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...

El Salvador - sticks and stones may break my bones, but bags of urine...

It's really cool when things you do as an afterthought turn out to be better than things you put a lot of planning into. I decided to check out the famous-for-its-warring country of El Salvador kind of as an afterthought. A friend who volunteered there with his wife told me not to bother unless I was going to surf. Other travelers had told me that they only stopped in the capital, San Salvador, for a night on there way to or from Guatemala. So I guess my expectations for this little country wedged into the Pacific coast between Honduras and Guatemala were not high. Maybe that's a good thing.

I arrived just short of the Salvadorian border after hitching my way from the Nicaraguan border across Honduras in the back of a pick-up with a one-eyed dude, a bundle of bananas and an off-duty security guy armed with a shotgun. Security guys with shotguns are as common here as 15 year olds with cellphones back home, so I wasn't particularly worried. And as Central America, and especially this region, is notorious for its dangerous highways due to the gangs and drug-runners that ply these roads, I just kept telling myself that having a shotgun made us safer. It was especially hard, however, to convince myself of this whenever my co-passenger would fidget with the safety...ON. OFF. ON. OFF. Please don't point that thing at me!

Once in San Salvador, I caught up with my CS host and we made our way to the stadium to catch another World Cup Qualifier. Though tickets were only six bucks for the cheap seats, we had to buy El Salvador jerseys for another five to avoid getting pummeled by insults and, considerably worse, bags of urine. It's also a 'rule' that bringing a woman to this rambunctious section, also know as general or Vietnam is a no-no and the price of saving a few bucks is more urine, water and endless hurling of insults at both the cheapskate and his date or wife or even daughter. We stayed (relatively) dry, but ES lost a nail biter to Costa Rica.

The rest of my time was spent at the beach watching other people surf in El Tunco, hanging out with some really cool folks and real life revolutionaries in one of El Salvador's most famous (and beautiful) revolutionary towns of Suchitoto and relaxing for a couple days at an off-the-beaten-path beach of Playa San Diego and hostel called El Roble. Like Colombia, the people here in ES were super friendly and eager to share the fact that their country offers so much more than gangs, war and violence. This afterthought of a visit turned out to be a wonderful surprise. Sometimes its best not to plan.

Nicaragua - back to where it all started

After a crazy, sweaty day on 6 different buses and a nutty border crossing, I made it up to Granada, Nicaragua with a smile on my face. The towns I crossed through, the adventure of trying to figure it out, and the people I met along the way made for an invigorating day... That was the scene last January when I took a little detour (from a 2 week Costa Rican vacation)up to Nicaragua and was pretty much the time and place where I said, ¨I need to throw the backpack on and get out there on the road again.¨ A few weeks later I was off to Argentina for the beginning of this journey. Now, almost 10 months later, I made the same northward trip from Costa Rica and went straight to Granada for old times sake. Its amazing how much easier and more comfortable a place is when visiting it for a second time.

After Granada, I went up to another beautiful (more for its charm than for its colorful buildings) colonial town of Leon where I stayed in a hostel with an interesting mix of ´backpackers´. First there was John, a cool, 72 year old retired engineer from California who was in Nicaragua for a month because his retirement check ¨goes a lot further here¨. There was a couple in their 50's from Nevada, a 60 something German guy named Hans, a 34 year old mother who also happened to be fitness competitor (5th in the world last year) and a 40 year old American cycling from the states down to South America. What made him most interesting was that, among the limited number of things he could carry with him on his bike, he brought a clothes iron. ¨I like to be able to look nice when I get to a new town¨ he remarked when he saw the puzzled look on my face. The 19 year old German kid spending time between high school and college must have wondered if he had taken a wrong turn off the backpacker trail somewhere in middle Nicaragua to end up with this crew. A visit to the Tisey nature reserve outside of Esteli in the north of the country provided an opportunity to meet with Don Alberto, a photogenic old guy that took up carving figures into the local mountainside as a way to give up drinking.

Like many places I´ve been through over the past 9 months, Nicaragua was going through some interesting political times and, in fact, was the fourth country I´ve been in that was holding elections while I was there. By now I've gotten use to several things here in South and Central America...corruption is prevalent, people are passionate and informed about politics and the fact that drinking of any alcohol is against the law in the days leading up to the elections.

