16/5/2012
San Bernado to Puerto Escondido
D63.5, T4.5, Av13.3, Total 9795
A days rest was needed. Not feeling comfortable with this set up the decision was made to head to Puerto Escondido.
My departure saw the owners wanting money for what easily could have been tap water. It was time to vacate.
The road was a pleasure to Moñitos, asphalt and flat, with an ever present rural vista, that of coconut palms and cattle. It was often partially blocked due to farmers moving their herd.
Arriving at Moñitos, a few good coffees were enjoyed as was a chat for sometime with a bunch of guys at the food stall. There was a bank in town so some funds were removed and a cruise about the centre was enjoyed. The town is right on the beach.
Dropping my bike at the ATM was a sign that a rest day is needed. It was also a sign to stay focused.
Interestingly, over a coke people told me land crabs sell for un mill each (50c) and a farm worker gets about $6.00/day. This is ok when you can get a good meal for $2.00. This conversation was terminated early due to sandflies eating me alive.
Leaving town the locals told me there was much lodo (mud) on this untarred road.
Almost immediately on leaving the inhabited part of town the road became rough, with rocks protruding above the hard pack. Everyone of these was felt.
Areas that trapped water when it rained were imprinted with 300mm deep wheel tracks. Then the hills started.
Being a secondary road meant during its consruction cutting was kept to a minimum, consequently following the terrain, parts were steep and short.
Arriving at Rio Cedro, asking distances, conditions and times, everyone had a different answer.
From here conditions deteriorated further, the road was now just a series of up steep short hills back down and again repeated.
It had become nothing more than a banana track. Coming down hills with wash outs and loose rocks everywhere with a combined weight of 300lbs on a pushbike was all concentration.
The back wheel had to be kept from locking up, the front brakes were working very hard.
Any moment out of full control would have been a disaster.
By now I was totally worn out walking up every hill and resting every few 20 minutes or so.
Even walking the bike up the hills was hard with loose stones often causing me to slip. Riding up was not practical as it was to slow for such a narrow line one had to keep to stay out of wash outs. At slow speed it is very hard to ride straight. The steepness of some small inclines was instrumental in the decision making process.
As was the fact that there was never going to be a guy at the top with a cold bottle of water to congratulate you for your efforts.
One fortunate ocurrence was that of people selling things from houses.
A lunch of beef, platano and rice with salad was enjoyed. With this meal 5 glasses of the best juice tried for a long time were enjoyed.
It was called Jugo de Cereza from a small tomato like fruit. An enjoyable chat was had with a guy and his wife, Miguel and Leidy Gonzales. ( her real name)
Moving on, the thought of camping now crossed my mind. The problem is that every inch of the road side is fenced, though primitive by our standards, with 4 strands of barb and in many cases living fence posts. They were more than capable of containing cattle and impeding trespassers.
The only traffic passed was motorbikes, often with a husband and wife who had been to town. Believe it or not there was a bus service on this road. It was a medium size unit, the likes of which I never seen, it tracked amazingly well up the hills, myself well off the road.
On one occassion a guy came off his motorbike, though no harm was incurred to either man or machine.
This journey to Puerto Escondido was becoming an endurance test for me. The heat was unreal, the humidity was repressive. My body temp was right up there, unable to cool down, but knowing to keep going.
Falling off again almost at a standstill, unable to get a foot out of the “Power Grip” foot holders, again told me to how easily things could go wrong.
At one time it ocurred to me what am I doing this for. The thought was fleeting. The positives far out weighed any short term reprieve from the present conditions.
This was the Colombia I had dreamt about cycling in. It was hard going, though with it came the awareness of being outside the circle of life where things are comfortable and predictable. For me it was real time. Time aside from being comfortably numb.
The coast could be seen from the high points on the road. Finally the road started descending. Arriving in the small seaside village of Christo Rey, a new face flannel was bought as was 2 Pepsis.
Sitting in the shop chatting and still with an elevated body temp,struggling with composure, fun was had with a small boy and his cousins. Juan was such a cute kid. I explained we have a term for kids, that of rat bags.
In Español I translated it to bolsas de raton, it was classic, we all had a laugh except Juan who started crying, some quick comforting chat solved the problem.
Having said this some people encountered here are very shy and dont respond. They do not see many foreigners, especially middle aged, balding men on pushbikes. Whilst others are everso friendly, especially teenagers.
There was 8 ks between me and hopefully a hotel in Puerto.
The road followed the coast with cattle, coconut palms and bananas growing almost to the shore on sloping land.
All the small farms encountered on passage grew bananas,yams and all had some animals.
Nearing the end of this 8k. Exhaustion had set in, knowing the town was close, my spare water was poured over my head in an effort to cool down.
One last hill into town was beyond even walking up. A farm worker was wandering along the road in my direction. He could see my distress, my conversation reinforced the situation.
He everso kindly pushed the bike from behind for me. Not wanting to let him have all the weight, energy was mustered to contribute more than just to steer. Respect and pride had a bit to do with it. Really, my help with the weight was minimal.
Thanking him, a beautiful site beheld me, one of a town on the beach and smooth concrete roads.
In hindsight I had been very lucky to had got over this road, even the smallest shower of rain would have rendered it treacherous and impassable on a pushbike. In dry conditions with rests it took 9 hours to cover 40k.
A hotel was found.
The day had been tough, it was rewarding and my body was now recovering. Tomorrow will be a rest day.
San Bernado to Puerto Escondido
D63.5, T4.5, Av13.3, Total 9795
A days rest was needed. Not feeling comfortable with this set up the decision was made to head to Puerto Escondido.
My departure saw the owners wanting money for what easily could have been tap water. It was time to vacate.
