Saturday, July 31, 2010

Tortuguero

July 22nd to 26th

After Flores it's flat riding to Guapiles, then on to Cariari.


We want to visit Tortuguero, a national park protecting 22kms of beach where 95% of the world's population of green turtle return to nest. Getting there is a bit of a step into the unknown as the road into this virgin area of rainforest is not marked on our map. We need get to La Pavona to catch a small boat that plies the old logging canals between there and the isolated village of Tortuguero. Eventually we do get some consensus from the locals and set off along 10kms of paved then 20kms of dirt through a maze of banana plantations....



Closer to the sea, the style of houses changes and the lands starts to look more like it's Caribbean brother Belize than Costa Rica. There are brightly painted, rickety wooden huts, often raised above the bitey things of the jungle floor on slender stilts...



The butterflies are stunning....



This one appears to have a futuristic looking helmet shaped head and a bright red tongue....



When we arrive at the boat launch there is bad news - the captain will not take our bikes as his boat is too small. He recommends we lock them to a tree in the bus station car park along with most of our kit and that we carry just a bag each aboard. Hmmm - I can maybe see a problem with just leaving all our kit unattended in the middle of nowhere for 2 or 3 days. We start to consider turning back and the disappointment of a fruitless ride to the Caribbean side of Costa Rica. This was the main reason for taking this route and we're about to waste a few hundred kilometers of riding.


Sad pouty lips and long faces finally have the desired effect though and a boat captain relents and finally lets us on board for a small tip that goes in his back pocket.


It's a slow boat to Tortuguero as the captain picks his way through the debris swept along the canals and rivers. Submerged logs threaten to hole the boat whilst slumbering crocs lie in wait for easy pickings should he err and spill his cargo....



Finally after an hour and a bit we arrive at the dock and are immediately accosted by the 'tour guides'. Life away from the gringo trail means we often forget this side of travel that is a daily nuisance to bus bound backpackers. We avoid the worst of it and set out to find a cheap hostel.


Green turtles nest at night and the area is rigorously controlled - you have to have a guide. We book with 'JJ' a guide staying at our hostel who convinces us of his qualifications and local knowledge. We are to meet at 8pm.


At 6pm we realise his knowledge relates to the local bars in town when he turns up staggering drunk and proceeds to noisily break into his own room with a very large blade. Perhaps the trip is off!


Shortly afterwards a man arrives purporting to be JJ's cousin who will take us with his group at 9:40pm. Dress in dark clothes, cover yourself in insect repellent and absolutely no cameras he warns us. I have seen pictures from other turtle nest sites in Costa Rica so it looks like they are becoming more strict in an effort to not disturb the mother as she lays her eggs. That's to be applauded, but I hate not having a camera to record such a memorable event. So this is the only picture I have of a turtle....



We meet our group and for some reason we are the only ones dressed like ninjas. I guess no one else heard the news about the black clothes and now we feel like we are at the wrong fancy dress party.


We take a half hour ride along the coast by boat taxi with another couple where we're surprised to see the twinkling lights of several expensive looking 'resort' hotels with their fancy restaurants lining up white linen tablecloths to the fine views at the water's edge. Eventually we find ourself in the middle of nowhere with a guide who only grunts – 'Wait here' and disappears for 15 minutes. We're just beginning to think we've been abandoned – the rest of our group are nowhere to be seen having taken a different boat when he returns and gets us to follow towards the beach. It's another surprise when we emerge from dense foliage and step out onto an airport runway seen dimly in the moonlight. That explains how the better class of guests get to the expensive hotels


It's not every day you get to witness a miracle! By the light of a full moon, seeing a 500kg green turtle haul itself from the ocean, crawl laboriously up the beach to nest; before dragging it's weary body back to the water comes pretty close. Every third year or so the females return to the same beach where they were hatched. There they dig a pit into which they lay up to 200 ping pong ball size eggs before covering them over with four immensely strong flippers. Usually they will mate three times in a season and lay first 200 then 100 and finally 50 eggs. Once she begins to lay her eggs we are allowed to approach and watch this amazing sight – before that we stay hidden as turtles are easily spooked and will turn back to the safety of the sea if they see movement. After that, she is incredibly tolerant of us watching, but her pitiful gasps for air on her return leave you feeling helpless and you have to restrain yourself from 'helping' by giving her a push. Once she touches the water, this lumbering beast undergoes a dramatic change as she casts off her heavy clumsiness and powers off into her element.


