Pictures

Pictures of the trip are now online! About time, right? You can see them here: www.turtlesarecool.com . Just click on the tab marked 'bicycle diaries'. Enjoy!

The End

So there they were, Jeremy and The Rooster riding through Panama on the final leg of their journey. Not much was said between the two of them. Not much needed to be said. Jeremy's mind was too tired to be thinking about thinking anymore. And the poor 'ol Rooster was just rusting away, oblivious to his surroundings anymore. So they just rode down the one and only Interamerican highway, towards Panama city and the finish line. A rather uneventful and boring ride to say the least. But a quiet ride, where the road slowly slipped behind them, loosening the grip it had maintained on the Rooster's tires for the last six months. The final day proved to be one of the toughest- 140km, headwinds, terrible roads and hill after hill after hill. But they were not to be denied. Over the last hill they caught a glimpse of their final obstacle- The Bridge of the Americas. On the other side of this bridge was Panama City, their final destination. This was it. The last stand. One final climb across the river, where further upstream the Panama Canal worked its magic. However, as they neared the beginning of the bridge, a policeman blew his whistle and waved them over. After a frantic conversation in Spanish, in which Jeremy had no idea what was going on, he finally realized that the Panamanian police were not going to let him ride across the bridge. Why? Who knows. Even after offering to walk the bike across, the piggies still refused. So instead, Jeremy and the Rooster were escorted across the bridge into Panama City on the back of a police truck. And so that's how the trip ended. A Panamanian police escort across the finish line.

So, an adventure that began six months ago has now come to a close. Originally, the plan was for myself and Chad to do a 2-month road trip by car through Mexico. But that somehow evolved into the bike trip that was to be. We sustained a casualty up in Mexico when Chad was taken outa commission by the Puerta Vallarta nightlife. But hey, one outa two of us getting to Panama isn't that bad. For those who may think of doing a bike trip like this, I say just do it. It's been one of the most amazing, unbelievable, humbling experiences of my life. The situations you find yourself in, the characters you meet along the way and the intimacy with nature all add up to one thing - FUNFUNFUN! So, for everyone following our path, I hope this blog has been somewhat enjoyable to read. For the rated NC-17 version of this trip, you'll have to see me in person. For the rated R version, I will take Visa or Mastercard. And only after I speak to an attorney.
So in a couple days I fly back to Minneapolis. However, it will have to be without the Rooster. I'm hurting inside having to leave him here, but it can't be helped. In the spirit of the Godfather, sometimes you just have to axe one of the family for financial reasons. It's cruel, but hey - that's life.

THE END

p.s. If anyone wants to see the pics from this trip, just send an email to this address and let me know: henr0129@yahoo.com. I'll send out a mass email when I get them on the web. maybe in the next few months or so. cheers

Red Wine and Shark Meat

Am sitting at the border town between Costa Rica and Panama, but just wanted to say a little more about Costa Rica. When I came in here it was easy to see the difference between CR and the other central american countries. Instead of people living in metal and cardboard shacks, they were actually living in real houses. Instead of seeing 3 people riding on one bicycle, there were actually nice cars being driven around. That is, if they could get around the potholes that are big enough to swallow a small Toyota. But I gotta say it made riding thru a bit more boring. People hardly even noticed, or cared, that I was riding through town. So its been nice to be treated somewhat normal the last couple weeks instead of being the Gringo Freakboy On A Bicicleta. Anyways, down in the southern half of Costa Rica it has become too humid to hardly ride during the day. The humidity picks up so fast down here that it's been downpouring rain every night for the last five days.
So, the other night was one of the most memorable on this trip. Riding through some small town, I was expecting to find a hotel to crash at for the night. Of course, there were none. So I continued along into the jungle, not knowing if I would find a place or not. The next town was too far to get to before dark, and stupid me was out of water and food. As it got darker and darker, and the rainclouds moved in, I was not looking forward to camping in this jungle that surrounded me. But then I came across a small, broken sign that said B&B and turned down the dirtroad hoping for at least a little shelter from the rain. What I found was way more than I could have imagined. A wooden, open-windowed mansion with a natural swimming pool owned by a French couple in the middle of the Costa Rican jungle. Unbelievable. So what looked to be a miserable wet night in the forest dealing with the heat and mosquitos, turned into a night of wining and dining at this amazing place. I sat there all night drinking French wine, eating tasty shark and listening to jazz as the rain fell outside. Life is always best when it's unplanned.
So now, my thoughts have turned towards the last leg of this journey. With a plane ticket already purchased to fly back to Minneapolis on April 1st, I now am on some kind of time schedule. Jeremy doesn't know how he feels about that. But, due to this thing called a JOB, the trip must soon come to an end.

