BLOG

Revelations from the Road (Month #18)

Fri, 19 Feb 2010 13:28:49 -0600

By Erik -

At least a few times people have asked us why we chose to name this website "Vent #5." Most of the time they aren't prepared for the lengthy explanation required to answer their question, but this is my answer: Dr. Seuss is a famous American children's book writer who is one of our favorite authors. Vent #5 comes from the pages of a Dr. Seuss book about a boy who goes in search of a place with "fewer troubles." His search takes him on a wild journey through many places he had never seen before. At one point in the adventure he escapes certain death by jumping into the unknown, a pipe labeled "Vent #5."

The boy finally reaches the place with fewer troubles, but in fact there is only one trouble. He can't enter the door to the place because the guard’s key doesn't work. The guard says he has given up trying to get inside and will instead go to a place with no troubles at all. At first the boy begins to follow the guard, but then he stops and thinks for a second. Changing his mind, the boy heads straight back to where he came from, and in the last page of the book the boy is carrying a bat saying, "Now my troubles will have troubles with me."

This was the foresight with which we left home 18 months ago. We knew that we would go to many great places in the world, and that each would have its own merits. We also knew that everywhere we went would have its own troubles and that is exactly what we found. Just as we expected from the beginning, we have returned home to face our own troubles with the knowledge that there's no place like home. In that sense the expedition could not have gone more according to plan.

When I look back on the entirety of the trip with the advantage of hindsight I could not be happier. We have accomplished something that will undoubtedly remain an amazing chapter in our lives. There have been, and will continue to be, many other chapters in our lives, but I think no single chapter will solely define who we are. Exactly 18 months after starting the chapter on Vent #5 we have turned the page in order to begin another chapter of what is starting to become a really good book.

In the next chapter Kris and I will play the roles of students at the University of Wisconsin-Madison. Kris will work for three years on getting a Master's degree in speech therapy. I will spend the next two years researching bacteria in water on my way towards a Master's degree in Environmental Engineering. Most people don't know what Environmental Engineers do, but let it suffice to say that I think our world could use a lot more of them. Kris and I are both very excited for this upcoming adventure.

With each new chapter of our story we take with us the lessons from prior chapters. My biggest lesson from the Vent #5 expedition is that that the current state of the world makes a lot of sense. For example, what people buy at the grocery store can tell you a lot about why they look the way they do. I wish we had taken pictures of people's shopping carts in each country starting from the beginning because it would show you exactly that. The people in The Netherlands buy a lot of wholesome food and they look healthy. The people in the Americas buy a lot of meat and white bread and they are generally more plump. Action and reaction; cause and effect.

With enough information on different subjects (not just shopping carts), the state of the world begins to make sense. My overwhelming conclusion is that nature is just in many regards. If people throw their trash next to the road then the side of the road begins to look like a dump. That is fair enough in my book. In a nutshell what I have learned is that the world is very accurately reflecting our actions. The problem is when those actions don't accurately reflect our values.

The central question we must ask ourselves is if our personal values are accurately reflected by our actions? If they are not then the best way to change our world is simply to change our actions. This is a much more efficient way of changing the world than adding on another regulation to our actions. How we answer this central question as a society is also important. In the USA our society's values are measured by GDP growth. Our country’s collective actions are often reflective of the push to constantly increase GDP.

On the other hand, if GDP growth is not a good measure of our values then we should work to change how we quantify progress. This is why I am excited to see groups that are working to redefine the way we measure our society's values. One group, Redefining Progress, is working towards developing a growth metric that includes variables such as: crime, resource depletion, pollution, long-term environmental damage, leisure time, defense expenditure, lifespan of goods, and dependence on foreign assets. According to Redefining Progress, if these were our values than the United States has not "grown" since 1980 while GDP has continued to increase.

Another group, the New Economics Foundation, has developed the Happy Planet Index that measures ecological efficiency. Each country's rank is a function of its citizen's life satisfaction, life expectancy, and ecological footprint per capita. The principle of these new rankings is that by changing the metric we use to quantify our values we will in turn take on actions that more accurately reflect our values. On the map above, country's shown in green have the highest score in the Happy Planet Index, while those in red have the lowest. By this measure four countries in Central America have scores in the top ten of the 143 countries in the ranking.

Some of the countries in Central America were among the best we have cycled so far. Just like everywhere else we traveled in this expedition, Central America had its pluses and minuses:

Here are some things I liked about Central America:
• Vegetarian food - Hands down, our favorite part was the abundance of vegetarian food. Everywhere we went where there was good food it single-handedly improved our feelings about the country.
• Good morning! - They never miss a chance to be polite. Be it saying "¡Buen provecho!" while you are eating, "¡Buenos días!" when you first greet, or "¡Buen viaje!" when you leave.
• Biodiversity - Central America is home to 10% of the world's species in only 0.5% of the world's land mass.
• Voting - Central Americans are super involved with voting, and they show it by spray-painting their preferred candidate's name on roadside rocks. It's nice to see them so involved in their government.

And some things I learned to appreciate about the USA:
• Free state borders - You don't have to stop at every state border and get questioned by officials as is common in many countries around the world.
• Plumbing - Since the plumbing can handle it, you can put your toilet paper in the toilet rather than leaving it in a wastebasket.
• Littering - I hate seeing people throw their trash right out of their car onto the edge of the road where it accumulates into a pile of garbage.
• Recycling - Is an important part of the waste hierarchy that many other countries neglect.
• Silence - Okay, it's not perfectly quiet in the States, but it's a lot more peaceful than the constant honks and blaring speakers that are ubiquitous in Central America. We commonly saw cars with loudspeakers attached to the roof that drive around all day blaring advertisements.
• Power outages - Central America was the first time we had come across widespread and frequent power disruptions.
• Machismo - I have had enough with guys blowing kisses at Kris and yelling, "I love you gringa!" At best this is seriously misdirected affection.

That's all folks! If you are interested in the next chapters of our life then you should continue to periodically check Vent5.com. In a few months we will be adding information about several other chapters of our life, from both before and after Vent #5, including our upcoming wedding. Thanks to everyone for reading, and thanks to all those folks who helped us along our way. An expedition of this magnitude is never an individual endeavor and we are greatly thankful for those who hosted us in their homes and those who made other offerings of aid. We are especially thankful to our parents, who after seeing how much potential this expedition had were supportive through thick and thin.

Shifting Gears (Cancún, Mexico)

Thu, 18 Feb 2010 13:21:07 -0600

By Kris -

From Escárcega we decided to ride north and west along the coast toward Ciudad del Carmen. There wasn't anything in particular that we wanted to see along the way, but the route would have plenty of sizable towns for us to stay in. Riding along new pavement with a strong tailwind, we quickly found our turnoff and pedaled along a quieter road through small villages and farmland. As we approached the coast the scenery changed noticeably. Lush green forest turned to sparse trees and then turned to marshland teeming with birds and lotus flowers. There was hardly a soul to be seen.

After a quick 50 miles (80km) we found ourselves entering the village of Sabancuy, our stop for the night. Right on the edge of town was a smart-looking hotel with clean rooms so we decided to skip hotel shopping for the day and get right down to the business of showering and eating. The village itself was rather quaint. It was nothing impressive, but the small buildings along the street were well-painted and the people were nice. Even though we didn't do anything or see anything special in Sabancuy, it remains one of my favorite places in Mexico because it wasn't decrepit and it wasn't overwhelming.

The next morning a strong wind blew from the east. We made slow work of pedaling north out of town as the wind threatened to blow us over, but soon we turned west toward Ciudad del Carmen. We literally flew along the nicely-paved highway with the wind at our backs. The ride was magical until a POP rang through the air and our rear tire started rubbing the frame. Closer inspection revealed that we had broken a spoke. Normally this was a minor inconvenience that we could fix in a matter of minutes, but without any bike tools we had no choice but to continue riding with the rear wheel getting more and more wobbly.

Not only did the wheel slow us down, it also worried us. After months and months of traveling we have learned that problems beget problems. This was just the first of a potential string of bike problems, and we had no idea how we would manage without a single bike tool. We managed to pedal to the next small town, but we only barely made it. Before we were able to ask directions to the nearest bike shop, another spoke on the rear wheel broke. This made the rear wheel so wobbly that we could barely push the bike because the tire was rubbing the frame so hard. To add insult to injury, the storm that had been brewing behind us had caught up to us, so rain started coming down in fits and spurts.

