ride for HOPE - canada to argentina by bicycle

Adventure Cycle Experience

2012-05-29T17:42:00.000-07:00

There are a lot of untold stories still in my mind, from cycling Canada to Argentina. Sure, lots of them involve things people wouldn't want to hear about, like cycling through 4 straight countries without doing laundry (don't worry, they were just little ones) - but some parts of that year are continuing to have an impression on our lives. I know for me, that year of cycling changed my life. I, like so many other touring cyclists, desired to transform that lifestyle from something temporary to something permanent, and share it. How could you make a living riding your bike?

Some people have written books, others turned into full-time 'adventurers', getting sponsors. When we were cycling through Argentina, getting closer and closer to Buenos Aires, I spent a lot of time thinking about what I wanted to do when I got back. As the flat endless fields of grain slowly moved past, I thought about a conversation we had with an Argentinean about tourism, and its potential impact for good. And I thought about cycle touring, and about raising money for charity… and as the pedals went round, so did my thoughts, until it finally all came together.

It's taken a few years since I got back, but the ideas that came under that Argentinean sky have finally come together in my newest endeavour - my cycle touring company, Adventure Cycle Experience Ltd., and its partner charity, Bicycles for Humanity. I realized that by offering people guided and supported bike tours, I could help people who might never otherwise go on a bike tour experience this great way of travelling. And by riding a bike, they're travelling in an environmentally friendly way, and encouraging healthy living. From that very first day leaving our backyard, I knew that travelling by bike is the ideal way to travel, and this could be a great way to introduce that to others. It's not hard - it's just riding a bike!

I was trying to tie it all together with a development agency so that the experience could be rewarding not only for the person going on the tour, but for those in need as well. That's when I stumbled upon Bicycles for Humanity. It's now a global non-profit movement, each run by individual chapters, all with the same goal - taking used and unwanted bikes, and sending them to where they not only will be used, but will be life-changing. By sending bicycles to communities in Africa and Latin America and distributing them to health-care workers and those without transportation, it's possible to completely transform communities and individuals. People now can travel 5 times as far for work, or visit 4 times as many patients, and children can attend schools that otherwise would be too far away. It's a great concept, and one that after a little research, I decided I wanted to get involved with. And so, living now in Fredericton, New Brunswick, I founded the Bicycles for Humanity New Brunswick chapter, which is funded by Adventure Cycle Experience. For each person who comes on a bike tour, $100 is donated to Bicycles for Humanity. This money goes straight into transportation costs for the bikes. It's all very cool, and something that I'm very excited to be a part of.

So finally, nearly 3 years after reaching Buenos Aires, it's come together. Being in New Brunswick, we are offering cycle tours of the beautiful Atlantic provinces of Canada for now. Maritime Cycle Tours, by Adventure Cycle Experience. And hopefully someday we'll be able to expand and offer tours throughout the amazing areas of Mexico and South America and I was able to see. But for now, the Maritimes are offering more than enough sensory enjoyment. So if you ever wanted to experience a bit of what Jeff and I were able to experience on our ride for HOPE, you've finally got your chance. We've got both camping tours and bed and breakfast tours available, for those seeking a little bit more comfort. And no camping in ditches or gas stations will be required.

We're starting off small, and hoping that word-of-mouth will help to get us started. So if any of you are interested in finding out more, or have any friends or family who might be interested - it would be so very much appreciated if you'd pass on the website, www.maritimecycletours.com. I also want to show my appreciation for those of you who followed us along on this blog as we cycled to Argentina. So I've got a special coupon code for anybody who reads this blog, or who you pass this along too. Anybody who puts 'HOPEBLOG50' in the comments section when booking will get an extra $50 off any tour.

I know we've used this blog for a few non-Canada-to-Argentina stories, so I will try not to take this over with Adventure Cycle Experience entries - however if you're interested in some more bike touring reading, I've started a new blog, located at: adventurecycleexperience.blogspot.com. Hopefully the entries will be entertaining, enjoyable, educational, and any other e-word you can think of. I'll be doing my best. You can subscribe to this new blog right here, and feel free to pass it on, if you're interested. Thanks for your continued support over the years.

9 Days Until Departure!

2011-07-30T13:34:00.000-07:00

It's crazy just how quickly this summer seems to be flying by. There's still so much to do, and it's going to be August in just a couple of days! As far as our Capital to the Coast trip, things are coming along. The biggest news since our last post is that we have a fifth rider joining us - Sam Ferrey, of Rocky Mountain House. Back before we were leaving for Argentina, we looked to Sam for a little inspiration, as we'd see him out cycling around town, much faster and more professional looking than us. He did way more training than we did, and he wasn't even training for anything. He just rides his bike a lot. And so despite being a late entry onto the Capital to the Coast team, we have a feeling he's going to be leading the pack, as since we started tracking our training kilometres he's been in the lead and hasn't looked back.

I wanted to thank everybody who sent us an email after that last blog entry - we had a few people tell us that they were definitely going to be making a micro-loan to our Kiva team, and we much appreciate that. As of this instant, we've got $625 loaned through our team, which is very exciting. We're over a third of the way to our goal! That being said, we've still got a ways to go, so if you haven't checked it out yet, now is a great time. You can visit out team site at http://www.kiva.org/team/capitaltothecoast - you just click "Join Team", and then decide who you'd like to make the loan to! The current repayment rate for all Kiva loans is 98.79%, and a lot of the local agencies that they use have a 100% repayment rate, so as of today I would say a micro-loan here might be a more secure investment than a US Treasury Bond. (No offence to any of our American readers).

As for the training, we haven't been doing quite as much as we had hoped, and so these 150 km days are going to be a pretty good challenge for most of us. But, we are very excited for hitting the road and seeing what our legs are able to do. Just 9 days until we leave. For those of you who would like to stay up-to-date as we ride, we'll be updating our Facebook page http://www.facebook.com/capitaltothecoast as we go. Just visit it and "like" us to get more info. Plus, it just is nice to be liked. So please, feel free to do that.

Sorry to interrupt your long weekend with instructions on what we'd like you to do, but whenever you have a minute, it would be great if you checked out our Kiva lending team at http://www.kiva.org/team/capitaltothecoast, and our Facebook page as well. :) Thanks, and have a great weekend!

Capital to the Coast 2011

2011-07-05T07:51:00.000-07:00

It's been almost two years since Jeff and I reached Argentina on our bikes. Two years is a long time to be sitting at home, re-living the adventure of a lifetime. I'll be honest - I miss riding my bike everyday. I miss that life. And since returning home Jeff and I have been talking a bit about our next 'great' adventure, maybe crossing Asia from Hong Kong to Istanbul, winding our way through the Central Asian republics, crossing 5000 metre passes in Tibet, experiencing the culture of Iran… But right now, that one is still in the planning phase, and won't be happening for a number of years. So for right now, in order to just remember what bicycle touring is all about, we decided to go on a little ride and see a part of our own country that we've never seen before. This summer we'll saddle up and ride from our national capital, Ottawa, to the Atlantic coast in Halifax. It's only a ride of 1500 km, which maybe we're taking a bit too lightly, but planning on riding in ten days of cycling. No marathon this time - just a nice little sprint.

And this time, it's not just Jeff and I. We've got two friends joining us. First is Chris Morshead of Ottawa. Chris and I became friends shortly after I arrived back from Argentina. He's the kind of guy who loves adventure and pushing himself. He convinced me to run a marathon relay with him, in February, without doing any training. Just to make it more challenging. He's that kind of guy. He's also got an honours degree in International Development, and an interest in the global side of things. A perfect fit for touring with us, we think. He's got no experience in cycle touring, but we have the feeling he's going to be out in front every day, pushing us on.

The second cyclist joining us is Paul Skinner, of Strathroy, Ontario. Paul is also enrolled in an honours program in International Development at the University of Ottawa, and seems to pretty much always be up for an adventure. Now I wasn't exactly sure how to introduce him- I've got three different ones planned out. I could tell you that we met Paul while on our ride for HOPE, in Ecuador - in fact, we even mentioned him in our blog entry "Climbing Cotopaxi (aka: The Hardest Day of Our Lives)". The line went something like this: "The Canadians came a little while later, and we learned that Paul had thrown up a number of times as well". We met at the refugio, halfway up Cotopaxi, in one of the most physically challenging days of our lives. We did happen to meet up again in Guayaquil, Ecuador a week or so later, where we went out together to watch some Champions League soccer. Or another way to introduce him would be as the brother of Laura and Sarah, the sisters who joined us and made cycling a lot more fun from Huaraz to Cuzco, Peru. You may remember a few blog entries with those girls mentioned once or twice… This time we've convinced their brother to come along, which we're sure he would have done back in Peru if his visit to South America had been a bit longer. Or finally the third way I could introduce him is as the younger brother of my girlfriend Laura. We've been together for just over two years now, and I thought it would be great to have her younger brother out biking with us for this trip.

See now if you can piece those three things together - you might find a nice little behing-the-scenes love story from ride for HOPE that happened without a real mention here on our blog, but actually makes quite the story…

Anyhow, we'll jump back to the present. Chris, Paul, Jeff and I are going to ride our bikes from Ottawa to Halifax, 1500 kms, in 10 days of cycling. We're excited for it. It's going to be a lot of fun - but we've decided again to make it more than that. Cycling from here to Argentina more than reinforced our desire to make a difference in the world and help fight poverty, which we're going to continue to do through this trip. This time we've partnered with Kiva, the largest micro-loan coordinators on the internet.

Micro-loans are a relatively new way of jump-starting development, which we all are big fans of. Entrepreneurs, whether it's an asparagus farmer in Peru or a weaver in Bangladesh, apply to a local micro-loan agency for a small amount of capital in order to start or expand their business, usually in the $500-$1200 range. These agencies help with a business plan, and loan the money. Then the profile of the entrepreneur gets posted on Kiva. This is where you come in. You visit the site, and read about the various entrepreneurs looking to build their business. You pick one, and with a few pecks at the keyboard, they have a loan! A loan of just $25 can be the difference between subsistence living, and growing a business to support a family and thrive. And the best part is that this is a loan. As part of the business plan, the entrepreneur will pay back the micro-loan, ensuring development in a sustainable manner. You then get the $25 (or $50, or $100) back in your account, and you can either put it back on your credit card, or lend it to somebody else, or just donate it to the Kiva organization, and get a tax receipt.

Basically, if you're going to have $25 sitting in your bank account this year, you might as well do this. That $25 could make all the difference to somebody else. And it doesn't cost you a thing.

You can find out a bit more information on our website for this trip www.capitaltothecoast.com, and you can make a loan through our Capital to the Coast team at Kiva. Just click "Join Team", create a profile, pick who you want to make a micro-loan to, and you're set! It's honestly very easy, and fun as well. I promise you, you'll enjoy this. And you'll want to do it again. As the loans come in we can see the progress our team is making, and we are sure that we'll have no problem reaching our goal of $1500, a dollar for every kilometre that we're riding.

I hope you're all doing well, and hopefully you'll enjoy coming along for the ride once again! We hope you'll join our team!

ride for HOPE Final Video

2010-09-03T09:21:00.000-07:00

Well hello there. It's been quite some time since we've put up a blog entry - we've had a bit of a cliffhanger going for almost a year now, in fact. Some of you may be wondering, did we in fact make it home? Was our surprise successful? Though the vast majority of you likely have forgotten all about us and our adventure already. It's crazy to think that it's been nearly a year since we arrived home after riding from Canada to Argentina.

But, we did in fact do it. We rode home from the Calgary airport in two days, sharing a wonderful meal and night with a stranger who offered us a place to stay halfway home. The next day we rode the rolling hills from Sundre to Rocky, excited and nervous. It was quite the shock to everybody when they arrived home from work and found us sitting in the backyard waiting. It was good.

So what's happened since then? Well, we held a fundraising presentation and silent auction in Rocky, and with everybody's amazing support, we were able to hit our $50,000 goal. Thank you. For every one of you who donated a dollar, who told a friend, or forwarded on our blog - thank you. You made this fundraising an incredible success. And since then, Jeff and I had to face the 'real-world' and the 'real-debt' that we were in personally after this trip, and so we've both been working, saving our pennies.

But, we haven't forgotten about our trip at all, and in fact we've been busying putting together a few presentations. Our most recent endeavour was building a short video of our trip - Canada to Argentina, in 12 minutes. Now we've told a lot of stories on here, but now you finally have a chance to see it with your own eyes. We'll let you see the landscapes, the people, and life on the road, all from the seat of our bicycles. The video was entered into Mountain Equipment Co-op's video competition, and we have a chance to win a $2000 gift card with it. We'll be the first to admit that by the time we got home we were ready to be leaving on another adventure, and so this gift card would go a long way to sending us from Hong Kong to Istanbul. Or wherever the next ride may be. So we're shamelessly asking you to visit the link and watch our video, and just as importantly - vote. Because every vote counts to get us through to the finals, and onto the road again.

