fruity rum drinks on the beach

After regaining my senses in Orange Walk, I headed for a little rum soak and salt water rinse to dispel the smell of fear and regain some trust in my fellow humans. I got out of Orange Walk by 1pm after arranging a hotel and pedaled a couple hours down the road before stopping at Slim's Place. A roadside bbq joint that smelled good and i was hungry. I sat with a charming 50 year old man on his way back north to Corozal after doing some business in Belize City. We talked about relationships, younger women, middle age, purpose, writing, Anthony Bourdain, food, beer - a pleasant beginning to regaining trust. Several beers and good food later it was 5:30pm and my chair more appealing than my bike seat, so i camped in the yard. The night passed in conversation with an excellently inebriated American ex-pat, an ambitious Garifuna homesteader, as well as, Janice and Slim. And someone's aunt that I could not understand at all. In the morning I had a cup of hot coffee with Slim before heading to Belize City.
Belize besides speaking English uses miles and pounds - my map was in kilometers instead of miles and Belize City was less than 30 miles away instead of 50, pleasant surprise. Of course, if you ask a Belizean they will say, "oh, that is far." Belize is small with a population of about 310,000 people and smaller than NH - nothing is too far. I followed the Belize River into the city stopping to watch silver tarpon porpoising. The city itself is 70,000 people and i found the water taxi terminal easily among the faded two story wooden buildings ready to topple into the winding narrow streets of the old port city. The man in charge was able to lock my bike in a closet at the terminal which saved hassle for all. The water taxi to Caulker Caye/Ambergris Caye seated about 60 people and was a mix of tourists and locals - though everyone looked at my bike shoes. An hour and half after leaving Belize City i was walking down the white sand beach of Ambergris Caye to Ruby's Hotel where i passed four days doing pretty much nothing. Well, first thing i did was find a bookstore and buy the fattest paperback on the shelf, Shogun.
At 25 Belize dollars (2bz=$1) a night Ruby's is a steal which is otherwise priced similar to the United States. My room was right on the beach and Ruby's Hotel is attached to Ruby's cafe - sticky bun perfection. I spent my money walking the beach trying to decide who made the best ceviche. And spent a half day snorkeling on the reef dense with fish, turtles, sharks, rays, moray eels, grouper and snapper - i get hungry just mentioning it. This was my first real tourist stop and it felt a little surreal to be around so many North Americans with money - the conversation script changed but i met some interesting people on Ruby's porches. Made for an easy four days that required little thought.

On Friday morning i had to depart my Caribbean paradise and return to Belize City to pick up a package waiting for me in customs and plan out the rest of my Belize journey.

I think I am going to go snorkeling, and drink fruity rum drinks on the beach for a few days - thank you very much. Off to Ambergris Caye.

malo gente y bueno gente: redux

I can be a pretty adventurous guy. I am not what you call risk adverse. Be it skiing, climbing, mountain biking, going into remote areas requiring self reliance, being solo. There is a clarity and focus on the moment when the mind empties there is no pain, no fear, no time, only a fullness and calm. As Shiva said, “thinking nothing, will limited-self unlimit.” At these points I feel I achieve great things and nobody is there and I am joyous. This last little adventure was different and not what I am typically looking for. . . but I did go looking for it. I was curious ... and there are few cats in Mexico.

I am not generally a believer in bad people but bad circumstances creating bad people. The border region I was on is different from other “remote” places I have been in the sense that nobody is from there. These are not longstanding traditional communities. People are there because they have nothing else – otherwise why would you move to a place with nothing that has nothing? Land is cheap and available “with papers,” meaning you have a title to your land. But for most land with papers is out of reach but there is still land – it will just never be your land. You will work with your machete clearing land for someone that owns the land, “el patron.” And land you clear for yourself will one day no longer be yours or for your children. Because someone else will acquire the paper. Not a pretty situation, but that is why roads are built into jungles.

Some men in the area have migrated to the United States (some to Belize) and then returned, perhaps with some cash and a new truck. People have tasted the forbidden fruit or glimpsed the tree over the wall. They know what they are missing and a desire is created that cannot be fulfilled. Alberto referred to this as a disease. Jose said Nacho had this disease. I think this disease has made Jose an inebriate. Easy for me to say, I have access. However, I was struck by the high levels of mistrust and suspicion. For these reasons I took no photos because I did not want my camera to be seen. I thought it would be nice for me take a photo of Alberto's family and give as a gift . . . but no. Similarly, I could have shown the curious Betin photos of all he asked about on my computer . . . but no. Not wise things to do.

