Goodbye Guatemala… Finally!
December 15, 2010
The rainy season is over. At last!
After a detour to the US (to air out my bronchial lungs, ride the Arizona Trail and, yes, work), followed by a trip to wonderful Cuba (for a brotherly tour), I’m on the road once more. It’s certainly been a long time coming, what with falling ill, my time volunteering at Mayapedal, and a dirt road loop back into Mexico’s Chiapas distracting me from my southerly journey.
And I have new company for the next few weeks, in the shape of Hat (or Sombrero, as she might be called over here), a friend from Bristol. Conveniently, Hat’s inherited Cara’s $100 Mongoose I put aside when volunteering at MayaPedal, giving this old steel hardtail yet another lease of unexpected life.
Hat has just under three weeks to ride. Our plan is to travel the infamously rollercoaster-like dirt backroads from Lanquin to Rio Dulce, crossing the border into Honduras near Puerto Barrios, before following the Caribbean coast to La Ceiba and Trujillo, to connect with Hat’s flight home for the Yuletide festivities. As for me, I’ll be stopping over Christmas to meet up with friends and knuckle down to some more writing work. Then, in the New Year, I’m hoping to catch a cargo boat to Puerto Lempira, in order to ride the dirt roads that weave their way south through La Mosquitia, the remote and apparently wild backdoor into Nicaragua.
Here’s a few pictures from our last few days in Guatemala, following the particularly stunning section from Lanquin to Puerto Barrios, via the small settlements of rambunctious Senahu and dusty Panzos.
Hat and I met up in the picture perfect but heavily touristed, colonial town of Antigua, up in the Central Highlands. This is one of the three volcanos that dominate the views from the rooftop of the bohemian Umma Gumma hotel - set to crisp skies I'd been lucky to have seen a few months ago.
And here's Hat, with our loaded up bikes in Lanquin: the trusty 100 dollar mongoose and the swanky Rohloff (and soon to be disk braked) Thorn.
We stayed in El Retiro, one of the massive hostels that cater to the daily influx of backpackers shuttling through this sleepy town, en route to the incredible limestone waterfalls of Semuc Champey. Although the atmosphere was a bit 'backpacker resort' for me, the fast flowing Cahabon river (overlooked by the bar) was beautiful, and I must admit to loving the bathrooms!
A cool tap and sink indeed.
Pictures never do a gradient justice... The 10km stretch to Semuc Champey was a tough introduction to touring in the Guatemalan Highlands. The average dirt road around here is ridiculously steep - and you know things are really cranking up when you hit concrete pavement. Pickup trucks overheat and skid, and I later found out Hat - a very strong rider - 'vomited into her mouth', as she so eloquently put it.
Vomit aside, it was beautiful riding, following quiet dirt roads through the Sierra de Santa Cruz.
With panoramas like these... As we climbed in elevation, we passed through cardoman and coffee plantations, camping in on a ledge in one for the night.
Soaking up those views. Before one of the rainy season's final deluges soaked us to the bone the next day...
Evidence of deforestation, one of the reasons for the severity of the landslides this year.
Chopping and collecting wood is part of the backbreaking routine of life in the Guatemalan highlands.
More gorgeous views...
Though a close up look reveals that typical Guatemalan calling card: a rubbish dump on the edge of town.
Religious graffiti: Me, You and Jesus. The Christian message is omnipresent in Guatemala.
Stopping for a minor mechanical. Inevitably, the ageing Mongoose needs a little TLC. Luckily, the beauty of these old quill-stemmed and cantilever-braked hardtails is everything can be dealt with in the local hole-in-the-wall bike shop. Like this one, where the kids who ran it lent us an adjustable spanner to tighten the headset.
Leaving Senahu...
... and the mountains behind.
Just in time... The roads round here are all being 'upgraded' to pavement. Workmen waved us on enthusiastically.
It was a massive descent. For no sooner had we toiled our way up to 1000m, than we were headed straight back down again.
Here's Hat, a civil engineer, winding through trucks and diggers on the work site along the stretch to El Estor. Apparently, this isn't quite how things are done in the UK...
The view from El Estor, on the banks of Lago de Izabal, the largest lake in Guatemala.
... where kids gathered to fish the afternoon away.
Our digs $3 digs in Panzos. Not too bad from the outside.