Now I know we're a bit biased, but we think this video is awesome. And we're pretty sure you'll agree. Pretty crazy, and pretty sweet. Enjoy, vote, and pass it on. Thank you, and thank you all for your continued support throughout our 'ride for HOPE'.

Now click here to watch our video, and vote!!!

Or if the hyperlink doesn't work, copy and paste this address into the address bar:

http://www.mec.ca/Apps/sweetSpots/video_detail.jspFOLDER%3C%3Efolder_id=2534374302888275&mvs_id=569&activity_cd=cycl

The Finish Line - Buenos Aires

2009-09-25T11:45:00.000-07:00

Current Location: BUENOS AIRES, Argentina
Distance Cycled to Date: 19,048 km
Days Since Leaving Home: 379

And here it ends. After 379 days, Jeff and I cycled triumphantly into the city of Buenos Aires, the city we had left home aiming to reach over one year ago. We did it. We set a goal, and we achieved it. We rode our bikes from Rocky Mountain House, Alberta, to Buenos Aires, Argentina. We feel pretty darn good about that.

We had left home with the plan of finishing the trip in Buenos Aires, but along the way we felt the urge to keep going. To see more, and go further. We wanted to keep going throughout Argentina and Chile, spending 3 more months cycling, however, the reality of our financial situation started to show, and we decided we couldn't justify going on and on. No matter where we reached, we knew that we would want to go further - and so, we decided to finish this trip as planned, in the city of Buenos Aires, the capital of Argentina.

However, in making these plans, we decided not to tell anybody. Many of you may have had no idea how much longer we would be cycling, but the last that anybody had heard was that we wouldn't be home until December. We decided to keep it a secret, and surprise all of our family and friends. So as of right now, sitting in Buenos Aires just hours before leaving for our flight home, nobody even knows that we're in this city. It's been difficult keeping it a secret - we've spent 4 days here in Buenos Aires, celebrating ourselves, but unable to tell anybody else.

The cycling in our last week was, quite honestly, a little boring, scenery-wise at least. From Cordoba to Buenos Aires is nothing but flat farmland, which made for some long days. We weaved and wove down different rural roads, trying to find the balance between the least amount of traffic and the widest road. As much as the cycling was uneventful, every time we stopped we were met with such enthusiasm and hospitality that we couldn't help but love rural Argentina. Every gas station that we stopped at, we would get peppered with questions and encouragement and well-wishes. In one decent sized town, we were invited to be guests on their radio show, which gave us an opportunity to showcase our new Argentinean accent when we speak Spanish. We had initally thought we would be a complete joke to everybody listening, but we managed to follow the whole interview. What a difference since the last time we were interviewed back in Mexico! Following the radio show, we were met by a tv reporter, who asked if she could do a small story on us for the news as well. So our smiling faces and broken Spanish was seen and heard all over rural Argentina last week. We all had a great time with it. As we rode out of the town the usual amount of honks and waves was far surpassed, as everybody who had just heard us on the radio called something out to us. We're kind of minor celebrities around here. You know, not Messi or Maradona, but we've got our following.

The ride into Buenos Aires was, well, crazy. The closer we got to the city the more traffic picked up, until as we were finally entering the city the intensity of the traffic nearly mirrored our emotions. From single lane, to divided 4-lane, to finally 14 lanes of traffic, all on one freeway. With 4 to 6 lanes of service roads beside us. And overpasses and underpasses and 3 lanes merging here and a few more over there - it was kind of insane to be biking through. After we finally did arrive safely, I had remarked to Jeff that it was surprising that they allowed bicycles on there - and he told me that he had noticed 3 different 'no bicycles' signs that we had biked past. Understandable - that was no place to be riding a bike. (As a side note, we had been pulled over by police twice in the past week - once they made us get off the freeway leaving Cordoba, but the second time before Buenos Aires they let us keep going. We were pretty convincing that we knew what we were doing)

And so, we arrived in Buenos Aires. Down Avenida 9 de Julio, straight to the famous Obelisk seen on many postcards. We made it. It was a strange sensation, knowing that we had done it, both that we had reached our goal, and also that the trip was over. It didn't seem real at all, and it still doesn't, 4 days later. Tonight we'll board our plane, and return to Canada. It seems just unreal - it is unreal. (Also, Jeff adds - we're unreal)

However, we've managed to save a little bit of cycling for ourselves. Because in keeping this a secret, we haven't asked anybody for a ride home from the airport in Calgary - instead, we'll arrive home just like we left, on our bicycles. And so we'll have over 200 km of cycling back in Alberta, giving us time to think and reflect on everything we've seen and done in this past year. And then - I guess we'll just show up in our backyard, knock on the door, and walk in the house. Maybe ask what's for supper? We're not really sure just how this surprise will work, but we do know as much as we're sad that this trip is over, we are quite excited to be home. This year has certainly given us the opportunity to appreciate just what a great thing it is to be home.

We won't post this entry until we get back home, in order to keep this surprise in order. But there will be at least one more post, as we still have just a little more biking to go. And thus ends Canada to Argentina by bicycle. Now just a little post-trip cool-down ride to go.

Soccer, BBQs and Great Hospitality

2009-09-07T08:14:00.000-07:00

Current Location: Cordoba, Argentina
Distance Cycled to Date: 18,247 km
Flat Tires to Date: 60 (Keenan - 32, Jeff - 28)

While we're certainly still loving Argentina, we've yet to really find a cycling rhythm here. We go 120 km, then 204, then 25. The biking itself has been up and down - we had a fantastic tailwind a day out of Tucuman, which let us end the day with an average speed of 30 km/h. That made us decide to push for a 200 km day the next day out of Frias, however, the wind died down in the night making us do all the work ourselves. As the day went on the wind started to pick up again, but this time blowing straight at us. We managed to hit 200 km, and then found a spot to camp in the ditch, Mexico-style. Rather than dying down during the night, the wind only grew stronger and stronger, and the next day we could only average 11 km/h. We just never know what's coming next.

From Dean Funes, the wind continued to come straight from the south, making us work far more for every kilometre than we would have liked. And then the rain started. It had been so long since we biked in a real rain storm that we hardly knew what to do - until this point we realized we've only had 2 days of rain in South America. Somehow we've just kept getting sunny days, until now. Biking into Cordoba in the rain was a fun adventure, as it was probably the most adreneline pumping cycling that we've had since Guayaquil, back in Ecuador. With traffic and pedestrians everywhere, and a city that stretches and stretches forever, we just dodged potholes and puddles and buses and taxis in the rain for what seemed like forever. (Also, I had to go to the bathroom soooo bad - that could have been contributing to the stressfulness of the situation).

We had planned to stay in Cordoba for a couple of days, one of the main reasons being that we wanted to be here for the Argentina vs. Brazil World Cup Qualifying match. We had met somebody from the city in a gas station a week before, and he invited us to his house to watch the game when we were in the city. We couldn't turn down an offer like that, so when we got into Cordoba we made arrangements to head over to his house. It turned out he lives in a beautiful house in a great neighbourhood, and all sorts of family friends had been invited over for the game, and a big traditional Argentine barbeque afterwards. It was one of those nights that we'll likely never forget, as we were treated like old friends by everybody there, and got to eat and drink like Argentineans. Cups of shared mate, the traditional herb-tea that everybody drinks, glasses of wine, meat fresh off of a fire-grill, and even a few people who spoke perfect English to help with translating if our Spanish started to fail us. Despite Argentina losing the match, everybody was in high spirits still as we started dinner at 11. (Yeah - 11 pm!). It wasn't until nearly 3 am that everybody finally finished up with dessert and coffee, and was ready to head back home. A great experience all around.

We also got a chance to meet a group of 23 (23!) cyclists on an organized, supported tour from Brazil to Ecuador. It was great to talk to so many different cyclists from such different backgrounds - and made us a bit jealous! Every day a bus carries all their gear, and they have a cook to make them breakfast, lunch and supper! However, they don't get to camp in any ditches, so both ways of tourings seems to have their pros and cons. We've gotten a chance to explore Cordoba a bit by foot, and we're enjoying every minute of this cosmopolitan city. We had planned to leave already, but we somehow find ourselves going to bed waaay later than we ever did before Argentina, and we decided to take another day to try to catch up on some sleep.

It's been a great stay in a great city - and despite sounding like a broken record - we're still loving this country. (If they only put a shoulder on the road, it probably would be the perfect cycling destination...) But - we don't like to complain too much. We're loving it. If only it never had to end...

A Year on the Road

2009-09-01T07:10:00.000-07:00

Current Location: Dean Funes, Argentina
Distance Cycled to Date: 18,092 km
Longest Distance in a Single Day: 204 km
Length of Time Since Leaving Home: 1 Year

It was exactly one year ago that we first packed our panniers, trying to figure out just how to attach everything to our bicycles as our family and some close friends watched. We had announced months beforehand that we would be leaving September 1st, and so that morning, despite never having ridden our bikes fully loaded, we were going to leave. It was a morning of emotional goodbyes as we set to leave everybody behind and ride our bicycles to Argentina. As we wobbled down the street, with Jeff nearly tipping over into a car while trying to quickly wave goodbye, I'm sure that a number of those watching secretly questioned just how far we would make it, and wondered when the phonecall to come pick us up would come in.

And yet somehow we just continued to ride. We started out the trip with freezing nights, rain and sleet, but just kept going, with Argentina as our destination. Looking back now, in some ways it's hard to even imagine us being those same people that left home one year ago. From thinking that the Sunwapta Pass was an incredibly long climb, to digging around through every pannier, taking over an hour to fix a flat tire. As we left we didn't really know what we were getting into, and to be quite honest, I'm not sure we imagined just how much fun we would have every day.

The other day I was talking to my cousin Adam online, and he remarked that he was surprised at how little trouble we seem to have had throughout this trip. And it's true - we hate to admit it, but this whole trip has been much easier than we would have guessed. Maybe it's in our short memories and senses of humour, but for the most part, this really isn't that hard at all. We just get up everyday, and ride our bikes. Some days are more difficult than others, but at the end of every day we just find a place to sleep, eat a meal, and relive the good parts while forgetting about the bad. And then the next day start over again. Taking it one day at a time, anybody could do this. It's just riding a bike.

When we left home we were in no shape to ride a bike 100 kms every day. It didn't stop us from trying, but we still remember clearly day number 3, when we could hardly walk because our muscles were so stiff. But we've come a long way since then, finally becoming finely tuned cycling machines. (We've been looking for a way to fit the phrase 'finely tuned cycling machines' for a few months now. Puya!)

With over a year of fundraising done, we're hoping to be closing in on our goal of $50,000. We will have some one-year numbers from HOPE International within the next few days, and we'll let you know just how close we are. We also wanted to wish good luck to everybody participating in this year's Father Bonner Charity Golf Tournament in Edmonton, with all proceeds going to our HOPE International project in the Dominican Republic. We're hoping you can have a weekend of weather as fabulous as we've been enjoying down here, cycling in Argentina.

It's still hard to believe that we've been going for one year already. The trip's not quite over yet, but as it winds down and we pass this one-year mark, we're enjoying reminiscing. We're feeling good. One year later, and biking's still a whole lot of fun.

Loving Argentina

2009-08-27T07:35:00.000-07:00

Current Location: San Miguel de Tucumán, Argentina
Distance Cycled to Date: 17,654 km
Average Price Paid for a Bottle of Argentinian Wine: $3 Canadian

Our 'rest' day in Salta seemed to be anything but restful, as we got our rims trued, found a laundrymat to remove the dogfood smell from our socks (though it sure didn't take long for that smell to return!), wrote a blog, put up a photo album, bought groceries, searched for an adaptor so that we could use their crazy electrical outlets in this country, and then had to pick up our bikes and laundry. It might not actually sound like much, but it kept us going from breakfast until after 11 pm, when we finally could sit down and eat some supper. (We're getting into the crazy Argentinian custom of eating supper at what should be way past bedtime. We don't know how they are able to do it here).

We left Salta and headed towards Cafayate, the wine capital of northern Argentina. We were excited to get there and bike through the vineyards, and were suprised at the amazing canyon scenery along the way. As we rode along the river we found ourselves surrounded by red rock walls and spectacular rock formations. As tour buses would pass us with cameras pressed against the windows, we would remind each other just how great it is to be travelling by bicycle and getting to enjoy it all. And then, we'd continue pedaling uphill with our hundred pound bikes...