I was not worried about the family but that others may see or hear. That was hard because I wanted to give and share with them something other than my money. As Alberto and I departed into a dawning night his wife told me to be careful with her husband. She told me that their house was now my house and I was always welcome under their roof, to please return. She saw I was a good person. I thanked them again. She said it is not me to be thanked but clutching her heart pointed into the dark sky saying “el unico” there is nothing else.

They were good and loving people and all the more so for their situation. She reminded me of something I read.

Shiva says: devotion frees. he is right.
devotion means the beloved comes first. and, the beloved can only be the divine. the divine is also called god. god has no form and all forms are his.
when you see god in everyone's eyes you are free.
the beyond is unknowable by any human. god is known through this creation.
life is god.
and non-existence is the source of life. god is all that exists in all realms.
you are not. your separation is a play of god.
soon you will remember and laugh.

I have yet to laugh, but i hope to return the favor someday.

hay malo gente y bueno gente. yo soy bueno gente

I rode out of Xpuzil feeling good about riding back into the selva towards the triple frontier of Mexico, Belize, and Guatemala then onwards into Belize. I was heading towards Justo Sierra Mendez not anticipating many problems, just follow the signs out of Xpuzil. I asked around about the distance but had a hard time getting a direct answer. Nothing surprising, most people do not travel very far and this was about 100 km away in a remote corner of Mexico. The road sign in Xpuzil was the last and within 60 km nothing was matching my maps. Some of the towns were on the map but on different roads than what i thought i was on . . . but i was on the only road stretching out through the jungle winding over the low hills. A black top snake to the borders inviting the poor landless deeper. Land was cheap - you could buy 60 hectares for the price of a lot in other areas of Mexico - of course it was all selva. Selva slowly falling to machete and burning in piles, the omnipresent smell of burning leaves, slash and burn agriculture. At least the road was new and decent quality.
I stopped in the pueblito of Unidad y Trabajo, drank a coke and watched sheep and pigs grazing by. Pigs are not fat here, if you are a hog then i can see your ribs. By 3 in the afternoon rain clouds were growing bigger as pueblos grew smaller and selva loomed larger. A truck i had been playing hop scotch with slowed to a stop in front of me and then backed up. I was stashing large bills and my debit card into my bike shorts. He offered me a ride down the road to Cibalito, I considered for a second then threw my bike in the back. I watched the selva roll by and pueblitos with names like El Sacrificio, collections of thatched huts carved out of the jungle. The driver periodically leaned over to feed a beer to the guy sitting in the passenger seat, who appeared mentally handicapped. I hopped out in Cibalito, noted the small store, and got directions to Justo Sierra because my maps were useless. Justo Sierra was close but when i arrived i wondered why the hell have a road sign for this place 100 km away? Nothing is here. I spoke with a collection of folks including a local teacher asking about the road to Belize on my map. One it was not there but in Pioneros del Rio, and two i did not want to go there because they would assault me . . . and then they laughed.

