Travesia Trinacional Montecristo - What the hell was I thinking?

So as fate would have it, serious rain and flooding forced an audible that I wasn´t super excited about. Instead of making my way to the famous Bay Islands off the Caribbean coast of Honduras for some more relaxing, snorkeling and world class scuba diving, I stayed inland and headed west to the small town of Copan Ruinas near the Guatemalan border. After a long travel day of jumping on and off chicken buses, I ended up in this quaint little pueblo on Thanksgiving afternoon. At the local tourist office, I saw a poster advertising something to do with biking that looked like it started the next day and appeared to be taking place in three countries simultaneously. After inquiring, the kind info desk lady handed me a phone and said that Tiko could give me some more info. Deciphering the mix of English and Spanish, I understood that this was a mountain bike tour that was three days long and passed from Honduras to Guatemala to El Salvador. Though my time on a bike in the last year has been essentially non-existent (probably less than 10 hours total-most of which was bombing downhill in Bolivia over three months ago), I decided to humor myself and ask where I could rent a bike. ¨Oh, there are no bike rentals in this town, it´s too hilly for tourists to bike,¨ Tiko replied. He was, however, kind enough to give me the name and address of a hardware store in town that might have a couple bikes for sale and told me he´d see me at the pre-ride dinner that night. Ummm, okay. After various unsuccessful attempts and several wild turkey chases (it is thanksgiving after all) around town, I showed up at the 7pm meeting, steedless, hoping that, having given it my all, I could forget the ride and relax a little in my final weeks here on the road. Unfortunately, Tiko had found a rider with a second bike and welcomed me to the ride. Never mind that the bike was 6-8 inches short for me, really old and had brakes that were barely sufficient for riding around the town´s central square, I guess I was in.

Little did I know what I was getting into or what kind of experience I was about to have. For starters, the ride turned out to be 150 kilometers of getting my ass kicked on some of the craziest hills I´ve ever mountain-biked on. Less than a third of the way into day one, I was worried about not making it to the end of the day, never mind the end of three days. (It didn´t help that the most popular question I received all day and all weekend, after 'where are you from?', was `how many days are you going to ride?´ Apparently many people join this ride for only a day or two and me, with my ¨bike¨and lack of technical wear, must have looked like the 1 or 2 day type.) After having to bail out into a rocky, barbed-wired ditch to avoid going over the edge of a bridge after a steep downhill, I decided I´d have my almost non-existent brakes fixed that night. ¨They´re better¨ the mechanic said, ¨but they´re too old to be really good.¨ Despite significant swelling from my crash that caused a serious limp on night one, things were looking up on day two. This was the `easiest´ day and it was desperately needed - for the legs and for the confidence. Day three brought a crazy amount of climbing and a descent that, despite the organizers countless warnings to be careful, sent two guys (out of 51 riders) to the hospital. Thank God for those `better´ brakes. It´s hard to say how difficult this ride really was, but with my (lack of) fitness level and equipment I was really psyched to make it to the end. More importantly, however, this turned out to be one of the best experiences I´ve had on this entire trip. I can think of no better way to explore not one, but three countries, than by climbing and descending these barely passable 4x4 roads through villages where tourists never go. The river crossings. The unspoilt scenery. The bewildered looks on farmers faces. The excited waves from little children. The three national anthems and priest's benediction given pre-ride (and to think, I used to think two anthems at Whalers/Nordiques games was a bonus). The grand welcomes at the end of each day that made us feel like we were in the Tour de France. The camaraderie between riders and the friendship shown me by Hondurans, Salvadorians and Guatemalans alike. The pain and joy of working towards and making it to a goal. These are things I could not get visiting a tourist site and are memories I will never, ever forget.

Official Race photos...