Cafayate ended up being quite the touristy little town, full of hotels and restaurants and artisan shops. We found ourselves the backyard of a hostel to camp in, and decided to splurge and enjoy a good steak dinner. And wow - was it ever delicious. I don't think we can even describe just how tender, juicy and succulent that steak was, and how it was just so perfectly paired with the 2006 Malbec Reserve. No, we won't be able to give that meal justice at all. But it was fantastic. In hindsight, we should have taken the next day off to explore a vineyard and try to repeat the success of that night´s meal, but instead we got up early and started off again, hoping for another long day of cycling along smooth highways.

It turns out that not every highway in Argentina is great pavement. In fact, as we made our way in the general direction of Córdoba, you would be hard pressed to call the highway pavement in places. But we bounced along, making slightly slower progress than planned. And then after having lunch at a great gas station in Amaicha del Valle (picnic tables, water fountain, and wifi? Yep!) we started a slow, long climb. We had thought once we left Bolivia we were out of the mountains for awhile, but turns out they still have ranges other than the Andes down here. Up up up we went, hoping to camp at the summit but failing to make it there before dark. It was looking a bit dicey as far as campspots go, but before it got too dark and too cold, a nice flat spot opened up, with a path leading down to it from the highway. We were in full view of the road, but for some reason being in Argentina just makes us feel safe.

The next day the poor pavement continued as we made our way up to the summit at over 3000 metres, and then rather than turning into something smooth, it disappeared and turned into gravel! Not what we had hoped for from this downhill. But we just kept going, Bolvian style, bouncing down the washboard, until finally at the town of Tafí del Valle the pavement returned. We decided to stop in the town to use the internet, and then found a campground, a supermarket... and decided to call it a day.

From Tafí, the downhill we had been hoping for really started, and we flew from 2000 metres down to 400, where a nice smooth shoulder started for the rest of the way to Tucumán, where we now find ourselves. We've got another Casa de Ciclistas, and a city where we found our first Tenedor Libre, or all-you-can-eat meat buffet. We visited last night after patiently waiting for it to open at 8:30, and then started as soon as they said go. We ate a ton of deep-fried somethings, and turkey, and chicken, and sausage, and cheese and olives, waiting and waiting for the grilled meat to be ready. And we kept eating and eating, drinking our Coke and eating some more until finally at 10 the grill still wasn't ready and we could hardly walk. It was a disappointing night in that we didn't get any steak, but for under $4 Canadian, you couldn't really complain too much. Next time we'll practise some restraint, and hopefully, just maybe, enjoy some more of that Argentinian steak.

A Last (kinda bitter) Taste of Bolivia and A First (pretty sweet) Taste of Argentina

2009-08-21T18:55:00.000-07:00

Current Location: Salta, Argentina
Distance Cycled to Date: 17,231 km
Photos Taken to Date: 12,611
Countries Visited to Date: 13
Days Since Leaving Home: 355

Did you see our current location just up there? Salta, Argentina. Argentina. That's in the subtitle to our website, the name of our blog, and on every card we hand out. Canada to Argentina by bicycle. And now we're here. Kind of crazy. We're in Argentina. Just wanted to point that out. You know, pat ourselves on the back a little bit. We're in Argentina.

We left off being kinda sick in Uyuni, back in Bolivia. It wasn't the greatest, but it gave us the opportunity to meet 3 other American touring cyclists who rolled into town a day after us. It was good to have some English-speaking company, and they also timed their arrival perfectly, as I had just learned that I had a broken spoke and was searching for a chain-whip in order to fix it. They had just the tool I needed, and within 15 minutes of them getting into town I was all set to ride again. We've had a pretty good amount of 'coincidences' like that, that continually let us keep riding without issue.

After 3 days in Uyuni, we started south, on what we had heard was a pretty poor road. I don't think we have enough of a vocabulary to explain just how bad it was. We're both pretty positive guys, and having a good sense of humour had let us get through this trip while enjoying every day. Well, we finally got to the point where we had a few days we didn't enjoy, no matter how we tried to look at it. The washboard, the sand, the impossibly steep grades - it all added up to two quite disgusted Canadian cyclists. As one other British cyclist wrote in his blog (which we read only after we had finished the route), 'journey's don't get any harder than this'. That just about sums it up.

But as we got within a few kilometres of Tupiza the landscape started to change, and we did enjoy the canyons and rock formations as we bounced along the washboard. We enjoyed a much-needed rest day in Tupiza, where our hotel room carried cable tv, and we got to see a couple episodes of Arrested Development on an Argentinian channel. Not only did that improve our moods considerably, but it also raised our opinions of Argentina considerably. They have pavement, cheap steak and wine, drinkable tap water - and - they watch Arrested Development? This may just be the ideal country for us. We decided we would make it there in just one more day of riding.

It was a long, tiring, and difficult day of riding, but we got to the border town of Villazon just after the sun set. Unfortunetly arriving so late on a Sunday all the money-changers were closed, so we entered Argentina without a peso, and hoped dearly to find an ATM and finally eat our first Argentinian steak. We rode around La Quiaca in the dark, amazed at everything. We had only crossed a river, but this was the biggest change for us in a border crossing since leaving San Diego 10 months ago. We found an ATM, found ourselves a steak covered in fried eggs with a second plate of fries (perfect!), and slept in a comfortable bed made for a normal size person. We made it to Argentina.

The happy welcome was short-lived however, as the next few days would involve riding along the very Bolivian-mimicking altiplano, with incredible winds that seemed determined to send us back to Bolivia. We would have none of that though, and fought on, and finally downhill, against the raging storm. At times it felt like a sandblaster was being shot towards us, and I was sure when I looked down at my uncovered legs that the combination of wind and sand would have worn the skin right off. I guess the storm wasn't quite as strong as my imagination however, and my skin remained. It was more than a little dangerous to bike through though, as the gusts would send us out into traffic, and we'd fight to get back to the narrow white line. We did outlive the storm, and when the wind finally died down after a few days, we had some lovely sunshine and a great single-lane paved road leading us from Jujuy to Salta.

We had planned to stay at our second Casa de Ciclistas here in Salta, and after receiving an email with directions from Ramon, the host of this casa, we found the place perfectly. And now we're enjoying being in civilization. Shopping malls, fast food, cafes and clothing stores - we are constantly craning our necks around in amazement, asking each other where are we? We're in Argentina, and we're loving it.

And now that we're out of Bolivia, we have our Bolivian photo album ready to go. Check out that amazing Salar, and those brutal roads. And that's Bolivia for you. At times it left us shaking our heads in wonder, and at other times just shaking our heads in disgust. We're glad we went there, but we're also very glad to be out of there right now. We hope you enjoy the fruits of our labour.

The Salar de Uyuni - Pure Awesomeness

2009-08-15T19:28:00.000-07:00

Current Location: Tupiza, Bolivia
Distance Cycled to Date: 16,752 km
Kilometres left until we reach Argentina: 85
Amount of Salt contained on the Salt Flat: 10 billion tons

The Salar is awesome. We just thought we'd start out with that. Before coming to Bolivia, we had read lots about how terrible the roads are and how difficult the cycling is. Some cyclists skip it completely, heading from Peru straight into Chile - however, we wanted to see the salt flats. That was really the only reason we came to Bolivia. And so we were very excited to be leaving Salinas and heading out to something we had been looking forward to since leaving home.

We realize lots of you already know all about the Salar de Uyuni, but for those of you who might not - it's basically 12,000 square km of flat, hard salt. It was once a giant lake, thousands of years ago - and from the edges, it still looks like a giant lake. The salt crystals form all kinds of different designs on the surface, some hexagons and pentagons like a soccer ball, and sometimes just bumps like a frozen pond. We don't really know any of the science behind any of this... but it's pretty sweet. Picture a wide open frozen lake, so big you can't see the edges. And the ice isn't slippery. That's what it was like. When we get our photo album of Bolivia up, you'll get a chance to see just how awesome it is. We have some sweet photos... you just have to wait to see them. But it will be worth the wait - for now you'll just have to use our inadequite words to imagine it.

We left Salinas with our water bottles filled with Tampico citrus punch, due to the unavailability of bottled water, and started towards the nearest 'ramp' to get onto the Salar. The edges of the Salar are pretty soft, wet salty stuff, so you need to find an established ramp to get onto the hard stuff. We found one about 20 km from Salinas, and biked towards the blinding white Salar. Even with the ramp, we still ended up biking through a whole lot of wet salt slush, which we're pretty sure wasn't too good for our bikes, but after a kilometre or so, we were onto the salt. We looked around, and didn't really know where to go. It was flat and wide open, as far as you could see. Luckily the Danish cyclist we met the day before, Martin, had a GPS with the island in the middle of the Salar programmed in, so we turned the direction his GPS told us to, and started biking.

We biked and biked, stopping a few times to take pictures, and once to talk to a group of Dutch tourists who we thought could be walking across the Salar, but turns out were being picked up by a couple jeeps any minute. So we kept riding, and it seemed like we made hardly any progress at all - miles went by without the landscape progressing, and finally, after hours went by riding along the featurless salar, we arrived at Isla Incahuasi, the cacti studded island with a restaurant, and a refuge for cyclists to sleep in. The three of us had a great dinner of steak sandwiches and llama burgers while all the other tourists had to leave the island and head back to the 'mainland', and then had a great sleep in the roomy refuge with great views of the sun sinking into the salar. Yep, being a cyclists certainly has its advantages.

The next day we seperated from Martin, with us heading to Uyuni and some supposedly great pizza, and him heading down towards Chile over a different route. So we started east, finding a well marked trail that we hoped would lead us to Uyuni. We stopped after just 35 km when we spotted some dislodged slabs of salt that we thought could work well as seats while we ate lunch. Some had already been pulled up, and we arranged them into a nice bench to sit on while we ate our peanut butter sandwiches. As we were eating and looking around at all the brick-like slabs, we thought to ourselves - we could build a fort out of this stuff! And so, we did. And it was awesome. The entire salar is one flat, featureless landscape except for one or two hotels that have been built near the edges, out of salt. And now, there is also one fort, 35 km east of the Isla Incahuasi. It started small, with us making a circle of bricks, and then building up. It was like building a snow fort out of hard chunks of snow, except that it was pretty warm during the day, and nothing would melt. It kept getting bigger and bigger, and we worked out how to get a roof on top of it. It sort of became a salt igloo, but a very solid, and well built one. We are pretty much first-rate engineers when it comes to salt construction.

After finishing in only 3 hours, we decided after putting in so much effort, we might as well sleep in it as well. So we built a little 'yard' for it, and redesigned our chairs outside, and it became quite the homely little place. It was probably the most fun we've had on this entire trip.

That night we pulled out our sleeping bags and thermarests inside, and while the temperature plunged far below zero once again outside, inside we were kept nice and warm. Hardly even below zero in there! The next morning we left a note and some sheets of paper to create a mini-logbook inside, and put them in a ziplock bag, along with our website and email address. So hopefully, maybe someday, we'll hear from somebody else who spent a night in the igloo. It might even be sooner than we expected, because the next morning as we were reaching the edge of the Salar, a tour group in a jeep stopped beside us, and asked if it was us that built the igloo. They stopped to take pictures, and thought it was fantastic. We couldn't have been happier.

We ate lunch in Colchani, just off the salt flats, where we found out every tourist group heading out to the Salar stops. We could hardly get any of our sandwiches down, as we were constantly approached by people asking us about our trip. It was another celebrity moment for us, that was actually pretty fun. We gave out a lot of cards with our website, and hopefully it can work out to a few more site visits, and a few more donations as well.

Minuteman Pizza in Uyuni was a place we had heard of while we were still in the US, from other cyclist's blogs. It was supposed to be some of the best pizza in South America, so we were anxious to give it a try. Turns out to be true - it was excellent. The first night off the Salar, we went in and ate 2 large pizzas, and polished off 3 litres of Coke that night as well. It's fun having a cylist's appetite. We planned to take a rest day and get up a blog the next day, but when a strong wind and dust storm hit town, the electricity was out all day long. We discovered that we use electricity for pretty much everything we like to do on a rest day - that is eat at restaurants, and use the internet - so it was a pretty poor day. And then the next day Jeff got sick, so we stayed one more day. And then the next day I was sick, so we stayed one more. We had difficulty deciding what route we would take from Uyuni - but finally, we decided to head down to Tupiza and straight to Argentina. It was the most direct route, and to be completely honest, we both were quite anxious to get to Argentina. We've likely built it up in our minds to be far better than a country ever could be - but we're tired of constantly being sick, searching for half-decent food, and dealing with these kinds of roads. So - after a couple surprise rest days, we found the road heading south.