I heard this type of thing before about the people down road. The cannibal syndrome. Oh, you don't want to go there they are cannibals. Yet, there is no confirmed documentation of humans killing other humans for food in the world (aside from gold miners and soccer players). A universal taboo equals a universal insult. Reminds me of the Arab/Israeli conflict – both sides say the other drinks the blood of children. But I digress and this was different.
I rode back to Cibalito to stock up and find a place to camp. On the edge of town i was hailed in English to have a beer. Jose seemed harmless, the beer was cold, and I needed information. In the end i was invited to spend the night with a family that had founded Cibalito 25 years earlier. Perfect! If you are going to stay in a community then you need to be invited for the sake of security.
Towards the end of the evening i was getting hungry and others were getting drunk, so time for all to turn in. Jose leans over to warn me to watch my back. He half ass invites me to stay with him and his father saying all is not as it appears. I am taken aback . . . what does he want? . . . more beer money? . . . the concern somehow seems genuine but what can i do at this point? Unfortunately, he was right.
It was close to midnight when Nacho, the 16 year old son, came over drunk saying he needed 100 pesos for some reason . . . then it was down to 50 pesos for two caugamas (liter beers). I said no and he got belligerent. Not a swinging belligerence but a whiny belligerence that says conniving and dangerous. He tells me guys are talking about coming over in the morning to slit my throat and take my stuff. . . I owe him. . . He is protecting me. . . You are in my house. . . Adrenalin courses. I am ready to get physical but that would make things worse. Nacho tries to put a buddy buddy arm around me but I am not in a buddy mood. He sees my anger and leaves. But now what? Rain, thunder and lightening are beginning. If i leave where do i go? Being on the road makes me a target. Maybe he is just full of shit . . . I think of Jose's warning.
I barricade the door to the thatch hut with my fully loaded touring bike, wedge a cinder block down low, and a fence post up high then tie a rope across the whole ensemble. I find a very stout 6 foot staff, keep my emergency whistle handy, and pocket my knife. If anyone makes it through that door it is going to make a racket to raise Cain, then i do. I did not sleep. A periodic succession of people came and went trying to get in. I followed their shadows through the slats in the walls, telling them to leave, and watching their retreat through the same slats, as i stand in the middle of the 100 square foot thatch hut staff in hand. At one point, the electricity fails during the storm and i am plunged into blinding darkness losing my view of the outside. Blessed morning comes after an eternity and the rain stops. I notice movement outside as people wake and there is a small gathering of young men outside my hut . . . here we go . . . but they dissipate as i hear Nacho talking shit. I pack things up, get caffeinated (cold instant coffee), and get out the door ready to ride or rumble. Nobody is about. . . then Jose shows up and says lets go. I have a cousin in Pioneros del Rio who is a good man and he will take you over to Belize . . .
A moment of decision. Do i trust Jose? Is he in on this? I decide to trust him. Otherwise, it is go it alone through town on the open road. I pay 20 pesos for him to borrow a bike from a guy bleeding from his eye because drunks jumped him the night before, and we pedal off into the early morning to Pioneros del Rio. Along the way i buy Jose/me a caugama, and he tells me about Pioneros. Keep my head down, mouth shut, and keep moving. Jose is a funny guy that puts me at a relative ease . But a funny guy with sadness and disappointment hidden under alcohol and smiles. As we come into Pioneros i figure out that he sees this cousin maybe once a year . . . he better be a really good man.

Alberto comes out of his house and agrees to take me over to Belize but we must wait for the pueblos water tank to fill because he is supervising the pump. Meanwhile, I can rest in the house in his hammock out of sight. He is concerned that I stay out of sight until late afternoon. I am hesitant and tempted to try to ride out of there to lord knows where . . . Alberto and Jose sense my hesitation and I level with them about my doubts. Alberto reassures me that he is a man of his word and I can place faith in him – confianza. I am a little short in the faith department.

I am exhausted and take his word. As soon as I step into the home I am reassured. The family is happy, smiling and loving. I forget his wife's name because he refers to her as my love. The five children ages 6 to 16 adore their father. After some eggs and tortillas I rest for awhile, but unable sleep, I join Alberto and Jose in the back yard to drink a bomba of cana with coca cola. They are surprised I drink cana. Nothing wrong with cana, 50 proof cane liquor, but being cheap has class connotations.

Alberto then tells me that we cannot leave as planned . . . the Federales are on the border in Pioneros for a once a month swing through and we will have to wait until early morning. Honestly, what next?, but they will be gone by morning all is tranquilo. Incidently, it is Alberto's 39^th birthday so I help purchase a large chicken and many bombas of cana for the party that night.

I pass the afternoon writing some and talking with Betin, the middle child, who has many questions about where I live and my travels. Late in the afternoon I give Jose 200 pesos for a phone call and help pay for the chicken. Jose leaves and does not return – no doubt he is home and roaring drunk by party time. Alberto is not surprised, nor am I.

Alberto returns with a chicken around 8pm and I lend my knife to slaughter the chicken and prepare dinner while people start to show up for the party. I try to make myself useful while a borrowed boom box and electrical light gets hooked up. I am able to help with the boom box because nobody knows how to operate it. Eventually, we eat, I chat with the local school teachers, while some look at me with undisguised dislike. I turn in to try to sleep but incessant booming banda music makes it impossible as the party goes on. I rise at 3:30 am after maybe 2 hours sleep. Alberto is still up partying with many bombas of cana later but he assures me that we go at 4:30am.

True to his word, without a wink of sleep, and loaded on cana we head out into the night. Lights off so the people in the pueblo will not see us. I do my best to keep up with Alberto as we ride along the rutted path occasionally walking with our dim lights. The border is completely unsecured but the deep ruts testify to the earlier presence of heavy vehicles, the Federales. At one point we stop while Alberto scouts and signals me on, within 30 minutes we pop out of the selva onto the camino blanca. We are in Belize and back on our bikes riding along the border passing roads that shoot back into the selva for Guatemala. Howler monkeys herald the dawn as we ride through ranch land into Belize proper. Exhausted but relieved I have a full day of riding ahead of me before passing out into fitful sleep at the D Victoria Hotel in Orange Walk, Belize. As Alberto said, "hay malo gente y bueno gente, pero yo soy bueno gente." He was right.

