A break to stop and watch a house being built.  I was told the method is called cajon, presumably for the wooden box frame that is used as a mold to tamp a mixture of mud and straw layer by layer.

In Leimebamba I bought a plastic sack at the corner store and filled it with about 3/4 of my stuff, including tent, sleeping bag, extra food and clothes, etc.  I sent it on to Cajamarca on a bus.

Then began the 18 mile climb up to 12,000 feet.  Once again, very quiet road through wide open pastures.

A break before getting to the top in anticipation of the pass and the beginning of a 36 mile ride down at least 8,000 feet.

Looking back at the valley I had climbed out of.

And then the windy Calla Calla pass, some maps say Abra Barro Negro (Black Clay Pass).  No black clay but a huge trash heap (I didn’t take a picture) to spoil the first view of the Marañon River valley.

Layers and layers of mountains, and such large distances you couldn’t actually see the river at the bottom.

Just the road finding its way down.

Stopped plenty of times on the way down to take pictures, rest the hands from holding the brakes, and to take off my jacket that I had donned many thousand feet higher.  Finally at the bottom I arrive on the outskirts of Las Balsas where irrigation is used to grow a large variety of fruits.  Later that evening I would have a refresco made from star fruit.

Balsas is the town at the bottom of the valley, and aside from growing fruit, I can’t imagine living down here.  Hot and grimy.  I was covered in a layer of sweat and dust and just wanted to clean up a little, but the water service had “just” been cut.  OK, no problem, I’ll wash up in the stream flowing through town like everyone else. Shampoo packets and toilet paper was strewn about the banks of the stream, and I didn’t really feel any cleaner after rinsing off.  But what about the bathroom situation I asked the lady renting the room, I was told to find somewhere at the river.

For dinner, a plate of fried yucca and eggs, too tired to wait for the main dish that still hadn’t been prepared for the night.  I also asked the lady if she would be able to pack me a lunch the following morning.  She said she would have it ready to go by 8am.  Sanitation issues aside, this was the end of favorite day 2, I had never biked 35 miles downhill with hardly a few pedal strokes.

Crossing the Marañon for the second time, the first was near Bellavista on a boat.

A gentle ride along the river for a mile, then the climb started.

Views of the river came and went as the road wound in and out of side valleys on its way up.

The switchbacks were incredible!  Not once did I curse the Peruvian road engineers (unlike Costa Rica and Panama sometimes).  The condition of the road was pretty rough but at least the gradients were bearable.  Towards the afternoon the clouds rolled in and provided some nice shade.  My packed lunch of rice, plantains and eggs saved the day.

A view on Google Maps of the road down and up the valley (usually the detail isn’t that great but someone has made a point of showing this piece of work off!).

View Larger Map

View Larger Map

Finally, 28 miles later (and about 4.5 hours of pedaling later), the top, and a short descent into Celendin.  A very long day, but without baggage weighing me down, a very enjoyable one.  Thus was favorite day 3.

I thought about taking a day off but wanted to catch up with Greg and Dylan in Cajamarca.  I knew the 65 miles would be much easier than the past several days.  So I slept in and didn’t get going until after 10am.  The ride out of Celendin was quiet except for the town where I stopped for lunch.  I think for the first time on this trip I walked into an eatery and despite getting the usual stares from everyone (it is impossible to stare and chew at the same time!!), I was enthusiastically motioned over to an empty seat with three people eating lunch.  Unexpectedly outgoing folks, usually I’ll get approached by people in the street to ask me questions, but to be asked to join a table is rather unusual.

It was market day, lots going on including campaign posters being passed out to the locals.  Notice the hat the women wear.  Not sure what it is called but it is quite typical in the area.

The road rolls over the 30 miles from Celendin finally reaching another beautiful pass.

After a downhill to Encañada, there was sweet blessed pavement!  Late in the afternoon, just over 20 miles to go with a nice tailwind and the subtle whhhhhirr of the studded mountain bike tires on the smooth new road.

While biking in Chicago, especially on the lake shore path, I’d often have impromptu races with other cyclists.  A cyclist overtakes you, so you step it up and trail him, a signal that the chase is on. If possible, maybe overtake him.  This back and forth might repeat itself several times.  No words exchanged, and generally in good fun.  No clear winner, just a chance to give each other a reason to go that much faster.  But out on the highways or dirt roads the past year, running into another cyclist like this hadn’t happened, until I met Luis.

Just out of Encañada there was a gentle uphill, and up ahead I noticed another cyclist.  I could see him turn around every so often, and the closer I got, I could tell he was keeping tabs on me as I slowly gained on him.  And so of course I had to give him a run for his money!  Finally the road leveled out and I changed gears and greeted him with a “Buenas tardes” on the way by.  It wasn’t until I overtook him that I realized it was a kid giving me a run for my money!

I slowed down a little and asked where he was biking to, he said Cajamarca, still 20 miles away, so decided to ride with him the rest of the way.  He was very shy, but did ask me a few questions like whether I was a priest and what my country looked like.  He had biked the mostly uphill earlier that day, and was now on his way back.  I was a little surprised a 13 year old would be out biking so far, but from what I could get out of him, he was just biking for the sake of biking.  Good enough reason for me!  I could tell he was running ragged after the chase, so I shared some water and gave his bike a much needed dose of WD40.

And so we flew down the hill into the next valley, and he guided me through Baños del Inca and into Cajamarca.  Excellent way to end off favorite day 4.

Cajamarca was quite a shock after the small towns I’d been in the past few weeks.  Traffic circles, tons of combis, TRAFFIC LIGHTS!!!  Joggers and a couple lycra clad cyclists (a first so far in Peru).  And so I was glad that I already had the name and address of the hotel that Greg and Dylan were at, looking for a place to stay in a large town is often frustrating process.

It was great to run into Greg and Dylan, I hadn’t seen them in over a month when we parted ways in Ecuador.  But our route has been the same for the past few weeks,only I was a few days behind, so it we had plenty of notes to compare and stories to tell.  I spent the day wandering around, eating, and finding the bus company office to pick up my bag.  That I’ve hauled so much junk from Alaska makes me feel rather foolish, I’m definitely going to look into sending a bunch ahead to Trujillo tomorrow.

Tips for Cyclists

The magic numbers are 396, 336, 293 and 232.  The climb out of Leimebamba ends at km marker 396, Balsas is at km 336. The climb out of Balsas ends at 293.  Leaving Balsas there is a clear flowing stream crossing the road several times from about miles 9 thru 12.  At about miles 12 and 13 there are two restaurants (about halfway up the climb).  After this no real water sources but lots of small settlements where you might ask for some in a pinch.

Celendin is at about km 280, and the road out of Celendin flattens out several times, but finally tops out at km 232 before a downhill to Encañada at km 211.  Lunch can be found in the town about 32 km from Celendin.  Pavement starts just outside Encañada, a very gentle climb then finally another drop down to Baños del Inca and Cajamarca.

Don’t know about doing this west to east.  There were a few restaurants further down the valley on what would be a 60km climb the other way.  Also, a few side streams crossing the road but I don’t remember kms.  Probably doable in 2 days.

Locals say the rainy season starts in September or October.  Blogs of folks who’ve done it in the rainy season make it sound a little rough once the roads turn to mud!

11500 from Matt Kelly on Vimeo.

Another 500 mile update.  Apparently scrunching my eyes makes talking for the camera easier.  I realize hearing the names of small towns in Peru might not be terribly exciting, I’ll try to have a map up for the next update.

After two rest days in San Ignacio, back on the dirt road. Except it would only last 33 more miles, then the pavement began! It was nice for a change, the last 150 miles from just past Vilcabamba, Ecuador were all rough dirt/gravel/rock/potholed road. I made it to Bellavista, about 68 miles from San Ignacio. Not once that day did I use my little chainring (lowest gears)!!! I can’t even remember when the last time this happened, definitely not Ecuador, probably not in Colombia or Central America. Bellavista was near the Marañon River, I don’t think I was more than 800m (2,600 feet) in altitude, so it was a rather warm night compared to the past week. The whole area has a lot of rice growing, probably the only time I’ve seen this on the trip. And it is good too! I’m not sure what kind they grow, but it is some of the best I’ve had, with a nice and chewy consistency.

From Bellavista, a short ride to the River Marañon where a small boat shuttles motorcyles and passengers to the other side. This is a shortcut that avoids going through Jaen. Some more dirt road riding, but it is nice and flat. Then back on the main highway through Bagua Grande, a big and bustling town, I’m glad I’ve timed it right and don’t have to spend a night here.

Here I stop at a rather large restaurant, and ask if they have Coke (I see a bottle on the big banner with the menu), and if it is helado (ice cold), “yes” I’m told. My plate of rice and eggs comes and the young guy runs out, most likely to the store next door and comes back with Coke. It is barely above room temperature (which happens to be rather warm). “Sorry, anything colder? This is barely cold”,”No, this is helado”,”I’m sorry, it is barely cold, I was hoping for something really, really, ice cold”,”Sorry, we don’t have anything helado”.”OK, this will do, thanks”.

From Bagua Grande the road follows the Utcubamba river to Pedro Ruiz. Nothing like my last experience biking along a road supposedly in a river valley (as it appeared from a bad map) was in Ecuador, where I gave up and took a bus for 50 miles, since the road pretty much kept climbing up to the ridges above and then back down to the river.  The ride to Pedro Ruiz was not too bad, with a few good climbs the last 20 miles during the day. At about 61 miles that day, about 130 miles in two days, which is much more than I’d done in any two days the past several weeks.

From Pedro Ruiz the paved road keeps going along the Utcubamba River for 24 miles, where there is a turn off for Chachapoyas, 9 miles and a couple thousand feet higher. I had hoped not to have to do the climb, but was running low on cash and still hadn’t found an ATM that would take my card. I could have in Bagua Grande, but feel so conspicuous riding up to an ATM on a main thoroughfare and taking out cash, makes me feel too much of a target. So up to Chachapoyas it was. The town had just finished a week of celebration of sorts, so I had to hunt around a little for a place to stay.

The next day I didn’t leave until early in the afternoon, I knew I had an easy day ahead. First down the 9 miles of pavement I had done the day before. Then back in the Utcubamba river valley, the road turns to dirt again. But it is mostly flat and I got to Tingo in no time. Tingo is the turnoff for the road (~38km) that heads up to the Kuelap ruins, and also the start of the hiking route (~10km). So I found a little hospedaje where I could spend the night and leave my stuff the next day while I visited Kuelap.

I woke up early and was on the trail by 7:30. I was kind of dreading the hike which would gain 4,000 feet in elevation, I knew it would be worth it, but was expecting something very strenuous. The sun was out, but very little humidity meant it was a much easier hike than ones I’d done in Central America. I really enjoyed the hike, a great channce to clear my mind and not think about riding a bike. The river disapeared into the valley below and the trail approached a plateau with a small village with plots of crops surrounding it. From here Kuelap came into view, still a ways up, and stopped me in my tracks. A huge walled fortress built on the top of a narrow ridge, built by the Chachapoyans around a thousand years ago.

There were a couple tour groups, but the ruins were big enough that I could wander around and admire the site mostly on my own (it gets but a few percent of the visitors Machu Pichu does).   Kuelap is a settlement surrounded by huge impenetrable walls all around with only 3 narrow entrances. Once inside, save from a few rectangular structures, all the buildings are circular. One can only assume the society was so advanced that they knew that this way the dogs wouldn’t pee in the corners! I walked near some of the guides giving tours, but don’t remember much of the interesting facts. There are a few active digs and restoration sites where workers are reconstructing parts of the walls.

Even without the ruins, the hike itself would be worth it for the incredible views of the area. That I could find a shady tree to eat an orange and contemplate what the place would have been a thousand years ago made it a great day. I waited in the parking lot and got a ride back down to Tingo. I find downhills too rough on the knees and muscles rarely used when cycling. I got a ride with three nice women from Lima who were roadtripping around the area.  That afternoon I spent a while talking with Luis, the retired school teacher who runs the hospedaje. I had taken a walk up the small river that had flooded several times in the nineties and brought lots of mud and rocks with it.

All around Tingo are lots of abandoned houses, most without roofs. I can only assume that these caved in or were used in construction of Tingo Nuevo, located a couple miles up the hill. Tingo Nuevo was built after most of the buildings further down in the valley were no longer inhabitable. Luis regretted the division that has arisen in the community now that it is split between new and old Tingo, he feels like the government aid to the area went mostly to the new town. His property was spared major damage, so he decided to stay put and open the hospedaje. With his own funds, Luis has built a concrete wall several feet high in front of his buildings in hopes of being protected from the next big flood, and also put in reinforcement along the banks of the river.

Aside from getting cash in Chachapoyas, my biggest find was some excellent coffee. At Cafe Fusiones I saw they had whole beans for sale, and they said they could also grind them there. I’m usually given blank stares when I ask for “whole beans, but can you grind them for me”. It doesn’t matter how good your beans are, if they were ground more than a few days ago, you are missing out. But the lady at the shop (an angel, to be sure) knew what was up. They roast the coffee in small batches in a clay pot. And she had a grinder that she could adjust to a coarse grind, which works much better in my filter.

Now, fresh roasted and fresh ground can also mean nothing. But the batch of beans I got is easily the best coffee of this trip. After buying the beans I kept having to smell the bag and its sweet goodness, eagerly anticipating the cup I’d make the next morning. Now, good smelling coffee can also mean nothing. But this coffee is simply amazing, it tastes like a luscious chocolate cake and is so smooth, hardly bitter like most of the charred beans and instant coffee I’ve had the past year.

I’m not just imagining this folks!! When I made the coffee this morning, Luis mentioned that it smelled really good, and he gladly accepted a cup. I said “Congrats, this amazing coffee is from your country”. He commented that Antonio Raimondi, an Italian who explored Peru in the mid-1800s said that Peru was “A bum sitting on a throne of gold”, in reference to the vast untapped natural riches of the country (though I’m not sure at what point in history coffee was cultivated in Peru).

The ride today was my favortie of Peru so far. The road closely followed the river and no more than a dozen cars drove by. I haven’t felt this sort of calmness in a while. The heat and arid landscape reminds me of being in the bottom of Urique canyon in Mexico. All along the valley most of the houses are built of adobe bricks, packed mud and clay shingle roofs. I passed by an unfinished building being worked on, I was tempted to stop and ask if I could apply for an internship. I’d love to learn how to make a house without concrete and rebar.

I’m in Leimabamba, a nice little town. By now the Utcubamba river is crystal clear, as it has been since somewhere after Pedro Ruiz. I’ve been headed upstream, so now it is but a small trickle compared to when I first saw it a few days ago.

From here begins what I might describe as two rather ridiculous days. An 18 mile climb up from to 2,250 m (7,400 feet) to 3680 m (12,000 feet), and then a 2,600 m (8,500 feet) descent over the course of over 30 miles back to the Marañon River. For most cyclists on a trip like mine this is the longest continuous downhill by a long shot. But here is the kicker. From the bottom of the valley the road heads back up about at least another 2,000 m (6,600 feet) over the course of 25 miles!

I’ve been a little anxious about the climb, but the past few days have settled down by making the decision to ship most of my bags and equipment ahead to Cajamarca with the bus company (other cyclists have done this and say it is reliable and safe, lets hope so). So just this evening I did the following: dump out ALL my bags, and make a pile of things I’d need for the next 3 days, basically my stove and cookpot (am not going to let this fresh coffee go to waste), some breakfast supplies, some snacks, a change of clothes, basic tools and some raingear. Everything else, including tent, sleeping pad and bag, I’ve packed into a potato sack.

And it is really, really heavy, and big and bulky (I will look like a fool carrying it a block to the office tomorrow). I know how heavy it is because I carry my loaded bike up stairs and ride it up hills all the time. But when you make yourself pack just the essentials, and try to lift a big bag with all the rest, you start to wonder exactly how much is too much, and the extra wear and tear on your muscles, joints and bike.

So this will be a nice experiment in light travelling, what cyclists might refer to as “credit card touring”, except I won’t be using my credit card, but staying in cheap lodging, and eating lunch and/or dinner at an eatery, as I have been doing since I got to Peru.

From here I’ll be out of touch for at least 48 hours until I get to Celendin. I hear the scenery is spectacular, I think I’ll enjoy it a whole lot more without so much weight.

Tips for cyclist:

There is a sign for Bellavista on the left of the main hwy, it is about a 5 mile ride on dirt road to get there. There is an unmarked guesthouse on big main square.

Tons of hospedajes in Bagua Grande. Also think I saw an ATM from the bank that takes Mastercard/Cirrus, but didn’t stop to verify. Pedro Ruiz only has a Banco National ATM (Visa only), and impossibly slow internet.

Chachapoyas was nice but nothing special. Good market, ATMs, lots of tourist operators, cool weather. A couple vegetarian restaurants. But from Pedro Ruiz easy enough to make it to Tingo in one day.

In Tingo, I stayed at hospedaje Leon. Don’t know what the other one is like. I quite enjoyed getting to know Luis who along with his wife, runs the hospedaje.

When you hike to Kuelap, you arrive on the east side of the ruins, where there is no longer a working ticket booth. I had to hike the mile down to the parking lot and back up. Do the hike early enough in the day so you can find a ride down when you are done.

Heading south from Loja, the pavements ends in Yangana.  After a short day from Vilcabamba, I got to Yangana and knew the road turned to dirt.  The dark clouds up ahead in the mountains made me call it quits for the day, and I found a very basic room for the night.  Of course it could rain  continuously the next day or week, but the gamble paid off and the next day I awoke to sunny weather.  Time to tackle the hills!