Though not quite as inviting on the inside. Luckily, Hat's snuffly cold meant she was spared the purvasive smell of urine that greeted us in the hallway.
This poor lynx had it even worse, and looked decidedly unhappy cooped up in its tiny cage, with barely enough room to pace a few steps up and down. Next to him were were two brightly coloured toucans hopping forlornly from one perch to another. As Hat said, our night camping in the coffee plantations was a whole lot more pleasant...
Still, it wasn't all bad. We took a lunch break at the surreal, hot waterfall of Finca Paraiso. Piping hot water plummets into a clear, refreshingly cool pool below.
A lovely spot, where tentacles of vines clung to the rockface.
From Rio Dulce, we took a boat journey through the mangrove waterways that seep out towards Guatemala's short coastline with the Caribbean Sea. There, the Garifuna village of Livingstone was in the midst of its 48 hour meddle of Gouadeloupe festivities.
Then it was time for another watery ride, as we hoped on the slow boat back across the river to Puerto Barrios.
Early morning fishermen.
After clearing customs, only a ride through the Chiquita and Del Monte-owned banana plantations, strung across no man's land, remained before the Honduran frontier. Here, an overloaded truck had jettisoned underipe bananas (destined for export) at every bump in the road - which we fed to the cows. I can vividly remember making this same journey over fifteen years ago, when the road was dirt and my mode of transport was the rooftop of a dilapidated chicken bus.
Luckily, we escaped the the ominous crop-spraying runs... Makes you think about buying organic...
Farewell Guatemala, hello Honduras. Our final meal, costing just over a dollar, was one of the best I've had. A delicious array of fried plantanes, eggs, peppers, tomatoes, onion, cheese, beans and tortillas, washed down with refreshing homemade linomada. Perfect cycling fuel for the day ahead.
For more info on this route, check out Ian Benford’s Cycle Central America, page 88, or download the pdf here.
Taking a break from tortillas
September 22, 2010
Leaving the lush (but rainy) jungles of Central America behind for a little...
It’s been several months now since I’ve been trying to shrug off bronchitis; Guatemala’s rainy season hasn’t made it any easier. So after much thought, I’ve decided to take a break from my journey south and have made an about turn, heading up to the dry and healing climes of Arizona.
Of course, I couldn’t completely abandon my bicycle, and have made plans with Rocket Scott and friends to ride a section of the all-but-finished Arizona Trail while there. I’ll also be meeting up with my parents, and catching up with some of the wonderful people I met on my travels.
But I will be resuming the ride – and the blog – in the not too distant future. So please tune in again soon…
Taking a break from tortillas...
Back to San Andres – the final push (literally)
September 21, 2010
I’m starting to see a pattern to the Guatemalan Highlands. Mountain after mountain. Ravine after ravine. Tortilla after tortilla.
Here, the paved backroads are ridiculously steep, and the dirt trails even steeper. Up and down. And up and down. Throw in intense midday heat, diesel-belching chicken buses and power-shower downpours unleashed by the rainy season, and it’s a recipe for some of the toughest backcountry touring Cara and I have experienced.
But the riding is also incredibly rewarding: the dirt roads rarely anything less than epic (to ride down) and the people, for the most part, unbelievably friendly and curious – as these last few days weaving a route back from Coban to San Andres Iztapa have shown us.
I know my legs are certainly feeling it. It seems my bike must be starting to struggle under the strain too. Just as we were leaving town, I noticed my rear tyre had a cut in the sidewall, and one of the V brakes had broken. We stopped by this friendly shop where Guicho, Rene and and Francisco sorted me out with second hand brakes (2 dollars) and a new mountain bike tyre (5 dollars). Apparently there are many vederas – singletracks – in the area, so I promised to go for a Sunday ride if I make it back one day…
After a stint on pavement, following the main road to Guatemala City, we were relieved to turn off onto a dirt cut-through to Salama, involving a half dozen, axle-deep river crossings.
The track descended steeply down to the Rio Cerchela Quilila, before wrapped its away up and over a ridge, culminating with a massive, ear-popping descent down to Salama. Our late start repairing my bike meant we didn’t make it to the central square until well into dark, picking our way down the stoney track by moonlight. No tour of ours would be complete without at least one night ride…
The next morning, a sizeable climb led us out of Samala, answered with a fast descent, swooping us down to Rabinal at 1000m again. It’s that Guatemalan ‘up and down’ formula we know and 'love'.
