the ascent again. You leave Sofia behind only to find her much later in San Jose where a hotel is found. As you head up the mountains the view to the south is nice. Glad you’re not heading that way then. Looks hard. And back down again. You find a town just before dusk. A hotel is found if you ask politely. Time for dinner. And much relaxation.

To Jalapa.: Pitching the tent on the roof

Wednesday September 19, 2007, 112 km (70 miles) — Total so far: 4,255 km (2,644 miles)

Some more mountains await your day. You make it to El Cameron by twelve and from there it is one long stretch up followed by another down. El Cameron has a hotel. The next hotel is 88 km further at Jalapa. There are places to eat in between but not much else but ascents, descents, and quite a nice view.

You leave Sofia far behind. A driver says she has wheel problems a long, long way away up the mountain. The kilometers drop one by one until Jalapa where you agreed to meet Sofia. There is one hotel in town. It’s expensive. You ask for another and are directed to a rooftop which looks nice for pitching the tent. Best to wait for Sofia first though.

Niltepec.: Nowhere to eat in town

Thursday September 20, 2007, 126 km (78 miles) — Total so far: 4,381 km (2,722 miles)

You pack up and find a restaurant on the main road for breakfast. Still no sign of Sofia. For once you are able to enjoy something of a tailwind. But before you reach Tehuantepic a freeway presents itself and you take it. This is a mistake. What was once a tailwind becomes a headwind. After thirty km of this the road veers around and the wind is more of a benefit again.

At one point the freeway stops for construction and you need to make a short detour on a smaller road without shoulders and more traffic. You have a strong crosswind to deal with now. This is certainly no fun with big trucks wanting to overtake at inopportune moments. Back on the freeway again you are less concerned with mentally writing your will.

You ask someone how far to a hotel. Five km. Excellent. Bullshit. It’s ten. The nice smooth freeway becomes a narrow shitty road. You arrive in Niltepec. There are two hotels in town. One is overpriced and you can’t find anyone to service the other one. But a wander about reveals the owner and you walk back with him to check in. It is the one year anniversary of his mother’s death so everyone is out celebrating. He’s a bit drunk and needs to piss. He does so while walking along, pissing out in front without conviction.

It’s a nice hotel. You find some interesting food to eat and wash it down with a couple beers. Sofia is now 100 km behind you. Looks like you’ll need a couple rest days to let her catch up. But not here. Best to leave this half town to the dogs.

Tapanatepec.: Good roads and tough wind

Friday September 21, 2007, 57 km (35 miles) — Total so far: 4,438 km (2,758 miles)

Just a short ride today. Sofia has to catch up somehow and if you keep going at your pace she never will. There is a town, Tapanatepec, just before the long hard slog up the mountain. It looks like as good a place as any to await Sofia for the climb ahead.

The day is hot and the road is crap. It sure is a day of road works. After six km the road widens to the lovable freeway once again but alas it is short lived as all too soon road works hinder the ride. Some minor issues with traffic but this has all become second nature by now. Truck driver seems to be a synonym for arsehole.

There are a couple hotels on route. After a bite to eat you really do feel like moving on. The town is as dead as the last and it would be nice to be somewhere more lively for the weekend. It is only three but you go back to the posada and check in. Good thing too as the heavens soon open up in a torrential downpour.

The plan now, if you can communicate this to Sofia, is to lie in tomorrow morning and hopefully meet up here for lunch. Then together you can ride another thirty or fifty km depending. Maybe.

Up and up and up.: Spanish or no Spanish you still get the same lack of answers

Saturday September 22, 2007, 45 km (28 miles) — Total so far: 4,483 km (2,786 miles)

You meet up with Sofia at the Posada at around twelve. After lunch it is all uphill. A guy stops and gives you some local food to eat. He seems to be praying for you. You probably need it.

Some guy wants you to stop and chat. He wants to take you to the lagoon but you insist on cycling. “Is it uphill’ you ask. Lots of curves is all you are able to get. Sofia catches up with you as you grab a bite to eat. She asks herself about ascents and with all her Spanish is only able to find out the same. Lots of curves. But what does that mean? Uphill curves or downhill ones?

Just after a town after 36 km of mostly uphill cycling you find a hospedaje. But the lagoon just ahead is apparently mui bonita so you detour another four km there to find out for yourself. It’s nice but there’s nowhere to really stay and now you need to cycle four km uphill to get back to the hospedaje.

On the way back you find a bee somewhere in your shirt. Some frantic moments a spent veering all over the road as you try to get it out.

To Tuxtla.: Bad bus driver. Naughty, naughty, naughty

Sunday September 23, 2007, 126 km (78 miles) — Total so far: 4,609 km (2,864 miles)

Is it just you or is the traffic today noticeably more aggressive? You leave Sofia at the hotel and continue on. Apparently there is a lot of uphill ahead and she would rather take the bus from the next town. There are a couple of ascents but nothing longer than six or seven kilometers. Cintalapa and Ocozocoautla are both decent sized towns with a few accommodations options in each. You stop at a campsite/restaurant with a pool just before Cintalapa. Three teenage boys approach as you near the restaurant. They aren’t intimidating but their idiotic attitude loses the place business. Why would you want to eat at a place with three guys staring at you at laughing about English. They’re probably trying to be helpful. But you don’t need nor want them around. You leave and eat elsewhere.

You get to Ocozocoautla, the day’s destination and are lured in by some hotcakes. With three more hours of daylight left you should be able to make the 36 km to Tuxla. Only six km of it is uphill apparently. It’s the first six. You come to a crossroads. There aren’t any signs so you ask a guy for directions. He is able to point in 180 degrees at once. You cross the road and ask some women but they keep walking before you can get an answer. Fortunately there is a sign across the road so you go there to get your information.

From here a nice wide shoulder is available all the way in to Tuxla. A truck and then a bus prefer to drive on the shoulder rather than their lane, passing way too close. The bus is particularly bad as it overtakes as you fly downhill giving you a long moment of uncertain exhilaration. Do bus drivers do this on purpose?

San Christobel.: All uphill

Tuesday September 25, 2007, 69 km (43 miles) — Total so far: 4,678 km (2,907 miles)

The first ten km out of Tuxla is pretty much downhill. Your front gears have broken so you detour off the main artery to find a bike shop. Easily fixed if you know what you are doing. Hell if you don’t.

Back on the freeway it is forty km straight up to San Christobel. Up and up you go. It rains. You get wet. Traffic often use the shoulder as an extra lane. A few cars pass marginally close leaving you cursing behind. Eventually your legs give out and you can no longer ride the ascent. You walk.

You reach the summit, cold and wet. Changing gears you almost ride straight into a great big hole built into the shoulder. The same shoulder you are riding on. More of these holes appear as you ride the last few km downhill and into town. It is right on dark and you have no more energy left.