After asking many people for directions we finally found a bike shop; or rather, a man who fixed bikes in a shack in front of his house. Between my translation, the man's tools, and Erik's bicycle knowledge, we managed to get our spokes replaced and the wheel semi-trued. Once the wheel had been mended, all we had to do was get some lunch and wait out the rain that was pouring down in torrents. It only took an hour for the rain to pass, so with full bellies we headed out on the road once more.

Ciudad del Carmen was a very large and shabby-looking city. We took our time hotel shopping, but every hotel we looked at was in some state of disrepair. Finally we settled into a room, and raided the local grocery store for lunch and snacks. It was disappointing to finally have the opportunity to shop in a large supermarket, and then realize that it would be impossible to prepare food because we had lost the majority of our cooking gear. That said, we did manage to make some pretty stellar tacos.

The rest of the day was spent in an Internet cafe where we tried to wrap our heads around how we would survive the rest of the trip without so much of our gear, and the idea of having replacement parts shipped to us. It was also in this Internet cafe that Erik received an email from one of the professors at the University of Wisconsin-Madison. The professor wanted to know if Erik would be interested in participating in a research program at the university. Of course, Erik and I were thrilled to hear back from one of the graduate schools we had applied to, so he immediately replied that he would be very interested.

The next morning we headed out on the road, again powered by a great tailwind. This day's ride would take us across the state border into Tabasco, one of the poorer states of Mexico. Just like the USA, Mexico is made up of states. In fact, the country's official name is The United Mexican States. Crossing state lines, however, is a bit more complicated than in the USA. There is always a blockade lined with armed soldiers where cars and busses are stopped and searched. That said, they don't seem to care much about bicycles so we rode right through as always.

Once in Tabasco, the poverty of the region was apparent although it was nothing like what we had seen in Nicaragua. Swampland surrounded us, and the houses by the side of the road were quite a bit shabbier. When we got to Frontera, the first real town on the Tabasco side of the border, we again took our time finding a place to stay. There weren't many hotels (or perhaps, as is often the case, we hadn't discovered the right area of town), so after a thorough search we settled on a nice place further from the center. Not only was it reasonably priced, but it was much quieter then the bustling central plaza.

Our next job was to find a laundromat and a restaurant. Carrying our clothes we set off toward the Plaza Central. En route, we found that we were being followed by two girls who eventually stopped us and asked if we were Americans. They seemed incredibly excited to meet a pair of Americans in person, and giggled nervously as if they were talking to a couple of movie stars. After a quick conversation they left and we continued searching for a place to do our laundry.

On the way back to our hotel from the laundromat, (we finally were directed to the laundry street and found about 5 lavanderías in a row) we passed a lonchería (literally a lunch place) and decided to give it a try. There was nothing on the menu that was vegetarian, and the waiter looked very disappointed when we told him we didn't eat meat. Just as he thought we were going to leave, I asked him if he could make us a plate of rice, beans, and scrambled eggs. His face immediately brightened and he hurried off to make our meal. Within minutes he had placed a basket of freshly made tortilla chips in front of us, accompanied by a bowl of very spicy salsa. Once we had finished all the chips, our entrees were placed on the table. Two gigantic plates of egg, rice and beans with slices of avocado on the side, and to top it off, a huge stack of warm fresh tortillas.

It was easily the best lunch we had ever gotten on our trip. Despite our hunger before eating we could not finish everything they served us, but that wasn't the end. After clearing our plates we were each served a small portion of grape jello. It was a sweet, refreshing way to finish off the meal. When we asked for the bill we started to get nervous that our incredible lunch would come with an incredible price tag. To our surprise, however, it was one of the most reasonably-priced placed we had eaten (about US$4)! To top it all off, we were each given a piece of gum as an after-meal mint with our bill. We went back to our hotel very full and very happy.

Back in our room, we took full advantage of the hotel’s wifi. I researched the University of Wisconsin, and Erik continued correspondence with his professor. Now that he had been accepted at the University we had to reexamine the trajectory of our trip (again). The professor had mentioned that he would like to have Erik meet the rest of the research team, and possibly start as early as June. Although that was much earlier than we had expected, it was such a good opportunity that we could not just dismiss it. We took a rest day in Frontera to allow ourselves more time to research, and also to let our legs rest. Over ten days of constant riding had worn us out.

Still weighing our options, we continued riding west to the coastal town of Paraíso. Although the town wasn't very large, it was quite built up due to its prosperity in the tourist industry. There were a handful of hotels in town, and to our surprise, they were of much better quality (and a larger price tag) than those in other places we had visited in Mexico and Central America. As if by habit, we installed ourselves in a good place and found an excellent place to eat a cheap lunch of egg, rice, and beans. By this time we had decided that we couldn't let Erik's opportunity at the University of Wisconsin to pass us by, so we would have to cut our trip short and return to the US in time for Erik to interview with the research team. We spent the rest of the day online trying to figure out the specifics. Where would we leave from, when would we leave, how much would it cost to fly back to Chicago?

With a rough plan in our head, we cycled to the city of Cárdenas the next day with the intention of catching a bus to Acapulco. Our idea was to bus through the boring leg to the Pacific coast and then cycle up to Puerto Vallarta where we could catch a plane by the beginning of March. Our only other cheap option was to fly from Cancún within the week. Once in Cárdenas, we got straight to business. We visited the bus station to find out which busses went to Acapulco. To our surprise, there weren't any busses that went any further than Oaxaca which was still quite a ways from where we wanted to go. On the other hand, there were three bus companies that offered daily busses directly to Cancún. The Cancún option was looking better and better.

Back at the hotel we weighed our options again. Mexico was bigger than we had imagined so getting to Puerto Vallarta in two weeks might not be possible. On the other hand, going to Cancún would require us to pack up the bike, backtrack quite a bit, and finish our trip in four days. It would be tight, but if we really hurried we could make it work. Plus, if we decided to go to Cancún, we would have to commit immediately. After much deliberation we saw that it was our best option and booked our plane tickets.

Now that we had committed to returning to the States within a few days, the clock was ticking. We had to somehow pack up our bike without any proper tools within one day. There was very little room for error. We would need to find a few giant boxes (always difficult in Latin-American countries), enough packing tape, some bubble wrap (almost impossible in Latin-American countries), and enough tools to get our bike apart. We managed to get some smallish boxes before everything closed for the night. It was Valentine's day, so everything closed early and we were forced to wait until the morning to continue packing.

Just as the sun sank over the horizon, loud music started blaring outside our window. In addition, our air conditioner stopped working and the cable television went out as well. We tried to ignore the ruckus outside for a little while, but soon it drew me to the window. To my surprise, I saw that the street outside was absolutely crammed with people watching a parade pass through. The balcony that ran the length of our building was the perfect vantage point to watch the parade, so I decided to go enjoy it. After about an hour Erik also joined me on the balcony.

The parade featured everything from little kids in Halloween costumes, to troupes of dancing teenagers, to fire breathers, to giant floats. Each group had their own music blaring as well as a barrage of drummers keeping the beat. Some of the floats were so big that a person on top had to lift the overhanging power lines up and over the structure with a long stick or pole. For hours we watched as the parade went by and each dance troupe performed their various dances. By the end of the parade we knew one thing for certain - Mexicans really know how to party. After the last float and line of drummers passed our hotel, we retreated into our room and tried to sleep despite the persistent music and drumming from the nearby plaza. We were so exhausted from the day that we both fell asleep pretty quickly.

The next morning we started early. Before most things were open we began looking for boxes and buying bus tickets for that afternoon. We needed to pack up the bike before 1 pm in order to avoid paying for another night at the hotel, and we had to be on our way to the bus station by 3 pm in order to make sure we were there on time. It took most of the morning and innumerable trips through town to secure big enough boxes, the right tools, and everything we needed to pack.

The hardest part (besides finding the boxes) was trying to unscrew the S&S couplers that hold the pieces of our bike frame together. In our missing tool bag we had a special wrench for the couplers, and we made sure to tighten them securely when we put the bike together, so getting them apart without the proper tool was going to be quite a challenge. At first we tried to use a large hook to unscrew it but it wouldn't budge, and when Erik tried to use a small PVC pipe to give him more leverage, he ended up slipping a cutting his hand.