For the eggs she leaves behind, the odds are not good. In a month they will all hatch on the same night and the lottery can begin. Running the gauntlet of dogs, birds, crabs and hungry fish, 80% will not make it as far as the sea. Abandoned by their parents, more will be eaten before the exhausted newborns can reach their feeding grounds. Less than 1% will make it to 25 years old when they will return to nest and the cycle can begin again.


It's all sobering stuff as we return at 1am. The boat back to La Pavona leaves at 6am so we opt for a lie in and a rest day on this beautiful deserted Caribbean beach....



Exploring the 'town' does not take too long. Main street disappears off into the rainforest after 200m or so and houses on the edge look like they are slowly being reclaimed by vegetation...



An early start next morning sees us catch that return boat which acts like a delivery service to locals who magically emerge from the trees as the boat pulls up at makeshift docks – more just gaps in the mangroves...



Can any one spot a potential problem with that bike seat hanging over the edge?


There's a slight snag as we pull up alongside another boat back in La Pavona and my seat post is bent at a 90° angle as it collides with a steel strut on the other boat - we jerk to an abrupt halt. Unwrapping my bike from around both boats, there is a possibility I won't be riding today. Slightly shamed, the captain attempts to make amends for his poor steering by fixing the problem with a rather indelicate 3 foot length of steel pipe.

He promptly snaps my seat clean off!


All doubts are now gone and I definitely won't be riding today! You have to hand it to the locals though as they all rally round and try to come up with a solution. First they flock round a bus driver - but he refuses to take us explaining there is no room. Costa Rica seems to differ from the rest of Central America in that there are rules and safety concerns. The bus driver does get down from his seat though, leaving a full load of passengers to wait while he moves off to chat to the 'Gasoline Guy'. Eric makes the twice weekly run from Cariari to deliver ten 225 litre barrels of petrol to the Tortuguero village that supplies them with all their energy. He agrees to give us a ride and straps a couple of empties on top of his load to make room for my mangled bike and our kit. Many thanks Eric....



Unfortunately this is a Sunday and the chances of anywhere being open to help fix my dead bike are slim, but incredibly there is a bike shop in Cariari. The second problem is that my seat post is oversize and you can't get a replacement in Costa Rica, so we hit on the solution of welding a smaller post inside a length of the tube I have left from my old seat post. Of course the welder is closed, but luckily the bike shop also have cheap cabins to rent and we are forced to stay overnight to await the welder.


It's been a frustrating start to the trip with stops and starts due to illness and now bike sabotage. Ever the optimist I arrive at the shop when they open at 7am, but being Central America, nothing really happens for a couple of hours so we resign ourselves to another wasted day in Cariari. Finally, my bike does reappear though with a Heath Robinson repair job and we can get cracking again....




Thursday, July 29, 2010

Diverse Costa Rica

July 17th to 20th


Leaving La Fortuna, the road meanders up and over and around some vivid green rolling hills. It's easy riding; cool under cloudy skies, and Costa Rica in the rainy season is becoming a lovely contrast to the more featureless hot, flat lands of Nicaragua in the dry season.


This area was 'discovered' by Columbus around 1506 who named it Costa Rica (Rich Coast) after seeing the amount of gold jewelry worn by the natives. He then tried, and failed to obtain the governorship of the country when he fell out of favour in the Spanish Royal court. Queen Isabella, his former patron was growing ill and King Ferdinand had other favourites besides Columbus. Later Spanish conquests found the claims of riches to be exaggerated and the country was largely disregarded by Conquistadors who set about enslaving the rest of Central America instead. This all worked in favour of the modern Costa Rica which consequently managed to retain much of it's primary forest. Today the country is replete with exotic habitats and strange wildlife.


As we ride on the cloud lifts and, looking back, we finally get some fine views of Volcan Arenal - puffing smoke as it broods and patiently waits. This is Central America's most active volcano erupting almost continuously - you can even see the red lava glow at night...



Also patient, the hawks scan the long grass for tell-tale movements which could signal an early lunch....