The first few miles out of Yangana had a continuous stream of dump trucks carrying the never ending piles of dirt that slide down onto the road.

But once I got past the turnoff for the dump pile, the road was so so quiet, I encountered only a few cars and buses that afternoon.  There were four big climbs and not too much downhill, meaning I gained lots of altitude in a few hours.  I actually had to put my jacket on at the last pass.  Here I could barely make out the valley that Yangana sits in behind several ridges.

Then a few more miles and I caught a glimpse of Valladolid and Palanda way down in the valley, then next two towns on the dirt road.

There weren’t more than a few houses between Yangana and Valladolid, but several crystal clear streams which I drank from, and survived.  It is funny to think that in even in Alaska, Canada and the wide open west of the USA, I was rather diligent about treating water, but after Colombia, where all the small towns tapped the streams from the hills, I’ve been less inclined to filter water.  So far so good, but I may pay for this later on with a bug of sorts.

The descent from the hills down to Valladolid wasn’t easy, the rocky narrow road means you have to go real slow and stop once in a while to let the brakes cool down.

A much needed lunch in Valladolid, then another easy mostly downhill 10 miles to Palanda.  All in all, probably my favorite day in Ecuador!

More great weather for the next day from Palanda to Zumba.  Also more steep dirt road, with a long uphill at the end of the day to get to Zumba.

Not much going on in Zumba, the last real town before the Peru border.  Used up the remainder of an Ecuadorian phone card to call my aunt in Quito and then my parents in Chicago.  More sunny weather the next day to the border, but no pictures aside from the salt colonies growing on my shirt.  When I’m tired and the road is tough I start to lack the initiative to take pictures.

I got to the border, the quietest so far on the trip.  The only traffic I saw cross were a few motorcycles, but no cars.  I didn’t see any Peru plates in Ecuador, or vice versa.  Quite different from what I’ve seen at various Mexico-USA border towns.

The officer to stamp me out of Ecuador was nowhere to be found, so I decided I’d find some lunch.  I walked into one place and there was a young lady sitting at a table, slicing away a big tub of meat.  There was a guy sitting with her as well.  I asked what there was to eat, she said “Chicken”.  I asked if she could fry some eggs instead.  I generally avoid meat, twice now on this trip I’ve gotten food poisoning from meat, and figure eggs are a safer choice, and plus you always know what part of the animal you are getting served!  So anyway, I asked if they had eggs and they look at each other and burst out laughing.  I let them giggle and then matter of factly stated “Look, I’m not sure what is so funny, that wasn’t a joke, but a question”.  Either customer service in this border town means laughing at potential customers is acceptable (not so likely), or more likely, laughing at foreigners is acceptable.  The lady went back to the kitchen and came back, and said that there weren’t any eggs.  Once again I ask what is so funny but of course they did not have an answer and just stared at me.

Finally I got stamped out of Ecuador, then found another eatery where I could spend my last spare Ecuadorian (American) coins at.  Fried eggs were not a problem here.

I headed to the migration building on the Peru side to get stamped in.  The first thing the office asks me when I tell him I’m on a bike is if I had any insurance for the bike “just like a motorcycle or car”, he said.  I told him I’d been travelling for over a year and a dozen countries and that no where had required insurance for using a bike.  ”But surely you need insurance in your country, what if you get in an accident?”.  Early on we established he wasn’t talking about medical insurance for my person, but rather for the use of the bike.  That much we agreed on.  ”The transit code says you need insurance”. I also mentioned that I had several friends who had passed through here on bikes, and no one had mentioned needing insurance. “Oh, well then I guess they forgot to tell you, right?”  This was my first clue that he wasn’t a poorly trained migration officer, but rather, one on a power trip of sorts.  I asked him if any Peruvian that gets on a bike has to have insurance, he said no, just foreigners.  I conceded and said “Look, I’ll find some insurance the next town I can”.  This pleased him.  Another debate was had as to how many days I could get.  He originally offered 90, but I asked if I could get 180, as this was the maximum, and my other cyclist friends had received this much.  He told me that it is 180 within any calendar year, but since we were passed the halfway point of the year, I could only get 90.  I do hope to be done with Peru within 90 days, but wanted the max just in case.  Finally he gave me 150, which contradicts his early explanation.

Then began the filling out of the form.  I filled it out and then he compared it with my passport.  I had never noticed that my most recent passport doesn’t have my mom’s maiden name, which all my old passports do.  He stated that if it wasn’t on my passport, I shouldn’t put it on the form.  Fair enough.  So I filled out a second one, and realized I made the same mistake again further down the piece of paper.  I apologized and said, look I’m tired, I’ll just fill out another one.  ”For this you will be fined two dollars, one for each form”.  I rolled my eyes, to myself at least.  I filled everything else except the name part out, and let him do it, unwilling to be told I’d made another mistake.  I had the gall to ask him where it says it costs a dollar for each extra form, and he points to a wall full of printouts of all the official migration laws printed out in colorful mix and match of WordArt fonts.  As hard as I try I did not see this rule, but play into the game and say “Oh yeah, there it is”.  Of course he doesn’t have change for my $5 so he settles on 5 soles (less than $2).  I wasn’t about to ask for a receipt for this “official” transaction.  I wasn’t going to put up more of a stink as he could have found any reason not to let me into his country.

All this while he is blasting away sordid radio hits from years past (Dame Mas Gasolina for goodness’ sake), and of course not wearing any uniform or name badge.  I’m not saying that the US, Canada or Mexico have the fairest of migration officers, but when you show up in their offices, you are at least greeted with a facade of professionalism.  But I guess when crossing from Ecuador to Peru on a quiet dirt road, shoddy service is what you get.  All part of the adventure.

From the border at Las Balsas a few miles to Namballe.  It was late in the afternoon so I found a room for the night.  This is one of those times on the trip where I just stopped for a second, looked around, and said “boy, I really do feel out of place here”.  I couldn’t walk around the corner without every single person staring.  But later that night ran into a very friendly shopkeeper and his nephew, and this mostly made me forget the unpleasant migration officer.  They asked me all sorts of questions about travel on a bike and about life in US and Mexico, among other things, how much cows cost there and how much one could make growing potatoes.  I said I was sorry but had no experience with either things!

By the time I left Namballe I had been on the road for 6 days, which isn’t usually that much, but the last few days I’d been loosing my steam after all the tough dirt roads.  The 28 miles to San Ignacio were very slow.  The last few days have been rather warm after dropping down from the mountains in Loja.  But unfortunately a cold drink has been tough to find.  Unlike most of the larger towns that will most likely have a Coca Cola or Pepsi fridge, and the obligatory beer fridge with the digital temperature reading on the outside, you are lucky if the only store in town has a fridge at all.  If it does, it is like a home kitchen fridge, and often times just used for the shelf space (why buy the fridge in the first place???).  Yes my friends, for better or for worse, there are corners of this world that Coca Cola has forgotten.  Asking the storekeeper if the drinks are “frio” (cold), is of no use, as cold to them means barely above room temperature, then they say, oh you mean “helado” (freezing or ice cold), “no we don’t have anything helado”.

I know I’ve only been in the country for two days, but the shouts of “Gringo! Gringo!” are back in full force and persistent in towns of all sizes, and from what other cyclists say, will continue for quite a while south.  As such, I get to practice my responses to this greeting.  One is to just shout “Gringo!” back.  Another is to shout “No soy gringo, soy Mexicano [I'm not a gringo, I'm Mexican]“.  Or stop and say “No me llamo Gringo, tengo un nombre y es Mateo [My name isn't Gringo it is Mateo]“.  I usually use this ones for adults, who I feel should know better.  Sometimes I ignore it all together.  I know this is simply what is acceptable to do when a foreigner on a bike rolls into town, but in very rare cases is it endearing or does it feel very welcoming.  But really it doesn’t even make sense.  I’m not questioning the choice of the word “Gringo” as much as what the point of doing so is.

Anyway, Peru is one big country and progress is going to be slow along the tough mountain routes I’ll be taking.  But for now am looking forward to the adventure.  From here I head up to Chachapoyas and hope to visit the ruins at Kuelap.

PS I worked on getting the last 4 months of pictures up to my Flickr account.  At last!  Now you can see all the pictures from Central America.  Click [here] for the Flickr page from the trip.

UPDATED

Tips for Cyclists:

Your last chance for an ATM is Loja or Vilcabamba.  The first ATM in Peru was San Ignacio (main square), although it didn’t take my card for whatever reason (which is Cirrus/Mastercard network).  When changing money at the border or San Ignacio, expect them to only take crisp US dollars, or give you a worse rate for bills with even small imperfections.

In Vilcabamba, an option is Hostal Mandango, behind the bus station.  Tell the friendly owner you were referred by past cyclists and he’ll likely charge you only $5.  Kind of on the run down side.

In Yangana, the room for rent is above the store on the corner of main square, very basic, $3.  Ask anyone where it is.

In Palanda, Hostal Merino on main square should charge you $5 for a room, shared bathroom, rather poor ventilation inside room.  Several other options in town.

In Zumba, the hostal a few doors down the block from the main square in front of the military barracks has some airy rooms on the top floor, shared bathrooms, $5.  Internet is slooooow in Zumba.  To leave Zumba, you basically have to go to the other end of the airstrip where a new building (terminal?) is being built, and head downhill from there.  Ask if unsure.

There is a military checkpoint a ways past Zumba, take a right after it.  The soldiers gladly gave me juice and water, but so you know, there is a steep push after it over a ridge.  Right after the ridge is a downhill into a little town with a basic store.

In Namballe, when you get to the main square, if you ask for a hospedaje you may be pointed to the one above the hardware store on the corner.  15 soles, no water tank so fill up your reserves for cooking, as it will likely be gone in the morning.  Just around the corner, however, is the “main street” (didn’t look like it at first glance), there are several more hospedajes that might be a better deal.  The hardware store a block or two from the main square sells gasoline.

Several towns between Namballe and San Ignacio, so no need to go too crazy carrying water.

I was fortunate to have sunny weather on the dirt road, and can only imagine things would be much more difficult when wet and muddy.  Check other Crazyguyonabike blogs for more descriptions of the route and distances.  As for going from Peru to Ecuador, just be warned that the first few miles north of the border in Ecuador are extremely steep, don’t assume it is all this bad, but that isn’t to say it will be great the other way either.

In San Ignacio, at least a dozen lodging options.  First night I spent at hospedaje Santa Rosa II (no idea what Santa Rosa I is like…), half block south (downhill) from the big church one the two-way avenue.  15 soles shared bathroom, quite clean, firm foam mattresses, newish building with a fresh coat of paint in rooms. Further past Santa Rosa II is a large hotel, no idea of prices, probably a splurge.  Next two nights I spent at hotel La Posada as there is an internet cafe on the first floor and they were happy to give me the code for the wifi connection.  La Posada is located a block north (uphill) from the main avenue, just east (away from the square) of the chifa place on the main avenue.

Cheap 5 soles almuerzos can be had at many eateries, but a 1/4 roast chicken with delicious fries can be had at La Caravana for 10 soles, right by the Banco Nacional on the main avenue.  Incidentally, Banco Nacional always has a hundred people lined up outside, so if you want to feel like you are on parade and get stared at, just walk by (may only apply to those with grubby beards, who knows)!  Also, try the Pilsen Polar, a national dark lager (still no ales anywhere, oh well).

If you are a map fan, go to Saja cafe, just off the northeast corner of the main square.  In the back there is a huge topo map with excellent detail of the local roads (switchbacks and all!).  I looked into it, it seems to be produced for a local tourism project, and from research online doesn’t look like you could find one like this for the rest of the country.  Too bad, really good map.

After watching this a few days after I taped it, I realize how unfocused and scattered I seem.  I had been off the bike for a week and the hour of uphill at the high altitude had left me rather light-headed and cross-eyed.  Hopefully in 500 miles I’ll be a little more enthusiastic.

I’m now in Loja, still without my DHL package.  But just yesterday DHL said that it finally got out of Ecuadorian customs and should be here tomorrow morning.  From here I plan to head to Vilcambamba, and further south to cross into Peru on some rough back roads.  All the cyclists who go this way say that it is well worth the difficult riding and it is stress free border crossing. (The Berling brothers’ recent account said they had to go find the immigration officer who was lounging in her bikini with a beer, floating in an inner tube in the nearby river).  I spent the last 140 miles on a busy highway between Cuenca and Loja (for those cyclists that haven’t traveled it yet, it’s all brand new paved concrete with lots of up and don), and I’m eager to find some quieter routes.

The old map in the hotel here has what is now part of Peru (ie San Ignacio) still in Ecuador.  This disputed border has indeed been of conflict for a long time now, but all the reports have made it sound no worse than any other border crossings, so I’m not worried about it.

A lady in the market in Saraguro asked me why I don’t shave my beard.  I really don’t have any better reason than “Why shave?”.  But this wasn’t an acceptable answer, she kept insisting, so I asked why she didn’t shave her hair off.  I wasn’t trying to be nasty or anything, but I guess just trying to make the point that a beard seems just as natural as her hair.  I think I’ll just start lying about the beard, maybe say that I’m running from the law and this is my disguise. Any other creative explanations?

I’ve visited the two rather large grocery stores here in downtown Loja (a city of 180,000), and of course hoped to pick up some butter.  Despite having many other refrigerated dairy products, and shelves full of many margarine choices, there is no butter to be found.  I always thought butter was a staple grocery, but it has been difficult to find lately in Ecuador.  Not sure why this is.

Even More Observations from Matt Kelly on Vimeo.

In Latacunga, Greg, Dylan and I say goodbye, we’re all headed to Baños but each at our own pace. An O-ring on my stove has split, and the replacement one does the same after a few days of use so I send an email to the stove company asking if they can send parts to Cuenca. I leave Latacunga at noon, and the rain makes me almost call it a day a few miles outside of town. But it isn’t too hard, so I keep on. This is the first time since Costa Rica that I’ve biked alone.

There are signs for a back route to Baños (via Pillaro and Patate), so I decide to check it out. A mile up the hill, a delivery truck stops me and strongly warns me about the road ahead. Later I would look a topo map and see that it indeed would have gone up and down the sides of several valleys, so I’m glad I turn around and get back on the Panamerican.

It is still early in the afternoon when I arrive at the outskirts of Amabato, so I decide to keep going and take the road around instead of going through the center. This drops several miles into a gorge, and the climb back out of it is very slow. Several more small towns and the drizzle starts again. I know it is a long descent to Banos, and descents are never enjoyed in cold wet weather, so I stay the night in Pelileo.

On TV is a Mexican movie that takes place in the Sierra Tarahumara. The movie opens with a family taking the ChePe train up to Creel. The dad works for the saw mills that are stripping away the hillsides. His young son befriends a Tarahumara boy. The Tarahumara son and dad are going on a trek into the canyons, and invite the city boy along.  They teach him about nature and their traditions, and see a bear. So wonderfully 1980s, so wonderfully Mexican, but I fall asleep before the end.

In the morning, on my way out to find a bakery, the manager asks if I’m not leaving yet. I tell him no, I still need to find breakfast and pack, and that I was told check out time was at noon. He kindly asks if I can leave any earlier, the whole hotel is booked for the town’s patron saint celebration, and all the rooms need to be ready for the various dignitaries coming into town.

The 15 miles to Baños go quickly. On my way down into the valley I pass a couple on touring bikes, but am going too fast to stop and find out who they are.

After two plates of llapingachos in the food market (cheesy potatoes with fried eggs and sausage), I run into Greg on the street, he’s made it from Latacunga in one day. I spend the afternoon talking to taxi driver, food vendors, police and tour operators about the road to Riobamba. It follows the base of Volcano Tungurahua and has been in various states of disrepair for the better part of the last decade. Some say it is completely blocked off, so I ask how the folks of the small towns in the area get around. Oh, maybe it is open after all. Other folks say it should be passable on a bike, I ask when the last time they saw it with their own eyes was. Not before the most recent mudslides. I’m sure I could get through, but it might be a very muddy and dangerous affair.

My only option if I want to stay in the mountains is backtrack to Pelileo or Ambato and take the main highway, but I hate to backtrack. Plus, Greg is headed down to the Amazon, and I start considering the possibility of going with him. The mountains in Ecuador have been kind of a let down in that it has been cloudy and rainy, even though it is supposedly the drier season. The famed snow caps have failed to make many appearances, and I decide that if it is going to rain on me I might as well be in a warmer climate and change up the scenery a little.

Later that evening Greg and I head to the thermal pools, which give the town its name. It is Saturday during holiday season so the place is packed with tourists, nationals and foreigners alike.  Baños reminds me of Pigeon Forge in Tennessee or Navy Pier in Chicago, it is a town for tourists. The streets are lined with tour operators, buggy rentals, and restaurants with bilingual menus. Signs advertise jungle treks, bungee jumps, hotels, massages and laundry services in awful English. I seek refuge once again in the food market, a place where tourists don’t venture into. Why pay $1.50 for a plate of llapingachos when you can buy bad pizza for much more? I spend the day researching the Amazon route and getting groceries.

Greg and I head to Puyo, about 50 miles ride. Several times the main road heads through tunnels, but bikes are forbidden, but the old road goes around the side of the valley and cars don’t head this way so it is rather pleasant. Some illwill ambassadors ride by in a truck and the passenger throws an orange at me. It hits me in the back and stings pretty good. Greg is just a ways up ahead, and I shout out to warn him about these guys even though he can’t hear me. They toss something at him as well, the chase is on. A few minutes later I get to the next town, and I catch a glimpse of the back of the truck again, it has slowed down for the speed bumps, but I don’t see Greg, so I know he’s gotten ahead of them. They’re surprised when they see Greg again, Greg is merciful and makes sure not to break any windows.