Undoing the couplers was key to packing up the bike. If we couldn't take apart the frame we would have to try to wheel it onto the bus (we weren't sure if they would be willing to take a bike so big), and we would have to somehow get it to the airport and persuade them to put it on the plane (highly unlikely and very expensive). Everything hinged on unscrewing the couplers.

A new method was needed. Erik's next idea was to use a flathead screwdriver and a hammer to loosen the couplers. Fortunately finding a screwdriver and a rubber mallet was not hard since we knew our way around town pretty well by now. Soon we were back at our bike using the screwdriver as a chisel, and trying to get the couplers to unscrew. After several attempts on the first coupler we saw it move a little, and then a little more. Success! One by one we loosened the couplers and hauled our bike, now in pieces, up to our room to continue the packing process.

All day long we worked tirelessly wrapping parts of the frame in felt, cutting boxes to size, and getting everything packed up. At 1 pm, when we needed to check out, we still weren't completely done, so we moved out of the room into the hallway. I babysat our bags down in the lobby while Erik finished loading boxes and taping them together. At 2 pm, when he finally finished, we had three tightly packed boxes in place of a bike. Before calling a cab I went on a mission to find food, a much harder quest than usual. All the places nearby dealt in meat, and it took a good 30 minutes for me to find a restaurant that wasn't too expensive.

Fed, packed, and ready, we loaded our boxes into a taxi and headed to the bus terminal. We still had plenty of time before the bus left and it was nice to be calm again. The hard part was over. All we had to do now was survive the 18-hour bus ride to Cancún, and get to the airport on time. With our bike now in a box, we boarded the bus easily. Lots of people travel by bus with boxes, so the people loading our luggage under the bus didn't even think twice about them. Once on the bus we settled in for the long haul and tried to get some sleep despite the 80's dance music blaring from the driver's radio.

In the middle of the night the bus stopped and several armed soldiers boarded. In my groggy state I could hear them apologizing for waking everyone up and telling everyone to gather their belongings and get out of the bus. Sleepily everyone filed out of the bus carrying their purses and children, and waited outside in the chilly night. Erik and I took our carry-on luggage and got out as well. Once outside we saw that other soldiers had started unloading suitcases and boxes from below the bus as well. They had lined all the luggage up on a table and were in the process of questioning people about the contents of their bags. Under the dim of the street lights, the man next to me was asked to open his little box to show the soldier what was in it. I stood in front of Erik and our pile of boxes waiting to be questioned and wondering if it would be prudent to pretend I didn't speak Spanish so that we weren’t asked for money.

An armed soldier stood in front of me on the other side of our boxes, appearing mildly interested in them. Another soldier continued to question the man beside me. Just as it seemed the soldiers were finishing up their search, the previously quiet soldier in front of me casually asked if the boxes were mine. I replied that they were. "What's inside?" he asked. When I replied that it was a bicycle he looked surprised and continued asking questions out of curiosity. How could a bicycle fit into such a small box? What was in the second and third boxes? Didn't we have any suitcases? Despite the automatic weapon in his hands, I never felt threatened at all. I could tell by his demeanor that he was more curious than anything. He thought our trip was pretty neat, albeit unusual.

Soon we were filing back onto the bus, and heading back on our sleepy way. Erik and I tossed and turned the rest of the night, waking periodically to take advantage of bathroom breaks. After 18 hours the bus finally pulled into the station at Cancún we were very ready to get off, stretch our legs, take a shower, and get some real sleep. Finding housing in Cancún was quite a fiasco. Hotels were abundant, but expensive, and with all our boxes it was impossible for us to go hotel shopping together. Instead, I was sent out with two small bags with the mission of finding a room and bringing Erik the key so that he could start bringing boxes over while I guarded the rest.

Off I went looking for a nice room at a good price. The front desk of the first place on my list displayed a price that was way above what was listed in my guidebook, and since there were many people crowded around the desk I decided to give that hotel a miss and move on to the next one. The next one also had quite a high price, and no one was at the reception desk so I moved on. As I walked down the street brochure-touting tour operators asked if I wanted information about tours and restaurant employees shoved menus in my face trying to convince me that I wanted to eat at their restaurant.

Finally, at the last hotel I was supposed to look at I saw that a sign above the reception desk had another exorbitant price listed. As I paused, weighing my options, the woman asked me if I was looking for a room. "Yes, a double room." I answered. She then proceeded to quote me a price that was fifteen dollars less than what was advertised. So that's how it worked, I thought. They list one price, but if you ask about a room they will give you a discounted price right away. I took a look at the room and told her and said I might return.

Now that I knew the game, I'd have to revisit all the hotels I had dismissed earlier. The next hotel was not as nice, but did offer me 10 dollars off their posted price. On my way back to the first hotel a man with a pocket full of brochures whistled at me to get my attention. Ignoring him I kept walking (I make a point of not responding to whistles because I consider it a very degrading way to get anyone's attention.) A nearby taxi driver saw that the man was trying to get my attention, and ran over to tell me that someone was trying to get my attention. At this point I could no longer pretend to not have heard either one, so I turned to the brochure man. He told me that he knew of several hotels that were a good value for the price. Based on the prices I had been seeing in town, I figured I'd ask him where it was and go check it out on my own. This, however, was not to be. The man, who introduced himself as a city guide (he had an official badge and everything) insisted on showing me where it was.

Admittedly, I wouldn't have been able to find the place on my own. He showed me to a couple places, none of which I was too excited about, and then I politely but firmly asked him to show me to the bus station which he did without hesitation. I was eager to get back to Erik, even though I had not booked a room, because I had been searching for hotels much longer than expected.

Just as I had anticipated, Erik had been very worried about me and was not pleased to hear that I had let a stranger lead me to a couple other hotels. After telling him the options I went out again, this time with the sole purpose of booking the best room I had seen and going back to babysit the boxes as we carried them one by one to the hotel. Finally, after much sweat and lugging boxes we finally settled into a very nice hotel room.

After cleaning ourselves up a bit, we went out on the town to peruse what the souvenir shops had to offer. The souvenir sellers were just as pushy as the tour guide information posts on the street and the restaurant employees. One by one they toured us around their shop showing us what great stuff they had, and then took us to the next shop that sold something slightly different. From there the next shop owner would take over and show us around. This went on for a couple shops before we decided to make a break for it. We hadn't seen anything that particularly struck our fancy and needed some fresh air after bobbing and weaving between colorful hammocks and hanging racks of t-shirts plastered with Corona.

Finally ready for lunch, we bypassed all the pushy tourist restaurants and found a great little quesadillería or quesadilla shop. For a very good price they would fix you up a quesadilla on a homemade tortilla with everything you could possibly want on it. The number of locals eating outside assured us that it was not too expensive, and the yummy (though very messy) quesadillas kept us coming back every day around noon.

We would have gone back to the quesadillería for every meal, except that we found an even less expensive option for a simple dinner right down the street at the supermarket. A whole section of the supermarket was devoted to pre-made food, so every night we walked down to the store and bought a small tub of refried beans, a tub of white rice, and a stack of freshly made tortillas. As far as food was concerned, Mexico was heaven for us.

It was unusually cloudy and cold in Cancún while we were there, and since the weather wasn't really conducive to beach going or lounging by the pool, we opted for relaxing and preparing for our new life as grad students in the USA. Before leaving the country we managed to get a few souvenirs for friends and family, and Erik got a good haircut at a great price of US$3.

At last, it was time to go to the airport. Hailing a cab could not have been easier, and soon we were on our way. We got in the check-in line with plenty of time and had a very relaxed time of getting to our gate. The flight back was only about half full, which explained why we had gotten such a good deal on our tickets, but also got us great service from the flight attendants who came by every twenty minutes asking if we wanted more water. All in all, it was a smooth end to the adventure of a lifetime. We arrived without a problem in Chicago 18 months to the day from when we initially left for Quito in August of 2008.

It has been an epic trip, and we have learned innumerable things about ourselves, life, and how the world works through our experiences. This adventure has given us a unique perspective, and though many times it was hard or unpleasant, we have emerged a little stronger and a little wiser. February 18th, 2010 concludes another adventure in life, and you can be sure there will be many others. Many thanks to all of those who have followed our adventure along the way. Until next time, adios amigos.