Not only is the wildlife exotic, but the land provides great varieties of fruits as well. There are the usual pineapples, bananas, passion fruits, papayas and melons, but we pull over to stock up on a mid morning snack of 'Pejibayes' and 'Momones'. Pejibayes are a small yellow/red fruit, the size of a ping pong ball that grow in clusters on gnarly wooded stems – like an oversized bunch of grapes. Boiled for an hour, they taste like a cross between a chestnut and a sweet potato and are totally delicious. Momones just look odd! Peeled they are like a sticky gumball of chewy grape-ness and are quite addictive....



All very pleasant; but then we pass 'Florencia' and find that Costa Rica is also famous for it's disregard of steep gradients. Road builders will often take the snaky, meandering route when it suits them, but sometimes they just get an evil glint in their eye and just plough straight on with no allowances for sanity. Florencia to San Carlos is lung bustingly steep and really sorts the men from the boys. Hitting it in the heat of mid afternoon really tests a cycle tourist's metal. We take a well earned breather to catch our breath and let our racing hearts be still when suddenly an odd thing happens....


A man is calmly toiling up the hill carrying a tree trunk, maybe 15 feet long. It looks like hard work! A police car passes us by and stops at the roadside maybe 100m away. The man with the tree sees the police, drops his log, walks on past us and then stops. He seems to consider for a minute, then turns and sprints full pelt directly towards us....

I'm just beginning to get tense....

but he races on past us, down the hill and disappears.

The police car slowly drives off in the opposite direction.

It just all seemed a bit odd at the time.


I don't think anyone really considered how the tree trunk was affected.


Anyway just as we reach the top of the climb, the heavens open again and we are drenched in cool rain. Funny how in Central America, the best views always seem to be taken by shanty huts or wooden shacks with tin roofs. This one just seems to be throwing down a gauntlet and challenging the powers of gravity on it's spindly stilts....



We finally make it to the top of what must approach 20 percent gradients in places, and take a rest day in San Carlos.


Checking the map reveals the reason for the extreme road - it was heading directly up the side of Volcan Porvenir which, in about 10 kilometres, climbs from 250m (800ft) up to 2183m (7200ft). Fortunately for us, after San Carlos, the road dog legs by 90 degrees and we skirt the base of this huge volcano.


These are the back roads now, miles away from the carnage of the Pan-American Highway and it's more gorgeous riding in this emerald land past fan palms looking back to the volcano and the 3000m (10,000ft) peaks of he Cordillera Central....



Like I said before, you're never far away from other diners on a lunch break and today is no exception....



I'd rather have my tuna fish sandwiches than what this guy is eating, but he's a nasty looking fellow with a big red spike on his back....


Not all the wild life looks so deadly though. Bright crimson flashes in the trees draw your attention to the beautiful plumage of the birds....



This is a variety of 'Tanager' and when he takes to the wing, the whole area across his back is that bright scarlet colour.


We stop for a water break, which just happens to be outside a locked gateway and a few minutes later a woman and a young boy appear to ask if we were waiting to come in. We're a bit bemused, but also curious so we follow them in as they swing the large gates aside. What follows is a short tour conducted by Joseph and his sister Amelia. Joseph is about ten years old going on forty and has grandiose, adult mannerisms as he walks us to the river past his lemon trees and painted animal statues of deer and zebra. He even puts his hands behind his back as he strolls! There is the ancient butterfly house, now sadly empty plus secret gardens hidden away behind dense foliage. This place must have been amazing in it's heyday; now it is slowly being reclaimed by the jungle, but there is still an old basketball court with seating for many, plus a covered BBQ area with lawns and flower gardens of fabulous orchids....



It's the kind of thing that just seems to happen occasionally – small, totally unexpected diversions. Joseph and Amelia treat us like old friends and we can't leave until we have met the rest of the family consisting of several generations and Joseph has thoroughly embarrassed me at one-on-one football.


We hole up near La Virgen in our best accommodation bargain so far in CR – a private cabin for just $8. Normally rooms here have been quite expensive by Central American standards, up to $20 for a basic place....



