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?

One Continent Down

Current Location: Panama City, Panama
Distance Cycled to Date: 11,824 km
Number of Nights Camped at Gas Stations to Date: 11
Flat tires to Date: 27 (Keenan - 16, Jeff - 11)
Days on the Road: 204

We reached the end of the Pan-american highway, or at least the northern part of it. From here in Panama City it peters out into a gravel road, and finally into an impregnable jungle. And so every cyclist going from North to South America faces a choice when they reach Panama City - to fly to Ecuador, or take a boat to Colombia. Colombia has received a poor reputation in the media in the past decades, with guerrilla warfare and drug cartels dominating the headlines. When we left home, we had promised our family that we would skip Colombia. In fact, it was kind of one of the conditions that we left with. However, since leaving home we have met a number of cyclists who have come through Colombia and all have given it a glowing recommendation. We have heard from numerous travelers about the huge strides in safety that the country has made in the past few years, especially along all the major highways. However, despite these stories from travelers, the Canadian government (as well as British and American for that matter) still recommend avoiding all travel to certain rural areas of the country, including some of the southern regions that we would have to cycle through.

We don't feel that cycling Colombia is any more dangerous than any Latin American country that we will be visiting - however, we did make a promise to our mom, and our government is telling us not to go there. And so, despite almost booking a boat trip from here to the Colombian coast, we finally decided on completing the trip as we had originally planned, and will fly from here to Quito, Ecuador tomorrow.

So - as of right now we have cycled one continent. North America is done. It started off tough, climbing the Canadian Rockies right out of our backyard, and it finished even harder as we climbed the Continental Divide of Panama crossing from the Atlantic to the Pacific coasts. In the past 204 days we have had the opportunity to see just how well roads are engineered in Canada. We crossed the Rockies on a road that we thought was steep. We didn't know steep in those days - Panama has schooled us in this lesson. Our first day back on the mainland we expected some very steep hills, up and down, and got exactly what we were expecting. It was difficult, but being armed with those expectations beforehand made it much easier.

It was the following day that really hurt. After attempting to camp first at some sort of Petro-chemical campground full of American RVs, and then at a police station and being rejected both times we finally had to resort to paying for a cheap 'hospedaje'. We even slept in an extra hour or two the next day, thinking "it's only a 1500 metre climb'. We're not sure why we were taking it so lightly, but as the day began with some steep roller coaster-esque hills, we realized we were in for a long day. The road continued its quest for finding the steepest hills to climb, and we followed, sweating like we have never sweat before. We would be standing, pumping our legs as if we were on a vicious Stairmaster, knowing that if we slowed at all we would tip over, and not be able to start moving again on the steep grade. Along with this, the soles on our cycling shoes are worn down so much that the metal cleat protrudes, giving us no traction at all, especially on steep hills. It was continue pumping those legs and keep moving at 5 km/h, or tip over and have to turn around.

We took hours and hours to go the 30 or 40 km to the top, but once we reached the top and felt the blast of the Pacific winds hitting us we thought we would be down in no time. The road on the opposite side of the mountain was built just as steeply, but luckily without so many sections missing from landslides. It was an insane downhill, where we would pick up speeds so quickly that we were continually riding in the 70s, while pulling our brakes. Corners would come rushing at you so quickly you hardly had time to think, and it seemed at times that our brakes were not up to the challenge. But, like always, we made it down without any incident, and lost as much elevation in about half an hour as took us 6 hours to gain.

After getting to the Pan-american, the rest of the ride through Panama was, well, almost a little boring. It went up and down with some small easy hills, and we found ourselves either daydreaming on the amazingly wide shoulder, or else being jarred to pieces on the stupidest concrete sidewalk/shoulder covered in cracks and rumble strips. There was no in between on this highway - half the time the shoulder was amazing, the other half it was the worst we had experienced.

Our last night before entering Panama City we came across some of the first un-fenced fields we have seen since Mexico. In fact, it looked like Panama was presenting us one last chance to have a true stealth-camping experience, as magnificent as we had in the Baja. After spending so many nights sleeping at noisy gas stations and even a rural bar, this was a very appealing option. We set out into the long grass and trees, and found a perfect spot, just like in the old days. It was a great way to end cycling this continent.

