Things break
February 26, 2011
Inevitably, things break. Although I wouldn’t say I mistreat my kit, I do push it hard, simply by putting it through thousands of kilometres of, at times, torturously rough terrain. Over a long trip like this, conditions include snow, rain, heat, humidity, dust and sand… I service my bike every once in a while, try to carry it through river crossings to protect the bearings, and do my best to keep the drivetrain clean. But most of the time it’s caked beneath a veneer of mud.
So far, it’s held up pretty well.
Luckily I’ve escaped both wheel rim and spoke mishaps, the bane of the touring cyclist (I know, writing this is probably just asking for trouble). The stanchions on my Magura Odour suspension fork eventually wore out, as did the bearings in my Shimano 323 pedals (they were old and the bolts were stripped out, making servicing impossible). Both of these can put this down to wear and tear, along with the various cogs, chains, bottom brackets, bottle cages and tyres I’ve worked my way through over the 25000 kilometres I’ve travelled so far.
Today my forward progress was thrawted once more, just as I was enjoying a beautiful ride along a dirt road towards Costa Rica’s Bahia de Salinas. Abruptly, my driveside crank disintegrated around the pedal thread… Luckily, I was able to hitch back to the guesthouse I’d stayed in the night before, stash my bike, and hop on a bus to the nearest sizeable town. After trawling through the various shops, a replacement was found and I’m now ready to roll once more.
Missions like this often yield experiences too, whether its the inner workings of the local welding shop, or a foray around a part of town you’d never normally visit. In this case, I had the chance to chat to a few mountain bikers and learnt of an unmarked dirt road that wends its way along a ridge to Liberia, with views of both the Pacific and the Caribbean, between three volvanoes…
This post is about what else has fallen by the wayside so far. I’ll write up some words soon on what I’ve been particularly pleased with, in the interests of yin and yang…
Both the rails on my first Brooks Imperial saddle broke in Utah. They were welded back to life in a Mormon garage, allowing me to make it to the next bike shop, were the owners kindly donated me a replacement. I was gutted, as it was by far the most comfortable saddle I've ever used - I could even ride in jeans.
The rails snapped ten miles out of a settlement. Not so comfortable for riding anymore.
Brooks sent me a replacement without a murmur but sadly, but this broke in Guatemala - seems the rails just aren't tough enough for the way I ride. At least, I hope it's that, and not my weight...
The cross strut in my Tubus rack cracked after weeks of rough Mexican backroads in the Sierra Madre. Being cromo, it was easily repaired at the nearest grungy welding shop. That first attempt was a bit of a botch, so it was re-welded close to the Belizian border by a veritable master. Incidentally, Tubus offered to send me a replacement, although I have yet to follow them up on the offer as the repair has made it as good as new.
Expert welding. And he'd only take an orange juice as payment.
Knowing I had a long stretch of pavement ahead along in Oaxaca, I bought these $5 slicks to save life on my valuable Schwalbes and speed up my riding. The rear didn't last more than a few hundred kilometres- luckily, running 26in wheels meant I could easily pick up an equally cheap replacement to tide me through. The front was still going strong after a couple of thousand clicks, and I ended up giving it away in Guatemala.
Some time back, a section of stitching came away on one side of my Arkel XM 45 panniers. I contacted the company to let them know, and they were quick to reply. Arkel would have sent a replacement, but it was easily repaired with the nifty Speedy Stitcher at the beach in Michoacan, and has held just fine since then.
Most surprisingly, my Chris King hub bit the dust in a remote part of Northern Guatemala, after the spokes pulled away in several places. I contacted them, sending photos and explaining what I was doing. Considering the price of the hub, I can't say I was particularly delighted with their response: they would only provide a replacement shell, and loan me the tools to move over the axle and bearings. Given my location, I thought it was a little tight. On top of this, I had to pay for the shell until until mine could be sent in to them, to verify it would be covered by their warrantee. Luckily Cara was about to visit from the US, so we were able to organise everything in time. But it was a real hassle, and involved a couple of all night bus rides, and a complete wheel overhaul. I was later reinbursed the cost of the shell when Cara sent it in from the US, but I never received anything by way of an explanation or feedback.
Shiny and new. Hopefully this one will last...
My Middleburn cranks, with me since the beginning of the trip, are sadly no more. I often used to mull over what an elegant, effective set of cranks they were - though I expect you need to be bikenut to really appreciate their aesthetic appeal. I chose to run square taper cranks as I figured they'd be easy to source all over Latin America. Ironically Liberia, the closest town to me in Costa Rica, had a clutch of excellent, high end bike shops, but there were few square taper cranksets on offer. Almost all their options were more modern two piece systems. I eventually managed to find a suitable 4 bolt, 175mm replacement: a Shimano Alivio crankset for $40. Not as lovely, but they do the job. Incidentally, the English-made Middleburns have a lifetime warranty.