The day dawns sunny and bright and it's already sweltering when we hit the road. Fortunately we are heading back towards the coast and away from the central mountain chains, so the land here is flat. Originally we had planned to ride through the mountains for the spectacular scenery, but that was before we lost so much time. Now, deep in the wet season, those scenic views are no more as the world is hidden under dense fog and cloud, and the storms are even more ferocious than here. So, after a change of plans we're taking the road along the Caribbean coast and that means crossing a series of huge river bridges as we traverse the huge drainage basin for all those mountain storms.


It's amazing after the amount of rain we have seen that these rivers are not even close to full yet....



But when you consider just how dense the rain forest is, and how many thirsty roots there are slurping away at the wet ground, it just takes months for the ground to get sodden enough for the bigger watercourses to fill up again.


At the small village of Flores we find another bargain - $12 for a very private riverside cabin directly overlooking the River Chirripo. I'm just jokingly telling Sue how disappointed I am that I haven't seen a Toucan yet and that we're not leaving Costa Rica until we do - when one suddenly appears in the tree directly opposite our balcony - just as I am picking up my camera and long lens....


ANOTHER GOTCHA.... A 'Keel Billed Toucan'



The timing is even better as he takes flight ahead of the storm clouds that roll in once more and the river gains another little inch or two....



Monday, July 19, 2010

Lago Arenal

July 11th to 16th


The first couple of days riding in Costa Rica is fairly dull. The terrain is totally flat and uninspiring which is a real boon to us! We can now get some easy miles in and toughen up both the legs and our tender nether regions after our long break.


In stark contrast to the cerulean skies of the dry season, we ride beneath a slate roof – heavy black clouds that look ominous and heavy. Without warning, the wind can whip up from nowhere and the clouds burst, smashing heavy water droplets on to the road surface. They rebound in a fine spray above the Tarmac before settling back to help form temporary rivers. We are constantly drenched and nothing dries out in the humid air. Each morning, we pull on still-damp riding gear that is slowly taking on the nasty odour of wet rot and we have to try and keep our distance when talking to locals.


In Liberia, we stop to admire a particularly violent storm....



Thunder detonates like a shell directly overhead and simultaneously from several directions at once. It's like a scene from a World War II blitzkrieg attack – without all the damage of course. Lightning is constant; a strobe light that flickers on and off drawing the eye here and there, trying to track the jagged forks of brilliance as they live and die in an instant. The ground is waterlogged in seconds and thereafter turns to liquid.


The roof of our hotel is no match for the battering and we wake up with an inch of water on the stone floor of our room. All our kit is soaked and we take a day to try and dry out – after moving to another room that is.


Riding through Canas, we turn towards Arenal Lake and our first real test as the land rises steeply into the Tilaran Range of mountains. Our mileage drops to a new tour low – 22kms to Tilaran one day, followed by 32kms to Nuevo Arenal the next as gradients approach the ridiculous. It's nice however to leave the flatlands behind and the scenery improves dramatically.


This is cattle country and the pastureland is so rich and green....



In the distance we spot what looks like the finest water park invented by man – a 75 metre helter-skelter ride dropping into a 200m pipe that zooms down the hillside.



Rather boringly as we get closer it turns out to be part of a hydroelectric plant. Lake Arenal is man-made, created by the cool sounding 'ICE' company (Costa Rica's power company) who flooded a couple of villages; Arenal and Tonadora (presumably after moving the people out) to create a water and power supply.


After climbing for what seemed like a leg burning eternity we drop back down and catch our first views of Costa Rica's famous beauty spot, Lake Arenal...



The lake varies from 100 to 200 feet deep depending on rainfall and the crocs mean swimming is not recommended.


Unfortunately it's close to our last view as a storm suddenly blows in and stinging rain takes our visibility down to nothing.


Leaving Nuevo Arenal the next day skies are clearer. After Honduras and Nicaragua, the well tended entranceways to hidden lake retreats come as a bit of a surprise. There is money here! Many Americans have holiday homes around the lake, but there are also a number of excellent five star luxury spa hotels here as well. We haven't seen uniformed valets around immaculately tended and manicured gardens since I can't remember when and it's all very un-Central American. I don't think we can afford to stop so we head on before we lower the tone!


Suddenly the hotels are no more, the neat lawns are past and deep jungle encroaches right up to the road again....



You have to be careful taking water breaks – this guy was eyeing the catch of the day in his giant web literally a metre a way from where we sat...



