Ever been stuck somewhere you never really intended to stop in?
Welcome to my time in Guatemala City.
After having various stuff stolen in the last blog, I'd arranged for the replacements to be sent to the cities post-restrante but unfortunately I'd gone in thinking the Guatemalan Postal Service would work with the same smoothness as it's European counterparts. Of course I should have known better and after 10 long days waiting, during which I have to be thankful to my host Dietmar for a) looking after me and b) teaching me (and repeatedly beating me at) Stratego, my packages arrived and it was time to get off on the road again.
I was headed to Antigua; a small town in the shadow of 3 volcanoes about 45km's from Guatemala City. Why such a short trip? Well Dietmar had taken me here for a day trip whilst I'd been waiting for my parcels and I'd seen the camera I wanted to buy as a replacement for my stolen one. I hadn't had money on the day and couldn't find the same model anywhere in Guatemala City, so the plan was a quick ride to Antigua, buy the camera, stay for a night with a friend of a friend there, then head straight out the next morning.
All was going so well until I encountered a problem I can't say I'd ever prepared for - the night I arrived a volcano about 30 miles down the road erupted, spewing ash out, closing roads and causing general chaos.
If that wasn't enough, the next day the tropical storm Agatha moved in, and quickly the situation went from a bit of ash here and there to flash floods, bridges and roads being washed away and all travel being suspended. Finally, on the third night of my stay in Antigua El Presidente went on national TV telling us all not to leave our homes, as after the volcanoes, the storms and the floods the country was now expecting an earthquake - brilliant.
The earthquake never came and the next day I was beginning to think about leaving when yet another problem became apparent; the front rack which holds a reasonably heavy pannier had begun to crack the front fork apart, meaning it would only be a matter of time before the whole thing snapped off.
My poor old bike has taken one hell of a beating over the last couple of years, but one of the main reasons I bought it is because when needed you can simply weld it back together. So another day was lost doing just this - although for the price of £1.60 I couldn't really complain and it looked like my trusty companion was back to full strength.
Above: The bike gets welded
Below: Other cyclists I met in Antigua. I headed out with Robert (middle), a Canadian cyclist riding from Panama to the USA, on the morning of my departure from Antigua.
And as such, after 5 nights in Antigua, now with all volcanoes, flooding, earthquakes and bike failings out of the way it was back on the road. A big descent down from 5,000 feet to sea level to begin with before heading on towards the El Salvador border.
Big descents, beautiful scenery, friendly people - life can be so easy sometimes - and then you come to a bridge on the road you need that's been washed away by the previous weeks' flood.
There's definetely something wrong here....
A slight problem here.
Turning round would have added an extra 50km's to my journey (and involve going back up a big hill) so that was a non-starter, so I asked if there was any way possible to get to the other side: I was directed to the following.
A few hundred metres away, down a small track the locals had set up a zipline, which after a bit of negotiation I was told I could use to cross the river.
Seeing everything you own (including a few electricals and a new tent you haven't even slept in yet) hoisted onto a zip-line, then dragged across a 20 metre wide rampaging river knowing that if it were to drop you'd never see the stuff again is probably one of the most nerve racking experiences I've ever had.
But all I could do was look on as first my panniers, then my bicycle, then, finally, I myself, was hoisted up, attached to the rope via a large metal hook and then pulled across the river.
Dear God, please make it
Once over safely I encountered a fresh problem - the track down to the river had been made by several trucks and was easy to navigate. On the other side however, there was no path and people were just scrambling up a steep, wet, bank of mud. Realising I needed help I found some in two local kids, who in return for £2 (they were shrewd businessmen) helped me by carrying my panniers, tent and sleeping mat up the bank to the top, which took a ridiculously long hour and a half whilst I dragged the bike up behind.
Obstacle navigated - so off to the border I went.
I enjoyed a comfortable first night in the new tent and arrived ready to enter El Salvador at around 10 am the next day - how hard can crossing a border?
Well when the border is over a river and the floods washed part of the bridge away, whilst it wasn't difficult it was certainly another headache.
I'm fairly sure people would be more inclined to travel if more international borders were like obstacle courses.
The solution, as you can see, was the ladder. 5 trips up and down later and me and the bike were safely into El Salvador.
In terms of route, in planning (for which I allocated a generous 30 seconds) I had read the introduction pages in the Lonely Planet to both El Salvador and Honduras. I had the choice of flying along the coast through both and not really seeing anything, or, as the Lonely Planet recommended, heading up into the mountains to cycle the Ruta De Las Flores in El Salvador, before crossing to the La Ruta Lenca through the Honduran highlands.
I chose the mountains, which immediately seemed a bad idea as over the next day I hit a gruelling 30km climb, with an elevation gain of around 1,300 metres - but deep down I enjoyed this. Instead, the frustrating thing was that the Ruta De Las Flores is supposed to offer spectacular views, overlooking valleys and being shadowed by volcanoes: the day I was there the rain and fog meant I was lucky to see 50 metres in front of me.
But 'musn't grumble' as it were, and the days climbing was rewarded with an equally steep descent down to the town of Santa Ana.
