Pebble Pedalers

Rio Grande, Argentina to Ushuaia, Argentina

2011-02-21T22:19:00.000-08:00

The approach to Rio Grande, a mere 65km ride, proved to be one of the most difficult days of my trip. As Seth adequately explained in the previous blog, it is impossible to do justice in conveying the force of the winds in Tierra Del Fuego. After a frightening night of tent flattening weather we arose from our thoroughly saturated sleeping bags with a determination one can only achieve after 12 hours of sleepless misery. I packed up as fast as I could, layered on all the clothes I was carrying and was first to hit the road. The wind was still gusting cross-head at 100km+ with sleeting rain and the added treat of drenching showers caused by passing semi-trucks every few minutes. It was not long before Seth passed me due to the poor condition of my front tire. After blowing out one of my primary tires a few weeks back I was using a tire that Seth had discarded which he had started using back in Northern Mexico. For the past couple days a small lump which had become evident around Cerro Castillo, Chile had become a bulging tumor that caused the tire to ride more like an egg than a round sphere. Completely out of food, soaking wet, and painfully cold, we had no option but to get to Rio Grande as soon as possible.

After a grueling 6 hours of non-stop riding I could finally see the outskirts of town and right as I was thanking all the gods that my tire had held, I was startled by the gunshot bang common of a sidewall giving out to the compression of the inner tube. To my surprise it was my rear tire which had failed while the good ole egg from Mexico was holding strong. Nevertheless it meant I was push/carrying my bike for the last 5 miles into Rio Grande.

When I finally arrived downtown I found an internet cafe and opened an email from Seth informing me of his location and that he would be hitchhiking back to search for me if he did not hear from me in the next 15 minutes. I responded to him with 2 minutes to spare and once again hoofed it across town to the Club Nautico, an athletic club that allows travelers to lay their sleeping bags in the gym for a small fee. After allowing my hands to thaw out Justin came to the rescue with half a warm pizza and a hilarious story about how he had almost frozen to death because the guy he had hitched a ride from would not close the air vents in the front seat. He continued that when he had arrived he was so cold that he had dragged a mattress from the upstairs gym down into the steamy locker room where he planned to take a nap amongst the other showering patrons. He could not understand why the woman who lived in and managed the place almost exploded with rage when she found him sleeping on one of her mattresses in the shower room.

We spent the next few days waiting out the weather as we were in no rush to finish and did not want a repeat of the previous stretch. To our delight the club had a beautiful ping pong table in the boat shed so we took the time to polish up on our beer pong skills in preparation of our return to the US. As we were only 3 we had to recruit and English gentleman, Tim, who was eager to learn the American drinking game. It was not long before everyone in the gym, including the managers and owners, where crowding around the table, cheering us on and taking pictures of the heated matches. We had to shut it down after two epic battles as it was evident that nobody on the entire block would get any sleep as long as we continued to play.

With the weather much improved but still raining we set off for the final 200km of our international expedition. That day we knocked off 100 of those kms and arrived at the world famous bakery in Tolhuin. The owner, Emilio, an avid cyclist himself, has constructed a room in the back of the large multi-building structure for cyclists to sleep for free and escape the harsh elements of Tierra Del Fuego. Even better than the room were the empanadas and pastries and we can't thank Emilio enough for his generous hospitality.

Resisting the temptation and offer of a big BBQ the following night we said adios to Emilio and headed towards Laguna Bombilla. The only thing stronger than our appetite for a traditional Argentine parilla is our appetite to fish new water. In addition, it is also the only thing that would motivate us to take a 40km out and back detour down a dirt road in the rain when only 50km from Ushuaia and the end of the trip.



While the road was steep and a bit longer than we expected and the weather less than excellent, we were glad we made the trip to add yet another spot to our long list of beautiful fishing destinations.



The best part of this detour was reuniting with our good friend and fellow Panamerican traveler, Dan Grec. The last time we saw Dan was in Ecuador when he hosted us at the hostel he was managing in Parque Cotopaxi. Before Ecuador we had camped with him a night on highway 1 in Baja California, Mexico. After reminiscing on old times and realizing we were going to finish our respective trips, Danny by Jeep and us by bike, on the same day we also realized that we begun our trips at the same time. Not the same month or week, but the exact same day and Danny had passed us at the top of the Dalton Highway in Alaska. Now more than a year and a half later we meet again and arrive in Ushuaia no more than a few hours apart. Danny also came bearing the gift of yet another precious anecdote about Mr. Justin Dodd:

When Seth and I had left the bakery early that morning Justin was crawling back into his sleeping bag informing us that he would meet us at the Laguna later. Coincidentally Danny had rolled into the bakery as Justin was eating breakfast and Danny recognized him from our blog. Justin told Danny that he would be meeting us at a beautiful lagoon where we would be fishing and camping that night. Danny decided he would join us and Justin jumped at the opportunity to unload all of his bags in Danny's Jeep. Justin proceeded to give him directions to a completely different lake over 20kms away from where we would be. While somehow Danny eventually found us, Justin never did and we wondered how he would fare in the pouring rain of Tierra Del Fuego with no tent, sleeping bag, or extra clothes. Of course he would survive, and of course there would be another great story.

The next morning after determining that we would meet Danny at a campground in town, he took off and we began our final day of riding. Surly the last day would hold one final challenge which we soon found in the form of a 400 meter pass, but after the past few days of hellacious, this was but a hick-up in our short stroll to victory. The weather had turned for the better and our final day of riding was filled with spectacular scenery and sunny skies.

Just a few kms short of town we found Justin walking his bike along the side of the road still without any of his bags. We approached him eager to hear the sure to be entertaining story. We were not let down.

After leaving the bakery it did not take long before Justin realized he had forgotten the directions we had given him to Laguna Bombilla. It was also not long before it started getting very cold and started raining very hard. He knew that without a tent or extra clothes he would not survive a Fuegian night alone. He conceded to hitching a ride into Ushuaia so as not to freeze to death and he soon found himself sitting shotgun next to a man who had seemed a little too excited to pick him up. After a little small talk in espanol, the man knew he had to make his move before they reached the city limits so he placed his hand on Justin's inner thigh, looked directly into Justin's big beautiful eyes and said, “Nos vamos amigo, nos vamos.” This best translates into, “Let's do this big boy, let's do this.” While most people would have jumped out of the truck and taken their chances with the cold night over roadside rape, Justin simply laughed it off, removed the man's hand from his thigh, and milked the ride all the way to the hostel of his choosing. The next morning he had ridden back out of town to meet us on our way in and join us for the last few kms into Ushuaia. We were very glad to have his company and were happy he had survived the previous night unharmed. Although I did find it a little weird that he was walking his bike instead of riding it and he mounted that saddle very gingerly as we departed.

After taking some mandatory photos at the “Ushuaia, End of the World” sign, we stormed into the campground to find Danny, Kevin, and Max (a French Canadian who also finished his trip from Canada by car that day) waiting for us with a round of cold beers. We all hugged it out, congratulated one another and began what turned out to be a big night of celebrating. In addition to finishing our trip it also happened to be my birthday so we decided we would splurge that evening and dine at one of the famous all-you-can-eat Argentine BBQ restaurants then hit up the Irish pub. In retrospect we probably should have split up the all-you-can-eat BBQ and the Irish pub into two separate nights.

I had intentionally not eaten since the meager bowl of oats that morning so I was ready to eat about 5 times the amount of the 80 peso fee. Since it was my birthday and my pride was at stake, I took the prize with 5 heaping plates of BBQ meats ranging from lamb to blood sausage. I was sure not waste any room with a single vegetable or piece of bread. Seth and Danny were close behind with a respectable 4 plates. After dinner none of us felt like doing anything but rolling our way back to the campground but we knew we must push on and celebrate our accomplishment. We approached the Irish pub with fear in our eyes but determination in our hearts and before we could protest Justin had arrived with a round of Tequila shots. Without getting into too much detail about the events that followed, let me say that it will be a night that some of us will never forget and others will never remember.

After two full days of recovery we all decided to gear up and ride the final 20kms of the road into the national park and touch the Antarctic Ocean.

This trip was amazing and we spent 3 days of spectacular weather camping in the park.

When we got back to town it was not more than a few hours before Justin blessed us with yet another anecdotal gem. This time he had gone into town on his own to get a blown out tire and broken spoke replaced at a local bike shop. On his way back he was stopped by a German tourist who was bubbling with excitement and spoke to him in heavily accented English. The German complimented him on his large manly physique and burly appearance. He said when he spotted Justin he could tell that he was a very hairy man and that he just HAD to photograph him. Justin, needless to say, was taken aback by this odd man and his request but was also strangely placated by the showering of compliments. The man pulled out a professional grade camera and lens and began taking shots of Justin's hairy arms. Within minutes Justin was posing shirtless in the middle of downtown Ushuaia as the man laid below him on the sidewalk snapping shots up at Justin's towering stature. He informed Justin that this was his favorite angle to shoot from and that these photos would appear in his upcoming exhibit. He actually gave Justin his website and just to prove that I am not making this story up please take a look for yourself. Viewer discretion is advised:

http://www.joachim-jacob.de/downloads/Austellung.pdf (Page 4 and 5 are my personal favorites)

The following day we met up with Mickey, owner and head guide of Wind Fly Ushuaia, who allowed us to tag along on a family and friend camping/fishing trip at one of his favorite and not so well known lakes. The trip was phenomenal and exactly what we wanted to finish our journey. The first day of fishing was a bit slow but as soon as dusk arrived, so did the fish.



The bite stayed hot through the following day and we were blessed with a consistent action of rainbow, brook, and brown trout.



The food wasn’t bad either.

We returned to Ushuaia to a beautiful Austral Sunset.

After getting back from fishing we only had 2 days left which we spent packing up and preparing ourselves for a full 3 days of flights and layovers back to the US. Here was the final mileage before breaking down the and boxing them up for the long trip home.

When you have been camping for almost two years straight it is tough to kick the habit of rolling out a sleeping pad wherever to catch a few z's. Like this spot in the Buenos Aires airport during a 24 hour layover.



And that is about all we got for ya. I hope you have all enjoyed following our trip as much as we have enjoyed sharing it. You will never know how much your support has meant to us and we look forward to returning a lot of favors to all of those that have assisted us along the way. A very special thanks to our Mother and Father for too many things to list, to our sponsors, and to the entire fishing community we met along the way that made the dreams of a couple of trout bums come true beyond anything we could have ever imagined.

As for the proposed Pebble Mine, it is still the proposed Pebble Mine and nothing more. They are still completing their environmental impact reports and still have not yet applied for mining permits. There is currently a large legal battle being fought to protect the constitutional rights of the people of Alaska against the possible atrocity of the largest open pit mine in North America being constructed in one of the most sensitive ecosystems in the world. When we started our journey very few people were aware of this issue outside of Alaska but now it seems we receive alerts weekly about Pebble newspaper clips, Pebble magazine articles, Pebble TV programs and even Pebble SPAM emails. We can only hope that we played at least a small role in spreading the word.

With that said this will be our last blog... until of course, the next trip.

Cheers,

The Pebble Pedalers

Seth and Parker Berling

El Chalten, Argentina to Rio Grande, Argentina

2011-01-22T04:34:00.000-08:00

Leaving El Chalten represented a dramatic change in the scenery....

and the wild life...

Justin arrived by bus in Puerto Natales and his first day back on the road marked his longest day on the bicycle ever.

We clocked in over 65 miles in good time and were able to seek refuge from the wind in a small shack behind a rural police station. Hand it to Justin to celebrate his longest day on a bicycle with two Marlboros.

That night the structural integrity of the shack was put to the test as the wind speed picked up to a consistent 100kms per hour. When we left the police station they told us that it was gusting at over 100kms per hour.

Nothing could have readied us for what we experienced on the road that day. We later found out that the wind speeds rose to over 145kms per hour.

Rocks the size of golf balls were getting hurled across the roadway and we were constantly tossed all the way across thelanes onto the opposite shoulder. I was riding at nearly a 30% angle to fight back at the crosswind and the massive gusts would put me nearly parallel with the ground....tires slipping across the asphalt. Just when I was sure it could not get any worse I was engulfed by a huge dust storm. When my eyes finally produced enough moisture to rid themselves of some of the sand I was able to make out a small shack in the distance.

As I jumped off my bicycle to push it towards the shack the winds pulled it out of my hands and drop kicked it across the highway. Using all my strength I made it to the shack, threw open the door and landed inside in a cloud of dust and rocks.

Parker and Kevin were not far behind. We all hunkered down in the small shed, which turned out to be a makeshift workers shed for migrant sheep farmers.

Within an hour or so we were burning cow shit in the small stove. Just in case you thought I was joking...

By the time Justin arrived (he was forced to resort to walking) we had the shed up to about 80 degrees. We rested the remainder of the afternoon and as the sun began to set we sensed a lull in the wind and jumped back on our bikes to push another 20kms to the next known shelter.

The shelter turned out to be a road workers house and when we stopped to ask the caretaker if we could fill up our water he offered us the entire house, including showers, beds and full kitchen. Once again, someone took it upon themselves to go out of their way to help us. He told us that the winds that day had been extreme even for one of the windiest places on earth and that a semi had blown over just a mile down the road from his home.

In an effort to beat the winds we woke up the following morning at 5am and were on the road just after 6am. We only stopped for a quick lunch mid day and made it all the way to Punta Arenas with not much more than a strong breeze.

When we arrived in Punta Arenas all that separated us from Tierre Del Fuego was the Straight of Magellan and a gasoline strike that shut down Punta Arenas. To protest the reduction in gasoline subsidies the people of southern Argentina set up massive road blocks and burned furniture and tires in the middle of the thoroughfares. No one could leave or enter the city and all ferry services were shut down indefinitely. More than 500 tourists were trapped in the city. The strike was completely unorganized and without a leader or spokesperson. Their was no information available regarding the resumption of the ferry so we were forced to continually ride to the port to check in with the ferry employees about a possible departure. Our patience was further tested when the local government announced they did not intend to compromise and would be willing to wait out a 20 to 30 day strike if necessary.

When we nearly gave up hope on getting to Tierre Del Fuego our friend Kevin showed up at our campsite and announced that a ferry was leaving in thirty minutes. With nothing packed we started the mad rush to get everything strapped to our bikes. We all took notice that Justin seemed particularly lackadaisical as he broke down camp. When I left for the docks I told Justin he had approximately 20 minutes to get his ass on that boat.

You will notice that there is a bicycle missing from this photo.

Justin can thank his lucky stars that they decided to run the ferry again the next morning. We waited for him in Povernir and after our rendezvous a mere 300 miles of paved and dirt road lay between us and our final destination of Ushuaia, Argentina.

The road out of Povernir hugs the north western coast of Tierre Del Feugo before bending inland and crossing over to the Atlantic Ocean. This is sparsely inhabited, weather beaten pampa that offered us little to no shelter from the gale force winds that permanently sweep the land.

We had to get creative to find makeshift shelters that would provide us with enough protection so that our tents would not get torn to shreds. We got separated from Justin on the first day out of Povernir and he ended up camping behind a semi truck while we were able to find a small metal shed.

That night we were treated to a particularly intense Austral Sunset.

When we approached the Argentinian border a huge line of trucks and cars materialized. The protesters were still at it and had effectively shut down the entire Chilean / Argentinian border crossing by dumping piles of dirt on the roadway. With less than 200 miles to Ushuaia there was no way we were going to let a road block get in our way. Without hesitation we rode past a mile of traffic and cruised through the road block like we owned the place. I even stopped to take a photo of Parker rolling through.

That night we camped on the downwind side of a school house which sat adjacent to a huge sheep farm. It had been nearly eleven hours since we had seen Justin and around 10:30pm I gave up hope and began to get into my tent when I heard an unmistakable “heyyooo” from the roadway. Earlier that day Justin had completely lost track of time and fallen asleep at the border crossing and was treated to bad headwinds when he finally mounted his stead to catch back up with us.

Justin erected his supermarket purchased tent next to ours and immediately called it a night. I woke early to the sound of my tent getting ravaged by wind and rain. The wind had shifted directions during the middle of the night and had left us completely exposed. Around 5am I got out of my tent to adjust my stakes and looked over as Justin's makeshift tent was squashed like a bug under the force of a gust of wind. I stood there and laughed to myself as I watched the wind rip his rain fly away from his tent and leave him fully exposed to the sheets of rain. The rains and winds continued to increase in strength until we were forced to make a game time decision and abandon camp to make the 35 mile ride to Rio Grande. By the time we left there were inches of standing water in the bottom of Terremoto's tent. Justin made a sound decision and hitched a ride with a Nestle delivery driver. The bicycle ride took Parker and I over 5 hours to complete as we were blasted with head winds and monsoon rains. To add insult to injury Parkers rear tire decided to abandon its sidewall and he was forced to walk and carry his bicycle the last three miles.

We arrived in Rio Grande, battered and nearly frozen. We set up shop at a kayaking club called Club Nautico on the banks of the Rio Grande. The Rio Grande is perhaps the most famous body of water we have come across in South America and as so much the local government charges a day use fee of nearly a hundred dollars to fish the “public water” which happens to be the least desirable water on the river. The private estancias (farms) that own every other mile of river upstream of here start at about $1000 a day. Unfortunately, at this point we cannot justify spending our combined two month budget on one day of fishing. It is painful to know that we are no more than a hundred yards from 20lb plus browns. Fortunately, we found a few games to keep ourselves occupied and distracted.

After 18,000 miles on the bike my body and mind are overwhelmed with the understanding that this lifestyle is drawing to an end. It was over a year and a half ago that Parker and I abandoned everything we knew. We left behind the comforts of home for the simplicity and uncertainty of bicycle travel and life on the road. Since then our lives have been broken down into basic nomadic survival...eating, biking and sleeping. In a little more than two weeks we will leave behind the elementariness and hopefully return home as better people for having followed a dream.

Encuentro Lodge, Argentina to El Chalten, Argentina

2011-01-15T12:01:00.000-08:00

When the previous blog ended, Parker and I were readying ourselves for a day on a newly discovered body of water with Benjamin Beale.

When will left the Encuentro Lodge mid afternoon and began to ascend a small pass to the secret stretch of water, we found ourselves in the middle of snow flurries. Not to be deterred by freezing temperatures, we continued on towards the river. The three of us got a very late start to the day but it was immediately apparent that Ben had taken us somewhere very special.

Not more than ten casts into the day, I had moved the first fish and within another ten minutes we were reeling in our first monster brown. The day continued in much the same style...blasting fast pocket water with massive streamers and watching enormous browns explode on our offerings. The river was very reminiscent of one of my favorite creeks in Montana and instantly took it's place as one of my favorite rivers in Argentina.

The Caraterra Austral (two words synonymous for the best f#@*%ing touring cycling on the planet) lived up to it's reputation and offered up some of my favorite stretches of road to date.

The scenery and fishing provided us with the two biggest distractions. I found it difficult to go a full kilometer without jumping off my bike to take photos. We spent time at every river crossing to evaluate the water and look for feeding fish. It was not unusual for one of us to impulsively rig up a fly rod and go crashing through the thick vegetation (still wearing our helmet) to place a cast into the most enticing waters. To date there has only been one location were we did not move a fish.

This sea run brown was caught in an estuary while standing no more than three feet from the roadway. It was my first sea run to date and from what we have been told a “pretty damn good fish” for the area.

When we arrived in Coyhaique we once again met up with Justin who was forced to resort to old fashioned hitch hiking after his bike and gear had became so water logged that he could no longer pedal. We settled into a local hostel and by some sort of divine intervention I received an email from a Montana friend who wanted to see if we had reached Coyhaique. As it turns out he had a local buddy, Carlos, who was ready to meet up with us, show us the town and take us fishing. It's phenomenal how these things work out sometimes.

Within minutes we were in Carlos' car headed to a local establishment, to share some stories and plan the following days fishing trip. Excited to mix things up and jazzed at the prospect of hooking into something huge, we made plans to go after a local run of Chinook Salmon. A run that has slowly started to take hold in a small river just outside of town. The day was great but we were preparing to walk away skunked when Carlos came though in the clutch with some massive spinning gear and triggered an explosion of a hit from a healthy chinook. Thanks to Carlos' fishing skills and hospitality we left Coyhaique having over indulged and over eaten. Once again chance placed us into the life of a new friend and once again we were overwhelmed by generosity. We both hope to see Carlos' again soon.

Fortunately our time with Carlos transitioned flawlessly (save a massive hangover) into our visit to Tomango Lake Lodge with Skip, the owner and proprietor of Nic Fin Outfitters. A friend of a friend put us into contact with Skip and something about our adventure struck a cord with him. Skip offered us a once in a life time opportunity to join him at his lodge. We helped Skip with a few minor chores and in return he blew our minds. Nothing could have prepared us for the experiences that Skip shared with us.