Crisis over. Back in time for sunset...
A troll is born (in Costa Rica)
February 23, 2011
Megan and Neva have now returned to Arizona and I’m back on my own in Costa Rica. It feels strangely quiet and I miss their amazing mother/daughter energy…
They did, however, leave an exciting beast behind, in the form of one of Surly’s new, Rohloff and detailleur compatible Troll framesets. Surly have a reputation for building solid, versatile, no-nonsense bicycles, and I’ve always admired their non-conformist and zany attitude. Back at home I ride one of their Big Dummies, a long wheelbase cargo bike that gave me the excuse I needed to sell my van.
So why the change? I’ve been riding the Thorn Sterling for 15 months and it’s going strong. Apart from some cable wear, the odd scratch and and my weather-worn stickers, the frame still looks almost as good as new. You can read more about what I thought of it here.
But when the opportunity came up to write a review of the Surly for What Mountain Bike, it was hard to turn down, especially for a bikenut like me.
Although based on their singlespeed 1×1 frame, I see the Troll more as the mountain biking, muscled sibling of their popular Long Haul Trucker. It’s just been unleased into the world and offers a few key features that cry out to the adventure touring fraternity.
Update: check out the gear and wheels pages for more on the Troll.
Not only did Megan bring a frameset for me, she also brought a complete bike to tow her daughter Neva - dig back a few posts for some pictures. This is her 14in frame, built up with derailleurs and a Phil Woods wheelset. 'Oops' for leaving it in that painful crossed over gear!
Seen here with her Chariot trailer, and little Neva.
Troll, n: A supernatural creature of Scandinavian folklore, variously portrayed as a friendly or mischievous dwarf or as a giant, that lives in caves, in the hills, or under bridges.
What’s the big deal then?
Well, not only does the Troll boast monster tyre clearances that will happily munch up 2.7 inch rubber, but it can also run a standard rear rack with a disc caliper, thanks to its nifty placement between the chain and the seat stays. I’m hoping that a combination of these two factors will help reduce the intense mud clogging issues I’ve experienced in the past. For the same reason I’m also moving over to Avid BB7s, a disc brake I’ve toured with before; they’re mechanical in the name of simplicity and low maintenance.
There’s a bunch of other features I’ll go into at some point, including an MTB, suspension ready geometry and eyelets for full racks and mudguards. You can read more about these here.
As ever, check the geometry charts to see what frame size would suit you. I considered trying the largest, a 22in, but ultimately opted for the 20. Compared to my previous steed, I can make up a slight shortness in the reach with a stem that’s a centimetre longer. A frame that’s a touch smaller promises more stiffness for load carrying, and tighter handling when unladen. Salsa’s A La Carte has a similar geometry and its sizing chart is useful.
So, here’s a quick lowdown on what I put together with the help of a multi tool, a hammer and a block of wood, under the blazing hot Costa Rican sun… Feedback on how it rides fully laden will be coming soon.
Old parts, new frame. Everything moved from the Thorn Sterling, including my Rohloff and wheels, keeping this transformation cheap and easy.
Surly's fork positively devours the Marathon Extreme 2.25in I'm running up front. This bodes well for mud clearance, especially when I fit the BB7 mechanical disc brake that will match the rear I've already mounted.
The Troll has sliding dropouts and needs an OEM 2 plate to anchor the Rohloff in place, rather than using a mini torque arm and an eccentric bottom bracket, as seen on the Thorn. It's not quite as quick to change the wheel as a Rohloff specific dropout, but the plus side is that it's more versatile. The large eyelet at the back is for Surly's two wheel cargo trailer.
Seeing as the Troll isn't a Rohloff-specific frame, I had to share the cable guides between the rear brake and the Rohloff to run them on the downtube, which is my preferred routing (rather than along the top tube). Still, the end result is neat and works well. Like the Sterling, the Troll's not designed to be a dedicated touring bike, so unfortunately there's no provision on the downtube for a third water bottle, which would have been really useful.
Surly's mini triangle offers extra top tube clearance. Hopping on and off the bike when its fully loaded is easier this way. Unfortunately it reduces space for a framebag, though the 20in frame I chose should be roomy enough.
With typical Surly black humour, the Troll is finished in bright, punchy Agent Orange. Perhaps it's a little eye catching out on the mean Central American streets, but there's no denying it looks great, and will stand out a treat in photos.
Chelsea and her wrinkles. She kept me company during the build, out in the courtyard of the hostel.