But where exactly is the town? You ask directions a few times and find your way to the hostel. A hot shower and a few cold beers make a nice evening in.

Comitan.: Nice ride down

Friday September 28, 2007, 92 km (57 miles) — Total so far: 4,770 km (2,964 miles)

You spend three days in San Christobel. The first is spent at a nearby Zapata village. It is interesting in a way with the rebels. The ride to and fro isn’t so nice making you feel really sick. The second day is spent going to the ruins of Palenque. The ruins are nice but the bus ride there, including a six AM start. On the third day you find a bike shop and finally sort out your rims. About time too. In order to fit it all on they have to put new rear gears on. So now you have six rear gears instead of eight.

You don’t leave San Christobel until late. You feel sick for most of the ride to Comitan. There are two significant descents with a nice long ascent in between. After the first descent you find a town. You hope for a restaurant soon after but none are to be found for another fifty km and you don’t eat at all until dinner.

On the ascent dark clouds turn to rain. It passes before the pass and the day turns sunny once more. Comitan is a nice town. You find Sofia, get some food and look for a place to stay.

To Guatemala.: Dodgy border town

Saturday September 29, 2007, 89 km (55 miles) — Total so far: 4,859 km (3,019 miles)

It is a nice mostly downhill day. You make the same mistake as yesterday with lunch. For forty km there is pretty much nothing to eat. You stop at one place but their dog tries to bite your fingers off. Time to move on. You stop for a hamburgesa and wait for Sofia to catch up.

As soon as you get over one illness you get another. You never felt okay in San Christobel. And now after only being better for a couple days you are sick again. It must have been that hamburger you ate.

The last four km to the Guatemalan border are painful. You know you are close when rubbish is littered about. After border formalities you cross over. Well, under the barrier technically. It is on dark. This is a rugged border town. Sofia wants to find a hotel and lock the door. You find a nice hotel and book in. The price is about twenty US when Sofia asks but when you return soon after the price is higher. So send Sofia back in to sort it out.

Welcome to Guatemala.

To a town.: It has a name, maybe

Sunday September 30, 2007, 51 km (32 miles) — Total so far: 4,910 km (3,051 miles)

You awake late, finally hauling yourself out of bed to get breakfast. But back in the room a movie on TV seems so much easier than the ascent ahead. You feel weak. You feel sick. The climb is draining on your legs.

Guatemala is a little like Mexico but rougher around the edges. The people look poorer but culturally richer. Lot’s of holas and bye byes. There are a couple nice descents early on but after that the road just climbs. It’s not steep but together with you being ill and all it’s not nice.

There is a hotel ten km further on. Except there isn’t one. Seven km. One km. Three km. And a hotel. It rains hard. That’s enough for one day. Sure, you didn’t break any records but enough is enough. Besides, it’s dark and apparently a bit dangerous around here.

Huahuatenengo.: The world of Maya

Monday October 1, 2007, 39 km (24 miles) — Total so far: 4,949 km (3,075 miles)

The road continues climbing. You still feel sick but by dinner feel somewhat better. An easy day really today. Sofia begins a good start to the day by locking herself in the toilet at the restaurant. Perhaps you should have realized sooner if only you weren’t so busy chatting to the kids. Some more nice scenery and lots of Maya present the day. A few people shout out gringo at you and Sofia gets a few suggestive remarks but nothing too serious. You head into Huahuatenengo and find the city centre. A hot shower and hot food sure are good. Tomorrow may be a long day so best rest up.

Up the road.: Camping behind a church

Tuesday October 2, 2007, 46 km (29 miles) — Total so far: 4,995 km (3,104 miles)

You awake late once again meaning that today is another short day on the bikes. And it is mostly uphill. Nobody around here says hello or hola. It is always bye bye or adios. It’s not unfriendly or anything. That’s just how the locals do it.

With about an hour of daylight left you are reduced to walking your bike. Theoretically a hotel exists just ten km further. But Guatemalans, like their Mexican counterparts, have no concept of distance.

You spot a church and on Sofia’s insistence camp behind there for the night. You try to find the pastor to ask but he’s not about. There is a shop nearby. They close at six-thirty. But when you return to buy some things they have already closed. Two more shops exist further up and you can buy some junk food there. Of your three nights so far in Guatemala, you have had two cheetos dinners

Xela.: Bad, bad truck driver

Wednesday October 3, 2007, 48 km (30 miles) — Total so far: 5,043 km (3,134 miles)

It is another fourteen km to the promised hotel. Uphill. Traffic is unfriendly today. From unfriendly it becomes hellish. The same truck almost hits both you and Sofia. With fourteen km to go you turn off to Xela, (Quentanengo). The town looks nice. Just need to go out and see it.

Nahuala.: An interesting little Mayan town

Thursday October 4, 2007, 46 km (29 miles) — Total so far: 5,089 km (3,162 miles)

Traffic today is murderous. Those chicken buses must get to where ever it is they go as fast as possible and no cyclist is going to slow them down. Two trucks run you off the road early on. There are a few sections of roadwork in place. This congests the traffic all together to try to overtake you all at once in a dense cloud of smoke while at other times the road is positively empty.

After fourteen km you get back on the InterAmericana. Then it is a mostly uphill twenty km before another ten km straight back down again. You miss the turnoff to the town of Nahuala and so approach from the other side. There are two hospodojes in town. You book into one. It’s not the Ritz but better here than out in the cold.

Nahuala is an interesting town. It is very Maya which is nice but it is also quite gritty. But nice and authentic all the same.

San Pedro.: Damn hotel tout

Friday October 5, 2007, 40 km (25 miles) — Total so far: 5,129 km (3,187 miles)

There’s some more road works today. There is supposed to be a turnoff onto a minor road to lago to Atitlan but you miss it. You take the main road to the lake, through Solola and onto Panajachel where a boat awaits to take you to San Pedro.

The boat is not nice. You both get seasick while still in port. Then, because you sit at the front, are thrown up and hard back down on the seat every few seconds for the next half hour until you get to the other side.

In San Pedro some guy wants to take you to ‘his’ hotel. In reality he is just a tout, soon becoming a pain in the arse. You go to a different hotel but it doesn’t matter where you go, he still wants his commission. You tell the manager that he has now lost two clients because of this guy and go elsewhere on recommendation on passing tourists.

And now it is Friday night. Enjoy.

Some tenengro town.: Wicked ride in the back of a pick up.

Sunday October 14, 2007, 25 km (16 miles) — Total so far: 5,154 km (3,203 miles)

After a week in San Pedro staying with a local family and learning Spanish it’s time to move on. You meet up with Sofia again in Panajachel. She will stay there one more day while you go on ahead.