Smoothies and coffee. Just what we needed for a recharge.
Cubulco, known for adhering to its pre-Colombian traditions. A dead-end town, unless…
… you continue across the mountains via a dirt road that the locals promised would be hard, positioning their arms beyond 45 degrees for effect. There weren’t wrong. We pushed on and off the bike for the next few hours, struggling to average even a few kilometres an hour, dripping in sweat under the afternoon sun.
You know things are really cranking up when random slabs of concrete are laid down for just a few hundred metres, generally around tight switchbacks. Jeep wheels spin as they struggle for grip. We push…
We were soon back up into the high mountains again. Just as dusk was falling, we discovered a perfect grassy camping spot hidden from the road by a corn field and settled in for the night.
Resuming the climb in the morning, we set our sights on the cell phone tower at Tres Cruces. The last few kilometres were well packed and reasonably graded. After our ridiculous corkscrew ascent the day before, it does beg the question: why can’t all Guatemalan roads be like this?
Here’s a rare sight for Guatemala these days. Acres and acres of untouched cloud forest, that has yet to fall foul to tree felling, part of the reason for the intensity in the recent landslides.
A local dog, whose dreads I looked upon enviously.
Out in the sticks, one of the aldeas – the villages – had this sign for a hairdresser. ‘Your professional stylist…’
‘Come on in…’ Perhaps we could both have done with a visit.
Up and over the pass, the road was far better for the most part, rewarding our toils with an incredible descent back off the mountain into the valley far, far below. It was blistering quick and fun riding, except for the odd muddy quagmire.
A local family having a good chortle at Cara...
Or more precisely, her shoes.
The jeeps were struggling too. All of them had jacked-up suspension to handle the deep ruts chiselled out by the vagaries of the rainy season.
Slowly creeping forwards, bobbing up and down like a boat out at sea…
Many of the houses round here were roofed with these beautiful terracota tiles, lending the landscape a timelost Spanish feel.
We reached the relative metropolis of Pachalum at lunchtime. I’ve been on a tortilla diet for some 9 months now. This pizza, ‘the best in town’, as English-speaking owner Belvin promised, tasted so good… Like many, Belvin had spent time in the US saving up money, returning to buy a house, car, and set up a business.
There’s a lot of shuffling backwards and forwards of goods and money between Guatemala and the US. In fact, remittances in the country account for more than the sum total of all exports.
Cara, sporting clean feet once more…
From here, a paved road hairpinned right down to muddy shores of the Grande Montagua river, before climbing sharply back up towards the dirt road turnoff to San Martin Jeloteque. We were hoping for a wind-down to the day, but it was not to be. Or maybe our legs were just reaching exhaustion point. The track guided us back up into the coffee and banana plantations, before traversing a ridge. As an elder in one of the aldeas informed us, San Martin still lay ‘cuatro legas de aqui’. Four leagues away, or 16 kilometres in modern money.
Then, only one last stretch of main road lay ahead – divided neatly into two with its Guatemala-style dive down towards a frothing, muddy river and accompanying steep hike up the other side – to Chimaltenango. After a month on the road, we were almost there…
Our backcountry route from Cubulco to San Martin Jilotepeque. The ITMB Guatemalan map was speckled with these faint dirt track markings, some of which are only passable in the dry season, others of which are little wider than a footpath. For those with strong legs, a taste for tortillas and a love of ridiculously steep mountainous roads, it’s clear that there are many adventures to be had in this rugged country…
Bike War. This shops means business.
More stylish cuts to choose from. I’m tempted by the layered pony tail at the bottom.
Loading up in San Martin for a dusty ride back over the mountains.
Polishing the family silver. There’s a lot of pride in keeping chromework spick and span, as shown by this lustrous example. Chicken Buses, as they’re know, are ex-US school buses repainted and colourfully decorated, their engines retuned for the demands of Guatemala: speed.
Reaching the edge of Chimaltenango was a good reminder of why we’ve steered clear of main roads and larger cities. Tearing through people-packed neighbourhood streets, buses overtook cars, who were themselves in the midst of overtaking cyclists, ambling back from the fields as they rode two abreast. Speaking as someone well versed in the road manners of India, this really was scary stuff.
Pimp my ride.