Thanks to Ciclo Deportes Moreno (150 Oeste Museo Juan Santamaria) for their help. This is the bigger and better stocked of two bike shops in Alajuela, and is very close to the laid back and quiet Mango Verde hostel where I’m staying – which has a massive open courtyard for bike fettling.
Thanks to Ciclo Deportes for helping out with the build, donating tools, zip ties and grease, as well as helping to un-cease time-ceased parts...
The Surly Troll in action... So far, so (very) good...
In Colombia, testing out those clearances...
April updates: you can read more about the Troll battling through glorious mud here.
Further travels with Megan and Little Baby Neva, Nicaragua
February 21, 2011
This last week has seen something of a change in my usual cycle touring routine. Biking with a 15 month baby will do that, it seems…
Our destination: the twin volcanos of Isla de Ometepe, in Lago de Nicaragua. It's the perfect double-gem of an island. For further mystique, Ometepe is set in the only lake in the world home to freshwater sharks...
Megan towing her little offspring, Neva, on the backroads of the Nicaraguan Pacific coast.
Our visit to the idyllic, peaceful island of Ometepe yielded a camp spot with this incredible view. If you're headed that way, check at the organic coffee farm, Finca Magdalena in Balgue.
With its dappled, moss-stained terracotta tiles, we might have been in a rural village tucked away in Tuscany.
Central America is prime hammock swinging terrain. And in Neva's case, a good opportunity to develop those useful baby climbing skills.
The view from our next camp spot: the perfect upturned funnel of Volcan Conception, with its early evening nightcap of wispy cloud.
Uh oh. Neva makes a run for it while Megan's attention is focused on pitching their tent. At fifteen months old, she's still honing her walking technique. Towards the end of the day, when tiredness creeps in, it's known as Drunken Style.
Expect some rough backcountry roads away from the main highways.
Nothing the Chariot couldn't handle, though with its nifty weight adjusted, leafspring suspension. It's no wonder this is the Range Rover of trailers.
The food that kept us riding. This is a typical Nicaraguan breakfast. Gallo Pino is precooked rice flecked with beans and spices. Hence the name: Speckled Hen.
Makes a change from baby food...
Refresco de pina. Delicious.
Other roadside delicacies - unfurling these dried leaf wrappers revealed a sugary treat embedded with peanuts.
I'm used to stopping and mixing up a sachet of isotonic powder to keep me going. This last week, it's been about pulling over to mix up a bottle of baby milk. That one's a new experience.
Neva and Megan cooling off in the calming, healing waters of Ojo de Agua.
We also took some time out to hike a trail leading to an organic coffee plantation, using the Deuter Kenga Kid II, a packpack that expands like an accordion to hold a baby.
Taking a break amongst compartmentalising roots of these mighty trees. We saw sloths, heard howler monkeys and chased big, bright blue butterflies, that flapped around us with clumsy grace.
As well as this two metre snake, that shook its rattle at us before slithering off into the undergrowth.
Spot the monkey silhouette.
These seed pods that made great rattles for Neva.
One of Ometepe's perfectly preserved, timewarpped trucks, loaded up with a fair few meals worth of tasty plantanes.
Here she is, after a particularly gnarly section of trail. Her bottle worked itself free from her kung fu baby grip, but that was about it.
Whenever we passed other families, we would exchange knowing little smiles. School children ran alongside us to peek inside the the trailer, marvelling that there was a baby inside. Motorbikes doubled back to check us out and chat on the move. Everyone waved.
Celebrity status: checking out the trailer and its contents.
Some helping hands up those steep island inclines.
And off the ferry - El Che - to the mainland once more.
Reaching the Pacific Coast at Playa Gigante, a quiet backwater beach known only to surfers for its nearby breaks.
We camped beside a surf shack that served up a mean portion of fish tacos, on groovy tables made out of surfboards.
A dirt road, via Chocolata, lead us to this funky coloured guesthouse in San Juan del Sur, the main tourist hub in the area.
Megan is loving her petite Surly Troll, by the way. And that 'Agent Orange' finish goes nicely with the Chariot too. Thanks Stuart at Bike Shop Hub for putting it all together with such expertise.
And a last sunset over the Pacific Ocean...
Final thoughts.
Several families have embarked on inspiring, adventurous trips with their offspring across Latin America – like these guys. Our mini tour has certainly opened up my eyes to the possibility of travelling this way myself one day.
Here’s some initial thoughts gleaned from these last few days of travel:
We didn’t end up covering as much ground as we’d planned, partly due to over optimistic planning, and partly because Megan was still recovering from a virus she picked up in Arizona. But that’s ok, as it was still an amazing experience.