Our final day, after fixing a few more flat tires (those of you keeping an eye on the flat tire count will notice the huge comeback) we finally reached the Bridge of the Americas, the grand entrance to Panama City over the Panama Canal. We had heard from a few cyclists that they had been stopped by police and not allowed to bike over the bridge, instead being forced to hitchhike their way over, and so we prepared ourselves for this indignity. However, with all the construction going on, we managed to slowly make our way to the front of the stopped traffic without anybody stopping us, and when it came time for our side of the bridge to cross, we just booked it, pedaling as hard as we could, getting waves and smiles from police and construction workers alike. And so, we were granted a grand entrance into the city.

Panama City is a pretty amazing place, unlike any of the other Central American capitals we have been to. Part of it is 16th century Spain, part is 20th century slums, and part is 21st century skyscrapers and shopping malls. It's a cool mix, and we've enjoyed trying to explore it all while taking a few days to relax, and soak in the fact that we just rode our bikes from Canada to the Panama Canal.

Closing in on South America

Current Location: Boca del Toros, Panama
Distance cycled to date: 11,222 km
Flat tires to date: 24 (Keenan - 13, Jeff - 11)
Top speed hit to date: 78 km/h

The last week of riding has taken us from Nicaragua, through Costa Rica, and on to our last country of Central America. (That's Panama, for those of you who are still a little geographically challenged). Nicaragua continued to impress us with its flatness, though the stiff cross and headwinds took away a bit of the pleasure of riding on such a smooth surface. We stayed a night in the neat city of Masaya after making our way through the traffic of Managua, the capital. We had planned to go around it, but when we got to the intersection earlier that day we found the bypass route was in rough shape, so we figured that riding with a shoulder for 50 km would be worth the hassle of cycling through a busy Latin American capital city. We don't really know how bad that highway was, but what made our route worth it was the Pizza Hut we came across in Managua which offered something we could only dream of lately - free pop refills. Before committing to the restaurant we made sure it was in fact as many drinks as we could consume, not just a single refill. Once satisfied with their answer, we sat down and began our eat and drink-a-thon. Our family sized, stuffed crust pizza hardly filled us, but the 7 refills of Pepsi helped to give us a feeling of fullness that we usually lack. The full stomach just added to the excitement of the Managua traffic circles, where we had the chance to outrace numerous buses and taxis who seemed determined to show us that we shouldn't have entered the roundabout when we did.

We made it through the city without incident though, and the rest of Nicaragua went by quickly as we rode on a large shoulder past large lakes, large windmills, and large volcanoes. All this in such a small country. We spent our last night in Nicaragua right before the border, camped at a gas station. This was quite ordinary for us, but the gas station was far from ordinary. When we looked behind it to find a place for our tent, we found big cages with monkeys, parrots, and other exotic birds. We still have no idea why they were there. The next morning, entering Costa Rica, we were expecting to see some first world quality roads to match the developed nature of the country (and the developed nature of their prices). However, we were treated to not only the narrowest roads on the entire trip, but quite possibly the busiest as well. It was like taking I-5 traffic from southern California and sticking it on the Taimi Road outside Rocky Mountain House. For the few of you out there unfamiliar with the Taimi Road, it isn't very big. Throw in some more nasty winds, some big climbs, and it made for some generally unpleasant riding. Yes, the Costa Rican highways give you good reason to dislike the country. However, almost every single person we met there went out of their way to help us, and so as much as we'd like to hate Costa Rica we really can't stay mad at it. Just that stupid highway.

In fact, while staying in a San Jose suburb with a friend of a friend and enjoying some fantastic Costa Rican hospitality we decided to change our plans of continuing down the Panamerican highway. It was past 11 o'clock (which is waaaay past our bedtime) and while looking at a map before falling asleep we realized that we could actually head up to the Caribbean coast and make our way into Panama, avoiding what is literally called the 'Peak of Death'. It does sound pretty enticing, but when we weighed out the pros and cons of biking along a flat Caribbean coastline or doing a climb to 3200 m on a road that we were cursing daily, we finally decided on the former. And so we climbed a little, (including a terrifying tunnel, in which the deafening honking combined with the lack of lights led both of us to believe we would never make it out alive. We however, did). We then enjoyed a 1400 m descent into a flat banana and pineapple land. We flew through jungle and a national park, and the descent awarded us with a new top speed of 78 km/h, and made me feel sure that 80 km/h is easily within reach. Twice we attempted to camp a night on an agro-tour farm, first for pineapples and second for chocolate (yes, a chocolate farm!), but neither really panned out. We did get a chance to see some pineapples growing though which was quite a highlight, because who ever gets to see pineapples growing? Do you know where pineapples come from? Is it a tree, is it a shrub, is it a root? Go to Costa Rica and you can see for yourself. Just don't ask to camp there - it's not allowed.

