Date:     Mon, 16 Feb 2009 (very delayed)

To:         touring@phred.org

From:    Michael Ayers <michael@terminalia.org>

Subject: Gondwana - Cycling on Autopilot in Central America

Hola Phreds,

Once I had arrived in Cartageña, Colombia, only the isthmus of Central America, and Mexico stood between me and home. Would I choose the practical thing to do, and skip over those lands?

My original tour plan would have me beginning Stage 5, the final, and shortest, Stage in Panama around the first week of July, 02007. When I was finally ready to depart Colombia, it was already the first week of April, 02008, so I was a full nine months behind. All of that time was lost during the second half of the tour, the delays beginning in earnest after my first Atlantic crossing plan was cancelled. From then on, no matter how much I tried to regain lost time, or even just to avoid loosing more, those efforts came to naught, sometimes due to unexpected circumstances, but more often due to my own reduced ability to push forward as I had done during the first half of the Tour. The relevance of all this was that, at that time, I already had quite a backlog of responsibilities waiting for me back at home, and my available resources were affected just as one would expect when running nine months late. It seemed that I could find some way to deal with both of those factors just long enough to finish the Tour as planned, or at least that is what I hoped, though that would probably be the opposite of any sort of logical behavior. Additionally, at that time, my main goal of the Tour, to visit all the parts of Gondwanaland had already been completed, since the lands ahead of me were never part of that great landmass. So I certainly could have transferred back home at that point and still found a way to consider the Tour to be a success. However one of my most important goals, as I’m sure most readers of this list will sympathize with, was to do exactly what I said I would do at the outset of the whole affair. That meant there needed to be a Stage 5, and that I needed to arrive back home by bike. All of that thought and debate was probably irrelevant in any case, as the concept of stopping early seemed so unfathomable to me, and it seemed plausible that I may have been biologically unable to make that choice. The result was: I continued forward.

In doing so, however, the feel of the Tour shifted to more of a “get the job done” style, and after almost three years on the road, the feeling that I had seen “it all,” multiple times before, slowly crept in to my mind as well. In that regard, I, more often than not, passed on visiting the sort of “off the beaten track” areas that I usually preferred, and put myself on automatic pilot for the reminder of the Tour. Though, in reality, after three years at a pace that was probably a little faster than most others would choose, that was better described as an “automatic-but-increasingly-slow” pilot. One important way that this change became apparent was in the transfer from South America. There is a well-known, if rather ad-hoc, sea transport service between Cartageña and Panama, where sailing yachts shuttle passengers, presumably backpacker-types, back and forth in order to bypass the roadless, and dangerous, Darrien Gap. Since I had made sea transport between Stages one of my goals for the Tour, I should have availed myself of that service.  However, it is said that it may be necessary to wait for up to two weeks before a boat is ready to make the trip, which itself takes five or six days, depending on conditions. Ah the time,  I could certainly have used a few days at sea again, and would have liked to have gone that way, but given the circumstances, I didn’t feel right about committing that much time. As the direct flight from Cartageña to Panama City cost about the same as the boats, and only lasted 35 minutes, I gave in (Boooo!!) and went that way. The airport procedures were straightforward enough, though security at the Cartageña airport was a little more time consuming, as you might expect. The bike was taken on without extra charge after I had it plastic-wrapped, though that service was more almost three times the price I had paid in other airports.  In any case, after a pleasant weeks stay in Cartageña, I was soon off the continent and ready to start Stage 5.