The valley eventually opens up and as far as your eyes can see is the jungle. This is the Amazon basin, no longer boxed in by the mountains in every direction. Puyo is much much bigger than I had imagined and the center of town not straightforward to find. I haven’t seen Greg since the orange tossers, so wait in the main square, the obvious place to run into him, and he rolls in a few minutes later.

We find a hotel, food and internet. The stove company has already sent a package to Cuenca via DHL, it should be there soon. Now that means I have to get back up to the mountains. I was just about to email them and ask if they will instead send the package to somewhere in Peru, I’m still a few weeks away from there so that would give it more than enough time in case of any delays.

We watch the highlight show for the Tour de France. It is the first time I’ve watched the Tour for more than 5 minutes, and it is good to have Greg there to explain the intricacies of bike racing. In the morning the mountain stage is on and so we can’t leave until it is over. A little bit of teflon tape wrapped around where the O-ring should be means my stove is back in business, so I’m not without my mandatory morning coffee.

We don’t get going until very late in the morning, and the 80 miles to Macas seems a little far for such a short day. But having watched the pros that morning means we’re stoked and the miles roll be easily. The road is quiet and newly paved. The weather is warm, but sweat isn’t rolling down my arms, and it is rather enjoyable. We eat lunch at the Pastaza river halfway to Macas, rest up a little in the hammocks and don’t get going again until after 3. We know we’ll get into Macas after dark, but are determined to get there.

As the sun sets, I take my eyes off the road to take a look to the right, the west. The clouds have cleared and the ridge of the Andes are out. I’m at 3,000 feet (1,000 m), and over there is Volcano Sangay, 17,000 feet (5,200 m). We stop to take pictures and right then Sangay lets out a puff of smoke. All in all a great day.

From Macas we head to Mendez, again the road is in very good condition and very quiet. The ups and downs a little more pronounced than the day before. We pass a pickup truck with the hood open, the driver waves me over. He shows me the steel cable running from the cabin, it is damaged somehow and he wants to know if I have one like it. I’ve been carrying an shifter cable since Whitehorse, Canada, it is thinner than the truck’s cable, but the guy thinks it will do the trick. He offers to pay, I just ask for a picture in return.

Macas is a town at the junction of the Troncal Amazonica, the road that runs north-south in the jungle and the Transversal Austral, a road that heads up to Cuenca and over to the coast. I had a nice detour in the jungle, and heard the road gets bad further south headed to Zamora, and besides, I need to get the package in Cuenca, so I part ways with Greg once again.

[Click here for Greg's account of the Amazon route]

I knew I was in for a challenge, the few cyclists’ reports about the road made it seem tough. Greg talked to some travellers that said it took them 6 hours to travel the 100 miles down from Cuenca. I figure I’ll take it easy and spread the 100 miles over 3 days.  When I leave Mendez the sign said 165km to Cuenca (though maybe it should have said 185). The math says the chunk missing on the ITMB map would be 40km to Amaluza… good target for day one. After 4 hours of pedaling mostly standing up, averaging 5mph I’m exhausted and all I see is the road continue to climb the side of the steep gorge. Some guy walking on the road says “2 hours to Amaluza by car”. I camp for the night in a gravel lot by a house.

Day two… Amaluza is close, right? Surely I can get there and then maybe make it to Sevilla de Oro later that day. After all, the road on the map stays within one elevation color, it must just follow the river up the valley. I stop in front of a maintenance station and ask a worker how many kilometers to Amaluza. He stares at me blankly, so a few seconds later I ask again. This prompts a head scratch, but still, no response at all. He stares for a little longer, I say thanks and keep on.

At some point the road turns into gravel. I talk to the girl at the yogurt stand, a Spanish cyclist had spent the night there only a few days ago. She said he said the same thing, the climbing is the worst he’s done, supposedly he’s been on the road for over 2 years. Who is this guy?

4 hours of pedaling and again this time an average of 5.4 mph gets me to Amaluza. That makes a total of 40 miles, 65 km in two days. In a moment of weakness that I’ll probably regret later, I get on a bus to Paute. From the looks of things, it could have easily taken me another 2 days to make it those 50 miles. Either up or down, the road curves in and out at every waterfall.  I have no idea what the folks who aid the road gets flat ahead were thinking.

I spend the bus ride thinking about my decision. Surely I’ve had stretches of road much worse than this? The ride in Panama from Almirante over to the Pacific, the day between Huehuetenango to Xela, or from Ciudad Quesada over to Alajuela in Costa Rica come to mind. But at the end of those days I had gone much farther than 20 miles, and never before on the trip had I averaged less than 6 miles an hour, much less two days in a row. It wasn’t that I was unable to bike any further (though I don’t think my knees would have liked too much more standing up all day). I think it was more that I became bored, impatient, anxious and frustrated with such lack of progress.

Getting a ride on a bus is a slippery slope, now that I’ve done it once, will I find it more difficult to resist the temptation again? I justify it in a way, after all my detour into the Amazon meant that I’ve biked more miles overall than if I had just headed straight to Cuenca from Latacunga. But if I’ve given in now, do I stand a chance with the tough roads awaiting in Peru and Bolivia? For know I just try not be too hard on myself, and tell myself to remember this the next time I think about getting a ride.

I check the DHL status in Paute, it says the package has been in Guayaquil for the past 3 days with a “Clearance Delay”, which I guess is a nice way of saying stuck in customs hell. Another reason to regret riding the bus, I’ll be in Cuenca and the package may still be days or weeks away from delivery.

I leave Paute the next morning , the busy traffic resumes as I get close to Cuenca. The riding is slow, my legs are tired, but I also feel sore in my arms after balancing on the handlebars while standing up on the bike the past few days. It is drizzling and in for a second I loose my concentration and ride into the shoulder, and try to get back on to the road. But my front tire won’t grip the ridge of pavement and the bike slides out from under me and I roll over onto the road. Fortunately no one runs me over.

By the time I find a place to stay in Cuenca (on a street called Benigno Malo, which I think is humorous name) it is still early on a Saturday afternoon and the DHL website says they have location open. I know the package isn’t here but I at least want to talk to someone and get an idea of what I’m up against. I write down the address, it is Av Americas 6-118. I came into the city on Av Americas, a main road, so I know where it is. Surely this will be easy to find. I walk up to Americas and I’m at address 4-134 or something. Going west the next block goes to 4-82 or something, then 5-842. The numbers make no sense to me, I’m running out of time, so flag a cab.

He has no idea where the number would be, I ask him if they don’t go in some sort of sensible order. Of course not. How anyone gets pizzas delivered or ambulances called in Ecuador’s third largest city I have no idea. I give him the corner street and he radios his pals for a few minutes, until someone radios back. The intersection is a ways out and it will cost me $3 dollars.

Finally we get to the intersection, but the 6-118 is no where to be seen, just the cross street, and I don’t see any DHL sign. He’s as fed up with me asking why we can’t just go to 6-118 as I am with his boozy breath covered up by mint gum. So I pay, get out, and take a bus back into downtown for $0.25.

The historic center is dead on Saturday evening, it seems that only one in 20 storefronts are open, even more so on Sunday. This makes procuring butter an issue, even in the large stores everyone only has margarine. I spend my time walking around aimlessly, in between bouts of catching up on cable reality TV. For almost the past 4 months I’ve been travelling with other cyclists, so the solitude is something to get used to. The company was a good to have, but for now I’ll have to take advantage of the change of pace, I’ll run into more cyclists again sooner or later.

It is Monday morning and Cuenca has come back to life. The DHL office says that they can’t release the package from Guayaquil until I approve and pay the customs charges on the package. It could be here as early as Tuesday. I worry about how much it will cost. Originally I had asked Optimus to just send me new O-rings, but the kindly sent a whole new pump as well, which may end up costing me more than I bargained for. But looking down the road ahead, it may not be a bad thing to have a backup pump.

[The smudges on the lens are from taking a picture of the mushrooms frying in butter...]

After a week of rest and relaxation in Quito, Dylan and I headed out through Cumbaya and Tumbaco, towns to the east of Quito, and made our way to Sangolqui. From here we headed south, the road turning into cobblestone. After 5 miles of this it was already 4 in the afternoon, and the clouds up ahead were dark. All we could see ahead was more steep cobblestone, so we decided to call it quits in Rumipamba.

The only store in town was closed so we picked a house at random and knocked on the door to inquire if there was somewhere in town where we could camp, possibly with a roof, a shed or old barn perhaps, as we were sure it was going to rain.

After a minute, the family we talked to said “Oh, well we have an extra house just around the corner, no one lives in it, why don’t you spend the night there”. So for a night we had a little house with running water, lights, and a radio. It didn’t actually end up raining, but it was nice nonetheless to have a place to stay like this.

Next morning we were on our way, up the cobblestone, when we ran into Greg. We last saw him in Otavalo, where he ended up spending some time off. Though we discussed going the same route, we had not agreed to meet up at any given time, but knew we’d be on the same road on the same day, so were not surprised to run into him.

After several hours of uphill on rough road, yet only making 10 miles, we stopped for lunch at the junction that heads south oe way to Cotopaxi National Park, or east another way to Machachi, a town on the Panamerican Hwy. We still had not seen Cotopaxi as it was rather overcast, and it started raining. We could either keep going up (we were already at 11,500 feet or 3,500m) and pay $10 to go through the park and still not see the mountain, or ride 10 miles mostly downhill on cobblestone to Machachi. Either option had us getting wet and cold, and no chance to see the volcano, so we called it a day and hung out at a lodge in front of a fireplace. Our hope was that things would clear up in the morning. We slept outside in the carport of the lodge (as rooms were $24 a person), which was fine as we stayed dry and it only got down to 42 F. Falling asleep was diffcult though, I’m not used to the elevation yet.

Sure enough, the next morning Cotopaxi (one of the highest active volcanoes in the world) was out, so we enjoyed the beautiful view as we made breakfast. On our way up to the park the clouds came in and we wouldn’t see Cotopaxi again, but we had a great time riding the dirt road through the treeless paramo in the park, a world away from the busy Panamerican Hwy. It would have been even more incredible if we had clear views, but it was a fun day anyway as I set a new altitude record for myself.

Greg had spotted bolete mushrooms outside the park and picked some. I was a little uneasy about eating them, but Greg assured us that he had picked mushrooms for decades and knew how to recognize them. So at the 12,770 foot pass we broke out the cast iron skillet and we sliced fried up the huge mushrooms in some butter (did I mention it is cool enough to carry butter again?). Almost 24 hours later I am writing this so I guess they really were edible.

We’ve made it to Latacunga, and hope to get to Baños today. Here Greg and Dylan are thinking of heading east into the Amazon basin, but I’ll most likely continue south in the mountains.

[Click here for Greg's account of the Cotopaxi route]

More Observations from Matt Kelly on Vimeo.

A sequel of sorts to Observations.  Starring Greg [blog], Dylan [blog], kids who love to run and bike alongside us, the city of Medellin and the countryside of Colombia and Ecuador.  And a garbage truck in Tulcan that plays a little Andean ditty.

Or, why folks in the Midwest are roasting and my toes are chilly.

3,000m is approx 10,000 feet.

Dear family, friends and fellow cyclists,

A year ago this evening I boarded a plane in Seattle, spent the night in the Fairbanks airport, then flew to Deadhorse, located on the Arctic Ocean in Prudhoe Bay. Here I put my bike together and departed on the first day of this journey. That makes today my 365th day on the road, where I am currently in Colombia, a few days north of the Ecuador border.

A few numbers. My odometer is at about 10,300 miles, though the actual distance travelled while making forward progress (which doesn’t include backtracking or biking done around cities on rest days) is about 10,000 miles. As the crow flies, I’m 5,650 miles from where I started. I’ve covered 68 degrees of latitude. Out of the past year, I’ve been on the bike making progress down the road 205 days, giving an average of 49 miles for my typical day on the bike. The furthest I biked in one day was 85 miles, from the end of the Dalton Hwy into Fairbanks. The most pedaled in one month was July of 2009, over 1,400 miles. October 2009 was the last month I biked over 1,000 miles, since then my pace has slowed significantly as I have not been racing against winter.

I spent a week or more off the bike in the following places: a train trip in the Copper Canyons; Mexico City and Guadalajara over Christmas and New Year’s; Morelia getting over food poisoning and waiting for rain to stop; San Cristobal de las Casas indulging in French pastries; Antigua during Holy Week; and boat travel between Granada, Nicaragua and Los Chiles, Costa Rica.

Depending on when you last saw me, I could be up to 45 pounds lighter (I currently weigh in at 175 lbs). I’ve replaced my drive train (chain and rear cassette) twice, in British Columbia and Guadalajara. I started off the trip with two new Schwalbe Marathon Plus tires, have replaced one of them with a Marathon XR. I stopped counting flat tires; although this is a handy number to evaluate tire quality, it is something I try not to think about.

My route has gone through 10 countries: USA (Alaska, Montana, Wyoming, Idaho for 3 miles, Utah, Arizona), Canada (Yukon, British Columbia, Alberta), Mexico, Guatemala, El Salvador, Honduras, Nicaragua, Costa Rica, Panama, Colombia. I’ve crossed the Continental Divide (the imaginary line between the watersheds of the Pacific and the Arctic/Antlantic/Carribean) over a dozen times, although these haven’t always been the most difficult passes nor the highest in elevation. The highest elevation I have reached is about 10,000 feet, in Utah, again in Michoacan, Mexico, and once again in Guatemala (this number will soon be broken as I head further into the Andes in the coming days). The coldest night was about 10 F, just south of the Grand Canyon (needless to say, the water bottle in my tent was frozen in the morning).

I have been assisted for short rides in vehicles when the situation dictated (road construction or through a highway tunnel), but the only real break in the route was 40 miles in the Tehuantepec isthmus where the winds blew me off the road and I decided it was too unsafe to cycle through. Boat travel has included short ferry rides across rivers, and longer trips across Lake Atitlan, Lake Nicaragua and from Portobelo, Panama to Turbo, Colombia (to get around the Darien Gap).

Beyond these numbers though, summarizing the experience of the past year in a few paragraphs is an impossible task. For me the thought of miles covered in more than a few days down the road ahead can often be overwhelming. As I tell people, “Just one day at a time”. It is just as difficult to look back on a year of cycling and make sense of the distance covered.

Without a doubt the people I have met along the way comes to mind as an explanation for getting this far. At some point in the last couple years you’ve offered encouragement and advice as I planned the trip; given me shelter and fed me; left a comment on my blog; or accompanied me on the road. For all this, a hearfelt thank you! I truly would not have made it past the first week without the support I have received.

So what lies ahead? I expect to travel through Ecuador, Peru, Bolivia, Chile and Argentina over the next 6 or 7 months, and get to Ushuaia, the southernmost city in Tierra del Fuego. There are plenty of questions and challenges ahead. Will my knees survive several hundred thousand more feet of climbing up hills? Will my will to keep going succumb to another bout of homesickness or bad weather? Will my bike put up with the inevitable wear and tear to come? Where will I find gainful employment when the trip is done? For now I’ll try not to worry about this and just keep on, one day at a time.

All the best,

-Matt.

PS Keep up with the latest updates of my trip at http://pedalpanam.com

*****

Querida familia, amigos y ciclistas;

Hace un año esta tarde aborde un avion en Seattle, pase la noche en el aeropuerto de Fairbanks, y despues vole a Deadhorse, ubicado en el Oceano Artico en la Bahia de Prudhoe. Aqui arme mi bicicleta y empeze el primer dia de mi viaje. Hoy es el dia 365 en ruta, actualmente me encuentro en Colombia, a unos dias al norte de la frontera con Ecuador.

Algunos numeros. Mi odometro esta en mas o menos 16,580 km, pero la distancia recorrido es mas bien de 16,100 km (lo que no incluye distancias que no contribuyeron mi avance en el camino). En linea directa estoy a unos 9,100 km de donde empece. He viajado 68 grados de latitud. En el ultimo año he estado avanzando en el camino 205 dias, dando un promedio de 79 km por dia en bici. La distancia mas larga en un dia fue 136 km, entrando a Fairbanks. Lo mas pedaleado en un mes fue julio, mas de 2,250 km. Despues de octubre no he pedaleado mas de 1,600km en un mes, desde entonces no he tenido que estar huyendo de la clima de invierno.

He tomado aventones cortos en vehiculos solo cuando era necesario, pero el lapso mas grande en la ruta fue 65 km en el istmo de Tehuantepec, donde decidi que el viento que me estaba arrojando fuera del camino era demasiado peligroso. Viajes por agua han incluido el cruce de rios en lancha, y distancias mas largas en el Lago de Atitlan, el Lago de Nicaragua, y desde Portobelo, Panama hasta Turbo, Colombia.

He estado una semana o mas sin andar en bici: un viaje en tren a las Barrancas del Cobre; la Ciudad de Mexico y Guadalajara durante las fiestas decembrinas; Morelia recuperando de enfermedad; Antigua, Guatemala durante Semana Santa, y el tiempo entre Granada, Nicaragua y Los Chiles, Costa Rica.

Dependiendo de la ultima vez que me viste, puede ser que peso hasta 20 kgs menos. He reemplazado my cadena y estrellas traseras dos veces, en Canada y Guadalajara. Empeze el viaje con dos llantas Schwalbe Marathon Plus, y he reemplazado uno de ellos. Deje de contar cuantos pinchazos me han tocado.