Yesterday we entered Panama. It was a triumphant moment which dissipated quickly as we had to get our bikes across a decaying railway bridge which was only wide enough for one lane of traffic, and not made for cycling across at all. Luckily for Jeff there was a chainlink fence on the side to prevent him from tipping into the river when his bike tire got stuck between two planks. Panamanian officials at the border seemed to want us to produce some sort of ticket out of the country, which we didn't really understand. We're on bikes. Jeff wanted to just tell them we were going to bike through the Darien Gap, but we weren't sure what kind of senses of humour they had, so we told them we had a flight booked online. First she said that wasn't good enough, but somebody else behind the counter seemed to like us so he told her to let us in. Ten US dollars and two stamps later, we were officially in Panama.

The reason that we didn't originally look at this route was because on our map, the road ends in the town of Almirante. From there you can catch a boat up to Boca del Toros on an island off the coast, and from there catch another boat down to Chiriqui Grande. We got to Almirante and went to take our boat across, but we then found out that there is now in fact a highway built between the two towns. We thought since we were so close, we might as well take a day to check out a Caribbean island, because how many chances do you have to check out a Caribbean island? We also found out that the boat no longer runs from the island to Chiriqui Grande. What we also found out after we got here is that the Panamanian road engineers seem horribly sadistic. It seems that they have found the steepest hill/cliffs that they can find, and then proceed to build a road straight up it. We have seen quite a few roads in the past 6 months. In fact, over 11 thousand kms worth of roads. But we haven't yet seen roads this steep, and this long. The grade (which we would guess is well over 15%, if not much more) combined with the heat and humidity make for some brutal riding. We just have to keep remembering how we avoided the Peak of Death, and we've left the crazy traffic of Costa Rica behind.

Tomorrow we'll take the boat back to Almirante and continue along the Panamanian mainland. We have our fingers crossed that the road will flatten out a little bit, but know that this is just a dream as everybody that we've talked to has told us the opposite. So, we'll have another day of up and down, and then a day of up to the continental divide before we head back down to the Pacific coast. But from there it's got to just be smooth sailing to Panama City on a flat highway with a wide shoulder. Because if there's one thing we've learned, it's that tomorrow is always going to be easier than today. At least that's what we always tell ourselves...

Halfway Down the World

Current Location: Leon, Nicaragua
Distance cycled to date: 10,378 km
International borders crossed since our last entry: 4
Longest cycling day to date: 163.78 km (8 hours, 21 minutes of riding)
Highest daily trip climb to date: 2320 metres
Flat tires to date: 20 (Jeff - 11, Keenan - 9)

When you fit as much into a week or so as we have, it's hard to write it all into one blog entry. A couple spaced out over the week would have been better - but we've been busy, so what could we do? So, here is what we've done since Chiquimula, Guatemala:

We left Guatemala, crossing the border into Honduras and reached the ruins of Copan. It was pretty sweet - not quite as grand as Tikal, but impressive nonetheless. We lucked out with the weather once again, and had blue sky and sunshine in the morning after being the first ones let in the gate (Just like we were in Tonina, Palenque, Tikal and now Copan!). The rain clouds came in the afternoon and so we spent it inside, comfortably watching UEFA Champions League soccer, live. What a fantastic day.

From Copan we faced the two hilliest days we have had yet on the trip. Consecutively. Both of them were over 2000 metres of climbing, and both were unexpected. It left our legs shaky and ourselves exhausted, but we crossed into El Salvador the next day, and nothing lifts ones spirit like an international border crossing.

We managed to make it 17 kms into El Salvador before stopping in La Palma for pupusas, the national food of El Salvador. They were delicious. For those of you who have never experienced a pupusa, they are homemade corn tortillas, stuffed with cheese, meat, beans, or any combination of those things. The description doesn't really do them justice, because they taste awesome. For 6 pupusas, and 2 sodas we paid $2.90 US. We finally got to use some of those American dollars we have been holding onto since leaving California because El Salvador uses them as their official currency. It was strange to see everything marked in dollars again.

We cycled the entire country of El Salvador, and only spent 2 nights in the country. And yet it was in this small country that we hit our milestone of 10,000 km. Ten thousand kilometres! It was exciting. We had guessed we could do the trip of 20,000 km in 12 months, and we hit 10,000 km on February 28th - exactly 6 months after leaving. If you're not impressed with the trip, you should at least be impressed with our estimating skills. We nailed that one.