Everything takes three times as long. Maybe four. From getting ready in the morning, to pulling over for a break, to stopping for lunch, to pitching the tent. It’s called the Neva Factor. Patience is key…
Make sure you factor in extra pitstops to deal with baby stuff: different feeding schedules, nappy changing and all the rest.
We kept distances short, maybe 20-40kms depending on the terrain. Neva was happy spending a few hours in the trailer each day, but it was important to make sure she had plenty of time to explore too.
Fit both your bikes with trailer hitches so you can interchange the precious cargo. Kickstands are useful to make hopping off your bike easier to deal with any baby issues that may arise.
A side mirror would be handy too, to help check what’s behind you when you need to pull out.
Tape extra reflective patches onto the back of the trailer. We were kindly donated a bright orange workman’s jacket to make us more visible to the kamikaze truck drivers barrelling down to the Costa Rican border.
Local buses can easily accomodate a trailer and a couple of bikes on their roofrack for a few pesos, if you need to make up some time.
In a country like Nicaragua, you can’t control the environment around you in the way you may be used to at home. Trust that things will be ok; people will go out of their way to help you out.
This is most likely obvious to everyone but me… Looking after a baby is an (almost) 24 hour undertaking, so pace yourself when you’re riding and save extra energy for the end of the day. I don’t know how Megan does it. She’s an amazing mum.
Just go for it. Cycling touring brings out the best in people around you, and touring with a child doubly so. Travelling as a family really opens up a new world of cultural encounters.
Neva: there goes the bottom lip... Actually, I was amazed by how readily she adapted to the constant changes unfolding around her - including being scooped up by a tall, sweaty, dreaded-locked cyclist. She ate local food, had an insatiable appetite to explore, and loved nothing more than to run amok amongst anyone she met. It wasn't always plain sailing though. Her independent streak did manifest itself in the odd curled bottom lip and ensuing, high volume temper tantrum...
Neva. A very mellow little creature. Bless! I'm not sure how much she'll remember of this short journey, but perhaps it will play a part in shaping her into who she becomes.
Megan works at Bike Hub Shop, online touring and commuting specialists based out of Flagstaff, Arizona. She’s knows her kiddy trailers inside out, so check out the site and drop her a line if you need some advice. The trailer we used was made by Chariot, and included the front wheel kit for use as a stroller.
No Spot, but we’re still here.
February 20, 2011
Where we are now: San Juan del Sur.
As I probably won’t get a chance to update the blog for a little, this mini-post is just to let you know the three of us are still alive and well. In fact, Neva is handling the roughest Nicaraguan tracks like a travelling veteran – having been towed in the back of a trailer since she was 6 months old, she has an enviable ability to drop straight off to sleep, blissfully unaware of the trailer tipping this way and that. When she’s awake and roaming, well, there’s no stopping her.
And in case anyone has been checking in on the SPOT, you needn’t. Unfortunately that got stolen on Day 2…
More soon.
Riding the hand-laid, paved road back to Moyogalpa, Volcan Maderas and Lago de Nicaragua in the background.
Cocooned. The mesh liner is good at keeping mosquitos out, and little children in. Sometimes, it seems like only the tent can contain Neva and her insatiable (and sometimes exhausting) appetite to roam...
Must... grab... stray... skinny... ferral... dog.
We've found some great camping spots, like in the grounds of this sprawling organic coffee finca.
On the road. Neva, always a hit with the locals at every stop we make.
Reaching the Pacific at Playa Gigante, after a long day in the saddle (and in the trailer). This is the first time I've swam in the Pacific Ocean since Oaxaca, Mexico, many months ago. And it felt good...
Heading out to Ometepe again – this time with unusual company!
February 16, 2011
There’s still a few missing posts to complete the Moskitian adventure… But as I’ve lost my Moleskin crammed with all my notes, as well as my maps (dufus), I’ll have to catch up on that later…
In the meantime, Flagstaffian Megan has arrived in Costa Rica to join me for the next nine days. And she’s brought company, in the tiny form of her 15 month daughter, Neva, who we’ll be towing in a trailer! The next week promises to be unlike any tours I’ve embarked on before, with a whole new set of challenges…
Our original idea was to loop around Monteverde National Park, but expensive shuttle logistics in Costa Rica ruled that notion out. A last minute change of plan was in order. I’d found idyllic Isla de Ometepe to be relaxed, safe and largely traffic free – ideal trailer pulling terrain. So the next morning, we found ourselves piling onto a bus and heading north to Nicaragua once more…
Riders: Megan + Neva. Setup: Surly Troll + Chariot trailer.