All the wet jungle is starting to take it's toll on us! Bites and stings are a constant nuisance and for a change I am rejected, Sue being judged a far more tasty treat. For every bite I receive, she seems to get 30 and after a particularly bad chomping her face swells up like a prize fighters after a grudge match that goes the distance. A row of bites along her forehead threatens to close her eye entirely and the bridge of her nose is more Golden Gate than aquiline.


Being the sympathetic type, I just can't resist humming the theme tune to 'Rocky' and getting her to re-enact a couple of scenes. Suzy is not amused!


Sadly it begins to pour again and the spectacular views of the majestic 1700m cone of Arenal Volcano behind the lake are shrouded in low cloud.


The lake is still stunning in an angry brooding sort of way....



Then, for but a second the veil is lifted and the grey spectre of a volcano briefly materialises....



We hole up in 'La Fortuna', base to a thousand tourists in search of high adrenaline adventure. Every other building is a hostel and hundreds of operators compete to entice travellers onto their tour buses....



It's a pretty little town backdropped by a picture perfect volcanic cone, unfortunately spoiled by it's soulless pursuit of the tourist dollar.


In it's favour though, we do discover 'Chan' here.


Tiny black seeds soaked overnight in sugar water produce a frog spawn like gloop with a texture to match. It's a bit like wall-paper paste with bits of grit added in and the whole thing wobbles when you shake the glass....



Costa Ricans (Ticos) drink it by the bucket load and swear by it's ability to cure any stomach complaint. Despite appearances, it tastes absolutely delicious!


And finally.... finally; after a quest that started way, way back in Mexico – I, at last get a half decent shot of that demon species that is called 'hummingbird'. I know not why this one failed to teleport away from the camera lens in time – maybe it is damaged in some way, maybe they just don't work properly in the rain - wet circuitry all shorting out or something? I know it's not the best photograph ever – but it is still a personal triumph....


GOTCHA....



Tuesday, July 13, 2010

The Reunion of Man and Machine

July 2nd to 10th

After two months back in Britain and an emotional good bye to our families, we finally head back to Nicaragua to try and pick up our bikes and the threads of our interrupted tour.

Arriving in Managua by aeroplane is like clashing the gears of a high power sports car - it jars the nerves! Approaching by bicycle, Central America creeps up on you at low speed. Air travel slams it in your face and allows no time for the senses to adjust. As we leave the airport it's like entering another world.

The heat and humidity suddenly envelop you like a warm wet blanket. The buildings fall apart - all crumbling concrete and exposed steel clawing at the sky. Bodies swarm at you from all sides - gone is the sense of decorum and personal space we British expect from strangers. "Taxi!", "Hotel" the high volume cries, as hopefuls make grabs for our rucksacks to seal the deal and cause you to follow. Despite the jet lag and crusty eyes from a 26 hour journey we run the gauntlet and repel all comers to flag down a taxi down in the street we know will cost less than half price.

It's 10 miles from the airport to Managua centre where we return to Hostal Santos. I feel my legs tensing up and then making for an imaginary brake pedal as we speed towards a red light at 60mph. The driver, seeing my wasted efforts, laughs and casually explains that after two motorcyclists were dragged from their bikes and shot; the police no longer enforce traffic restrictions after dark. Welcome back to Nicaragua!

In our absence, Central America has passed from Summer into Winter - meaning we are now in the rainy season. It's not like a winter back home and temperatures are still in the 80's and 90's. There are just two seasons here and winter lasts for seven or eight months with torrential rains and tropical storms a violent and daily feature. The vegetation has an otherwordly greeness and growth rates are prodigious....


Above, great flocks of parakeets squabble and squawk as they tear between tree perches with the best pickings...


As is becoming a common way to start our tour, we are both laid low with headcolds. By choice we would never have visited Managua and this is now our third stay and it's all a bit depressing. After three days we can stand it no more and head on out.

Travel without the bicis is a torrid affair and I have new found sympathy for backpackers. We take a taxi to the bus terminal where we are assaulted by maybe 10 competing companies looking for fares and all grabbing at our clothes. It's two hours to Rivas and the bus is choc-a-bloc. Amazingly we both get seats - Sue shares with a mother and two young lads and I get half a buttock on a back seat facing sideways. There are people and gear everywhere in the aisle and it's a hot sweaty ride with armpits jammed in your face. As I am the nearest, whenever we stop I am responsible for the rear door and an impossible number of new passengers climb in over my legs and feet. It's a human version of the popular 'Tetris' game fitting them all in.