Route of the Maya (Escárcega, Mexico)

Mon, 8 Feb 2010 13:59:52 -0600

By Kris -

The Yúcatan Peninsula is covered in jungle, and just like you'd expect from any rainforest we had our fair share of rain. Rain makes everything more difficult. It mucks up the bike and destroys the shifting. It gets us way more dirty than we would normally be. We have to dry everything out when we stop riding, and it makes it well near impossible to keep any hotel room clean. From Río Dulce to the small town of Poptún it rained for three and a half out of the six hours we were riding. To add to our troubles, we did about 7500 more feet (2300m) of climbing than we were anticipating. By the time we got to Poptún we were starving, exhausted, and wet to the bone.

After our ride through the rain our luck started to change. We managed to find a decent hotel and when it came to finding food we bumped into the deal of a lifetime. At a hole-in-the-wall comedor we asked the waitresses for two plates of beans, rice, eggs, and tortillas. We didn't know how much it would cost, but we were served two heaping plates and four tortillas. Not bad, we thought, but the tortillas kept coming. Five more piping hot tortillas were placed in our bread basket, and a few minutes later, three more. After such a long day even that much food wasn't enough for Erik so we ordered him another plate load of vegetarian heaven. With that plate came, of course, more tortillas. By the end of the meal we were finally full and waiting nervously to find out the price of our feast. "Forty-five quetzal (US$5)," the woman said when we asked her for the bill. We couldn't believe our luck!

The next day's ride to the tourist town of Flores picked up where the previous ride left off. It was cloudy, just starting to rain, and we knew we were in for some hills. The rain continued through the hills at the start of the ride, but as we started to lose elevation the clouds broke apart and beautiful blue sky shone through. Now that we didn't have to worry about rain getting in our eyes, we took a good look around us. We were surrounded by some of the strangest hills we had ever seen. The valley floor was completely flat, and protruding from it were medium-sized hills that were almost perfectly rounded and completely green. It was surreal, as if someone had constructed the landscape from styrofoam for a school project.

As the day got more beautiful we continued to ride up and down the rolling hills surrounded first by farmland, then brush, and then full-fledged jungle. The ride was made a bit longer because we kept stopping to fix things that the rain had messed up. We even stopped to clean our bicycle chains at a gas station. Hot, sweaty, and exhausted we rode into Flores. It is a tiny town on an island in Lake Petén Itzá that is connected to the mainland by a short bridge. Most backpackers use this town as a base camp for various jungle tours and to tour the Mayan ruins nearby. This is exactly what we had planned as well. The refreshing thing about being in such a touristy place was that hotel prices were very competitive. The sort of hotel that would have probably been outrageously expensive in a small town was completely affordable in Flores, so we were able to get a pretty decent place.

The downside to being in a tourist town was that finding cheap simple food was a bit more complicated. After spending several days without the luxury of written menus, we felt a bit restricted by the offerings of the nearby restaurants. It seemed like American staples like pizza and pasta were always on offer, but there wasn't anything simple like rice and beans. After giving up and ordering bean and cheese nachos we decided that our best bet was to order from the breakfast menu no matter what time of day it was. Central American breakfast includes refried beans, scrambled eggs, cheese, sour cream, and tortillas. It's just about the greatest thing since toasted bread.

Before collapsing into bed, we made a reservation for a van to pick us up at our hotel and take us to Tikal, a huge Mayan ruin site about 40 miles (64km) away from Flores. Since the trip from Flores to Tikal is so common tour agencies take vans and pick people up at every hotel in town on their way to and from the park. The next morning at seven we hopped in the van outside our hotel and by the time we had left the island every seat was filled. Erik and I payed very close attention to the beginning of the road to Tikal because the next day we would have to ride that section on our way to Belize.

The drive to Tikal was long, and we were glad when we finally made it past miles of hilly jungle and were dropped off at the entrance to the archeological site. Our first order of business, oddly, was to eat breakfast at one of the comedores near the entrance. There wouldn't be any food on sale inside the site, and it would take at least 4 hours for us to see all the major temples, so we thought it wise to fill our bellies before walking roughly six miles around all the temples.

After eating we headed in to see the Mayan temples. As we followed the path through the jungle to the Grand Plaza, a spectacular view opened up in front of us. Surrounding a grassy area were two huge temples arranged north to south. The tallest, Temple I, was built to honor and bury King Double Moon Comb in the early eighth century. Visitors used to be able to climb the steep stairs to the top, but since at least two people tumbled to their deaths the stairs have been closed. To the east was the Northern Acropolis where Archeologists have uncovered nearly 100 different structures, the oldest of which dates back to about 400 BC! On the front of the building was a large, well-preserved wall mask. It was enclosed in a thatched-roof structure to keep it from deteriorating, so it was a little difficult to imagine what the Acropolis would have looked like in its day. But the mask itself was amazing!

Leaving the Grand Plaza, we headed down a path through the jungle to Temple V. This temple was a massive 190 feet (58m) high, and like the second temple in the Grand Plaza it had a ladder-like staircase leading all the way to the top. The climb itself was not difficult, but once at the top, a quick glance down was enough to make my head spin a little. This temple had no guardrail across the top and there was only three feet or so before the steep stairs that stretched all the way down the front, so Erik and I were very careful to stay as close to the back wall as possible. Above and behind us stood a tiny room barely three feet deep at the very top of the temple, and from our location at the top of the temple steps we could see the tops of the buildings in the Grand Plaza poking out of the jungle. Fortunately we chose to climb the temple in between large tour groups, so there were only three other people at the top with us. On our way down, one such tour group started filing up the wooden staircase and I couldn't imagine trying to shuffle around in three feet of space along a 190 foot cliff.

Temple V was our first encounter with the spider monkeys that live in the jungle around Tikal. Unfortunately I didn't have the camera at the time, but a cute little monkey was hanging by a branch seeming to bask in the attention of the tour group that was giving it a mini photo shoot. By the time Erik arrived with the camera the monkey had decided enough was enough and had slipped further into the undergrowth. We stuck around for a few more minutes catching glimpses of a couple more monkeys as they meandered from tree to tree. Next, on our way over to the Plaza of Seven Temples, I spotted a howler monkey gracefully walk across a tree branch right above my head, and climb into the higher leafy branches with one fluid movement. I was fascinated with how easily the monkey was able to pull off such effortless acrobatics. I guess it really helps having hands and feet that can both grab branches, and a tail that can do the same.

We wandered past several other temple ruins. By now we were way past counting them. Meandering down the jungle path, we overheard various tour guides informing their patrons of the history of the different temples and various facets of Mayan life. One guide was explaining why the temples were so tall in a very interesting way. He said that the Mayan kings were also considered demigods and one way they reinforced their legitimacy was to predict the weather which was quite an important ability in an agrarian society. From the top of the tall temples the king would have been able to see clouds a long way off. So while people thought of the king as a demigod, he was really just the weatherman.

The last temple we climbed was Temple IV at the far southeast side of the ancient city. At 64 meters high, this temple was the tallest building in Tikal although it is definitely not the most impressive from the ground. This is because the lower 75% of the building is still buried under soil and vegetation. A winding staircase took us all the way to the top were we enjoyed a panoramic view of the Guatemalan jungle and the various temples of Tikal poking out above the canopy. There was more room at the top of this temple, so although there were over twenty people sitting on the stairs at the top we were not nearly as afraid as we had been at the top of Temple V. Dozens of pictures later we were climbing back down the temple and making the long trek back to the entrance to catch the bus back to Flores.

The next morning we got ready early as usual, but the pouring rain outside was a big deterrent. We decided to wait until it cleared, but after several hours of pouring rain it was time to formulate plan B. We knew we would kick ourselves later if it turned out to be a beautiful day, but neither of us wanted to ride in rain if we could help it. To postpone our decision we went out to breakfast at a cafe on the other side of the small island. It had stopped raining by the time we started walking across town, but when we finished eating it was pouring harder than ever. Now we had two problems, how were we going to get back to our hotel and were we going to leave Flores in the pounding rain? A quick dash through the rain back to our hotel got us completely soaked to the bone as we splashed through rivers flowing through the streets, and tried in vain to find cover wherever we could. We decided to spend the rest of the day at the hotel in a hammock waiting out the rain, which turned out to be a good decision.