Neva's little mobile home for the next nine days.
And Megan's steed, a fresh-off-the-press Surly Troll, seen here in miniature 14in form.
We bused out to the Nicaraguan border of Pinas Blancas, breezed through immigration, and then jostled for place amongst the 18 wheelers on the road to Rivas.
It wasn't long before the light was starting to drop, so we pulled in at the beautifully situated La Joya Eco-community and asked to camp in their land, amongst the coconut groves and the papaya trees. This was our twin volcano view across Lago Nicaragua...
We were warmly welcomed in by Himat and his family. Himat is an architect specialising in low impact structures, and has spent time in New Mexico's progressive Earthships - sustainable buildings I've long wanted to visit.
Mother and daughter.
Neva. Always on the move.
Here she comes...
A momentary pause for contemplation.
And she's gone...
Note to self: close framebag at night. When I reached in for my bottle of water in the morning, this little critter, wrapped up and fast asleep, gave me quite a surprise.
The gardener checked to see if it was venomous (it wasn't), then threw it back into the fields.
Looks like it could be windy round these parts... Himut is aiming to be off the grid at some point, and with all this sunshine and wind, it's the natural way forwards.
Luckily it was in our favour, and a tailwind helped propel both us and the 30 windturbines along nicely.
The appropriately named Chariot in action. It's a real crowd puller - everyone cranes their necks to peek inside, cracking smiles as soon as they spot little Neva eyeballing them back.
Although the road was easy going, truck and bus traffic were heavier than we'd have liked. We'll be looping back via quieter pacific coast tracks.
Rarely a moment without that classic vista.
The boat over to the island. Bicycles and trailer were loaded up amongst local produce, motorbikes, and backpackers lounging in the sun. The one hour ride is just a dollar and a half each.
Closing in on those magnificent volcanos...
Neva, as ever, was as good as gold, despite the choppy waters. Upon seeing our unusual posse, the family-loving Nicaraguans were inevitably even friendlier than normal, if that is possible...
Landing in Moyogalpa, one of Ometepe's two tiny ports.
There, rising like a set from Jurassic Park, loomed the 1600m Volcan de Conception. Our plan is to ride across the island, before returning to the mainland and looping back to the Costa Rican border via the dirt tracks of the Pacific coast...
Where Am I???
February 15, 2011
That's me, that is. Waking up on the shores of Lago Nicaragua...
Thanks to both mum and my lil’ Spot Tracker, anyone who wishes to know where I am, can find me on Googlemaps over here. When I remember to turn it on…
As you can see, right now I’m on the shores of Lago de Nicaragua (you may need to zoom out to see the location more clearly), at the Joya Eco Community.
Just like magic. Lil' Spot at work.
Thanks to Master of GPS Cen for his Spot advice, and Cactus Marine for their efforts to send it out to me. And lastly, this excellent device is not really so my mum can track me! It’s just so I can send out an emergency beacon if need be, which is good for her peace of mind…
Puerto Cabezas and the Region Autonoma del Atlantico Norte, Nicaragua.
February 11, 2011
This next instalment in my catch-up posts covers the ride south from Mocoron (Honduras) to (Granada) Nicaragua, a distance of some 800kms, most of which is on rough, remote dirt roads.
RAAN, the Region Autonoma del Atlantico Norte, is home to a cultural melting pot of Creole, Mestizo and a indigenous groups, including Miskitos. I had to detour into its capital, Puerto Cabezas, to get my passport stamped. A ramshackle, sketchy Caribbean port, it’s infamous as a stop off for cocaine smugglers working their way north from Colombia.
Drug running is definitely a big part of life in these parts. One Roatanian living here told me about a high speed chase with a blacked out US Apache helicopter along the coast at night. He claimed in the right conditions, the boats – effectively superlight hulls with a row of outboard motors bolted onto the back – could do 80 knots. Unable to escape the beam of its search light despite pulling his best moves, he finally had to ditch the boat and its cargo of cocaine on the beach and disappear into the night… ‘I don’t do that anymore. It’s too stressful now I have a family. I just build fibreglass boats in the peace and quiet of the forest.’
Hm, I wonder what they’re for…
Loaded up and ready to leave wonderful Mocoron, where I'd been resting up for a couple of days. A huge thank you to Anita and Legia!
The girls saw me off with a few slabs of energy rich yukka coconut cake we'd made the day before.
Initially, the countryside almost felt reminiscent of the forest trails in Montana. Crossing from Leimus into Nicaragua was straight forward - just a dollar ride across the river in a dugout under a heavy downpour.
Welcome to Nicaragua.