(Jeremy and The Rooster exit stage left, audience weeps)

Dear Jose...

Dear Jose,

I've been in your country, Costa Rica, now for about 10 days. I don't know. I forget. The beaches are beginning to blend together and I can't remember what time is anymore. Anyways, the thing is Jose, I thought Texas was the most southern state in America. But I was wrong. It looks like us Americans took over Costa Rica a long time ago. I can't tell if I'm in Jaco or in San Diego. But, all the same, I like it here. Incredible rainforests that don't end until they meet the sea, endless green hills that disappear into the clouds and the screech of the Macaw in the middle of the night. I spent a couple days in Jaco taking a break from the 150% humidity, then headed for Quepos where I wandered around a State Park looking for monkeys all day. I finally found some surrounded by a horde of humans armed with digital cameras. Actually, it was hard to tell who the real monkeys were. Instead of taking pictures of the little furry neanderthals, I was more astonished by the humans and their ability to be easily entertained by a couple monkeys. Strange creatures these humans. Anyways, I bounced down the coast some more to a place called Dominical and have been here for a few days embarrassing myself on a surfboard. This is a great little surfing town, even with it raining the last few days. Although, you definately need to watch your step in these parts. I think its the first time on my trip that I've had to keep an eye out for crabs hiding in my pack, or shared a shower with an iguana. Not to mention those beautiful ants. So, Jose, your country has done well in preserving the wildlife down here. I'll probably spend a few more days here in Dominical, partying with the architecture students on their Spring Break from Boulder, walking along rainy beaches at midnight after disco nights and embarrassing myself some more on the surfboard at sunset. It's been a blast but time is running out and I still have to get through Panama. So, Jose, I can't understand your Spanish dialect down here but it doesn't matter. I know what I need to know to make it to Panama City and the road beckons. But I'll be back some day for an extended period of time to do some more surfing if Dominical stays the way it is.

Adios,
Jeremy

Nicaragua

Nicaragua? Who goes to Nicaragau unless they want to get shot by a bunch of revolutionaries? Or killed by a hurricane? It seems times are a-changing down here and tourism is picking up big time. This country is destined to be the next Costa Rica and it's easy to see why. Incredible landscape, amazing people and not to tough on the wallet.
After staying in Leon for a few days to rest up and replace the rear rack on the Rooster, I headed south for Granada. Stayed one night on a lagoon that's as close to a National Park as I've seen since leaving the States. Actually, I decided to camp just outside the park as there was some guy running around with a shotgun. Not exactly sure what he was up to, could have been security. But I wasn't about to camp out in a place where there was a need for security, or shotguns.
Next morning, came into the capital of Managua which is urban sprawl times 1,000. Luckily, ran into a Nicaraguan who was on his daily bike ride to work, and he showed me the best way to get through the city. Nicaraguans really enjoy bicycling with you. I've had more conversations on my bike here than anywhere else. And there seems to be this misconception that, since I've biked from the States, I must be extremely rapido (fast). What else can explain all the kids who pull up behind me, pedaling as fast as their little legs will take them, then dart past with that little smirk on their faces. Gotta luv it.
So came into Granada and realized right away I was back in Gringo-ville. An amazing city that you can feel is growing by the second. One night, decided to go out for just ONE beer and somehow ended up on an all-night binge with some Nico-rich college kid who drove me around in his sportscar. Some latino bars, a couple discos, and a few house parties later I arrived back at the hotel at 5am after my one beer. Anyways, on my way outa the hotel (a couple days after my hang-over subsided) I planned on heading for the beach of San Juan Del Sur. But after talking to the guy at the desk, Abba, he told me that I needed to go to Ometepe Island in the middle of Lake Nicaragua. He said it was the perfect place to explore on bicycle.
So, all pumped up now after hearing him describe it, I headed for the island. Down the road aways, ran into a guy from San Francisco (Mateo) who was also doing a ride through Central America. We had some good conversation and a good brunch, then parted ways as he headed for San Juan and I went and hopped on the ferry to the island. Once I got to Ometepe, some French guy came up to me and asked if I was Jeremy from Minnesota who was doing a bike ride to Panama. What the..?? Now, let me just double-check here. I've never been to France. And I've never been to Nicaragua before, let alone this island. And when I added up the amount of French people I know with the amount that I've actually even met, somehow I came up with a negative number. So how the hell does this guy know me? Well, it seems Abba from Granada had emailed him to let him know I may show up, because the French guy (Jean-Michele) wanted to do a 3-day bike ride around the island also. Why not I decided.
So the next morning we took off. And I mean took off. Jean-Michele didn't just want to bike the island...he wanted to race around it. So now, after expecting a nice leisure ride for a few days, I found myself in the middle of my own Tour de France. Luckily, Jean-Michele pooped out once we hit some hills. But, to make matters worse, I failed to ask Abba if the roads were paved or not. If there's one thing I've learned on this trip, it's to NEVER, EVER assume anything. Of course, they weren't paved. So for the rest of the day, I put the Rooster through much more abuse than was required by bouncing over huge rocks, fish-tailing through deep sand, pressing through hard headwinds and pushing up steep hills. Decided to inform Jean-Michele he would have to keep going on his own cause my bike just couldn't handle this terrain. So we stayed one night at an organic farm then went our separate ways. Jean-Michele to explore the rest of the island, and myself to the beach to relax. Ometepe Island has a very special, magical feel that I was finally able to enjoy once off the bike. So will be leaving this island today and heading towards Costa Rica. Nicaragua has been much better than I anticipated and hopefully will be able to make it down here again before it becomes too touristy. Hasta manana....