Despite the cocophony of noise, the honking of horns, the squealing of brakes and the puffs of thick, chocking exhaust fumes, there’s some sense of order to be discerned through the apparent chaos of the venerable Chicken Bus.
Each is operated by a two man team. The driver focuses on nothing more than manhandling these old behemoths round the tightest of corners at the highest of speeds.
The ayudante – the helper – is a multitasker. His job: dangle out into the road and scoop up would-be passengers, yelling the name of the destination like an incessant mantra. All this happens in a blurry motion. His trademark move is a brave, rash leap out of the front door, only to appear as if by magic through the rear hatch just a moment later, having stashed the passengers’ produce/animals/bicycles instantaneously on the roof. The moment the ayudante gives the sign – a bash to the roof – the driver guns the throttle like his, and everyone elses, life depended on it.
But we made it: home sweet home. Arriving back at Mayapedal, in San Andres de Iztapa, a month of predominantly dirt roads after we left… Tired. Happy. Ready for a rest…
Criss crossing the Alta Verapaz to Coban
September 16, 2010
Here are a few pictures of our backcountry ride from Poptun to Coban, via Fray Bartolome de las Casas. It was a challenging three day journey, that took us into rugged Alta Verapaz, amongst rocky outcrops and milna, coffee and cardoman plantations, with a detour down to the turquouise-hued, limestone plungepools of Semuc Champey.
Stormy times. Every afternoon, mushrooming clouds seemed to vie for position as they tumbled over each other…
…constantly changing, finally releasing a massive downpour that turned banana leaves glossy and filled potholes with muddy water. Refreshing in the lowlands, but cold in the higher elevations.
After the steamy flatlands of El Peten, we were heading for the crumpled folds of the Guatemalan mountains once more.
Leaving the highway at San Luis, we turned onto a dirt road that wended its way between steep stacks of tendril-covered outcrops.
This butterfly seemed to take a fancy to my handlebar grip, pirouetting about it in a graceful dance.
Heading out of low lying Fray Bartolome de las Casas, the main settlement in the area, on a dirt road scheduled for pavement.
Morning drizzle flecked our kit with muck, making drinking from gloopy waterbottles less appetising.
A muddy-spattered bike, running a lightweight touring setup: two small Ortlieb panniers, a Revelate Designs fuel cell, a Porcelain Rocket seat pack and front sling for a roll top bag. But the real question is, how does Cara stay so clean?
Up and up we climbed, along the dirt and stoney paths of the Alta Verapaz…
The road seemed to forever disappear round the next bend… A bright and cheery man on a pizza delivery motorbike promised us we were nearly there. He was woefully wrong.
It was tough going too, steep and loose, challenging our bike handling skills.
Slowing us down enough to spot this massive beetle trundling across the road.
More rain. Ah, so Cara does get muddy…
All this climbing was making us ravernous. Low on supplies, we stopped in a village for fried masarpan, a local, dimpled vegetable the size of a melon. Delicious. Food was cheap here, with five bananas for one Quetzal (about 12c), and the same price for tangerines.
After the pass, the landscape opened up into these massive tussocked hills; the crops here were coffee, milna and cardomon.
One of few buses, filled to the gills with passengers, as it lurches its way through this rugged scenery. The valley had a strangely Scottish feel to it. Each village had a clearing with a football pitch, where muddy players were treated to incredible views.
Generally, we’ve been experiencing hot mornings, and rain showers in the afternoon. Occasionally, we’re blessed with a clear, golden evening… The perfect way to end a day.
La Tortuga agrees.
Part of the reason we'd headed this way was to see Semuc Champey, famed for its 300 metre limestone bridge, broken up into a series of idyliic pools perfect for swimming.
Water flows both beneath the whole limestone bridge, disappearing in an almighty, roaring, frothing torrent into darkness…
…and at the same time, above ground, from one mellow crystal clear pool to the next. The perfect way to wash off all that dust and grime…
Back in El Peten
September 10, 2010
We’ve now crossed back from Chiapas, Mexico, into El Peten, Guatemala’s jungle-covered, northerly province. Our plan is to loop up and around Peten Itza lake to Poptun, via El Remate and Tikal, before cutting back on a dirt road across the country to Lanquin – famous for its limestone, turquoise-hued pools – and Coban, on the edge of the highlands.