Not long into the ride, I met Stefan, a Romanian motorbiker who'd travelled down from Canada. We'd first bumped into each other in La Ceiba, from where he'd taken a cargo boat to Puerto Lempira. We ended camping out together or staying in the same cheap digs for the next few days.
Stopping for a food in a Nicaraguan comedor as I entered RAAN.
The meal was one of the best I've had in a while - chicken, yucca, beans, rice and chopped tomatoes. It was all grown locally, and as a sat down and ate, the owner of the comedor joined me, a farmer who ran the business to help supplement his income. He'd seen a couple of touring cyclists pass by before and having chatted to them, had clearly been cogitating about bike touring. 'Rare is the man who really knows the world. You can't understand life from a car or plane. But on your bicycle, you see and experience everything,' he said.
Local rural transport in Northern Nicaragua. A long way from Montgomery School...
Red dirt. The road from Waspan to Puerto Lempira was mined with puddly potholes, thanks to the storms that rolles in above the vast, far reaching savannah.
On the road, and loving it.
I was joined by a local cyclist at one point. We climbed an observation tower for an epic view of this part of La Moskitia.
Repairing a puncture by knotting it off - a technique I hadn't seen before.
I kept playing tag with Stephan and his Kawasaki, as he had some welding he needed to deal with, and his customs paperwork took longer to process.
My biking buddy's home. I like the way it was partitioned for different members of the family.
Approaching Puerto Cabezas - known as Bilwi in Moskitian - a sketchy port home to Moskitians, Colombian cocaine smugglers and only the most tenacious of missionaries.
A leatherback chopped up and swarming with flies in the market - not a particularly heart warming sight for a turtle lover, like me. Apparently, turtles that aren't fully grown have to be thrown back in by law.
No shortage of bananas in these parts. The five stubs are the one I had for breakfast.
This local guy offered to show me around town, and we spent the afternoon together exploring some the backroads around Puerto Cabezas and the villages nearby.
From Puerto Cabezas, I'd been told it was a rough and remote 560kms to the capital Managua - and dirt all the way to Rio Blanco. To give you some idea how slow going it can be, it takes the bus 24 hours to cover that distance... That's an average of around 23 kilometres an hour.
And here's one such bus. Fast and Furious, reads the livery. That must be a relative term round here...
No wonder, with extended parts like this. If I put in some long days in the saddle, I figured I could make it in six days to colonial Granada, quieter and safer than the capital, and a little under 600kms away.
This surface was some of the worst I've ridden over, with thousands of small yet jagged rocks embedded into the earth.
Every once in a while, the road rippled with short yet steep stunted hills that afforded views over the pine forest and savannah.
One night I slept on the floor of this cheerful, Evangelical pastor. I was too tired too be kept up by the rousing nighttime singalong.
Civilisation, in the form of the bustling metropolis of La Rosita, bringing with it the promise of a good meal and some fresh fruit other than bananas...
La Rosita was also home to some cool utility bikes concocted with motorbike parts.
Check out that fork used to brace the rear triangle. These cost around $200 and are made locally.
Hanging out at the local bike shop.
The road alternated from bad to really bad. This particular stretch rattled my brains and loosed my fillings. Not to mention giving me a sore backside. Sometimes I could seek rattling sanctuary from sliver of smoothish trail along the very edge, riding faster than the transport trucks the deliver supplies up to Puerto Cabezas.
The area felt settled in the daytime, but I was told to be off the road before nightfall. I didn't run into any trouble, but I did pass through a small community close to Rio Blanco where three men had been held up killed just five days before, at three in the afternoon. 'Are you worried about travelling along?' was a question I was often asked. In fact, while I always received a warm welcome whether I went, the constant barrage of warnings crept into my subconscious and became unsettling.
The fine line between pleasure and pain. The odd kilometre or two was paved. But it was just that. One or two kilometres.
Try finding a way of pushing a fully loaded bike across this bridge... It's like playing a game of Tetris.
I'd been told security on this part of Nicaragua can be an issue, so I either slept in cheap truck stop guesthouses, at 2 dollars a pop, or camped in villages and army check points.
Cowboy country.
Kids selling oranges by the roadside, which I gratefully guzzled down. When I went to leave, they gave me a handful for the journey.
The buses got to know me as they plied the route, and unleashed ear bleeding hoots of their horns to greet me. It's the thought that counts...
In Rio Blanco, I saw this custom rack for carrying a gas bottle on the streets of Rio Blanco.
Adjustable in size too, depending on the brand of bottle.
NGO handywork - one of the many water pumps in RAAN. This area took a big hit in the Contra War, and there was evidence of foreign aid programs all around.
Yep, one muddy bike...
And then, from Rio Blanco, the road was paved! Woohoo!