My plan had always been to tour through six of the seven countries of the region, missing only El Slavador, and I intended to stick to that. However, I made every effort to streamline the route a little, avoiding many possible diversions into the mountains, for example. That may have forced me to miss a few interesting attractions here and there, but those were fewer in number and grandeur than those of earlier Stages, in any case, so I didn’t really mind. To simplify things I will describe all six counties in this post, but first, here are some general thoughts applying to all.  The biggest factor affecting my performance and enjoyment of this section was the weather. My original Tour plan had me riding through the region in July or August, which was not really ideal, as those months are right in the thick of hurricane season. Later, when I rearranged my schedule while on the ship from Africa, it seemed like I would now be in the area in January or February, and that seemed perfect as the weather is usually ideal at that time of year. Now, being way behind that revised plan, I would be riding in late-April and May. That meant the start of the hot, rainy season would be my fate. Indeed there were some powerhouse thundershowers, which were actually quite welcome as they mitigated the oppressive heat considerably. I had been through many hot areas already, but none took it out of me like Central America did. The dampness was a big factor, but it was the way the heat kept up overnight, and rose to highs quickly in the morning, that really did it. On several days I stopped early just to get out of the heat. I also put off camping again for a while, as I knew I would be awake all night unless I could get a place to stay with at least a decent fan. Both of those were things that didn’t help my already stressed schedule and budget.

The populated areas, with some exceptions noted below, were considerably more “gringoized” than anyplace I had been for a long time. Familiar chain restaurants were more common than anywhere else in Latin America, and there was a distinct blend of “third-world’ agrarianism, with 01980’s architecture, and US-style over-consumption in many places. Food, in general, was never rarely too far away, and was of a reasonable quality, though with out much to distinguish the local cuisine. Accommodation varied in quality over a wide range, but, like I said above, as long as there was a fan or ac, I didn’t really care. Expenses were noticeably higher for both food and lodging, putting all six countries in the top half of those I visited on the Tour. On one hand that was surprising, given the region’s often perceived status as a poor backwater. However, as is usually the case with small countries, a disproportionate amount of time is spent in the capital, or at the major tourist sites, which invariably skews costs higher. The road network was about what would be expected in terms of coverage and traffic. On a long, narrow isthmus there are only a few long-distance routes (really only one through most parts of the region,) and little opportunity to deviate from those. Traffic was often heavy on the main highways and near the big cities, though on the few good secondary roads, conditions were usually quite pleasant. Language, of course was Espanol, with the notable exception of Belize, though there were usually English-speakers around, especially in the more touristy places. However, in most of the areas that were along my route there was a disappointing lack of any sort of indigenous culture, at least none which was easily seen. The route, then began in Panama City, and proceeded as directly as practical towards the Yucatan Peninsula of Mexico, with just a little winding around to reach a few important attractions, and with an aim of avoiding any extra mountainous areas, as I already had my fill of that type of terrain for a while.

Panama

With its location adjacent to the southern end of the canal, not to mention the former US Canal Zone, and its status as an offshore banking center, Panama City is the isthmus’s version of Manhattan. High-rise and hectic, with just a few leftover sights from its historic past, it was, nevertheless a reasonable place from which to start the Stage. Since my laptop was still missing in action, I was not able to spend the week I was there catching up on my digital chores as I had planned, and instead rested, did a few errands, and made one final major overhaul of the bike.  Taking a break was made a little easier by the proximity to the place I was staying of perhaps the best supermarket I’d seen since I left home.  Available items included numerous gringo favorites (root beer, my favorite crackers, Ben and Jerry’s, etc.) which I had not sampled for a long time.  Since most of the country’s interesting sites were in the general vicinity of the capital, the ride for Stage 5 started a little slowly. Riding due north first, right along the canal, I took in the views from the locks at Miraflores, and then continued through a short section of rainforest to the little settlement of Gamboa. That particular location once housed the American families who operated the canal, but today their former homes are now part of an upscale resort, and I chose to stay there, as it would probably be the only place I would get to see the region’s forest for a while. In reality, it was too much of a package-tour type of place for my tastes, but the old workers house I stayed in was very nice. Continuing on, I soon rejoined the Transistmia Highway, the narrow two-lane road that parallels the canal, and seemed to carry more cargo traffic than the more famous waterway. Along the way, I crossed the Continental Divide, which topped out at a less-than-stressful 150 meters.  Once free of that nerve-wracking road, I crossed the canal at the Gatun locks, and then followed a nice section of quiet road out to the Castillo de San Lorenzo, a World Heritage Site, and one of the original Spanish fortresses built to guard the mouth of the Rio Chagres, along the old transport route that once drained the gold out of the original American civilizations. My map had some indications that there could be a minor road that eventually rejoined with the main Panamericana Highway to the west, which would have allowed me to escape the congested part of the country much more quickly. However, if there had ever been such a road, part of it had been submerged by one of the reservoirs built to service the canal, and so I was forced to reverse course. Crossing the Gatun locks for a second time (I rode across the steel-grated lock mechanism without incident the first time, but whomever was on security duty there in the afternoon seemed to almost panic when someone wanted to cross by bike and insisted that I walk,) and then finished the day at the infamous port town at the northern, Caribbean end, of the canal, Colon. That particular city has a much-publicized reputation for intense villainy and general wickedness. While it was not the most beautiful town to look at, I had no problems and actually found the afternoon street life to be rather lively, though I only carried a small bit of cash on me when I went out for dinner, to be sure. Not wanting to repeat the horrible ride back to PC the next day, and because I like trains, I waited until the afternoon and road the Panama Canal Railway, which had returned to passenger service some years earlier. It is one of the World’s more historic trains, and gave some nice views of the area along the canal. Brining the bike on did not prove to be much of an issue.