As we near our stop, the conductor, unable to move down the aisle - spider-mans his way up on to the roof of the moving bus, over the top and in at the back door. He explains he can get us a taxi to the ferry port and; whilst hanging bodily out of the door, slings one of our rucksacks over one shoulder, then the other over his other shoulder. As the bus slows to a running speed, like a paratrooper he disappears out the door taking all our kit. Being less adventurous, we almost wait for the bus to stop before jumping out whereupon the hyper-active bus-man is already running back towards us gesticulating at the car he has launched our bags into. He is up and the bus is off before we can even reach the taxi.

From taxi to ferry and another lesson in how shockingly wasteful Western travel is with it's 'Maximum Passenger Loads'....


From ferry to bus and four more hours of mixed paved and dirt road to cross Ometepe Island. We are minor celebrities it would seem when I explain to the bus conductor we are returning to collect our bikes from Oswaldo's place. 'Ahhhh these are the gringos' he announces to the bus load of locals and they all nod as if a nagging problem has finally been solved. At least we learn that Oswaldo has been good to his word and the bikes and kit is just as we left it. I can't tell you how big a relief this news is!

As luck would have it, the bus terminates at Rancho Merida where we frantically left our trusty steeds two months earlier and it's a happy reunion of man and machine.

Partly to fully recover from our headcolds and mainly to push some money Oswaldo's way (as he refuses to take money for bicycle storage) we stay four days at his hostal and restaurant. Many thanks amigo - you really helped us out when we needed it.

To be honest it's also partly to put off the inevitable ride back to the ferry port. Two months off does not prepare you for this as a first day back on a fully loaded bike...


Last time we rode here, we were well in the groove and the roads were dry. Now there are added water features and it's all gone slick and treacherous....


All this water is manna from heaven for butterflies and they swirl and flutter around us, gathering in congregation in damp spots....


Sue manages to spill some of her kit on a nasty stretch....


Later she spills herself and takes a tumble in the dirt. Day one and our first use of the first aid kit as she bangs up a wrist. It all gets too much as we approach a volcanic water hole that boasts medicinal properties for it's mineral rich water. A patient checks in for some aquatic healing....


We intended to stay an hour and remain for four when the healing proves more tempting than the riding. The rainy season proves to be more than a rumour when the heavens open and we deluged with a cascade of water. It's odd to be swimming in a cold sulphurous pool under warm rain.

After so long enjoying long summer evenings of daylight back home in Britain, it's a bit of a shock to be chasing the last of the sun's rays at just six o'clock as we make our sodden ride back to a hotel by the ferry port. The streets are in darkness as the power suddenly fails and we just make it before it's pitch black.

Leaving the island, the imposing cone of Conception volcano is noticeably greener than two months ago. When it emerges from dense cloud banks that is. A swift, flat dash along the lake takes us through a surprisingly modern metal forest of giant rotating wind turbines that supply the local area with green energy....


It's a relaxing ride towards the chaos that is the Penas Blancas border crossing. We are immediately accosted by youths who tell us the wait to be stamped out of Nicaragua is two hours, but for $10 each they can speed things up. We decline and the queue is indeed right around the building. The 'speeding up process' consists of marching people close to the front of the queue and telling them to blatantly push in. Four Americans are having a disagreement with their 'helper' explaining that is not what they had in mind when they handed over what is an average day's wage for a local.

Nicaraguan organisation at it's finest....



The whole thing is chaotic and trying to queue with our bikes becomes impossible with all the jostling. In the melee Sue drops her bike, only catching it when the chain-ring gouges a path down her shin. Where the sharp metal teeth have bitten into her leg, it looks like she has been mauled by the claws of a bear and the blood flows freely into her sock and shoe. I think she is going to need a stitch or two. Eventually after an hour and a half we get the formalities of the passport stamp out of the way and we can finally dress her still-bleeding wound.

Some countries you leave with a heavy heart, some countries you just leave. Adios Nicaragua we'll not miss you....

After the wasted time at the border we again chase the daylight and arrive 20kms later at 'La Cruz' the first Costa Rican town of any size. Bienvenidos a Costa Rica.....