Mi ruta ha ido por 10 paises: Estados Unidos, Canada, Mexico, Guatemala, El Salvador, Honduras, Nicaragua, Costa Rica, Panama y Colombia. La elevacion mas alta ha sido de aproximadamente 3,000 m, en Utah, Michoacan y en Guatemala (ire mucho mas alto en los proximos dias continuado por los Andes). La noche mas fria fue en Arizona, de -12 C.

Mas alla de estos numeros, tratar de resumir el ultimo año seria difícil. Simplemente pensar mas de unos dias en el camino puede ser demasiado. Por eso le digo a la gente “Solo un día a la vez”.

Sin duda la gente que he conocido en el camino es la razon de como he llegado tan lejos. En los ultimos 2 años, tu haz dado consejos y apoyo cuando planeaba mi viaje, me has dado comida y posada, has escrito un comentario en mi blog, o me has acompaniado en el camino. Por todo esto, muchas, muchas gracias. De verdad no podría haber ido mas que una semana sin todo el animo que me han dado.

¿Que queda por delante? Espero viajar por Ecuador, Peru, Bolivia, Chile y Argentina en los 6 o 7 meses que siguen, hasta llegar a Ushuaia, la ciudad mas al sur en la Tierra del Fuego. Quedan muchas preguntas y retos. ¿Pueden mis rodillas sobrevivir miles de metros mas de subidas? ¿Podrá mi deseo de seguir sobrevivir el mal tiempo y ganas de regresar con amigos y familia? ¿ Podrá mi bicicleta sobrevivir el desgaste? ¿Podre encontrar empleo cuando el viaje termine? Por ahora trato de no preocuparme de esto, al contrario, solo seguir adelante, un día a la vez.

Les deseo todo lo mejor,

Mateo.

PD Sigan las ultimas noticias de mi viaje en http://pedalpanam.com

[June 6, 2010]

yesterday we went to get tickets again, this time the boss was like 50,000 for the bikes, but nothing extra for weight. we went along with it, hoping it would get us out of capurgana. this morning us 3 went to the dock and two other cyclists (one argentine with only 2 panniers, another CRAZY 65+ year old german guy with a home made trailer with fake wooden panneling and a weiner dog) had also bought tickets but there was just NO space in the boat, so we figured they’d have to wait another day.

our boat had 33 passengers, really packed, though the bikes were OK for the most part. we get to Turbo and are at the military checkpoint when sure enough, a same sized boat with ONLY 10 passengers, including the 2 cyclists show up. why they didn’t evenly distribute the passengers between the two boats is beyond me!

we made it 35 miles south of turbo, hope to do the rest to medellin in 4 days.

[June 13, 2010]

Was 15 miles of up up and up to the pass, where we asked a cop about the tunnel (only ’cause he had a pickup). He didn’t know about the cyclist restrictions, but offered to take us through anyway. I think he was in a hurry, he had his flashing lights on and drove like a maniac, but a well trained one. Missed out on a bunch of the descent into the valley since he didn’t stop to let us out until the first town.

Medellin is incredible. Maybe it is just the feeling of vastness of any other big city, which I haven’t experienced since Guadalajara, but there is something particularly captivating here. Wandered and took a ride on the Metro system, which includes cable cars that float over the steep hillside barrios where it isn’t feasible to build rail or bus lines. Mexico City is my first love, but Medellin seems a little less frumpy, grimy and, well, Mexican. Am staying with an old friend of my parents way up above the city where the breeze makes you consider putting some socks on.

Greg and I went on a bike shop crawl and finally found me some Tektro levers, but no luck for his 22 tooth chain ring. Was looking at the Surly website, it says maximum tire size for 26″ rim is 2.1″. Fatties don’t fit fine?

Yes! Hot water and shampoo and conditioner… felt a little unnatural.

[June 19, 2010]

Leave Medellin Wednesday afternoon, just barely make it over the 2,500 m pass when it gets really dark, cold and rainy. We’re hoping to camp but glad we get a hospedaje above a gas station. Not just goosebumps, but feel cold down to the bones. Our bandeja dinners end up costing only 11,000 for both, not sure how.

Next morning we descend all the way down to La Pintada at 600 m, back to the river Cauca, same river that goes through Santa Fe de Antioquia. So what was the point of biking all the way up to Medellin? Follow the river for quite a while, then camp out after the road left the valley. Warm? Yes, hot even, but the prickly heat is gone for now. Next morning a gentle climb for most of the day, then the long uphill to Manizales at 2,200 m. Very deceiving, we keep thinking we’ve reached a pass, but Manizales is not at the bottom of a valley, but kind of spread out on a side of a mountain. Would be happy to avoid another big city but my ATM card is supposed to be here Monday.

Thankfully there are Calles and Carreras so directions people give us mostly make sense. Greg and I find the hostel and then go grocery shopping. We’ve missed the ‘ley seca’ cut off time by one hour, all the booze shelves are taped off. After the long climb we were hoping for a beer with our pasta dinner (sauce was: 2 sticks butter, 2 cups cream, half a pound parmesan cheese).

On our way back a young guy approaches us and starts walking backwards, facing us, mumbling incoherent things. I notice a wooden handle in his hand, blade up his sleeve. I point this out to Greg and right then he tries to grab Greg and pulls out the knife. But the guy is too wasted to be of danger. This happens on a busy intersection in front of a huge mall with tons of people walking about. Other than that Manizales seems like a pretty safe town, there are 6 universities, so plenty of hip students around.

On our way back we stop at a tiendita, the owner happy to sell us a dozen beers, “just be discreet”. That should be more than enough for the next three days, but somehow the supply dwindles as other hostel guests are helping themselves.

My card is supposed to be here Monday morning, so we’re thinking of leaving right after that. We’ve got to figure out if we head straight east from here, around the north side of Nevado de Ruiz, where the road tops out at 3,800 m, or if we should go south via Pereira and Armenia, then head east via Ibague (pass is ~3,400 m), which is what you did. How have the roads been? I hope you’ve been staying warm enough!

After crossing the ridge it seems like an easy two or three days or so southbound along the Rio Magdalena valley. Then probably to San Agustin and over the mountains again. Need to sit down and figure out how to get out of Colombia in 14 days.

****

just added up miles if we go the manizales-neiva-san agustin-popayan-ipiales (according to bing), and it is 650. if we leave on monday that is 13 days left in the country… yikes. manizales-cali-popayan-ipiales is only 450. might need to try and get an extension but who knows how complicated that might be. or maybe get close enough to the border, take bus to ecuador and back. dunno.

****

[re: extending via]

based on the DAS website… 70,000 pesos, passport pictures, and an official request/form of sorts. no mention of turn around time (1 hour, 1 week?). DAS office in the main (capital?) cities of each departamento.

looking at maps greg and i think we may just go the express route to ecuador… there will be plenty more rough mountain roads further on.

[June 20, 2010]

The ‘blue law’ is due to the 2nd round of presidential elections today. I explained the cashier that I was a foreigner and couldn’t vote, and so would she please sell me the beer, but that didn’t fly.

After looking at the mileages and the terrain, it looks like Greg and I are going to scrap the idea of the magdalena river valley. We’d have to bike ~650 miles in 12 out of the 13 days left on our stamp, assuming no bad weather or sickness delays (Greg basically slept in the bathroom last night with food poisoning of sorts). We’d end up killing ourselves and/or having to bus a hundred miles or two to Ecuador. So we’re hoping to just stay off the busy roads and enjoy a slower route through the Cauca valley.

The following is from an email sent to some cycling friends, Phil and Manu (also posted on the PanAm Riders discussion group, for those interested in hearing about other boats), who inquired about my boat trip from Panama to Colombia. Currently (and for anytime in the near future), there is no highway linking Central and South America. Some daring travelers have braved the poor trail conditions and lawlessness in the area known as the Darien Gap, but not all have survived!  Boat or plane are a much safer option.

Am currently working on getting all my Central America pictures uploaded.  Stay tuned.  In the meantime, check out Greg’s post about the boat trip, as usual, great pictures.

***

[June 15, 2010]

so far, the trip has just been from turbo up to medellin. there have been some climbs, but nothing terrible. depending the various routes through colombia, there could be lots of climbing. after all, the andes start here.

paul and i ran into greg a few times in central america and biked with him a little. we all got to panama city at the same time, and after a week there we were about to bike to portobelo when dylan showed up, so he joined us for the boat. paul went to cartagena via bus after turbo, and greg, dylan and i biked to medellin.

the broken lever… yeah, it happened on the last leg of the trip, the “ferry” from capurgana to turbo. the guys were just tossing the bikes on with little care and my lever got caught in another spoke. i was planning on replacing them in medellin anyway, but still shouldn’t have to be that way.

the darien gapster worked out pretty well. we packed our 4 bikes up with cardboard around the delicate parts, derailleurs, handle bars, etc. took pedals off, and straightened handle bars. we were able to fit all 4 bikes in the front row of the boat. just assert yourself when it comes to packing the bikes, remind them you’ve done this before! they would have fit better had there not been a 50 gallon barrel of petrol on the floor.

The bikes survived that portion of the ride mostly unscathed. my brake lever covers got a little worn down by the bumps, but this could have been avoided if i protected them more.

our trip was the inagural ride with paying tourists, so we got a pretty good deal. $175 for the ride, $30 for the bike each. this included 4 out of about 8 meals, unfortunately the places we stopped the prices were much higher than we had encountered on the highways in panam. but to be fair stuff does cost more as it is out in the middle of nowhere. so bring groceries and have your stove handy. and beware of the other hidden costs. IE nights at hostals before and after, etc. They have a cooler with pop, juice and beer for $1 each. $5 rental for snorkel gear. i know they will be changing prices in the future, so please get the info straight from them.

paul and i took one route from panama city to portobelo (some of it on the toll way until we politely got asked by the authorities to leave it), greg and dylan took another (which went by some of the canal). from the stories, greg and dylan’s route was much more picturesque and definitely worth checking out.

we left portobelo early tuesday morning, stopped for breakfast at an island when we got to san blas. then to another island to wait while our passports got processed. that night we camped on the beach of a kuna family’s plot on an island. wednesday we went to an uninhabited island for several hours. never really been snorkeling until then, but other folks who had said it was some of the best they’ve ever done. little current and incredible reefs. we swam to a nearby island that had at most 5 coconut trees on it. wednesday night we spent at another kuna island, but this one had one end that was set up more for tourist use (flushing toilets as opposed to outhouses on the pier that go right into the ocean). great time walking around the village, saying hello to folks but generally not being able to communicate more than smiling and laughing. thursday we had another while on the water, spent some time at an island for swimming and lunch, and then got to sapzurro by dusk.

i felt safe in the hands of marcos the captain, but communication lacked at times. if in doubt about anything, ask adam first, marco’s strength is driving the boat and his relationship with the kunas after years of travel in the region. it was their first outing, and i know they were eager to hear our feedback to improve for next time. unfortunately i don’t what they’ll do with bikes in the future, after all, the bikes have to use up a row of seats, and that could mean lost opportunity for passenger fares. but on the other hand, that still leaves 14 seats free, which i thought was a good number for the trip. i do wish them the best in their endeavor, but it just might be hard to fill the boat up every time. that could be good for cyclists though, there would always be a place for bikes, and they’d happily take the surcharge for the bikes.

the first night at the hostel in sapzurro was free camping included in the price, but you’ll necessarily have to spend another night in either sapzurro or capurgana. the immigration office in capurgana, the next harbor east of sapzurro, opens after the ferry leaves from capurgana to turbo at 7:30 AM. though sapzurro was nice and relaxed, and we spent 2 nights there (be sure to find the senora Tila who sells coconut popsicles near the dock), to decrease the amount of bike-boat related stress, i’d head over to capurgana with all your stuff, buy your tickets beforehand (especially since a dozen other darien gapster backpackers will also be heading in to town as well, the lancha might get full) and find a cheap hotel for your 2nd night. that way you can be at the dock at 7:15, instead of having to take a lancha from sapzurro to capurgana at 6:30am.

paul was lucky and got on the boat the morning we were supposed to leave, but there was no way greg, dylan and i were going to get on the boat with our bikes and bags. we spent another day there. the first time we had bought tickets for 50,000 pesos (~US$25) for the passenger part, and that they’d assess the bikes in the morning. we found out that the small print on the ticket says passengers are allowed 10kg each, plus another 500 pesos per extra kilo.

the whole process is really ridiculous, there is no order on the dock. so the second time we gladly accepted the boat owner’s offer for a flat fee of 50,000 pesos for the bike, with nothing extra for weight (i think that is what byron paid?), even though i can guarantee our bikes and gear weighs less than 100kg! makes me wonder if we should have just avoided mentioning the bikes, bought two passenger tickets each… less crowded boat, more space for the bikes!

remember, your last chance for an ATM is off the main highway in sabanitas, panama before turning off to head east to portobelo. you next chance for an ATM will not be until Turbo. Make sure you have enough for a few extra days, you never know where you’ll get stuck!

turbo to medellin was great, we did it in 6 riding days (some really short days, to spend time in Santa Fe de Antioquia), although you could do it in easily 5, possibly 4 but you’d get to Medellin burnt out. the road was quiet, real beautiful. i took notes about the way and i’ll try to post those at some point. one other option is to take a bus or bike to cartagena, but we were anxious to get back into the cooler mountains and skipped it. can’t see it all! costwise, i think you could get to cartagena via turbo for less than directly on sailboat, but the hassle of three boat rides and three bus rides certainly takes its toll (maybe Paul can chime in, that is what he did).

so… maybe you are in panama already? i really don’t mean to scare or discourage you, but i thought i’d give you fair warning that the crossing from the carribean to pacific was BRUTAL. greg had to push his bike lots of the way… and that is saying a lot. but the views were INCREDIBLE from both sides, hopefully the clouds will be clear. paul and i camped the night next to the visitors center at the dam of La Fortuna reservoir. it was somewhat cooler up at the elevation which was nice.

To mark a year since I’ve not been in Chicago, I’ve compiled a list of top bike rides in the city (and a few bottom ones as well), it is by no means exhaustive.  Clearly this list will be skewed towards my experience of Chicago, which generally was on the north side.  Feel free to chime in if you have something to include on the list.  In no particular order:

Elston Ave
If you’ve been to Chicago you know it is laid out on an almost perfect grid, with a numbering system that means getting lost is almost impossible.  But all the right angles mean that you can’t always get places as the crow flies.  Here is where Chicago’s diagonal roads, which mostly fan out radially from downtown, come in handy (Milwaukee, Clark, Lincoln and South Chicago come to mind).   A big advantage is that there is a nice wide bike lane, but no CTA route on Elston, so you won’t get stuck leapfrogging those buses.

The first time I biked to work, I headed down Elston never having biked it before, and little by little fell in love with it over the coming years.  Because it was the shortest route from Albany Park to the Loop, I used it frequently and got to know every bump and crack on the road, and learn how to time the stoplights.  Heading southeast, Elston joins up with Milwaukee Ave and the best part of my morning commute, especially on a winter day, biking by the Blommers Chocolate factory.

Lake Shore Path
This multi-use path between Lake Michigan and Lake Shore Drive is a perfect way to soak in the skyline of Chicago.  Starting in Edgewater and heading all the way south mostly uninterrupted (except for the real annoying bit near Navy Pier), it heads all the way down past the Museum Campus and to Jackson Park.  Of course, the path is no secret, and during a summer weekend, the path will be full of joggers, rollerbladers with iPods, strollers, dogs, tourists in 5-person bikes, and things become a little unpleasant if not dangerous.  The most enjoyable time for me would be on a cool evening, waves crashing on the breakers, on my way home from work, planning what groceries I need to pick up for dinner, with the path nice and empty.

Alley just west of Kenmore between Irving and Montrose
Although there are many roads closer to downtown where you can bike under the L tracks (a la Blues Brothers), there is a little hidden alleyway where you can do this as well.  It follows the eastern wall of Graceland Cemetery.  You’ll most likely have a Red or Purple line come thundering overhead.

Most any Chicago alley
On weekends, with time to kill while looking for old coffee mugs at the various Village Discounts, or going to used bookstores, getting lost in alleys was a favorite activity of mine.  As I mentioned, getting lost in Chicago is tough as every corner has street signs with coordinates, but if you take alleys you can almost lose track of where you are.  I don’t know of very many cities that have alleys on every block, but this is the place to meander around and take a peek at the odd things Chicagoans throw out.

Wilson Ave
Also one of Pete Strom’s favorite street to drive on, it is a great way to getwest from the Lake Shore Path over to Albany Park (once again, no CTA buses west of Clark).  It heads though well kept neighborhood Ravenswood Manor (home to Blagojevich). The bridge over the North Branch is probably one of the largest climbs you’ll ever have to make in Chicago.

Western and Ashland
These large north-south thoroughfares are just not bike friendly.  They go through a lot of commercial areas and I’ve just had too many close calls and never enjoyed biking on them.  The best alternative is right between the two, Damen, a much better option with bike lanes.

Fox River
In the western Chicago Suburbs, the Fox River has a nice path along it, which can be accessed via the different Prairie Path branches which more or less start in the Oak Park area.  If you aren’t up for biking to the Fox River valley from Chicago, take the Metra to either Elgin or Aurora, bike along the river (stopping for chocolate chip cookies at aunt and uncle’s along the way) and the take the Metra back in at the other end.

North Branch Trail
One place to pick up on this trail is right by SuperDawg on Milwaukee (the other is by the Forest Glen Metra stop), a perfect excuse for a Chicago style dog (no ketchup, for Pete’s sake).  It heads up north to the Skokie lagoons and the Chicago Botanical Garden.  I also would take this path part of the way to visit my grandma and the REI in Northbrook, back before there wasn’t an REI in Chicago.   It is real fun during the fall when all you hear is the whoosh of the crunchy leaves in your wake.