Early the following morning we loaded up the bike, and peered nervously at the cloudy sky. The clouds looked quite a bit thinner, but the threat was still there. For the most part the ride went well. The hills weren't too steep, and most of the road was well-paved, until we reached the last ten miles before the Belizean border. We had been prepared for an unpaved road exiting Guatemala, but we hadn't been prepared for thick mud. After literally slogging through the mud for a mile, and being laughed at by the construction workers who were lounging on their backhoes by the side of the road, we stopped to scrape the mud out of the wheels and gears. Our second attempt at riding was even less fruitful. We could barely manage a walking pace and had to remove the front mudguard in order to allow the front wheel to spin.

Unclogging the front wheel seemed to be the ticket, but we weren't out of the woods yet. We still had to ride seven more miles over wet grit to get to the border. Only then did it start to rain. With ourselves and our bike splattered with mud, we rolled into the Guatemalan immigration office and continued on to the Belizean border. No one seemed too surprised at our condition, but they were quite impressed that we had ridden nearly 62 miles (100km) to get there.

Once in Belize it was nice to be able to speak English. The border officers were kind enough to let us use their hose to wash off the bike, and many asked us about our trip. One officer even asked me if we were professional cyclists. He didn't seem to understand that we were just tourists cycling for the adventure of it all. It took a full hour to wash off the bike and get everything back into decent working order. The folks at the border assured us that all the roads would be paved through Belize, and we heaved a sigh of relief as we rolled onto the pavement.

San Ignacio, five miles away, was the nearest town with an ATM so we headed in that direction. On our way we passed another collection of Mayan ruins at a place called Xunitunich. It was only a mile or so off the main road, so we took the bike and hiked up a large hill to the park entrance. The temples at Xunitunich were puny compared to the giant pyramids we had seen in Tikal, but they did have one special detail. On the east and west walls of the main temple huge carvings were still preserved. From the top of the temple we could see Guatemala to the west. The view would have been incredible except for the fact that a fine misty rain had filled the air. Our tummies rumbling for food and our legs aching for a nap, we cruised down the hill and back onto the main highway.

The people in Belize generally speak English, Spanish, and a mix of both - Belizean creole. Knowing both English and Spanish, I was able to pick out words and phrases to get the gist of what people were talking about, but it was definitely its own thing. Erik couldn't understand a word. From our first pedal stroke in Belize, we had noticed a change in people's attitude toward us. In general Belizian people were quite laid-back and had a very Caribbean feel to them. They gave us thumbs up and wave to us out of their cars as they passed us. They didn't call us gringo, blow kisses or whistle at us.

It was actually quite a pleasant relief to be able to cycle in peace. It seemed that this peaceful cycling environment encouraged quite a few cyclists because we saw a couple of them on our first couple of miles into the country. Over the following days we saw even more cyclists on training rides, so many, in fact, that we developed a theory that Belize is so small that dedicated cyclists commonly ride from one side of the country to the other for training.

The rest of the ride went smoothly, and we decided to stop for the night in the small village of Burrell Boom. Though it didn't look like much, it was quite a nice little town. We found a small inn run by a retired American, and she gave us such a good deal that she whispered it to us to insure that no other guests would hear. Since there was a supermarket in town, we decided to forego eating out for one day and cook our own meal. Though the supermarket looked quite nice on the outside, the selection was pretty scant. The shelves were barely lined with staples such as cans of vegetables, cake mixes, and cooking oil. From the slim pickings, Erik managed to make a fantastic dish of potato, egg, vegetable and cheese, with coconut rice on the side. In the land of overpriced food, it was the cheapest filling meal we had eaten in days.

The next day as we were riding, we came upon another young touring couple on a tandem. We are continually surprised by how many tandem couples we meet on the road down here. They were from Latvia and were traveling the opposite direction as us en route to Costa Rica. They had just started their cycle tour in Cancun, so we spent a few minutes showing them our route from Costa Rica on the map. They reminded us a lot of how we had been when we started our trip in Ecuador. They were decked out in proper cycling gear, they rode pretty fast, and their bike was immaculately clean. After talking for a few minutes we both wished each other luck and parted ways.

The pavement in Belize was extremely coarse and made riding quite slow, so we were excited to be heading to the wealthier country of Mexico. While Mexico isn't usually thought of as a rich nation, coming from Central America it is a giant step up. After paying twenty dollars each to exit Belize, entering North America was a cinch and we were excited to find ourselves riding on smooth tarmac to Chetumal. Chetumal was the biggest city we had been in since San Salvador, and was quite modern. When the day cooled down enough we walked across town to the Mayan Cultural Museum, a three-story building with an excellent exhibit on many facets of Mayan culture and lifestyle. The museum had exhibits on the two Mayan calendar systems (365 & 200 days) along with models of how archeologist imagined the most significant temples used to look in their heyday. It takes quite an imagination to think about how each ancient pile of bricks used to look when it was new, carved, and painted red.

The next morning we headed out for a very long ride to the first Mayan site in Mexico: Xpujíl (pronounced shpu-heel). It was over 60 miles to the town of Xupjíl and by the time we got there we were so exhausted that all we could think about was getting a hotel room and resting. In a hurry we found the nearest overpriced hotel and made ourselves at home. It wasn't until nearly 5 pm that we got ourselves over to the archeological site and by then it had closed. We would have to wait until 8 am the next morning to see the ruins, which would set our ride back a couple hours. On the bright side, we would get to sleep in a little bit after our incredibly long day since normally we would hit the road at dawn (around 6AM).

We had a leisurely breakfast before walking down the road to the Xupjíl ruins. We got there just before it opened. The first thing that struck me was how nice the infrastructure was at the site. The ticket office was well-painted as well as the other buildings onsite. A well-cleared path led us to several crumbling buildings, and past them, along the same path rose a huge stone building with three crumbling towers. We were the only tourists at the site so early in the morning so not only did we have beautiful morning sunlight to enjoy but we had the place all to ourselves.

Erik explored the top of the building from which he could see a set of ruins further along the road at Becán. As he climbed along the top of the ruins, I explored the bottom. Some of the decorative carvings were still intact or restored, and there was even some red paint on the bottom bricks indicating that the building had been painted hundreds of years before. Around on the south side of the building was a narrow stairway leading up into the southernmost tower. We climbed up through the staircase that lead about half way up the temple. It was a very cool view and neat to think about how the Mayans had also used that hidden staircase in 600AD.

After leaving Xpujíl, we loaded up our bike and started riding out of town, stopping once to adjust our handlebars and saddles. Just down the road a couple miles was another archeological site, Becán. We parked our bike right outside the entrance, and the man at the ticket office assured us it would be perfectly safe. We took some time to change into regular shoes and headed in to see the ruins. The signs at the entrance to the site were written in three languages: English, Spanish, and Maya. A common myth is that the Mayan people died of diseases brought by the conquistadors when they first "discovered" the Americas. This is false and in fact the Mayan empire collapsed about three hundred years before the arrival of the Spanish. Some of the Mayans still lived on after the collapse and still carry on their traditions in certain parts of Central America as evidenced by the sign written in Maya.

Becán was a much larger site than Xpujíl, in fact, it is the remains of an entire Mayan city of that name. "Becán" literally means "path of the snake" but is also the word for "canyon" or "moat," and a 1.2 mile (2km) moat surrounded the city in its day. It still exists today although it is no longer filled with water. Passing an old temple, we walked along a rock-walled passageway that used to be one of the main thoroughfares of the city. Following a path from here, we came to Structure VIII, which dates back to AD 600-730. We read that from the top it was possible to see Xpujíl five miles (8km) away, but we decided to respect the signs asking us not to climb on the ruins.

Further along, we meandered past Structure IX, a building that surrounded the old central plaza, and spent a lot of time exploring the rooms and levels of Structure X. At least two levels of rooms survived the test of time. Each rectangular room was quite small, and had a wooden pole along each shorter side. A raised bench inside was used for sleeping and lounging. If it had been hard to imagine Mayan life at Tikal, it was much easier here in Becán because many of the living spaces were still intact. Along the side of Building X was a giant stucco mask still bearing some of the original red paint. It was housed in a wooden shelter to keep it from deteriorating further. Behind building X was a ball court for the popular Mayan juego de pelota. After we had finished looking at the site, we jumped back on the bike and stopped in the village for lunch at at restaurant.

The day was mild, so we didn't mind getting such a late start. The road had few cars, and after a little while we found ourselves going over a ton of speed bumps. The highway was obviously being worked on, but it was a Sunday so no one was around. Both Belize and Mexico have an impressive number of speed bumps. In Belize they were so common that folks gave us directions by them (eg. "Go down that street to the second bump and turn left."). In Mexico as well they are used liberally to slow down traffic in places where the highway passes through villages and police checkpoints. Many of the speed bumps in Mexico were built haphazardly by locals to dismantle everything passing over at more than a snail pace, including our bike. Evidence of this is in the large chunks missing from the middle of the hump where young speedsters have bottomed out their car.