Banda Music

I occasionally think that i should include more local music. Banda music seems to be about the most popular in Mexico. To be honest, i do not like it - the oom pah beat gets old fast and it is always played at a deafening volume that precludes conversation. But hear it is - lousy music to sleep by no matter how exhausted. This particular song is a narco corrida - corridas are folk stories and nacrotrafficking inspires it own genre.

Cd. del Carmen and into the Calakmul Biosphere Reserve

Cd. del Carmen was hard to leave and i got out around one o'clock for an afternoon of riding to a R.V. campground in Isla Aguada. A local cyclist rode with me into Isla Aguada - racing roadies are the same everywhere and i got to hear about bike races and racers . . . After making dinner i strolled the campground as the sun set. I was drawn to the wafting cigarette smoke that is the start of many a good conversation. A woman was smoking a cigarette outside of her trailer and I asked where she was from? Mexico. que raro. Mexicans don't typically use trailers. It was her sister's trailer and they were vacationing together. I spent the evening sitting outside chatting about politics, travel, eating rice pudding, and enjoying the company of two charmingly intellectual sisters. Conversation got a little loud discussing Chavez, Morales, Fidel (she met Fidel!), and agreeing that all Mexican presidents were pretty much the same. Spanish conversation is easier for me with people of similar educational backgrounds and when I am not exhausted – uh, duh. I had been frustrated with my inability to communicate with some people and i realized it is not just me. One of the sisters had a house in Pico de Oro and i mentioned not understanding the construction workers from Villahermosa. The guy in charge sounded like he had a mouth full of marbles. I didn't even recognize it as Spanish! She immediately confirmed that she had the exact same problem! Some accents are incomprehensible for other Mexicans - depending on class, education, and regional variation.

The next morning my early departure was pleasantly thwarted by a couple from the Midwest who bought me breakfast. Both former school teachers who had lived abroad and had second careers with the federal government - it was nice to have good conversation in English.
I rode out along the coast for about 40km then it was good bye Gulf after several thousand miles since Mobile, Alabama. I headed across the Yucatan Peninsula towards Escarcega. A long hot day in the high 90's for 130km, no shade, steady winds. My head was ready to split open from dehydration as i pulled into dusty Escarcega that evening. I spent the next day waiting for the heat to break like everyone else in Escarcega and rehydrating.

The combination of rolling terrain and a tail wind enabled me to average better than 25kph for over 100km making for a nice day of riding. I stopped around 11:30am at a restaurant by a lake for a seafood cocktelle (what else) and conversation with a four guys already drunk who were insistent about buying me beer . . . whats a poor boy to do? I managed to get out of there relatively sober. I arrived in Conhaus outside of the Calakmul biosphere reserve by mid afternoon and stocked up with 6+ liters of water because I was unsure what I would find inside the reserve. Turns out there is a campground just outside of the reserve set in the middle of the selva (jungle). Campamento Yaax'che ecoturismocalakmul.com

I have little to no experience in jungle type settings so everything was new to me – like the big scorpion under my mosquito net with me. I tried to herd it out of the net but scorpions are not all that amenable to herding so it got squashed. I always check my shoes now. While I was making dinner I heard a guttural roar like a dinosaur out of Jurassic Park. I was camped with a troop of howler monkeys! At first I thought, “wow! how cool is that?!,” then I started to wonder, “how long does this go on for?,” and, “I hope they are not nocturnal”. They are not, just early risers.

The next morning I rode 55km into the reserve on a winding narrow road towards the ruins of Calakmul. The road was pretty much deserted as I rode my bike into the largest swath of old growth tropical forest in North America. There was near continuous rustling of turkeys beside the road, endless birds, spider monkeys, and I nearly ran over a 7 foot long long snake.

I swerved around its head then stopped to pester it. Finally, a taxi came along bringing people into the ruins and stopped in front of the snake. While I could not get much reaction from the snake besides an annoyed tail wag, the snake literally leaped up, spun in the air, and darted into the bushes in one instantaneous motion . . . something to remember next time I tease a snake.