Critical Mass Rides
Critical Mass is a bike awareness event of sorts, which takes place on the last Friday of every month in hundreds of cities around the world.  Hundreds (thousands in the summer) of cyclists meet up at 5:30pm in Daley Plaza, and head out through the city as one big stream of cyclists.  I agree that disrupting traffic (especially for folks on public transportation) doesn’t really win over the hearts of motorists (in fact some confrontations with hot-headed folks on car, bike, or police patrol can get violent), but the ride generally has a peaceful atmosphere, and all sorts of bike nuts show up in droves. One or two cyclists will often tow a sound system on a trailer, and the street becomes a party. Pedestrians stop to smile and wave, cyclists yell “Happy Friday” back, and the tourists eat it up, “Look honey, the weirdos are on parade!”.  The cars can clog the roads the remaining 99.5% of the month.  The Halloween ride is not to be missed.

Miss you tons Chicago!

At the beginning of April in Antigua, Guatemala, Paul and I were looking at a map of Central America when he informed me that we had at least 1,200 miles to go until Panama City.  I was a little skeptical, after all, wasn’t Central America kind of tiny? I was honestly not looking forward to these 1,200 miles.  I didn’t know much about Central America and the places to visit, and the heat made me think I’d never make it.

Yet somehow we made it this far and are only 50 miles away from Panama City.  Lots of early mornings, sometimes up at 4:30 or 5, lots of time spent on the side of the road on a long uphill waiting for our heartbeat to slow down to a safe rhythm, lots of soft drinks (much more than usual).  It will be hard to forget the sweat, but there were highlights that made the past 2 months worth the effort.

Yet this isn’t only almost being done with Central America, this is actually the end of North America as well!  What next?  Some how get to Colombia (not Columbia, cyclist bloggers take note, misspelling, of geographical names in particular, is a pet peeve of mine, but I guess that is my problem!), by either boat or plane, but all that still needs to get worked out.  For now I’m just excited to be arriving in Panama City, where my high school physics teacher and his family live, and are letting me stay with them.  Should I still refer to him as “Mr. Worthington” or “Sir”?  Either way, Paul and I have an ongoing disagreement about a certain knot and its suitability for hanging hammocks, which I’m hoping can be tie broken (the disagreement, not the knot) by Mr. Worthington.

Observations from Matt Kelly on Vimeo.

A few notes:

The first scene is after we pulled over to take pictures of the Pacific from the mountains dividing Panama.  Only 10 miles earlier we had finished the arduous climb up from the Carribean.  We were lucky with the clouds and got to see both oceans from 4,000 feet.  Where else in the world can you bike 10 miles to see two oceans?

The beetle you see crawled under Paul’s tent at night and started chewing (!) a hole through his ground tarp.  Before falling asleep I heard something making noise next to the windscreen on my stove, I looked out of the tent and first mistook this giant animal for a mouse, it was that big!  We slept next to the visitors center near the dam at La Fortuna resevoir, and the guard that morning saw us trying to shake the beetle of the tarp, but it was holding on tight, so he yanked it off for us.

After 3 nights of camping and 4 days of miserable sweat and rain, I just wanted to find a shower.  We arrived at a town that had a hospedaje, but of course the town’s water had been turned off hours before.  That afternoon an incredible storm came in and it made for a perfect cold shower with the runoff from the roof.  Best water pressure in a long time!  The hotel owner was bundled up, as the storm brought in some chilly weather (it must have gotten all the way down to 70 degrees F!).

The leaves closing up are of the sensitive plants that have been along the roadside since Costa Rica.  Daily progress has slowed down as I have the need to stop and poke them all and watch them close up.  I squirted water from my bike bottle for the video, it looks more natural than a stick or finger.

Greg and Byron, two cyclists I had run into before, caught up to Paul and I in Granada, Nicaragua in time to catch the ferry to Isla Ometepe.  Byron kept on going to Costa Rica, but the rest of us got off the ferry at Altagracia, knowing we’d catch the same one in 3 days as it continued its overnight journey. The first morning on the island several folks from the hostel got a guide to hike up the active Volcano Concepcion (one of the two volcanoes that form the island). We woke up real early and started the hike out of town. We were all dripping in sweat soon, even though it was before 7am. Our guide, of course, had a tiny backpack with little to eat or drink and barely broke a sweat. As we started to climb the steep parts, I had flashbacks of climbing San Pedro near Atitlan, and made the decision to turn around less than 1/3 of the way up. I was already having a hard time concentrating, and dreaded the downhill, which I knew would leave me unable to walk for days. I think it was a good decision to turn around, I got back to the hostel and slept for over 4 hours. It just wasn’t the day for me to hike a volcano (but you can read Greg’s account and see cool pictures here).

The next day I headed over to a hostel/organic farm on the other side of the island, the half made up by the Volcan Maderas, along the way stopping for a swim at the Santo Domingo beach.  That evening it rained and there was a great thunderstorm which of course everyone at the hostel thought would be a great idea to watch from the top of a lookout tower.  We survived though.  During the day you can see both sides of the island from the top.

The next morning everyone from my dorm had left early to hike up Maderas, so I just sat around for a few hours reading and contemplating, enjoying the quiet.  Then back on the bike to Altagracia, with a stop at a swimming pool filled with spring water.  Unlike the lake water, this pool was nice and chilly, a great treat after days and days of heat.  I met back up with Paul and Greg and we biked back to the dock to wait for the ferry.

The sun had already set as we departed, but you could see the faint outline of the two volcanoes in the clouds drift away.  Then the lights on the island went out so it was hard to pick the island out.  It rained a little bit, but I was able to sleep on my pad outside on the deck, though I woke up when the ferry docked a couple times during the night.  We got to San Carlos (still Nicaragua) early Friday morning, with a heavy mist covering the green wetlands.  San Carlos is the town where Lake Nicaragua flows into the San Juan river, which flows into the Carribean.

This is where the adventure of crossing a border by river began.  Please read the next few paragraphs with the fact that I did not find a restroom for the next 6 hours in mind.  It makes the story that much more unbearable.  I was pleasantly surprised with the way our bikes were handled on the ferry.  For the second leg of the trip the crew had carried them up to the top of the deck where they wouldn’t get crunched by the tons of freight and bananas that had been loaded.  We got our bikes and bags back and found a comedor where we ate breakfast.  I had read some other cyclist saying he had his worst cup of coffee of the trip here, and so I probably was expecting it, but yes, the coffee was awful.  We had plenty of time before the Migracion office opened.

This government building is best described as a dilapidated structure made out of boards, built on stilts right over the shore of the trash filled river.  Nothing on the outside would leave you to believe that this is the place to get the boat to Costa Rica.  We get in line even though there is no indication things will proceed, any time soon, and of course they don’t.  As with other waits in border offices, the TV is usually on and people are sitting about reading the newspaper.  Finally the window opens and when it is my turn, the guy asks for the $2 exit fee, or 43 Cordobas.  I have both currencies but he doesn’t have change, so I dig around and find 3 Cordobas in my pocket to make 53.  One employee has already informed the line twice that once you get your passport stamped, you can’t go out to the street again and have to go straight to the boat.  I told him I have my bike outside, but he’ll make an exception.

I go outside and wait with the bikes as Paul and another cyclist Jeff go get their passports stamped.  While this is happening, The Boat is filling up little by little by folks and their suitcases.  The boat is wide enough to sit 4 across, and has about a dozen rows.  By the time we get there with our bikes the boat is already jam packed.  Several people are giving us suggestions about what to do and who we need to talk to, but of course we have no idea who actually works the boat or not.

I pick out the guy driving the boat and ask him how much it will cost for the bikes, and he says he doesn’t know but to wait for the senora to arrive.  Finally she arrives as we’ve squeezed into the last open seats up front.  I try to get her attention to ask how much the bikes will cost and she says 500 or something.  Once all the passengers are on board the bikes pretty much get tossed onto the front, piled on top of each other.  Meanwhile another person is frantically getting the list of every passenger and their passport number for whichever authorities.

We set out on the river, the boat clearly overburdened.  We pass several military check points and are told to put our lifejackets on.  Half way along our hour long journey the senora comes to collect the fares (no tickets given out of course), which by the way is even more expensive than hour 12 hour ferry ride we just took (and we weren’t packed in to that thing like sardines).  There were four cyclists, I think we could easily hired a tour boat (of which we pass several along our ride) together for cheaper.  But for whatever reason this lady has a concession and she can do what she wants.

I ask the senora if I can pay for the bikes, she say’s the driver says 2,000 Colones (~4 dollars).  Immediately I call her out and bring up the fact that he said she had the last word, and now she is saying he has the last word, and can they give us a straight story and to please not treat us like idiots.  I say, yes or no,  you quoted a price to us before we left, and she says yes, she did, and that it was 1,500.  I assure her that I heard 500, but she says no, 1,500, and one of her cronies chimes in yes, it must have been 1,500.  She says we can settle it once we get there.

Another one of the senora’s cronies is walking up and down the aisles, taking people’s passports and filling out customs forms for them. even signing their name.  The customs forms are bad photocopies of the original documents and the document preparer is charging 1USD for her services.  I expect her to ask for mine and insist that these must be filled in before we dock or something, but I think I’ve already made my point of not being a gullible tourist, and so she doesn’t attempt to.  I do realize that many folks probably can’t read or write, so this is a valuable service.  I thought about announcing that I’d be happy to do it for free but that might not go over so well.

The arrival to shore in Los Chiles, Costa Rica was pure chaos.  There isn’t a dock, rather, there is a set of concrete stairs that are crumbling into the river.  Several young kids jumped on the boat, their jobs to unload cargo.  Of course the bikes were all tangled together but Greg yells at them to take more care.  Once the bikes get off it is a free for all.  Fortunately between the 4 of us cyclists we can all keep an eye out for each other’s stuff.

We climb up the stairs, but our bikes back together again.  Everyone makes their way to the customs building, and I pull my bike in, but the two employees (no uniforms?) say we are free to go.  Other cyclists have also mentioned being waved through.  Apparently Costa Rica doesn’t want to make things to difficult for tourists?

We make our way down the block and pay our entry fee.  The boat senora comes and finds us so she can get her bike fee.  I tell her that surely we’ll be getting a receipt for this, just to make things more difficult.  She says no, and I ask her if her business is official or not and therefore shouldn’t we get a receipt (even some of the modest grocery stores would make a hand written receipt and stamp it as PAID, she on the other hand is operating an international boat route).  Either she’s genuinely thinking I’m not going to pay or she is just playing along to appease me, and says that she’s run out of her receipt pad but can get some more (when, I have no idea).  Finally we just pay, it’s the easiest way to end this.  Really though I’m not sure what we paid for, the bikes were treated so poorly.

This situation brings out the worst in me, belittling someone because I feel I’m being played.  Look, I don’t expect everyone I encounter on this trip to be all smiley and helpful.  I’m really don’t care whether your business is paying its taxes or following code to a T.  But a little bit of honesty and dignity go far.  It wasn’t one of those “Oh man I had the craziest adventure riding a boat into Costa Rica, but the owner was helpful and welcoming” moments but rather “Watch out on your way through there as the boat lady will be ripping you off “.

This is my moment to rant.  A lot of the most frustrating moments of the trip are when information is either non existent (ie street signs, km posts, schedules, fees) or intentionally withheld.  But maybe this is part of the adventure?  I’ve gotten into arguments on the trip and tried to explain that it really isn’t about what usually amounts to less than a dollar, but the fact that you are trying to pull a fast one on me.  Ticks me off!

We have to wait in a slow line to get our passports stamped in to Costa Rica.  We find a restaurant (and finally, a restroom), then check into a hotel.  Later that evening its pouring out, so I just eat dinner at the hotel, which proves to be a bad decision.  My first morning in Costa Rica I woke up and new that Things Weren’t OK with my stomach, and told Paul I’d be staying put, but that he should go ahead, as we could always meet up again later. I ponied up for a 2nd night in the air conditioned hotel, which in the end meant getting over the food poisoning just a little more pleasant.

The next day, not having eaten much, I decided to leave, as I was itching to get back on the road.  The elevation stayed pretty flat, but was difficult because of the constant up and down short hills.  The next day I had a little more strength, so the going was good at first, but then the climbing started.  I had to force myself to eat a bunch of french fries despite having no apetite, as there was no way to make it to Ciudad Quesada without some food.  A quick mental calculation had me eating well less than half of what I usually eat in the past three days.  This, the heat and the fact that I hadn’t done much serious climbing on the bike the past 2 weeks meant the last 5 miles were absolutely miserable.

I found the hotel where Paul was at, he’d taken a longer detour and was also in Ciudad Quesada despite my day off.  The next day we took off, knowing we had a lot of climbing to do.  It was one of those uphill days where 7 or 6 miles an hour would have seemed fast.  After a torturous 15 miles we made it to the top (and incidentally, crossed over into the Atlantic side of the Continental Divide), though the views were rather incredible.  On our way downhill into the central valley of the Costa Rica highlands, we took a side route on a gravel road, and asked some locals if there was a place to camp nearby.  They told us of a little spot along one of the access routes to a coffee co-op nearby, so we went to find it.  It was a beautiful little clearing with a little tin shelter (it rained a little, I love nothing more than falling asleep to rain under a tin roof).  Perfect!  We’ve been doing very little camping lately so we were eager to have a night outdoors.  We walked to the corner store in town for some groceries, and noted that not only were we not dripping in sweat, we weren’t sweating at all.  We were at 5,ooo feet, and it was noticeably cooler.

That night it got down to 60 degrees F (15 C)!!!!  Divine!  This made for one of the most restful nights in a long time.  I’m not sure when the last time I had to bundle up in my sleeping bag was.  I might just say the arduous climb up was worth it.  We woke up and made breakfast, and decided to just sit there for a few hours, enjoying the peace and tranquility and all the birds.  Next day we headed to Alajuela, where we took a day off today.

So, Costa Rica. Although I’ve only been on the road here for 100 miles (so this isn’t necessarily the case for the whole country), it feels a world apart from the past 4 countries, 5 if you include Mexico. Everything seems so much, well, tidier. There are no informal roadside dumps piled high with burning trash (this was a regular sight in the past few months), soccer fields have grass on them, people are out mowing their lawns and using weed-wackers (haven’t smelled fresh cut grass in a while), 99% of cars have license plates, businesses don’t have guards with shotguns standing outside (or other firearms for that matter), you are served a glass of ice with your Coke (which is unnecessary as the refrigerators here keep things ice cold anyway), no one carrying bundles of firewood or tubs of corn meal balanced on their heads, there aren’t pickups with over a dozen people riding in the back, there aren’t military convoys with soldiers sitting ready with their weapons mounted on the roof of a truck (saw this mostly in Mexico).  Everything seems so much more middle class (though I know there is still much inequality here).  One of the biggest indicators of this is that you hardly see anyone walking or biking on the side of the road as a way of getting to work or school.

The next few days it looks like we’ll be headed east to the Caribbean coast.

-Mahatma Gandhi Matt Kelly

During Holy Week I got in touch with Paul (http://www.panamericantour.net/), another Alaska to Argentina cyclist who I knew about for a while, but only in Antigua did our paths cross, and we decided to cycle together.  Two days of cycling got us to the border, where we camped behind the police station.  At the border I pondered just selling my leftover quetzales for dollars at a fair price to the tourists coming into Guatemala, but decided it was not worth the $5 I lost in comission (extortion?) to the money changers.  The $5 would probably be the price one pays not to get their throat slit by “El Lobo”, who apparently runs things at the border.  Yes, I know who “El Lobo” is, he was sitting right there and the money changers asked if I wanted to buy him a drink after I changed my quetzales.  What did El Lobo do for me that he deserves a drink?  I pretty much rolled my eyes at them and said no thanks.  If the Lobo needs a cut it should come out of the changers’ fees which I already paid.  I kinda regretted the eye rolling when a few minutes later, as El Lobo just happened to be opening the door for us on our way in to the immigration offices to get our exit stamps for Guatemala (creepy).  But I guess he didn’t want to follow us to El Salvador to get that drink.

After the border, a short but tough first day in El Salvador of climbing up into the mountains to stay in Ataco, which was pleasantly cool.  Then back out of the mountains to Santa Ana, and after that straight east to Suchitoto on some newly paved roads that were really quiet.  Here we took a two days off.  We got up at 5:30 yesterday to beat the heat, but it was a slow day of dirt roads and hills, so we ended up biking during the heat all day anyway.  But the day ended perfectly, we biked 2 miles off the Panamerican Hwy to a little lake, Apastepeque, where we made friends with the owners of “Comedor Evelyn”, who let us camp right on the lake, and tried to insist we didn’t have to pay for our dinner we had there.  For other cyclists out there, I strongly recommend it instead of San Vicente (which involves a few miles down into the valley which you have to bike up the next morning).  Several miles heading east on the Panamericana after passing the turnoff for San Vicente, you’ll see a sign to your left “Turicentro Apastepeque”.  Follow the signs to the Turicentro, then make a U-turn onto the road by the lake and stop at Comedor Evelyn.