Passing through the speed bump zone, we finally made it to new smooth pavement. It was so nice to ride on brand new tarmac, and we relished every minute of it. It was a beautiful road, a beautiful day, and Mexico was looking like the pedaler's paradise we had been looking for this whole trip. The 37 miles (60km) went by fairly quickly, and we were lucky to find some cheap accommodation in the tiny town we had planned to stop at. A place near the road advertised cabañas (cabins) for $10 and the only other hotel nearby cost over $100 per night.

Across the small town, we found that the cabins were quite rustic. Wooden structures with thatched roofs on a concrete foundation, they didn't have any running water or electricity. The small circular room contained one small double bed covered in a mosquito net, and a plastic chair. The shared bathroom, down a small path, was a small cinderblock building divided into two shower stalls and a toilet, but had no real plumbing. Showers were a process involving throwing buckets of cold water over yourself, soaping, and then rinsing off with another bucketful. The toilet, which had the normal porcelain bowl, had to be flushed by pouring a bucket of well water into it. To make all this easier on us, the woman started hauling water back and forth from a well next to our hut to a plastic trash can next to the bathroom, that way we wouldn't have to go so far to refill the smaller buckets.

Erik and I set to the usual task of moving in, but after taking one of the bags into the hut, Erik noticed that one of our black pannier bags wasn't on the bike. He asked me if I had already taken it in but I replied that I hadn't. Our stomachs started creeping up toward our throats. We got everything inside the hut and took inventory. There was definitely a bag missing. We checked again inside the hut and around the area, but there was still no bag. "Where could it have gone?" we thought. Before panic could get the best of us, we locked up the hut and started retracing our steps through town. Scanning the streets we saw nothing remotely resembling our bag. We got back all the way till the highway stretched further than we could walk. By now our hearts were racing. That particular pannier had been carrying everything that we use on a daily basis: our water purifier, our toiletries, our bike tools, our plate, our bowl, our spoon, our knife, and more. All the little odds and ends that keep the trip running smoothly.

Trying to keep calm, we caught a ride with two French archeologists who were heading back toward Becán in hopes of recovering our bag. By our logic, it must have somehow fallen off the bike on one of the many speed bumps. Speeding down the road we both had our eyes trained on the road’s shoulder hoping to see a black bag. Suddenly, the car began making a strange noise, and it didn't take the men long to realize that they had a flat tire. No problem, we thought, there's a spare in the back of the truck so we'll be on our way in no time. While they had a spare tire ready, and the tools to remove the wheel, they were missing a jack. I gathered that they had been working in Mexico for some time because they didn't seem at all bothered. Instead, they both headed out into the nearby town to ask if anyone had a jack. Five minutes later they returned with not only the jack, but two guys to help them use it. It wasn't too long before the tire was changed, but it seemed like forever to Erik and I because in the meantime our stomachs had been tying themselves in knots over our lost bag.

Back on the road, the closer we got to Becán the more desperate I got to see the bag lying on the side of the road. Finally we reached the restaurant where we had eaten lunch and told the guys they could drop us off there. It had been the last place we saw the pannier bag, so there was no point going further to Xpujíl. The only thing I could think to do was ask the women at the restaurant if they had seen it. Perhaps if it had fallen off in their bumpy parking lot or just down the road someone would have left it there for us to pick up. The women running the restaurant were sorry to say that they hadn't seen any such thing, so we headed back out to the highway to hitch a ride back to our hut. I was distraught. We were now missing so much equipment that I had no idea what we were going to do. I kept racking my brain for what might have happened to it or what I might have done to prevent it. Every time I envisioned our pannier lying by the side of the road my insides wrenched into a tighter knot.

We watched the road intently on the return journey, and even though the Mexican guys who had picked us up were trying to help, it was of little comfort to me. It was as if half our house had burned down while we were watching television. Everything was gone and there was no way to recover it. We tried not to think about it as we ate a nice dinner at the restaurant in town. Heads spinning, we bought some soap, toothpaste, and a toothbrush on our way back to the huts so that we could at least take a shower and get ready for bed. It was just as well that we had been busy all day long because once the sun went down there was really nothing for us to do in the hut but attempt to sleep.

The night was a restless one. Dogs barked constantly, roosters crowed every hour, and our minds were preoccupied about the lost bag. We tossed and turned all night being mindful of staying some distance from the mosquito net so that we could be bitten. When we finally decided to get up, as light started coming through the windows, we got dressed and ready to hitchhike back to Becán again in search of the missing bag. Once standing on the highway with our thumbs out, however, we talked through the previous day again and realized that It was futile to keep going back. We weren't going to find anything new. With heavy hearts we returned to the hut, gathered our remaining things, and started pedaling down the road. Our bike looked like a wounded soldier with only one pannier, and we felt like we had lost a dear companion - some of the items had been with us since day one.

Erik was the one who really pulled us through. Throughout the whole ride he recounted what an awesome trip we'd had, and how much neat stuff we had seen. He shifted my focus from our loss to our successes, and assured me that losing a bag didn't make the trip a failure and it didn't make him regret what we had accomplished at all. By the time we reached Escárcega I was ready to move on and overcome this latest hurdle. Still, the case of the missing bag will probably be on our minds for a long time.

Before finding a hotel in town we stopped at a pharmacy to replace some of the more complicated and necessary things we had lost like contact solution and a razor. A thorough search of the city yielded a decent hotel with internet, and we set ourselves to the task of maintaining our website and eating lunch. As we ate, an older woman started talking to us. She was really interested in our trip and loved traveling herself. In fact, she was going to take a trip to Las Vegas in a couple weeks. After giving me some tips on good towns to visit the subject turned to Mexican culture. She told me about how machista the culture was. A man, for instance, would never consider entering the kitchen, much less washing any dishes. When a woman is married, she loses the ability to associate with any men besides her husband. If she is seen chatting with another man the whole town starts gossiping about her character.

Another thing she told me was that unmarried children (however old they may be) are completely dominated by their parents. They are not allowed to move out, and their parents still have a say in how late they stay out, who they associate with, and what they do. The woman was definitely a radical in her attitude because she told me she didn't approve of controlling her kids to that degree. She gave them an education, a piece of land to build a house on (if they so chose) and bid them good luck with whatever they wanted to do with it. By the end of the conversation it was clear that she was in the upper echelons of Mexican society, and my suspicions were confirmed when she pulled an iPhone out of her purse to call a friend.

The Gringos Are Coming! (Río Dulce, Guatemala)

Wed, 27 Jan 2010 14:47:38 -0600

By Kris -

Leaving Somotillo, the Nicaraguan town most notable for its abundance of pedicab drivers, we made quick work of the border crossing and proceeded through Honduras. This new country was a visible step up from Nicaragua as the majority of the houses we passed were nicely painted and people's clothes were cleaner. Entering Honduras was also the beginning of what we would begin to call the "gringo alarm." People standing by the side of the road would shout "gringo!" as we passed on our bike, entire families would raise the alarm from their porch, and little kids would make up songs with gringo lyrics. My favorite of these songs was sung by about ten kids who saw us climbing a hill. Within seconds they were singing, "ginga la la la la la la" and they continued to sing from the roadside until we were out of earshot. Since that first day in Honduras shouts of "gringo" have only gotten more frequent. Perhaps they don't feel "gringo" is an offensive term, but it's hard not to feel singled out when the "gringo alarm" goes off.

The weather in southern Honduras is arid and hot. When we arrived the high temperature was 100F (38C) and that was during their winter. It is so hot, in fact, that by the time we reached the first town it seemed almost deserted. Everyone was indoors taking refuge from the heat. Since the hotel we were staying at seemed to be far from the actual town itself, we spent almost the entire day inside waiting for the heat to subside. The following morning we made exceptional time to our last Honduran town the next day, and even managed to get a walk around the market in town before it was time to join the group siesta. Thankfully we ended up spending the majority of our two days in Honduras in air conditioned hotel rooms.