The border at La Tecnica was just a five minute, two dollar boat ride from the shores of Mexico. From here, a fifteen kilometre parched hot bumpy track led us to the immigration office at Bethel, where we were warmly welcomed by the jovial official there. Despite rumours of a dubious five dollar ‘entrance’ fee, which Mexican immigration had also mentioned to us, we weren’t asked for any unofficial levies. A nice change for this part of the world.
Our distinctly overpriced accommodation in Bethel. Finally, we managed to swap the tiny, hot and sweaty shoebox we were first offered for a slightly larger hot and sweaty shoebox, where we could just squeeze in the bikes.
Recent rainfall has wreaked havoc across southern Guatemala, but here in the lower elevations of El Peten, the sun beat down upon us, and we longed for even the briefest of cloud cover. By midday, it felt like the overbearing heat had wrapped around us like a tight blanket, squeezing out every droplet of water. At least the scrawny dogs were too hot to bother to take chase…
Flat and open landscape; deforestation in action, much of which is a result of the large cattle ranches operating in the area, their entrances marked by grand, imposing gates somewhat at odds with the simplicity of the wooden houses around.
The occasional settlement offered the chance to buy cans of cold juice which we pressed to our foreheads for a few tantalising moments, before glugging them down. We struggled to keep rehydrated, and this is supposedly the winter…
Our arrival distracted even the kids engrossed in old arcade games in the shade of village shops. Here in these Guatemalan backwaters, everyone we've met has been incredibly friendly and welcoming, quizzing us about the journey, and inevitably shaking their heads in disbelief at how we manage to keep our legs turning. From a local's perspective, it must seem a little odd...
What’s on offer… Beer, cigarettes, cola… The staple Guatemalan diet.
Seventy five kilometres into Guatemala, the rough dirt road gave way to pavement in the quiet settlement of Las Cruces. For once, we appreciated the soothing effects of buttery smooth tarmac on our sore hands and backsides.
A free ferry – well, a pontoon steered by two woefully tiny 75cc outboard motors – took us across the flooded Rio San Martin to the friendly, characterful town of Sayaxche, where we washed off the sweat and sunblock of the day and found some cheap digs. That night, the heavens opened, the river rose, and rainwater even seeped under our door.
Our original plan had been to try a cross country track that lead almost directly to Poptun – our map showed what it called a seasonal trail – but further enquiries revealed this area to be partly submerged by water from the recent heavy rains. So we decided to backtrack up to Flores, following tracks where we could, and ride around the unpaved north of Peten Itza lake, stopping en route for Cara to see the majestic ruins of Tikal.
A political candidate bleached from the sun – but still looking sharp.
In our search for backcountry options, we detoured to this enormous ceiba tree at La Esperanza. Unfortunately we were soon lost amongst a network of trails, and had to backtrack to the main road once more. It was way too hot for aimless wanderings.
At last, the tranquil waters of Peten Itza lake. There's a 30km direct road from Flores, but we'd taken the hilly, bumpy northern route via San Juan to get here. Frazzled by the sun, we lept in as soon as we arrived.
Crystal clear. Fishes flitted back and forwards, nibbling on the tortillas we threw in.
Cara, a belly sleeper, crashes out after the ride. I couldn’t help chuckling to myself as I took this photograph…
And I chuckled some more when I checked my camera later that day, and saw the photo she’d taken of me while I was asleep…
Healthy eating back at Finca Ixobel, Poptun. Sustenance for the climb(s) back into the highlands...
Downtown Xela
September 1, 2010
For the full post, click here.
After our rollercoasting backroad experience out of Lago Atitlan, we finally reached the busy hubub of Quetzaltenango. Cupped in a ring of particularly rugged mountains and spiked with active volcanoes, Xela, as it’s known, is Guatemala’s second biggest city. Thankfully it’s considerably more compact than the endless sprawl of the capital, and likewise, it’s also a world away from the prestine, homogenised finish of colonial Antigua.
So a good balance then, and a well-timed spot to rest up for a day and explore.
Xela street scene. Chewing the cud outside the local barbers, el Bendicion de Dios. With a name like that - God’s Blessing - you should end up a pretty sharp cut.
Busy styling up the residents of Xela late into the evening.
The main square is a little grand and sombre. A wander round backstreets revealed beautiful old facades. This one sport signs to Spanish schools and social projects, for which Xela is well known in backpacker and ex-pat circles.