Without talking too much about the specific fisheries I will say that Skip has access to fishing and fish that I only dreamed existed. I am talking about browns as long as your arm that would want nothing more than to eat your hummingbird sized dry fly. Our time on the water with Skip was semi limited due to the insane “w” word. See photo:

But we were able to get more than a sampling of something so, so special.

There is something so wrong but so right about a 20 plus inch brown doing aerial acrobatics to eat a huge foam dry fly. The lodge has it all, the scenery, the fishing, and the comforts but does not jeopardize a true South American / Patagonian experience.

We've already made plans to meet back up with Skip in Idaho.

We left Coyhaique on the second half of the Caraterra Austral. I wasn't sure if there was anyway to top the scenery of the first half but true to form the Austral continued to get better and better. The pictures can do it more justice than my descriptions.

By the last day of the Austral we resorted to actually riding with rigged fly rods in hand which allowed us to hit every body of water we crossed. It does not get much better than only spending five minutes on your bike to get to a completely new fishery. Every drainage ditch, every creek, every pond and every lake held fish.

This fish was particularly memorable because it was spotted while riding and hooked from the seat of my bicycle.

Where the Careterra Austral ends in Villa O'Higgins; our adventure began.

South of town we hopped onto a ferry that shuttled us across Lago San Martin, visiting O'Higgins glacier on the way and dropped us at the beginning of a horse track that lead over the Andes and back into Argentina.

There were large sections of road that were unridable by loaded touring bike but we were prepared for it and were able to take our time and really enjoy the experience. Once again I will rely on the photos to do the talking...

Our first glimpse of the mighty Mt. Fitzroy

When we arrived at the north end of Lago Del Desierto we were greeted with surreal views of Mt Fitzroy.

We liked the spot so much that we decided to hang out for an extra day even despite the fact that we were totally out of food. Thanks to the abundance of rainbows in the lake we easily sustained ourselves.

From the lake we had a short ferry ride and forty kilometers of dirt to El Chalten. We arrived in El Chalten on New Years Eve and spent and uneventful but perfect evening with some Argentinian wine and a couple of kilos of steaks.

As it turned out our friend La Paz Kevin was also spending New Years in El Chalten and despite our attempts to spend the holidays together Justin had somehow managed to end up in Villa O'Higgins (the southern most town on the Careterra Austral) with no money for the ferry of food. Kevin, Parker and I hit the road on New Years with plans to reunite with Justin somewhere close to Puerto Natales.

Leaving El Chalten marked a dramatic change in the scenery. We traded the jagged spires of Mt Fitzroy...

and the lush vegetation near Lago Del Desierto....

for the pampa, which reminded us a lot of the altiplano in Bolivia, leaving us completely exposed to the elements, particularly the WIND. By mere chance we managed to avoid the wind for the first couple of days. As we approached Puerto Natales it decided to rear it's ugly head. For roughly 170 kms we battled through head and cross winds which topped out at about 100kms per hour. Thanks to our naïvety we thought we had seen the worst.

Brief Update from El Chalten, Argentina

2011-01-02T06:14:00.000-08:00

Happy New Years from the Pebble Pedalers!

We are back in Argentina now after an epic border crossing from Villa O'Higgins, the southern most town on the infamous Carretera Austral. The last traverse of the Andes from Chile into Argentina involved two ferry rides and a horse trail in serious disrepair where we were forced to carry and drag our bikes through rivers, knee deep mud, and twenty percent plus grades. Along the way we discovered some unbelievable fishing and camping.

After a two week hiatus from hygiene, we are cleaned and fed and packing up our bikes to embark on the last 700 miles of our over 18,000 mile journey.

Yesterday we reunited with our buddy La Paz Kevin and we planned out our route to Ushuaia over dinner. We have also been keeping in close contact with Justin (Terremoto) Dodd who has figured out to run out of cash in Villa O'Higgins (closest ATM is over 150 miles away). He is currently in the complicated process of transferring money into a locals bank account so he can pay for the ferry rides and food to get him to El Chalten. We plan to rendezvous with Justin somewhere near Torres del Paine National Park.

We will be providing a full update and photos for this last leg as soon as we can track down some reliable, fast internet.

Special thanks to Skip and his family at Nic Fin Outfitters for sharing their spectacular lodge and opening our eyes to a fishery that I have dreamed about but never thought existed. More to come on that...

San Martin De Los Andes, Argentina to Encuentro Fly Fishing Lodge, Argentina

2010-12-11T07:04:00.000-08:00

After nine days and over 1250km of mind numbing cycling into ferocious headwinds from Mendoza to San Martin, we were about as ready as ever to take a very long and very tranquil break. This photo of the squadron of mosquitoes awaiting our exit from our tents every morning pretty much sums up this less than desirable stretch of the trip.

I must apologize before hand as this blog may seem a little like an acceptance speech as we have about 1000 people to thank. The hospitality and generosity of the people we have met, stayed with and fished with over this last stretch has been unprecedented. After spending months in Peru and Bolivia where there is not much in the way of hand outs or appreciation for some crazy gringo's environmental cause, it has been quite a shock to see the support we have received further south.

The first person on our list of “shout outs” must be Maxi, owner and operator of the Bike Hostel in San Martin De Los Andes. Maxi greeted us at the front door with a level of energy that would put a smile on even the most weary of cyclists. Maxi's passion for cycling is unmatched by anyone I have ever met and just being around him made us proud of what we are doing. Every few minutes he would tell us how jealous he was of our trip. Coming from a guy who constructed a bike out of bamboo and rode it all the way to Buenos Aires this meant a lot to us. Maxi was also very impressed with our bikes as they were the same design that the infamous Goat used from the Riding the Spine team that did our same trip a couple years ago and also stayed with Maxi. Goat (Goat is his actual name) did the entire trip from Alaska to Argentina without ever once putting on a pair of shoes and without ever once taking off his enormous Abe Lincoln style top hat. Needless to say this is a hard character to forget and we have found that everywhere we go everyone always asks us if we know him. Although we did not even come close to Goat's 3 months which he spent at Maxi's hostel we did spend a good deal of time there and Maxi was kind enough to allow us to store our stuff there while we traveled back to Santiago. When asking Maxi if he this was okay he responded with his favorite English saying, “Fuuuuuuck You,” which, among many other things, meant “no problem.”

After a very peaceful night of sleep that was not interrupted every 5 minutes by the top of our tents slapping us in the face from the hurricane winds outside, we caught a 6am bus to beautiful city of Santiago by way of the not so beautiful city of Temuco. We arrived in Temuco around midday and found out that all buses to Santiago do not leave until 9:30PM at the earliest so we spent the day walking around the city eating an ungodly amount of street food. When we got on the final bus to Santiago we were ready to catch a few Z's but to our delight there was a toddler sitting right in front of us screaming bloody murder for about 6 straight hours. This is why when other travelers ask us why we would ever want to travel so far by bicycle our answer is simple, “It's a million times better than the bus.” My knees and ankles hurt more after one day of bussing than they ever had in over 17 months of cycling.

When we arrived in Santiago at 6am in the morning and concluded our 24 hour trip from San Martin, I found a phone to call Don Jon May, father of our friend and riding companion from back in Ecuador, Thomas May.

Jon told us to take the Metro (which I must say is one of the most simple public transit systems I have ever been on) to his restaurant, “Tortilla Factory” in Los Condes. We took the Metro part of the way and walked the rest as we wanted to get a good look at this old and historic city. It had just snowed two days before we arrived and we were lucky enough to experience a very rare clear and sunny morning and to enjoy the beautiful backdrop of the freshly snow covered mountains. Upon arrival Jon greeted us with a treat that we had been craving for almost an entire year, Mexican food. Jon soon learned that if asked we will not turn down any sort of food or beverage so about an hour after arriving we had sampled most of Jon's very impressive menu and put down a couple of our favorite Mexican beers. From the restaurant we made our way over to Jon's buddy Marc's fly shop, Del Norte Outdoors, just around the corner. Marc is to fishing as Maxi is to cycling. Here is a guy who lives fishing and spends most of his time either on the river or in the shop and when you first meet him you would think he just discovered the sport for the first time. Just being around Marc and listening to his many stories of the rivers that we would soon be passing, made us want to take a bus right back to San Martin and get on with the trip. After an hour and a half of taking notes and mapping out the best we could hit in Patagonia we headed back to the restaurant to meet up with Matt “El Gigante” McKinney who was bussing in from Valparaiso after spending a few days on the coast. When we arrived, Matt was well into his sampling of the Tortilla Factory menu and we joined him to test the few remaining items we had somehow missed during round one. Here we also met one of the other owners named David who is an avid sailor and shared with us some excellent stories of traveling the globe by way of water and wind.

We cleared out of the restaurant so the rest of Santiago could have a chance to eat and caught a ride with Jon's son, Paul, to their decent little house up in the mountains. When we pulled into the driveway we all sighed and got ready for a week of tough living. HA! Far from it. Jon's pad overlooking the city is nothing short of spectacular!

We could not believe how lucky we were to have met Thomas in Ecuador who told us his father loved to fish and that we should contact him when we got to Santiago. Between the nightly feasts, daily BBQ's, drinks at the restaurant, hikes in the mountains, hours spent pool side, tours around the city, and late night arguments on theology and American politics, I can truthfully say this was one of my favorite experiences of the trip. We can't thank Jon, Paul, and Camila enough for their hospitality and making us feel welcome long after we should have hit the road.

Seth took off to meet Eliza at the airport and assist her with the enormous duffle bag that she so graciously hauled half way across the world for us yet again. And once again we must thank her again for helping us in this manner. Without these deliveries that both her and our Mom put many hours into coordinating I do not know what we would do. Between the hassle of tracking down all of the bike parts and replacement camping equipment and transporting it all down here we are truly lucky to have these two women in our life. Seth and Eliza headed out to the coast for a few nights in Valparaiso. Here are a couple photos from their stay:

On our 2^nd to last night in Santiago Matt and I returned to Marc's fly shop to give a short presentation on our trip and cause during a little party he was hosting for the release of the new a G-Loomis rod. This was a great opportunity to spread the word on the Pebble mine to an audience who truly cared and also to learn of many similar projects that currently threaten the many rivers of Patagonia. It was also a great opportunity to talk to two G-Loomis reps about future trips and possible sponsorships. There would not be a better company to team up with in the future than Shimano, that makes both top of the line fly fishing and cycling equipment. At the end of the presentation Marc, with his infinite amount of positive fishing energy, presented me with a brand new 5' rod, reel and case along with 40 new flies to use in Patagonia. Once again, we were stunned by this incredible act of generosity and ask ANYONE who plans a fishing trip ANYWHERE in Chile or Patagonia to visit Marc at Del Norte Outdoor before starting their journey. You know a guy knows his shit about fishing when his toilet looks like this.

After the party Camila and her friend, Pamela, took us out to experience a little Santiago nightlife, which means going out to a club at 2am and partying until dawn. I never thought I would say this but Gob bless the 2am law in the US. When you are used to going to sleep every night about an hour after dark whether that be 6PM or 9PM it is tough to even stay up late enough for the clubs to open. Nevertheless we sacked up and had a great time dancing our faces off until morning.

We were very, very sad to leave Santiago but the trip must go on so Matt and I hopped on another double decker scenic cruiser from hell to meet up with Seth and Eliza in Pucon, Chile. It really is difficult to do this town justice with words so here are some pics to better illustrate its true grandeur:

In Pucon we went on some great hikes, rented some bikes, and visited some magical hot springs. However, only Seth and Eliza were creating the magic in the hot springs as Matt and I had decided to return to San Martin after only 3 days in Pucon to kick it with our pal Maxi. However, I did actually pay money to rent a piece of shit bicycle for an entire day to ride around town.

We returned to San Martin and were once again greeted at the door of the bike hostel by Maxi who gave us warm and welcoming, “Fuuuuuuck You.” The next couple of days were spent reading and chilin as the weather had turned for the worst. By the time Seth returned from Pucon, where he said farwell to his special lady friend, Eliza, the weather had improved tremendously. Matt and I decided to go for a ride around the lake and were stunned by the scenery and for the first time truly felt like we were in Patagonia. Matt had to ride my bike as we could not find one big enough for him to rent in town. He also refused to wear anything over the spandex I lent him.

The weather held the following day so Seth and I decided to push onward and meet Matt a few days later in Bariloche. We were also looking forward to determining the validity of the rumors concerning a certain Mr. Justin Dodd and the purchase of a brand new touring bike. On a very late night the previous month when we had met up with Justin in Mendoza he had stated that he was going to ride with us from San Martin to Bariloche. Considering he ended that night by jumping in the pool twice while still wearing all of his clothes we did not know how much merit his claims warranted. When in San Martin we received a long and drawn out email from Justin that started by apologizing for his rash and premature decision to cycle with us and that he had come to his senses and decided that after a year and a half of traveling around Central and South America he had better return home and begin looking for a job. Then after many paragraphs of describing the fear and dread he felt of returning home and resuming a life of working in a cubicle he skipped a few lines and added only one additional sentence: “Then I grew a pair of golden huevos and walked down the street and bought a brand new touring bike, tent, sleeping bag, and stove. I'm in for Ushuaia! Summer Bike Trip 2010!!!!”

The day we left the Bike Hostel in San Martin we did not get more than 30 miles before we heard a faint but distinct “Fuuuuuuuuck You” approaching us from behind. To our surprise Maxi was barreling down on us with his motorcycle and a grin from ear to ear. As if allowing us to freeload at his place for the last week was not enough he had brought us a backpack full of ice cold beers. After a very late start and an 18km climb while fighting a steady headwind we were ready to call it an early day.

We camped that night next to a beautiful lake and decided to save the pass for the following day. We shared our camp sight that night with a German/Bolivian fellow named Kevin who had been staying at the bike hostel for the previous week waiting for a new camera to arrive from Buenos Aires. The weather held for the entire trip and we had been looking forward to finally getting out on the water and doing some fishing. Unfortunately, because we were unable to purchase our fishing licenses, we had to hold off until after Bariloche to get our lines wet. This was torture for us as the majority of the ride was next to beautiful crystal clear fish filled rivers. But being the conservation minded fisherman that we are (as well as not wanting to go to jail) we held off and just enjoyed the magnificent scenery.

This dog followed us this morning for over 15km. Not sure how he got back to town but we were glad for the extra company.

We met up with Justin at what he described as his favorite hostel of the entire trip called, 1004. This was certainly a unique place being located on the 10^th floor of a residential/office building and boasted the best view in all of Bariloche with 360 degree views of the surrounding lake and snow covered mountain peaks. Sure enough Justin arrived with a brand new ride and 4 panniers full of camping gear. Never mind that both his tent and sleeping bag was purchased at the grocery store for about $17 each. Considering there is never any wind or rain in Patagonia we were not too concerned with the plastic tent poles or the cotton ball stuffing in his sleeping bag.

After we arrived I went to track down Matt who was staying at another hostel and we all went shopping for a traditional Thanksgiving feast of steak, mashed potatoes, and beer. After the feast we all went out to a local Irish pub at about 2am We had many things to be thankful for so the celebration lasted till dawn and needless to say nobody had any interest in cycling the next day. Instead we all caught a bus to a spot that Justin said we had to check out. Justin had stayed in Bariloche for 3 weeks earlier in his trip so he new the area quite well. After a short hike up a steep mountain we were very glad that Justin had convinced us to get off our hungover asses and out to see this magnificent view.

The next day everyone was feeling much better and it was time for Justin's debut on the bike. He could not have chosen a better stretch or had better timing with the weather to start his trip. We had planned to do very short days so we could fish a new river or lake every evening until we reached El Bolson. The first day we cycled about 45km to Lago Guillelmo and found an overgrown trail that led from the road to lake's edge with just enough room to camp at the end of the trail. Getting the bikes down this trail was no easy task and I could see that Kevin and Justin thought we were nuts to go through so much trouble just for the opportunity to catch a few fish. As I approached the end of the trail I looked out about 15 feet off the bank to see a 16” rainbow lazily cruising the opening of the long narrow stretch that led to the spillway. There was just enough current here for a steady stream of bugs to keep this guy happy and Seth and I could not rig up fast enough to give it a shot. After not seeing a feeding trout in over a year the anticipation was almost unbearable. Unfortunately, by the time Seth was ready to throw a cast the wind had picked up and we could no longer spot the fish in the crystal clear turquoise colored water. I decided to walk back down the trail and fish the spillway while Seth waded the heavily wooded lake shore to the best of his ability.

The spillway drained into a large pool that tailed off into a slow moving riffle that looked perfect for nymphing. As spillways usually are, this one was full of fish and I immediately got into a number of small rainbows and brook trout. After satisfying the need to simply hook a few trout regardless of size or specie I moved up to the foamy whirlpool directly under the spillway. I traded my nymphs for a much larger white bead headed woolly bugger and started at the bottom of the pool where I pulled out a little larger 12” brook trout. In all the fishing I have ever done this is actually on the larger end of the scale for this type of fish. After I released the brookie I moved up to the head of the pool and let my streamer catch the swirling current that moved directly back into the pounding water. Just as I grabbed my line to start stripping I felt a jerk and I set the hook half believe that I had snagged a log. To my relief my line shot out of the waterfall and deep into the foamy pool where I knew I had a better chance of landing this fish. After the initial run this fish did not want to move anywhere other than the bottom of this deep pool. After a few minutes I was able to turn his head and as it broke the surface I was amazed to see the biggest, darkest, fattest brook trout I had ever seen in person. This was a big ole male with an enormous hook jaw and almost black skin. Of course in my haste to get out on the water I had forgotten my camera so I measured him and held it up for Justin then released him back into the pool. The fish came in at an even 20” and my hand could only cover about half of his girth. The rest of the evening I did not land anything over 8” but could not be happier.

When I returned to camp the wind had once again died but two gear fisherman had found our feeding rainbow and were slamming spoons on top of his head. It was not long before the fish disappeared and so did the two gear fisherman. Seth was patiently waiting and as soon as they left he tied on a small parachute adams and waited for the fish to return. About an hour later with only a few minutes of dusk remaining I heard the tell tale splashing and new Seth had finally stuck that fish. He could now in good conscience set down his rod for the night and we all ate dinner around a fire thoroughly content with our first day of fishing in Patagonia.

The next day as we pushed our bikes through the over grown thorn bushes back to the road we spotted our friends Bart and Griet who we had met months before in Copacabana, Bolivia.

After catching up we all set off together and they decided to join us for another short day of cycling which again ended on a river. The fishing here was not great but we were able to land a few small rainbows on nymphs before it got dark. That night Justin's $17 grocery store tent was put to the test when the rain began falling only a few minutes after we tuned in for the night. In the morning Justin declared that his first order of business upon reaching El Bolson was to purchase a new tent and sleeping bag.

While Justin went in search of a new tent and bag we went shopping for what turned out to be another large feast. We also checked our email and saw that Pancho Panzer from the Carrileufu Valley Lodge located in the nearby Alerces National Park had responded to our previous emails and invited us to take a break and stay at his place for a couple days. This was and an unexpected and extremely generous offer as Pancho's outfit is first class luxury all the way from the gourmet food to the knowledgeable and experienced guides. We almost didn't know what to do when we awoke the first morning to the most impressive breakfast spread we have seen in well over a year. Even more, we were the only “guests” in the entire lodge meaning there were as many chefs as there were people eating their food. Meal after meal we could not be more fulfilled by Nico and Roberto's culinary masterpieces.

After breakfast we met Facu who would be guiding us for our day on the famous Rio Rivadavia which is considered by many to be the most beautiful river in the world.

We were not let down as we approached the put-in and saw the classic turquoise blue water and picturesque snow covered mountain backdrop. Just as we began to gear up the wind died down and the rain began which was great news for us as rain is far more tolerable than strong wind when casting flies. The put-in is located right near the mouth of the Rivadavia on Lago Rivadavia and is the beginning of the 9km float that is actually the entire length of the river. Facu suggested we start off with big dries as the water near the mouth is slow and large fish hold up against the heavily wooded banks. We pounded our dries up against the bank for about 1km without moving and fish so we switched over to our 250 grain sinking tip lines and tied on streamers. Within my first few casts I hooked into this healthy rainbow that immediately took me into my backing. Granted I had the drag set very loose and was babying the fish like someone who had not landed a good sized rainbow in a long time but still, not bad for the first fish of the day.

Seth was soon to follow and landed this brown trout not more than a 100 meters down the river.

The rest of the day went pretty much the same with consistent action on the streamers all the way up to the take-out located on Lago Verde.

By this time the rain had stopped and the wind had returned just in time to make Facu's job of traversing the lake a hell of a lot more difficult. All and all a very productive day on a stunning piece of water that we are sure to return to in the future. The rest of that evening was spent back at the lodge sipping whiskey next to the fire sharing fishing photos and stories with Facu enjoying a level of luxury well beyond our means.