The border between Honduras and El Salvador was the easiest we have ever crossed on our bike. There was only one window, no entry or exit fee, and no line. Most surprisingly, there wasn't a "no man's land" between Honduras and El Salvador. In some places we've pedaled for miles between immigration offices. We have always wondered what happens if you get stuck in the no man's land already having an exit stamp from the first country and being rejected by the second? It makes sense to just go back, but most countries don't allow reentering without an exit stamp from another country. You could theoretically get stuck in the no man's land forever.

With a quick stamp in each of our passports, we got a swift introduction to the terrain of El Salvador. We climbed up and up over several hills and then finally descended into the city of San Miguel. The traffic was horrendous. Apparently the more money and people in a country the more cars and pollution. El Salvador's roads were packed with everything from horse drawn buggies to chicken buses. Chicken buses, named for the luggage their occupants carry, are actually reused US school buses. It turns out that school buses are auctioned off after they are worn out by fifteen years of hauling kids to school. The buses then begin their long journey to hauling people (and their chickens) around in Central America.

Like Ecuador, El Salvador uses the US dollar, so we got to take a break from switching to a new currency for a while. El Salvador made the switch to the greenback in 2001 after years of high inflation in their currency. This makes things even easier for us since we brought some cash from home so we didn't have to search out a bank before finding a hotel to spend the night. We have always wondered where they get all their dollar bills and coins to make the switch since they can't print US money? One way or another it works out well for us since we don't have to convert the exchange rate in our head whenever we want to buy something.

Riding into the center of San Miguel in El Salvador was an assault to the senses. The sun beat down on our backs and radiated off the black pavement, the streets were crowded with honking cars and lined with the blaring speakers of businesses seeking to lure customers. It was chaos. Too many people, too much noise, and too much going on. To escape the madness we rode away from the center of town to a nice-looking hotel that our guidebook recommended. The woman at the reception desk was incredibly professional, and offered to help us bring our bags upstairs. She also found a secure place for us to keep the bicycle and offered put our water bottles in the freezer so they would stay cold a little longer when we left in the morning. I graciously accepted her offer and we went searching for food.

In El Salvador, the most popular type of restaurant is a comedor in which food is served buffet style. It didn't take long for us to identify a comida a la vista (buffet) with good lunch options. These comedores made getting food in El Salvador one of the easiest and most enjoyable dining experiences we had ever had on this trip. We would simply take a look at what they had, ask which dishes had meat in them, and then order a plate of all the vegetarian options. At very least there were always rice, beans, and tortillas. At best we got a smorgasbord of salad, potatoes, vegetables, rice, beans, and tortillas all for a couple dollars a person. It was the deal of a lifetime!

The downside of San Miguel, and indeed, of the rest of the country, was the gang problem. By day the streets were filled with shoppers, children, and various groups of shady characters. By night, however, the streets cleared completely save for a sketchy person here and there. In place of all the people were armed guards standing in the doorways of hotels, restaurants, and stores that were still open. Unfortunately we found ourselves walking to the grocery store just as the sky grew dark, and were well aware of the situation. Everyone we passed seemed to chuckle to themselves as if to say, "You have no idea what you're doing, do you grigo?" The grocery store was only two blocks away, so we got our shopping done, kept our wits about us, and were back at the hotel in a jiffy. By that time our hotel had an armed guard (more like a teenager with a gun) posted out front for the night.

Just like the ride to San Miguel, the next few rides were hard and mountainous. El Salvador is volcano country and it seems each new city has its own volcano and mountain range. We climbed out of San Miguel for over an hour as chicken buses rumbled past and blew black smoke in our faces (there's a reason why these school buses were decommissioned in the states). At the top of the mountain we finally got the downhill we deserved. For 5 miles we coasted with nary a pedal stroke. It was blissful until it ended. We had gone from two thousand feet to almost sea level and there was only one place to go… right back up.

The second climb was longer, hotter, and more frustrating. After over an hour on the hot mountain we stopped for a break in the shade and flopped over our handlebars, chests heaving. At that moment we heard faint singing, and looked up to see another cycle tourist coasting down the mountain toward us. Talking to our fellow cyclist was a welcome diversion from the climb. We exchanged stories and experiences, and told each other what to expect on that day's ride. He told us that it was pretty much a steady climb to the turn off to San Vincente (our stop for the night) and we told him about the five mile climb he would have and the downhill into San Miguel. I didn't envy either of us. Soon we bid him good luck and pedaled back into the sun.

It was a couple more hours before we reached the turn off to the town, but once we were there it was a steep descent into San Vincente. The most remarkable thing about this otherwise unremarkable town was the stunning clock tower in the middle of the central plaza. Like a Central American Eiffel Tower it loomed over the town looking flashy in it's new white paint job. It even displayed the right time! For one dollar each we were allowed to climb to the top and look out over the town as the sun set.

We thought the next day's ride to San Salvador was going to be easier, but it was just as hard if not harder than the previous days. We climbed and descended hill after sweaty hill, and as we drew near to the capital we watched as the sky turned from a crisp blue to a hazy brown. San Salvador had at least as much pollution as we had seen in any other big city in the world. All the surrounding mountains keep the pollution in place in the same way as it does in Los Angeles.

At the top of the umpteenth hill, we caught a glimpse of the city. It's was all down hill from there, or so we thought. We climbed the next hill, then the next, then the next. Half an hour later we took a look at our GPS map and found that we had somehow passed the city entirely. There had been no signs, no off ramps, no nothing! Had we been in a car we might have argued over how we had missed the turnoff, but on a bike we were devastated. Looking back at the line of hills we had climbed to get to where we were, we couldn't fathom going back over each one of them to try and find where we had gone wrong. That could have taken hours, and there was no way we had the energy for it.

We asked a guy on a bike for directions to San Salvador (cyclists can always be trusted for accurate directions), and he told us that down the road about five minutes we would turn left and follow signs for the city. He figured it would take us an hour to get there by bike. Mildly hopeful, we headed down the hill to the turnoff, and followed signs. Just like being lost in the car, we were paranoid. Only this time every minute we spent cycling in the wrong direction and every hill we coasted down in the wrong direction would mean more time pedaling back in the sun and heat. Fortunately after a couple of miles in what seemed like the wrong direction and with no signs to reassure us, we reached a roundabout that pointed us toward San Salvador. This time instead of approaching from the south we were approaching from the north. We had ridden a huge semicircle around the capital city, but at least we knew we were on the right track.

The last five miles into San Salvador climbed steadily up the side of aptly named Volcán San Salvador and I cried the whole way up. I couldn't reconcile myself to the fact that we were riding an extra 15 miles (25km) out of our way because I had missed a turn off and had failed to catch my mistake on the GPS map. Erik tried to provide words of encouragement, but it was too hot, too hard, and too much for me to handle. So while we pedaled I sobbed.

A break at the gas station at the top of the hill gave us a place to take a rest and figure out where we were on our map of the city. Fortunately, we were quite close to the cluster of hotels we were planning on checking out. The going was made easier by a steady downhill to the hotels, but we had to deal with a new obstacle: gridlock traffic. Trapped behind a row of old chicken busses blowing puffs of black smoke every minute we searched for the street sign that would lead us off the main road. After a bout of being lost, we finally managed to get on the right street and find two decent hotels right across the street from each other.

It had been a long day before getting to the hotels, and if I could have, I would have boycotted hotel shopping. But alas, I am the one who speaks Spanish, so the room search is up to me. There is a protocol to finding a hotel. First I go in and ask if there are any rooms available for two people. Then I ask about the price. There are usually at least two different prices, one for a room with air-conditioning and one for a room with only a fan. Then I ask to see the rooms. Walking through the rooms gives me a feel for the cleanliness and quality of the place. Hotels in Central America don't have the same consistency of quality as the chain hotels in the States. Also, while I'm walking through the room I check the simple things like, whether there is room for our bike in the room, whether the water works, whether the lights work, and whether there are good screens on the windows to keep out the mosquitoes at night. At the end of the check I always tell the person showing the room that I have to speak with my partner before making a decision. Occasionally they take that as not wanting to stay there and the price starts falling.

When it came to the two places in San Salvador, they seemed pretty similar. One was a bit more professional, and had a smaller room while the other was more of a family-run place with a much bigger room. After much deliberation and asking questions of both parties, we went with the bigger room because she offered us a discount of $2. All things being equal I figured that was a good deal… but not all things were equal. After we had registered and payed, we found out that she had apparently decided that the room did not include air-conditioning even though it obviously had an air-conditioner affixed to the window. In addition, there were only 10 channels on the "cable TV" and we couldn't connect to their wireless network, so we began having serious misgivings about our decision.