You load the bike onto a chicken bus and ride it all uphill back to the InterAmericana highway. It’s a real bitch getting the bike back down again. To load it onto the bus you lift it up to a guy half way up the ladder, then scramble up to the top of the bus for him to pass it back up to you. Unloading the bike the guy hands you the bike in one hand while you try to climb back down using only your left hand to hold the ladder. Tricky.

You get about twenty five km before the bike fucks up. It’s the cogs on the rear gear system. It broke off at the axle area and bent up good and proper. It takes all of two seconds to thumb a ride. A pickup stops and you jump in the back. The ride is rough for a while then the road is nice. It is scary. At least on a rollercoaster you know you will step off in the end. On the back of a pickup you don’t. Twice the driver has to brake suddenly to avoid a chicken bus when overtaking other traffic.

But you make it out okay in the end. It is Sunday so the bike shops are shut. Tomorrow morning you will sort it all out.

Some guy befriends you. You ask where a hotel is and he directs you. Then he asks for a quonzali for his tummy. You relent, giving him one. He then takes you to the hotel though the directions are enough. With the hotel in sight he then asks for two quonzalis, again making signs that he is hungry. You give him one more but he wants another again. Two is enough. The hotel is a bit expensive for what it is so you don’t stay there anyway. Soon another place is found and you settle in for the evening.

Antigua.: Another easy day

Monday October 15, 2007, 20 km (12 miles) — Total so far: 5,174 km (3,215 miles)

After a leisurely breakfast you go in search of a bike shop. No decent ones are to be found but one place does do the job well enough. In the process of fitting the new gears on he breaks the gear shifter. So a new one of those needs to be fitted also. But for nine US you do well enough.

And away you go. It’s about twenty km to Antigua. There are no signs so you need to ask directions all the time. You stop for lunch and it is just as well too as you need to turn off right there anyway. That saves a detour. You begin to feel that you went the wrong way there. This is all but confirmed when a sign points left to Chinantenango, the town you just came from.

Antigua is very touristy. But why? There doesn’t seem to be much special going on. On the other hand there isn’t anything bad about it either. Not sure where the Chileana is. She will probably get here tomorrow. Lots of different options to discuss. Tomorrow may involve a volcano tour. But six AM sure is an early time to leave.

Guat. city.: It’s not so bad

Wednesday October 17, 2007, 50 km (31 miles) — Total so far: 5,224 km (3,246 miles)

Antigua is alright. As warned it is heavily tourisised. You do a tour of Papaya volcano which is pretty cool. Well, hot actually.

Sofia wants to watch a soccer game. It’s on at four so you should easily make the fifty km to Guat. City. After a pretty interesting night out you meet Sofia for breakfast. You walk the bikes over the cobbled streets out of town. Just before the edge of town you look back. Where’s Sofia? She was right behind you. And you told her the directions. Go straight.

You wait five minutes and Sofia appears out of a side street. And away you go. Up hill. It’s not steep and isn’t very far up but you soon leave Sofia behind. You take a break at a service station keeping a lookout for Sofia. You ask the people working there if they saw her go past. No, no, they confirm. And then, when you ask again, yes, she went past five minutes ago.

You speed off in hope of catching her. Fast up hill and fast down hill you go, confident in catching her eventually. But you don’t. You ask some people coming into town. No one has seen her. So where is she? You pass a market, making perfect timing to wait for Sofia. After all, she must be behind you. But still no Sofia. You move on. There’s a turnoff to the centro. You wait there for her. And there she is. Lucky she sees you ‘cause you sure miss seeing her. Boy is she pissed though.

You make your way into the centre, find a hostel and then a bar for the soccer game. Then you leave the Chilena to watch her game while you do some shopping. As evening descends the town shows some of its character. Sure, its not the prettiest of places. But it’s nice.

El Rancho.: Leaving town

Thursday October 18, 2007, 84 km (52 miles) — Total so far: 5,308 km (3,298 miles)

Traffic out of Guat. City is pretty heavy but you manage all the same. Signs are scarce. It is mostly downhill to El Rancho with one or two notable exceptions. They are doing some maintenance just out of town. Half a tree is dropped onto the road just after a guy waves you through. Elsewhere a guy almost gets himself run over as he darts in front of you.

Sofia heads in front and once again you lose her. She never was too far behind though. Some local guy rides along with you for a while. It rains hard. Then the thunder and lightning come. You stop for a bite to eat and Sofia soon catches up. And then it’s another four km to the next hotel. And boy is it shite. But it’s on dark now and the traffic is worse than ever, not to mention the rain, so it might just be best to stay here tonight.

To Chiquimula.: Don’t take the room if he won’t let you see it first

Friday October 19, 2007, 85 km (53 miles) — Total so far: 5,393 km (3,351 miles)

Lots of ascending today, especially for the last leg towards Chiquimula. The route 9 towards the Atlantic has a nice shoulder for most of the time. You stop for lunch at your favourite pollo and telepizza restaurant chain. But your burger is cold. You send it back and they reheat it. You send it back again and they give you another one, also cold. You don’t leave a tip. Tomorrow is the start of the tour de Guatemala. You see a van loaded with racing bikes. They pull up along side and hand you each a bottle of energy drink.

You get a flat. Sofia continues on. The plan is to meet up again beside the road at Chiquimula. But you don’t see her and you each spend some time in town looking for each other.

And then you find her. You find a cheap hotel but the guy won’t let you look at the room. “Why should I waste my time showing you the room if you won’t take it? He says, in Spanish. You’ve been in this situation before. Best not to take it. You go elsewhere.

Welcome to Honduras.: To Copan

Saturday October 20, 2007, 80 km (50 miles) — Total so far: 5,473 km (3,401 miles)

For the first five km on route 10 you enjoy lots of applause from people along the road. Today is the first day of the Guatemalan cycling race and you are the first cyclists they see. You could almost be convincing if only you were headed in the right direction.

There are a lot of ascents and descents to Copan Ruinus. But seemingly more ascents. As usual in Guatemala many kids shout “Gringo’ at you and make weird noises to catch your attention.

Eventually you reach the border, pay the bribes to exit one country and enter another and off you go. You’re in Honduras baby. Just one more climb and one descent to go and into town you are. Now, where’s Sofia? Perhaps you shouldn’t have left her behind. Oh well, four times in four days you’ve played this game. You find each other in the end. And you do. But she isn’t happy so best just let her be for now.

Back into Guatemala.: A crowded minivan

Monday October 22, 2007, 24 km (15 miles) — Total so far: 5,497 km (3,416 miles)

Yesterday you saw the ruins of Copan. They were interesting and all but with all the hype generated they were a bit of a let down. Still, you got your requisite photos. Tensions remain high between your comrade and yourself and don’t really settle down again until today. Will you go your separate ways? Is enough enough? Not yet apparently. You both still get something out of this relationship. Aren’t you? Perhaps you’ve been alone for too long. You don’t know how to relate to other people anymore.

