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.

Guatemalan Highlands

Jeremy crossed into Guatemala expecting a hectic process of hassling with people and long lines, including bribing the Guatemalan immigration to get his stamp of entry. Fortunately, it only cost him 20 pesos, there were no lines and it was rather painless. He rode into Guatemala with a nervous excitement and decided the first order of business in a new country is to try out the food. So Jeremy pulled up into a fly-infested restaurant and order the staple meal in Guatemala- chicken, with rice and beans. Delicious. And when the lady slammed down a large jar of pickled onions and jalepenos in front of him, he knew he was living a dream. And all of this before 8am! It was gonna be a great day. So riding out of the border town of Tecuman, Jeremy wasn't too sure what to expect of Guatemala. Actually, he expected worse roads and more hostile people than he experienced in Mexico. But the exact opposite occured. The roads are just as good as back in the States, and the people are much less intrusive. Still a lot of staring, but respectful at the same time. So, first night in Guatemala, Jeremy rolled into a town called Relu and decided to splurge on a hotel with a pool and jacuzzi. Well, for fifteen dollars you can't really expect a clean pool or a jacuzzi with hot water. Even in Guatemala. But at least he had a hot shower, and was able to watch some movie on TV with Sean Connery cutting off heads as a Muslim?? So life was good. Jeremy rested up and conserved his energy, cause he knew the next day was going to be a painful ride up into the mountains to the town of Xela, which sat at an elevation of 9000 feet. And he was right about it being painful, except that it was much worse than he expected. He hadn't seen mountains like this since New Mexico. And he remembered how they had stripped him of his Super Bicycle Stud status, changing him back into a mere mortal. He begged the Mountain God once again to have mercy, to allow the jelly in his legs to become pillars of petrified wood as they had once been. But the Mountain wouldn't listen. He just kept getting steeper with each stroke of the peddle. I'm almost there Jeremy kept thinking. Just around the next corner and it will be flat for the rest of the way into Xela. And so it went, up and up, bend after bend, higher and higher. For 4 hours Jeremy climbed until he began hallucinating, altitude sickness seeping in. Old Guatemalan ladies in bright-ornamented dresses looked like long-lost grandmothers from another lifetime. He knew he had seen them somewhere before. One of the graveyard markers on the side of the road had his name on it. He knew he had been here before. He was delirious and decided he couldn't do it anymore. After watching a couple other "professional bicyclists" hitch a ride up the mountain, Jeremy decided he would let down his ego and do the same. So he sat there on the side of the road with his thumb up, waiting for a ride from one of the many pickups passing by. After about ten minutes he began to regain his composure and realized that the Rooster had been relentless all the way up to this point. "You wussy!" the Rooster laughed, "Let's just keep going!" So Jeremy decided there was another way up the mountain. By pushing the Rooster up the steep sections and riding through what he could, they could make it by dark. So, walking and biking, walking and biking, they eventually found their way to the picturesque, moutain town of Xela. Relieved and half-dead; the crisp, cool mountain air and smell of fresh flowers reminded Jeremy why he put himself thru this torture. Sometimes you have to go through hell to get to heaven.

Leaving Mexico

Thinking that I would be out of Mexico a month ago, have finally reached the border town Cuidad Hidalgo and will head into Guatemala tomorrow. The last nine days or so has been some pretty intense riding thru some pretty intense heat, dealing with some pretty intense shitty roads. After the Rooster sustained 5 flat tires in two days, some weird auto-shifting in the gears and some loose bearings, I was thinking of just building a hut and living off coconut on the beach, cause it felt like Mexico wasn´t gonna let me go too easily. But have made it through and am actually getting a little teary-eyed thinking that I´m finally getting outa here. Well, not that teary-eyed, but maybe a sniffle. Riding through small towns with dozens of Mexicans whistling at you is something you don´t really expect coming down here. But, then again, everything has been unexpected. All the stereotypes I had heard about Mexico have been completely untrue...well, almost all of them. I did actually see 14 Mexicans pile out of a SUV one time. And another truck carrying loads to the fields to work, where I lost count after 23. But for the most part, Mexico has been quite an experience. I´m most impressed with how generous the people are. A guy the other day offered me a ride in the back of his pick-up. When I refused, he offered me the keys to his truck. Hmmm....it did cross my mind, but at this point my loyalty to the Rooster is unquestionable. So tomorrow will begin a new adventure for the next couple months in Central America. It´s about time...I´m starting to get tired.