To our disbelief Pancho emailed us again that night and invited us to stay yet another day and fish the Carrileufu with Facu informing us we needed to experience both of these rivers before moving on. Sold.

The Carrileufu is a bit longer than the Rivadavia and is split up into three floats: upper, middle and lower. Facu said his favorite section is the upper as it holds the most Atlantic salmon so we took off the next morning for the mouth of the upper section located on Lago Cholila. When we arrived at the put-in Facu picked up a small boulder from the river to show us the amount of bugs these fish had to feed on. The rock was completely covered in small dark midges and as we looked around we could see that the entire river bed was covered in midge larva. When we walked out into the river we could see fish lining up behind us to feed on the bugs we were kicking up. We rigged up our rods with double nymphs, small bead head on top and size 20 midges below with 5x tippet. While this is not your typical Patagonia fishing we invited the challenge of some more technical fishing after the previous day of only throwing large dries and streamers. We hopped in the boat and Facu rowed all of about 20 meters to the other side of the river where we got to fish the very first run. Facu told me to go fish a side channel while Seth was going to hit the main run.

As I approached the very small and very shallow channel I could hardly believe what I saw. In no more than 6”-12” of water there were 20-30 large rainbows stacked on top of each other feeding on an endless supply of midges being funneled off from the main river and into their waiting mouths. I slowly approached the line of fish and took a few false casts to get some line out and could hardly keep my hands from trembling with excitement. This is the type of scenario that truly calls upon one's skill as a fisherman using tiny flies, small tippet, and casting to very spooky fish in crystal clear water along a overhanging brush covered bank. I aimed as far above the first fish as I could and let my line drop on what I imagined would be a perfect and delicately placed cast. Instead I delicately fired my flies directly into the middle of a huge bush spooking all of the fish at the top of the run. Incredibly, the fish at the bottom of the run continued to feed so I marked the spot where my flies were hanging to retrieve at a later time and snapped my line. After taking a painfully long time to rig up another combo of size 20 nymphs and 5x tippet I was ready for round two. This time I moved below the fish and out into the middle of the run as I had come to terms with the fact that my current casting ability did not allow for another attempt from the side. Just as I was about to start casting Facu appeared from the bushes and saw the line of fish I was targeting and settled in for the show. An audience was the last thing I needed at this time but I was determined to catch one of these fish and restore my honor. After about 10 minutes of miserably placed casts and only moving one fish that surely felt sorry for me, I decided to retrieve my snagged flies and head back to fish some faster moving and less technically demanding water.

As I returned to the main river I could see that Seth had hooked up with what looked to be a nice fish. I hurried over with the camera as he pulled up a very strong and healthy looking Atlantic salmon.

After taking a couple photos we switched places and he headed down to fish the lower part of the side channel while I fished the lower part of the main run. I wished him luck and tried to redeem myself in some excellent looking riffles. To my relief I immediately hooked into a salmon but lost him on one of his many impressive aerial displays. I moved down the riffle and landed another salmon and five other rainbows within about 10 meters of water. As before the fish were lining up below me to feed on the midges that my boots loosened from the rocks. After hooking the sixth fish my midge was toast so I went to go see how Seth did on the bottom of the side channel. While I am sure he put on a much more elegant display than I did the result was the same and we left these fish to frustrate some other fisherman while we continued our float. The rest of the day was much slower and we worked very hard to move and land a few more fish each but thoroughly enjoyed fishing yet another amazing river in the beautiful Los Alerces National Park.

That night Pancho joined us for dinner and we were very happy to have the chance to express our gratitude in person for his incredible hospitality. Like ourselves, Pancho shares a passion for traveling the world in search of excellent fishing and remote water. Listening to his stories of doing exploratory expeditions out of Kamchatka Russia was certainly a treat and definitely added another destination on our long list of places to fish in the future. For anyone planning to visit or fish Los Alerces National Park, staying at Carrileufu Valley Lodge is an absolute must and we highly recommend Facu as your guide and Nico and Roberto as your chefs. Other than that the beautiful park and world class rivers will take care of the rest. You can visit Carrileufu Valley Lodge's website at: www.patagoniafishinghosts.com.

We were extremely sad to leave this fishing paradise the following day but still had the entire park to traverse and hopefully find Justin camping somewhere along the way. About 20kms into the ride I heard someone shout my name and turned to see Justin running after us as we almost blew right past him. He was camped out at a beautiful lake side campground and had decided to take the day off. We told him we were planning on fishing a spring creek that Pancho and Facu recommended and he decided to join us for the short ride there.

The spring creek was the type of fishing that I always associated with Patagonia. The clearest water you can ever imagine with huge rainbows, browns, and brook trout lazily cruising along feeding on the large abundance of food in the nutrient rich water. The creek was relatively small water most of which was not wider than 10-15 feet. While walking the bank you could see every fish before you cast to it but the fishing was by no means easy. Incredibly, this picture perfect piece of water was public access and even more incredibly we only saw one other person there for about 30 minutes then had the place to ourselves. It took us a while to figure this creek out but once we found the correct fly and technique we were able to move some fish.

That evening we also found a beautiful and free lake side campground where we spent the night and left early the next morning to meet up with Benjamin Beale whose family owns and runs the Encuentro Fly Fishing Lodge located just outside of an old Welsh community called Trevalin.

The lodge itself could not be in more prime location for fishing nestled in along the bank of the Futaleufu River.

Now when I say that this place is located on the river I am not talking about any ole random piece of water that they call their front yard. Their property line meets the waters edge in what we found to be our favorite run on the entire river. Just before their property begins the river makes a huge bend to the right creating a massive swirling back eddy which flows out to a classic underwater ledge on one side and a 200+ meter rock wall on the other. But I am getting a little ahead of myself so let me back up.

We were referred to Ben by another American lodge owner named Ron Sorensen who runs an outfit in San Martin de Los Andes. Ben responded to my email immediately and told us to meet him in Esquel by Dec 4^th. When we arrived at the lodge Ben showed us right into our rooms which were only a stones throw from the river and walked us up to the lodge for a little BBQ. He informed us that he was going to be quite busy the whole week preparing for the arrival of some real guests so we were going to have to guide ourselves. To our astonishment he was going to just give us one of his brand new drift boats for the week and shuttle us to different spots of the river so we experience new water everyday.

The next morning we geared up while Ben told us we would be doing a long 20km float that ended right back in front of the lodge. Right as we thought the day could not get any better Ben stopped at the grocery store and bought us stuff to make lunch out on the river. On the way to the put-in Ben provided us with some last second advice on how to fish the Rio Futaleufu. As soon as we arrived he backed the boat into the water said good luck and was off. For the next hour and a half we caught good sized rainbows on small adams directly in front of the put-it.

Even though the rule is to never leave fish to find fish we had to start pushing down the river if we wanted to make it back by dark. Luckily, it did not take long to find more fish. We switched to our streamer set up and fished up close against the rock wall on the other side of the river and Seth immediately hooked into a nice brown.

For the next few hours we traded off rowing and fishing after every landed fish and it was rare that either of us had to row for more than 10 minutes.

The second half of the day was a bit slower so we changed one of our rods over to a nymphing set-up and were able to move a few fish. We switched back to streamers for the very last stretch of the float and landed three more rainbows directly in front of the lodge.

The next morning we woke up, ate breakfast, then walked right back down to where we left the boat the night before and resumed fishing. Today the plan was to cover the lower section of the Futaleufu and at around 8:30 or 9PM Ben would hop in a motor boat, come find us, and tow us back to the lodge. I can't tell you how nice it is to stay at a place where your lodging itself splits two unbelievably good pieces of water on the same river. Just like the day before we didn't get very far for the first two hours of the day as the fish would not let us leave. Seth and I took turns fishing the aforementioned rock wall directly in front of the lodge then back rowing up to the beginning of the run and repeating this process time and time again. Each pass we would land another fish and could not believe that the fishing could be so good right in their front yard. In the pics below note the lodge in the background.

When we finally got tired of back rowing this section, not of catching fish, we decided to continue the float and switched streamers to the biggest black and red monster we had. This turned out to be a huge stealhead fly that Seth had tied years ago that proved to be an even better brown trout fly. After switching to this fly we only caught browns averaging around 19” with the smallest being about 17”.

This turned out to be our best day of fishing so far in Patagonia. And to Ben's relief he only had to go about 2kms to find us and a short tow home.

Today the sky opened up and the rain has been down pouring since we awoke. Out the back window we can see it snowing in the hills above the lodge. While we planned on taking the day off a huge mayfly hatch went off about noon and we could see trout boiling everywhere, gorging themselves on the abundance of top water food. We could not resist this blatant taunting and provocation so we layered up and made the long journey of about 50 meters down to our boat and rowed all of another 10 meters off the bank and taught those fish a lesson or two about having a feeding frenzy on a rainy day.

Tomorrow we have the pleasure of fishing with Ben who wants to take us to a new stretch of water that he recently discovered. He says the fishing is excellent but the river is quite wild so he wants to further familiarize himself with the more dangerous sections without risking the lives of paying customers. We are more than happy to assist Ben in this expedition and will report soon on the results and the second half of our stay at Encuentro Fly Fishing Lodge.

Pebble Pedalers Featured In the Santiago Times, Chile

2010-11-26T17:14:00.000-08:00

Good things usually come in pairs. The Pebble Mine received some much deserved publicity with the recent article in National Geographic and the Pebble Pedalers have been featured as the cover story in the Santiago Times.

I met with Dustin about a week ago to discuss our ride and our cause to help bring publicity to the impending disaster in Bristol Bay. He wrote a beautiful article that is well worth a look.

http://www.santiagotimes.cl/news/environmental/20265-activist-cyclists-biking-from-alaska-now-in-chile

National Geographic Visits Bristol Bay, Alaska

2010-11-21T08:21:00.000-08:00

Finally the issue of the propossed Pebble mine is getting the coverage it deserves.

National Geographic recently visited Alaska to cover the debate over the propossed Pebble mine in Alaska´s Bristol Bay region.

PLEASE take a moment to read this article. There is also an excellent slideshow of photos of the propossed mining area. Take a look at the area where the Pebble Partnership wants to put one of the biggest holes on earth!

http://ngm.nationalgeographic.com/2010/12/bristol-bay/dobb-text

Special thanks to our good friend Chris Z in Alaska for continuing to be our watchdog for anything and everything relating to the Pebble news.

Salta, Argentina to Mendoza, Argentina

2010-11-11T15:31:00.000-08:00

I would like to start by thanking our good friend Chris Lane, the owner and proprietor of Roaring Mouse Cycles bicycle shop in San Francisco, who's generosity has kept our bikes in working order for the last 16,200 miles. The only thing that has exceeded our ability to wear out and break bike parts is Chris' generosity to replace them. So far we have worn out 10 chains, 2 full drivetrains, 2 rear derailleurs, 4 bottom brackets, 4 26” downhill rims, 8 sets of brake pads, 1 brooks saddle, 1 set of XT pedals, 1 BB7 brake and 2 sets of cables and housings.

Prior to the trip Chris took phenomenal care of me and my bikes while I was racing and crashing in California. He would go above and beyond the call of duty to make sure I never missed a race due to broken parts or an ill performing drivetrain. It comes as absolutely no surprise that Roaring Mouse Cycles is the top rated bicycle shop in San Francisco on both Yelp and City Search. This is just a small testament to his local following, the superior service, and his talented mechanics. After the trip I look forward to continuing to represent Roaring Mouse Cycles and to buying Chris and his mechanics a much deserved round of beer.

The two day trip from Salta to Cafayete was perhaps the scenic highlight of the last section of road. From Salta the barren landscapes transformed into beautiful multi colored rock formations, highlighted by green valleys and huge saguaro cactus. The final 80km into Cafayate marked the beginning of the infamous Quebrada de Cafayate where massive sandstone rock formations sit amidst the Sierra De Carahuasi.

When we pulled into Cafayate, we immediately searched out the local sandwich shop to satisfy our new addiction to the Argentinian favorite...the Milanesa, which is essentially a salsbury steak, paired with a slice of ham, 2 eggs, lettuce, tomato, mustard and mayo on a french roll aka a heart attack in a bun. The guy behind us at the outdoor eatery immediately struck up a conversation in order to find out where we were going to and coming from. As it turns out, Ronnie the Sweed, was also on bike, staying at a local hostel and also headed to Ushuaia. After increasing our cholesterol by 50 points we accompanied Ronnie back to the hostel and ended up setting up our tents in the back yard under the shade of grape vines. You know you are in northwest Argentina when your campsite looks like this:

After settling in, the three of us came up with the game plan to put together a feast of local beef and wine. Our over indulgence on the local cuisine resulted in a very late wake up and we made the easy decision to take a rest day in Cafayate.

The next day we departed Cafayate with Ronnie and started our 1000km haul to Mendoza.

We had heard so much about the “endless supply” of municipal campgrounds in Argentina that we were anxious to give them a try, so when the opportunity presented itself in a small town just two days south of Cafayate we jumped at the chance. The fact that it was semi abandoned and lacked restroom facilities only meant that we would avoid the $2 fee in exchange for pooping in the woods.

We settled in for an uneventful night.

2am....”Seth do you hear that?”

I strained my ears and I could make out a faint rustling just beyond our tents.

“Yeah, it sounds like some people are getting out of a car.”

I peered out of the door of my tent to see a group of men, illuminated by the domelight of an F150 emerge from the truck. I could also see a few guys piling out of the back. I closed the door of my tent after realizing they had no interest in us.

I started to fall back asleep when a guitar started playing. I opened my eyes and sat up.

Add guitar number two.

“Parker what time is it...check your ipod.” (I still do not have a watch after providing it as payment for a canoe ride in Peru)

“2am.”

Add drums (seriously).

Add horrible vocals #1.

2 minutes passed and all of a sudden I could hear three or four more drunk men add in with the chorus of the song. Before we knew it there was an absurd number of instruments playing and men belting indecipherable lyrics. I laughed to myself and laid back down and thought to myself...these guys won't last for long.

3am...another car pulled into the parking lot. All four doors opened and more men piled out.

Add Vocals #20 through #26

People are now pounding on car hoods and slapping sticks together...in an attempt to create even more noise pollution.

The singing continued as I fell in and out of a slumber. Each time I awoke I was surprised to hear the the music was still in full force. Anyone that could have heard the volume of noise that we were attempting to sleep in would laugh.

7am...I opened my eyes to see that the sun was starting to illuminate the inside of my tent. The music and singing were still in full force! I laid in my sleeping bag trying to determine how many minutes of actual sleep I had experienced when there was a sudden pause in the noise. I opened the door of my tent hoping to witness a pile of passed out drunks. Nope....just a pee break.

7:02am Vocals and instruments resume. Men are stumbling around the parking lot and the singing has transformed into yelling.

8:00am I am making breakfast and staring at the scene when three of the men look over and make eye contact with me. Maybe it was my sobering stare or the juxtaposition of me making breakfast that started the immediately exodus of cars and people. Within 5 minutes the parking lot was cleared.

The seemingly endless straight stretches relatively flat road from Salta would have made for some easy days of riding had the wind not been a factor.

As it was the wind created apocalyptic scenes where dust and sand clouds moved like tidal waves across the martin like landscapes, swallowing everything in their paths, filling our eyes and mouths with desert and pushing and pulling us at their leisure.

On one particularly frustrating day we took a wrong turn just over a mile into the day and ended up going over 30 miles in the wrong direction. It was a bit demoralizing to battle winds for four hours only to end up at the same place we ate breakfast. To make matters worse, after recovering from our detour the winds and sandstorms became so intense that large gusts would completely stop us in our tracks. We finally gave up after about 90 miles of riding and as I slowed to a final stop a large gust hit the side of me, blew me sideways, I lost my balance on the sandy shoulder and felt like crying as my bike rolled over on top of me. Well not really, I think I maniacally laughed at myself.

The short sections of awesome scenery helped to keep us enthusiastic about pushing through the incredible winds.

Three days after our ominous day we rendezvoused with our two good friends Justin and Matt at a hostel in central Mendoza.

The presence of these two tomcats sparked an immediate energy that carried us through 5 amazing days off the bikes. Our leisure time included barbecuing huge portions of Argentinian beef, consuming our share of local wines, touring the local wineries on rented bicycles and leaving an indelible mark on that hostel.

As I write this we have actually pedaled as far south as San Martin de Los Andes...and we are now on the last page of our maps! We have officially entered trout country! We are spending some much needed time off the bikes in Chile with our friends and my girlfriend Eliza. We will fully update you on our progress before returning to our bikes in San Martin. In short, we were absolutely unprepared for the physical and mental challenges that the section of road between Mendoza and San Martin demanded of us. We left blood, sweat and tears on that hellacious stretch of pavement and dirt.

Cusco, Peru to Salta, Argentina

2010-10-11T05:54:00.001-07:00

After the madness of Machu Pichu we were very relieved to finally take a few days off and relax in Cusco. We stayed at a well known cycling hostel called Estrellita and were pleased to meet a number of other people touring South America. One of the cyclists we met while staying there was a Japanese fellow who has been touring for 8 years straight! Needless to say he had a wealth of information and was very happy to share his past experiences with us. We were also reunited with our Irish friends, Martin and Nessa, who were waiting for a friend to fly in from England so they could begin the pilgrimage to Machu Pichu.

Keen was kind enough to send us another package with all of the items that were stolen by FedEx the first time around and after another mess of paperwork and a couple forwarded addresses the package finally arrived in Urubamba. Since Urubamba is about 80km north of Cusco I spent my final day off bussing it back and retrieving my package. At this time it had been about a week or so since any of us had gotten sick so sure enough I felt a wave of nausea flood over me while on the bus back to Cusco. By the time I got back to our hostel I had a full blown fever and was preparing myself for another week of painful riding and sleepless nights. The next morning I loaded up on Aspirin and we hit the road.

The stretch from Cusco to Puno was a relatively easy riding compared to the treacherous terrain we had been battling for the past month. The only challenging part of this section was a nasty headwind that hit us the second day out of Cusco and remained until after the pass.

Once we got over the summit we were able to cruise into Puno where we were greeted by the enormous Lago Titicaca that looks more like an ocean than a lake. We found ourselves a nice hostel and since it was early in the day, Seth, Belinda and Roland decided to take a boat trip out to the famous floating islands. I decided to stay behind as I was still feeling pretty ill and was hoping to recover before getting back on the bike. The next morning I finally felt human again and was looking forward to the flat and scenic ride along the lake into Bolivia. As I hoped out of bed I realized Seth was not going anywhere as he had gotten the same fever and sickness that I had just recovered from. So we said goodbye to Belinda and Roland and planned to meet up with them again in Copacabana and took the day off so Seth could recover.

After getting our exit stamps for Peru we arrive at Bolivian immigration and fill out the necessary paperwork for our visas. Before handing everything over to the officer we have to exchange our Peruvian soles for Bolivian pesos so we can pay the extortion fees. When we return and hand everything over to the officer he informs us that they do not except Bolivian pesos, only US dollars. Take a second to think about that, the Bolivian immigration office does not accept their own currency for this ridiculous fee. So once again we have to go exchange our newly acquired Bolivianos for US dollars and get screwed double on exchange rates. When we finally have everything in order and our paperwork is being processed I see that one of the customs officers is trying on my sunglasses and attempting to look behind himself in the little rear view mirror that is mounted on the frame while another officer is playing Pirates of the Caribbean and pretending to stab him with my pocket knife. As the officer is returning my pocket knife he offers to trade me his uniform belt for my Patagonia belt. Since he was only offering the shitty belt and not the gun and handcuffs attached to the belt I had to refuse. Very professional crew there at Bolivian immigration.

From the border it was just a short 10km ride over a small mountain and we were coasting into the very much anticipated lake town of Copacabana. Roland and Belinda had already emailed us what hostal they were staying at so we checked in and headed out for some lunch at a nice restaurant on the lake. After lunch we went on a search for some cheap beer as it was Seth's birthday and the plan was to all meet up at our hostel that afternoon for drinks. Martin, Nessa and their friend Simon had also arrived so we had a very good crew to celebrate Seth's 29th! Luckily we had the next day off as everyone was nursing some pretty solid hangovers and didn't want to do anything but lounge around. You really pay the price for having a few drinks when you only drink about once a month and consume said drinks at over 12,000 feet of elevation. Good thing all the wineries in Chile and Argentina are closer to sea level.