The rest of the ride through the country was a little less than ideal.  Leaving PC to the north was a predictably congested affair, and it took quite a while to reach the “Bridge of the Americas” which, I suppose, is the official connecting point between the two American continents, though there is also a newer bridge farther north near the Miraflores locks. As I usually do, I simply started off riding across the bridge, but was soon joined by two soldiers with rifles on a motorcycle who obviously had been sent out to escort me across, and whose impatience made the crossing that much more difficult. Form there things didn’t improve for a while, as most of the next 570 kilometers were on a wide, soulless and uninteresting highway. The traffic calmed down a little after the first 50 kilometers, but the rest of the way was still rather bleak. I had to stop early a couple of times due to the heat, including once at a pleasant enough little beach resort at Playa Santa Clara, which at least allowed me to wet my feet in both oceans within a two-day period. There was only one opportunity to get off the highway, through the little town of Sona, a deviation of a little over 100 kilometers along, in fact, the Old Panamericana Highway, which, true to its name, was quite potholed for its first half, and then deteriorated still further. After that was one final day back on the main highway towards the Costa Rican border town of Paso Canoas, which the numerous billboards along the way made out to resemble a Central American, duty-free, Rodeo Drive.

Costa Rica

My route through the enticing nation of Costa Rica, probably did not afford me the best view of that country. With the oppressive heat still in force, I decided against any ventures up into the mountains, and instead stayed in the relatively low areas along the Pacific Coast. Costa Rica’s reputation is one of lengthy stability and relative prosperity, by Central American Standards, at least, and so there is a more developed tourist industry there. However, much of that is located in the highlands around the capital, or otherwise catering to a more attraction-themed experience (rainforest canopy “zip-lines” were the big thing there, which did not really appeal to me.) Costa Rica, like Panama, was rather gringoized, and both countries have apparently become a magnet for norteamericano expats and retirees, a fact that is revealed by the many real estate billboards along the highways, touting “exclusive homesites,” “oversized lots,” and other silliness. Paso Canoas, in fact, was the inverse of Rodeo Drive, a typically frumpy and hectic border town, but a useful enough place to exchange cash and spend the night. The first full day in the country was one of the only times in the region that I rode what I normally considered to be a full distance, thanks in part to the gentle terrain and low traffic on that section of coast. That evening I stopped at Dominical Beach, a surfer's hang-out which gave the appearance of being a low-cost place to stay, but turned out to be anything but.

The next day was less successful. Just north of town, the road became gravel for the next 40 kilometers, and a rather poor-quality gravel at that. I was almost though that section when a little rock must have flown up and jammed itself into my rear derailer (an event that I was amazed had never happened to me until that day.) Before I understood what had occurred I managed to completely mangle the derailer and bend its hanger.  With care, I was able to straighten out the hanger without breaking it (always an issue for a “Bullwinkle” like me,) but the derailer was beyond repair.  Fortunately, I was not far from the pleasant little seaside town of Quepos, and I was able to limp there without too much difficulty. The town had a small, but fairly well equipped bike shop, and I got a replacement that afternoon and installed it right away. I had to downgrade from XTR to Deore, but at that point it didn’t seem important. With that delay, I was left with only a half-day’s ride to my next planned stop at Playa Jaco, though I suppose I should have skipped that stop to catch up a little.  Instead, though the town was much more of a mainstream tourist place than I normally like, I stayed two days, since I was feeling rather tired.