You get a lift in a pickup the ten km to the border for five Americanos. Then across the other side for little more than the same amount you get a minivan the forty km to Vadu Hondo back on route 10. Everything is fine. The van is at most half full. Then, with only maybe ten km to go you pull into a town and change vans. You jump on the top of one van and help lift the bikes over. Then you all cram into the overflowing van for the rest of the journey. As overflowing as it is there is always room to cram one more in, which they do.

Finally out of the van you cycle the twenty km into town. It is still early and you’ve spent barely two hours on the bikes but you’ll call it a day. Only twenty km till the border. El Salvador awaits.

Welcome to El Salvador.: To Santa Ana

Tuesday October 23, 2007, 97 km (60 miles) — Total so far: 5,594 km (3,476 miles)

For once you get an early start on the day. But there’s no beating that heat. It’s another 33 km until the border. And..

Welcome to El Salvador!!!

An early afternoon downpour coincides with lunch. And off you go again. Most of the way on this side of the border is downhill. The roads are good here and there is a nice shoulder to enjoy.

At last Santa Ana comes into view. Dark clouds, well, darken the sky. You find a cheap place to stay mere moments before they open up. Heavy rain and thunder is heard. Maybe stay in for a little while. You have an 8:30 curfew tonight. But why?

San Salvador.: A lift up.

Wednesday October 24, 2007, 65 km (40 miles) — Total so far: 5,659 km (3,516 miles)

It’s not so far to San Salvador so you leave relatively late on the autopista. Out of town the road gains shoulders and for thirty odd km you enjoy a nice smooth mostly downhill ride. Then the road goes crap. Road works drag on and on and you find just how bad El Salvadorian traffic can be. Later on you grab hold of a slow moving truck on the ascent. Sure, it’s cheating but why the hell not.

Traffic in San Salvador equals that of Guat. city. It is a big adrenalin rush. Sofia doesn’t see the fun side of it.

You make your way into town to the hostel and off to find some food.

San Vicente.: Heading east

Friday October 26, 2007, 60 km (37 miles) — Total so far: 5,719 km (3,554 miles)

San Salvador is surprisingly nice to visit. The centre has a pretty cool market where seemingly anything can be bought. A couple girls say some things to you. Are they prostitutes or do they just want to sell some clothes? And why does everyone want to sell you the most ugliest clothes?

You leave Sofia in San Salvador. She wants to see a couple of things and you want to ride on. Besides, it will do you both good to spend some time apart. Traffic isn’t so bad with the notable exceptions of course.

The road is nice and gets nicer further out of town with a nice wide shoulder. Some ascents and a couple long deep descents. You get a flat. You change it easily enough but with the new rims you cannot inflate the tube. But you get by.

You leave the highway for a nice descent down to San Vicente. It is a sizable town yet only has the one restaurant. Nice.

To San Miguel.: Riding at night

Saturday October 27, 2007, 80 km (50 miles) — Total so far: 5,799 km (3,603 miles)

With the most popular bar in town a mere three metres down the corridor from your room you couldn’t help but have a few beers. And after chatting to a few guys you couldn’t help but have a few more. You are invited to stay another night for a big fiesta in town. Perhaps you should but then again you really just want to ride on. TV and wifi internet also help to waste your night away.

So you wake up late. You go to the only restaurant in town and have a look around the market. Much like San Salvador many people are over eager to show you some very ugly shirts.

You climb the hill back up to the panamericana. There are some shops to buy food there but after that is nada for a very long time. Along the road people sell a myriad of different foods. You see your very first live armadillo. Maybe. And it is yours for only ten dollars, cooked and served on a platter.

Eventually you find a restaurant but after wasting too much time waiting for your meal you waste even more time arguing over your bill. Darkness comes way too soon and you spend an hour or so riding in the dark. From here it is mostly downhill though so it’s not too bad. There are nice wide shoulders but their condition is variable so you stay on the road. You need to concentrate hard on the road. But wait, headlights coming straight at you are cause for concern. But traffic isn’t that bad and it is a nice cool evening.

You come into San Miguel. Someone drives by and offers to show you to a hotel. So you are shown to a hotel. Apparently it’s not too safe in town. So you stay in for the night. Perhaps you should have stayed in San Vicent after all.

Welcome to Honduras. Again.: To Nacaome

Sunday October 28, 2007, 95 km (59 miles) — Total so far: 5,894 km (3,662 miles)

The first order of business is to find a bike shop. Unfortunately it is Sunday and they are all closed. So you press on. It’s 58 km to the Hondouros border apparently. The road is nice. The traffic is nice enough. You have a late lunch in Santa Rosa. From there it is 30 km to the border. And the border closes at five. Better get going then.

It’s not 30 km to the border. It’s ten km max. You go through the usual border formalities including half a dozen guys wanting to change your money. There’s at least one hotel on either side of the border. But there’s at least an hour of daylight left so why not use it.

Oh yeah. Welcome to Honduras.

Apparently the next hotel is 35 km away in Nacaome. You better get going then. You pass some young men standing by the road. One calls out to you in English. “Get the fuck outta here man.” Best keep going then. Apart from the one antagonistic almost everyone else is happy to see you. You get more than enough ‘hellos’ of various descriptions. A lot are actually ‘bye byes’ and ‘adios’”.

Then it gets dark. There are a lot of insects about which makes the going even more difficult. Just before town you spot a nice hotel. You pull up outside. Two men battle with a snake. “It’s not poisonous. I think.” So says one. The hotel is too expensive so you keep going. So is the next one. You head into town where two more hotels are. They are still more expensive than you would like but what are you going to do? So you take one.

To the border.: Can’t wait to leave the place

Monday October 29, 2007, 90 km (56 miles) — Total so far: 5,984 km (3,718 miles)

You move out, having a look around town and in search of breakfast. People here call out to you but they are angry and aggressive. Hey gringo. They shout. And when you don’t respond immediately it’s like who the fuck do you think you are? No hablo Ingles. You respond. Hablas Espaniol?

“Hello amigo. Give me five dollars.” Some guy shouts at you. You keep riding. Up ahead you find something to buy. You are half way through sorting your money when the guy catches up to you, still asking for money. No. No. You say. The guy stays. Eventually he leaves, about a meter. You wait for a little while and just go, business unfinished. Perhaps the store owners told him to go away until you finished the transaction. Or maybe he just told him to go away. Either way he cost the guy business. And you still need to go elsewhere to buy the things that you need.

You leave town. Hungry. Five km up the road is the turnoff to the capital. Here you find something to eat. There are also a couple hotels here. A few short km further is San Lorenzo which almost resembles a resort town. You immediately get a strange sensation to buy fried fish and a milkshake and sit on a pier. There is even a bike path along side the road.