The Salar was awesome - the days that followed it weren't. So, rather than taint this entry with that negativety, we'll have to save that for the next entry. Soon we'll catch up to where we are. And speaking of catching up - we finally have our Southern Peru album ready to go. If you don't remember, we spent a few weeks travelling around with our parents, hence the many non-cycling photos. But they're still pretty sweet, so we thought we'd share them. Enjoy.

A First Taste of Bolivia

2009-08-09T07:10:00.001-07:00

Current Location: Uyuni, Bolivia
Distance Cycled to Date: 16,538 km
Flat Tires to Date: 58 (Keenan - 32, Jeff - 26)
Coldest night while camping to date: -15 C

It's been awhile since we entered Bolivia, and in the past couple weeks we've done some pretty sweet things and seen some pretty cool stuff - probably too much to even fit into one blog entry, so we'll fill you in until we got to the Salar de Uyuni, a few days ago.

It was a beautiful ride out of Copacabana, up and down a few hills, along Lake Titicaca (which is, did you know, the highest navigable lake in the world?). Every piece of literature about Lake Titicaca mentions that it's the highest navigable lake in the world. Do you know what that means? We don't exactly - we even looked it up online, but found a pretty poor defintion - but we did find out that we sure do like saying it. Navigable. Navigable. Try saying it out loud - it's pretty fun. We entertained ourselves for hours while biking by saying both 'navigable' and 'Titicaca'. Pretty good times.

That afternoon we both started to feel a little off, so after reaching Huatajata, and the only cheap hotel that we knew of between Copacabana and La Paz, we decided to call it a night. After seeing some traditional reed boats used on the lake and eating a fresh trout supper, we went to bed around our usual time of 8. But, it wasn't a great night, as something I ate started to fight back, and I spent most of the night in the bathroom outside. Not fun at all. And the next morning, I still didn't have the energy do anything other than move between my bed and the bathroom, and so we decided to stay one more day. On the plus side, it let me recover, and gave us a chance to meet two more British cyclists that happened to stay at the hotel the next night, heading north. But the bad side to it was that it left us pretty much out of money. We had changed over all our excess Peruvian soles at the Bolivian border, but after two unexpected hotel nights, it left us with 10 Bolivianos, or about $1.30 to get us the 90 km or so to La Paz.

So, leaving the next morning we ate a few of the granola bars that our parents had brought for us in Cuzco, and set out in the freezing weather. The sky was cloud-covered, our first poor weather day in a long time, which meant that the temperature hovered around 4 degrees most of the day. Add in a little wind, and an uphill to 4100 metres, and it meant that our fingers and toes would be alternate between numbness and shooting pain all day long. We stopped around lunchtime at a roadside restaurant, and worked out a deal to get 2 cups of coffee and 2 pieces of bread for 3 Bolivianos. Not bad at all, though not quite as filling a lunch as a cyclist really should have.

We fought the crazy traffic through El Alto, the sprawling suburb perched 500 metres above La Paz, and then sped past the 'No Ciclistas' sign on the freeway, downhill into the city. Snow and sleet started to fall as we crested the rim of the canyon, and that familiar feeling in our fingers and toes remained. We stayed for two days in La Paz in a youth hostel in the city centre, and enjoyed some good hamburgers, pastries, and the company of backpackers from all over the world. Then, we rode back past another 'No Ciclistas' sign onto the freeway, and started the slow ascent back up to El Alto, and onto the rest of Bolivia.

The first 360 km or so out of La Paz were paved, so we planned to keep up a good pace, and get through the pavement in 3 days. And so - we did just that. The first few kilometres through El Alto were some of the craziest city traffic we've biked in - our heartrate was kept at a maximum as we wove our way around collectivos, biking in whatever lane of the 4 lanes of traffic that we wanted. we were constantly being cut off, and cutting off in turn - and all in all, it was actually pretty fun. But it finally died down and turned into a paved highway with a narrow shoulder, and so we put in our ipods and just biked along the relatively boring, flat-ish landscape for 3 straight days. (Ok, so we stopped to sleep in there too. But it all was pretty much the same). The possible highlight of those 3 days were that we biked along Lake Poopo, and into the town of Poopo itself. They just have great lake names here! Sure, we're closing in on our mid-20s, but we sure think Lake Titicaca and Lake Poopo are pretty funny. That was more entertainment for us.

After the town of Challapata our pavement ended and the road split, and our photocopied map that we picked up in Copacabana became increasingly useless. We stopped to ask a lot of people which was the road to Huari, or Quillacas, or Llica - whichever town they might know. Even the police weren't entirely sure, which made us question a bit just what kind of road we were planning on taking. We made it to Huari (on what actually was a paved road - how did the police not know where that road was?), and then had some difficulty finding the next road. They don't seem to use road signs here, so every time the road splits in a Y you kind of wonder which way to go. So it became a guessing game, and luckily we did pretty well. Finally one of our choices led us to a field, where the road became little more than a set of tire tracks through sand, so we thought our streak of correct choices was over - but then a truck came by, and when we asked him which way it was to Quillacas, he told us straight ahead, and in fact, he was going there as well. So we set off on the sand tracks, and the trail quickly became a 'Choose Your Own Adventure' game. Do you want option a) bone-rattling washboard, or option b) thick sand that feels like riding along a beach? Or of course, there was always option c) just go overland, dodging clumps of grass through the fields. Sometimes it worked the best, or sometimes not at all. You just never know! It was a fun little game, where sometimes Jeff and I would be hundreds of metres apart on different trails, racing each other, hoping to find the best route.

We spent a night in a hotel in the village of Quillacas, where this time we were warned before taking the room that there was no bathroom, no water, no shower. 'Is there a public bathroom in the town?' we asked. 'No,' was the reply, 'but you can pee...' and he ended the sentence with a wave of the hand down the street. Well, just so long as neither of us had to go bano bano, as we've come to calling number 2, we would be fine. We walked around the town in the evening looking for some supplies, and we were told that the next morning at 8 am, the president would be in town. The President of Bolivia. It seemed hard to believe, but they were setting up a stage, and it seemed to be the word on the street. We thought it would be pretty cool to meet El Presidente himself, so after a poor night's sleep in a bed made for a hobbit, we got up, packed up, and made our way to the town plaza. But by 8:30, there was still no sign of the president, hardly any people in the plaza either, and the fact that we hadn't gone 'bano bano' yet was starting to urge us to get moving out of town. So we decided to give up on Evo showing himself (that's the president), and we got on our bikes and got moving, and found a nice mound of dirt outside of town.

And just as we started biking away, we saw a helicopter flying towards the town - the first helicopter we've seen in South America. So what do you know - the president really was showing up. But we had places to go, and it was uphill to go back to town, so we kept going, making good time on a much-improved road. Until that is, we came to a bridge under construction, crossing a pretty wide river. With a lot of snow and ice in it. We looked around and took quite some time discussing all our options - the riverbed looked too rocky to ride across with our narrow tires, so we decided that was out. Our best choice would be to wait for a truck to come and get him to ferry us across, but after waiting nearly half an hour with no traffic coming our way, we decided we'd have to take off our shoes and socks and walk (or run) our bikes across the freezing river. I thought it was kind of funny. (Jeff on the other hand didn't really think so). So, I volunteered to go first, and after tying my shoes to my bike and stuffing my two pairs of socks in my handlebar bag (it was still freezing cold out), I started across. Through the snow. Across the sharp rocks with the nearly frozen water running over my ankles. And then onto the thin ice, with my bare feet breaking through, the ice cutting me on the way, and the heavy bicycle sliding around on the ice, before finally breaking through and having to cut through the ice as I pushed it, trying to gain traction under the running water on the rocks.

It wasn't fun. I got a little over halfway across and the pain in my feet was so intense I wanted to stop and cry. But, that didn't really seem like a worthwhile plan at all, so I just kept going. And then - of course - a pickup truck came, heading the opposite direction as us. And as he drove across the river he rolled down his window and asked if the water was hot. I wasn't really in any state of mind to start joking with anybody, so I just told him that I was almost across, but if it would be possible to take my brother across the river, that would be very nice. He looked over at Jeff on the other bank, and said 'of course!', and then proceeded to drive across, help Jeff load his bike in the truck, and drive back across the river - all while I continued to fight my way through the ice and snow.

We got to the bank around the same time, and then I spent a half hour or so trying to warm up my feet and regain the ability to move my toes, but without too much success. Jeff then finally agreed, 'yeah, that was actually pretty funny'. I tried to laugh...

The rest of the next two days we spent playing Choose Your Own Adventure, and alternating between fantastic new gravel, and terrible old washboard. After a night of camping where the temperature reached -15 and I sincerely questioned the -12 rating that somebody gave our sleeping bags, we made it to Salinas, where we planned to stock up on supplies and spend the night before heading out for 3 days on the Salar de uyuni, the largest salt flat in the world. We reached the town early, and began a thorough search of all the tiny stores in the town for baked goods, yoghurt, and water. We found some stale-ish cakes and a lot of mini-bags of yoghurt drinks, but we found out, much to our surprise, that they don't sell bottles of water in the town.

We did however come across another touring cyclist, Martin, from Denmark. He had left La Paz the same day as us, and had been just a little behind us for a week. People kept telling him that there were two cyclists just ahead of him, so he kept pushing and finally caught up to us. So we all spent the night at the same hotel, and planned to head out to the island in the middle of the Salar together the next day. Unfortunetly, none of us had water besides the 2 litres that Jeff and I still had from a few days before, so we stocked up on Tampico Citrus Punch, and Martin bought a few bottles of Coke, and we all hoped that we'd have enough liquids to get us across the salt flats to Uyuni where we could re-stock. And so we went to bed with possibly enough food, definitely not enough water, and a lot of excitement about reaching the Salar, a place we'd been excited to cycle across since long before leaving home.

We decided the Salar is worth it's own blog entry - and we don't want to bore you by making this too long. So, you'll have to wait just a few days to find out just what this Salar is all about, and just how much fun it was biking across drinking nothing but citrus punch!

Also, we finally got on our horse and updated our Central Peru photo albums. We took a ton of pictures there, some pretty sweet ones even, so we put them up in two different albums. Check out Central Peru I and Central Peru II here.

Overall Rating of Peru - 'Best of Trip Finalist'

2009-07-24T16:25:00.000-07:00

Current Location: Copacabana, Bolivia
Distance Cycled to Date: 15,694 km
Number of different hotels stayed in in Peru: 33
Average cost of hotel room in Peru: C$4.41 pp
Distance cycled in Peru: 3,115 km
Days spent in Peru: 95 (We took a lot of days off...)
Fine for overstaying our visa in Peru: $30

After more than 3 months, we finally left Peru yesterday. It was both sad, and exciting, as we left a country that continually tried us, but we loved nonetheless. Peru was a country full of warm, welcoming people, who with every village we would pass through or farm we would pass by would call out and wave, giving us smiles and more attention than we've ever received. Children would run along beside us, (and sometimes old men as well), calling out greetings and encouragement. The scenery was everchanging and always fascinating, from the flat, empty deserts of the north, to mountains that dwarf any we've cycled in yet. With every corner the scenery would change, from the freezing cold mountain passes to the hot, dry valleys lined with cacti. We climbed and climbed, we experienced far worse roads that we knew existed, and in the end, we loved every day of it.

As we pass from Peru to Bolivia, we go from one country steeped in poverty to another. One thing we won't be able to forget is how face-to-face with poverty we come, every day. Every day we cycle wearing two pairs of gloves, and various layers made by top of the line western brands, all designed to keep us warm and active. And we wear these layers as we pass children wearing nothing more than hand-me-down sweaters, their feet hardly covered by homemade sandals, made from recycled tires, and hands that already are scarred with frostbite. We manage to start cycling every morning after letting our tent defrost, or wait for the sun to start shining before leaving our hotel - and every morning the fields are full of Peruvians, leading their oxen by hand to till their tiny plot of land, or cutting their wheat by hand, carrying it on their backs.

We've biked nearly 16,000 km, and some days we question what it is that keeps us going. But cycling through the areas we are, we can see just how easy our life is compared with so many others. We ride a bike for fun, and at the end of this adventure, we'll be returning to our warm houses in Canada, a wardrobe full of clothes we'll never need to wear, and almost anything we could ask for. We ride our bikes, while these people work from sunrise to sunset, returning to their mud-brick huts at the end of the every day.

