The Amazing Race

Current Location: Quito, Ecuador
Distance cycled to date: 11, 838 km

It's midnight, with less than 12 hours until the plane takes off from Panama City. It's time to take apart the bicycles and box them up, packing away everything as well as we can before flying. It's around 12:30 when we realize that we can't take off our pedals. No matter how hard we try, we simply don't have a wrench to do the job. And because of this, it's somewhat meaningless to disassemble the rest of the bikes. On top of this, we see that one of the boxes that we had picked up from a bike shop the day before just isn't big enough to fit one of the bikes. Decision time. Is it possible to ride to a bike shop in the morning that has 2 spare boxes, as well as find a mechanic to help us box the bikes up? And then still catch a taxi or find a vehicle to drive us, our panniers, and our boxed bicycles to the airport before 10:54 am, one hour before departure, the time that COPA Airlines says we must check in by? The only other option is to change the flight, but by this time, 2 am, it's too late to get ahold of anybody who can help us, and we have no idea what sort of charges would be associated with that.

So, it's to bed by 3 am, and an alarm set for 6 am to get up, finish packing up and ride to the only bike shop that we know in the city (our 2am web searches came up with nothing). Before it seems that we have even fallen asleep, the alarm is already calling us to wake up. And so we swing into action with as much gusto as we can muster, and get ourselves ready to go. Of course as is typical for these kinds of situations we have a flat tire, so it gets patched, reassembled, and ready to go. We go upstairs to pay for our hostel beds, only to find that nobody is around yet. The reception doesn't open until 8 - we figure we can wait it out until 7, but no longer than that. We wait patiently, drinking a cup of coffee, but 7 comes quickly and still the desk is empty. We scribble a quick note of thanks and of apology, leave enough cash to cover our stay and place both under the counter. It's time to go.

We head off into the morning traffic of Panama City and find ourselves quickly riding the wrong way down one way streets, and winding down sidewalks and between buildings in order to get downtown as quickly as possible. We find the major route and try our best not to slow down the traffic rush, but with cars and trucks backed up we find ourselves passing cars more often than we're getting passed. We finally make it to the bike shop. It's almost 8 am. If it opens at 8, we´ll be alright. If it opens at 9, we're not too confident, but figure we've got a shot. We start to unpack our bikes, thinking positively, waiting for somebody to show up and open the door. Again, the awaited time comes and goes, and still the shop is closed. However, our first piece of luck comes when a man comes and sits on the sidewalk in front of the store, and tells us that it doesn't open until 10. (That wasn't the lucky part). We asked if there was another bike shop that he knew of, and indeed there was. Via Espana was the street it was on. And they open at 9 am. This lifted our spirits considerably, although when we realized we had no map of the city, it was morning rush hour, and we had no idea where to go, we lost a bit of that feeling. However, the rush of stress and fear was pulsing through us, and we repacked our bikes and hit the road.

At the first major intersection (a mess of over and underpasses) we asked a traffic police officer if this was the way to 'via Espana'. 'Si', he replied, 'mucho lejo, very far' and pointed us on our way. We knew those words very well, and so we biked hard down this major route, stopping only when we were a few kms away to ask for directions once more. '¿Via Espana? Si!', and we were pointed in the opposite direction. But she was sure, and so was the man that she asked in order to verify it, and so we turned around and biked even harder back towards the most unhelpful traffic police officer we've ever met. Time was ticking by, quite quickly, and we weren't making much progress at all. In fact, we were losing progress. And of course, it was around this time that the patch on my tube decided I didn't do a good enough job, and as the air leaked out of my tire our hope for catching the flight seemed to deflate as well.

We quickly put some air into it, hoping that it would last long enough to find our via Espana, and on we went, stopping every few blocks and saying the words 'via Espana' with a shrug of the shoulders, and would follow the points and waves. Time kept slipping away as we stopped once more to inflate the tire. More riding, more asking of directions, and more pointing. But we seemed to be getting closer, as all of the directions seemed to complement each other. Finally we arrived on the Via. Now, left or right? We chose left. After a few blocks of searching and asking for 'Rali Bicicletas' we were finally turned around, and went the opposite direction. And then, just as our watches displayed 9 am, we came to it. And it was open.

We ran inside, nearly out of breath, and explained to the receptionist our 'grand problema'. We were desperate. And she didn't care at all. They didn't have boxes, we were told. Sorry, we can't help you. This wasn't even an option for us, and so we told her how they sent us from the other store here to get boxes, and that we simply needed them. And now. We figured we had half an hour at the maximum before we needed to be in a vehicle heading for the airport. She continued her story of not being able to help us, but the mechanic who was in the store said that they might have one. And so we followed him to the back, and saw 2 boxes. They were full of garbage, (the boxes, I mean) but we quickly got to work emptying them and set to work disassembling the bicyles. We explained to the mechanic how big a hurry we were in, and he set to work. We did what we could with our allen keys, and he did what we couldn't with his pedal wrenches, and soon we had one bicycle in a box. We were working as fast as we could, but time was still slipping away and it was already 9:30. Could we make it? We were really starting to doubt it.