The thing about bike paths though is that they guilt you into using them no matter what condition or obstacles are about. The same replies for the shoulder along the road. Sometimes it is fine. Sometimes they are crap. Often cars park there. Usually buses and vans overtake just to pull up directly ahead of you to let passengers on or off. This one isn’t so bad though, except when pedestrians use it to walk on with scarce concern for the cyclist behind them.

As you have just eaten and don’t really have any interest in hanging about you move on. It’s a long hot ride to Choluteca. The town doesn’t look like much but they have a selection of restaurants and a few nice looking hotels leaving town. After lunch it is only 45 km to the border. You miss the turnoff due to lack of signage and it is another kilometer of so before you turn back.

You start to miss El Salvador. The traffic is a little nastier here. The shoulders aren’t so good. And the people are less than friendly. Children are trained to hold out there hand and say ‘dollar’ at you. You patience wears thin. Some girl says “I love you.” You say “How much?” Time to leave this country.

You get to the border. A swarm of money changers engulf you. “No gracias.” You repeat but the chance of a fresh fish is just too great. There is a hotel on the Hondouran side and you check it out. One of the money changers lingers, trying to corner the market. “Solo cambio.” He proclaims. “No solo.” You shout back.

China town.: I’m number one

Tuesday October 30, 2007, 82 km (51 miles) — Total so far: 6,066 km (3,769 miles)

Spending one last night in Honduras was not a good idea. The only hotel on the border is infested with insects leaving you with a rather restless night swatting cockroaches, mosquitoes, spiders, and other random insects. You leave the hotel. You make it almost one meter before being approached by a money changer. This time the exchange is about right although he doesn’t quite give you all your money. He just walks away. Well, you are still better off than yesterday.

You cross over into Nicaragua. Hello Nicaragua. Good riddance Honduras. For the next fifteen km about the road is really, really shite. So much so that you are able to overtake two semi-trucks with ease. You stop for breakfast five km in. Good thing too as you get a flat and your spare tubes cannot now be inflated with you tire inflator.

After another hour traversing on that nightmare of a road you are presented with a nice, smooth, pothole free stretch all the way to China town. The land is flat but boy is it hot. Damn hot. Like in Honduras passes by sometimes hold up their index finger and say something incomprehensible as you ride past. “I’m number one? Why thank you.” You ponder. “Or is it you just want one dollar?”

You make it to China town. Not far now to Leon. But it has already been a long enough day and there may not quite be enough daylight left to venture on. So you stay here instead. You find a hotel and promised cable but the cable doesn’t work. It’s the city’s problem the guy explains launching into an almost confrontational tirade about how it’s not the fault of the hotel and I should still pay full price. Later you hear sounds of television coming from his room.

Leon.: No breakfast for you

Wednesday October 31, 2007, 42 km (26 miles) — Total so far: 6,108 km (3,795 miles)

Breakfast is so much of a dilemma that you go without. A hotel in town does do breakfast so you try there. After a very awkward time ordering you finally leave without after being told to wait a few minutes for some cereal with milk. How long is a few minutes? Half an hour. Ciao.

Forty km later and at one in the afternoon you finally get something to eat in Leon. The road to Leon is alright with a nice shoulder to ride on except when people, horses or oncoming cyclists are there. Coming into Leon a local cyclist is being a real prick. He overtakes just to slow down and try to derail you into a parked car. Are you crazy? The idiot laughs at you.

The hostel in Leon has a pool which you take immediate advantage of. You also sort out the rear derailer for the bike for the price of about a dollar.

Managua.: Attacked by a disabled begger

Sunday November 4, 2007, 90 km (56 miles) — Total so far: 6,198 km (3,851 miles)

You spend too long in Leon. You had wanted to leave yesterday but were persuaded instead to head to the beach. On the first day here you get the bike fixed up for about the price of a dollar. On the second day you are attacked by a disabled begger. You had tried to just ignore him so he hit you with his crutch. Of the four nights here, two were good parties, the other two, including your final night is an anticlimax. Time to move on.

Eventually you find your way out of Leon and onto the main road to Managua. Traffic isn’t so bad with only the occasional asshole driver, usually coming from the other direction. You have big problems with your tires. You change and patch up about three times. You put on the tubes with the short valves that can only be inflated with an air-compressor. Finally with nice hard tires you make the final forty km into town.

It seems more interesting the closer to Managua you get until you get to the suburbs and the traffic worsens considerably. Time to find the hostel. And now.. how about a swim.

Granada.: To market, to market

Monday November 5, 2007, 45 km (28 miles) — Total so far: 6,243 km (3,879 miles)

Before you leave town you head to the market in search of a decent bike shop and the necessary parts needed for the bike. With limited success it is time to leave town. Traffic is heavy enough leaving town with buses in particular overtaking too close just to stop just ahead to let passengers on and off.

The road to Granada is wide and fine. Shoulders exist for the most part but with parked cars and stopping buses are not so fun to ride on.

You get to Granada and find a hostel.

Welcome to Costa Rica.: A boat across Lago de Nicaragua

Friday November 9, 2007, 25 km (16 miles) — Total so far: 6,268 km (3,895 miles)

You don’t do too much in Granada preferring to while away the hours inside reading. The Chilena returns on the evening of your third day. “Don’t even look at me.” She exclaims walking past without further explanation. After that you have a couple more brief tense conversations. The next day she says she is going a different way.

You both catch the same ferry across the lake. The Chilena gets off at the island on the way. The top of the ferry is a mess of hammocks strung up wherever possible. You buy a hammock after some advice of a friend and do likewise. An annoying woman puts hers up right next to your so that you are constantly bumping each other all night.

It’s a restless night. Before twelve your neighbor departs. About a minute later someone else puts up their hammock. At least this time they separate them a bit more. The journey, especially the first half, is quite turbulent. It’s not so bad in the hammock but when you get up for a walk the ol’ travel sickness sets in and you beeline for the hammock.

You arrive at San Carlos at around 4:30 AM and hang around doing nothing much until immigration opens at 8:30 and then again until the boat departs at 10:30. After being stamped out of Nicaragua you then re-enter to buy a sandwich and use the bathroom.

The boat ride to Los Chiles on the Costa Rican side of immigration is pleasant. You spot turtles, howler monkeys and even a sole alligator being hounded by a tourist boat. You probably saw more tourists than fauna.

Welcome to Costa Rica. You don’t get your bags searched but your tires do need to be sprayed. Apparently it’s not harmful. After a pleasant lunch you head off twenty or thirty km to the next town. There’s not much here and no visible hotels. You have to ask around but there are places to sleep.