Bodies recovered, spirits raised, and hangovers nursed, we pushed south down the peninsula toward the famous Salar de Uyuni (Salt Flats). It was going to be about an 8 day push to get to the salar and we decided last minute that we were going to bypass La Paz as we had no reason to go there. Anytime we can avoid cycling through a big city the better so we got out the map and found an alternate route. Considering there is only 1 paved highway in the entire country of Bolivia one must choose alternate routes wisely and with caution. We simply chose some lines on the map that went around the city and went for it. I guess you could say we achieved our goal as we did bypass the city but the effort, navigation, and sheer luck it took to do this was far from worth the effort. As you can see the roads, if you can call them that, were less than a desirable alternative option to the paved city streets of La Paz.

Luckily, we had parted with Roland and Belinda before this stretch as they had more volunteer work to do with the Salvation Army in La Paz. I have my doubts that their previously cracked frame would have held up under such intense conditions.

When we finally met back up with the main highway heading south we found a place to camp off the side of the road and got some sleep.

In the morning we were very pleased to discover we had a strong wind building at our backs so we got mentally prepared to make full use of this rare occasion and put in some serious miles. We were able to knock out about 100 miles that day and camped just north of a town called Ororu. As you can imagine we work up quite an appetite after a 100 mile day so we wanted to treat ourselves to a large dinner. We found a little tent on a side street of a small town that was serving dinner for about 90 cents a plate. We bought 9 plates of chicken, carne asada, llama and a 3 liter of coke and called it a night (you know you are tired when you can fall asleep right after drinking 3 liters of coke). We were glad we decided to put in such a long day as the story changed the following morning. Our beautiful tailwind turned into a vicious headwind which we were forced to battle all the way to the town of Salinas at the edge of the salar.

150km north of Salinas the terrain changed and we were faced with some of the most treacherous roads we have seen thus far. I say thus far because after the salar it got about 100 times worse. I have already mentioned the headwind that was easily gusting over 60mph and in sections reduced visibility to about one foot off our front tire due to the amount of dust and sand in the air.

In addition to the wind, the washboard on the roads was so severe that every night I had a mild case of whiplash from trying to stabilize my neck all day. For one reason or another at various sections there were massive road blocks that caused us to leave the “road” and just cycle in the desert alongside the barricades. Trailblazing in the desert was actually a vast improvement over riding the 2^nd major highway in Bolivia.

When we arrived in Salinas we were both exhausted, hungry and covered from head to toe in dust and sand. We had not stayed in a hostel since Copacabana and had been camping in some pretty rough conditions for the last 8 nights. Yes, that means we had not showered in 8 days! All we wanted to do was sit down and eat a meal or three then get a room and take a much much much needed shower. However, nothing is ever that easy in Bolivia. Of course we found two restaurants and a hostel but both of the restaurants had no food and the hostel was closed until 6pm. Again, the hostel, with people staying in it, was closed until 6pm. Every single day we were astounded by the backwardness of this country, not only contrasting the way things are done in the US but other South American countries. For instance there are almost NO restaurants in any of the towns we passed through. Of course in any of the tourists spots like Copacabana, Uyuni, and La Paz, there are plenty, but your average town will not have a restaurant and if they do it will not be open until after 6pm. This may not seem that strange but when you take into account that the same town will have 30 little grocery stores it becomes quite odd. We just thought that nobody could afford to eat out but when that one restaurant opens at 6pm the place is packed! However, God bless those grocery stores because for about $3 you can buy more cookies, yogurt, fruit, chocolate milk and bread than you could ever imagine.

So we were forced to sit in the town plaza snacking on every possible thing that the street vendors sold until 6pm when we could get a proper meal and be admitted into the hostel. The next morning we made the short but once again challenging trip, due to the roads which at this point had turned into deep sand, to the edge of the salar.

Approaching the salar was quite a very surreal moment. To reach the edge of the salar we had to climb over a small mountain and just as we reached the summit we were blinded by a vast sea of the brightest white we have ever seen. It looked like a huge plain covered in snow but glowed even brighter than any snow I can remember. The best thing about the salt flats is that they are flat, really flat. After traveling on some of the worst roads of our lives the relief of getting onto the this extremely flat and rock hard substance that stretched out before us farther than the human eye could see was heaven. There are no roads on the salar and we couldn't see our destination so we had to ask around in the final town of Jirira about where the hell we were going. After some debate amongst the locals and one tour guide that was clearly lost we determined that we should head for that bulgy looking thing next to the big mountain and after a few hours we would see an island appear which was Isla Incahuasi. So with the bulgy thing in our sites we head off and sure enough a few hours later we see an island.

It is hard to describe the feeling of gliding through the salt flats surrounded by absolutely nothing but endless white, free from the constraints of narrow roads and yellow lines, and not really knowing where you are going. A mountain in the horizon that seems it is no more than a few miles away is actually hundreds of kilometers away and the occasional SUV carrying tourists on their salt safaris look like black bubbles floating in the distance. While each country we have visited has had its own unique qualities we could still relate a section in Peru to a section Colombia or a beach in Costa Rica to a beach in Southern Mexico. The salar was something that was truly different and one of a kind. That afternoon we reached Isla Inchuasi, the only island on the salar to boast the inhabitation of huge coral cacti. For much of the day the island looks like an anthill with a constant stream of Toyota Land Cruisers bringing tourists to and from the overpriced restaurant and makeshift giftshop, but after sundown when the SUV's disappeared it transforms into something magical. We met a British couple that had just started their tour 40 days earlier in Chile and we decided to camp with them in the back side of the island where there was no 15 peso charge to climb up and take pictures of the sun setting over the salar.

Seth and I found a little rock fort that would make any little kid jealous and we decided to pitch our tents inside of it. While we rationalized that the rock barrier would protect us from the wind and any roaming robbers, we really just wanted to camp in an awesome fort.

The next day we had another 80km left of salar so we found a new bulge to head for an said goodbye to our British friends, Hugh and Pauline. The day before we were so mesmerized by the feeling of riding on a flat and solid surface that we didn't spend much time on taking any photos. But anyone who visits the salar knows about the unique pictures one can take due to the endless white background and lack of any objects to determine depth. This can allow for some pretty interesting and funny photos. Thankfully our small tour guide was able to point out the sights along the way.

Once off the salar we found a woman selling some llama in a small tent so we bought a few plates and headed to Uyuni. As if the salar was but a short figment of our imaginations we were back to the more common ass punishing ball crushing roads of Bolivia. We made it to Uyuni with only minor whiplash and stocked up on supplies for the following day which would be a 110km to the town of Atocha. The next 3 days would prove to be the most remote and most challenging (most crushing of the balls) in all of Bolivia.

Luckily we had asked someone in Uyuni if there were any small towns before Atocha where we could get food and they laughed. We also asked if the road was paved to which they laughed even harder. So we made sure we had enough food for the following day and camped on the south side of town trying to mentally prepare for the following day. We were not let down, the roads or lack there of, can only be described as disgusting. At any given time there may be three or four alternate paths that cars had blazed because the main road had become undrivable. The fun part was you never knew which path would guide you back to the main road and which path would end in a deep sand bog that would swallow your tires up to your chain rings. Sometimes we were forced to haul our bikes over large sand dunes that had formed right in the middle of the road.

If the strong winds and horrible roads didn't make this stretch hard enough, we were forced to put in 110km days as there was absolutely nothing between Uyuni, Atocha, and Tupiza.

Fortunately the scenery was unbelievable.

In Tupiza we took a very much needed day off to rest our very sore muscles, necks, heads, and perineums. We both slept for most of the day and still felt pretty beat up when we left the next day for the Argentinian border. To our relief the road was significantly better as they were in the process of paving the 90km stretch with only small portions still remaining dirt. From the border we were facing about 380km to Salta which we conservatively allowed 4 days to complete. It took us only 2.5 as we put in 100 miles the first day followed by an 80 then a short 50 into town. Entering Salta was like entering in a European or American city. We have found a very cool hostel and are settling down for 3 days off!

Soon my good buddy Matt McKinney will be meeting up with us somewhere between here and Mendoza and we will also be blessed with the presence of Mr. Justin Dodd when we arrive in Mendoza. Looking forward to seeing a couple good friends and familiar faces.

Ayacucho, Peru to Cusco, Peru

2010-09-14T17:00:00.000-07:00

We must again start the blog by recognizing our good friend B Swimme who's artwork was selected as the showpiece in the recent exhibition in San Francisco. B Swimme's piece captures images from a few of our favorite places of the trip and we could be happier that his artistic skills were recognized appropriately.

After a day off in Ayacucho we reluctantly packed our bags. Not only did we have one of the most strenuous, demanding sections of the trip looming ahead but we all fell in love with the city. Parker and I also had incredible headaches thanks to a few two dollar boxes of wine we opened in celebration of our completion of the highest driveable pass in the world.

A local provided us with a hand drawn map of the “fastest” route out of town. He failed to mention that the dirt road crisscrossed the most impoverished, dog ridden part of the city. As we crested a small hill, I was abruptly slammed from behind. As I turned around to yell at Parker for his negligent bike steering I noticed that a Rottweiler had attached himself to the back of my bike. With a quick push on the pedals I was able to dislodge the dog, unfortunately, not before was able to leave multiple punctures in my dry bag.

As we left the city the climbing began immediately and the metropolis gave way to a very rural landscape.

Thanks to the hard work of a previous cyclist we knew what lay ahead. A seemingly endless stretch of dirt roads, in fair to poor condition that would take us up and down over five13,500 foot passes.

The section of road is notorious among South American touring cyclists so we were forewarned about the mental and physical difficulties that lay ahead. However, what we did not prepare for was the rain and snow! On our first night out of Ayacucho the rains began and within hours the sandy, dusty road turned into a soupy mess.

So now not only were we contending with the mountains but the chocolate rivers.

Adding this new element forced us to play a delicate game. As we cycled from 5.5k feet to 14k feet the tropical rains transitioned to freezing rain and then snow. The humididty, rain and heat at the lower elevations would soak us down to our spandex.

As we cycled into the clouds we were forced to put our rainjackets on over our wet clothing. This extra layer would provide a temporary relief from the cold; however, as the rains changed to snow our bodies struggled to adjust.

On our second climb out of Ayacucho mother nature got the best of me. As we neared the summit the rains turned to snow and I could feel I was loosing the body temperature battle. I caught sight of Belinda and Roland near the top and decided to take a gamble. My plan was to crest the summit and make it to the lower elevations before my body began to shut down.

I anxiously started the descent, pedaling as fast as I could and sliding my way through the soupy corners. All I could do was imagine was myself thawing in the balmy temperature below 5,500 feet. As my hands began to freeze to my brake levers I remained focused on the tropical climates ahead. Even when the spasms in my fingers traveled into my arms I stubbornly pushed harder. It was not until my whole body started shaking violently and my vision started to blur that I pulled off the side of the road. As I tried to unwrap my hands from the handlebars I realized that I had rendered my fingers useless. Using my teeth and wrists I pulled my drybag off the bike and stripped down and clumsily redressed myself in dry clothes. About this time, Roland and Belinda came up beside me and after convincing them that I was fine, we all continued down the descent.

I realized that were not far from my current state and we all agreed to seek out some sort of shelter in the next town. With little difficulty we found a cement box with 4 beds for $1.75 a person.

We literally exploded into the room. The owner cringed as she watched us decorate ever square inch of the room with wet clothing and tents. Thanks to the near freezing temperatures, nothing dried and we were forced to reenter our muddy, wet, frigid clothes in the morning. And thanks to mother nature and the relentless downpours we were able to repeat this process for 4 continuous days.

The weather and roads also took a serious toll on the bikes.

As our drivetrains would cease to function we were forced to continuously pull our bikes off the side of the road and spray out our drivetrains with our waterbottles or seek out alternate water sources.

Despite everything, our spirits remained high and we would continually laugh at the misfortune of our timing for this section of road.

All the while, Roland's beard providing us with continuous entertainment.

Every day we would review the map and feel bit demoralized as we marked our southern progress in millimeters.

But when the skies finally did clear we were rewarded with spectacular views of the surrounding mountain ranges and the amazing scenery that we have come to expect from Peru.

Every two-day, 7,500 foot climb was rewarded with a new amazing vista.

The section offered up superb camping and phenomenal sunrises.

As we neared Abancay our bikes and bodies were desperately yearning for some relief from the rocky washed out roads. We could spot Abancay from almost 40 miles away and we knew that one last downhill stood between us and the sweet buzz of some pavement.

The relentless washboard the preceded our transition onto asphalt made me so happy to be aboard a steel tank and had me wondering how Belinda and Roland were fairing on their tandem “race bike” behind us. We got a huge thumbs up from Belinda as their wheels rolled onto the pavement and all breathed a sigh of relief that their bike had completed the section without incident.

Unfortunately, our celebration was a bit premature. As we made a tight turn on a city street in Abancay the rear seat stay of “big bird” decided it had enough. This marks the 3rd occasion that their rear seat stay has cracked.

Thanks to the ingenuity and scrapiness of Latin America, Roland had the bike rewelded within the hour. There are not too many places in the world where for two beers you could recover from full frame failure within one hour on a Sunday!

From Abancay just two 13,500 foot passes and 120 miles of asphalt lay between us and a few days off in Urubamba and our visit to Machu Picchu. The last few days clicked by without major incident.

On the last day we took a fabulous dirt track from Anta to Urubamba. As we approached and then descended into the Sacred Valley of the Incas the scenery became more and more dramatic.

On any given day it is not unusual to find Belinda ignorning the scenery in order to perform a little touch up.

The four of us had planned to split ways in Urubamba and later connect in Machu Picchu but thanks to the generosity of Belinda and Roland's host family we were invited to join them in their local residence.

Jorge aka Yoyo is an amazingly generous man who has adopted a group of local orphans. If housing and feeding and schooling a group of children is not enough he also hosts international travelers. Yoyo grew up in Lima, was educated in Paris and then spent the better part of his life there as an architect, travel guide and musician. At the age of 60 he returned to Peru, adopted a group of children, started a residential construction business, and purchased a home in Urubamba. Now at the age of 70 nothing has changed expect that he no longer plays saxophone for contracts but instead plays in the local festivals during his spare time.

From Urubamba we began to daunting process of organizing our visit to Machu Picchu. Thanks to the monopoly of a foreign company, visiting Machu Picchu is extremely expensive and time consuming. We knew all of this going into the experience and in the end determined that spending a few extra dollars to save two days of travel was worth it to us. Initially we had planned to push and ride our bikes down the train tracks from Ollantaytambo to Aguas Calientes but were warned against doing so by other cyclists who had recently attempted the feat and had been stopped by police officers.

The final town before the hike up to Machu Picchu only exists as a rest stop for tourists. As so much, the town has transformed itself into a cross between Disneyland and Fishermans Warf in San Francisco. When you arrive you are immediately lost in a sea of vendors tables where you can buy anything from a...

to a....

We were forewarned and prepared for the fiasco of getting to Machu Picchu. What nothing can prepare you for is seeing Machu Picchu in person. Seeing photos cannot do this marvel justice. It feels funny showing up with a camera to photograph something that has already been captured millions of times. But to add a few more to the millions here you go....

While a mass of tourists readied themselves to take the bus up the 8km dirt road carved into the hill below Machu Picchu we opted for the cheaper more authentic experience of starting off at 4am to hike the 3.5km stone staircase along with a couple hundred backpackers who wanted to be in line for the 400 places to climb Wayna Picchu. We made it in time, received the Wayna Picchu stamp on our ticket. We spent nearly 10 hours walking and climbing around the ruins. Our experiece was highlighted by our scramble up the slippery stone ladder that leads to the top of Wayna Picchu.

We were blessed with phenominal weather for this special experience and our effort to get to the top of Wayna Picchu paid off.

Before visiting Machu Picchu I thought about a unique, unusual way to photograph the ruins but it was not until we arrived that it became clear what needed to happen.

The gentle grades, the scenery and the historic villages along the Sacred Valley make it an ideal place to cycle and explore.

The colorful markets...

The colorful dress...

and the Incan construction...

and hockey helmets

We are now in Cusco, resting our legs and preparing for our first night out in months. We will depart here on Thursday to make the 6 day trek to Copacabana, Bolivia on the shores of Lago Titicaca.

Trujillo, Peru to Ayacucho, Peru

2010-08-30T23:46:00.001-07:00

Before starting this blog we would like to recognize my good friend Brian Swimme who created this incredible piece of art from the photos of our trip. The piece has been accepted for display at the 3rd Annual Independence Artist Week exhibition, Celebrating Contemporary Bay Area Artists. The exhibition will take place on Friday, September 10th, 2010 from 6:00pm – 11:30 in the Jazz Heritage Center at 1320 Fillmore Street. So if you are in the Bay Area check it out and give B some support.

As with all Casa de Ciclistas we stayed longer and had a harder time leaving than was expected. The infamous Lucho and his 2^nd house full of cyclists was everything that legend had foretold and more. We arrived early in the day after our little encounter with the Thieves of Paijan and found a full house with no available rooms. Never refusing a cyclist, Lucho cleared some space for us in the storage room where we pitched our tents and settled in. We introduced ourselves to the other riders as they trickled in from around the city after completing various tasks on the never ending list of chores that occupy the time of a cyclist on a “day off.” There were two guys from Argentina that had started in Buenos Aires, a Spaniard who started in Tierra Del Fuego, a Canadian and Kiwi couple that started in Prudhoe Bay, Alaska, a Colombian that was just starting his trip, a Canadian that started somewhere in Canada and two American girls that had just purchased the the worst looking bikes anyone had ever seen .

We ended up sharing a room with the New Zealander, Belinda, and her husband, Roland as soon as our old friend Byron took off the following day. We quickly became good friends with Belinda and Roland and we all decided that it would be fun to do the next stretch together through Canon Del Pato.

Of course this was easier said than done as they were waiting for Lucho to repair their broken wheel and we were waiting for a package that was stuck in customs in Lima.

I would be lying if I said that everything worked out and we all headed South, us with our package and them with a brand new wheel. By the time we left our package was still stuck in customs and they had a wheel that had not been new for many thousand miles, but we did leave together.

Seth and I were very excited about the stretch ahead as we had been hearing stories about it since Mexico and could not wait to see the 36 tunnels that characterise a section that has been rated as one of the top five best road trips in the world.

Within one day we hit the private highway that would lead us to Canon Del Pato. This highway, owned and maintained by an American power company, is only open to company vehicles and cyclists which meant the road was all but deserted.

The road stretches through some amazing landscapes and eventually settles against the side of a strong flowing river that powers a number of hydro electric power stations. We found a beautiful camp spot our very first night and could not be happier to back on a river in a secluded and beautiful canyon.

For the next 4 days we followed this amazing river through the canyon alongside the remnants of an old railway system that cut directly through the sides of enormous solid rock walls creating pitch black tunnels, some which stretched for hundreds of meters long one directly after the other.

It was very nice to be riding with another two people and even more fun sharing the excellent camping and crystal clear star filled nights with our new friends. As Roland likes to wake up at about 5AM and be on the road at about 6:30, it was usually close to lunch by the time we would catch up with them.

One day we caught up the Roland and Belinda just after a long curving tunnel where they were stopped next to a tall concrete tower. The tower was the landing platform for a small pulley cart that spanned across the canyon hundreds of feet above the river. We could see immediately that Belinda wanted to keep moving and at first we thought that she must have gotten tired of traveling with us. Later that day we learned that she was absolutely terrified that one of us would attempt what Roland had done just minutes before we arrived. He had climbed the platform and loaded himself into the small equipment trolley and pulled himself across the entire canyon supported only by the narrow steel cable.

Belinda made him swear that he would not tell us what he had just done as she knew we would follow his lead (how right she was). When she saw me start to climb the platform she insisted on leaving and it worked as we all obliged and continued cycling instead of attempting anymore death defying stunts.

The riding was not too difficult other than the poor condition of the road and we were very sad to leave the comfort of the secluded canyon and reenter the traffic filled roads leading to Huaraz.

The night before arriving in Huaraz we stayed in a very cool little town called Caraz which we all ended up liking more than Huaraz itself. It had a very nice and very spacious market which was a welcome change from the maze-like and claustrophobic feeling markets of Chiclayo and Trujillo. We were even lucky enough to catch one of the presidential candidate's campaigning rallies which was quite a unique experience.

Caraz is at about 2200 meters and surrounded by snow peaked mountains but we still had another 800-900 meters to climb before reaching Huaraz, one of the world's premiere climbing destinations.

Late that night or early the next morning, it was hard to tell which, we heard Roland and Belinda heading out for another incredibly early start while Seth and I followed about 5 hours later. We arrived in Huaraz early in the afternoon and Seth and I found a spot that was recommended to us by some other cyclists called, “Jo's Place,” an English owned climbing hostal. The rooms were pretty expensive and luxurious so the owner let us pitch our tents in the lawn for just a few soles so we were content. This still allowed us full access to the steaming hot showers and we even got to watch a few flicks in their small theatre. Roland and Belinda stayed with a Belgian family who were part of a traveling organization they belong to. We met up at the end of our “day off” which we spent shopping and once again dealing with our package that was still stuck in customs. By this time they had requested that we once again redo and resend a form that had already been redone and resent over 10 times. We had already had to change the address once from the original destination in Trujillo to this hostal in Huaraz and it now looked as though we were going to have to change it again to somewhere further down the road. This time we chose an address of a hostal in Huancayo which would take us over 13 days to reach. This, we were sure, would give FedEx MORE than enough time to get their heads out of their asses and deliver our package with days to spare.