Blossoming trees by the roadside. These are called Guayacan.
I stopped off at this little shop, and got chatting to Nora, who took a real interest in the journey. I asked to take a photo of her, and she surprised me by asking if I had any photos of me and my bike. 'Very few people will make a journey like this. It would be nice to remember our meeting.'
She got her daughter to climb the orange tree and pick me a bunch.
Nora's pooches, lazing by her roadside shop.
Hm... honey. Better still, sold out of Fleur de Cana recyled rum bottles.
Enormous avocados sold by the roadside - perfect bike food.
This sign meant a lot to me. After negotiating all the Mosquito Coast, culminating in this last six days of hard riding, I was less than an hour from my destination.
And Granada, less than an hour later... My Moskitian adventure was finally over. Epic is a world that's thrown around a lot these days. This journey definitely felt like it justified it.
Resting up (and eating yucca) in Mocoron, La Moskitia
February 10, 2011
I’ve been meaning to catch up with more of the Moskitian leg of the journey for some time; my attempts to blog this missing piece in the jigsaw stalled after I lost my notebook and map, on which I’d scrawled all the details. So this will have to do for now…
Exhausted from my singletrack ride/push/canoe from Ahuas, I spent a couple of days resting up in Mocoron. I’d looked forward to reaching this small settlement in Honduras’ Gracias a Dios province since meeting Gigi, folk singer extraordinaire, back in Moab. When I mentioned I was toying with the idea of exploring this remote part of Central America, she told me about her mother.
Norma was born in Honduras, had lived in Texas, and then moved back to her homeland in the 1990s. Not only that, she’d now remarried and was spending much of the year in this quiet Moskitian settlement close to the Nicaraguan border, running a health and educational foundation. She sounded like an amazing character. What had been a vague idea now seemed to have reason; things had slotted in place.
In the event, I wasn’t able to meet Norma, as she was in La Ceiba collecting a humanitarian award. However, I still had a wonderful couple of days with her family. Hopefully I can make it back here at some point, as without doubt, it’s a very special place.
The final segment of my travels through this incredible region – the 700km dirt road ride to Lake Nicaragua- is due up next…
Downtown Mocoron. During the ten year, CIA-funded Nicaraguan Contra war in eighties, Mocoron was used as a Red Cross base, situated as it is close to the border. Ironically, this was a time of boom for the local economy.
One of the buildings at Norma's foundation, formerly a Honduran army barracks.
The school, which houses a bank of computers.
Anita, Norma's adopted daughter, who was house sitting between studies in Puerto Lempira.
Her precision axing technique, always with a smile, put us men to shame.
And her cousin Legia, who lives in Mocoron. These two amazing girls run the place when no one else is around.
Jason, a trainee nurse from Utah, arrived the same day as me to volunteer for a few months. We had a great time hanging out together.
Me, grating coconut, freshly loped off the tree. This was to make coconut and, you guessed it, yucca cake. Intense concentration is needed to avoid bloody knuckles.
Rebecca. She had something of a vicious streak, and bit Jason's foot. Apparently they still argue.
There were a few other smaller parrots amongst the feathered residents, one of whom was called Nancy. She loved nothing more than to scream out "Anita! Anita!" from across the compound, in the style of a cantankerous, overly-demanding grandmother. True to their stereotype, you can train parrots to repeat things. In fact, Jason heard one in Belen calling out from the treetops: Recarga con Clara! This translates to, Recharge your cellphone with Clara! It must have heard a salesman boating along the waterways, calling out on his loudspeaker as he sold pre paid cell phone units. Now that would make a great advert...
Also part of the clan, sweet Canela, always trying to ingratiate herself for scraps.
I wasn't about to give her any of my breakfast: fresh fish, fried yucca and beans. Absolutely delicious.
Washed down with a cup of the local brew, steeped from the plant above, which tasted very much like fresh lemon grass tea.
The girls cooked us up whatever they could get their hands on, like this fresh deer meat.
If ever we ran out of yucca, there was always a friendly neighbour to sell us more. Phew.
And the health clinic, readying itself for another busy day. It was formerly the Red Cross building during the Contra War.
Basic supplies, but a lifesaver for many of those living in these communities.
The Moskitian skyline...
Thank you Norma for your invitation to visit Mocoron. And a special thanks to Anita and Legia for cooking up such delicious meals, and showing me how to scrub my clothes in the river properly… I’m way better at it now.
Ahuas to Mocoron Singletrack, La Moskitia
February 8, 2011
Somewhere down there, there's some awesome singletrack...