Saturday, July 3, 2010

A Change Of Plans

April 23 to...

Ometepe Island resembles a dumbbell in that it is two giant volcanic cones joined together by a narrow strip of land. We leave Moyagalpa on Conception Volcano heading to Merida on the other cone of Maderas Volcano.

The road around Conception is paved and it's an easy 20 kilometers to the turn off, whereupon the tarmac ends and it's a rough ride across the isthmus. Rocks in the road are big enough to stand the bike up for a photo op....


Where the lands sweeps down to meet the sea there are some great beaches of soft golden sand. Fronted by palm topped palapas with the impressive 1400 metre cone in the background it's a memorable setting for a lunch stop...


Behind us there is a midden pile where all the local hotels throw away their food waste and white faced capuchin monkeys squabble noisily over scraps. I can almost hear the "Mission Impossible" theme tune playing as this one runs the tightrope back to the trees....


It's hard to believe that after another road juncton at Santa Cruz, the road gets even worse....


It's one of the worst surfaces I've ever picked my way through. Always terrible - it varies between nasty rock to tyre sucking sand which stops the bikes dead. Riders don't always stop so fast and we are often thrown overboard. Fortunately it's a soft landing, but slick with sweat we become covered in grit and sand and it's slow going. Even the buses struggle on this route, often taking 4 hours to cover just 40 kms (25 miles)....


It takes us 5 tough hours.

Next day we head out to hike up to the San Ramon waterfalls. It's about a four hour trek that takes us roughly half way up the Maderas Volcano, so it's a good dry run to take on the full thing. Midday temperatures are as ever in the billions, so we set off at dawn to hopefully get most of the climb out of the way in the cool part of the day. It's a good decision as the path is really steep in places as if passes through an ecological research centre and up the mountain side.

Unfortunately views are limited through thick vegetation, but the glimpses you do get of the lake and mainland are spectacular.

Then, just as the heat is getting seriously oppressive the tree cover opens up as we reach the 40m cascade...


Actually "cascade" is a little generous; this being the end of the dry season. However, despite 6 months with no rain, there is still some water. More importantly there is a small pool at the foot of the falls that is crystal clear and fabulously cool for swimming in.


After the descent and whilst picking up some emails, we get some bad news about Sue's father. A frantic phone call home reveals the worst and we are suddenly making arrangements to leave the island and book return flights. It's a Sunday afternoon and the last ferry leaves the other side of the island in just 90 minutes. We dash back to our hotel and hastily make arrangements to dump the bikes and kit with the the owner, pack a bag and get to the boat jetty in less than an hour. Fortunately there is a speed boat there and we manage to get a ride to the ferry port.

Arriving just as the ferry is finishing loading and preparing to leave, we pull up alongside and climb from the roof of the speed boat through a hatch on the side of the ferry.


We just made it!


It takes us a couple of days to get a flight after the problems with volcanic ash from an eruption in Iceland and we arrive home on Wednesday morning. It's a devastating blow to hear her father passed away in the night and that we were just too late to see him. He was 83.

Ivor had been ill off and off for a long time and we were always travelling with the spectre of this news in the background. In the end he was taken to hospital with what was thought to be a 'routine urine infection' but he was found to have internal bleeding that couldn't be stopped. He passed peacefully in the night.

Ivor was a man you would describe as a 'True Gentleman'. In a world where that term is bandied about with little regard, it is good to have known the man for whom the expression was truly meant. Ivor was a gentleman and a man I am proud to have known - he is sadly missed.

It was hard for us both to have arrived home just too late to say goodbye, but Sue and I can look back on the four months we spent over Christmas with her dad when he was in better health and on good form....


This is a better way to remember him.

We have spent the last 2 months back in Britain with family and friends especially with Sue's mother Sal who is slowly coming to terms with her loss.

We are now heading back to Nicaragua to pick up the bikes and resume our tour into South America. It's always tough to leave family behind and that is especially true now. It is a tough decision, but then starting the trip in the first place was a tough decision as well. There are always reasons to delay, to put off and not to do what part of you needs to do, and there is never a 'right time'. Sometimes you just have to go - and then be flexible enough to about-face and head home when needed.

As ever - life goes on.....