This morning we woke up early again and were on the road by 7.  But by 9 or 10 it is almost impossible to ride.  I’ve never sweat so much before!  We would take breaks every few miles, drinking as much as we could.  Little by little we made it 45 miles to the junction near San Miguel.  We saw a few hotels, and finally pulled into one to inquire.  With the words “air conditioning, swimming pool”, we were sold, and it was not too unreasonable of a price.  But of course, you spend a little then you need to spend a little more.  We took a bus to the mall and gorged on Burger King.  We figured we’d been off the Gringo Trail (yes, it is kind of what the tourist circuit is referred to down here) for over a week now and had somehow earned the Whoppers.  I’ve been loving the pupusas and desayuno tipico (beans, eggs, fried plantain, tortillas), but couldn’t resist a trip to the Burger King.  The spending spree was complete after going grocery shopping and then taking a taxi back to the hotel.

We have considered getting up at 4:30 to be on the road by 5:30 tomorrow!  This sounds a little ridiculous, but we’re so tired that we should be able to fall asleep soon enough so that getting up at that time won’t be too horrible.  We hope to be somewhere in Honduras tomorrow!

I was getting closer to the border, and I knew it from other cyclists’ accounts.  Huge hills, not so much mountain ridges, but rather steep shaped cones towered in front of me, unlike anything I had seen so far on this trip.  There was a steep climb up to the border.  Along the way I passed two roadside dumps, one was a hole on the left side, uphill, the other, down the steep ridge, was a drop off where people came and tossed stuff.  Both dumps were smoldering and spewing out rancid smoke.  Buzzards picked apart garbage.  It seemed like a post apocalyptic movie, surely at any second now Bruce Willis would jump out of the bushes.

I crossed the border, got my passport stamped, and kept on climbing through the town of La Mesilla.  The highway was clogged with parked cars and stores overflowing with all sorts of wares.  I was in Guatemala but this was less than exhilarating.   At the moment all I wanted was to find somewhere to spend the night.

My entrance into Guatemala was less triumphant than when I crossed into Mexico.  Barely any cheers or horn honks.  But folks would generally smile and wave back at me if I did first.  Someone shot a squirt gun at me from the window of a van, twice (they had stopped after the first time and then caught up shortly after).  People sold gas out of plastic containers, even though there were gas stations every few miles.  Like the road on the Mexican side, trash was everywhere, but with different brands and labels.

Things went from bizarre to downright unpleasant.  The highway passed through a few small towns.  From across the road, I heard someone shout “Whats up my n****r” from a parked black pickup.  I didn’t think this remark deserved acknowledging, so I kept on riding.  But the pickup had pulled out to the highway and caught up to me, and slowed to my pace.  ”Where are you from?” the driver said in English, “De Mexico, soy de Mexico” I responded in Spanish.  ”No, you aren’t from Mexico, where are you from?” Again, “Soy de Mexico”.

This repeated itself a few more times.  By now the pickup was slowing many cars behind us.  We approached a trailer parked on the side of the road, and a game of chicken ensued.  He was going slow enough that I held out, knowing I could bail to the last second if necessary to avoid running into the trailer.  But the pickup driver moved over and gave me enough room, barely, to get through, obviously he wanted to keep the conversation going.

“No man, you don’t look Mexican, what are you, American, Canadian, European?”  ”No, soy Mexicano, hecho y derecho”.  ”You know, around here, if you are American, you are a dead man”.  Awesome!   ”So, where are you from?”  I’m stubborn, and wasn’t about to give up.  But I should have remembered that it isn’t worth attempting to reason and discourse with a guy with overly gelled spiky hair, unbuttoned shirt with big chains, bloodshot eyes, oversized tires with chrome rims. And of course, the discussion really wasn’t about whether I was Mexican or not (I could have easily pulled out my Mexican passport which today was within reach in my handlebar bag), but it was my attempt at not being bullied around and hoping that after this idiot kept repeating himself he might start to realize he made no sense.

He kept holding up traffic and continued to pester me.  ”No man you aren’t Mexican, you are a honky!”  ”You know I lived in America and got deported, they are assholes up there!” (Good riddance, I thought). He didn’t ask my opinion about immigration policy, which I think is on the progressive side, but if I ever have a country of my own, this guy isn’t invited.

He called me a honky again and reiterated that if you are an American, you are dead man here. Nothing like being threatened your first hour in a new country!  I decided I’d had enough, said goodbye, and slowed down, and he drove off.  Thoughts of him driving off a cliff popped into my head (“He went sailing right out there. Did you see the way he went just went sailing out there? I mean he just went sailing right out there.”), but I stopped wishing that on him with the possibility that he might be a father, or (quite unlikely) a productive member of society.

I tried really hard to put this encounter behind me, knowing that the next day was a new day.  A few more miles and I came across the town “La Democracia”.  I had planned on stopping here, as other cyclists had mentioned this town.  One hotel is on a STEEP driveway up the hill, and another the manager was gone so no one could tell me how much the rooms cost.  I approached another town with a “La Democracia” sign, and decided to stop at “Hotel Flor de Cafe”, if anything it seemed less seedy than some of the other ones, and the name sounded nice.  The owner’s toothless smile and questions about my bike and trip in an accent I could hardly understand dissipated most of my bad mood.  A plate of chicken and rice at a comedor, then a strong but quick rainstorm.  Then I fell asleep with the TV on.

I got going rather late this morning, knowing I had already done 10 miles in Guatemala.  But most of today was uphill through a narrow valley along a river.  Lots of chicken buses!  Later in the afternoon I waved hello to a spandex-clad cyclist on a slick road bike heading downhill in the opposite direction.  I figured he was from Huehue, and that he’d turn around and at my rate he’d easily catch up with me.

Which he did!  Manglio slowed down and chatted with me for a while.  We pulled over to exchange emails, and he offered a place to camp.  I told them that I already had a couchsurfing contact in Huehue but thanks for the offer.  He warned me about the last push up out of the valley before heading down to Huehue, but kindly stayed by my side, even as cars flew by.  He had the perfect Guatemalan expressions for everything I was thinking about the dumb drivers.  We got close to town and he offered me to use his phone to call my couchsurfing host.  My contact wasn’t in town at the moment, so it was just as easy to head home with Manglio.  He ordered a pizza as we arrived into the city!  At this point I was running on an empty tank and was thankful to not have to navigate in an unfamiliar town, and that food was on its way.

So here I am, well fed, after having spent dinner around the table with Manglio and his beautiful family.  Earlier today I got a half hour history lesson about the different family dogs courtesy of the two youngest siblings (there are six kids altogether).  Then they started asking me about my tent, and somehow the issue of pillows came up.  I said I usually just bunch up my sweater, but they didn’t think this was a good idea.  The two went to their rooms to grab one of their pillows each, and the sister, a little older and quicker, was able to stuff her pillow into my tent first.  So right now I have a 4 foot long Disney princess pillow for the night!

So there you have it.  From the dregs of society to a family that has opened its home to a complete stranger.

I was quite behind on uploading pictures from Mexico, but they are all up on my flickr site now. The descriptions of the pictures are still lacking, and I’ll be telling some more stories about them later. But for now I’ll let them speak for themselves.  A few new albums (click on thumbnail to see pictures).  Pictures have also been added to the albums listed on the Gallery page (food, signs, campsites, touring cyclists, etc).

Urique Canyon

Guadalajara

Michoacan

Muchos Mexicanos

Puebla

Oaxaca

Chiapas

Mexico Mosaico

I’m only 50 miles away from the Guatemala border, and should be crossing it tomorrow.

The first 10 miles were difficult, but doable.  I was headed north from Juchitan and had mostly a headwind.  When I got to the main highway I started heading east, and this is where the fun started.  There now was a side wind.  I rode without my feet strapped in, as I frequently had to stop the bike suddenly as to not tip over.

Then it got rough.  The terrain changed a little and the gusts became even stronger.  I would bike a little and be blown onto the shoulder.  I tried to do this for a mile or so, trying to convince myself that I’d be able to make it.  But I looked behind me to see how little progress I had made in the last hour, and the reality was I was going to have to hitch a ride.

I tried for a few minutes, and gave up, figuring I was not on the right spot on the highway.  I made it half a mile more when I got blown into the gravel shoulder again, and then as I was loosing my balance, jumped off the bike into the ditch right as a gust of wind rolled the bike once over.  Thankfully me and the bike were just fine.

I sat there for a minute, then dragged my bike back up to the road and held my thumb when pickups came by.  It was not long before a family pulled over and took me 40 miles down the road, where there wasn’t nearly as much wind.  Kind of a tough decision, as I know other cyclists have been able to bike through this stretch, but today it was just looking too impossible.

After getting back on the road on the bike, a little ways on I noticed a person on the highway walking quickly, running at times.  I’ve seen plenty of folks out on the highway, but most seem like they know what they are doing (often out herding animals or whatnot).  As I biked by I could tell he was exerting himself, so I shouted out asking if he wanted water.  He said yes and crossed the highway.  The guy couldn’t have been older than 20, and had a swollen and bloody lip.  He gulped down the bottle of water I gave him, and I picked up just a little of his story.  He said he had gotten robbed (though he didn’t explain where, or how he had ended up alone on the highway, or where he was trying to get to today), and he was from Guatemala and was trying to make his way to Mexico City and beyond to ‘el otro lado’, the other side.  He didn’t really want to talk,  and kept walking on.  A grim reminder the migrant’s struggle can start thousands of miles south of the USA border.

I’m now in Tapanatepec, where the highway splits, either continuing down the coast to Tapachula and Guatemala, or back inland to Tuxtla Gutierrez and San Cristobal, which is what I’ll be doing.

Thank you all for the birthday messages! I have fond memories of birthdays in years past with family and friends, and this year was a little different but I was still able to celebrate and be thankful for another year of life. I think it was a year ago on my birthday that I decided to give my ‘three months’ notice at work, which pretty much sealed the deal that I’d be going on this trip. It is crazy to think of everything that has happened in the last year.

For the past many months I’ve been in the mountains of Mexico, pretty much since the long climb from the coast to Tepic in December. The past few days were a climb out of the Oaxaca City valley which was ridiculously curvy, but with very little traffic which was nice. Here is a satellite view of part of the road, with the line Google has used to represent the road. Usually Google has pretty accurate representations of roads, but it looks like they just gave up on this one:

View Larger Map

Once I got to Tehuantepec, I had 15 miles of perfectly straight and flat road to Juchitan. Juchitan is marked on the map below. I came out of the mountains today, and will be heading along the coast for a couple days.

This is the narrowest part of Mexico, only about 125 miles, and the lack of tall mountain ranges (the lowest point crossing from one ocean to the other is only 750 feet) means that all sorts of weather makes its way through here from both the Pacific and Gulf of Mexico. I’ll be going through a town tomorrow called La Ventosa, or “The Windy”. I got a taste of that wind today, and know it is just a little of what is to come as I head east. Supposedly trucks get blown over!

Cyclists will tell you that they would much prefer a hill than headwind, but worse than those two is side winds with gusts. With hills you can find a rhythm while pedaling and you know that you’ll get to the top eventually. With headwinds you just have to pedal through it and hope that the next day treats you better. But side winds can make biking impossible. But many cyclists have survived the isthmus. It’ll be challenging!

I should be in Chiapas in a few days, and then will head up to San Cristobal de las Casas, which is up in the mountains. Its a 6,000 foot climb in about 40 miles!

Today was a day of contrasts.  I left Atlacomluco with an idea that it was going to be hectic.  I had spend time online looking for information about a brand new highway that goes from Atlacomulco to Texmelucan, near Puebla.  It was built so traffic could go around Mexico City, which is exactly what I want to do.  However, the part from Atlacomulco to Jilotepec hasn’t been finished, and what I had read is that the opening of this segment is being eagerly anticipated because the tiny country highway that is the only other option is terrible.  And I agree.  Potholes, idiot drivers, absolutely no shoulder, barking dogs running after me.  Awful architecture to boot (then again I was probably just looking for more reasons to hate this road).

I finally got to Jilotepec and found the entrance to the new tollway, which still hadn’t opened.  I chatted with some of the engineers and they said go ahead!  So I had a few miles of brand new tollway all to myself.  Then I arrived to the part which is open, and took this the 12 miles to Tula.  The shoulder seemed wider than the lanes from earlier today.  But the problem is the bridges don’t have a shoulder, and traffic is so fast that it is hard to know if two trucks are coming behind you or not.

When I exited at Tula, the guard at the tollbooth told me that bikes aren’t allowed, so go around the side so the sensors won’t think a car went through without paying (the usual routine on tollways here in Mexico).  I’m not sure I want to get back on the tollway, as the services on it are many miles apart and there is very little shade to rest under.  On the other hand, I don’t know what the safest back roads are.   I think I’ll sleep on it and decide tomorrow.

I set out today from the old cobblestoned town of Tlalpujahua, famous for its nearby mine that operated for many centuries.  I had used satellite pictures to find a long way to Atlacomulco.  I found a route that would take me up to 10,100 feet, and down into the valley I would have come through had I gone through Angangueo to see the butterflies as I had originally hoped for.  But the recent flooding and mudslides have devastated the area, the worst disaster the town remembers.  I had my heart set on going there, and I will be back one day.  Unfortunately it seems as though assistance to this community is severely lacking at the moment.

I had gotten close to 10,000 feet in Utah and then again a few days ago in Michoacan, so this was a good chance to break that mark.  I made my way east across the Michoacan- Mexico border, and the headed south on some paved roads.  I passed a few small towns not in my atlas, and then followed my nose up a dirt road into the hills.  For a whole very quiet hour, no cars passed either direction, and the only people I saw were a family washing clothes in a creek.

After emerging from the pass I had a spectacular view of the valley hundreds of feet below, and off in the distance, the snow-covered peak of the Nevado de Toluca (gotta love the redundancy).  This volcano is the 4th highest peak in Mexico at 15,354 feet.  I could see one other snow covered peak farther behind Toluca but am not sure which it was.

The dirt road turned into pavement again, and then the cars returned.  I think I’ll be looking for some more back country routes again.

I completed the 7,000th mile of the trip today (11,265 km), and am feeling great at the moment!  Very happy to be back on the road after a slow last month.  Tomorrow I head to Tula, Hidalgo, about 50 miles north-east of here.

Well I’ve not gone too far since last updating 3 weeks ago (but I have done my best to keep my location on the map updated).  After stopping by in Patzcuaro on my way back from Mexico City, I returned to Guadalajara, where my bike was patiently waiting for me (and with a nice layer of dust).  I thought I’d be eager to get back on the road, but found myself in Guadalajara for another week and a half.  My host Prisca, who’s had over 50 couchsurfing visitors from around the world in the past years, hosts a potluck dinner every Wednesday.  Out of town visitors and other Guadalajara couchsurfing hosts come around, and if you are her guest, you’ll probably be asked by Prisca to cook something (WORST HOST EVER!*).  A French couple, JC and Gaelle, backpacking around the Americas had shown up that morning, so we made a meal together.  A lot of fun people!

*Inside joke, but I’m sure you understood the sarcasm.

Then there was a few days of rain, so I was in no mood to leave.  Then Sunday came around and I wanted to witness in person what is called the Via RecreActiva, which is a system of main roads in Guadalajara and surrounding suburbs that are closed off to non-vehicular traffic from 8am to 2pm every week.  Several cities in Colombia are credited for starting initiatives like this, and the idea has spread around the world.  It is encouraging that the 2nd largest city in Mexico can pull something off like this.

I had a blast!  The main street that goes through downtown was packed with all sorts of folks of all ages, shapes and sizes, mostly on bike, but roller skates and foot as well.  There were stations in parks where you could take dance lessons, jump rope, chess, and free bike repairs.  Businesses had piles of bikes parked outside.  It seems to me one could only conclude cities really need more permanent bike infrastructure, citizens are happy to use them, and area businesses seem to do well from it.

I spent the next week not doing much.  The longer I waited, the more I worried that getting back on the bike was going to be rather difficult.  I did finally take off the following Sunday, crossing the majority of the city on the Via RecreActiva.  It may have added a mile or two to get to the highway, but was worth not battling the cars.

I pushed myself (and the bike I guess) 60 miles, which probably was a bad idea considering it had been almost 5 weeks off the bike.  That evening I found a hotel right off the highway turnoff for La Barca, which was rather expensive, but after inquiring about cheaper hotels further in town, the owner took pity on me and slashed the price for me.  It was still more expensive that I have usually paid in Mexico, but as I sat there I could feel my fried brain fading very fast (I hadn’t gotten back into the routine of eating enough yet), so I accepted his offer and spent the night there.  It was the first hotel I’ve stayed in that didn’t give me the ubiquitous Venus Rosa soap, rather, it had its own logo on it.

The next few days into Morelia were uneventful, if not hilly.  This brought the total mileage for January was to 200 miles.  In comparison, I averaged 1,200 miles a month the first four months of my trip.  But I’m in no hurry, so I don’t worry about that too much.

I showed up in Morelia and was welcomed by Juan Carlos, a friend of my sister she had put me in touch with.  I figured I’d stay one, maybe two days at most to see this beautiful historic city.  That all changed the 2nd night when I was hit with some sort of food poisoning.  Not Fun.  I spent the next two days in bed, rather weak from having eaten barely anything for lack of an appetite.

I finally regained enough strength where I felt I could get back on the bike the next day, when an incredible hail storm hit Morelia that evening.  This was a prelude to 4 days of rain that barely took a break, so I decided to stay put.  Not only is biking in the rain not fun, I had my eyes set on riding up into the mountains to visit the monarch butterfly sanctuaries.  The butterflies migrate here to spend the winter.  Braving the rain would have meant showing up and not being able to enjoy the butterflies, as they only fly around when it is warm out.

So finally today the clouds lightened up and blue sky made an appearance.  One forecast for tomorrow morning says “Abundant sun”.  But this is a little too late, as the region has seen record breaking rain for this time of year.  The town of Angangueo where I was headed to, near one of the butterfly reserves, had landslides and just this evening it and several other areas were declared emergency states.