The Belgian family that Roland and Belinda were staying with had two small children and instead heading south the following day as planned, we decided to accompany them to their school and give a short presentation. The kids loved our bikes and Roland took them all one by one for a ride on the back of the tandem.

The highlight of the day was when my tent was pulled out and the entire class crammed in my tiny home. MSR rates the capacity of this tent as 1 man and/or 10 small children.

Seth could not take enough photos of the kids picking their noses and wiping it on my tent.

The school was conveniently located directly next to some hot springs so we spent the rest of the day relaxing in the warm natural baths then headed back to the Belgians house for a home cooked meal. Unfortunately I was unable to enjoy the meal for long as I became very sick shortly after dinner and spent the entire night throwing up in their garden. By morning I shook it off and refilled my stomach with Belinda's delicious crepes which she made from scratch. With our stomachs filled we geared up and headed out for a full day of climbing.

Roland was also getting over being ill just a few days earlier so the pace was pretty slow for the majority of the day. At one point both Roland and I needed to make an emergency stop and destroy a gas station bathroom that could hardly take any additional abuse. As we were exiting the premises we walked up on a pickup truck gassing up full of men that were nonchalantly cleaning and loading automatic handguns in full view with their windows down. One of the men got out and started headed towards the bathroom so we all decided it was time to get out of there as soon as possible before he got any bright ideas about wanting one of us to clean up the situation in there. For a few minutes my stomach felt a little better as we put some distance between us and that station.

By that afternoon we had reached Huascaran National Park which is home to the beautiful yet very challenging Cordillera Blanca Mountain Range. We turned off the paved highway and back onto another remote and motor-free dirt road which we have come to love so much. As soon as we hit the bumps my stomach took a serious turn for the worse and we only completed another couple miles before I physically could ride no further.

Everyone was nice enough to call it a day on my behalf and we found an abandoned native cattle herding village that appeared to be vacant for the dry season.

It had started to rain so we took shelter in one of the small traditional looking mud huts that had a straw bed covered in soft sheep skins.

The four of us waited out the rain in the small hut but decided to head out and pitch our tents before things started getting weird and the natives showed up for a little “Deliverance” action. As you can see things had already started headed in the wrong direction.

With a good but VERY cold night of sleep we were all feeling a little better and we crept out of our tents not a minute before the sun came out. At over 3500 meters in the Cordillera Blancas not even Roland was messin around with any early starts. You rise with the sun or you freeze your ass off. We knew we had a huge day ahead of us with two passes over 4700 and 4800 meters (16,000 feet!) so we packed on the layers and started heading up.

Although the riding was tough the scenery was indescribable and these mountains are unquestionably one of the highlights of the trip. In many ways we felt like we had been riding for over a year just for the experience of these 2 days through this amazing mountain range. As you can see from these pics we were not let down from our high expectations.

After exiting the national park we were once again on paved road and a short decent before spending the better part of a day climbing back up to 4800 meters. We were all starting to feel a bit strange due to the altitude. It affected everyone differently as I had an almost euphoric feeling for some time while Seth just had a pounding headache. From here we enjoyed a massive decent that took us an entire afternoon giving up thousands of feet while I took some video to give you a little experience of riding in Peru. This was about the nicest and smoothest road we have seen in Peru so I was able to ride with one hand while filming with the other. As you can see from the shaky video we spend most of our days just trying to stay on the road while avoiding crazy taxi drivers, rabid dogs, screaming locals, and maniac truck drivers. Good times! (Internet connection too slow to upload video, maybe next blog)

We ran out of light before we ran out of downhill so we found a safe looking spot behind a small school to pitch our tents. Unfortunately, once again my stomach decided that I needed to spend another night throwing up a horrible meal we had found at some dive restaurant just hours earlier. The flock of chickens walking out of the kitchen I could handle but I really started questioning the cleanliness of the establishment when a heard of cattle walked right past our table while we were eating. Eating out in this country is like playing Russian Roulette with all but one chamber empty of live rounds. Top it off with the signature attempt of the owner trying to overcharge any person with white skin and you have yourself the average Peruvian dining experience. But hey, for a 2 course meal including a drink for only $1 what should we expect? At least this time I had some company in the bushes as Seth had a bad case of diarrhea. Probably too much information but what the hell, we lived it and if your still reading this blog then you must like a little poop humor. Don't worry there is much more to follow.

For those of you counting this was my third night of oral nocturnal emissions so I was pretty tired in the morning and everyone agreed to take a short day of riding and stay at a hostel in Huanuco. We had to meet Roland and Belinda there as they were up and out by what seemed like 3AM and I waved at them from the bushes as they left. When we got to the city we found Belinda waiting with the bike in the central plaza while Roland was charging around town on foot with his huge beard and bike helmet looking like a modern day cycling Viking. I could not have been more thankful that he had already priced everything out and we could just cruise into the cheapest nicest hotel. The hotel was great and at first glance so was our room. We unpacked and headed to the market to get some food as both our stomachs were running below empty and in Peru one does not have much choice but to get back on that horse and prepare for another round of roulette (we have realized that one of us will get sick once out of every four meals here). After restocking on groceries and filling up on an enormous local specialty called Panchamanca we headed out to use the internet, do some laundry and then get some much needed rest. Maybe it was the Panchamanca, maybe it was the ice cream, bag of cookies, muffins, pastries and liter of chocolate milk or maybe it was just that the plumbing lacked pea stoppers causing the entire room to smell of raw sewage, but it was not long before I was once again throwing up yet another hard days work of stuffing myself with bad Peruvian food. I endured another sleepless night and was ready to cycle again in the morning.

The going was slow but steady and I was feeling surprisingly good all things considered. We were able to put in a full day and ended up camping next to a large trout farm on big open field next to a river. We had picked up a kilo of lamb at a local tienda and cooked a large dinner that went down well enough. However, once again it was only a few hours before I was back in the bushes enjoying my food once again on the way up. After a week of this routine I was in pretty bad shape and had serious trouble getting out of my tent the next morning. Seth had to inform Roland and Belinda that we would not be continuing with them. At about noon Seth decided to pack up my gear and push my bike up the hill and back onto the road as I was pretty much useless. We coasted back downhill a few kms to the nearest town where we checked into a hostal to get some rest until my health improved. After a day of rest and some antibiotics Seth found at a local boutique I was ready to try another day of climbing. We thought it was only a 20 mile push to Cerro Del Pasco but it ended up being over 30 and I don't think I have ever been in so much pain in my life. At one point Seth was actually riding next to me and pushing me up the hill. It did not help matters that Cerro Del Pasco is the highest city in the world at over 14,500 feet.

When we finally arrived I was not good for much more than passing out as soon as I hit my bed. The following day was not much better but I was able to put in about 46 miles before having to find some lodging. Lucky for us there was only one hostal that had only one single room that had only one single bed that was smaller than the bed from my college dorm room but for some reason was not nearly as fun to share. Things pretty much went the same for the next few days until we arrived in Huancayo where Roland and Belinda had decided to wait for us.

We took a much needed day off in Huancayo which once again was spent dealing with FedEx and our package that we were starting to doubt even existed. By this point the clowns at FedEx Lima were claiming that the package had been cleared from customs but had been held up because of an invalid address. Of course they had every single word in the entire address spelled incorrectly and it took a good 5-10 phone calls over two days to correct the matter. Once the address issue was solved another problem materialized which they claimed to be an “operational error”. When pressed to explain exactly what this meant the agent calmly admitted that a number of items had been stolen out of the box. So after all of the bullshit forms, incorrect addresses, and “operational errors”, they were just stalling for time to track down the items that some of their agents had cherry picked from our package. Once the cat was out of the bag they agreed to deliver the package the following day minus the stolen items and we finally got what was left of the F&%^ING package that had been consuming our lives for the last month.

The following is a list of people that we would like to thank for assisting us in receiving this package. All of these people made at least one call to FedEx (and some many more) over the last month on our behalf:

Barbara Berling (100+ calls)

David Monk

Chris O'Brien

Eliza Veal

Sean Breuner

Marco Chavira

John Wright

Lucho (Huancayo)

Lucho (Trujillo)

Chris from Roaring Mouse

Brian Brown

Adrian Andrews

Thank you so very much for your efforts in helping us achieve what we thought had become an impossible task.

The following person I would like to recognize as one of the most despicable human beings on the face of the Earth: FedEx Asesor3538

Also a special F U goes out to FedEx Asesor3546 for your role in this debacle. We did not forget your 10+ requests for us to re-send the same form after confirming that you received it each time.

After installing all of the new parts that were not stolen from our package we could finally continue and put this ordeal behind us. I was at last feeling normal again without throwing up every night and we were sporting all new drive trains while once again cycling with our friends Roland and Belinda. Things were looking up which was good as we were entering what many cyclists would agree to be the most demanding and difficult two weeks of the entire trip. Every day we faced summits ranging from 3500-5000+ meters.

Honestly it is tough to remember what happened where and it seemed that we were always heading towards a town that started with “H”. There was Huanuco, Huancayo, Huayucachi, Huando, Huancavelica and many more.

Even though the traffic was light through these remote stretches we could always count on the presence of a few Kamakazi truck drivers.

We also got treated to a few beers by some extremely drunk Peruvians at one of these towns as we were riding through on a Sunday.

It was during this stretch that we conquered the highest drivable pass in the world at 5,059 meters!

After taking a number of photos and some video at the highest point of the entire trip we got back on the bikes as quickly as possible as the weather was looked to be changing for the worse. Within an hour it was snowing on us and we all quickly realized how ill prepared we were for such cold weather. We continued the decent as quickly as possible with the only goal of getting as low as possible as fast as possible. We finally got low enough to escape the snow and decided to splurge on a hotel room in the small town of Santa Ines. This turned out to be a very good move as we were barely able to stay warm enough under the 5 wool blankets provided by the hostal. Sleeping in the tents would have been miserable.

The next day we were once again rewarded with a long and beautiful decent then punished with another 31KM climb. Seth and I made it over the 4800 meter pass before the weather changed but Roland and Belinda got slammed with rain and snow and arrived to meet us 20km below the pass barely able to get off of their bikes. After an hour of ingesting and embracing some very hot beverages they were able to regain the use of their limbs and we all descended for another hour before finding a much warmer spot to camp in an abandoned quarry next to a river. We all got a good night sleep and powered through the next day of climbing to a very welcome day off in Ayacucho. From here we have another week or so with over 1000 meters of daily climbing before reaching Cusco and seeing the famous ruins of Machu Pichu. Health is good, spirits are high, and we are ready to make the final push through the relentless Andes of Peru.

Brief Update from Huancayo, Peru

2010-08-22T14:09:00.000-07:00

Early in the planning of this adventure I spent many sleepless nights visualizing myself inside the dark tunnels of the Cañon del Pato and catching my breath at the top of one of the 16,000 foot passes in the Parque National Huascaran. I feel so lucky that we got the oppotunity to turn these dreams into reality. The trip from Trujillo to Huancayo will undoubtedly go down as one of my favorites.

We have spent the last couple of weeks riding the in the company of Roland and Belinda. An amazing couple on a tandem who have amazed us with their fortitude and positivity. They have made these recent experiences even more enjoyable. As a bonus, Roland continually ammuses us with his ability to make small children cry at the sight of his overly impressive beard. Check out their website.. http://www.cyclingwithsally.com/

Below...nearing 16,000 feet and focusing very hard on breathing.

Quito, Ecuador to Trujillo, Peru

2010-08-02T16:39:00.000-07:00

It was difficult to leave Santiago's house and our new group of friends at the Casa De Ciclistas but we were anxious to get back on the road and excited to reunite with our friend Danny in Cotopaxi National Park. We had not heard from Danny for months and received an email from him informing us that he had taken up temporary employment at a lodge in Cotopaxi. As you may remember from our blog from Baja, Danny is driving his Jeep from Prudhoe Bay, Alaska to Tierre Del Feugo and we have been fortunate enough to have crossed paths with him twice now. Visit his website at (http://www.dangrec.com/)

We departed Quito in the mid afternoon preparing for a short, easy cruise to the northern entrance of Cotopaxi National Park. Nearly three hours into the ride we passed an old man in a pickup truck and I rolled up to his passanger window hoping to confirm that we were headed in the right direction. Immediately the old man started shaking his head in disbelief and proceeded to climb out of the truck, walk over to us and tell me that we were never going to make it.

“The roads are too steep, there are too many turns, the nights are too cold and it's too far to make it there tonight!”

I assured him that we were more than prepared for these hardships and that we liked climbing and the cold and so he reluctantly got down on his hands and knees and drew a HUGE map for us in the dirt with no less than 15 turns.

Two hours later we arrived at our predetermined destination only to find that there was no where to buy food and thanks to our poor planning we were only carrying a small bag of rice. Frustrated and loosing daylight quickly we decided to carry on. A few kilometers down the road we passed a small farm and Parker came up with the ingenious idea to pull over and buy some eggs to accompany our handful of rice. As we were remounting our bikes a Landcruiser pulled over and the gentleman driving told us that he owned a lodge just ten minutes down the road with food and hot showers. He told us that he was headed into Quito but that he had a gatekeeper that would take care of us upon our arrival. Overwhelmed by a sense of relief and thankful for our good fortune we remounted our bikes and stared down the cobblestone road towards the lodge.

An hour later and in total darkness we were no longer praising the kind lodge owner. Two hours later we began a climb that would end up taking us nearly a half hour..the rough roads dimly lit by our small headlamps. We finally called it quits, set up camp in the middle of the road and settled down to cook our rice and eggs only to realize that we were out of cooking fuel (aka gasoline). Through some miracle we were able to use the remaining fumes in the bottle to cook the rice and eggs...the stove sputtering and finally dying just as the rice became edible. We fell asleep hungry, saving half of the small pot for our breakfast.

We were not prepared for the view we awoke to the next morning. Because we arrived in total darkness we had no idea that we were camped adjacent to such a magical landscape.

The ride from our campsite to the Danny's lodge was one of the most scenic rides of the trip. We arrived at the lodge in the mid morning and were warmly greeted by Danny his staff and the fellow guests. We set up our tents just outside of the lodge dinning room and despite the fact that we felt slightly out of place in these plush surroundings it did not take us long to settle in. Danny treated us like kings at the lodge and we are so grateful for his hospitality. It was wonderful to reunite and we are already making plans to do so again in Argentina.

After two days we reluctantly said goodbye to Danny and left the comforts of the lodge for our life on the road. We followed rough dirt tracks into Cotopaxi National Park, climbing to nearly 13,000 feet and enjoying some of the most beautiful scenery that we had experienced in Ecuador.

Another two rather uneventful days on the road found us in Cajabamba where we received word that Parker's passport had finally arrived at the US Embassy in Quito. I am still not clear on the whole story as Parker is still to frustrated to discuss it but I know that it took him nine buses and two taxi rides to get back to Quito and retrieve his passport.

As we left Cajabamba we once again crossed paths with Sean, Igrid and 9 year old Kate. We have been leap frogging with this family since Medellin, Colombia and actually crossed paths with them the first time all the way back in Canada.

From Cajabamba we followed the Panamerican to Cuenca, a beautiful colonial town set in a high valley. Cuenca is a remarkably clean city, has a great vibe, good food and a skyline punctuated by massively georgous church steeples.

From Cuenca we traveled onto Loja, the city of enormous food portions. The riding continually difficult but equally rewarding with magnificent views from every vista.

Ecuador is know for its climbs and notoriously steep gradients. Many of the climbs, especially in southern Ecuador will range between 20 to 60 kilometers (12 to 36 miles) in length and last hours if not a full day. Fortunately, after every uphill you are rewarded with an insane downhill were we generally reach speeds of 80+ Kilometers per hour (48+ mph).

A short ride from Loja we entered Vilcabamba, a town known for it's abundance of residence over 100 years of age and more recently a huge influx of Expats and hippies. Despite the gringo vibe of this town, Parker and I fell in love with the climate, the scenery and the ultra laid back atmosphere. We camped on the lawn of a local hostal and met a fellow traveler named Scott who abandoned his life in the states as a Landscaper to start a full time life on the road. Scott has a website and did a feature story on our mission and travels.

Opting for the more remote, more challenging route through Southern Ecuador Parker and I headed due south from Vilcabamba. The pavement ended shortly after Vilcabamba in Yangana and the real climbing and adventure began. We had remarked in days prior that the road seemed to follow a very straight line despite the abundance of mountains. As it turns out the road does in fact cut over some very, very steep mountains but what the map failed to show were all the tight switchbacks which make the ascents possible.

Parker and I realized early on that this trip is absolutely about the journey and not about the intermediate destinations. We opt for the road less traveled because it almost always provides us with better scenery, friendlier people and the adventures that the pavement seems to blanket.

On our first night south of Vilcabamba in Podocarpus National Park, despite our typical reluctance to do so, we had chosen a campspot that was visible from the road. The remoteness of the road and the infrequency of passing cars reassured us of our decision. Just as I was settling into my sleeping bag, I heard an approaching car. I strained my ears to listen to make sure it continued past and I was startled by the sound of tires skidding to a stop on gravel. I waited and there was nothing. I knew the car was no more than thirty feet from our tents. I sat up in my sleeping bag and grabbed my knife from the side pocket of my tent. Suddenly someone from the car screamed.....

“HEY!”

I readied myself for a confrontation and crawled out of my tent in my long johns.

“HEY!” I yelled back. Noticing that the car was filled with people.

“Where are you from?” The man asked with hostility.

“The United States.” I replied.

“How many of you are there.”

“Three of us.” I lied. Wishing I could say more but realizing that we only had two tents.

A long pause.....

“You better be careful. Careful.” The man said and then the car peeled away down the road.

Needless to say we did not sleep that much after that. I kept imaging the car showing back up with even more people and a huge confrontation ensuing. But alas, nothing happened. We woke early made some coffee and set out once again on the beautiful road through Southern Ecuador.

As we got closer to the border the riding continued to get more challenging as the grades became nearly unridable in spots.

As we neared the Peruvian border we arrived at a military checkpoint with two guards no more than 18 years old working the post. They checked over our passports and told us that we were free to continue. The road forked immediately after the station so I asked them which way to Peru? They both pointed different directions! I started to laugh and realized they were not kidding. They got into a small argument and then both agreed that it was to the right. Nervously, we took there advice and took a right

Two hours later we arrived at the Ecuadorian/Peruvian border. The whole town consisted of an Ecuadorian Immigration Station and one restaurant. When we arrived on the Ecuadorian side the office was completely empty. We went and ate lunch and return to find the border official sleeping on a cot. We woke him up; he stamped our passports and sent us off across the river to Peru. We crossed the river into Peru and realized that the immigration office was closed! As we started to turn around and walk away someone yelled to us that we should go to the officer’s house just down the block. We did and when we arrive at the house a young girl told us that the officer was swimming in the river. We walked down to the river and yelled to the officer, holding up our passports. She was in a bikini, holding a beer in an inner tube and she yelled back to us that she would not be reopening the office for another 3 hours. We decided to cut our losses and we joined the rest of the town in the river for a couple of hours.

As you can see security at the border was not too tight...

As we began to doze beneath the shade of a tree she yelled over to us that she was ready to open the office and that we should bring our documents right away. I got ready first and headed over to the office ahead of parker. When I arrived the Immigration officer was wearing bright red lipstick and a tube top and way too much perfume. She was blaring Riana..from the American Top 20s Music Charts. She asked me where I learned Spanish. I told her I learned it in the street. At this point I realize she has absolutely no interest in looking at my passport. She smiles and asks if I can do her a favor. My mind was spinning and I immediately think that she is going to ask me for a bribe. No, she wants me to translate the lyrics of Riana onto the back of my tourist visa. I laugh and tell her that I can't even understand the lyrics and I speak English somewhat fluently. She does not laugh and hands me a pencil. So I sit there with Riana on repeat until I've scribbled down what I'm half sure were half of the lyrics from the chorus of the song. When I finish she took the sheet from me, restarted the song and I do my best not to laugh as she tries to read off my lyrics. Just as she is belting out the chorus, Parker walked in and looks at me in complete confusion.

As we start out into Peru from the border it was almost as someone flipped a light switch on the gradients. The climbs are much more manageable but the roads are in even worse condition. Another noticeable difference is that we are no longer the opening set we are the MAIN ATTRACTION. People are absolutely fascinated with us.