Jaco is also a haven for surfers, as well as some other, less respectable, elements of society, a fact which became clear to me as I walked back to my room after dinner that night. Tired, and not paying much attention to what was going on around me, my self-absorption must have annoyed the two police officers who were following me down the dark sandy street. They hopped out of their truck and started questioning me, saying that I looked “preoccupada.” I suppose I was, but in my mind that shouldn’t be grounds for suspecting someone, and I was a little fortunate that my annoyance didn’t seem over the top, as they spent a few minutes searching through all twelve of the little zippered pockets of my travel pants. I suppose as someone who had never ingested a controlled substance, not ever once, in his prior years, I assumed that I should have been issued a get-out-of-being-searched-free card at some point. Had I been able to speak better Espanol, I would have reminded them that there were a bunch of local guys hanging out on the main road who pounced on any gringo who walked by, and offered to sell them various types of drugs. I suppose I should have felt lucky that a little packet of powdered sugar didn’t magically “appear” in my pocket. That little encounter tarnished my stay in Jaco, but the rest of the route through the country picked up a little.  Since I decided to skip going into the mountains in that area, I made up for the loss by taking a ferry over to the Nicoya Peninsula and finishing the route along its eastern coast. Over the equivalent of the next two days, that section proved to be quite pleasant, with some nice conditions though the generally rural countryside.

Nicaragua

A frequent thorn in Ronald Reagan’s side, Nicaragua continues to show a distinct feel compared to is regional neighbors. That was probably enhanced in 02007, when, while I was crossing the Atlantic, the country returned Daniel Ortega, the first president of the Sandinista years, to power. In the current era, however, there has been no military opposition from external powers, and the government has adopted less intense political and economic polices than those tried in the 01980’s. The years of conflict kept the country, free of the haphazard commercial expansion, at least in the areas outside of the capital, which, has shaped the community life in its other cities in towns for better or worse, depending on one’s point of view. From my perspective, the absence of fast food chains, the lack of traffic, and the more personal scale of most of the towns, were all aspects that made this my favorite country of the region, and the only one I really wished that I would have spent more time in. Seeing a large portion of the country on the Tour was not very practical in any case, as most of the population, all of the major towns, and all of the through roadways, are concentrated in the western part of the country, in a narrow strip of land that lies between the Pacific and two large lakes, Lago Managua and Lago Nicaragua, and which is accented by a long chain of volcanoes.

Entering the country at the relaxed and small southern border posts involved a brief process to exit Costa Rica, but a very lengthy queue on the Nicaraguan side. Once that was completed, I noticed a dramatic drop-off in the amount of traffic almost immediately, and really enjoyed the rest of that day’s ride, which utilized a good-quality road along the shoreline of Lago Nicaragua. The only drawback in that area was the gigantic swarms of tiny flies that I was forced to pass through. I have ridden though many types of swarms before, but I’ve never seen one as thick as that one was.  Fortunately, they only flew about a meter above the ground, so only my legs became coated with insects as I rode through. Nevertheless, I was worried that the swarm would be present though the whole country. However, a local fellow who rode along behind me for a while said that they were only common right near the lakeshore. After a pleasant afternoon, though a rather short day overall, I reached the bustling, but pleasant little town of Rivas, and then turned east for a few kilometers to he quiet little lakeshore resort village of San Jorge, where there were a few decent restaurants and places to stay. I would have liked to stay there a little while, especially as the town is a departure point for boats out to the island formed by Volcan Concepcion, the shoreline of which is one of the countries main holiday destinations. One note of historical interest in San Jorge and Rivas, was those locations importance 160 years earlier as supply points for Cornelius Vanderbilt’s Accessory Transit Company on its sea-river-lake-land-sea route for American immigrants during the California Gold Rush. Next came an easy, but short half day to the nice colonial town of Granada, with its quiet streets lined with pastel-colored homes. I had only planned on spending the afternoon and night there but I liked it so much that I stayed an extra day.