The bait and switch technique probably worked on most tourists, but she had made a mistake by using it on us. Since we hadn't done more than pay for the room, I decided to try to get our money back and move to the hotel across the street. While Erik hung out in the lobby, I told the woman as politely as I could that we wanted a refund. After a bit of haggling, she still refused to give us our money back, and instead gave us the remote control to turn on the air conditioner. That was satisfactory for one night, and we decided to switch hotels the next morning.

The following day we walked in the city center, a crowded maze of shops spilling out over the sidewalk, speakers blaring, people shouting, and trucks trying to rumble through the streets. After a quick look around we decided enough was enough, and headed back toward the hotel. On the way we managed to find the main mall and replenish our exhausted supply of sunscreen. Since the people in Central America don't usually get sunburnt, the mall is the only place where we might have a hope of finding sunblock. It was really impressive to see the difference between the central market area where most people do their shopping and the Metrocentro mall where the rich shop. In sharp contrast to the market, the mall was fairly quiet, orderly, and clean just like any mall in the States.

The next few days of riding included a lot more mountain climbing, pollution and traffic. We entered Guatemala without a hitch and the road quality went down a little bit. Other than a decrease in population density, our initial impression of Guatemala was pretty much the same as El Salvador. Smog still collected in the valleys between mountains and the arid landscape still stretched on as far as we could see. The biggest difference for us was that the comedores no longer served buffet and instead we had to order from a very short menu that the waitress would recite on command.

Our second ride in Guatemala took us along a river valley. This was where the landscape changed dramatically. After crossing the last line of mountains into the valley, we found ourselves in a more tropical atmosphere. The air was more humid, the hills were greener, and the plants were more lush. "Welcome to the jungle," I thought to myself as we pedaled up and down the hills trying to ignore cries of "Gringo!" from everyone we passed. We were finally in the land of the Maya.

In the small town of Quirigá we found our first set of Mayan ruins. Even though we had just finished riding 60 miles to get there, we decided to walk the additional three miles to get to the archeological site instead of hiring a tuk-tuk or riding our bike. We followed the directions in our guidebook to the letter and followed the path next to some old railroad tracks to get to the ruins. After about half an hour of walking, a man caught up to us on the trail and asked us where we were headed. When we told him we were going to the ruins of Quirigá, he let us know we were going the wrong way. We walked all the way back to where the trail crossed a nicely paved road (with a huge sectioned-off cycle lane!) and took that instead.

The road led through a massive Del Monte banana plantation so as we walked we got a better idea of where bananas come from. We had seen them growing on trees in Southeast Asia, but we had never had such a close look. One flower per tree grows on a thick stem that's so heavy it hangs down toward the ground. A closed purple flower at the end of the stem looks more like an alien man eating plant than the source of yellow bananas. One by one as the plant grows, petals from the flower peel back to reveal a perfect bunch of little green bananas. In the banana plantation they had covered most of the banana bunches with blue plastic bags, presumably to keep animals from eating them, giving the plantation the distinct look of a cheap haunted house at Halloween with blue ghosts hanging in the trees.

When we finally got to the ruins, we were surprised to see so many tall stela (carved stone pillars) that were well preserved. Intricate carvings of faces, and ancient Mayan hieroglyphs adorned the pillars. The caretakers of the sight had erected tall thatched roof structures to keep the pillars out of the elements, so it was a little difficult to imagine them as they were at the Mayan heyday, but the monuments were incredible nonetheless. Further back into the archeological site were more stela and the huge stone steps of a larger building, the acropolis. Around the outside of the acropolis were numerous round stone carvings called zoomorphs that represented various mythical creatures like frogs, jaguars, and serpents. Erik went around the site photographing everything while I spent most of my time keeping the mosquitoes at bay.

As the sunlight faded we speed walked back to town and managed to get a big plate of rice, beans, and eggs before going back to our hotel and preparing for the next day's ride to Río Dulce. The US coast guard has named Río Dulce the safest place to be during a hurricane in the Gulf of Mexico, so it is a very popular place with foreign yachters and other tourists. Río Dulce has kept its colloquial name of Fronteras (Borders) from the day when it was the last outpost before taking a boat north into the Guatemalan low lands. Now there is a bridge and a paved road, but for us Río Dulce still marks the beginning of the ride into the deep jungle.

Revelations from the Road (Month #17)

Tue, 19 Jan 2010 13:22:56 -0600

By Erik -

It has taken seventeen months, but I think we have finally figured out the best way for us to travel by bike. The key is to have a set of goals to reach along the way. These goals can be anything from sights to see, things to learn, or deadlines to meet. This time around we are going to try out our new methodology and see how it works. For the finale of the expedition we are planning to ride from Costa Rica to California. We have many intermediary goals to reach along the way: volcanoes, ruins, whales, and canyons. Our ultimate goal is to cycle back home before we run out of money for traveling. There is no greater motivator for us than getting back home.

By riding predominantly northwest we will have the sun at our back when we start riding in the morning. This will make for better pictures, and also make us more visible to drivers. Our northbound heading should also put us in the best season for wherever we are at the time. Finally, traveling south to north we won't be crossing any time zones, which will make logistics a cinch. It will be amazing to watch the weather, culture, and scenery transition between a far away place and the place we call home. We will cross everything from mountain ranges to jungles to deserts.

Lots of things are different about this part of the expedition than when we began seventeen months ago. First off, our packing list has gone through seventeen month's of optimization for weight, usefulness, and reliability. After repairing each break-down our bike gets in better shape than it has ever been. Especially when we stop back home where we have access to parts that will fix the root of the problem. You won't catch me claiming that we won't have any gear problems, but I will say that they are becoming less common the more we travel.

Another difference from the beginning of this trip is that we have developed a sustainable travel routine. Each day we begin at dawn with a 30 to 70 mile ride. This is followed by finding somewhere to spend the night, purifying water, getting food, and planning the details of the next day. Add in some sight seeing, laundry, shopping, reading, updating the website, or staying in touch with friends abroad and we are actually very busy. When we started the trip I was worried that we would get bored because traveling wouldn't keep us busy, but that doesn't happen very often. Traveling is like a full time job.

Perhaps the biggest difference from the start of the trip is that we have a good idea of the route we want to take but it is not set in stone. We have learned that there are too many unknowns to plan the details many days in advance, so instead we only have a general idea of the route we want to take. That way we are flexible enough to change plans, but still informed enough to keep ourselves on the right track when the unknowns arise, as they always do. In our two times visiting home during this expedition I have learned that it is impossible to imagine what it will be like on the road until we are actually there. Hence planning too far in advance is a futile task.

That observation leads me to a related revelation: it is simply impossible to understand being in another pair of shoes until you are wearing them for yourself. Likewise, I have even discovered that after traveling for a long time and returning home I can't remember what it is like on the road anymore. It is akin to recalling what it is like to feel the heat of summer in the dead of winter. Vise-versa it is hard to imagine the comfort of home while on the road. A different perspective is the hardest thing to understand, and it's almost as hard to remember that perspective after understanding it.

I think the same is true with extreme poverty. I can’t help but wonder what it must be like to be as poor as some of the people we have seen along the way. In places like Nicaragua, we passed many impoverished people living in shacks by the side of the road. They are close enough to touch, but I can't even imagine what is like to live in their shoes. Based on how often Nicaraguan's believed me when I told them our bike cost a million dollars, I don't think they have any concept of what it is like to be us either. Their view is based on American movies that they have seen on television while ours is based on their living situation. Neither view is based on having experienced the other's lifestyle.

Just like the value of our bike is always a point of speculation, it is equally pointless to imagine their perspective by talking about how much money they make. By GDP Nicaragua is the second poorest country in the western hemisphere behind Haiti. Their poor might survive on US$5 or less per day, but stating that relative to an American's wage is comparing apples to oranges. The map above shows Purchasing Power Parity, or the relative buying power of the dollar in other countries. The map shows that a dollar in Nicaragua buys about five times as much as a dollar in the United States. Does that mean the poor of Nicaragua are surviving on the equivalent of twenty-five dollars per day instead of five? I don't think that number brings me any closer to understanding their perspective. For now I can only imagine what it might be like to live in their shoes, and keep in mind that we are all a lot closer than we might imagine.