San Carlos.: Every country has at least one arsehole

Saturday November 10, 2007, 72 km (45 miles) — Total so far: 6,340 km (3,939 miles)

The road south is full of rolling hills. Up and down you go all day. The road is fine though and traffic light. The final few km to San Carlos has a couple of longer steeper ascents. People are nice here. Traffic is friendly enough with just a few exceptions. As per usual trucks and buses are the worst perpetraiters. But like all good theory there are of course exceptions to the case. You make it into San Carlos, otherwise known as Quesada.

You find a bike shop and invest, finally, in a new bike computer. The next stop is a hotel. The price is twelve dollars. As you depart one of the two guys says you can have the room for six. The two guys are arguing about the price, calling each other names in English and Spanish. It doesn’t look right. You pay and move into your room. You are about to take a shower when one of the guys asks for the other six dollars back. “You don’t understand.” He says. “You have money. I don’t. I need the six dollars back.” “Is it six or twelve dollars?” You ask. He dodges the question. You ask again. Then you pack up and go. The guy bars your way saying it’s not a problem. You again ask about the price. Still no direct answer. You go. The other guy is already getting your money for you. Thanks for the scam guys. You think. Thanks anyway. You say.

You go back to the bike shop where the hotel was recommended and tell the guy that his friend at the hotel is a little fucked up. An English speaking customer first helps to translate and second helps to find another hotel up the road. You do find a place for six dollars. Try to rate a whole country because of one schemer okay. The rest of the population seems nice.

Alajuela.: Up and over the hills

Sunday November 11, 2007, 80 km (50 miles) — Total so far: 6,420 km (3,989 miles)

The day begins with a long slow climb. You spend much of it walking. Traffic is less friendly today. It’s foggy. A bus approaches from the other direction. It indicates for the traffic behind it to overtake. Can’t it see you? A truck pulls out. It certainly can see you. It overtakes the bus anyway. You give it the royal salute as it narrowly misses you. You can see the bus driver laughing at your misfortune. You give him the salute and he honks in retaliation. No wonder you hate bus drivers so much.

The scenery is nice with the fog rolling through the valleys. Eventually the fog lifts. The scenery is still nice. After the grueling climb up you zoom down the other side. Funny how it never seems as far down as it is up. You haven’t seen the last of the ascents. Rolling hills are a constant in Costa Rica from what you have seen.

You had planned to stay in Naranjo, just over the mountain, but press on without good reason to either stay or go. It is only another fifty km to San Jose but there’s not enough light to guide you there. You try to find a hotel along the way but eventually just make it to Alajuela all the same. Accomodation isn’t cheap here as it is across the mountains to the north. You eventually find an empty hostel to find in. Later you see quite a few hostels around town. Food is also more expensive here. Eventually you get your fill from one of the countless Chinese restaurants in town. No one there speaks Chinese.

Show me the way, the way to San Jose.: Hectic traffic along the freeway

Monday November 12, 2007, 30 km (19 miles) — Total so far: 6,450 km (4,008 miles)

It’s only twenty km to San Jose but when you are put on a busy freeway without shoulders you decide to make an exit and detour wherever necessary. There are a few good bike shops on route. The traffic is still heavy but manageable. You ask directions the only way you know how, in song. “Show me the way, the way to San Jose.” You twang. It doesn’t work. You make it into town and find the hostel by lunch.

A quick walk into town reveals a pleasant city, busy with people getting about. You wander about some shops. There isn’t a hard sell atmosphere as such but in every shop you are greeted by a salesperson who gets in your way following you around and asking questions you don’t understand. In most shops you tend to walk back out again. It’s not so cheap here although bargains can be made.

The plan is to spend a couple days in town and then head to the Carribean. It should be pretty wet there. A couple girls report the border crossing with Panama to be under two feet of water. It’s sure to be an experience.

Turrialba.: The wrong way out

Thursday November 15, 2007, 79 km (49 miles) — Total so far: 6,529 km (4,057 miles)

You spend a few days in San Jose hanging out and taking in the sites. You meet a local of sorts who insists on showing you around town and trying and succeeding in selling his used shorts to your friend. You go out one night to a local hotspot. It borders on your comfort level but is all harmless. San Jose is a nice town but it is time to leave.

You leave town. There are three ways out which look viable. You choose one and go. After leaving the barrios the road goes straight uphill. Hope you like walking. There aren’t any signs anywhere so you aren’t too sure if the road you are on is the one you want. It is the one you wanted but if you had known how bad it was then probably you would have chosen another way. After the long slow ascent the road turns crap. Now there really aren’t any clear directions to go. You really do need to ask people. Fortunately people here are friendly.

After a late lunch the road improves remarkably. You are also able to enjoy some nice descents. They also remind you to readjust your brakes. You make it to Turrialba on dark. It’s on of those days when an extra five minutes of daylight would work wonders. Flying down the hill an insect flies into your eye making the rest of the trip down just that little bit more difficult.

Because you wasted so much time unnecessarily climbing that hill today, tomorrow’s mileage has now increased somewhat. But it doesn’t matter as you won’t be able to make it all the way. Best take an extra day to get to the party hotspots.

Cuita.: Hello the Caribbean

Friday November 16, 2007, 151 km (94 miles) — Total so far: 6,680 km (4,151 miles)

You awake to a very wet day. Regardless of the weather you have a long ride ahead of you so go on, get going then. The road to Sequilles has relatively few traffic but there’s a lot of climbing involved. Ten km before Sequilles you enjoy a nice ride straight into town. A quick lunch and it’s back on the road again.

The main road to Limon is heavy with traffic. Lots of trucks which don’t want to move over. Overtaking vehicles coming from the other direction pose a constant threat to your sanity. A police car and an ambulance are guilty of this today. Narrow shoulders help alleviate some problems but some drivers must drive as dangerously close to you as possible regardless. You do actually meet one friendly truck driver which comes somewhat as a surprise.

You make it into Puerto Limon. One kid asks more money. Another tries to scare you as you ride past. Without really wanting to spend the night there you keep going to Cauita. And look. It’s the sea. The Carribean sea. And boy is it beautiful. Dusk comes. A few insects hit you in the face. Not long now one will Oh my God. The pain. The pain. How do they know?

With the insect still somewhere in your eye you continue on. At last Cauita is in site. You come into town and look for a place to stay. A rasta man shows you to a couple places. Then of course he wants a tip. What the hell. Let’s be generous for once in your life. After all, what’s a dollar?

To Puerto Vuerto.: Look, a sloth

Sunday November 18, 2007, 45 km (28 miles) — Total so far: 6,725 km (4,179 miles)

You get up early enough and hike in the nearby nature reserve in hope of finding some sloths. None are to be found. It’s 16 km to Puerto Vuerto. An easy ride. But rain delays the trip. Eventually you just leave, rain or not.

On the way you see, and hear, howler monkeys and finally, at last, a sloth. Puerto Vuerto is a very touristy town. A couple persistent beggers give the town an uneasy feel though and you start to question spending two nights here. But you meet up with Michelle and Carolina, some new friends and have a fun Saturday night.