The distance to my next stop, Leon, was too long for one day, and too short for two, so I stopped early the next day in the outskirts of the national capital, Managua. The formerly impressive city had been wiped out twice by earthquakes, most recently in 01972, and unfortunately has been rebuilt with an all-sprawl motif, more closely resembling suburban Atlanta than any of the other cities in Nicaragua. With that there was no reason to enter the city farther, and on the next day, I took the shortest way out of town, for the full day’s ride to Leon. Along the way stopping to see the minimal ruins of Leon Viejo, the original town that had been abandoned due to earthquakes and volcanic activity in the early 17^th century. Along the way, without me taking notice, one of the pulleys on my new rear derailer fell off, and I was surprised by how far I had apparently traveled before I realized it was gone. It was my own boneheaded fault, however, as when I installed it in Costa Rica, I didn’t feel like cutting my chain, and proceeded by disassembling the cage instead. I must have neglected to tighten things down completely when I reassembled it. Idiot. I was, however, able to limp into Leon without too much difficulty. There were probably some decent bike shops in Managua, where I had been that morning, but in Leon there was only an open-air bike supply and repair pavilion in the municipal market. The only Shimano replacement I could find there was from the Altus group, which I had never heard of before, but has a rather odd design with goofy-looking oversized pulleys. The Shimano Web site claimed that they were intended for 7-speed city bikes, so I was not very confident that it would work well with my 9-speed components. I thought that I would at least put it on and use it in a halfway functional mode until I could get to another city with a better selection. To my surprise, however, it worked close to flawlessly, and I ended up using it for the remainder of the Tour. Taking care of that took up most of my day off in Leon, but I still enjoyed the atmosphere of the old city, which has played an important political roll during both quiet and revolutionary times. After that, I should have been beyond the next border on the following day, though I stopped very early once again, in the town of Chinandega, feeling blasted by the morning heat. The rest of the distance in the country would need to be put off until the next day, which was a little more pleasant and interesting, as I passed by the steaming vents of Volcan San Cristobal. In contrast to both Chile and Ecuador, where clouds blocked my views of most of the local volcanoes, in Nicaragua I was able to clearly see all nine that were close to my route, and that was a nice change.

Honduras

I was not really sure what to expect from Honduras, as there is not much of a history of tourism there, apart from a few well-known places. The background of the country is one that will probably never be used as a shining example of how to build a new nation. It was probably the first, and best, example of a Banana Republic, being dominated corruptly for decades by large US fruit corporations, and more recently being used as a staging ground for the proxy combatants in the various regional conflicts of the 01980’s. An even bigger problem resulted from the wallop the nation received from Hurricane Mitch in 01998, one of the worst storm disasters of all time. With all that in mind, my thought was to try and return to a brisk pace and reach the first major destination of the Stage, the Mayan ruins at Copan, in a prompt manner. Getting there required the first mountain crossing of the Stage, however, and that, combined with my increasing tiredness, dashed any hopes I had of meeting that goal.

In Nicaragua, I had rerouted away from the mountains, and the coastal route brought me first, after an uneventful border, to the small Honduran city of Choluteca, renowned for being the hottest place in the country, a fact to which I could attest. The town was said to have a nice colonial center, but I arrived too late to see much of that, especially as I stayed in a place at the edge of town that was right across the street from a big supermarket, of the type that had been mostly absent in Nicaragua. I had planned to take a break again in the capital, Tegucigalpa, which was about another 150 kilometers distant. That should have been no problem for me to reach in a day, but I suspected that its mountaintop location would force me to take longer, and, indeed, that turned out to be the case. The reason I had been avoiding the mountains so far during the Stage was that their heights were actually a little too low. While that may not seem like a problem, it means that there is not much of a cooling effect until one reaches the very highest summits. With a temperature just shy of 40C for much of the climb, it didn’t surprise me that I could only make it 2/3 of the way, to a little town called Sabanagrande. The addition of smoky skies, presumably caused by agricultural or brush fires, which persisted for the next week or two and spoiled most of the scenic views, didn’t help, making the day feel very tedious. Eventually I reached Tegus, the following afternoon, and found it to be a lot more difficult to navigate and congested, than I had expected, with several busy expressways to deal with.  The centro, however, was a little more pleasantly scaled, if not especially beautiful, and I hung around for a couple of days, once again, longer than I should have.