Above: The sign in the bottom left of the picture was not the only one of it's kind in Santa Ana - it was also 100% neccesary
Below: At least whoever makes the signs in El Salvador has a sense of humour.
I was enjoying these hills, however the other member of my team was most certainly not. At some point between crossing the broken bridge and beginning the Ruta De Las Flores someone had been into the side pocket of my panniers - most likely when I'd been into a shop or restaurant - and stolen my lockring bike tool (more on pointless crime in Central America later). This tool allows you take off the gears on the rear wheel of your bike, meaning that when you break a spoke it is easy to replace - without it, it is not possible.
Of course, without the tool that changes broken spokes you can guess the exact problem that began to occur - spokes started to break.
This isn't really a problem I've had so far in the last 2 years, but 2 broke on the Ruta De Las Flores and more looked likely to break soon so in Santa Ana I stopped for the night and had 7 spokes changed the next morning - really hoping that that would be that.
Of course, it wasn't and by the time I'd got to Honduras another two had broken, but as it was a Sunday the shops in the border town of Nuevo Octapeque were closed. I decided the best option was just to true up the wheel and leave it at that until I could find a good quality bike shop (which in my mind would be in Tegucigalpa in about 5 days time) and get the entire wheel rebuilt then.
I liked this idea and as such rode off into Honduran highlands, with a slightly wobbly wheel not offering too many problems on the first of what would be several 25 kilometres climbs in some genuinely beautiful mountains.
One thing on the mind as I descended to the Honduras border: 'Those are some bloody big hills in front of me'
After descending from the first climb the bike took another kick to the proverbials.
I was run over 3 times in the space of 5 months between February and June last year, and I was fast approaching the year anniversary since my last traffic accident - unfortunately a Honduran man with a truck and particularly low I.Q. were about to change all that.
The previous 3 times I'd been hit, whilst it had always been someone elses fault (obviously) it had been easy to see how the accident had happened. In Vietnam I'd been hit by a motorbike after I'd had to swerve to avoid a little girl who'd nearly fallen off her bike in front of me, in China a man had been reversing round a blind corner into a cycle path and in Japan I'd ended up in the blind spot of a lorry - so I'd never been worked up about them because I knew the person had not meant it and that it, as the name suggests, was an accident.
This time round, whilst I don't believe the person wanted to kill me, I genuinely believe the driver tried to knock me off.
We were both travelling along the same road and there was a petrol station coming up on the right (remember we're riding/driving on the right out here) that he wanted to go to. I was already a quarter of the way across where the turn opening was, the driver pulled alongside of me, then slightly in front of me, then just swerved into me, the back end of his truck sending me sprawling across the street.
(For anyone wondering, no I was not wearing a helmet as it had been stolen two days earlier in El Salvador - but more on pointless crime in Central America later).
His reaction?
To stop? No. To see if I was ok? No.
He just drove up to the pumps and started filling up, as if nothing had happened.
Meanwhile, my bike - which was thankfully unscathed - was on it's side, the contents of my bar bag were all over the street and whilst I was ok I did had a nice new set of scratches.
Those who know me will testify I'm not someone that gets particularly angry, and when I do I'm far more likely to avoid confrontation, choosing rather to go off on my own and sulk. However, whilst I was still laid out on the ground and seeing that the guy wasn't going to come back to see if I was ok and was choosing instead to refuel his car, I really lost it.
Marching up to his car (somehow refusing the urge to kick off his wing mirror) I was effing and blinding, making hand signals, screaming in his face - all things that are highly out of charachter for me but that I confess to doing on this occasion - in short, I was livid.
In return, he and his friend laughed in my face, started making jokes in Spanish and the only person who was upset by my outburst was the guys son, who became pretty distressed at the foreigner screaming up close at his Dad in a language he didn't understand.
Seeing that running people over was just one hilarious joke to these guys I dragged myself away, picked up my bike, packed up my things and rode off - I really don't think I could claim even a moral victory in this one and it wasn't until much later that I realised instead of the rant I should have simply taken his car keys whilst he was filling up the truck and thrown them into a nearby river.
But at least now I'm prepared for next time.
It's currently rainy season out here and as such rains for about 3 hours a night, always starting at around 5pm. This works out well for me and I've found people willing to offer accomodation to me to keep myself dry. The father of these girls (yep, all 5 of them - poor bloke) let me sleep in their familes barn, whilst his daughters taught me Spanish for the evening.
The following 5 days were a strange experience; as I said before, I'd followed the Lonely Planets' guide to where I should go in the country. Of the 5 places that were 'must see' in Honduras, one was Gracias - a town enroute - and another was the La Ruta Lenca, which was basically the road I would have to ride anyway to get to Tegucigalpa - so I thought I'd see how they stood up to being Honduras' top tourism spots.
I'm going to be completely honest about this: the actual ride itself - La Ruta Lenca - was fantastic. Big climbs and big descents looking over some awe inspiring scenery really is where I'm at my happiest, and the people in the countryside were welcoming and friendly.