Perfect bike-propping backdrops too...
I have a thing about taking photos of shop fronts and doorways, especially when they're painted in colours like these.
And these…
Belizian greasy spoon cafe.
Guns are omnipresent in Guatemala. Even the Coca Cola delivery vans have a guard riding shotgun on the roof.
Lago Atitlan
August 30, 2010
So, to backtrack a little, here’s a few pictures from Lago Atitlan – for more of a background on the area, you can read this post, from when I rode there on the old Panasonic clunker.
Cara and her $100 Mongoose, in front of one of the beautiful murals in the lakeside village of San Juan.
Me and my considerably pricier Thorn.
San Pedro de la Laguna. A backpacker favourite, for good reason. When the sun’s out, it’s idyllic. Pizza, falafel, fry ups, it's all on the menu here.
Just ahead of the onset of the daily deluge of rain, we kayaked on the lake. I loved it. A little inspiration and training for my anticipated journey from Panama to Colombia?
Jesus is The Man. The traditionally Catholic Guatemala is undergoing a massive Evangelical takeover – apparently the loud, upbeat (and cantancerous) songs are a big hit with church goers. What does this mean to the tourist? Mind what hotel you book yourself into…
For the last year, and almost up to the very hour she left Virginia, Cara has been working feverishly to finish her Masters in Health Policy. So we bought some fresh manzanilla – camomile – from a wizened elderly lady in the market to make some herbal tea, and help chill her out (Cara, that is).
And to wake her up again, we found this locally made, tasty salsa picante. Every Central American cyclist should have one of these little fellas in their panniers. Guaranteed to add a kick to those tortillas and give energy to tired legs.
Crazy steep cobbled streets in San Pedro. Straight off the boat and into the granny gear...
Did I mention how steep those switchbacks were out of San Pablo? Awesome panoramas though.
In case you’re curious to see what they would look like to descend… I’m not sure what the road crew were thinking of around here. A ladder might have been a better way to get up and down this hill...
Backroads to Xela and a border run
August 29, 2010
I’m now en route to the Mexican border, with the plan to acquire myself a new 3 month visa to cover me for Guatemala, Honduras and Nicaragua (these countries, along with El Salvador, all share the same entry stamp). There’s just time to post a few photos from what turned out to be an epic journey from San Pedro La Laguna to Quetzaltenango, aka Xela.
There are two ways to get there. A paved main road hurdles the busy Panamericano’s highest point in Central America, a settlement known by the quirky name of Alaska, right up at 3200m. Closer scrutiny of the map, however, revealed a dirt backroad, shown only with dotted lines, whose details seemed as vague to anyone we met locally as the faintness of its markings.
Inevitably, we chose the latter…
It was tough. The profile read something like this: 1500m to 2000m to 800m to 3000m, and back down to 2300m. All in the space of 90km slippery kilometres, that ended up taking us almost three days! I’m not sure if either Cara or I have ever cycled such steep roads, anywhere… both up and down…
Expanded words and pics to follow soon…
The climb out up to Santa Clara from Lago Atitlan: incredible views just about detract the mind and muscles from ridiculously steep switchbacks.
Once we reached Santa Clara, we were told the track down to Santo Tomas La Union was ‘peligroso’ – dangerous. Not for thieves, but for the steep gradients, rough surfaces and massive drop offs.
Perhaps luckily for us, those drop offs were generally lost behind a veil of mist…
Down, down, down we went…
To the land of coffee beans and giant banana leaves.
No sooner had we dropped to 800m or so, than it was time to climb once more towards Cantel and a wall of mountains - right up to over 3000m.
Incredibly lush countryside.
A lot of pushing. It was often as steep going up as it was going down.
Helmets are useful for stray rockfall.
There goes the road…
Finger-sized bananas, and some fingers: the market seller's, and Cara’s. Recognise which is which?
Only pickups plied these tracks. Room for half a dozen more here.
Definitely the road less travelled…
Arrival in Xela. Muddy bikes and tired riders…
Back on the road – the Guatemalan Highlands
August 25, 2010
After semi-patiently allowing my bronchial infected lungs to recover, I’m now on the road once more. And it feels good, especially as I’m finally feeling close to full strength again – well, I will once my legs reacclimatise themselves to the rude awakening of a fully loaded bike again. Aside from my unladen morning rides, this last month has been spent largely off the saddle and in the worshop of MayaPedal – broken up with a stint of jungle trekking to El Mirador, up north in Guatemala’s forest enshrouded El Peten district.