And yet, here in Peru we've seen more smiling faces than anywhere. Old men and women, their backs permanently stooped from carrying so much weight on it every day of their lives always come and shake our hands, and welcome us to their villages. We are met with dignity, and self-respect everywhere we go. As we've moved further south, the fundraising that we've taken on with this ride is something that we think about daily. It's nearly impossible not to connect the mountainous farming region in the Dominican Republic and the mountainous farming regions that we continually pass through. And to know that we have the ability to make a difference in these peoples lives, in people living in these circumstances is something that is both intimidating, and exciting.

We're very happy to report that ride for HOPE has now raised $23,300 for the project of rebuilding irrigation systems and community greenhouses in the Dominican Republic. We are nearly halfway towards our goal of $50,000, and that is something to be excited about! Thank you - it's your support, and your dollars, that are going towards making a real and tangible difference in peoples lives. Thank you to everybody to has already donated - and we know there are a lot of you. If you haven't - when will be a better time than now? Visit our project page on our website to find out more information, and the donate page to learn how you can make a difference right now. And for all of you who are out there telling your friends, your co-workers and your family - keep it up. Your support likely means more than you'll ever know.

For us, tomorrow we'll begin our adventure in Bolivia, heading first to La Paz, and then further south. We really don't know what to expect, as this is the country that we know the least about. Every map we look at is different, towns have ceased to exist, and the roads are supposed to be the worst on the continent. And so, naturally we're quite excited about what's around the corner.

You've raised $23,300! Almost half way there! Keep it up! We'll keep on cycling, and let you know how Bolivia looks as soon as we can.

Peruvian Political Problems Part II; and, our Triumphant Entry into Cuzco

2009-07-16T18:10:00.000-07:00

Current Location: Cuzco, Peru
Distance Cycled to Date: 15,152km
Number of Days since we left home: 319

We spent the night in a hotel in Andahuaylas, the four of us re-united, but all uncertain how and if we would be able to leave the city the next day due to the strikes and roadblocks. We had 6 days until we needed to be in Cuzco, and we knew it would be at least 5 full cycling days, and we hoped to still be able to take a rest day in Abancay, since Jeff and I had biked 6 straight days over 4 different 4000 metre passes. We didn't have much choice other than to keep cycling, as a bicycle seemed to be the best bet at getting through the roadblocks. And so we packed our bags, and started out, searching for the gravel road that would lead us to Abancay, and the paved highway to Cuzco.

We slowly started the nearly 2000 metre climb out of Andahuaylas, passing numerous small villages and people working their tiny plots of land that seem to surround the road as it heads up to dizzying heights. Like the days coming into Andahuaylas, leaving town we were bombarded with warnings of the roadblocks. We couldn't pass, we were told, time and time again. But we had to just keep biking, and so we always responded with smiles and waves, and hoped that our charm could get us through any difficult situations. We thought we might have some trouble when a motorcycle passed us, and then 10 minutes later came back from the opposite direction, and stopped to tell us that we couldn't pass ahead. If even a motorcycle couldn't get through, we might have some trouble. As we kept going and came around a corner, we saw another truckload of people, with men stretched out across the road, blocking the entire thing. I didn't know what to say, or what to expect as we rode up to them - but as it turned out, we were greeted again with our usual 'gringo', and they parted to let us through. Phew.

As we kept biking, truckloads and truckloads of men and women with Peruvian flags would come down the road, heading the opposite direction as us, and everytime somebody from the truck would call out in Spanish that we couldn't pass, then somebody that they will kill us ahead, and then finally in English somebody would call out "Hello! My name is!". They never would finish the sentence with their name - just 'my name is!'. It seems the English program in rural Peru still has a few steps to go. But anyway - the combination of death threats and friendly smiles was confusing for us, and we weren't exactly sure what we should be feeling... but we just kept going.

Even though Sarah had had a few days off to try to recover from some sort of stomach bug, it hadn't quite been enough, as she wasn't feeling very well from the start of the day. It continued to get worse, and even though she tried to just keep going at a very slow pace, it was clear that she was suffering. And so, after only 30 km, we called it a day when we found an amazing campsite with views of jagged peaks and fertile valleys in nearly all directions. We were close to the top of the pass, but still had close to 120 km to do the next day to get to Abancay, 100 of which was on gravel - and included a whole lot of trip climb, and of course the possibility that we wouldn't make it through the next set of roadblocks. However, everybody was up for the challange, and so after a nice long sleep from sunset to sunrise, we got up and packed quickly, not even waiting for the frost to melt off our tents, and set off to see how close we could get to reaching our goal.

The scenery continued to impress us, and even though we were biking at high altitude, up a mountain on a poor road, it was still a great time. Sarah was feeling better, and we were making good time. We reached the top of the pass and started the descent without a single death threat. It was looking like a good day. But then, after just a little bit of bone-rattling downhill, we came up to a long line of vehicles. We passed them all, and saw a group of people sitting around on top of boulders scattered all over the road. Traffic from both sides was completely backed up, but we were able to walk our bikes through the maze, and made it through without anybody minding. In fact, they all just laughed at us. So we kept going, and just an hour or two later came to our next sizeable blockage, which was still under construction. About 15 men with shovels and pickaxes were in the process of building a wall of dirt and rocks about 5 feet high, completely blocking the road, with a rock wall on one side of the road, and a sheer cliff on the other. We slowed down, and they all stared at us. Then somebody made some kind of joke, they all started laughing, and then one or two men with shovels helped to clear a little path over the wall that we could push our bikes up. We were all smiles, and so were they - and we made it through the entire 'paro' stretch without any incident whatsoever. In fact, everybody that we met continued to be just as friendly as everybody else that we've met in Peru.

We finally got off the gravel and joined the pavement 18 km outside of Abancay, and were relieved to know this would be the last gravel we would ride on in Peru. Finally. But - this didn't mean that the day would end easily, because we still had 18 km of uphill, and the sun was nearly setting already. But we really wanted to make it to Abancay that day, and so we pushed, and pushed. Laura and Sarah were both dead tired (and even Jeff and I were ready for the day to end), but we just kept going, up the paved highway, as the sun dipped lower and lower, and then disappeared. On we went in the dark, for the first time ever on this trip. We reached the outskirts of the city, but when you're biking in the dark after a 120 km day, it seems to take forever to reach the centre of a city we realized. We finally made it, and checked into the first hotel that we looked at. It was time for pizza, and then a very long, very solid sleep.

We took a rest day the next day in Abancay, and didn't leave our hotel room until we went out for supper. Then we came back and went to bed again. It was a pretty solid rest day. And then, we had 3 days left to get to Cuzco. We had just two more 4000 metre passes, but on pavement - easy peasy, of course. We cycled every day just as we planned, first to Curahuasi, then Limatambo. It was a strange feeling, the closer and closer we got to Cuzco. It was a city we had dreamed of visiting long before we left Canada - the Inca capital, the gateway to Machu Picchu, and a milestone at over 15,000 km. And now to add to it, our family was coming to meet us there - but, Laura and Sarah would be going back home. It was a mixture of emotion, both excitement and sadness, but we did our best to enjoy every minute of the ride until we arrived. It was still beautiful scenery, and the four of us continued to grow closer and closer. June 25th, we rode into Cuzco, right on schedule. It was a triumphant entry. It felt pretty darn good.

We took the next day to relax and celebrate. Jeff and I had ridden over 15,000 km from Canada, and Laura and Sarah had ridden over 1000 km of the toughest section. It was more than impressive - from leaving Huaraz on homemade equipment and never ridden any sort of distance on a bicycle, they were stellar, right from the start. They biked 7 different 4000 metre passes on terrible gravel, found 13 different chicken feet in their soups, and did it all without any complaints. We loved every minute of biking with them, and every mintue we weren't biking as well. We didn't really anticipate how much biking with them would change our trip - but we know now how difficult it will be to go back to biking without them. We consider ourselves lucky to have had them along for this trip.

When our family arrived, our vacation began. We left our bikes with the manager of the cheap hotel we had been staying in, and moved into a very nice hotel. We had 3 weeks of spending time with our family, and seeing a few sights we had missed while biking. We took buses, and felt pretty car-sick every time. (We're just not used to travelling that fast anymore. It's crazy how fast vehicles move!). We got to see the Nazca Lines, the Colca Canyon, go sand-boarding on giant dunes in Huacachina, and eat a lot of very, very good meals. It was great to see our parents and sister again after so long, and it was great to have our Aunt Louise along to show off Peru. Yesterday they all left, back to Canada, and we find ourselves all alone again, after so long. It's a strange feeling right now, but we're anxious to get back on our bicycles and start getting some more miles under us. Spending all our time with Laura and Sarah, and now our family, has given us new motivation to keep going hard and reach the end of Argentina.

So tomorrow we'll get back on the bikes, and make our way to Lake Titicaca, and the Bolivian border. Starting tomorrow we've officially overstayed our visa for Peru, so hopefully we can exit the country without any problems. One more week, and we should be in Bolivia. We're excited.

Peruvian Political Problems Part I: Ayacucho to Andahuaylas

2009-07-15T13:47:00.000-07:00

Current Location: Cuzco, Peru
Distance Cycled to Date: 15,152km
Number of Days in Peru to Date: 88
Number of Days Allowed on our Peruvian Tourist Visa: 90
Number of Pictures Taken in Peru to Date: 3807

It's been a month since we last posted a blog entry. Some people might attribute this to laziness on our part, and those people are pretty much dead-on. A whole lot has happened in the last month, though those with astute Peruvian geography will notice that we haven't actually made it too far since our last entry from Ayacucho. The reason for this is that we've spent the last 3 weeks spending time with our parents, younger sister, and our aunt who came from Canada to see us. So the laziness really could be explained by our desire to spend as much quality time with our family as we could. Or, you could just call us lazy, I suppose.

Since we actually do have some good stories from biking that we should have shared weeks and weeks ago, we're going to take you back in time to leaving Ayacucho, and pretend that this is a current entry. So - it's now the middle of June, Sarah and Laura are staying to rest in Ayacucho for 2 days before taking a bus to Andahuaylas to meet us - our last planned seperation, to give them a chance to recover from some stomach bugs and sore muscles. Meanwhile, Jeff and I hit the road, ready to tackle a few more 4000 metre passes, which being divided by 2000 metre river valleys would be one of the toughest sections yet.

Now we have to back the narrative up just a little bit again, and cover a little bit of background. Being touring cyclists we find ourselves fairly isolated from any sort of media, or world news. We are completely out of the loop. The best example of this is probably that we only found out a couple of weeks ago who won the Stanley Cup. That's right - two Canadian guys in their early 20s, and we didn't even know who made the playoffs in the NHL this year. We don't know anything going on in the world. We did find out, however, that there have been a few political problems in Peru going on while we've been cycling. It's fairly complex, and despite having been in Peru for 3 months now, we still don't really understand all of the issues at hand. But while we were in the Huancayo area, we heard that there were massive political protests happening in the Amazon, and in one confrontation 22 police officers were killed, and at least that many protestors as well. It was a pretty big deal here in Peru, and the kind of situation where nobody won. It seemed however to be confined to the jungle areas, far from us, and so we didn't worry about our own personal safety at all.

And so, having forgotten about any current political problems in Peru (and still no knowledge of Pittsburgh's victory back home) we set out climbing and climbing on the dusty, rough gravel road out of Ayacucho. We climbed and climbed, camped, and the next day climbed some more before descending into the village of Ocros which had a basic hostal to stay the night in. We took a look at the place, which consisted of a single room with 4 rickety beds. We'd gotten pretty used to this sort of rustic accomodation, and didn't think too much of the fact that there was no bathroom attached to the room. Often we've had to go downstairs or even to anouthouse to do our business, and thought that would be no different. But after asking for the bathroom and following the senora's directions, we found ourselves going down a trail towards the river. There was no buildling. We searched. We've come across the same thing at a few restaurants, where the bathroom was 'just across the highway, down into the ditch'. But this was the first time in a hotel where we were forced to fend for ourselves, right in the town.

It's hard to even keep straight the days, as every day was either a 2000 metre climb, or a 2000 metre descent, both of which were exhausting and difficult on the rough roads. But on the day before we were to reach Andahuaylas, a small SUV coming towards us stopped to talk to us. It was an Australian man who stopped to see how up to date we were on the current situation in the city we were heading to. Of course, our answer was not at all. It turned out that he had been stuck in the city for the past 5 days, which was under a 'paro', or stoppage. All highways in and out of the city had been blocked off, and all businesses in the city were to be on strike. It was in support of what had happened in the Amazon, as well as a few of their own issues. The Austalian had managed to escape he told us, in the middle of the night, despite having rocks and sticks thrown at his vehicle.