In contrast the towns, most particularly Gracias, well, I really can't think of much nice to say about them. Just because a town has cobble stones doesn't make it quaint and when the only 'attractions' (I'm not one for these anyway) are a couple of Churches and some nearby hot springs - exactly what you need when it's 30 degrees outside - the scene isn't particularly appetising. Add to that rubbish everywhere and the local machos repeatedly shouting 'Hey man? Where you going man? What you doing man? You riding a bicycle man?', whilst verbally sexually harrassing any gringo women in sight and the place kind of loses its charm.
(I also never felt safe enough in any Honduran town to leave my bike out of sight - but more on pointless crime in Central America later)
I would like to state now that I know poverty and incidients like this occur in places like Honduras, my gripe is firmly with the Lonely Planet for their description of the place and I have to admit that if I'd have arrived in these places by any other means than on my bike, I would have wanted my hypothetical money back.
Before I'd been taken in by a Honduran family of 5 girls, on this occasion on my last night in the country it was a family of 4 boys (poor Mum) - the youngest of which was desperate to show me his guitar skills
A few days later I arrived in Tegucigalpa, only to have my fuel bottle and stove pump stolen (more on pointless crime in Central America later) before heading down to the Nicaraguan border, arriving two days later.
The San Cristobal Volcano, Nicaragua
After I crossed the border I began to notice another problem with my poor, poor bicycle - the welding that had been done previously was not working and the crack had reappeared. I saw the danger, but was in the middle of the countryside so just had to hope I could make it to the next town to get it welded in time.
No such luck: about 10 minutes later a massive 'THUNK' as the front rack snapped clean off the bike - about 60km from Leon, which is where I was aiming for, to stay for a well earned rest.
I had no choice but to strap the pannier (still attached to the rack) to the back of the bike, and in this fashion: with an unbalanced bike, with no front left rack and 3 broken spokes, we had crusied into Leon that evening. Me looking an utter smelly mess from the latest storm, the bike looking like a case of domestic violence.
Once again she goes under the knife - hopefully this time she's fixed permanently.
A rest day was followed by the bike being fixed (including the rebuilding of the wheel), but there's a couple of things I want to bring up before the blog finishes; the first is that wonderful topic of pointless crime in Central America.
When my stuff was stolen in Belize I could undestand it as a wallet, a digital camera, etc have monetary worth.
However in contrast, on this leg of the journey from Guatemala to Nicaragua I have had, in no particular order; my replacement helmet, my lockring tool, a set of broken tent poles for a tent I no longer own which I'd been using as a makeshift kickstand and worst of all, my fuel bottle and stove pump (which live together) all stolen from my bicycle.
What really hacks me off is, apart from the helmet, the stuff that has been stolen has absolutely no resale value and the helmet, well you'd be lucky to get a tenner for it.
It's not just being stolen from either, it's the attitude aswell and the negative connotations it has had on my own world view.
The fuel bottle and stove pump were stolen in Tegucigalpa - I had only stopped where I had to watch a World Cup Match, but I had left the back end of my bike in view as after what happened in Mexico I was paranoid over someone stealing my tent and roll-mat. Instead, someone has seen the bike, seen a beaten up metal bottle that's covered by a manky old sock and thought 'oooh that might be worth something' and taken it. Without my stove, which they did not get (and cannot get in Honduras) - these items are worthless.
But not to me; for me that's another £60 down the drain and worst still, a depressing change in my attitude.
Throughout the journey, apart from possibly in Almaty, I have felt safe whereever I have been. I have rarely locked my bike up, I have become accustomed to feeling secure in my surroundings and whilst there have obviously been times when I've thought a place might not be 100% safe, I've always had a safe place within cycling distance.
Since the helmet and particularly the useless tent poles were stolen I have feared to let the bike leave my sight - and even then I'm still being robbed from.
The attitudes - which I accept come hand in hand with the poverty levels - of 'if it's not strapped or locked to the bike we're nicking it' have left me uneasy whereever I go, particularly as it is not physically possible for me to lock everything, such as tent, fuel bottle, etc, securely to my bike. It is also not possible for me to watch my bike all day everyday, and doing so would not be much fun either.
So this is a problem that I have no real answer for right now, and in truth just wanted to have a little moan about.
But moving swiftly on - do I want sympathy?
Well in the last month I've been repeatedly stolen from, I've been hit by a truck, my trip was held up of because of a volcano and I have had continual bike problems. To summarise my luck this month I even met a girl I liked only to find out she herself had a girlfriend waiting for at home (no, really - or at least that's what she told me).
So do I want your sympathy?
No thanks, it's had it's ups and its down but the last month has been a lot of fun and I stll have a rather large smile on my face. However, if you do want to give sympathy to someone I've got a good friend who could sure use a little:
Welded back together, hoisted across rivers by zipwires, dragged up ladders to cross a border, hit by a truck, being ridden with 150kilos on top of her and with spokes braking each day, her front fork snapping anyway and finally having to be welded back together again - yet still being expected to perform when I ride her next week, just like she's been expected to perform for the last 2 years - my poor old bike.