And I have company too. Cara is a fellow dirt road enthusiast, and will be joining me for the next month or so. We’re already shared many a far flung biking adventure together – India, China, Laos, Cambodia – so there promises to be some great times ahead.
Our loose plan is to ride a loop of the lush yet relentlessly rolling Guatemalan Highlands, seeking out a recipe of quiet unpaved roads, remote indigenous villages and handmade tortillas along the way. The only fly in the ointment is my impending need to renew my Central American visa – unbelievably, I’ve been in this country almost 3 months with barely any southerly progress. And of course, we’ve had to resign ourselves to the sunshine/drizzle/downpour weather triptich that charaterises the height of the rainy season – potentially making for some mucky, gloopy ride conditions and soggy camping.
Cara fine-tunes the Moongoose Alta she bought from MayaPedal. Forget those $2000 luxury tourers. A hundred greenbacks gets you a fine, mid ninetees steel hardtail, perfect for taking on the Guatemalan backcountry.
In fact, she hadn’t been in the country more than 24 hours before we headed off on my local loop for a fully laden, shakedown testride of her new/old steed. The ride begins with an endless dirt road climb that wends its way towards mist shrouded volcanoes, before being answered with a blisteringly fast, rutted and almost endless descent into town again. The Mongoose did just fine – turns out old style cantilever brakes work pretty well…
Weaving our way round the water snakes that streak across the rainy season roads, just waiting to grab a tyre and send you flying.
Leaving San Andres de Iztapa. Our bicycles rubbed shoulders with horses, as farmers headed out to their corn fields. Idyllic riding, though note the pile of rubbish on the edge of town. This is Guatemala, after all.
Going light. Two front panniers and one of Porcelain Rocket's expandable saddle packs. Works great as a mudguard too...
The climbs here can be brutally steep. And long.
Misty riding. We’re aiming to follow dirt roads where we can, away from the Chicken Buses that hurtle round the highways.
Not that Central American blacktop is necessarily a whole lot smoother…
The rainy season, complete with marauding hurricanes that sweep in from the Caribbean and their accompanying, all-destroying landslides, means that sometimes there's not even a road at all.
The adventure has begun…
(some of) The Maya Pedal Crew
August 7, 2010
Although Maya Pedal is run by the inimitable Carlos, it is also made up of a crew of continually changing volunteers, all of whom dwell in shared rooms above the workshop. Volunteers come and go over the year, staying from as little as a week to several months. Some are engineers, some bike enthusiasts, some simply like the idea of the project and want to get involved; all in all, it makes for a great community of like-minded souls.
Here’s just a few of the guys I’ve been working and hanging out with over my time here…
Ilja, and the bicilicuadadora he built with Nina. Ilja works at a film archive in Bern, and gave the chaos of Maya Pedal an injection of Swiss efficiency.
Yorkshire Jules and the Schwinn she renovated. Back home, Jules is a both an engineering boffin studying at Cambridge and a great singer.
Canadian Emily and her spiffy pink kid’s bike… Emily studies ‘Canadian’ studies. Not quite sure what that is, but it seems to involve reading lots of books. She makes a mean set of shelves too.
Here's Max, her boyfriend, an engineering student from Germany, with the picadora he’s building – for composting organic waste. Max overflows with energy and throws themselves into one project after project (even juggling several at the same time) with unparalleled zeal.
Nina, a social worker, and her vintage Rollfast. Without Nina, we would have been malnourished and hungry, and the house would have descended into a pit of grime and mess (the latter I can handle, the former less so).
Chacan from Spain. A regular at Mayapedal, he’s been cruising round Mexico and Guatemala for a few years, earning his keep by teaching diving in the Carribean.
Me, looking like I might know what I'm doing, as I chop up a classic Panasonic frame (broke my heart) for a longtail project.
Nina, Elja, Geno and Tom. Geno is an artisan from Guatemala City, and Tom, who once hailed from Scotland, has been travelling and working in Central America and Carribean for the last 4 years. Seen here chilling out at lunchtime in the sun, a rare thing in these rainy season days.