The ruins of Calakmul are extensive, it had been a regional power center for nearly 600 years with a population of 200,000 people in the year 800. Incredible to imagine the huge plazas thronging with people that are now dominated by wild turkeys and spider monkeys. Vegetation swallows everything, un-excavated ruins look like mounds and steep hills, tree roots split tombs, stellas extolling the reign of rulers and accounting bloody conquests erode to near illegibility, the once extensive road network of a busy trading empire buried under leaf litter. A gentle reminder that this too shall pass. I spent a quiet couple hours wandering the steep sided ruins before repeating my ride back to the campground.

I was tired but looking forward to a pleasant rolling late afternoon ride. Within 20 km or so of the ruins I was cruising along at a good clip when I heard a loud crash beside me in the woods. Too loud to be another turkey and moving towards me, not away . . . out of the corner of my eye I saw a tawny flash – mountain lion! Or rather puma! The animal landed in the road immediately behind me not four feet away. I slowed and stopped after putting a little distance between us. The puma was standing in the road looking at me twitching tail up. I have to get a photo of this! I began approaching and fumbling for my camera. Then the puma started towards me . . . hmmmm? I outweigh the puma but it is still a 100 pound cat with no fear of me. We had no more than a 3 to 5 second distance between us if so inclined . . . and what the hell was it doing jumping out at me anyhow? did it just miss? Sorry, no puma photo - I decided to pedal . . . kinda fast. Initially, I felt like the encounter was sort of anticlimactic but that's alright. Between the puma and the snake I was a minor celebrity at the campground.

The next morning I woke to a tent city of fifty people who had arrived in the night. I hung in my hammock and drank coffee then packed while the ruckus cleared out for the ruins. Then I had a leisurely breakfast with a father and son from Guadalajara discussing our visit to the area, history, politics and travel before heading out for a brief but miserable grind into a hot headwind to Xpuzil. I am stocking up before going back into the selva towards my next stop - Belize!

6:30 am walk

Woke early this morning to walk to the market for breakfast, fruits for the day, and a few photos. Early enough that streets lights were on and no one's shining shoes.


The fish market is an arcade perched on the break wall at the edge of the market


















Pelicans love this place and the men who work here.




sorting through some huge tasty snails



























cutting up ray into steaks - they were very popular



















She is not the devil but makes one helluva seafood cocktelle for breakfast - shrimp, oysters, snail, crab, fish and not much else - very popular at 7:30 am.







I bought some fruits for the day - the hard part is limiting myself because i can only carry so much and eat so much fruit.















I will miss Ciudad del Carmen - nice place to rest and eat.

Pico de Oro not so golden . . .

Getting to Cd. Carmen was straight forward fast riding with a head wind that kept me at 20kph. I camped the night before in the yard of a vacation house under renovation. Construction workers were staying at the house. I met one of them earlier in passing as i pushed through soft sand past the iron fence being scraped. He was from Villahermosa and in Pico de Oro to work on the patrons house. His was the second warnings not to camp here alone.
A group of young men were dismantling palapas for fire wood on the beach with machetes. They told me the road went no farther . . . there was laughter and chatter. I hate being intimidated . . . i walked up to clarify about the road. You can tell when people are not your friends, when you are being sized up. That was a warning.
I turned into a beach side development that had been destroyed by economic conditions, weather, and theft. People i spoke with were prone to focus on the theft part - politics are the same everywhere. Personal injury is something people feel they can control whereas, weather and economic conditions . . . not so much. Most everyone i spoke with was not from there. Initially, i thought any number of the abandoned porches would be fine. But people kept saying that i must be careful. Hay gente malo aqui. They stole all the copper and fixtures out of the buildings during the night. . . my bike is steel and my money only paper? . . . but i was swayed. I pushed my way back out the soft sand road, passing the same house under renovation, i heard men chatting and relaxing at the back and pushed my way in. Funny that it reminded me of teaching - the pushing part.
No doubt they thought me odd . . . i am riding a bicycle across two continents but all was friendly. I woke early from my hammock and they woke early to work. I was pedaling by 7 30 in the morning and covered 150km that day. I was looking forward to a respite from pedaling and getting some freshness back in my legs.

Morning Walk Cuidad del Carmen

Cuidad del Carmen is a city on the water with some wealth due to the oil industry and the longest bridge in Latin America to get to it. Population is about 200,000, and it's famous for seafood - sweet. I went for a little street photography walk this morning in el centro after breakfast. Probably spend a couple days here.