The distance from Tegus to Copan was a mere 325 kilometers, which should have taken me as little as two days in decent conditions. With the terrain, heat, and my rapidly increasing level of exhaustion, I did it in four and a half, with only a few items of interest along the way. The route north from Tegus, leads eventually to the major city of San Pedro de Sula, and I assumed that it would be filled with traffic. To my surprise, for the first half of the day, while the road rolled up and down again, with a maximum of 1,500 meters, there were few vehicles to be seen. Then, curiously, as I was starting the day’s big descent, a huge jam-up of trucks and other traffic appeared, and continued on for several kilometers. Of course, since the road wasn’t especially wide, that negated any sort of quickness I would have had on the descent. Father down, shortly past the base, I reached the front of the jam. There traffic in the other direction had apparently not been moving either, though as I rolled up both lanes had just started to move again. The perplexing thing was that I could not determine any reason for the problem. There didn’t appear to have been any sort of crash, there was no construction, nor any sign of an inspection or checkpoint, and I was completely baffled. While I appreciated the quiet the blockage had provided through the morning, I knew that for the next hour or so a constant stream of trucks would be screaming past, and so I stopped at a roadside market for some cool drinks and ice creams while the clot moved by. I still am not sure just what that was all about. The only other notable item from that section was the first nice secondary road I had seen so far in the Stage.  On the second day out of Tegus, after a morning filled with heavy traffic, I reached a junction with Highway 4, at a point marked on the map as Taulabe. That alternate route proved to be immensely better than the main highway had been, though the terrain still rolled around a lot, traffic was very light. That afternoon was the first really pleasant conditions I’d had in a while, and I topped of the day with a stay in the quaint little town of Santa Barbara.

Two more days, with early ends due to the heat, slowly brought me to the town of La Entrada, in the general vicinity of Copan. From there another nice secondary road branched off towards Copan, and then continued on to Guatemala. After a pleasant morning I reached the village at the ruins site, several days later that I would have liked, however. Copan is the most important tourist site in Honduras, and would be the first of nine ancient Mayan cities I would visit during the Stage. Each had its own distinct factors that made seeing all nine a worthwhile experience. At Copan, the most impressive features were the many intricately carved stone stelae, which were covered with hieroglyphs and figures of Mayan kings. The ability to go down into two of the subterranean chambers that had been excavated beneath the main pyramids was also unique to that site. Also impressive was the on-site Museum of Mayan Sculpture. I was pleased to see that unlike many other famous ancient sites, whose best artifacts had been plundered and carted of for display in London, New York, or Madrid, Copan’s best pieces seemed to be still located at the ruins. Finally, the village of Copan Ruinas itself was perhaps the most appealing of any of those adjacent to the major ruins sites. After an enjoyable day and a half there, the border with Guatemala was just 17 kilometers beyond.

Guatemala

I would have liked to have ridden a more thorough route through Guatemala, as the country seemed like it has a lot that I would have enjoyed. My original plan was to visit only the lowlands in the east, as my subsequent destination would be the Yucatan, and that region of Guatemala was the most direct route to get there. However, right up until a few days before I arrived I considered adding a tour through the highlands, which I’m sure I would have found very interesting. In the end, however, the lack of a direct route through that area, and then back to the east, and the length of time it had taken me to pass through the Honduran highlands, led me to believe that I couldn’t afford the time needed to go into the mountains again. That was too bad, as Guatemala is the only Central American country that still has a large indigenous population, the descendents of the Maya.  Their culture is more prevalent in the mountains, and I would have preferred to have seen it in its fullest extent. The atmosphere I observed in the country while I was there was one of a land that was still finding its footing after the end, in 01996, of a vicious 36-year long civil war, which had its seeds planted in colonial days. Towns seemed a little chaotic and haphazard and, in a way similar to those in Nicaragua, less affected by outside influences from the corporate world.