The three of us kept at it, and soon we had the second bike in a box, stuffed with a few of our panniers and sleeping gear. As they were being taped up, I went to the receptionist in the front and asked if she would be able to call a taxi for us, as we were now in danger of missing our flight. She hummed and hawed, and finally stated that we would need a pick-up truck taxi, because of the boxes. Sure. I figured the same thing. However, she seemed to lack the ability to call a pick-up truck taxi, of which we had seen many throughout the city. In fact, she wasn't able to do anything at all, nor offer a suggestion - she had to return to watching the TV. And so as the bikes were being hauled out to the front and we paid our mechanic a nice tip for his generous help, he got on the phone to help us. Meanwhile, we stood on the street, trying to find a taxi big enough to carry our bicycles. All this, while time kept ticking away... it was now after 10 am.

While most of the taxis were very friendly, and one even attempted to fit our boxes in the backseat and sticking out the trunk (leaving absolutely no room for us in it), we still had no real solution. However, our mechanic had gotten ahold of a friend of his who would owned a rickety old van, and would take us to the airport for $30. At this point, the cost was of far less importance than the time, so we told him if she could be here 'now', we would of course take it. It took a few minutes, but eventually a van showed up. We got the boxes inside, hopped in, and told her we had half an hour to get to the airport, which was supposed to be 45 minutes to an hour away. She thought we could make it though, and as we slowly moved through traffic we couldn't believe how close we were going to be. There might still be a chance to make it.

The van pulled up to the airport at 10:35, giving us a full 20 minutes to check in. It was amazing! We started to lug our boxes through the airport, trying to carry a backpack, both panniers and a boxed bike all at once, without a single porter ever offering help. We got to the lineup for our COPA flight, but were told that we couldn't fly with our boxes like that - they would have to be shrinkwrapped, back by the door that we came in. And so we lugged the boxes back to the shrinkwrapping machine, and waited our turn. While it seemed to take forever, it was only a few minutes later that we had both boxes ready to fly, and our pocketbook $20 lighter. We dragged the boxes back to the line, and checked our watches. 10:40. We still had 15 minutes to check in, and there was only 1 person ahead of us, and 6 check-in counters. We waited, and waited. No line seemed to be making any progress. Finally somebody finished, but before the person ahead of us could go, the lady at the booth left as well. Down to 5 check-in counters. Still no progress. Finally, nearly 5 minutes later, one booth opens up and the gentleman ahead of us proceeds. The front of the line, and almost 10 minutes still.

10 mintes... 5 minutes... still no progress. Somebody is arguing about baggage overage fees. Somebody else is just trying to check 6 pieces of luggage. The man who was ahead of us seems to just be inquiring about every possible flight that the airline has. 1 minute left until 10:54, that magical time. Finally, it passes. 10:55, then 56. Finally, at 11 o'clock, after waiting for 15 minutes at the front of the line, we are called up. As we present our passports to check-in, we are told 'well... that flight is actually closed already...' and both of us nearly lost it. We fairly calmly explained that we had been waiting at the airport for half an hour, but there was nobody here to help us. She didn't seem to respond to the irritation in our voices, but she did start to check us in. Then she saw the bike boxes, and the 3 pieces of luggage. You can't do that, we were told. Of course we could. We just needed to pay extra. We knew that going in, and as she weighed each piece individually, methodically taking her time with every step, the costs started to add up. She wrote down numbers, got out a calculator, and finally told us it would be $175. Wow, that's a lot, but ok. We were ready for a similar number. Then she added, for each one of you. ¿$350? Just for our bikes? That's ridiculous. All the while the screen changed from 'boarding', to 'final call', and still we stood there as she slowly explained what each fee was for. It was ridiculous, but we really wanted to be on that plane, and had no idea how that was going to happen while we stood there - as well, our bixes were still sitting behind her, not moving until we paid our fees.

She took a $50 fee off, seeing as it was only there because of the way the numbers were rounded up anyway, and so we pulled out the Mastercard and would worry about it later. Once everything was paid, she suddenly showed some urgency as she told us we'd have to run to the gate, and that she would call somebody at the gate and tell them to wait for us. We broke into a run, accompanied by her to expedite the process, and reached security. We got through easily, and went to the next step, immigration. We were in hurry. The lady working was not. She asked us for something - we thought she was telling us the plane was boarding. Yes, we knew the plane was boarding - that's why we were in such a hurry. She kept repeating it, and we kept nodding, ready to break back into a run to the gate. Then she started yelling at us 'boarding pass! Boarding pass!' in such a loud voice that everybody turned and looked. It turned out she wanted to see our boarding passes - we don't know why she didn't just say that from the beginning...

We took back our documents and started our sprint, flying through the halls of Panama City airport. Gate #12 came quickly, and we ran to the desk, getting there just as the last person was getting on board. We boarded the plane, sat down, and finally took a deep breath. We made it.

Arriving in Quito, we really didn't think the bikes would arrive with us. It didn't seem possible that they could move as quickly as we did through the airport. But somehow they did, and as we stepped past immigration into the baggage claim, we saw our bikes sitting there waiting for us. Amazing.

We're spending the next week and a half here in Quito at a Spanish language school, working on those verb tenses that we just never get quite right. We're staying with a family in a homestay, and enjoying our time in Ecuador greatly. Quito is an amazing city - perhaps the coolest place we've been yet. And to make matters even better, this Sunday Ecuador is playing Brazil in a very important World Cup Qualifying game here in Quito. And we managed to get tickets for it. And so Sunday afternoon we´ll be donning yellow jerseys and cheering on Ecuador against a very skilled Brazilian team. It's quite the opportunity to get to see such a high profile game, and we are extremely excited. How much better can it get?