I’ve been here in Morelia for over a week now, and I’m not exactly sure where I’ll go next, it seems like the butterflies are not realistic option in the near future (whether they can even survive such an onslaught of constant rain is another concern).  I’ll probably leave tomorrow and see how far I can get, as several roads in this area are being closed.  I may see myself back on the toll highway sooner than I expected, which I was hoping to avoid by taking the more rural routes up into the mountains.  My dilemma and uncertain plans are all quite minor though, as there have been several deaths and hundreds of folks evacuated to safer areas less prone to flooding.

As juniors in highschool, we were allowed to explore the town in the evening unsupervised.  As an adolescent, the feeling of independence was huge, despite the fact that we had to be back before curfew.  I wanted to go back and see the town again, and of course find some sopa tarasca, which I did, and which was as delicious as I remembered it.

[Continue reading for more photos.  Click here to see the whole Patzcuaro flickr album]

I spent two nights in Patzcuaro.  I wandered around for a little after getting off the bus, and found my way to a cheap hotel on one of the squares.  The hotel was on the second story of the building, and the courtyard had skylights that looked down into the pool hall below.

I spent the night walking around, eating a torta from one of the many street stalls (and survived just fine thank you).

The next morning I walked around town, enjoying the architecture.  All of the buildings in the historic center are painted with a deep red stripe, and the lettering for the businesses are all hand-painted in red and black.  Most of the roofs are covered in ceramic shingles.

As is usual with such an old town, the courtyards hidden behind old doors are quaint and charming.

A visit to the public library, which has an impressive mural.

The picture for the Ushuaia entry from an encyclopedia from the 70′s.

I felt my $12 hotel room was a little too expensive, so I moved to the hotel around the corner where I scored a nice little room for $8.  Of course, it had a floor made out of glass tiles, directly above the lobby downstairs.

Then late in the afternoon, a ferry ride to Janitzio Island, in the middle of Lake Patzcuaro.

A climb to the top of the Morelos monument.

An cold and overcast day, but nice views nonetheless.

I’m back in Guadalajara for a few days before I take off again.

Aside from vendors and beggars, Mexico City’s underground Metro train also has its share of creative performers looking for some spare change. In the past few days I witnessed some singing, a clown, a comedy routine, and today on my way to the bus terminal, a young man walking on shards of glass…

As and aside, I am writing this from the bus that is taking me from Mexico City to Morelia, which offers WiFi internet on board.  How the world is changing!

I last updated over two weeks ago (sorry!) from Guadalajara.  After a bus ride into Mexico City, I spent Christmas with my friends the Petersons.  The next day I met up with my friend Karla, who I’ve known since grade school and then in Chicago.  I accompanied her and her family for a few days in the coastal state of Veracruz.  We returned to Mexico City in time for New Years.  Starting on New Year’s eve, the next 48 hours were a continuous celebration as relatives came to visit and eat.  Karla’s family has been very welcoming and I have enjoyed participating in all the holiday festivities.

I’ve worked on getting photos from my last few days in Arizona and then Sonora, the first state I crossed in Mexico.  I have plenty more photos from Mexico to sort through but in the meantime here is a sample of sights so far:

The past few days have felt a little rushed, squeezing so many miles in has meant too much time on the bike and very little to get to know the placed I’ve passed through.  But I wanted to get to Guadalajara as soon as I could as  I’ll be taking a bus into Mexico City for Christmas which is only a few days away, and I needed to get to a place where I could leave my bike for a week or two.  I’m looking forward to being back in Mexico City and seeing friends.

NAY stands for Nayarit, which is the 3rd state of Mexico on this trip so far.  Up until now I’ve mostly been at sea level, though tomorrow I am headed to Tepic, at about 3,000 feet.  I’ve done little climbing the past month and a half, so it will be a little challenging.

I ran into a cyclist yesterday, Nelson from Portugal.  He started in New Jersey about 5 months ago.  It has been good to have some company, the last time I cycled with someone was in Arizona over a month and a half ago.

From here I plan on going to Guadalajara and from there figuring out where to go for the Christmas and New Years.

I spent half the time getting over a cold in Creel, a town way up in the mountains.  There I met some great folks at a hostel, in particular, four Australians backpacking around Mexico.  There are many things to do in the area, but I hadn’t the energy but to go to some hot springs.

It ended up being cheaper for 5 of us to rent a 2 bedroom apartment, so we moved into our casita and enjoyed many home cooked meals and lots of poker played with cotton swabs as chips.  One night it snowed in Creel, which was  exciting, especially as some of the Australians had never seen snow.

After Creel, I made my way to the town of Urique on bus, which is at the bottom of a canyon.  The road goes downhill wit about 5,000 feet in elevation change to get there.  I stayed at a hostel that has a garden and lots of citrus trees.  Mandarins, lemons and grapefruit galore.  Tim and Anne, two of the Australians, caught up with me from Creel, and we decided to stay in Urique for a few days together.  Hikes in the valley (which really ended up being rides in the back of pickup trucks more than anything), a swim in the Urique river, and coffee roasting and tortilla making lessons were the highlights.

Yesterday we took the bus out of the canyon and the train to El Fuerte, hung out there this morning, and then made our way back to Los Mochis.  Tim and Anne will be travelling to Baja California for a while, but we hope to cross paths again, maybe in Oaxaca?

This is by far the longest time I’ve taken off the bike, 13 days so far (I haven’t taken more than 5 days off at a time, and usually no more than 2 or 3).  That I don’t have to worry about cold weather now, and that I’ve wanted to go to the Copper Canyon(s) region for years meant I decided to just take my time and be in no hurry to get back on the bike.  It was worth it and I have no regrets having put the bike trip on hold for that long.  From Los Mochis I’ll continue along the coast until Mazatlan, and then from there I’ll need to think about whether to continue along the coast or head into the Sierra again, which would most likely take me through Guadalajara.

I’ll upload pictures and tell more stories at some point.

There isn’t a towel, soap or toilet paper in the bathroom, I’m not surprised.  No worries, I pack these items anyway.  I open the door of the dilapidted dresser, and there, laid out, are two bars of Rosa Venus (standard issue soap at any Mexican hotel) on top of a towel, a roll of toilet paper made up of odds and ends from other half-used rolls, and a jug of water with a plastic glass on top.  The glass has lipstick on it.  Classy!

The neighbor in room 5 plays music for a while but I sleep just fine.  I’m up at the usual time, 7:30 with no alarm.  I stay in bed for a while, though I’ve decided to take a day off, I don’t know for sure yet if I can spend another night at the guesthouse.  On my way out to get grocieries, I ask the owner if I can stay another night, she says sure, stay as long as you need.

At the grocery store, I pick up a few pastries.  In Mexico, you pick your pastries, place them on a metal tray, and take the pastries to the pastry counter, and there they put them into a bag and write the price on it.  Everything in the store now has barcodes, so I don’t see why you can’t just take it to the register.  But then the pastry counter employee would be out of a job!  Back at the room, I prepare the usual oatmeal and coffee.  Here at sea level, however, the water boils at much higher temperature than what I’m used to.  I almost can’t hold onto the coffee filter while I pour the hot water over the grounds.  But I manage somehow, eager for that caffeine fix.

Over to the internet cafe.  Mostly younger folks here.  One kid watches boxing clips on YouTube, another plays a game, a girl prints out lyrics to a song and another girl looks for pictures for a school report of the damage done by tropical storm Jimena that hit the area just a few months before.

Back to the room, and then over to the grocery store again.  Empalme is big enough to have a couple chain supermarkets, but doesn’t have the big name retail or fast food stores.  It is a young town, stickers on windows proclaim the 100 year anniversary that was celebrated in 2005.  I can go about town with relative ease, it seems there is little tourism, so vendors are there to cater to the local residents, and no one tries to sell me things.  A few people do ask for pesos para completar los tacos, but there are no beggars stationed anywhere.

I buy an avocado, cheese, two limes and half a kilo of flour tortillas that have just come out of the machine steaming hot.  They are chewy, moist, a little doughy still, and have a delicate taste more like Swedish pancakes than anything you can find even in a Mexican grocery store in Chicago.  Back in the room I work on the problem of quesadilla engineering that has haunted me since the beggining of the trip: how to fold the tortilla and cheese so as to fit two at a time in the small cast iron skillet.  I come up with a way to roll the tortilla up neatly, but this encloses the cheese too tightly.  Runny cheese that seeps out and gets nice and crispy is a must in my book.  I’ll either have to start trimming the tortiillas so they fit, or trade the skillet for a larger one.

The serviceman arrives to install cable TV for the lady in the room next door.  It seems I have a choice, stay two nights or end up here for the rest of my life.

The church at the end of the block has been busy all day.  A funeral, a wedding, but this time I walk by and nothing is going on.  I walk in and take a seat at the back.  Three women go about sweeping the floor.  The one at the front is shushing another who is at the back.  But she is too busy talking to a dad who is there with his son.  The topic is her gastrointestinal issues.  She says carbonated bevareges don’t treat her well.  I am tempted to take a picuture of the older lady sweeping, but don’t want to be that pesky tourist.  Right then, I kid you not, a man walks into the church, and flash and all, starts taking pictures of the lady.  She ignores this completely and dutifully continues with her chore.

I read a few chapters of a book I stumbled across in Prescott, AZ titled “Southwestern Utopia”.  The book had lost its cover and was in a sealed bag, but the inside covers had a hand drawn map of Mexico, with a detail of the area of Los Mochis and Topolobampo, Sinaloa.  This alone made me want to get it.  The gist of the book is this, without going into too many details:  Alfred Owens is a child during the time of the Civil War.  His dad is a well respected medic and Alfred helps his dad on the battlefield.  Alfred gets a good education and ends up doing survey work for the Kansas City, Mexico and Orient Railway.  The railroad will link up Kansas City to a Pacific port in Mexico in the Gulf of California and will be much shorter route to the ocean than California by several hundred miles (look at a map!). Somehow decides to start a colony in Mexico, his surveys of the Topolomampo area make for a perfect port city.  He has the buy in of all sorts of important politicans of the time (including the American and Mexican presidents).  He promotes the colony all over the US and raises funds.  Folks are overly enthusiastic and come in boatloads too early.  Many stay and endure hardship of building a town from scratch.  We’ll find out how this story ends another time.  If I don’t finish the book, no worry, I’ll be in Los Mochis in a few days.

Dinner time, so over to Don Tamal.  Three tamales, including a chocolate tamal which I take with me to enjoy later.  I’m sad as I know I won’t be back to eat here anytime soon.

I leave town the next morning, and ask directions at every block.  The directions out to the highway generally consist of folks pointing and saying vete todo derecho, roughly, just keep going straight that way.  It works!

A few dozen miles and I arrive at a town so foresaken I’ll not even mention its name.  I go over to the OXXO of course, and am approached by a group of little boys and a swarm of gnats.  The usual questions, but also if I got stopped by the federales.  I buy a Coke and move over to the other side of the parking lot under the shade of the gas station.  I watch two drunks pretend to fight.  Or maybe they are really fighting but are too drunk to do any harm to each other?  I eat my chocolate tamal from the night before.  I bike a mile to the other end of town and find a more peaceful gas station and eat some PB&J.  My peanut butter supply is dwindling.  Oh no!

More tedious biking in the heat.  I make it to a toll booth just north of Esperanza, any further and I’ll be in a city with less luck of finding a place to camp.  I ask if I can set my tent up outside of the gas station office.  I watch part of the ranchero movie Zacazonapan starring Pedro Infante Jr. in the lounge.  Some truckers that are spending the night in the rest area talk to me.  I ask them a little about their jobs.  I mention the military checkpoint I saw a few days before, they say it can take over 10 hours sometime to wait in line.  There are dozens of other questions I decide would be a good idea not to ask, so don’t.

A very noisy night and the only reason I sleep is because I’m exhausted.  The trucks keep coming through.  In the morning I go to use the restroom.  As is usually the case at gas stations, there is an attendant outside that will let you in and hand you a ration of toilet paper in exchange for 3 pesos.  I pick the only stall out of three that has a toilet seat only to find the door doesn’t shut well.  I try to wash my hands but neither faucet works.  Am not sure why the worst restrooms in Mexico are the ones you have to pay for.  What a racket.

I pack up and leave without breakfast, something I rarely do, but I’m fed up with the rest stop. Past Ezperanza and a few miles to Ciudad Obregon.  To Walmart for some pastries and coffee, and then across the parking lot to the VIPS diner.  The waitress takes my order on a little handheld computer.  My molletes arrive lukewarm, and I remember this happens everytime I’m at VIPS, next time I need to ask for them extra melted.  Or just not go to VIPS.

On my way through Ciudad Obregon, the main road splits in two.  One way the sign says “Navojoa, Los Mochis”, the other way “Navojoa, Los Mochis”.  Choose your own adventure!  I’m disappointed later to find out both routes meet up again.  I stop at one of the many OXXOs for some water.  I’m in line, wearing a bright reflective vest, holding a 1.5 liter bottle of water when a guy walks up to the cashier and places his Coke on the counter.  I’ve encountered this situation several times before at other OXXOs.  It seems as though if you want faster service, you simply cut in line and crowd the cash register.  I remind myself I’m in no hurry and that it is  not worth raising a stink.

Bike for an hour or two, stop at the next OXXO.  Repeat.  This gets me to Navojoa, where I’ve contacted a host through CouchSurfing.

The hotel in Benjamín Hill has a gated entrance that gets closed at night.  I look around the courtyard to find the owner.  I ask him if he could please open the gate, as I’d like to run to the corner store.  ”Well” he says, “I don’t know what ustedes usually eat (you guys? cyclists? gringos? bearded freckled gringo cyclists? I dare not ask him for clarification).  You can only get soda and chips there, why don’t you head into a town, go to a restaurant and buy yourself a carne asada, it will only cost you 40 pesos”.  I tell him “that sounds like a great idea for lunch or supper, but right now I’m just going to go buy some milk to go with the oatmeal I have back in the room”.  He shrugs his shoulders, “as you wish”, and opens the gate for me.

I’m back in one minute, the store is closed this early in the morning. I sit outside my room and eat my oatmeal.  The owner comes by and I ask him if I can take some fruit from one of the trees in the courtyard.  Apparently I’ve asked incorrectly, whether it be poor grammar or improper sentence structure, and he begins to lecture me.  He isn’t grumpy or nasty about it, but for some reason feels the need to correct me.  I don’t even get his explanation.  I guess I’m still thinking in English and translating into Spanish.

Between Benjmin Hill and Hermosillo the road is made up of many stretches that are perfectly straight for a dozen miles at a time.  I’m accustomed to riding in the mountains of the West and have come to understand the language of valleys, washes, basins, rims and passes.  This flat desert of Sonora seems monotonous and uninspired, and I have not yet learned how to appreciate biking through it.  Today I can only focus on riding in a straight line, constantly looking back in my mirror, rarely stopping for pictures.

An hour into my riding, I pass a military checkpoint for northbound traffic.  I can see trucks lined up, and begin counting them.  I give up at 100.  The truck drivers are standing around talking while their engines idle, vendors with coolers walk along selling drinks.  The line is over 3 miles long and only budges once in the time it takes me to bike by it.

I stop at a run down restaurant for quesadillas for lunch.  Later I stop at an OXXO for some junk food.  I diligently put the wrapper in an uncovered garbage can, and right then a gust of wind blows it out of the can and across the parking lot.  There is no way I can chase it down.  I look around, trash everywhere, and feel just a little less guilty about littering.  At the next gas station there are a bunch of police that start talking to me and asking questions about my trip.  One of them points to another and says, A este le gusta ir a Alaska, this guy likes to visit Alaska.  ”Oh, yeah it is so pretty” I say, and then the punch line to the joke I didn’t realize was being set up.  A las kaguamas.  Hilarious guys.

I arrive in the outskirts of Hermosillo just as the sun is setting.  This city is huge and no one uses their turn signals.  I keep on pedalling, knowing that I’ve got a CouchSurfing host waiting for me.  I make it to the McDonalds, an easy landmark, and give him a call.  A few minutes later Rodolfo shows up and we walk back to the apartment.  He just came back from a summer of working in Canada and lives with his mom and brother.  We talk for a while about our travels and whatnot.  He is getting used to being back in a huge city after months in small Canadian towns.  I can sympathize with this.  At about 8pm, he leaves to meet up at a get together with other Hermosillo Couchsurfing hosts.  I’m already yawning and get to bed early.

I’m awake at 7:30 and hang around the apartment for a while, then go to buy groceries and eat some lunch with Rodolfo.  I don’t get going until 1pm, but I know today is shorter than yesterday.  It is about 100 miles to Guaymas, the next city, too much for one day, but I know there is a gas station at a junction 55 miles away.  I have no idea what it will be like, but decide I can’t worry in the least about it.  I can’t spend my whole time in Mexico in hotels and with CouchSurfing hosts, so I might as well get used to camping once in a while.  I’ve decided that the gas station will be a safer option than pulling off the side of the busy highway.  Up until now there have been few places ideal for camping.

There is a small ridge to get over, and when I do, the air immediately feels different.  It is denser, warmer, and I think it smells like the sea.  I’m only 30 miles from the Gulf of California at this point.  I make it to the truck stop and amble around a little, trying to figure out who is in charge.  I ask one of the gas station attendants if I can camp behind the building, he says, sure.  I’m not convinced though yet.  I look around the back and see which uneven patch of littered gravel I’d rather set my tent up on.