The first night in Peru we arrived in a small mountain town. After parking our bikes next to the community center, I walked into town to purchase two beers and when I returned a 13 year old boy was peppering Parker with questions. After 20 minutes he bid us farewell and just as we are settling in to our nightly routine he showed back up with over 20 people. At one point the crowed swelled to over 35 people. The people were not interested in asking us any questions they just wanted to stare at us. Men, women and children crowded us as we cooked, ate and set up our tents. I was glad when the crowd finally dispersed and I was able to collapse from the exhaustion of the attention and the days riding.
The following morning I awoke early to the sound of voices outside of my tent. I laid there for a minute trying to figure out how many people were talking. As I started the zipper, all noise ceased and as I poked my head out of the hole I found a group of youngsters under blankets literally waiting for me to wake up.

The dirt roads of northern Peru were remarkably bad and in need of maintenance. The size and frequency of potholes meant that even going downhill we could rarely exceed 12kph. The density of people and towns dramatically decreased from Ecuador and our Gringo nickname returned in full force. All walks of life love yelling Gringo to us like they have spotted an endangered species and want to alert everyone around that they saw it first. Kids will spot us from hundreds of meters away and will chant Gringo in unison as we approach. Their cries remain audible even as they disappear in our rearview mirrors. Despite this, the people are painfully friendly and eager to help or assist us in whatever way they can.

Including calling us over to the side of the road to offer us fresh papayas from their farm...
Just before Jean, Peru we returned to the asphalt and let the sweet buzz of the pavement message out our aching muscles. Just as soon as we arrived, we left the comforts of the asphalt for a side road that would take us around the city. When we first exited the highway, the gravel road was in remarkably good condition. We congratulated ourselves on a great decision to divert Jean. As we rode further, the dirt road turned to a rough jeep track and then into a single track and eventually into a goat track.

Literally the only traffic we were passing was goats. We hit a series of forks in the road and each time we would look at each other and then start down one not sure if it would take us in the right direction.

At one point we actually ended up having to traverse through a fisherman's yard.
Eventually we could just make out car traffic on the horizon and we knew we were headed in the right direction. So we pushed on, despite the fact that the path was becoming worse and worse. The path dead ended into a barbwire fence and we found a gate and crossed into the private property. The path fizzled to nothing and we stopped our bikes and noticed a lone man farming the hillside. He looked up at us, startled by our presence and immediately approached us.

We told the man that we were trying to get to the highway and he began to laugh and pointed at the massive river that stood between us and the asphalt. We asked if there was a bridge close by and he said no that the only way across was in his uncle’s canoe. All three of us looked up at the sun and realizing that we were loosing daylight he offered to take us immediately. As we pushed our bikes towards his uncle’s property Parker and I realized that all four of our tires had fallen victim to the infamous Goathead (a small spine that kills bike tires). We had four flat tires! Realizing we had no time to mess with replacements we pushed on and followed Javier to his uncle’s boat.

We arrived at the side of the river and we realized why Javier was carrying an innertube over his shoulder. He had to swim to the other side to retrieve the boat.

Javier performed all of this with such enthusiasm that we were sad that we had to part ways with him on the other side. His positivity would be a great asset on the road. All that he wanted as payment for his services was my water logged Timex watch which I had found on the side of the road in British Colombia. I happily handed it over, although I must admit now the date function was pretty handy. I no longer know what month or day of the week it is.

When we left Javier it was already dark so we only made it a few kilometers down the road to a small town. When we arrived a local police officer offered up the abandoned police station as nightly accommodations for us. We thanked him and took up residency in one of the most scary buildings we have slept in during our travels.

From Chamaya we traveled towards the coast along a series of rivers which offered up some very flat riding. It was a welcome change from our last couple months of relentless climbs. After one last 7,000 foot climb, we enjoyed a sweet downhill into the coastal desert of Peru. We hit the coast at Chiclayo where we took one day off, which turned into two after I suffered some food poisoning. Chiclayo is a great town, with phenomenal ceviches, and a massively intense market, where you can buy everything from magic potions to shark fins.
It was just two days of riding from Chiclayo to Trujillo through the Peruvian coastal desert. The trip would have been easy if not for two small setbacks. One, the relentless headwind and the other a little town known as Paijan just north of Trujillo. Just the word “Paijan” will send shivers down the spine of any touring cyclist familiar with South America. This is a town that we were warned about all the way back in Alaska. A town that is infamous for hundreds of armed robberies of touring cyclists. A town that is known for a gun point incident that left a French couple with nothing but their spandex and more recently an incident where our friend Ed was robbed of everything and was forced to watch as his bicycle was thrown off a bridge. And a town, that after much discussion, we decided to ride through.
We left Picasmayo at just before 6am, in hopes of crossing through Paijan before any ¨bad guys¨ would be awake. The early hours of our ride clicked by without incident. As we rolled through Paijan, we received many unwelcoming looks and someone actually yelled at us that we were crazy. Upon exiting the town I was keeping a keen watch in my rear view mirror and just like so many other people have described a mototaxi materialized about 200 yard behind us. I called attention to it and we crossed the road so that we had the two lanes separating us and the approaching vehicle. As the mototaxi got closer I saw that there was a young man driving and 3 masked men packed into the back seat. The driver smiled to me and blew me a kiss. He turned around to the other three...unsure about what to do.
The mototaxi sped ahead and then pulled a u turn so that they were headed straight for us. They started flashing their lights and motioning for us to stop our bikes. Obviously there was no f´ing way we were going to stop. Just before we collided with the taxi they swung out into the roadway and then peeled back so they were headed straight the sides of us. I narrowly avoided having my back wheel clipped out and Parker veered way out onto the shoulder.
At this point the mototaxi sped up along Parker and put two wheels over the side of the road to try and push parker into the ditch below. I was riding along the other side of the taxi to jump to Parkers aid, preparing for the inevitable crash. Just when I thought Parker was gone for sure he slammed on his brakes and the mototaxi flew ahead. I was still next to the taxi and both of us were headed into the oncoming traffic. I started to swerve in and out of both lanes in order to slow the traffic going both directions. No one would stop for us and semis narrowly missed us as they came barreling down blasting their air horns. I positioned my bike at a diagonal over both lanes and started enough of a commotion that the mototaxi called it quits and turned off the highway and disappeared into the corn fields.
I am providing this detailed info in hopes of helping anyone who is approached with a similar situation and to urge everyone not to ride through this town. We narrowly, narrowly avoided being robbed of everything and it left both of us with a sour taste.
A few hours after this incident we arrived at Lucho's Casa De Ciclistas in Trujillo were we received a warm welcome from no less than eight other touring cyclists. We will stay here, gain our composure and wait until our package or resupplies arrives...namely new drivetrains and shoes. From here we will head back into the mountains via a famous route known as the Canon Del Pato, which will take us to Huraz, the mountaineering capital of Peru. Despite these recent happenings we are both very excited about the next leg of the journey. We would like to give a very special thanks to our new sponsor Xtracylce for providing us with new freeloaders and top decks and to Chris at Roaring Mouse Cycles in San Francisco for keeping our bikes fully equipped and running with the best components available, to Keen for keeping our feet warm, dry and comfortable, and to our parents for their continued support and coordinating our packages.
On a side note I keep feeling like my seatbelt is unfastened. If anyone knows what that is about please let me know. I have actually reached to fasten it more than once.

Brief Update from Chiclayo, Peru

2010-07-29T21:01:00.000-07:00

After one of the most challenging, action filled legs of our trip Parker and I enjoyed a day off in Chiclayo, Peru where we stuffed ourselves with local ceviches. Over the next two days we will make our way to Trujillo, Peru where we will be finalize our blog entry and photos documenting our misadventures from Quito, Ecuador. It has been one hell of a trip to say the least.

Medellin, Colombia to Quito, Ecuador

2010-07-06T10:43:00.000-07:00

Medellin turned out, just as the rest of Columbia, to be filled with nice people, rich culture, and meals of enormous proportions. The food situation in Colombia is truly a cyclist's paradise, with heaping portions of extremely cheap food. All meals come complete with a bowl, or bucket, of soup, a massive plate of meat, rice, salad, bananas and beans, and even a drink and sometimes even a pastry for desert. The price of these meals that actually have the ability to put a dent in our hunger range from about $1.50 to $3.

After getting some work done on our bikes at one of the many incredibly nice shops in the city we were ready to push onto Cali where we would stay at our first Casa De Ciclistas “House for Cyclists”. There are a number of Casa De Ciclistas in South America which are houses that are always available for cyclists to stay at no charge and in many cases for weeks at a time. These spots can usually accommodate as many people as the road may deliver and the owners are always biking fanatics themselves who only ask that you inform and invite any and every cyclists you may encounter on the road.

The ride out of Medellin was like all rides out of major cities and we could not wait to get back into the mountains and away from the traffic. Of course getting back into the mountains meant climbing back into the mountains so it was not long before we were crawling up the Andes at the blazing speed of about 3mph. At the top of the first major climb we very excited to see a few familiar faces taking a breather and grabbing a bite to eat at a small restaurant. Surprisingly, we had run into Ingred, Sean, and Kate who we had not seen since Canada when we all camped on a beautiful lake located on the Stuart Cassiar Highway in northern British Columbia. This was the English family living in Scotland that started cycling in Northern Canada and was heading to South America with their very brave and very personable 8 year old daughter (now 9) that rides tandem with her father. We had much to talk about and spent an hour or so catching up before getting back on the road and finishing the day with a 20 mile decent.

Just before dusk we found ourselves in a small town with nowhere to stay so we headed to the police station to ask where we could pitch our tents for the night. They were happy to assist us and showed us to the soccer field behind the station where we would be safe and have a very soft and level place to put our tents for the night. Our normal 10 minute routine of setting camp and breaking down the bikes took over an hour as we had attracted a large group of local children that were intent on asking us a million questions and reciting every word of English that they had ever heard. Seth had recently lost one of his cycling gloves so he gave one of the teenage boys his remaining glove who was ecstatic to receive such an unexpected gift. The glove was immediately put on his right hand and was still there in the morning when he returned to watch us break camp and wave us off.

After such a long and beautiful decent the previous evening we knew we were in for some punishment as our destination for the day was well over 1000 meters gain in elevation. We were not let down and spent the entire day crawling up switchbacks and traversing canyon walls. Many of the roads in Colombia follow major rivers and it is always taunting to look over and see the water flowing in the opposite direction that we are traveling. Nevertheless ever since the first major climb to Medellin we have been surrounded by some of the most beautiful country we have ever seen. We both feel so lucky to be where we are and have the opportunity to see the incredible places we pass each and every day. The terrain is tough but there is no place we would rather be. We only have to open our eyes for the needed inspiration to continue heading further and further upwards and into the vast mountains of South America.

That night we made it to Rio Sucio which turned out to be a very cool mountain town with a large plaza that people from miles around gathered to on a beautiful Sunday evening. There were thousands of people that seemed to be in very high spirits and drinking very strong spirits. We soon learned that the next day was Colombian Labor Day and everyone was taking advantage of the holiday and partying it up so we decided to join them and sample some of the “exquisite” and delicious street food. We each ordered two of the largest street burgers I have ever seen and sat in the plaza to watch the cowboys show off their skills with their finest horses. This was very amusing as there was not a car in site but the cowboys would take turns high-stepping their decorated horses down the boulevard where all the women would cheer them on.

When we left early the next morning there were still a number of horses roaming around the plaza while their riders were hanging on half conscience with a tight grip on the few remaining bottles of rum. After navigating through these early morning shenanigans and getting back on the road we were expecting to start the day with a relaxing decent but instead still had another 5 miles or so of climbing before reaching the summit. The view looking back at Rio Sucio was absolutely spectacular.

The rest of the day boasted some of the best high elevation views of the trip followed by a huge decent into a valley that lead us to the industrial town of Buga. It was here in the interesting city of Buga that we saw our second movie of the entire trip, Robin Hood. Like the first movie we saw this one was also bootlegged and although the theatre was surprisingly decent, we could barely hear a single word of dialogue. However, for a $1.50 we were thoroughly entertained by something other than our books.

Only 40km out of Cali and with no major change of elevation we were looking forward to an easy day. After 15km we approached the turnoff to the road we would be taking into Cali but were halted by a roadblock guarded by the national police. The cop informed us that the road was closed and that we could not pass to Cali. He told us of another route which entailed backtracking some ridiculous distance to get to Cali but of course this was out of the question. I said that we just needed to advance a few kms to a hotel where we would wait until the road reopened which of coarse was also out of the question. The cop agreed to this allowing us to pass and long story short after a few strategic off road detours we were in Cali by that evening at Senor Herman Miller Yule's Casa De Ciclista.

With a name like Herman Miller Yule we were convinced that we would be greeted by a German ex-pat who like many Germans we have met have a love for long distance cycle touring. To our surprise Senor Yule was 110% Colombian without a trace of any European decent. Herman works long hours at the University in Cali so we were greeted by his mother and uncle who made us feel extremely welcome and were kind enough to slow down their Spanish for a couple of tired gringos. We set up our tents in the back yard and headed to the store to grab a snack and a few well deserved beers. On our way we were intercepted by a very polite young man who asked us in English if we were the cyclists staying at Herman's house. We confirmed his inquiry and he introduced himself as one of Herman's tenants who was attending the University and studying English and Molecular Biology. He asked if he could accompany us to the store as he jumped on every possible chance to practice his English. When he heard that we were from the Bay Area he could barely contain his excitement and started asking us a million question about UC Berkeley and living in San Francisco. Turns out his dream is to get his PHD at Cal when he finishes his undergrad studies in Colombia. We gave him all of the info we could and he was very sad to hear that we were continuing on the next day. I have no doubt that this kid will achieve his dream in attending an American University as his level of determination is incredible. Not to mention he learned almost perfect English in less than two years of studying the language.

After Cali we headed back into the mountains towards Popayan which we reached after two days of climbing. The most memorable part of this section were the roadside fruit stands that sold fresh pineapples 3 for $1.

We also met and started riding with a Canadian cyclist named Byron who began his trip in Calgary. As we entered Popayan we were motioned to the side of the road by a motorist who clearly wanted to speak to us. He informed us he lived in the area and wanted to show us a very good and cheap place to stay. The place he escorted us to was perfect and this good samaritan introduced himself as Pedro who had just recently finished touring in Patagonia the previous year. He gave us his number and email and said he may try to meet us on our way to San Augustine.

We had a great time in the very beautiful city of Popayan that is characterized by its colonial style architecture and it's uniformly painted white buildings.

We took the day off here to watch the first USA World Cup soccer game and the following day began one of the hardest and most incredible sections of our trip. Byron had no interest in taking this route so we bid him farewell and headed off the beaten path and further into the mountains. Just a few kms out of town we ran into Pedro and a group of his cycling buddies including one guy, Mark, who had lived in the US for years and spoke prefect English. These guys were all fitted out in top of the line road gear and told us that they do this ride every morning up to where the pavement ends and back to Popayan. Mark was very upset that Pedro did not tell him about us earlier as he wanted us to stay at his house and treat us to dinner. He told us that all Americans (people from the US) are his brothers and he told us to give any cyclists from the US heading to Popayan his contact info so he could take care of them. We promised to return someday and continued onward. As Seth began pedaling away one of the cyclists jumped off his bike and started running after to push him up the hill. He could not believe how heavy our gear was.

Once the pavement ended and the dirt began we were surrounded by lush green countryside and the sound of bubbling trout streams and trickling waterfalls.

Without a vehicle in sight this is about as good as cycling gets. Half way through the day we took a long break at some hot springs in middle of a picture perfect valley with numerous naturally heated pools and mud baths.

That night we camped at a very small mountain town with a population of no more than 100 people on the edge of a slow moving river.

It was freezing but was nice to once again need our sleeping bags for something other than a sleeping pad. In the morning we started another day of riding in very remote, very cold, very wet and very pretty conditions to San Augustine.

San Augustine was the destination of our second Casa De Ciclista experience and could not have been more memorable. When we approached the central plaza of the small mountain town we were stopped by a couple who asked if we were cyclists looking for the Casa De Ciclista. They introduced themselves and informed us that they were also cyclists staying at the house and led us to where the owners, Igel and Paola, were finishing their beers in a local pub after watching a soccer game. We all walked back to their spot together and were astounded by what we saw. Igel and Paola own a beautiful home located on their large coffee finca. The place was a cycling dream house with hammocks, extra rooms, covered camping areas, a big kitchen and enough room for numerous travelers to hang out in excessive comfort. They even had a fridge full of FREE beer... seriously.

Igel and Paola live a pretty relaxed life on their coffee finca and spend their time tending to their crops and hanging out with the many cyclists who pass through. They also frequent a local bar called “La Oficina” which many of the ex-pats meet at on Mondays and inevitably prompts the joke every Monday evening of, “It was another tough day at the office.” They are originally from Germany and left behind lives dominated by constant work. Igel had a job that he worked 3 shifts a day and told us it took him about 2 years to get his mind and body to adjust to such a slower pace of life.

San Augustin is famous for being home to some of South America’s greatest archaeological sites. The area is dotted with freestanding monuments and statues carved of stone left behind by a mysterious pre-Colombian civilization. About 500 statues can be found spread out in groups in the region. Checking out the ruins and head figures was an excellent way to spend one of our days off the bikes, albeit getting from site to site was a little more difficult than we had hoped.

Other than the two cyclists we met when we arrived in San Augustine, an Australian couple was also staying at the finca who arrived two weeks earlier on their motorbike. Although these spots are for cyclists only they made an exception for these two as they had met them the previous year while touring in Argentina. We had only planned to stay in San Augustine for a day but ended up staying three. The Australians had only planned to pass through and stayed two weeks while the cycling couple broke the all-time record and had been there for six weeks by the time we left and were in negotiations to buy a plot of land of their own and build a house. These two only met 6 months earlier and have a petty interesting story. They met in Bolivia while Joel was on a 6 week backpacking vacation from Belgium and she was cycling north from Argentina. They hit it off and he decided to buy a bike and his 6 week vacation turned into an 8 month adventure that has no end in sight.

Before we left Igel and Paola's finca we, like all cyclists who stay at their place, designed a bamboo plaque that they hung on the wall and planted a tree on the hillside. The hill has over 75 trees planted by the various cyclists who have passed through their Casa De Ciclistas. This is surely a place that we will always remember.

After leaving San Augustine we had a 3 day ride to Mocoa then another 3 day ride from Mocoa to Pasto. The stretch from Mocoa from Pasto is a stretch of dirt road notorious for being extremely hard riding and very dangerous for those who are brave enough to drive it.

The riding was quite difficult with steep climbing and terrible road conditions not to mention it poured on us all three days.

Every piece of advice we got was to leave an entire day for the first 20km of this ride because avergage speed for cycling this road is about 3mph. We made it about 40km but it took us about 7.5 hours of straight riding to make this distance.

We would only see about 10-15 vehicles a day on this road and we later learned from an engineer studying this route that 1000's of people have been killed in this area. Last year there was an accident where over 200 people died from a massive landslide. As you can see it can be a bit tough to see cars coming the opposite direction when the fog rolls in.

The ride was tough but incredibly beautiful and we were very happy we decided to leave the Pan American Highway for this remote detour.

Our last day before arriving in Pasto we met Simon, an engineer who was writing his thesis on the road we were traveling.

He is getting his PHD at a university in London and was back in Colombia doing research before he had to return and finish his degree. We exchanged emails and decided to meet up once we made it to Pasto for a few beers. Not more than a few moments after parting ways with Simon, we were passed by one of the few cars that we saw that day. I'm not really sure what to say about this other than this circus mobile was on one of the most remote and steepest roads we have ever seen. Not sure where this thing came from or where it was going.

We finished another 7.5 hour day of climbing and arrived at Laguna la Cocha.

We took a dirt trail 3 kms off the road out to where three plush resorts where located on the edge of a pristine lake. It was evident that these places were way out of our price range but with only a few moments of daylight remaining we decided to see if we could strike a deal. We chose a restaurant/lodge called El Jardin which had an amazing view of the lake and a large lawn in the front which would be perfect for camping. As the place was empty I proposed to the owner that we would buy dinner and breakfast if he would let us camp for free. After unsuccessfully trying to sell me on one of their luxurious rooms he agreed to the deal. We had the entire restaurant to ourselves and were served a delicious dinner of vegetable soup and fresh trout from the lake. This was one of the best camping spots we have stayed at in months.

This region is well known for a local specialty called cuy, or as we like to call it, guinea pig.