The most pleasant cycling conditions came during the first few hours in the country, after a quick border process at a quiet frontier post, along a nice rural highway that was a continuation of the similarly nice road to Copan in Honduras. Once that road joined the first main highway, traffic picked up a lot and the scenery pulled back to make a less interesting view. I expected those factors to get even worse when I turned east on to a highway that is the only major link between the Pacific and Caribbean in the country and in the region in general. However, I was slightly pleased that that section was not as overrun with truck as one might imagine. The sightseeing stop in that area was another Mayan site, Quirigua, which is a very small site in general, but has a nice collection of carved stelae, altars, and boulders, the latter known as zoomorphs thanks to their glyph-spangled representation of animals. Continuing on, the heat, and an errand I needed to take care of, caused me to stop after another half day in the frumpy and small, but somewhat appealing, town of Rio Dulce, located along a green estuary inland from the Caribbean coast. The waterways there showed signs of being a popular stop for large pleasure craft, and I quickly noticed the influence of what was presumably a fair number of boats belonging to norteamericanos. Turning north there, the highway gradually gained 500 meters over the next 200 kilometers, but the thick heat made that small change feel almost as tiring as the Andes had been.  Consequently, I stopped again after half a day, when I came across an isolated, and practically deserted, resort hotel, which had a very inviting pool. I had not ridden anything close to a full day over the previous eight ride days, and though I realized I wasn’t keeping to my final schedule once again, I absolutely did not have the energy to go harder than that in that area. Somewhere during that day, in a tiny settlement where I had stopped for a basic meal, three southbound tourists rolled up, the first I had seen in a long time (one was using a recumbent, also the first I had seen in a long time.) They were from the Chicago area, I think, and had started out somewhere in Mexico not long before. All were somewhat younger than me, and looked a little as if they were still gathering their wits about the touring life. Hopefully things went well for them later on.

The following day, feeling drained by the heat, I almost stopped at lunchtime again, but a wonderful, and highly electric, thunderstorm grew up early that afternoon. I waited out the worst of it, but then blissfully enjoyed riding the rest of the day in the rain, as the temperature had dropped by 13C in less than 30 minutes. That brought me to my next destination, Flores, a little colonial town on an island in the attractive Lago Peten Itza. I hadn’t planned on doing anything much more than resting there, which was fine, as the weather wasn’t the greatest the next day. I did get to see the town’s Corpus Christi precession, which, while small compared to similar ones I’d seen, was a nice diversion. From there, it was a short and pleasant half day to one of the most impressive destinations of the Stage, Parque Nacional Tikal, and the Mayan ruins within. Along the way, I met a few more tourists who were on their way out of the park. Two were a Swiss couple, and later on came a German fellow. All of us were nearing the end of long tours, and were all planning on wrapping things up somewhere in Mexico (or just beyond, in my case.) It was nice to chat with them, and I hoped that we might cross paths again in Mexico, when there might be more time to compare stories.

If I were forced to recommend only one of the nine Mayan sites I visited, it would be Tikal. Not only does it boast a large area of buildings and pyramids, many in excellent condition after restoration, the large national park surrounding the ruins contains some excellent humid tropical forest.  That meant that the park scored high on both ancient history, and wildlife viewing. There were a few kinds of monkeys easily seen, but I was more pleased with the great selection of birds, including toucans, aracari, jacamars, and ocellated turkeys. Most of the region’s Mayan sites could be thoroughly seen an a half day or less, but Tikal needs at least one full day, and I certainly enjoyed my day there. After that visit, I only needed to backtrack out of the park, and then turn east again, over a road that disintegrated to dusty gravel for its final 23 kilometers, to the, formerly tense, border with Belize .

