Bike trip Day -2

Luckily, Patty isn’t some young punk that sleeps in like most of my cohort, so she was rocking and rolling when I headed into the kitchen a bit after six. As it was summer and the teenage kids were sleeping in, her host mom had apologized and warned me that breakfast wouldn’t be served until nine or so, so I grabbed some snacks and was on my way. I had everything in my backpack in plastic bags, which was fortunate, because rain was the order of the day. I didn’t really care about getting wet, but was rather annoyed at having to brake down most of the hills, out of concern for my safety. After rolling down the hills and through some sugar cane fields, I turned the corner and started seeing some ominous signs: Volcano Arenal was up ahead, which meant only one thing: hills. And hills were exactly what I got. Needless to say, I was taking frequent breaks and regrettably jumping off my bike to walk up the most difficult parts. I generally think I was on odd site to see. In Costa Rica there seem to be two types of bikers: those with jerseys, biking shorts, $1,000 bikes and then those that ride cheap, seventh-hand bikes to work and school. There are plenty of the first type of bikers, as Costa Rica, being full of mountains, is a great place to mountain bike. There might be a million of the second type. Yet, I was somewhere in the middle: athletic clothes but not biking specific, a backpack-but obviously not going to school or work, and a bike somewhere in the middle too. 

(some of what I was looking at)

I had continually been texting Julia R., a TEFL coworker from France/Michigan, who was providing me lodging for the night, each time delaying my arrival time at her house. Early in the day I began realizing that this wouldn't be such a warm up but rather quite an undertaking that would destroy my untrained body before the ride. Granted, I was riding more this day (and with a backpack) than I would during any day of the ride. But, eventually (and I mean eventually), I crossed the river and rolled into Upala, a good sized town in many ways pretty similar to Puerto Viejo, but due to its proximity to the border, having a much, much bigger presence of Nicaraguan immigrants in the town. It was still light out when I arrived, which was a pretty big achievement, but my body was all sorts of sore, so much so that I took a break just two kilometers outside the town to convince myself to make the last little push (not a good sign for the trip to come). I had a great evening with Julia, she made a tasty vegetable curry, and we caught up on this and that. 

(some more of what I was looking at)