And so, it seemed our plan to meet Laura and Sarah in Andahuaylas might have a wrinkle in it. This was the first we had heard of the 'paro', but it was far from the last. Soon after, it seemed half of the people who we would pass would call out 'no, you can't pass! Everything is closed.', which worried us a little. The other half would smile and wave and call out 'gringo!', which comforted us again. Arriving in Uripa, the last town we were supposedly able to reach before the roadblocks would begin, we tried to find an internet cafe to email the girls, and hopefully hear something from them. After finding one internet cafe with no internet due to the situation in Andahuaylas, we finally found one with still-open broadband. We found a few emails from Laura and Sarah, first telling us the bus wasn't running, then that they could get as far as Uripa, and then finally that they found a company that was sending in a nightbus that would be able to make it all the way. And so, we went to bed wondering where it would be that we actually would find each other again. We looked at a map to find any alternate routes that would miss Andahuaylas, but every road through the area entered the city. The only possibility would be for them to take a bus all the way down to the coast, then change buses and go all the way back inland to Abancay, which would be a couple days of riding the bus. It seems whoever picked Andahuaylas as the city to shut down did some thinking beforehand. Well done.

Leaving Uripa, we were warned many times that the road was closed. And every time we would call out, 'si! gracis!' with a smile on our faces. We had just one more 4000 metre pass to summit before the downhill into our now-forbidden city. The frequency of the warnings picked up, as the traffic died down. In fact, traffic ceased to exist. We took it as a sign that maybe all these people were in fact right about the roadblocks, but we just kept biking, with no other real option. We finally reached the top of the pass after enjoying the slow biking and beautiful scenery without ever seeing a single vehicle. We ate a couple dry buns, (now a staple), and started the downhill, a little anxious and a bit nervous about what would come next. It wouldn't be very long at all before we'd fly around a corner and come across a rock field- small boulders and big rocks, scattered all over the road. We dodged them, kept going, and soon enough reached another one. And then a little bit further down was a tree, cut down across the road. Then more rocks, and more trees. After all our practice dodging sheep and cows moving down the road, we were very adept at weaving around the motionless rocks. A couple trees forced us to get off and carry our bikes (but after carrying our loaded bikes up countless hotel staircases, we've become pretty accustomed to this as well). We were a little nervous about the villagers around, that they might not like us foreigners ignoring their roadblocks - but nobody seemed to really mind - everybody would just tell us that the road is closed, and warn us that further ahead we couldn't pass. But it was always further ahead that the trouble would be, so we just kept pushing on. With every scattering of boulders and every tree across the road, we became less and less sure that we'd be greeted by Laura and Sarah when we reached the city.

Just a few kilometres before the city the warnings started to really increase, with one lady yelling intently for us to stop, and when I looked back at her, she slid her finger across her neck, warning us that we might be killed further ahead. And as we kept pedaling, with slightly more than a touch of concern, we came around a corner and saw a semi-truck with the back loaded up with young men, and Peruvian flags flying. We slowed down to be biking side by side, expecting at any minute a gun to be pulled on us - but instead, it was the typical 'gringo!' with grins on their faces. We finally exhaled after passing the group, and we entered the city limits of Andahuaylas just as the sun set. There was glass smashed all over the roads and rocks still everywhere, but the city seemed to be moving at a normal pace, and not a single person questioned us once we got there. We found an open internet cafe and checked to find out the status of the girls, expecting the worst. And there was an email from them - they had checked into a hotel, in Andahuaylas, just around the corner from us.

We're still not exactly sure how their bus reached the city except that it found a different, longer but more open route- but however they arrived, we were very, very relieved to see them. Now the problem just became leaving the next day, as we were (again) told that we couldn't get through the highway on the other side of the city. The word 'kill' was definitely used a few times, and we started to question if we could make it to Cuzco by our deadline, imposed by Laura and Sarah's flight home, and the arrival of our family.

Stay tuned to find out what happens next to the cycling quartet. Will we make it out of the city? Will we reach Cuzco in time for the girls to see Machu Picchu, and Jeff and I to meet our parents? Part II is coming soon...

Ups and Downs from Huanuco to Ayacucho

2009-06-16T11:13:00.000-07:00

Current Location: Ayacucho, Peru
Distance Cycled to Date: 14,541 km
Flat tires to Date: 53 (Keenan - 29, Jeff - 23, Laura - 1, Sarah - 0)

We left Huanuco feeling pretty good. We had a pizza night, restocked our food supplies, and were excited about the prospect of getting back on to pavement for the next few hundred kilometres. We got on the road early, and after dodging the Peruvian moto-taxis that seem to take over every city, we made good time early in the day. However, a combination of flat tires and the start of a problem with Sarah's knee slowed us down, and we covered less than 40 km before finding a campsite hidden in the ditch. The flat tire wasn't too serious, except that it forced us to use our very last 700c tube, which caused a little bit of stress. Sarah's knee on the other hand we knew could be potentially problematic, and we all hoped that the next day things would just get better. But, anybody who knows anything about knee problems knows that they don't just disappear, and so the next day we called it a early day again, after spending all morning working on the long, slow climb from Huanuco at 1900 metres, that would finally end at Cerro de Pasco, at over 4300 m.

We had spotted the 'Hospedaje Trucha' (Trout Hotel) just a kilometre or so back of where we were taking a break, but rather than all of us backtracking downhill (which breaks two of our cardinal rules of this trip), I biked down by myself to check it out. If I hadn't returned in 20 minutes, it meant that I deemed it sufficient (read: cheap) enough, so the rest would come down. I pulled in and had a quick look at the room, and for 5 soles a piece (less than $2 Canadian) we could have a hotel room, which satisfied all my requirements. So, in the remaining 19 minutes, I was invited to join in a volleyball game on a makeshift court beside the highway. I got a good warmup in before Jeff, Laura, and Sarah showed up to join in as well, and we played a little Canada vs. Peru 3 vs. 3 volleyball. We did pretty well, but in the end (as a result of some questionable scorekeeping) the Peruvians came out on top. The hotel wasn't anything too special, unless you consider green algae oozing out of the bathroom taps and showerhead as being special - but we did enjoy some fresh caught trout for supper each night, and some good quality rest time as well.

Getting back on the road we continued to slowly gain altitude, but after looking at the dates, our current pace, and the condition of Sarah's knee, we decided it would make the most sense for them to skip a bit of the less scenic section we were on, take a bus to Huancayo, and get a bit of rest before Jeff and I caught back up on our bikes and we could continue on our way to Ayacucho. We were getting close to Cerro de Pasco, but still had nearly 700 metres to climb and 15 kilometres to go with an hour of sunlight left, when as we were chatting with some friendly locals in a pickup truck, they offered us a ride to Cerro. Now, Jeff and I have had a pretty good streak of never taking a ride on this trip, and we knew that we wanted to continue, but since Sarah and Laura were planning on taking a bus to Huancayo anyway, it made sense for them to take the generous offer. And so, we said our goodbyes and good-lucks at 5 o'clock on the side of the highway, and they loaded their bikes in the truck. Jeff and I did a quick calculation that if we biked hard for the next hour without stopping, we just might be able to make the city - and so we did. As the sun dipped below the horizon the temperature dipped below zero, but we just kept pedalling, finally making it to a hotel on the plaza in the freezing cold darkness.

We decided we might as well push as hard as we could the next morning, and try to make it to Huancayo, over 260 km away, in two days. And so - we did. It started out poorly though, with us biking almost 15 km, back and forth over the 'cerro' (hill), searching for the way out of the confusing city. People would point us one direction and so we'd go, and then on the other side of the hill, they'd point us back the other way, on the same road we just came on. That wasn't fun at all. However, an hour and a half later when we finally got back to the highway, we did have fun being on nice pavement again, with a bit of downhill, and having set an ambitious goal. The scenery wasn't nearly as spectacular as we had seen before, but the pampas and rolling plains were a nice change. We spotted llamas grazing in the wild, vicunas hopping along, and a giant maca root statue in a town plaza. All in all, not too bad.

We ended up getting to Huancayo on the same day as the girls, just a couple of hours later, which we all thought was kind of funny. And so, we we spent our time in Huancayo doing what we do on all great rest days - sitting around and doing as little as possible, intersperced with a lot of eating. The days off also helped Sarah's knee considerably, so after taking two days off the only downside we could think of was that the laundromat we visited lost Jeff's jersey, leaving him with only one shirt to wear while biking for the next few weeks. Jeff would like to point out that this is a very big deal - not showering for a week or two isn't too bad, but when you have to wear the same shirt during that same stretch, it becomes a much bigger deal. Also, not too great for the guy sharing a tent with him.

Our first day out of Huancayo we went up a bit, and then down a lot, with the only real noteworthy item being that we made it to Izcuchaca, which was where we were aiming to get to that day. (Lately that has been a bit of a rarity for us). The next day we almost did the same, but Laura got her first flat tire of the trip, just a few kilometres before our goal. We thought it would be an easy fix (after all, by this point Jeff and I are very, very experienced at fixing flat tires), but we learned that her rims are frustratingly big, and the valve stem just wouldn't stick out enough for our pump to work. So, found a campsite a few hundred metres down the road and made a plan for the next day. Jeff and Sarah set out on their bikes like usual, while Laura and I started walking for the nearest village. It turned out to be 20 km away. It was a long walk, but a nice change of pace for both of us, and a good chance to enjoy the scenery without needing to worry about flying off the edge of a cliff. We reached Anco, and within minutes had somebody fill up the tire with their pump. (Pretty much everybody in Peru is very very nice. If you've heard otherwise, you've heard wrong.) It was already pretty late in the day, so we called it a night, and planned to reach Ayacucho in 2 days.

Again, with the lack of mechanical problems, we followed through and made it to Ayacucho after winding through some varied scenery. One minute we would be in a fertile valley, and after crossing a small pass we would be riding through red rock canyon walls with cacti surrounding us. Up and down we would go, finally reaching Ayacucho after one more long climb into the city.

We had our pizza night, restocked our food supplies, and now we're excited about getting back onto some gravel. It's been a good rest day, and we'll see what happens from here.

Central Peru - Mountain Passes, Freezing Nights, and All Around Amazing Sights

2009-06-01T18:18:00.000-07:00

Current Location: Huanuco, Peru

Distance Cycled to Date: 13,884 km

4000+ Meter Passes Crossed to Date: 3

Most eggs eaten by Keenan and Jeff in one day: 15 (Is this healthy? Definitely delicious!)

Number of chicken feet found in soup in the past week: 8 (Jeff - 4, Sarah - 2, Laura - 2, Keenan - 0)

Leaving Huaraz, we weren't exactly sure what to expect. We hadn't biked for nearly 2 weeks, and we had two Canadian girls with us who had never ridden touring bicycles in their lives. We had homemade racks and denim panniers, some cheap camping equipment, and we were heading on a poor dirt road over a double pass that would reach over 4,800 m, a height we had never even been close to on our bicycles. We knew it would be quite the introduction to cycle touring, and we were right. Mother nature even had a little fun with the inauguration, throwing down rain, hail, and snow - all on the first 3 days out of Huaraz. It was one of the hardest weeks of cycling that Jeff and I have had yet, and one of the most remote. We had a three day stretch where we saw 5 vehicles in total. All of these things added up to one of the best weeks that we've ever had!

We told Laura and Sarah that we'd give them grades after the first week, and we have to say, they both likely deserve something in the A to A+ range. Throughout the ridiculously rough dirt road, the endless climbing, the sub-zero night time temperatures and the breathless elevation, we never heard a single complaint. They are troopers. It was good to get to introduce others to our lifestyle, and have that enthusiasm that we had when we left. Every day we bike through tiny settlements, chased by kids yelling "gringo! gringo!" with ear to ear grins on their faces, and it's been great to be reminded just how amazing our everyday experiences are.

...

We've started to share our highlights and lowlights at the end of every day, and this week has been full of highlights. Here's a few:

-Seeing the rare Puya Raimondi plants in bloom, the largest bromelid flower in the world, that grows only at certain elevations in the Andes around 4000 metres, takes 100 years to mature, and blooms only every 6 to 7 years. Everytime we'd see one, we would all yell "Puya!" as loud as we could, letting our voices echo across the valley. You would think after yelling "Puya!" nearly a hundred times it would get old - but it just never does.

-As we were riding uphill, at nearly 4000 metres, an old man walking along the road asked where we were heading. We told him, and he explaimed 'I'll come with you!", and started jogging along beside. If you've ever tried running at 4000 metres, you'll know how hard this is. And then throw in going up a rocky gravel road, at a 5% grade. In dress shoes. Wearing a backpack. And being at least 60 years old. But he just kept on jogging, keeping up with me without seeming to tire at all. In fact, he just kept talking, carrying on a conversation, while I struggled with the effort of cycling, speaking, and breathing. For nearly two kilometres he kept up, until finally I had to stop for a break.