The road was a pleasure to Moñitos, asphalt and flat, with an ever present rural vista, that of coconut palms and cattle. It was often partially blocked due to farmers moving their herd.
Arriving at Moñitos, a few good coffees were enjoyed as was a chat for sometime with a bunch of guys at the food stall. There was a bank in town so some funds were removed and a cruise about the centre was enjoyed. The town is right on the beach.
Dropping my bike at the ATM was a sign that a rest day is needed. It was also a sign to stay focused.
Interestingly, over a coke people told me land crabs sell for un mill each (50c) and a farm worker gets about $6.00/day. This is ok when you can get a good meal for $2.00. This conversation was terminated early due to sandflies eating me alive.
Leaving town the locals told me there was much lodo (mud) on this untarred road.
Almost immediately on leaving the inhabited part of town the road became rough, with rocks protruding above the hard pack. Everyone of these was felt.
Areas that trapped water when it rained were imprinted with 300mm deep wheel tracks. Then the hills started.
Being a secondary road meant during its consruction cutting was kept to a minimum, consequently following the terrain, parts were steep and short.
Arriving at Rio Cedro, asking distances, conditions and times, everyone had a different answer.
From here conditions deteriorated further, the road was now just a series of up steep short hills back down and again repeated.
It had become nothing more than a banana track. Coming down hills with wash outs and loose rocks everywhere with a combined weight of 300lbs on a pushbike was all concentration.
The back wheel had to be kept from locking up, the front brakes were working very hard.
Any moment out of full control would have been a disaster.
By now I was totally worn out walking up every hill and resting every few 20 minutes or so.
Even walking the bike up the hills was hard with loose stones often causing me to slip. Riding up was not practical as it was to slow for such a narrow line one had to keep to stay out of wash outs. At slow speed it is very hard to ride straight. The steepness of some small inclines was instrumental in the decision making process.
As was the fact that there was never going to be a guy at the top with a cold bottle of water to congratulate you for your efforts.
One fortunate ocurrence was that of people selling things from houses.
A lunch of beef, platano and rice with salad was enjoyed. With this meal 5 glasses of the best juice tried for a long time were enjoyed.
It was called Jugo de Cereza from a small tomato like fruit. An enjoyable chat was had with a guy and his wife, Miguel and Leidy Gonzales. ( her real name)
Moving on, the thought of camping now crossed my mind. The problem is that every inch of the road side is fenced, though primitive by our standards, with 4 strands of barb and in many cases living fence posts. They were more than capable of containing cattle and impeding trespassers.
The only traffic passed was motorbikes, often with a husband and wife who had been to town. Believe it or not there was a bus service on this road. It was a medium size unit, the likes of which I never seen, it tracked amazingly well up the hills, myself well off the road.
On one occassion a guy came off his motorbike, though no harm was incurred to either man or machine.
This journey to Puerto Escondido was becoming an endurance test for me. The heat was unreal, the humidity was repressive. My body temp was right up there, unable to cool down, but knowing to keep going.
Falling off again almost at a standstill, unable to get a foot out of the “Power Grip” foot holders, again told me to how easily things could go wrong.
At one time it ocurred to me what am I doing this for. The thought was fleeting. The positives far out weighed any short term reprieve from the present conditions.
This was the Colombia I had dreamt about cycling in. It was hard going, though with it came the awareness of being outside the circle of life where things are comfortable and predictable. For me it was real time. Time aside from being comfortably numb.
The coast could be seen from the high points on the road. Finally the road started descending. Arriving in the small seaside village of Christo Rey, a new face flannel was bought as was 2 Pepsis.
Sitting in the shop chatting and still with an elevated body temp,struggling with composure, fun was had with a small boy and his cousins. Juan was such a cute kid. I explained we have a term for kids, that of rat bags.
In Español I translated it to bolsas de raton, it was classic, we all had a laugh except Juan who started crying, some quick comforting chat solved the problem.
Having said this some people encountered here are very shy and dont respond. They do not see many foreigners, especially middle aged, balding men on pushbikes. Whilst others are everso friendly, especially teenagers.
There was 8 ks between me and hopefully a hotel in Puerto.
The road followed the coast with cattle, coconut palms and bananas growing almost to the shore on sloping land.
All the small farms encountered on passage grew bananas,yams and all had some animals.
Nearing the end of this 8k. Exhaustion had set in, knowing the town was close, my spare water was poured over my head in an effort to cool down.
One last hill into town was beyond even walking up. A farm worker was wandering along the road in my direction. He could see my distress, my conversation reinforced the situation.
He everso kindly pushed the bike from behind for me. Not wanting to let him have all the weight, energy was mustered to contribute more than just to steer. Respect and pride had a bit to do with it. Really, my help with the weight was minimal.
Thanking him, a beautiful site beheld me, one of a town on the beach and smooth concrete roads.
In hindsight I had been very lucky to had got over this road, even the smallest shower of rain would have rendered it treacherous and impassable on a pushbike. In dry conditions with rests it took 9 hours to cover 40k.
A hotel was found.
The day had been tough, it was rewarding and my body was now recovering. Tomorrow will be a rest day.
Typical scenery, coast in the background
Stopping in shade, a puddle nearby, a couple of mangos savoured and another rest. The puddle was the hand basin.
Earlier on in the day, still smiling.
A family of four, just browsin' about.
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Even walking up these inclines got to much, shoes off and a total regroup. Panniers were also checked at mounting points and chain oiled, with perspiration and dust 60k sees the chain dry.
These fences line all roads in Costa Rica, Panama and now here. They make camping difficult
Journeys end, Puerto Escondido
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