Sunday is spent cycling further on the coast with Carolina. Apparently Michelle did much the same but you don’t see her until the evening. It’s such an easy day. It rains during lunch but by then you’ve found yourself a nice little restaurant to linger.

Welcome to Panama.: To Bocas Del Toro

Monday November 19, 2007, 72 km (45 miles) — Total so far: 6,797 km (4,223 miles)

The alarm is set for 6:45. The border closes at twelve and you don’t want to be late. You do wake late however and it is something of a rush to pack up and go. Soon you pass the worst of the road conditions and enjoy a nice smooth flat wide shouldered road to Panama. Most of the road is great but it does deteriorate badly in places if you ever were thinking of riding at night.

The border is straight forward enough though with a rough bridge crossing the river into Panama. It does the job though. No hassles at the border. The Chilena reported hassles crossing over on the Panamerican a few days earlier though with officials asking for proof of ownership of the bike, proof of funds, and proof of flight out of here. You aren’t asked anything. Just stamped through.

After some initial difficulty finding the road to Changuinola you get on your way. There aren’t any signs to the port so you need to keep asking people in your bad Spanish where to go. You find the port and jump on the boat just before it leaves. Carolina is also there having had to wait for the last hour and a half.

After some initial problems with the bike squashing the fuel line you are on the way going through the pretty canal and off to Bocas Del Toro, your first Carribean island.

To Chirique Grande.: Fuck off born again

Wednesday November 21, 2007, 74 km (46 miles) — Total so far: 6,871 km (4,269 miles)

Bocas del Toro is great. It contrasts sharply with the previous two touristy towns on the Costa Rican side. It’s more difficult to get to the beach here but the place itself has a pretty cool backpacker scene.

After a couple of very wet days it’s time to say goodbye. You go to the bank. It says it is giving you money but you never get any. You’ll just have to wait to see if the money is gone from your account in a couple days. Better try elsewhere then.

You get the boat to Almirante. People are curious but only that, no hassles or anything. Except just out of town someone says hi so you stop to chat. For the next ten minutes you are talked at about God. It would be rude of you to just leave. But isn’t it already rude of him to start preaching. Fucking born-agains. God bless you he says. No thanks you say. The scenery is nice to Chirique Grande. The road is nice and new, traffic scarce. Up and down you go over the many hills. The route is inland some but you catch some nice views of the sea from time to time.

With a supposed twelve km to go you see a sign to turn off to a hostel to the beach. Looks Enticing but you continue on anyway. You get to the end of the road. Left goes to Chirique Grande so you keep going. Another eight km later you roll into town. Maybe that hostel was a good option after all. If only you knew more details. But at least tomorrow the first few km will be flat.

Chirique Grande looks pretty cool. On the coast with only two or three roads half the buildings are built directly on the water. You find a box to sleep in and go for a wander. A walk down the road finds an outhouse over the water itself. A shoeshine boy follows you around, curious at who you are. Almost everyone says hello. But there is at least one beggar in town to spoil the ambiance.

To David.: From the Caribbean to the Pacific

Thursday November 22, 2007, 117 km (73 miles) — Total so far: 6,988 km (4,342 miles)

The bank yesterday in Bocas del Toro wouldn’t work. The one in Chirique Grande won’t either. You have a few dollars left. Best to head to David and try again there. And away you go. It’s 100 km from the Caribbean to the Pacific, Chirique Grande to Chirique. It is 36 km to the summit but from there are some more ascents to push through.

Not far from the summit are a couple of restaurants but it’s not yet twelve so you wait to see what’s ahead. Four hours later you see a place to eat. It’s not much and the food is cold but it seems to be the only thing going.

Someone stops to offer you a lift. No thanks you say. After all that you would hate to miss out on the descent. You make it to Chirique by dusk. Where’s the centro you ask. This is it. No banks, no hotel. So you go to David where some are bound to be found. Some banks are found in David but again they won’t accept your card. What to do? You check into the hostel and see about options. You’ll try again tomorrow and if that doesn’t work then crossing back over into Costa Rica where the banks are friendlier may be your only option left. For some reason your new host seems to be much more concerned about this than you are. Still, having three dollars to your name isn’t so fun.

David to Las Lajas.: Sunset on the Pacific

Friday November 23, 2007, 92 km (57 miles) — Total so far: 7,080 km (4,399 miles)

During the night you get an idea of how to solve the bank problem. Why not just use your debit card. Why do you insist on using your credit card anyway? And naturally it works the very first time. Now if only you did that a few days ago perhaps you wouldn’t have had all this difficulty. But maybe it’s when we are at the end that a solution presents itself to us.

And away you go. The road is fine with, for the most part, a nice wide shoulder. Traffic is heavier than the last few days though but that’s okay ‘cause drivers are pretty considerate here. Well, there are some exceptions.

Today is hot but the miles fly by easily enough. The destination is Las Lajas. La playa. The book says the turnoff is after 62 km. You pass the point but without any signs pointing the way you just keep going. Fifteen km later you see the big sign on the left. There’s not supposed to be much here but it seems that more businesses are opening up. With plenty of places to pitch the tent for a couple of bucks and at least four restaurants to choose from it is all good.

Now all you need to do is have a swim and watch the sun set over the Pacific.

Las Lajas to Santiago.: Too tired to ride

Saturday November 24, 2007, 133 km (83 miles) — Total so far: 7,213 km (4,482 miles)

It’s nice to wake up on the beach. But alas today is going to be a long one and you’ve got to start sometime. A sign indicates 130 km (in total) to Santiago. Further ahead another sign says 147. If 130 is pushing it then the extra 17 sure is. Further signage indicates the original estimate. A combination of many hills and a lack of muscle power makes the trip slow. It’s hot. Damn hot.

Road conditions are generally nice. Off and on a nice wide shoulder exists. Traffic isn’t that heavy and is nice enough.

Dusk arrives with twenty km left. A truck has overturned and is now lying in a ditch. You think of all the curses you’ve given the trucks that run you off the road. Somehow it just doesn’t feel like payback. You head towards lightning. It gets fiercer as you get closer to town. It never rains but you find out later that it did rain pretty heavy in town. Lucky to miss it.

You make it into town. Well, you make it to the outskirts of town. The second hotel looks good enough so you stay there. It’s operated by a Taiwanese man so after chatting with him for a little while in your bad Chinese you get a two dollar discount. Sure, it’s Saturday night but after the long hard day on the road and thinking about tomorrow’s long hard day on the road you decide to give any partying a miss.

From Las Lajas there really isn’t anywhere to spend the night until about twenty km to Santiago. Restaurants are scarce but do exist.