-One day as we were biking by some sheep, we noticed that Laura had started to baah back at them as they baahed at us. This sounds kind of strange, but we're all sort of strange people. We have a lot of fun. Anyway - it seemed like fun, so one day as I stopped to wait for the others to catch up I noticed a small lamb in amongst a group of sheep baah-ing, so I started to call back to it. I wasn't quite as good at the imitation as Laura, but it took notice. And then as we carried on the conversation, it left the other sheep and started to come towards me. By then everybody else had caught up, but that little lamb just kept coming, running up the steep ditch to get to us. I guess he realized then that whatever I was saying was nonsense, because he turned around to go back. But we shared a moment. And it was special.

-The set lunch menus at local restaurants just keep getting cheaper and cheaper. It's down to 3 soles now, which isn't much more than one Canadian dollar. And as the prices drop, the more entertaining our lunchtime discussions have become.

"What's that sticking out of your soup?"
"I think it's maybe a lung?"

"I've got a chicken foot in mine"

"Wait - nope, not a lung, that's a heart, definitely. Look at the artery sticking out."

"There is definitely an artery sticking out of this pork thing too."

"Don't worry about that cup - that stuff is only on the outside."
"Hmm... tastes like some sort of cleaning product"

"Mind if I finish that pig skin on your plate?"

-We saw our first llamas grazing in the wild. We took a whole lot of pictures. Llamas are sweet. Or possibly they were alpacas - we're still not really sure the difference. Alpacas are sweet too. Puya!

...

The scenery over the past week has been some of the best of the entire trip. We've found ourselves with 360 degree panoramas of snow capped peaks, deep valleys, and everything in between. We've had some amazing campsites, that make almost every campspot we've had pale in comparison. One night we camped just over a pass at 4700 m, and found out just how much elevation affects the temperatue. Normally Jeff and I fit with not much room to spare in our 2 and a half man tent, but as the temperature dropped we decided to all squeeze into it. We were all wearing nearly every piece of clothing we had, tucked in our sub-zero sleeping bags - and we survived it, though comfortably isn´t the word you would use to describe it.

Coming into Huanuco, we dropped from 4000 m down to 1900 m. Statistically that sounds pretty sweet, but the terrible gravel took away a bit of the fun. Now tomorrow we'll start our ascent back up to 4300 m again. PUYA!

Bips and Bops

2009-05-25T13:21:00.000-07:00

Current Location: Huaraz, Peru
Distance Cycled to Date: Unchanged
Days Spent in Huaraz, Peru: 13

In writing our blog entries, we try to maintain a smooth narrative to tell you our stories. But so many little things get missed along the way, so we thought we'd give you a few little bips and bops from along the way.

Spandex Cycling Shorts

A little over 6 months into our trip, I woke up one morning at the Costa Rican border, and started my daily routine of packing up my sleeping bag and getting dressed. I reached for my trusty spandex cycling shorts to get dressed for the day. We each brought along 2 pairs of shorts for the trip (with the intention of washing them daily - what optimists we were back then!). Being my favourite shorts of the two pairs, I had easily worn them over 100 times by this point. But as I was about to put them on, I looked at the tag, for what may have been the first time. Ladies Size Large. What? Over 100 times I had put on and off my shorts, and only on the day we entered Costa Rica did I realize that I had mistakenly bought Ladies cycling shorts. Still though - they fit nice and snug, and I can't really complain. However, I've decided that my black shorts are now my favourites.

Rummy Standings

1st - Jeff (13-11-0)
2nd - Keenan (11-13-0)

The Neverending Search for Peanut Butter

Almost every cyclist has a staple of peanut butter in their diet. It just makes sense. But the one fear that we always have is that we'll reach the point to the south where we just won't be able to find it anymore. When we reached San Diego, California, we stocked up. Would we be able to find it in Mexico? We didn't know, and so we weighed ourselves down just in case. Of course, Northern Baja has Walmarts and Costcos, and so we found some more. But - would we be able to find it once we left the orbit of the US and their tourists? We couldn't risk it, and so we stocked up some more. We had jars and jars of it, and hoped that one day we'd find it again. In La Paz, before leaving the Baja Penisula and heading to the mainland, we found a supermarket stocked with it. But could we find it in the mainland? We just didn't know, and so again, the panniers were weighed down. Luckily for us Mexico had great chains of supermarkets, and every city we stopped in, we would make sure we had at least an extra jar or two, just in case it was our last chance. This has kept going, time after time after time. We read in cyclists blogs how they can't find peanut butter in the country to our south, and so before leaving, we resupply with as much peanut butter as we can carry. Every single country that we've been to, we have found peanut butter. And still, we keep carrying extra jars, as if for luck. We heard that in Peru, you can't find peanut butter. Today we bought our 3rd jar of the country. So - a piece of advice for touring cyclists - if you look for peanut butter, you will find it.

A New Look

While we were in Trujillo, we finally couldn´t do it anymore. Every time we ate we would get a mouthful of mustache, and we realized that it was time to shave once more. So a trip to the barber and $2 later, we were clean-cut and clean-shaven. Here's the before and after.

Rankings

We like to make lists. We're working on top 10 lists for whatever we can think of, mainly because it's fun. And so when we left Panama, we ranked every country we've been in on a variety of angles. Here's a few. All of them are completely biased, most of which are based on one or two good (or bad) days. But they're our lists, and we can do what we want with them.

Central American Colas

1.Pepsi Retro Cola (Mexico)
2.Coca-Cola (All)
3.Pepsi Cola (All)
4.Super Cola (Guatemala)
5.Shaler Kola (Nicaragua)*
6.Salva Cola (El Salvador)
7.Raptor Cola (Guatemala)

*Jeff would place this at number 8 or lower if possible, whereas Keenan would place it at number 1. We compromised.

Highways

1.Canada
2.USA
3.Mexico
4.Nicaragua
5.El Salvador
6.Guatemala
7.Honduras
8.Costa Rica
9.Panama

Supermarkets

1.USA
2.Canada
3.Mexico
4.Panama
5.Costa Rica
6.El Salvador
7.Guatemala
8.Nicaragua
9.Honduras

Ease of Free Camping

1.Canada
2.Mexico
3.USA
4.Guatemala
5.Panama
6.El Salvador
7.Costa Rica
8.Nicaragua
9.Honduras

ride for HOPE team doubles.

We've been in Huaraz now for a long time. Nearly two weeks, which is the longest we've ever stayed in any one place besides Christmas. We didn't intend to stay so long - we came here with the intention of meeting Laura, a Canadian friend that we've met up with twice before in Ecuador and spend a few days here with her. Here in Huaraz, she rented a mountain bike and came along for a 2 day trip, to see what this touring cycling is all about. And of course, she decided she couldn't pass up the opportunity to join in on this adventure. After hearing our stories and seeing our pictures, she knew that she had to come along for at least a little while. If you really think about it, you might decide that buying a bicycle and joining two relative strangers on a bike trip through Peru without any planning or preparation is a little crazy. But - the crazy part of it comes when her sister surprised her with a visit to Peru, and after meeting us, decided that she had to come along too.

And so - the ride for HOPE team has doubled for the time being, with the 4 of us nearly ready to head out into the mountains of Peru. We've spent the last week doing what Jeff and I took a year to do - buying bicycles, sleeping bags, and a tent, and getting racks and panniers custom built for the trip. It's been quite an adventure, with daily trips to welders and seamstresses, trying to explain just what we need. It's crazy how you can get anything made for you in a Peruvian marketplace. Now we'll just see how good these homemade denim panniers hold up. The four of us have had a pretty great time this week getting everything organized, and just getting to know each other. Hopefully the fun will continue once they find out just what it's like to ride up and down Peruvian gravel roads, and over 4000 metre passes. We'll let you know how it goes.

Jeff and Keenan Ride Northern Peru

2009-05-17T16:41:00.000-07:00

Current Location: Huaraz, Peru
Distance Cycled to Date: 13,600 km
Flat Tires to Date: 47 (Keenan - 25, Jeff - 22)

Keenan and Jeff wanted to write a blog in the 3rd person, and so they did.

Arriving in Trujillo, Peru the boys found themselves on the doorstep of the Casa de Ciclistas. For the past weeks they had been talking about this moment, wondering, "Will we meet other cyclists?", "How long can we stay?", "Do you think we can get our bikes looked at?" Now as they stood anxiously waiting after their third knocking attempt, they began to worry nobody would be there. As they speculated as to what they should do, the door mercifully swung open. The boys were welcomed in to the house as if they were old friends. Introductions were exchanged and soon they felt as if they were indeed old friends.

The brothers were overwhelmed with excitement as they talked with the other 5 touring cyclists, and to the gracious owner of the Casa de Ciclistas, Lucho. Soon after arrival a large book was in their laps, its pages filled with the names of everyone who had stayed in this house before them. Flipping through the pages they were amazed at the sheer number of others who had passed through on their own adventure in the past 25 years. Writing their names in spots 1112, and 1113, they finally felt as if they had made it. Hours were spent in curiousity looking through all the old guestbooks, seeing all the faces and thoughts of those who had visited the Casa de Ciclistas. Coming across entries by people the boys had been inspired by years before was very special for them.

Over the next few days the boys would have a chance to relax and reflect on their trip so far. Although they had been traveling for eight months, both felt as if there was so much more to still experience. Talking with the other cyclists who had started in the south only fueled this desire to keep going. One evening in particular would prove to be pivotal. Hearing about all the amazing sites further south, both knew at that moment they had to continue to the end of the road - Ushuaia, Argentina. Anything else would be selling themselves short.

With this new resolve the boys left Trujillo heading up into the spectacular Cordillera Blanca mountains following the route that was recommended to them. Off the pavement they were on the 'good gravel' road they had heard about. However, after rattling along the gravel road, less than 2 kilometres in, Keenan was already having doubts, "Maybe we should only do part of this mountain route." The road would take their full concentration only allowing them to enjoy the scenery when they stopped. Keenan would stop and say, "Check that out," and Jeff once finally looking up would exclaim, "Wow, this is pretty cool!" They continued on in this fashion punishing their bikes along the rough road, soaking in the new surroundings with every break they took.

The road would graciously give way to pavement for a short stretch, mocking them as it lasted only 8km before becoming the rockiest road either had ever experienced. The single-lane road would twist through the narrow canyon beside the rushing river offering the boys some amazing sights as well as some unnerving rides through the dark tunnels. Once accustomed to the slow going nature of this road they both thoroughly enjoyed themselves. Spectacular scenery would surround them for days on end, with very little traffic to worry about. They found some great campsites offering some incredible views as the sun slowly set each night. Both agreed that these were some of their favourite moments of the trip so far.

When Keenan had first described this route to Jeff he thought it was a bit crazy, particularly when he described the 20km section with 35 tunnels on a single-lane dirt road. However, once reaching the Canon del Pato and the series of dark tunnels he was glad they had decided on the route. Each tunnel was an exhilarating rush for the brothers as their hearts raced and the possibility of meeting a vehicle in the dark narrow space pushed them to reach the end. With the noise of the river rushing just below the steep cliff, any vehicle noise was masked, which only added to the excitement. It would also lead to three separate tight squeezes as the boys pushed against the wall and the vehicles passed merely inches away. Once through the last of the tunnels and onto the pavement a hint of relief could be seen on their faces as they smoothly rode on.

Reaching the town of Caraz both felt like they needed a rest after the rough roads and climbing over 2000 m in elevation. With snow capped peaks surrounding them and the possibility of many hikes, they decided to visit Laguna Paron, a short 1 hour bus ride to the village of Paron and then a 4 to 5 hour hike to the lake. The thing the boys didn't know as they boarded the rickety van was that the lake had been closed to tourists. They arrived at the village shortly after 8 am, excited about the hike and with their backpacks full of their camping gear for the night. The bus disappeared and they only got 4 steps past the blockade before being stopped. Because of some un-understandable political reason, they couldn't hike to the lake. The brothers were discouraged, but didn't know what to do - walk back to town?... wait for the next bus?... they certainly couldn't visit the lake.

Keenan and Jeff didn't let that get them down for long though and decided they might as well try some sort of hike. After all, they had everything they needed for 2 days already packed on their backs. They cut through the schoolyard and some fields before stumbling upon a path, which seemed to lead up the mountain. Great, they thought and followed it. The path continued halfway up the mountain before becoming unrecognizable. Being the determined individuals they are, they didn't let this stop them and simply continued up the steep slope making their own path. It was tough going, with the altitude starting to hamper their breathing. When they reached the top they were rewarded beyond what they could have imagined with an amazing view of the surrounding mountain peaks, and a deep canyon below. Setting up their tent on the ridge before the cliff, both were sure that this was probably the best camp spot they had ever had.