Costa Rica - more familiar faces

As if catching up with a couple good friends from DC wasn´t enough, the joy of seeing Zach and Bart was made all the greater by the fact that they were waiting for me in a dry house and had cold beer at the ready. I got off a bus on the side of a dark road near where I thought Bart´s house was and ran a few hundred yards in a torrential downpour to meet them. After a long day of travel up from Panama, seeing the guys was awesome. For the next week, we did lots of getting hammered by waves, relaxing around the pool and watching CNN & Fox News. After being detached from the inundation of campaign coverage for so long, I was actually excited to catch up on as much election news as I could. What a change from past years when I normally can´t wait to get away from it all.

Near the end of the week, we headed out into the Monteverde and Volcano Arenal areas for some hiking, swimming and hours of ´bet you can´t hit that thing with a rock´. We even found a 10k race in San Jose which was a very cool way to spend our last day together before parting ways.

I absolutely love traveling solo, but it´s been really cool to have had visits from such good friends along the way. Now that the visits are over, I can't wait to get home and see everyone else.

Bocas del Toro, Panama - a unique place to run

¨The best place is out at the airport just after the last flight of the day takes off.¨

The responses are always interesting whenever I ask a local for advice on where to go running. From the most common reply, a puzzled ¨You mean you want to run, just to run?¨ to the odd, yet intriguing one ¨There´s a group of old folks that jogs in that (1/4 mile around) park every morning at 4 AM¨, I never know what to expect. This latest suggestion, in Bocas Del Toro, seemed way too good to pass up. So, at 5:05 PM after Air Panama flight #1726 took off for Panama City, I headed out to the tarmac and joined several locals running down the incredibly flat, incredibly straight stretch of asphalt while a couple different groups played some pick-up fútbol. I´m not sure when I´ll ever get a chance to do that again or if I´d ever care to run on a (long, flat, straight) runway again, but it was a pretty cool ¨couldn´t do that in the states¨ experience.While not running at Bocas Del Toro International, I took the muddiest 5 mile bike ride of my life, snorkeled a bit and hung out at red frog beach. And yes, Halloween, complete with all the trimmings (including costumes) is everywhere.

Sailing to the San Blas Islands (Panama) and that canal thingy

Paradise Part II. After Parque Tayrona, it was hard to imagine anything coming close in the ¨wow, so this is what paradise looks like¨ category. The San Blas Islands off the Caribbean coast of Panama did so in a big way.

After making it up from the bottom of South America completely by bus (with the exception of the Galapagos detour), a boat was required to continue on into Central America. I guess required is a bit of a stretch, as there is actually land connecting the two Americas, but it´s a commonly known fact down here that if you try crossing by land, you´ll die. That being said, hopping on a boat headed for a place that many veteran sailors call their favorite place on earth, is not all that bad. After some searching, we decided on the larger 40 meter long Stahlratte which would provide plenty of opportunity to jump, dive and swing from high places as well as time to get away from the other 20 people (13 pax, 7 crew) if desired. After some crappy weather leading up to our arrival in the San Blas, the local bureau of tourism seemed to know we were there because they delivered welcoming, clear skies for a an amazing bienvenido to paradise. Seconds after the anchor was dropped, people started flying off the boat like recently caught fish trying to make their way back to aquatic safety. For me, it was time to finally make the sketchy climb up the crows nest (that I had been eyeing since we left Colombia) to get some photos from above before going for a swim.



Great food which included lots of tropical fruit and fresh fish and lobster helped keep us energized for the sunny days filled with lots of swinging, snorkeling and exploring, while cold cerveza and a little music was all we needed to enjoy the slightly cooler evenings.

Eventually we had to say goodbye to our new friends and the comfortable sway of the boat to make our way to Panama City, but not before staying a night with the friendly Kuna tribe in their island village. Showers here consisted of buckets of water and the toilets consisted of a seat over a hole which dropped directly into the ocean (for the record, we didn´t swim here). Finally, it was back to non-paradise as we stopped in Panama City to check out the pretty cool canal and to get Liza on a flight back to reality.