Header Photography

I created a separate page of header photos because people wanted them to stick around - so if you look to the right above the "DONATE" button there is a link under pages titled "Header Photography". Click and go. I will keep the page updated with header photos. If you click "Home," then it will take you back to the blog. Note: i am still uploading to this page.

put attention neither on pleasure or pain but between these

Not wanting to repeat the lousy riding into Coatzacoalcos, i took a ferry across the bay to Allende, leaving Coatzacoalcos behind figuring i would ride out the coast . . . well, i ended up on a four lane highway in crappy shape with entire lanes collapsing down the hillside. But that's what you get when you ask directions. After, a few hours i escaped onto local roads into the town of La Venta headed for the coast. A busy town with loads of pedicabs (all independent), Olmec ruins (closed), and petroleum. The entire coast is dominated by the state controlled petroleum industry. I stopped for some great ceviche and beers, then provisioned to go camp.La Venta was on a narrow ridge and i dropped down into lagoons rich with bird life around 4:30pm ... beautiful but not good camping prospects. I ended up on the back side of a petroleum pumping station the was raised up about 8 feet. Flat, dry, out of sight, back rest, sun was just going down, perfect . . . then the mosquitoes came out. Growing up in N.H. where black flies are the state bird, I am not a bug wimp but this was akin one of the seven plagues of Armageddon. I set up my tent hanging off the ledge, crawl in, and proceed to kill those that rode in with me - my hands are covered in blood, presumably mine. I decided not to cook and ate old pastries and cracked a beer. Not much else to do after the beer is gone so i went to sleep. Only to be woken by the patter of rain on my face. So back out into the swarm to set up the fly in the dark and rain and try not to fall off the ledge into muddy cow shit 8 feet below. I decided to get my cycling computer to check the time and see how long this misery would last and . . . it is gone. Good riddance . . . but wait, no!, i need it for navigation. Oh well, back to killing mosquitoes for 10 minutes then finally sleep. I awake to asses the damage, pull a burrowing tick out of myself, make cold instant coffee, and go look for my computer. I find it and as much as i hate it - whew. Things have to get better (unless i contracted dengue fever, of course) - caffeinated, i notice pretty birds and pack things up.

On the road i pedal for the coast appreciating the overcast skies and cooler temps. I anticipate small fishing communities and strictly local traffic on little used roads, ha!, if i only knew how little used or how little road.

On the Sanchez Magellanes bridge, i stood around with another guy watching fishermen casting nets off the bridge, generally, netting fish with each cast. He noted the unsettled weather offshore in the gulf and i remarked how it was driving the fish into the laguna making for good fishing. He, also, warned me not to lean too hard on the deteriorating concrete rail.





This scorpion fish is not destined for the pot and gets to go free. I was vehemently warned do not touch!
I met the first person to assume i was pedaling to Argentina. He was older, a weathered 60 something, and approached me in the Magellanes plaza while i looked at the laguna and maps. He confirmed my directions and stated that i was headed for the end of South America. He was completely enthused and could not stop smiling about it and neither could I. I feel women scold me without a word for shirking, young men wonder where is my car, but some men in their 50's and onward . . . they know this is it. Those are my thoughts as i ate my papaya on the beach.The sky over the Gulf of Mexico is darkening and the wind is starting to pick up so i figure it is time to go. The road is flat along the narrow spit of land with the gulf and laguna visible at once to either side. The wind is quartering across my rear so i should make good time. Then the road disappears . . . why did nobody mention this to me? There is a road of sorts that people are using that winds through the coconut groves past shacks but it is deep soft sand. Coconut fronds and halved coconut husks are laid down in tracks to provide some support for tires but they do not help narrow bike tires on a my 100 pound rig.To say that pushing a loaded touring bike along through sand dunes is work only begins to explain it. The back of my right leg became hamburger from the repeated pedal strikes. I thought of an old ski partner, Micheal Hartrick, who ripped his bicep off while climbing, made a weird bulge, wondered if i could do the same. Pushing, lifting, plowing through sand.
The road or remains of the road would pop out of the coconut groves onto beautiful beaches where i receive a sand blasting. Sand gets into all kinds of funny and not so funny places. On the upside there were no bugs, i developed some new riding skills in soft sand, it only lasted 30 kilometers or so, and it never really rained just spat . . . very salty.
Overall, the day was strangely beautiful and i rather enjoyed the perversity of it all. It was nothing that was going to kill me. I finished my day hammering on the pedals for 35km into Paraiso just for the sheer joy being able to.