From the lake we had a short day to Pasto where we found a nice hostel and settled in for another USA World Cup game. We also met up with Simon and his buddy Sebastian who is part owner of a candle factory located directly in the city of Pasto. One beer turned into many and we ended up having a pretty late night which was a nice change from falling asleep at 8:00PM every night for the previous few weeks of riding in the mountains. Sebastian spends most of his time at a piece of land that he owns in the country where he is attempting to build a house. He recently experienced a major setback as he was cutting down a large Eucalyptus tree for lumber to build his house. The tree did not quite fall the way that he had intended and he completely fattened his truck. The vehicle still runs but he said he must stick his head out the window while driving to fit his body inside.

After watching the US pull out an incredible win against Algeria the following morning we hit the road and put in as many miles as we could before dark. The following day we crossed the border into Ecuador and climbed our way up to San Gabriel where we decided to call it a day. The next day we had a huge 30+ mile decent where I lost my entire seat bag which included my light and multi-tool. The zipper on the bag had broken so I had secured the bag in an alternate location which turned out to be not so secure and fell off during the extremely long and high speed decent. Backtracking was well out of the question but we did come up on these huge sculptures in the middle of the highway.

We stayed that night in the large city of Ibarra and departed early the next morning to put in our miles before the midday game against Ghana. By chance we decided to stop at a small cafe in Cambaye and as we were securing our bikes we heard someone call out, “By any chance is one of you Seth?” This certainly caught us by surprise and we were even more shocked to learn that the person asking was Eliza's, Seth's girlfriends, stepsister, Mia. She had just been stationed in the small city of Cambaye for her Peace Corps. training and just happened to be watching the game in the same small cafe we decided to pull over and check out. It was very nice to speak to some Americans while watching the match even though the game did not turn out in our favor.

As we were leaving the cafe we were greeted by a group of three cyclists that were also finishing their day and looking for a place to stay. The group included Marc, Indira, and Thomas who all know each other from San Francisco, Ca. Marc started in Alaska and has been traveling for over two years now. He met Indira while he was traveling through San Francisco and she decided to join him for the ride to Tierra Del Fuego. Thomas was her neighbor and just flew down to Cali, Colombia to join the ride for a couple months to Peru.

The five of us headed to the local fire dept where we were warmly greeted and invited to stay the night at no charge. After a few games of volleyball with the firemen we all made some dinner and crashed in one of the departments extra rooms.

The next day we rode five deep into Quito and ended up stopping every 5-10 miles to take a picture, buy some fruit, or eat some street food.

Seth and I even stopped to pay $1 each to take a photo on the exact line of the equator! Incredibly we crossed the middle of the Earth exactly 1 year from the day we started cycling in Prudhoe Bay, Alaska. It has been one hell of a year to say the least.

We all arrived in the Quito area about midday and were intercepted by Santiago, the owner of the Casa De Ciclista in Tumbaco, who escorted us to his house. We had made plans to stay with an Irish couple that we found on “Warm Showers” but were invited by Santiago to stay at his place for as long as we would like. We accepted the invitation as we did not feel like navigating our way through the enormous metropolitan area of Quito to find the other spot. When we arrived there were six cyclists and 2 motorists crashing at Santiago's place and we were immediately welcomed like family. Santiago is a cycling legend here in Ecuador and has been housing cyclists for over 21 years and informed us that there is ALWAYS at least one cyclist staying at his house. His property is set up perfectly to house numerous people at the same time with outdoor showers, extra rooms, a large flat lawn for camping, and even a full shop where he has two mechanics working full time. We were immediately incorporated into the daily shopping, meals, and tours around the city. Santiago has an incredible amount of energy and makes you feel as if you are the first person that he has ever shown his beautiful city to.

Our first morning in Quito Seth and I caught the bus up into the city of Quito proper and navigated our way to the United States Embassy. From the moment I arrived I knew that getting my new passport was going to be a battle. The guard at the entrance would not let me pass as I did not have an appointment with the Consulate. After much arguing with one of the women in the front office I was given a pass to plead my case to the Vice-Consulate. After waiting in the lobby for about an hour I was called into the office and laid out my story and why I did not have the time or resources to be making appointments. The Vice-Consulate was very understanding, deemed my situation an emergency, and told me to return in 6-10 days to pick up my new passport coming hot of the printer from the US.

With that taken care of we could spend some time relaxing and checking out the sites and our surroundings. Santiago spent a ton of time showing us around and even took us to his dealer so Seth could get a pair of discounted replacement gloves for his poor sunburned hands. We also made a short move over to the apartment of the Irish couple that invited us to stay with them, Adrian and Ainsling Pugsley. Adrian cooked us an incredible trout dinner and we traded traveling stories before retiring to our very own and very luxurious room. Ainsling just signed a two year teaching contract at a British school and Adrian is working at a new bike shop that just opened in Quito that imports a German brand called Bull Bikes.

We have been splitting our time between Santiago's and the Pugsley's houses as well as doing some exploring around Quito. Seth just got an email from an old friend, Jason Hench, that he played soccer with in Marin. Jason is living and working out on the coast for a non-profit involved in the preservation of the rainforest. He invited us to come stay with him for a few days so we are catching a bus at 11:00PM tonight and headed to the beach. This is a very pleasant surprise because we had not expected to hit the beaches of Ecuador as our route is through the mountains. Everyone is telling us we are in for quite a treat and we are more than ready for some seaside relaxation. On our return we are planning to give a presentation to the local SAE (South American Explorers). We also picked up another rider, Juanita, who will be joining us for a few weeks through Cotopaxi.

After one year on the road we want to thank our family, friends, and sponsors who continue to offer us the incredible amount of support needed to reach our goal in Tierra Del Fuego. Already this trip has turned out to be more than we could have ever imagined thanks to your help. From Quito, Ecuador (more than half way done) we would like to once again say, THANK YOU!

Brief Update from Pasto, Colombia

2010-06-23T05:48:00.000-07:00

The last week of biking found us on off road adventure through the Colombian Highlands where we crisscrossed the Cordillera Central on rocky mountain roads. Many cyclists choose not to ride this stretch of road and instead take a bus, notorious as a road in very poor condition, extremely remote with very few places to stay or get food.

The two trips over the Cordillera proved to be the absolute best cycling of our trip. The challenge, the remoteness, and the scenery combined to provide us with some epic days on the bike.

You can just make out Parker in the upper left hand corner....

We enjoyed a few beverages last night to celebrate our last day in Colombia with some new Colombian friends that we met on the trip over from Mocoa. We will be posting a full blog and photo update from Quito, Ecuador.

Panama City to Medellin, Colombia (Parties, Paradise, Pirates and Passports)

2010-06-04T23:13:00.000-07:00

Marco's arrival marked the beginning of something very special. Over the next 12 hours we were met by a tidal wave of friends and new energy. Eliza (my girlfriend), Hannah and Maddie (Eliza's sisters), Tony and Danielle (on their honeymoon), Eric and Sarah (on their honeymoon), Marco, Sean, Peter, Stephen, Martin and Nessa (fellow cyclists we met in El Salvador), and the infamous Walt and Ross (brothers and owner's of Montanas De Agua in Dominical, Costa Rica) all showed up to join us for our epic journey from Panama City to Cartagena, Colombia.

You can imagine what the first couple of nights entailed. Our opportunities to see our friends are so rare these days that our reunion in Panama City created an energy that was nothing less than magical.

Let's also say that it was no surprise the a few people decided that it would be a good idea party through the last night before our boat trip due to our 4:30am departure time from Casco Viejo for the Stahlratte.

The mayhem that insued that early morning was only increased by the fact that we had to fit 14 cases of beer and 24 bottles of rum into vehicles that couldn't even fit the 16 of us. Fortunately any stress that we experienced early that morning was long gone by the time we were enjoying our first night barbeque on an uninhabited, palm tree lined island in the middle of the San Blas archipelago.

Our first two days and nights on the boat were straight out of a fairy-tale. We spent the days on deserted islands, fishing, sun bathing, enjoying beersks and other libations and by night the sailboat would turn into our own dance club, where a certain individual even treated us to a little table dance they'd dreamed up. Thanks to the musical prowess of Peter and a masterful compilation entitled Shmetz we were never short on rhythms or beats.

I'm not sure anyone took the captain seriously when he sat us all down and told us that our final thirty hour sail/motor would include harsh seas and 25 foot waves. I'm pretty sure everyone counted those hours down by the minute. Toby and the deckhand seemed to be the only ones not affected. Even though not everyone got sick, those types of seas strained most people's body to a point we were moving around and operating like zombies.

On the first night into the crossing I awoke in a dream like state on the deck, covered in ocean spray from the waves crashing over the bow of the 40meter boat and the sound of my lawn chair clinking against the boats railing and dry lighting illuminating the night sky. Looking over to my left I saw Marco and Peter in similar conditions. Each time the lightning flashed I could see the outline of the massive deckhand, arms crossed and the other side of the boat staring out into infinity. In my stupor I climbed downstairs into the bunk with Eliza, passing Parker puking over the ships railing as I went.

There was a massive sigh of relief when the ship dropped anchor in the harbor of Cartagena and as it turned out there was no better place to spend the last few days with our friends before they had to part ways and return to the real world.

Cartagena is reported to be the most beautiful city in Columbia. It's cobble stoned streets, bouganvillas covered balconies and churches made the perfect backdrop for our mayhem.

Many months ago, while planning the boat adventure, my friend and number one fishing accomplice, Stephen Mull, seen here...

mentioned to me that there is a small island chain off the coast of Venezuela that we are going to have to fish before we take off south from Cartagena. Despite his attempts to plan the trip from his office desk in Virginia, the three of us found ourselves in Cartagena with no bus or plane tickets, only a desired destination a couple of thousand miles away. As everything seems to do in Latin America, it all worked out and after 30 straight hours of travel on buses, taxis, and planes we found ourselves on the beach on Gran Roques enjoying beverages.

The coming days were marked by a number of very unexpected tribulations. First we realized that thanks to a massive black market money ring we were losing almost half the value of our money when taking it out of the ATM, so the trip would be twice as expensive as originally expected. After swallowing that and letting Stephen know he would have to fly solo on the guided fishing trips, he floored us by telling us that he was going and paying and expected us to join.

In an effort to conserve funds, Parker and I had chosen to sleep on the beach of Gran Roques where we were assured by the locals that it was extremely safe to camp. First night went by without issue but on the morning of the third day we awoke to realize that three of our bags walked off in the middle of the night. I won't go into details about everything that went missing but just say that it's stuff that is irreplaceable in South America including Parker's passport and recently replaced ipod. Thanks to our number-one-sponsor and biggest fan, our Mother, the essentials were immediately purchased and en route to Cartegena within 48 hours of their disappearance. Thanks to the tireless efforts of the best damn girlfriend in the world, a shipping location and address were tracked down.

Rather than let this misfortune spoil the rest of our trip, Parker, Stephen and I went out and enjoyed the fishing paradise of Los Roques.

Voted the number one destination for bonefish in the world, this place truly lived up to its reputation.

The endless flats offered up hundreds of opportunities at fish and the virgin islands, crystal clear warm waters, helped to wash away any negative vibes we were feeling after our loss of gear.

We also experienced a somewhat unique phenomenon to this island chain where we were able to cast minnow patterns to diving pelicans while the Bonefish were actively trying to steal baitfish form the inside of the mouths of the birds as they surface. The topwater, visual takes were spectacular.

We have to give huge, huge thanks to Stephen for affording us the opportunity to explore the Los Roques archipelago, and experience the best bonefishing of our lives.

After an uneventful flight back to Caracas, and a quick trip to the US Embassy to track down a temporary passport for Parker we were on our way back to Cartagena, Colombia.

Colombian Lowlands

Once back in Cartagena, Colombia I spent a full day overhauling our bicycles and installing all the new components donated by our parents and Chris at Roaring Mouse Cycles (the best biycle shop in San Francisco). After a couple rounds of greasy street food we were ready to hit the road again.

The ride out of any large city is usually a little nerve racking. Add rush hour traffic, a few thousand mopeds and motorcycles to the mix and street venders clogging the shoulders and you have complete mayhem.

Our ride out of Cartagena was just what we needed to awaken our senses and remind ourselves that we were no longer on a sailing or fishing trip. Parker and I wove through the traffic like a couple of Formula 1 racers. However, once the adrenalin wore off we both began to realize how much our legs were hurting from our three weeks of beach time. Apparently walking the flats in search of bonefish does not keep your legs in good cycling shape. After less than 50 miles (80km) on the road we had to call it a day.

By day two on the bikes I was feeling dizzy and dehydrated. The sun in the lowlands of Colombia is relentless and unforgiving to the untuned touring cyclists.

Both of us gave thanks that we had 350 miles (550km) of riding to do in order to pull our shit together before we had our first introduction to the Andes.

From Cartagena we opted for the more coastal, sligtly longer, less trafficed route than the Panamerican. We traveled through the coastal towns of San Onofre and Tolu. The scenery was beautiful, green and the countryside was remarkably clean.

The roads were slightly rolling but nothing to difficult and in beautiful condition and the Colombian people.....

The people in Colombia have been amazing. Maybe it's because cycling is the national sport or because this country just breeds the nicest people on earth but everyone treats us like we are their long lost friends. Everyone wants to hear our story, yell words of encouragement, give us a thumbs up, treat us to food and honk their horns.

A few times now we've almost been blasted off the side of the road by an over excited semi truck driver trying to yell out his window and annihilate us with his air horn at the same time.

The first 5 days through the lowlands were pretty similar. Rolling, green ranchlands, spotted with some of the healthiest looking cows I've ever seen. We spent our nights in roadside hospedajes, as the abundance of people and barbwire fence did not lend itself to camping.

Introduction to the Andes
Three days of painful saddle time allowed our legs and bodies to readjust to our lifestyles and by day 4 and 5 we were able to crank out two 75mile (120km) days. As we wound our way along the Rio Cauca and the outline of mountains began to take shape we realized that the Andes were no longer a distant thought or dream. As we made our final approach to the base of the mountains the landscape changed from farmland to dense jungle and waterfalls began to spout from every rock crevice.

The locals all tap into the water sources with flexible piping and pvc, and the natural force of gravity allows them to have permanent running water in their homes and roadside lavanderies. Small car washing business line the roadside and the nonstop water jets act to advertises their services.

Our final stop before the ascent was in Puerto Valdivia, where we rested our legs and prepped ourselves mentally for the next few days of riding. We knew that it was pretty much all uphill from here until Santa Rosa. Thank to the insight of Harry (a fellow touring cyclist we met headed north from Ushuia) we knew we were in for a “steep ass climb.” This information coming from a guy who just completed the entire length of the Andes.

The climb started abruptly the next day and the initial grade made us both laugh maniacally. After about 3 hours in the saddle we'd covered 13 miles (22km) as the grades ranging between 6% and 17%. Those types of grades make for a slow crawl on a bike with nearly a hundred pounds of gear. The intensity of the sun coupled with the climb, meant we were sweating buckets and it had me day dreaming about the cooler weather of the highlands.

Half way through our climb we both got what we were wishing for. Like someone was laughing at us, the skies clouded over, and released one the heaviest downpours of freezing rain either one of us has borne witness too. The road turned into a river of rock and mud and the roadside waterfalls turned into high powered jets that would blast us as we rode by.

After over seven hours on the bike seat, 35 miles (56km) and over 8'000 feet (2,440 meters) of climbing we decided to call it day in a cool little town called Yarumal.

As I sat in the central square waiting for Parker to search around for the cheapest accommodations and crowd began to form around me. By the time Parker returned I was engaged in 10 simple conversations and 30 people surrounded me trying to hear me speak. My linguistical skills limit the amount I can share with people but it really does not seem to matter to them. Everyone is so curious and personable.

We decided to split the remaining 120km into two days of riding. The day from Yarumal to Don Matias was rolling, punctuated with some steep climbs and exhilarating descents through green landscapes and pine forests.

We stopped for the night 10k past Don Matias at a roadside truck stop where we found some cheap food and lodging. The cool climate afforded us some great sleep as we had not experienced a climate like this since our air conditioned room at Walt and Ross' hotel Montanas de Agua in Dominical.

We awoke the next morning to realize that we were perched atop the 10 mile (15km) descent into the Rio Cauca Valley.

After a beautiful, brake burning drop to 5'000 feet we found ourselves on a 6 lane highway headed into the metropolis of Medellin. We passed by terra cotta clad slums similar to the ones we saw in Caracass

and navigated our way through the busy streets into the Central District where we were able to easily locate a cheap hotel.

Medellin is much different than either of us was expecting. Not better or worse, just much different. It lacks the flash and fairy tale nature of Cartagena and instead carries a much grittier vibe. On our ride around town while we were trying to locate a bike shop we passed through plumes of Northern California clouds, passed by whore houses, hundreds of homeless and slums but despite all of this there is a vibrance and life amongst all the grit that you can't deny .(After rereading that last sentence I might as well be describing San Francisco).

This is a place I definitely plan to return to and explore further.

Stay tuned as the next leg of our journey will take us on an off road adventure through the Colombian Highlands up to 10,500 feet (3200m) to cross the Cordillera Central on a rocky mountain road. Many cyclists choose not to ride this stretch of road and instead take a bus, notorious as a road in very poor condition, extremely remote with very few places to stay or get food and also once (and maybe still is) the territory of the FARC-EP (the Fuerzas Armadas Revolutionarias de Colombia - rebel group).

Brief Update from Cartagena, Columbia

2010-05-27T07:16:00.000-07:00

After a breif but event filled side trip to Venezuela we are back in Cartagena, Columbia. New pics have been posted from the infamous Panama to Columbia boat trip (PG-13). We are back on the road this morning and will be posting the new blog in Medellin, Columbia.

Dominical, Costa Rica to Panama City, Panama

2010-05-09T18:35:00.000-07:00

Our 5 day rest in Dominical was exactly what we needed after some very tough riding on the Nicoya Peninsula and right before what was sure to be some even tougher riding in the Osa Peninsula. The hotel that Bill Walton hooked us up with owned by his friends and fellow Dead Heads, Walt and Ross Garrison, was incredible. Walt was out of town but Seth and I really enjoyed some late nights sharing stories with Ross over a few beers (Seth and I were sharing the beers and Ross was telling the stories). Ross is truly an inspiring individual who has been more places and surfed more breaks than anyone I have ever met. Some of my favorite stories were from the time he traveled the entire African coast surfing remote beaches in the early 70's. Over the next few days it became a little contest to name a place the guy had not been to. We are very stoked that both he and his brother will be joining us for the Panama to Cartagena sailing trip so we that we can continue to be enlightened by these two legendary souls.

Not only did the hotel have internet and hot water but we were blessed with AC which is a luxury that we have rarely been privileged to in the scorching lands of Central America. Actually, the temperature was quite moderate during our time at Montanas De Agua due to some intense rainstorms. Dominical boasts a beautiful shoreline with some excellent beach break surfing. Unfortunately the surf was blown out for the majority of the week except for the last day when the weather cleared and I had one of the best days of surfing I have had in a long long time. Thanks again to Ross for lending me a board.

Our time in Dominical was not only relaxing but also extremely safe as we were the only two people staying in the lodge that were not medical doctors. In addition to the hotel, Ross and Walt own a number of Spanish schools in Costa Rica and their Dominical school offers a medical Spanish course that med students can receive credit for completing. Ironically it was I who saved the life of a doctor one day while we were out swimming in the surf and not the other way around. Dominical has very strong rip tides and Ross told us many stories of saving people from drowning while surfing out in front of his hotel.

One of the med school students named Carolyn and I were swimming out in the surf about chest deep in water when she told me that the waves reminded her of a conversation she had the previous night with some of her fellow students. The conversation was about the hypothetical question of would you rather drown or burn to death. Just as she finished telling me this she also informed me that she could not swim very well and I realized that we had been pulled out past where we were standing and I could no longer touch the bottom. I suggested that we start heading back to shore and I could see her demeanor turn from calm to fear to panic as she tried to swim back toward the beach. The surf was big and coming in very close intervals which made it hard to catch a breath before being slammed by another wave. I swam over to her and grabbed her arm and started swimming towards shore but every few seconds she would get ripped away by another wave. Each time I would surface from the whitewash I would realize that she was still underwater being thrown about. When she surfaced it was evident that she had swallowed a lot of water and did not look ready to be hit by more waves. After what seemed like too long I finally was able to touch my feet to the bottom and pulled her into shallower water. Needless to say she did not have any strong urges to go swimming in the ocean for the remainder of her stay. While I may have had a hand in saving her from drowning I don't think she would have ever gone out as far as she did if I was not there leading the way. So I will settle with just fixing a problem that I created.

Seth's buddy Ty, his girlfriend and her associate, Barry met us in Dominical on our last day. Ty came down to ride with us for a few days while his girlfriend, Sevan and Barry planned to sample bees for the genetic studies that they do back in the US. They even gave us a net, some vials, and some sweet smelling liquid that attracts male bees within seconds so that we could collect some samples on our ride.