Belize

Despite being one of the smallest countries of the Tour, I had been looking forward to reaching Belize for quite a while. That was partly due to the fact that, for its size, the country has a number of fine sights and activities. Another big factor was that, thanks to is unique history, Belize was the first country I had visited in along time where English was the official language. However, after over a year in Latin America, it took me a day or two before I could walk into a shop, break the habit I’d formed, and ask for something in my mother tongue. The country’s past as a British colony, also gave it a definitive Caribbean, as opposed to Central American, feel with food, music, and spoken accent similar to, say, Jamaica. There were also a few quirky aspects to the nation, as I soon discovered. One was some of the more unique place names I noticed on my map. For, while there were still a few San Pedros or Tres Brazos, the countryside was dotted with tiny settlements with delightful names such as; Never Delay, More Tomorrow, Bound to Shine, and my favorite, Double Head Cabbage. Another oddity was a local radio station that was playing while I was in a restaurant one evening, and whose stated format was 24-hours-a-day Neil Diamond music. Though I had only expected to spend a few days in the country, as there is simply not much territory to cover, my stay was lengthened, and made to feel considerably dreary, by the effects of some bad weather. Specifically, a few days before I arrived, Tropical Storm Alma formed in the eastern Pacific, off the coast of Nicaragua, and promptly became the first storm in the previous 60 years to head east and make landfall on the west coast of the isthmus. One it had caused enough problems by doing that, it passed right over my location, and then the storm’s remnants reformed in the Caribbean. Now taking the name Tropical Storm Arthur, it then decided to hang around off the east coast, soaking the vicinity for a few more days.

I had planned to spend a day off in Cayo, a town not far from the Guatemalan border, as there are a few interesting things to see in the vicinity. However, the evening that I arrived there was when I learned that the storm was heading my way. By the time it reached the area it had disintegrated into mostly just a rainmaker, and a sporadic one at that.  Nevertheless, I wasn’t too excited about moving on with a tropical storm in the area, and so I spent three days in Cayo, doing not much more than getting a haircut. When it seemed that things would be ok to go, once the storm was out in the Caribbean, I took off again for the short 124-kilometer ride to the coast and Belize City. The road was one of the nicer that I had been on in a while with a fairly smooth, wide single lane and pleasantly little traffic, though the day was still grey and damp, so I didn’t see much of anything on the way. The one stop I made was at midday, in the nation’s capital, Belmopan. The city was one of the 20^th century’s examples of a “new” capital city, though in that case it was built at its inland location only after the previous capital, Belize City had been nearly wiped out by Hurricane Hattie in 01961. However, in contrast to Brasilia, Belmopan, never apparently took hold, and so it claimed the prize for the smallest capital city of the Tour. Apart from a few government buildings, there isn’t much there at all, including people, with a population of only around 10,000. I really only stopped there to have lunch, and given its size, and the fact that it was a Sunday, I almost failed in that effort. Eventually, I found an Asian mini-market that was open, and after feasting on some junk food, I continued on to Belize City.

It was fortunate that I didn’t spend much time there in any case, for as I neared Belize City, the storm started to assert itself again. I had decided to stay in the upscale Radisson hotel in town, because I wanted to go diving at the Belize Barrier Reef, and that hotel had a dive tour shop on the premises. As it turned out, the shop was closed due to the weather, which continued to really, really pour throughout the night, flooding the city, as well as my hotel room. The following day, everything was still shut down, including the highway heading north that I would eventually need to use. After yet another day off, I managed to get to the reef after all, by taking a shuttle out to the island of Ambergris Caye, and the mostly car-free town of San Pedro, where I was able arrange for a dive boat out to the Hol Chan Marine Reserve. Though the next day was still rather grey, I had a pleasant enough time, and covered close to a full day’s distance for the first time in what seemed like a long while, stopping at the small seaside town of Corozal, not far from the Mexican border. The 294 kilometers I traveled in the country took me a bit over 7 days, though, for once, I couldn’t take any of the blame for setting such a slow pace.

Unbelievably, at that point there was only one country left to go for the entire Tour. It was a rather large one, however, with much to see. As I approached the border I still was not sure if I would be able to make it all the way through. Time would tell.

Mese,

Mike

The Tour of Gondwana

May 5, 02005-August 22, 02008

http://www.terminalia.org/tour