So There I Was...

So there I was...
leaving Guatemala by coming outa the mountains at record speed downhill for 40km. I was gonna miss this place that didn't seem to be nearly as dangerous as it appeared to be. I wasn't sure who to be more scared of- the armed guards outside every bank, or the armed guards guarding the Brahva beer trucks. Every single window in Guatemala is covered by iron gates to keep out the unwanted...which seems to be everybody. So I left Guatemala armed with my own arsenal of new Spanish words and more of a respect for food poisoning.

So there I was...
crossing the border into El Salvador where being a gringo is just another word for 'money-magnet´. Everybody wants to be your friend at these border crossings because that's just the way they are. They just want to make sure YOU are happy. I especially like how the black-market-money-changer guys give you an exchange rate and STILL try to rip you off by giving you less money back. I'm glad Mr. Block drilled those multiplication tables into my head back in 6th grade. He probably didn't know it at the time, but he was saving me $5 in Central America. And then the little guy who so kindly showed you where the immigration office is, also expects his cut. Even though I was more than capable of walking the 2 feet around the corner to find it myself. So, anyways, since El Salvador uses American dollars as their currency it was kinda like being back home. I almost thought I was back home listening to the Eagles at a bar on the beach one day. That is, until I noticed some guy pissing in the corner of the bar. Or how, when I went across the street, I was only able to buy bags of water, not bottles. But I did like it in Salvador. The roads are excellent and the people look like they know how to have a good time.

So there I was...
in the middle of El Salvador fixing my SEVENTH flat tire of the day. It was bound to happen. The dreaded day where nothing could go right. Not one, not two, not even three. Let me get straight to the point again. SEVEN FLAT TIRES in one f*cking day. Luckily I was able to find a shop that actually had my size tubes in stock. But that wasn't even the end of it. Next... the tire pump broke. But, again, I was lucky enough to find another shop in Honduras that sold pumps. Back on track right? Well, over the next 2 days I actually had two more flats and realized my getting to Panama wasn't going to just be given to me. I was going to have to rely on whatever bike shop was in my path to make it all the way. So be it.

So there I was...
eating at a restaurant in El Salvador and talking to these two kids about their Salvadorian lifestyle. However, they didn't seem a bit interested in what I wanted to learn. All they wanted to talk about was how much sex I've had on this trip so far. I told them Americans don't have sex and that movies are all a bunch of lies. They were shocked.

So there I was...
riding across the border into Honduras. There's not many major changes crossing from one country into the next. But there's millions of minor ones. First thing I noticed in Honduras. was how the kids have been taught since birth how to scream the word "GRINGO!" as loud as possible when you pass by. I thought it was kinda cute at first the way the little dirty rugrats would chant while jumping up and down screaming "GRINGO, GRINGO" the whole time. After a couple days however, I was ready to buy a machete and skin me a little Hondurian boy. Enough said.