We took off the next morning fully loaded and looking forward to the dense and lush jungle of the Osa Peninsula. When I say fully loaded I mean that Seth and I were fully loaded while Ty had about 10 pounds of gear on a ultra light dual suspension mountain bike. Ty is quite a force to be reckoned with on the mountain bike and he had no lack of training before the trip as he was working at a camp in Arizona that trains pro cyclists.

Not only was he a master on the bike but also a master in the kitchen, or camp stove in our case.

We had about a 100km ride to the town where we would catch a water taxi to the Osa Peninsula and we experienced a full range of jungle weather ranging from crazy hot to torrential downpours. Just as the first drops of rain were starting to fall we saw this couple stopped on the side of the road putting a raincoat on their tiny dog.

We made to the water taxi with time to spare so we bought some groceries for the days to come as we knew we were heading into some remote territory. When the taxi arrived we knew we were in for an interesting ride as the boat was barely big enough to awkwardly fit our three bikes and luggage. I must say that this 20 minute ride was the most interesting taxi ride I have ever experienced. About 5 minutes into the trip the torrential downpour returned and we were speeding down a large river with massive rows of mangroves on both sides. All of a sudden the captain made a hard right directly into the mangrove and squeezed through a tiny opening which lead to a vast maze of narrow channels that were just inches wider than the boat. Our truly skilled captain was taking hairpin turns through the mangrove tunnels at incredible speeds and then as suddenly as we entered the maze we shot out the other side at the river mouth and into the Pacific Ocean.

Looking back at the river, lush jungle and picture perfect palm tree lined beach was one of the most beautiful sites I have ever seen. While I absolutely hate making this comparison because it is thrown around in hostels to describe any place with a few palm trees and a humid climate I must say that the Osa Peninsula truly looks like something out of Jurassic Park.

We arrived at Drake's Bay and the water taxi backed up onto the sand and dumped us off on a beautiful and relatively remote beach. We made a half ass attempt at trying to find a good camp spot on the beach before heading up the hill to look for a hostel. What we found was a little spot that offered a covered camping area up on the hill overlooking the entire bay.

This turned out to be a great spot and we were very grateful for the roof as it poured for most of the night. In the morning we did a little bee sampling and decided to traverse the peninsula to the town of Rincon. Little did we know what we had in store for the ride ahead.

From the second we left our camping spot we started climbing and we didn't stop for the remainder of the day. At first the hills were gradual and rolling and the scenery was insane with the most tropical and lush rainforest I have ever seen.

We were told that 4% of the world's entire biodiversity is in the small area of the Osa Peninsula. I had no trouble believing this stat as everywhere we looked the jungle was simply crawling with life. Just the sound of all of the birds and insects was almost deafening at times. After a few river crossings the hills turned into mountains and quickly turned into the steepest climbing we have experienced on our trip thus far.

The biggest problem Seth and I faced was that we were still rockin our slick tires while the roads consisted of slippery mud with large rocks and gravel. The grades were easily 20% in some areas and our back tires would just spin out and refuse to grab the slippery terrain.

On two occasions I went down and spilled the contents of my handle bar bag all over the road. Ty, with his much lighter and far superior set-up, decided that he should get out of our site as quickly as possible so that we would not be demoralized by the ease in which he ascended the mountain. The only vehicle that passed us on this stretch was a dump truck that had to be towed up the mountain by an enormous tractor as could not make it on its own. Once we finally made it to the top we found Ty happily catching bees and filling up his sample vials.

We were met with even more climbing after the long descent and we realized that it was starting to get late. Soon thereafter the clouds opened up and dumped more rain than I have ever seen in such a short period of time. Between the rivers, mud, rocks, and rain our bikes and gear had taken a serious beating.

When we were still about 5KM short of our destination my bike was all but inoperable. My chain was doubling over and locking up every couple hundred yards and my front break was completely shot. When we finally made it to the one horse jungle town of Rincon we stopped in front of the first spot we saw and the owner came out of his house to unlock the gates to his lodge across the street. He gave us a large wood cabin for $10 each as we were the only ones staying in the large ocean front complex. The place was a jungle paradise complete with tropical private cabins and a huge tree house overlooking the beautiful Dulce Gulf.
We spent the next day completely dismantling our bikes and laying all of our gear out to clean and dry. After having nearly zero problems with our bikes and gear for the last 10 months it seemed as though the previous day's ride brought on a mess of issues.

Luckily Ty was there to lend his expertise and I know that I would have been in big trouble without him. He also wowed us with his culinary skills and showed us how to add a few more tasty dishes to our currently 2 dish menu of:
1.Meat served with Vegetables and Rice

2.Meat served with Vegetables and Pasta
With our legs rested, stomachs full and gear repaired we made the push out of the Osa Peninsula and back to the mainland of Costa Rica. This day was once again full of climbing and rain showers but was much easier as the majority of the ride was paved.

Ty stayed with us for one last night and we waved him off as he headed South to reunite with his girlfriend and Barry. It was not long before we reached the Panama border and were blessed with a quick and painless crossing. We made it to David, Panama our first night and then continued on for another two or three eventless days of riding until we hit Panonome.

We found a cheap and clean place to stay in Panonome and decided that instead of heading straight to Panama City we would detour to the mountain town of El Valle which we heard to be a very cool place. As we were a couple of days ahead of schedule this worked out perfectly still leaving us plenty of time to reach the city and meet our friends for the boat trip. Instead of taking the route that the guidebook, the map, and about 5 people we asked suggested that we take, we decided to take a little shortcut that would save us about 40KM. Never mind that the road was displayed on the map as a barely visible dotted line going through the highlands of Panama. For the first 10 miles we could not have been happier as we were cruising down newly paved roads with next to no traffic and absolutely spectacular mountain scenery. As we only had about 20KM remaining before arriving in El Valle we decided to take our time stopping every few miles and eating Mangoes and Cashew Fruit from trees on the side of the road and admiring ourselves for being true masters of navigation. With about 18KM to go the road stopped and the mud began.

We were still not concerned as we knew there is no way it could be worse than what we just experienced in the Osa Peninsula.

What we thought was going to be a short ride to El Valle turned out to be the most difficult day of our trip.

The road that we ran into made the Osa Peninsula seem like a cake walk.

Riding was not even an option and we were forced to drag our bikes through ankle and shin deep mud for the remaining 18KM.

At one point we came to a washed out river crossing with a 20% grade climb on the other side and the only way we were able to ascend the hill was with the help of a group of locals sporting some very thick boots.

After shedding some serious blood, sweat and tears, we made it to the top of the climb and were rewarded by some awesome views of the surrounding mountains and Pacific.

By the time we got to El Valle there was only a few minutes of daylight remaining and we once again dismantled our bikes and gear for a thorough cleaning. We took the flowing day off in El Valle and checked out a 60 meter waterfall in the jungle.

However, the highlight of our time in this mountain town was the temperature. At night it actually dropped low enough that we were able to take out our sleeping bags and sleep on top of them.

From El Valle the plan was to ride the remaining 80 miles to Panama City in two short days. After about 40 miles we started looking for a place to stay and did not find anywhere to our liking so we continued onward. Before we knew it we were in the last town before the Panama Canal so we settled on a fine looking brothel/hotel that we negotiated the price of a night's stay in hours. However, when the owner saw our bikes she refused to let us in the front door. She had no problem with the five hookers that were standing in the lobby but there was no way she was letting a couple of cyclists into her high class establishment.

So with only about one hour left of daylight we were forced to attempt the crossing over the canal during rush hour. As we approached the bridge we were stopped by the national police who would not allow us to cross the bridge without a police escort. They also informed us that it would be too dangerous to traverse the city at night so we received an escort all the way across the bridge and through the city to our hotel. Much love for the Panama National Police Force.

As I sit here in Luna's Castle hostel finishing this blog my good friend Mr. Marco Chavira just arrived and we are eagerly awaiting the arrival of our other 16 friends coming in from the states tomorrow morning. A full update of what is sure to be an epic adventure from San Blas, Panama to Cartagena, Columbia will be posted shortly.

A huge, huge thanks goes out to our friends and family and especially Chris at Roaring Mouse Cycles and our Mother and Father, who went above and beyond to make sure that we received everything for a complete bicycle and wardrobe overhaul.

Granada, Nicaragua to Dominical, Costa Rica (by way of the Nicoya Peninsula)

2010-04-24T15:20:00.000-07:00

Having watched Chris depart Granada and then entering into a week of Spanish classes left the two of us very anxious to get back on the road and start heading South. Our friends that ran into Chris on Ometepe were under the impression that we were “stuck in Granada.” Regardless, Granada is not a bad place to relax for a week and we were happy for the opportunity to improve our Spanish.

Before we knew it, we were pumping up our tires, ready to hit the road to San Jorge, Nicaragua in order to catch an afternoon ferry to the infamous Isla Ompete in the middle of Lago Nicaragua.

The majestic island is formed by twin volcanoes rising out of the lake. The island is remarkably unspoiled and we'd been warned for weeks of the horrible roads that connect the numerous small towns. Fellow cyclists told us to leave our bikes in Moyogalpa and take a small van out to the remote locations. Of course we didn't heed the warning. I mean how bad could the roads really be.

Well in sections they were “that bad.” The ride from Moyogalpa to the southern town of Magdalena was capitalized by a tug of war with our bikes through a football field of powdery, white, sand in blistering heat.

Our average speed dropped to a meek 5mph and the large sections of sand would literally eat our wheels. We loved it. Our hard work was rewarded with a 1k 23% grade climb up to the Finca Magdalena.

Having completed a great day on the bikes, Parker and I were anxious to celebrate. We met some fellow travelers who were equally ready to partake. We set out on a mission to locate some lewd libations. The second warning of the day that we chose to ignore was the advice to stay away from the local rum called “Joyita” (a little bit of joy). But seriously how do you turn down a liter of rum that costs $1.50? True to form, the Rum took off in flying colors. We had a great night! I vaguely remember the climax of the night that had us both dancing on chairs to the crackling of our blown out ipod speaker. I awoke the next morning and in a dehydrated breath of hot air, I muttered “joyita.” All the joy the rum provided had been destroyed by the headache it left us with the next day.

After recovering from our hangovers, we got back on our bikes, sweated out the last of the Joyita and made our way back to Moyogalpa where we stayed for the night in preparation to catch the first ferry back to San Jorge.

The windy 70 mile ride across the Nicaraguan Isthmus into Libera, Costa Rica was uneventful less a stressful, 2 hour border crossing. We experienced a culture shock going from the dry plains of Nicaragua into the westernizing disneyland of Costa Rica. Within miles of crossing the border we noticed nicer cars, houses and we found grocery stores that stock peanut butter. Most of the comforts of our westernized culture can be found in Costa Rica and as a result the prices reflect those changes. The economic and cultural alignment with the United States is startling.

During our first grocery store stop in Liberia we met a German cyclist named Ulla, riding from Tijuana to Panama City. We immediately clicked with Ulla and agreed to meet the following morning to travel down the Nicoya Peninsula together.

We rendezvoused early the next morning and headed west towards Playa Conchal in search of a road represented by a faint dotted line on my map. I knew there were more direct, paved roads that would taake us to this beach but we were both anxious to leave the pavement.

As the three of us approach the unmarked turnoff, we ask people for directions and everyone looked down at our bikes and told us to turn around.. “the hills are too steep and the road is too sandy and washed out to ride.” Well apparently the warnings struck a bad chord with Ulla because after the last warning he casually told us he would see us later, he turned his bike around and disappeared into the heat mirage.

Parker and I took a right where everyone warned us to take a left and we abandoned the predictability of the Panamaerican and the paved roads.

The scream of cars were quickly replaced by the screams of howler monkeys, the shuffle of neon colored crabs, exotic birds, iguanas, dirt, beaches and the sound of solitude.

When we first decided to ride the Nicoya we agreed that we would always opt for the road less traveled and avoid pavement at all costs. As a result of our decision to leave the pavement we found ourselves on some of the more challenging terrain of our trip. A fellow cyclist warned us.. “great riding along the dirt roads but the length between Tamarindo and Ostional is not to be underestimated.” This section was very mild compared to what we were able to locate further south.

Sections of the Nicoya Peninsula were very “Dalton Highway esk” (the haul road in Alaska). Our 2” slicks paired with the 20%+ grades did not make the riding any easier.

There were multiple times where one of us would go into a balancing act where our rear tires would loose traction for 2 to 3 pedal strokes and we were forced to maintain our balance while we felt ourselves start to roll backwards. Always praying that our tires would engage again.

We found relief in our afternoon ocean swims.

The early evening would find us in our tents, exhausted from a hard days riding. As the wind would die and the humidity and heat would settle on us like a heavy blanket our tents would turn into small kiddy pools of our sweat. It was hot as hell, dirty, steep, remote, expensive and we absolutely, absolutely loved it. There is little doubt why Costa Rica has become such a popular destination. The scenery, the beaches and the wildlife are some of the best in Central America.

Our trip down the Nicoya wasn't all hardcore riding and camping. Thanks to some very generous friends it was punctuated by laps of luxury.

In Playa Guiones we met up with Christian, my long time friend and the best masseuse and acupuncturist in Seattle (if not the west coast) and her amazing sister Logan.

Christian quickly became a local celebrity and had Ticos chasing after her with marriage proposals. One night we went out to dinner and the waiter looks at Christian with a startling familiarity. When we questioned him he said... “of course I know Christian.” We're still not sure how an entire town could know someone that has never even visited the country. It is now apparent that Christian's reputation for legendary bodywork precedes her internationally.

Christian and Logan, operate on serious energy levels. Late night drinking and interpretive dance parties would not even prevent them from hitting the surf at sunrise. Our time off the bike, hanging out with these two was one of our trip highlights and we hope to see them again in South America.

We knew the ride from Playa Guiones to Punta Islita would be short but what we didn't know is that the faded dotted line on my map represented a one hour, 25% grade climb nor did we know that the temperature would soar to near 40 C / 100 F. Thanks to the heat, the grade, and the loose gravel it was one of those climbs where you can feel your heart beat in you head. One of those climbs where you start going through your packing list in your head and visualizing every unnecessary item in your drybags.

Anyone that knows Parker and I know that especially during athletic endeavors we operate with a certain level of stubbornness. A stubbornness to finish, to endure, to preserver. What this meant for the Nicoya is that we refused, refused to walk our bikes up any of the hills. The awkwardness and the weight of our bikes coupled with our pride does note lend itself to walking. What this means for our riding is that our lack of speed (sometimes less than 1mph), minimal traction, and 150lb bikes left us very unbalanced. I will be honest with you and tell you that Parker and I both tasted a little dirt on those Nicoya roads. The few times we came crashing to the ground in a cloud of dust we would both break into huge smiles, hoist the bike back up and go at it again. The slog up some of those hills reminded me why I love biking so much.

After our head pounding hill climb we were rewarded with a great downhill into Punta Islita and right to the front door of our long time friend Mckenzie.

Having not spoken to Mckenzie since middle school it was unbelievable generous for her and her family to hand over her awesome beach house at Lomas. Shortly after arriving at her house she called to inform us that she had spoken with the manager at Hotel Punta Islita (rated the #1 Resort in Central America by Conde Nast) and he said that he would like to provide us with all of our meals at his hotel. Our stay at Mckenzie's and the hospitality at Hotel Punta Islita was nothing short of amazing. I'm pretty sure my moustache and hair helped us to blend in perfectly with the wealthy tourists at the hotel. I'm just sayin...

From Punta Islita we made our way to Playa Coyote, which unbeknownst to us hosts a free campsite, next to a deserted beach.

This is definitely one of the few remaining undiscovered gems on the Nicoya. While Parker was walking the beach he met a Expat couple that invited us back to their home for a breakfast. We shared breakfast with the two and they introduced us to their Dutch neighbor and touring cyclist nut Michael. It was great to trade stories with him and plant some inspiration for future trips. Michael also gave us the directions for an epic route, through rivers and across miles of beach to our next stop at the southern tip of the peninsula.

Santa Teresa and Malapais, was the last stop of our Nicoyan adventure.

We expected to find desolate beaches conducive to camping; however, what we discovered were small boomtowns lined with new restaurants and funky hotels and hostels. We made a few trips up and down the stretch of establishments and settled on the hostel Costa Del Mar. The hostel is run by, Cesar, a Spanish ex-pro windsurfer and his crazy cast of employees. Cesar runs a great place and coined a phrase that we have been using non stop since our stay at his hostel. He told us that the hill south of Malpais “will be breaking our legs.” Well we didn't break our legs but our bottom brackets, chains, and wheels all groaned in agony as we delivered some serious torque in order to pull our load up that hill. Cesar you were right that mountain was a beast.

We left the solitude of the Peninsula in Paquera and bordered a ferry back to Puntarenas where we made our way to Jaco, the undisputed drug and prostitution capital of Costa Rica. We behaved ourselves in Jaco and went to bed early in preparation for the next days 65 mile ride into Dominical.

Back in Novermber during our stay in San Diego, Bill and Lori Walton mentioned to us that we had to visit their favorite hotel in Dominical. Within days of leaving San Diego, Bill contacted the owner of the hotel and arranged for our stay at Montanas de Agua. At the time it seemed so far away but....here we are. I am writing this blog update from the comforts of an air conditioned room (our first since El Salvador) at the best hotel in Dominical, Costa Rica. I know we must sound like broken records but we are so appreciative for the generosity and support of our sponsors, our friends and our family who have been doing everything in their power to make sure we realize our personal legends.

With just 14 days until our 16 friends arrive in Panama City and 24 hours until my buddy Ty shows up in Dominical, energy levels are high and we are both very excited for the next leg of the journey.

Side note:

Foreigners especially touring cyclists are starred at in Latin America. Plain and simple....starred at. Somewhere in history, the cultures decided to dispense with the casual, nonchalant glance. By the time we passed into Guatemala from Mexico the eye contact ranged from an ogling gaze to a gaping, google-eyed glare. Small children have been so startled by our appearance that we've even caused some to cry. When we speak in Spanish to some of the children their expressions will change to absolute astonishment and they will unconsciously ignore our questions. There is nothing malicious in the stare. It is such a frequent occurrence that I've actually grown to expect and like it. What is odd is that this phenomenon does not exist in most parts of Costa Rica. Perhaps the hundreds of thousands of expats or the 2 million gringos that visit this small country every year have something to do with it. I have a funny feeling that our novelty will soon return.

Post Script:

We recently received this email from a cyclist who chooses to remain anonymous that recently left us and headed back to the states. Sorry folks we aren't going to name names.

“ had my first rock!"

"It was Thursday, while I was visiting my parents in 'blank'....and the sad part was, upon exiting the bathroom, I wanted to share it....and there was just nobody around to tell who could appreciate the fact that I just dropped the first firm turd in months! It was, after all, monumental in its own design.

I thought hard about telling my mother, who had my brothers mother-in-law seated at the table for coffee.....but I decided against it at the last minute.

As much as I miss the hard cycling and the fast rides down steep hills with curves and the great company and the curious food, I have to say I equally miss the mutual discussions between us concerning body functions and the results.

Heading back to 'Blank' tomorrow”

Coast2Coast4A Cure

2010-04-12T16:08:00.000-07:00

We are very pleased and proud to introduce Mike Mulhern and his ride across America to raise money for breast cancer research. Needless to say, we think long rides are a great way to support a cause and we could not be happier to do our part to spread the word.

I think Mike's son said it best in a recent email to all of his friends, "I am sure that you know someone that has been affected by this disease as it is a very real danger that faces women these days. And if at 57 years old Mike can take 6 weeks off to ride across the country for this cause I am sure that you can spare as little as $1."

A very good friend and supporter of ours is currently battling the disease and her courage and unfaltering positive attitude is a constant inspiration to us both. We will be donating in her honor to Mike's ride and hope that you will too.

Below is an excerpt from Mike's website that we hope everyone will visit and make a donation... Even if it is $1. http://www.coast2coast4acure.com/

"My name is Mike Mulhern and on May 17, 2010 I am embarking on a 3,750 mile cycling journey across the United States and I’m asking you to join me. The purpose of this ride is to raise a substantial amount of money for breast cancer research and awareness through the Avon Walk for Breast Cancer Foundation. I will be traveling through 13 States beginning in Boston MA and ending in San Francisco CA. I was inspired by the amazing effort, dedication, and determination of my wife Cyndy, and her team “Twin Pinks” who walked the 39 mile Avon Breast Cancer Walk in San Francisco in July 2009 raising $25,000. I accompanied them to offer support and assistance if needed, and was overwhelmed by the magnitude of the event. I had to do something to contribute to the cause. Since walking is not something I enjoy, I do enjoy riding my bicycle -but 3,750 miles-why not?! To donate and read more about why I ride visit my site at http://www.coast2coast4acure.com/"