For the next part of the trans-Moskitian adventure, I’d planned to hop on one of the lanchas plying the waterways linking Ahuas and Puerto Lempira, before picking up the main road – well, a potholed unpaved track – down to Mocoron. But after scrutinising my map and making various enquiries, the general consensus seemed to be that an overland route was rideable at this time of year, by following a network of footpaths that link one Moskitian village to the next.
Although it wasn’t a journey most locals advised doing alone, the route seemed straight forward enough, so I figured I’d give it a go…
This is my map to guide me onto the right trail out of Ahuas - my little moleskin notebook was often mistaken for a bible in these parts. With my head swirling with potential hazards, warnings and advice (watch out for the tigers/only stay with Christians/get yourself gun, or at least a decent sized machete) I pedalled off into the heart of La Moskitia...
It wasn't long before I was leaving the last of Ahuas' wonky, weatherstained houses behind.
Singletrack through the pines. If conditions continued to be so dry, the two day ride promised to be incredible.
Then I hit stretches like this... The mud is thick enough to hold the bike up by itself. I lost my sandals here, and delved around for a while with my hands to retrieve them.
And sank down right to my waist while looking for a route through this swampy section...
In Warunta, the pastor paddled across the river to pick me up, with the news that he'd been told to deliver anyone who looked 'different' to a nearby army checkpost - the area is rife with narcos and other insalubrious characters. Luckily formalities were quickly dealt with, and after feeding me a massive platter of wild pig, a soldier was assigned to guide me by horseback onto the correct trail out of town.
The collection of bizarre Meskitian names continue. I bumped into Jose Emeliano Alfred James, son of the late Rudigan James, as I was informed. As chance would have it, Emeliano was a resident of Coco, the next settlement on my route. He'd made the 2 1/2 hour walk to Warunta to make a phone call, where there was cell phone coverage, thanks to the solar powered towers mushrooming up all over the plains. It was just as well, as the route we took, via a muddy, jungly shortcut that I had to awkwardly drag my bike through, would have been tricky to navigate and manage alone.
The trail finally emerged onto this pebbly beach. It was too deep to wade across, so Emeliano kicked off his wellington boots and stripped down to his underwear, swam down river, and reappeared a little later with the village dugout.
Note to self: don't leave home without your shotgun.
We balanced the bike across the dugout, handlebars stirring the water as he paddled.
This is one of Coco's handful of houses, set above the shallow, meandering Rio Coo on the edge of the savannah. No electricity. No running water. And no cell phone coverage... Still, it didn't stop a rousing hymn singing session around the fire.
This is Emeliano's two month old baby, Kishnita, who was suffering from a fever. The remedy: wild garlic and some mysterious herbs, chopped up straight on the floorboards. Dinner was a bowl of rice mixed with milk power and sugar, and a few lumps of boiled yukka. His mother lamented, 'We are poor. We have no money. All we eat is yukka every day.'
The kitchen was on a raised platform, under a rusty, corrugated roof. In the morning, I was handed a bowl of fish and yukka for the ride/push ahead.
Again, the camera went down a treat with the children. With no glass or mirrows in the house, they took the opportunity to don a variety of guises, to general guffaws and amusement from the family.
All that's missing is the cell phone accessory. I heard this girl whispering words to her baby sister: So-ni Erik-son. Blac-be-ry.
Back on singletrack through more pine forest.
And across open savannah.
Past weird, stumpy outcrops. Emeliano and his cousin Joram had insisted on guiding me thorough to a spot where the trail would become more distinct.
In the jungle once more, dragging the bike along a rough, muddy trail cut through the undergrowth, and fording chest high rivers.
One last river crossing, this one in a dugout.
On the other side, I was relived to see the muddy forest had given way to expansive plains. From here, I was told vehicle markings through the grass would lead me all the way to Mocoron, my destination.
After a couple of days of riding singletrack and dragging my bike through swamp and mud, the hardpack road I emerged onto felt like a super highway. Now I was rolling!
I was met by a warm welcome in the first grocery store I came across. Lem, an ex lobster diver, took me on a tour of the village, a dozen men and boys in tow... I'd planned to stop here a couple of days, as Mocoron was also the home of Gigi's mother Norma Love, who runsa health clinic in the village. The relief of having arrived is always a moment to be savoured...
The Ahuan Kids, La Moskitia
February 7, 2011
The gang.
Before I move on from Ahuas and share the the singletrack adventures that took me south to Mocoron, here’s a little pictorial of Yudina’s amazing grandchildren and their neighbours.
The kids delighted in seeing themselves on the camera screen, probably because of the lack of mirrors or glass in any of the houses. Each picture would result in peals of laughter and playful jabs, followed by another pose…
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And the faithful hound, El Amor.