Santiago to Anton.: Smoooooooooooth

Sunday November 25, 2007, 118 km (73 miles) — Total so far: 7,331 km (4,555 miles)

The bed is so comfortable you just don’t want to leave. But you do. Eventually. Last night you found a hotel on the outskirts of town. As you leave you realise that that wasn’t the outskirts of town at all. That WAS the town. And Panama’s fourth largest at that.

A double-lane road extends all day on both sides of the road. Nice wide shoulders exist too for the most part although you do need to jump back on the road from time to time. The road is also flat, meaning you are able to get to today’s destination of Penenome in plenty of time. So why not head to Anton an extra 17 km down the road then.

It’s another hot day. Until it rains. Thunder rings out long before it rains and passes soon enough. Your legs feel strong today. But eventually they tire out too. Soon Anton comes into view. A hotel is easily found but of all the restaurants in town half are closed and the other half serve half-cold buffet style food. Is it hot you ask. Yes. Bullshit.

Anton to Panama city.: But where’s the hostel?

Monday November 26, 2007, 141 km (88 miles) — Total so far: 7,472 km (4,643 miles)

There’s nothing to eat in Anton so you head on for breakfast. Unfortunately there’s not much to eat further on either so you just stop at the first place that’s open anyway. The shoulder exists from time to time. With forty km to go the road becomes a freeway. The shoulder still exists but some idiot has put vibrators every two metres. At one point they become big speed bumps. The traffic gets heavy and dangerous. But the vibrators are annoying at best. So you take your chances with the traffic. But one too many buses drive too close. This aint gonna work.

You meet up with a local cyclist and he shows you the way. Straight ahead. The last few km sees you speed down a shoulder-less freeway. All is fine until you get to the bridge, just before Panama.

A policeman stops you as you are about to cross over the canal. No cyclists on the bridge he says. But he does help you flag down a pick up to take you across. The barrio here isn’t too pretty but it does look intriguing. Eventually you find your way to the hostel but it’s no longer there. It has moved. So you go in search of it. Some guy asks what you’re looking for and gives you directions back from where you came. It’s moved you say. No, it is there he says. So you go back. And he drives there in his car. It should be here he says. It’s moved.

You find some other foreigners looking for a place to stay. Together you do find the hostel but it is full. So he books you into a hotel. You get a taxi. Well, your new friends jump in the taxi and you ride behind, and then in front, across town to the hotel. It’s been a long day so it is good just to sit back with a few beers and chew the fat.

From central america to south.: Welcome to Chile

Monday December 3, 2007

Well here you are at the airport awaiting your flight to Chile. It seems the end of one adventure but at the same time the beginning of another. And with that comes the uncertainties, the excitement and all of that.

You have some riding to do once in Chile. You almost forget what that is like spending a whole week doing almost not much here in Panama city.

The one big concern you have at the moment is getting through immigration. Technically you need an onward ticket to enter Chile. Which is stupid as you have your bike but every country does this. But it’s not immigration which is the trouble but the airlines and you’ve just passed that hurdle without problem.

As a backup you do have an itinerary. Not to mention a bike to show. But technically you are supposed to be okay with just a credit card. But no use worrying about all that. You have a flight to catch. Well, wait around for at any rate. And a big adventure ahead of you.

Santiago to Paine.: Welcome Pedro

Thursday December 6, 2007, 76 km (47 miles) — Total so far: 7,548 km (4,690 miles)

Welcome to Chile. You take the bus into Santiago from the airport. But it looks like a nice ride and it does look like a nice morning for it. Santiago is nice. You meet Sofia in the day and hang out at the hostel at night. But it’s time to head south. So you bid farewell to the Chilena and say hello to Pedro the Mexican.

And time to go. You make your way out of Santiago. But the back tire is way too wobbly so you stop in at the first bike shop you see, which is just as well as you don’t see any others. There are some problems with the ball bearings on the rear wheel which weren’t there before the flight. He also fixes the direction of the wheel which has been way out since Guatemala. Just out of town you get onto the freeway. There are more bikes here than cars. You find out later by some more professional cyclists that the freeway is closed. It has been like that for three years now, completed and empty.

You get to Paine and eat a late dinner. There’s nowhere to stay in town so you head out on a minor road south in search of somewhere to camp. It is beautiful out here. The road is quiet and the scenery is nice along the foot of the mountains. Nowhere to camp though. A connection of towns link each other with hobby farms in between. Eventually you camp in a secluded area of a park in a small town without a name.

Paine to San Fernando.: What’s the use of a bike path if people keep walking on it?

Friday December 7, 2007, 125 km (78 miles) — Total so far: 7,673 km (4,768 miles)

You awake to dogs barking incessantly. It’s just after twelve. They won’t stop. They have been let out. They are barking at you. You bark back. They stop. When the real morning arrives and you pack up your tent you find out that you camped outside a monastery. A caretaker there says you could have stayed inside for the night. Too late now. And apart from the dogs you were fine.

You get onto the freeway and head into town. This freeway is heavy with traffic but the wide shoulders are still there. Traffic is fine in Chile. Buses again insist in being arseholes no matter the conditions of the road.

San Fernando is the destination today. Well, there really isn’t any destination but towards dusk San Fernando looks like the place to find food and a bed. But the two hotels in town are expensive. Looks like you’re camping again. Best find some food and go then.

You get a bite to eat but upon asking further about accommodation are directed to a friend’s pension. It looks fine and the price is right.

There are a few bike paths around but they seem to be more trouble than they are worth. Signs indicate cyclists only yet pedestrians will walk down them three or four people abreast instead of on the footpath adjacent. You honk your horn but they just don’t get out of the way. In San Fernando a woman walks on one side of the cycle path with her toddler on his toy bike on leash on the other half, entirely blocking the way. Perhaps you should run them down. Then maybe she won’t be such a bitch.

San Fernando to Talca.: But why can’t I just camp here?

Saturday December 8, 2007, 139 km (86 miles) — Total so far: 7,812 km (4,854 miles)

Back on the autopista again you count the km down until Talca where a hostel awaits. You had planned to stop for lunch in Curico on the way but it just doesn’t happen.

At Talca it’s a six and a half km detour on a bumpy road to the hostel. Once you get there they are all booked out ‘cept a very expensive single room. No, you cannot pitch the tent. There’s a bed available tomorrow night if you want to come back the receptionist says. Thank you. There’s another cyclist there. He almost persuaes you to camp by the river but you head back south along the autopista instead.

Not far down you find a motel back over on the other side of the autopista. How many hours? The receptionist asks. It’s not cheap. You keep going. There’s another motel further on. You almost don’t ask but walk down the gravel driveway anyway. It’s above budget but still quite affordable. It’ll do for one night anyway. You could do a lot worse.

To Parral, no to Chillan.: One long hot day on the autopista

Sunday December 9, 2007, 152 km (94 miles) — Total so far: 7,964 km (4,949 miles)