All through El Salvador we had a decent highway with a decent shoulder (ok, maybe half-decent shoulder), and the only thing to slow us down were the few fast food restaurants that we saw along the way. A divided highway with a shoulder and a shopping mall with fast food was reminiscent of California once again.

From El Salvador, we had to cross into Honduras one more time, but this was a much easier experience. The highway was no longer washed out in places, lines were painted on it, potholes were virtually non-existent, and the hills were nothing compared to the Copan area. The wind picked up, but we found it switched directions so often that we had a tailwind just as often as a headwind, and so we couldn't really complain. In fact, we were expecting so much worse that it made southern Honduras great.

We slept at another 24 hour Texaco station outside Choluteca on our last night in Honduras, and after chatting with the friendly, smiling (but shotgun yielding) guard we felt very good about the place. He showed us a good place to set up our tent, and enjoyed watching us cook our supper (although to be honest everybody really enjoys watching us cook our supper. Anytime we pull out our campstove we get a pretty good sized crowd, with lots of oos and aws when the flame first bursts). However, this smiling, friendly guard then started to ask us something that we had never heard before. We just smile and nod as usual. He says it again in different words. We still don't understand, but smile and nod. Finally, he has to resort to rubbing his fingers together, the universal sign of money, and using the word "cuota", the same one used for the toll highways. We almost feel bad that we made him have to ask us so directly for a bribe. Almost. He asks for 80 Lempira, but we barter him down to 50. Is it smart to barter the shotgun yielding guard for his bribe? We don't really know but we've never paid for accomodation without some sort of give and take, so he settled for 50 and we're all happy. Or at least relatively happy - we were happier when he was just the smiling, friendly guard.

On leaving Choluteca we went towards the border of Nicaragua, planning on doing about 125 km to Chinandega, the first major town across the border. But, the day started out well with a tailwind, and the border crossing went so easily we suddenly thought that we might be able to make it 160 km to Leon. But then as soon as we got across the border the road turned to rough gravel, and our average speed was cut in half as we struggled against the wind and dust and generally poor riding conditions. Our very first impression of Nicaragua wasn't the best. However, luckily we kept an open mind because once we got through those initial 15 km the road turned to the smoothest, flattest pavement we have yet experienced. We were just saying yesterday that we didn't believe anymore than anywhere in the world is flat (except southern Saskatchewan, of course). Other than that, it seems like everywhere is hilly. We were wrong though, as it turns out that Nicaragua is in fact flat. Blissfully flat. We started riding hard, and decided to try for Leon, despite the fact that even with our most optimistic math we wouldn't get there until sunset.

We rode hard, and just kept going. As we got close to Leon, we started to see the first recreational cyclists we have seen since Mexico. (Lots of people always are riding bikes down the highway - however not many in spandex, wearing helmets). We were passed by 2, and we ducked in behind them, drafting for as long as we could. They let us for 10 km or so, but then suddenly sprinted after a truck and disappeared down the highway before we knew what was going on. But soon after, another cyclist passed beside us, but rather than just fly by he slowed down and started to chat with us as we went. He'd talk to me for a few minutes, then ride beside Jeff, and generally just kept us going after we had already biked 150 km. In fact at one point he literally put his hand on our back and pushed us along, encouraging us to keep up a steady pace. As we got into the city and he found out what sort of budget accomodation we were looking for, he realized that we would never find a place like that in Leon. And so, he invited us to stay in his house. We couldn't refuse the offer, and despite being extremely exhausted, we were quite excited at getting a chance to meet a family here. It turns out that everybody in Jimmy's family is very nice, and we had a great time conversing in our mix of broken Spanish/English and them in their broken English/Spanish. We enjoyed both dinner and breakfast with the family, and we have an open invitation to stop by the next time we're in Nicaragua.

So far, we've had almost entirely great encounters with everybody that we've met in Honduras, El Salvador, and now Nicaragua. We know we sound a bit like a broken record, but everybody really has been so nice. Everywhere. It's amazing to see how helpful and just generally friendly everybody is to us.

The first half of the trip is now over, and now it's closer for us to keep pedaling to Argentina than to turn back home. So far the trip has been the adventure we were hoping it would be, and it's exciting to think that we still have another 10,000 km to go. That's still a long way to go. But we feel good. We're excited to keep heading south.