So there I was...
crossing into Nicaragua. These little countries just keep on coming and coming. Once into Nicaragua, decided I'd had enough of the hot, sweaty riding and mosquito-infested camping nights. So decided to get this real gem of a place (NOT) at the border town. Walking into the local cantina one day looking for a beer, some guy insisted on being my friend and made sure I knew that he was The Boss of the town and everyone knew him. And he was right. Everyone did know him. Everyone knows the town drunk. And he was determined to be my protector also by getting in anyone's face who didn't speak English to me for whatever reason. Things were getting a bit tense with my new buddy. I tip-toed out after finishing the beer he bought for me.

So there I was...
riding down the first dirt road I'd encountered on my trip down thus far. Not fun riding over rocks for 50 kilometers. And then, when your rear rack breaks apart and you're forced to fix it on the side of the road in 100 degree F weather, you feel like you've hit bottom. Hot, dusty and too tired to care. But that's usually when the miracles happen. And, wouldn't you know it, the ice cream man just happened to be passing by at just that moment. Best damn snowcone I've ever had.

So there I was...
at a Texaco near Leon, sitting in prayer with a Nicaraguan family and a missionary from North Carolina. Sometimes I wonder...how do I end up in these situations? So, Roger the missionary explains to me how he's been coming down to Nicaragua for the last 4 years to help this family's village that was destroyed by hurricane Mitch back in 1998. And he just tries to give as much as he can to everyone down here because nobody has any money and a lot of people are having liver problems due to insecticides. He tells me this is the first time this family has ever went out and had a decent meal: at a chicken fast-food joint in a Texaco gas station. Now, this whole trip I've just been satisfying every primal, instinctive impulse just to keep going on the bicycle. As I licked the cartilidge of my meaty piece of chicken to get every last morsel to fulfill my narcisstic, animal desire; I couldn't help but feel a little guilty after listening to all this. But only for a couple minutes.

So here I am...
in Leon, Nicaragua. Resting up after the craziest, strangest, most random week of this trip, if not my life. And pondering how the Vikings could have possibly traded the greatest wide receiver God has ever created in Randy Moss. Even with the bad 'fro. So what's next? Who knows...but it just keeps getting curiouser and curiouser.

Lake Atitlan to Antigua

So where was I? In Guatemala, up in the mountains, and trying to get over whatever it was that has put me on the toilet for the last couple weeks. I'd love to give a detailed account about all the hot babes, fast cars and cool festivals in Guatemala. But instead, I'll have to tell you about the amazing, bright-yellow ceramic tile work on the bathroom walls in my bathroom. Well, besides being sick for 12 days, there have been some bright spots. Coming down into a steep valley I came upon the amazing lake of Lake Atitlan. For those who have never been here, it´s one of the most spectacular places in the world as far as natural beauty is concerned. A crystal clear lake surrounded by volcanos, excellent food and cheapcheapcheap. Spent my time here taking Spanish lessons between my trips to the bathroom, watching all the hippies sell their jewelry on the street and buying bread from the indigenous ladies. Most of the Indian ladies out here are short and stocky, selling anything from beaded-arm bracelets to cinnamon rolls. And they put whatever it is they're selling into baskets and carry them on top their heads. Maybe that's why they're short and stocky. But, seriously, an amazing place even while being sick the entire time.
Anyway, all hippified out, I decided to take the boat back across the lake and head towards Antigua. For as beautiful as Guatemala is, I pay for it every single stroke of the pedal. Hard, hard riding...but the scenery is unbelievable up here. Stayed a night in a town called Tecpan where there happened to be some Mayan ruins that I checked out the next morning. The Maya. Ancient civilization of the Americas. A people whose past still remains a mystery. Where did they go? What were they like? As I sat there in the ruins, gazing at the old architecture of this city that was once the center of Central America; I couldn't help but think that all the hiding spots in this place would be ideal for playing splat ball. Maybe that's why they built it.
So am now in Antigua, colonial capital of Guatemala. Cosmopolitan, yet ancient. Old cobblestone streets, yet modern atmosphere. Pristine valley, yet whatever...I just need to take some pictures.