Abraham comes by and starts talking to me.  He works in the mechanic’s garage, and says I can set up  my tent on the concrete.  He is from the area, tells me about his family and his work at the truck stop, and makes me feel welcome and unconcerned about spending the night there.  The lights stay on all night and he sleeps in a little room nearby in case trucks come by needing to get cleaned.

He sits down with me while I make dinner and eat.  I say sorry, I don’t have enough to share but that I’d be happy to treat him to a Coke, and he accepts.  His family brings him dinner later anyway.  I ask him about the road ahead and where I should try to make it to the next night.  I’ve picked a little town halfway between here and the next big city so that the mileages would work out nicely, but he says that isn’t such a good idea.  I run the names of some other towns on the map by  him, and he tells me about the varying degree of “indian-ness” of the towns.  He tells me that he is Yaqui, and that there are Mayos and Huicholes down the coast.  His grandpa speaks Yaqui fluently, his dad just sometimes, but Abraham only knows a few phrases.  I ask if he wants to learn to speak, he tells me that since he grew up in the city there isn’t any point.

I get in my tent and am falling asleep when a truck pulls in to get sprayed off.  Abraham is hard at work with the high pressure hose for several hours.  Somehow I sleep well despite the idling trucks and the engine brakes throughout the night.

I eat breakfast while talking to Abraham, and leave the gas station by 9.  I make it to Guaymas late morning and end up taking a dead end to a hotel on a beach.  They have RV spots for US$19, but it is still so early in the day and there isn’t much to do near the hotel.  I find my way into downtown.  It is Friday and things are very busy, and the hotels are all US$30 and up.  I consider splurging to celebrate my arrival back to sea level, but don’t want to stop so soon.  At the very least I’ll get lunch in Guaymas, tostadas de ceviche.  I fill my water bottles up at a water purifying storefront for 2 pesos, good deal.

On to Empalme, just 5 miles away, where I hope to find a cheaper hotel.  I do, but it is full for the night and the owner tells me of a guest house.  I ask if there is a sign on the building, he says yes.  I get lost trying to find it and miss Chicago where everything is X blocks north, south, east or west, and where you can use the address to navigate.  After asking several people, I end up talking to a cop who tells me I’m almost there.  He is enthusiastic that I am in Empalme, and tells me that in this is the town Charlie Chaplin got married.  He was coming through on the railroad at the time.  We’ve got his marriage certificate.  Sweet!  I’m happy to have ended up here for the night, for this alone is reason enough.

[This comic strip, which is narrated by the town's historic water tower built in the middle of the town square (very picturesque!), tells of the story of Chaplin's visit to Empalme]

I make it to the guest house, there is no sign outside.  It is a long narrow courtyard with a single story row of rooms on each side.  I look around, it is an odd place.  Painted assorted shades of pale green.  One of the guests has a fridge in his room, and he sits in front of a TV, you can tell that some of the folks probably live here.  The owner comes be and shows me a room.  It probably saw its prime when Chaplin came through town.  But it is safe, is full of character, and for US$8 a deal hard to beat.

I ask where to get some food, and am told of Don Tamale just a block away.  For 2nd lunch, 3 tamales with beans and a Coke for US$4.  ¡Exquisito! I feel right at home talking to the owner, a retired school teacher.  I ask her why the 20th was celebrated on the 16th and not the 20th (I’ve been asking folks along the way).  We all agree it makes no sense, after all, it is the politicians in Mexico City who write the laws.  She says they are open until 8 if I want to come back for dinner.

A walk around the town square, and find a refreshing glass of horchata.  Then back to the guest house to look at my map of Mexico (so many possibilities) and work on this blog entry.  Then back to Don Tamale for a plateful of beans, mashed potatoes and shredded marlin with a cup of beef broth and bottomless corn tortillas, US$3.20.  On my way out, the owner says see you tomorrow.  I guess I’m a regular already.

With a cheap place to stay and with so much unknown down the road, I’m tempted to take a day off here in Empalme tomorrow.  Doesn’t seem to be much to do around here, so I may just eat myself to death out of boredom, but that wouldn’t be such a bad thing.

It is 29°F on my thermometer, I decide to stay in my sleeping bag 15 more minutes.  I know I should get going as the border awaits, but for some reason don’t feel terribly hurried.  Eventually I get up and put several layers on just to be comfortable for breakfast, knowing that I won’t need them in an hour and probably not again for many weeks.

Then I remember, the clock I had in the tent is an hour ahead, so really I’ve woken up much earlier than usual.  I take my time putting together the usual breakfast I’ve eaten just about every morning on the trip.  Raisins, a packet of flavored instant oatmeal with some plain (bulk, cheaper) oats to make it stretch, and coffee in a little filter in my mug.  Then the boiling water into each.  And when the water is done, I toast a bagel in my skillet.  By the time the bagel is toasted the oatmeal and coffee are cool enough to drink.

I pack up, head back into town and stop by the post office to send out a bunch of postcards.  There I meet Janie, all smiles, who is moping the floor.  She is enthusiastic about my trip, and also reassuring about the safety south of the border.  I’ll be fine, the protection I need surrounds me, she says.  She recently moved to Patagonia and already knows the area well enough to be doing real estate.  She confides (SSHHH don’t tell anyone) that the cleaning job at the post office is a great place to network and hand out business cards.

The 20 miles to Nogales are quick.  On the outskirts, I stop at a gas station in search for an ATM.  None to be found but I talk to the employee who is helpful and answers my questions about crossing the border.  Then into the city and I decide to eat a McDonalds lunch before crossing the border.  I sit inside with a view of my bike and ponder my proximity to Mexico.  I realize that within plain view, following the contour of the hills, is the wall that divides the two countries.

I ride down the lane of traffic signed “Mexico”.  I go into a little office and get my passport stamped.  Then I continue down the street for a little.  Everything seems chaotic.  It seems as though the streets turns into a sidewalk, and the sidewalks into a drainage canals, and vice versa, with no rhyme or reason.  I’ve got to keep an eye on the road.

I sit stupidly behind a truck for a couple minutes before realizing that there indeed is no driver in it and that the street is really full of parked cars.  The crowd isn’t standing by the side of the road waiting for the ambulance to go by.  Law enforcement cars, ambulances and motorcycle gangs revving their engines are all part of a parade today.

I go up to a man and ask what is being celebrated.  The 20th of November he says.  I’m a little confused, as its the 16th of November.  The 20th marks the Revolution of 1910, but I’ve forgotten this important date.  Lo hicieron de puente he says, roughly, we’re just observing it a little early out of convenience.

The parade is an obstacle but I’m told to just head one block east to continue south.  The four lanes of this road are usually the north-bound traffic, but everyone seems to know that traffic is being redirected, and thus two lanes are for south bound traffic today.

On my way out of Nogales, I get lots of waves, thumbs up, whistles, applause and cheers.  This gets to my head quickly and soon I’m waving to everyone that even just looks at me.

Everywhere the smells seem different.  Cars belch out black smoke, storefronts smell of that very Mexican smelling cleaning solution, and the many food puestos smell of that very Mexican smelling charcoal.

I know there is a town, Ímuris, 40 miles south of the border and that is my goal for the day.  I’m excited to be in Mexico, I’m envisioning sitting in the public square, the zocalo that evening.  But the reality of where I am soon sets in.  From what I can tell Ímuris is mostly all on the highway, including the first hotel I see.  There is no zocalo.  I ask someone, is there a hotel more removed from the highway, but this is stupid as the majority of my nights have been spent by highways anyway.

I roll my bike into the hotel room and shower, the water is barely lukewarm.  A little cable TV and then back out to the highway where one block in either direction is open air eateries.  I walk up and down the block, as if I knew how to spot the best one.  So I pick one at random and take a seat.

What can we offer you?  Is there a menu, I ask.  No, just say what you want, del uno al cien, from one to a hundred, we’ve got it.  So I get five quesadillas with meat, and a Coke.  The food is served on plastic plates covered in a thin plastic bag.  Is this to assure the customer of high sanitary standards, or to make cleanup easier?  Both probably.

I head back to the room and get sucked in by the cable TV.  I end up watching Friends for a little.  I normally find this show unbearable but the subtitles make it entertaining.  Sometimes it seems as though the translators understand the idioms and translate them true to their meaning, then other times they seem to have completely missed the joke.  A couple hours of channel surfing.  I sing my heart out along with Hombres G.

I wake up and head to the OXXO convenience store.  I’m sure I’ve already seen a dozen along the highway, and it has only been 40 miles.  That is comforting in a way, I’ll always have somewhere to buy snacks.  I buy a liter of milk and some Bimbo buñuelos. I ask to use their phone booth, as the night before I had been unsuccessful in using the payphone to call my parents.  The cashier informs me that to call the US I dial 001520 and then the number.  This doesn’t work, and it dawns on me that she’s assumed I’m calling the 520 area code which is southern Arizona, including Tucson.

A slow morning as I’ve set my sights on a town only 52 miles away.  I bike for 2 hours and then stop for lunch.  Quesadillas with meat again, then over to the OXXO (there is also one across the street) for water and donuts.  Another application of sunscreen.  It is warm out, not very humid though, and so biking isn’t terribly uncomfortable.  But I’m still at about 2,500′, and it is only going to get warmer as I head south and down to sea level.

I’m focused on my steering.  The highway is divided, two lanes in each direction.  More often than not there is not a shoulder.  This keeps me alert as cars and especially trucks have a hard time driving side by side, the lanes are just too narrow.  Not enough room for a cyclist, so most people pull over and give me enough space.

After another hour of cycling I decide to take a break, I’ve got plenty of daylight and want to take it easy.  I pull just off the highway and find some shade from a huge abandoned corrugated metal roof, but I’m not actually in the building.  I’m staring at my Mexico highway map, thoughts wandering, and notice a man with a huge beer belly walking, waddling, slowly across the vacant space.  He looks over very briefly and I say buenas tardes, but he doesn’t acknowledge me.  He continues walking and turns his back and stares out into the open field for a moment.  Then he walks over in my direction, and stops right where the roof and the cement floor end.  Hola, que tal I say as politely as I can.  He just stands there though, ten feet away, with a blank look on his face.  He is not threatening in the least, but the awkwardness of the situation is.  I decide I don’t want to be watched like this while I drink my water, and decide to just keep going.  I’ve already tried twice with small talk but it obviously is a lost cause.

The main town of Benjamín Hill is a kilometer off the highway, but my brain is too fried to check it out so I go to inquire at the hotel at the turn-off.  Even more expensive than the night before.  Both times I’ve asked for a cyclist’s discount but none exists.  I’ve lost any ability to bargain.

Some TV, then I check for an internet signal but it is password protected.  I wander around the courtyard, don’t seen any employees, and head back to my room when a man from the 2nd floor office says Diga, Can I help you.  From the first floor I say Yes, quick question, I noticed there was a wireless internet signal and wanted to know if guests can use it.  He didn’t catch that, so I repeat myself, and he responds something about medicine for the kidneys.  I am about to give up, assuming he knows nothing of the internet.  I say no, not kidney medicine, Internet.  Oh, internet?  Yes, I didn’t understand what you were saying, he says, you’ve got to speak up and not mumble.  He goes into the first floor office while I wait outside.  Well do you want the password or not, come in!  He then mentions several more times that I was asking the question wrong and was mumbling, but is happy nonetheless to give me the password.

I sent over 11 pounds of stuff home; some of it things I’ve barely used the past 4 months, a bunch of maps and a few books, license plates I’ve found along the road and a heavy jacket I don’t expect to need anytime soon.

Bad news  I can’t let get to me… while out shopping today, somewhere in Tucson, someone stole my water bottle that has the logo of Cycle Smithy, the place I got my bike.  It happened to be my favorite water bottle of the two I have, the other is an uninspiring Performance Bike bottle.  Rather irritating.  Am I surprised it happened in the largest city of my trip so far?  Not really.

After having survived several well below freezing nights, John (he’s got a much more detailed description of our last days together than I’ll ever get around to writing up) and I opted to split a cheap motel on old US Route 66.  The TV in the room has knobs on it…

While things were still looking good at Jacob Lake, just north of the North Rim of the Grand Canyon, I ran into John from England, who has been on the road for about two and a half years.  He cycled from England to Australia, and is now headed east from California across the USA.  We decided to bike together for a few days, as we were both headed to the Grand Canyon.  It has been great having him as a companion!

When it comes to cold weather, I have had a bad record going through National Parks (Jasper and Banff and Yellowstone and Grand Teton being the other chilly ones).  We made it to the South Rim of the Grand Canyon two days ago, barely.  The day started with a climb to the East Entrance of the park that would have been doable had it not been for the gusts of wind blowing us off the road.  We were happy to have made it 30 miles.  That night the temperature dropped to about 20F, not too bad, as we had decided to share a tent that night as we knew it was going to be cold.

The next day we made our way along the South Rim, enjoying some spectacular sights early in the day.  Later in the afternoon, we stopped at some viewpoints and could almost not see across to the North Rim because of the clouds and snow.  We made our way south to just outside Valle, AZ last night, where the temperature got down to 10F!  All our water was frozen in the morning, so we could make breakfast or coffee.  So we are eating in a restaurant right now, hoping it has warmed up a little outside.

From here I am headed to Prescott for a few days off and some planning before headed down to Mexico.

First and last chance to send me mail while I’m in the USA!

Matthew Kelly
GENERAL DELIVERY
442 MILLER VALLEY RD
PRESCOTT, AZ 86301-9998

(Since it is General Delivery at a US Post Office, you must send it via the US Postal Service!)

I am glad to be 2,000 feet lower than last night, which was a little chilly.  I need to get out of the mountains!

Depending on my route, probably my last night in Utah!  On to Arizona.

[Note:  I don't usually eat breakfast outside women's bathrooms, I just happened to be behind a closed rest stop, finding some shelter from the wind]

A few things:

I still have a few odds and ends of food left over from British Columbia.  I am making a point of eating them up.

I am about 700 miles away from crossing into Mexico.

Did I mention I was out of bear country?  At last!

Despite having enjoyed the company of familiar faces on this trip, I have yet to see somewhere that I already know, up until today.  One of the biggest reasons I didn’t take the more traditional coastal route south through the USA is the canyons of southern Utah.

Today was the first day that I’ve retraced routes I’ve previously traveled.  I’ve come out to Escalante along the beautiful UT Hwy 12 three times now with good friends, by car.  The last time I was here was about 7 months ago, and back then I already knew I was leaving on this bike trip, and kept telling myself, “this will be fantastic on a bike”.

So here I am.  No familiar faces.  But familiar sights, and it is the closest I’ll come to feeling at home in a while.  In particular, the red dust that has coated my shoes and the smell of sagebrush have welcomed me back.

And of course, the junipers.  I don’t often refer to my bike by her name, so you may not know I named her Juniper.  I will be sure to get a picture of her propped up against the many junipers that scatter the area.

I hope to do some hiking and camping down in the side canyons of the Escalante river over the next few days.

The approach into Torrey was just what I’ve been waiting for this whole trip.  Around a corner and suddenly it appeared.  Three strips of color; on the bottom, a fluffy yellow-green of grass and sagebrush, on the top, an infinite empty bright blue, and in the middle, a burning mix of reds, pinks and oranges.

I’m now headed to Escalante, canyon country, but I am not sure I’ll make the 64 miles today.  From 6,800 feet here I’ve got a climb for the first 25 miles up to 9,300, the highest elevation of my trip so far.  I’ll be happy just to get that done today.

I better get going.  Once again, not a cloud in the sky.

After the night in the motel in Afton, I ran into a couple from Germany.  They had also spent the night in Afton in a different motel.  We didn’t bike together very long, I was motivated to make up for lost time and was travelling a little faster than them.  I got to Cokeville, WY that night, having done 3 miles in Idaho.

From Cokeville I pressed on to Evanston, where I had a place set up via couchsurfing.org.  Maurizio was a great host, and took me out to have some Chinese food.

Park City, UT was next on my route.  I had found another place to stay via couchsurfing.org, this time with Pam and Tom.  They moved to Utah from the east coast to be closer to all the outdoor adventures the area offers.  They cooked up a great meal for me and I

The next morning I was planning on leaving and continuing to Helper, UT over the next two days to catch the Amtrak and go to Denver for a quick visit to my 98 year-old Grammie Johnson.  However, I looked at airfare and found a flight from Salt Lake that was cheaper than the Amtrak.  So I relaxed in Park City for a day and flew into Denver on Saturday.

I took the shuttle from Denver to Loveland, and stayed with former North Parkers Sten and Erica.  They graciously let me stay at their new home and dropped me off the next day at my grandma’s.  I spent the morning and afternoon with her.  I had brought along an audio recorder, and got to spend some time asking her questions about her life and hearing some of her stories.

That afternoon my cousin Seth came to pick me up and I hung out with him and Kirsten that evening in Golden.  Monday I took the bus into Denver, with the hopes of surprising my friend Jessie, who had no idea I was coming.  I had to wait around, as she was out for the day, but met up with her and Steve (Hawk) later in the afternoon.  It was good to see them!

I flew back into Park City the next morning and was picked up by Pam at the airport.  I got back on the road and made it to Provo, where I stayed with Josh, who I found via couchsurfing.org.  He is a student at BYU and lives with 10 other guys in a house.  They made me feel very welcome, and took me out for a bite and a drink at a swanky (non-alcoholic) lounge downtown.

A short day because of a rain got me as far as Nephi last night, where for the first time in over a week, I set up my tent.  Although I have had a good time hanging out with friends old and new, it was good to be back on the road again.

Well, I am off to get my money’s worth and enjoy some cable TV!

Fortunately, I found this rest stop last night and have been staying dry for the most part.

Better snow than rain!