Both were dreading the climb down the following morning and rightfully so. It was a steep grassy slope dotted with rocks, which with the frost melting created a slow, terrifying descent for the brothers. However, they carefully made their way down and arrived back in the village. A large crowd of young students surrounded them as they sat and waited for the bus. The kids would crowd in close just staring, as if they were an abstract piece of art they couldn't figure out. Then a few kids gained some confidence and had a great time throwing bugs in Jeff's hair and down his back. Keenan also thought this was funny. The bus did eventually come and they squished in the van with the 21 others (with three hanging off of the roof) for the ride back into Caraz.

The following day they made their way along the paved pot-hole filled highway to Huaraz. The road gently led them another 1000 m higher, as they passed towering cloud covered mountains. Once in Huaraz they met a local mountain biker who proceeded to help them find a suitable (eg, very cheap) hotel for their stay as well as introduce them to some local bike and travel enthusiasts. The Cook brothers are now enjoying the bigger city and all it offers before heading into the mountains and through more rough spectacular stretches. They can't wait to see what more Peru has to offer.

Keenan and Jeff also wanted to put up an album of them riding through Northern Peru, and so they did. Check it out here.

Why We're Still Riding.

2009-05-01T12:06:00.000-07:00

Current Location: Trujillo, Peru
Distance Cycled to Date: 13,275 km
Flat Tires to Date: 45 (Keenan - 24, Jeff - 21)

We've now been on the road for exactly 8 months, and there have been a lot of challenging days. We've biked up incredibly steep hills, through rain, through cold, through hot, and against headwinds that seem determined to send us back home. But probably the hardest thing that we've had to deal with has been biking through areas affected by incredible poverty. Before leaving home we had committed to raising $50,000 for a HOPE International project in the Dominican Republic, rebuilding irrigation systems and community greenhouses. And in these last months of cycling we have seen firsthand the need present in so much of Latin America. It's impossible to forget just why we wanted to raise this money to help those in need - every day we see such poverty that it's heartbreaking. Here in northern Peru we have ridden over 700 km through a dry, desert landscape, with small settlements of only mud-brick shacks; people living with almost nothing at all.

Jeff and I have not wanted to come across as continually asking the same people over and over again for donations. We have a strong subscriber base to our blog, and we know that the majority of you, our regular readers, have already made donations - some quite sizable ones. And we want to thank you for that. Every time we get an email from home telling us about another cheque sent in we get so excited. With your help, we have now raised over $14,000.

This is great news; however, we still have a ways to go. We had set an initial goal of $50,000, and still believe that we can meet this in order to help rebuild these irrigation systems and community greenhouses needed to enable villages in the San Jose de Ocoa region to grow sufficient food to feed themselves and start producing an income. Every day as we cycle we are reminded just how lucky we are to have been born in Canada, and have all the opportunties that we do.

We want to thank everybody who has already placed a donation through our website to HOPE International. Now we want to remind you that we still have room for this fundraising to grow. And so we'd love it if you could tell a friend, email your cousin, and talk to your boss. Tell them what we're doing, tell them how much a difference they could make with just a small donation, and always keep in mind just how blessed we are.

HOPE's donation page can be found here - just select 'other' on the drop-down menu, and write "ride for HOPE", or "Keenan and Jeff's ride for HOPE" on the comments section to make sure that the money goes towards this project in the Dominican.

...

At the moment, we're in Trujillo, Peru, taking a few days off at the 'Casa de Ciclistas', a house run by Lucho, a local cyclist dedicated to giving touring cyclists a place to relax here in Peru. We've biked for nearly a week through pretty featurless desert, through the potential thieves lair of Paijan, and arrived here to meet 5 other cyclists, all heading north. It's been great to be able to just relax and talk with other cyclists, the first we've met on the road since Guatemala, and get information on all the routes and sites ahead.

We've put up our Ecuador album - you can go check it out now, and then after that, go tell a friend to donate! More information on HOPE and on the project we're raising money for can be found on our website. Send some people this link, forward on the email; let's see what kind of a difference we really can make.

Into Peru

2009-04-22T15:40:00.000-07:00

Current Location: Piura, Peru
Distance Cycled to Date: 12, 827 km
Flat Tires to Date: 44 (Keenan - 23, Jeff - 21)
Guinea Pigs Eaten to Date: 2

Easter Weekend was considerably different for Keenan and I this year. We left Latacunga after a day of rest from our tough climb up Mount Cotopaxi, and had a short day to the village of Mocha. After realising there was nowhere to stay in town we found ourselves with a problem. We were too far from Riobamba to make it for the night and everything is fenced off with no possibility to stealth camp. However, as we were searching for somewhere to ask to camp we saw a police station right in front of us, and the police officers immediately agreed we could camp there for the night. This was perfect for us, so with our accomodation out of the way we headed across the street to try an Andean specialty that Mocha is known for, guinea pig. We were both a bit apprehensive when our plates arrived - the whole animal, head, feet and all spread out for us. But our hunger quickly overcame any timidness and soon we were both devouring our dinner. We came to the conclusion it tasted something like a fish and a chicken, some bites being quite delicious actually. We cleaned the whole animal and left the restaurant glad we gave it a try and also with a bit of an empty stomach - guinea pigs just aren`t very big.

We left Mocha the following morning and rode along the Panamerican, until we branched off after Riobamba to make our way over the nearly 4000 m high pass. We made it close to 37oo m, before we decided to end for the day. It was quite cold and beginning to rain when we saw some big dirt piles just off the highway - perfect for a stealth spot for the night. We cooked out in the drizzle and then were in our tent very early, getting in a good sleep before the rest of the climb the following day.

We were up early and were rewarded with views of Mt. Chimborazo in the distance, the highest peak in Ecuador. We were feeling good, despite only having a few crackers for breakfast. We had an early start and quickly reached the summit. We were excited, our long 4000 m descent back to sea level was beginning! The road wound down the valley, clinging to the steep mountainside. However, very quickly we realized this was not the amazing descent we had imagined. At first the pavement was filled with potholes and gravel sections, but that soon gave way to only gravel. We were on our brakes nearly the entire time, gripping as hard as we could, needing only to stop and rest our sore hands. We went down and down, the clouds of dust from vehicles irritating our eyes and clinging to our sticky bodies. We averaged under 20km/h, which was frustrating as we lost so much elevation. But it was downhill, and we hardly had to pedal all day... so not all bad.

We pushed to make it to El Truinfo, and as the sun was setting we were left with little choice and ended on the outskirts of town at a Motel. It really wasn´t too bad and it had a shower. The shower felt great and I don`t think water has ever been so dirty after a shower in my life. While cooking our supper, we had left our SPOT messenger outside sending a gps ok signal to our parents, as we do every night. However, when we went back to get it after eating we had found it had dissappeared. The staff had no idea what had happened to it, and so we couldn`t really do anything. The ridiculous part is that it is useless to whoever stole it, as it only sends a signal all registered in our name to our contacts. So that was extremely unfortunate.

We left the following morning and rode to Guayaquil where we were meeting some friends of some friends we were put in contact with. Riding through the busy, chaotic city was a crazy experience, but we made it safely to their house and were glad we did. They treated us like family and we had a great time getting to know Juan, his wife Loy and their son Julian. We ended up spending a full 3 days relaxing in the comforts of their home. As well we were able to have our bikes looked at again and repaired. As we left Quito we had become less and less impressed with the job they had done there, but now they are back in good shape.

Leaving Guayaquil, we headed south to the coast and into Peru. The landscape has slowly changed from green crops lining the highway into a dusty, dry wasteland. The highway followed the coast for a time with views of the ocean as we made our way south. Now it´s turned inland leaving behind any sort of cool breeze and we are stuck with the sun beating down on us. It has been fairly flat though so we have been able to make good time, which is nice to do. The riding has been pretty boring the last few days with little to see, but dusty small towns with very little to eat. We really don`t know what people do for food here, as the stores seem to be stocked with only drinks and cookies. We`ve been forced to eat at some of the local restaurants, which isn`t too bad either considering for $2 you can get a big plate of rice, fried chicken and a little salad. Though that´s the only menu choice, at every single restaurant. It starts to get a little old.

We are now in Piura, staying in the city stocking up with supplies as we head out into a 215 km stretch of empty desert tomorrow. With a little luck we´ll cross it easily in two days, and then take another day off in Chiclayo for Keenan's birthday. Maybe we'll even stay in a hotel with hot water and a door on the bathroom. Just maybe. We'll let you know.

Climbing Cotopaxi (aka: The Hardest Day of Our Lives)

2009-04-09T17:30:00.000-07:00

Current Location: Latacunga, Ecuador
Distance Cycled to Date: 11,923 km
Highest Elevation We've Been to Date: 5,897 m
Number that made the summit, of the 11 of us who climbed Mt. Cotopaxi: 5

Leaving Quito, we stumbled on a major road closed to vehicles, and full of cyclists only a block away from the house we had been living in for the two weeks prior. We had read that Quito has a cyclopaseo once every two weeks, a time when the city closes roads and creates a 25 km long bike trail along the length of the city. We had no idea when or where it was, but apparently it happens on Sunday mornings, and runs from our house to the southern edge of the city. And so while we had been prepared to fight traffic and battle our way out of the city as we usually need to do, we just enjoyed ourselves cycling with thousands of others, enjoying their free water stations every few kilometres!

We didn't really have much of a plan on what we would do in Ecuador, but on our second day after leaving Quito we passed through Latacunga, which we had read was a base for climbing Mt. Cotopaxi, Ecuador's second highest peak. We had been talking of doing some sort of mountaineering somewhere along the way, and decided we might as well check this one out. We knew practically nothing about the climb, except that our guidebook said it was a popular climb in Ecuador, and that if you were inexperienced climbing ice and snow that you would need a guide. Well, that didn't sound so bad, and so we found an tour operator that would rent us the equipment needed, and hire us a guide. When we entered the agency to ask them about the difficulty of the climb they told us being cyclists we were likely in fine shape and shouldn't have any problem. As well, since we had been in Quito at 2,800 m, the climb up to 5,897 m shouldn't affect us too much. Well great – it sounded like a fun, easy climb with spectacular views and a chance to get to use some stylish crampons and some sweet ice axes. Who wouldn't sign up for such an adventure?

The next morning we were being fitted into our gear in the shop, and while trying on our over-sized parkas and 3 layers of pants, we met two other Dutch travelers who would be doing the climb with us. Do you think you'll be able to make it to the summit? They asked us. Well, of course we would we thought. Why wouldn't we? Then they told us stories of others they had met who attempted the climb and had to stop short because of the intense difficult of the climb, and even of one girl who needed to have her guide undo her pants and hold her up while she went to the bathroom part way up, because she was so physically spent she was unable to do it herself. This concerned us a little bit, but still we thought being the fit cyclists we are we should be alright.

A couple hours later we arrived in the parking lot, and we all loaded up our backpacks with the supplies we would need for the night, and for the climb the next morning. It was only a 200 metre climb up to the refuge at 4,800 m, but even that short a climb left us a little breathless. The whole area was shrouded in fog, but for a minute the clouds parted and we were able to catch a glimpse of the snow-covered volcano towering about the refuge. It was a little bigger than we had thought...

We spent the afternoon and evening at the refuge with the rest of the travelers who would be attempting the climb the next morning. In total there were 11 of us – 4 European men who kept to themselves, and 7 of us who spent our time trading stories and having a great time getting to know each other. There was us, the Canadian cyclists who you all know so well, the two Dutch guys on a six week tour through Ecuador and Peru who were both doing their pilots training with KLM, the Canadian brother-sister team from Ontario who we greatly enjoyed getting to know, and then the one 40-something Polish lady who none of us could ever remember the name of. None of us had any experience climbing, but we all were very excited for the next day. We wanted to go to bed by 7 or so since we would be waking up at midnight to get ready to climb, but with the snow falling outside and the excitement in the air it felt too much like Christmas Eve, and we found it very difficult to break up such a fun gathering and go to bed.

At midnight, after getting little more than 2 hours of a restless sleep we got out of our bunks and started to dress for our adventure. Four layers of clothing later, we went downstairs and began our breakfast of yoghurt and granola, and despite the lack of sleep, talked excitedly with our new friends. I ate a few bowls of the delicious granola/yoghurt mix, but Jeff was already experiencing a weak stomach, likely the affects of the altitude and such a poor sleep. He managed to get a few spoonfuls of yoghurt down before we both were fitted with our harnesses and set out to conquer the mountain. We were the last team of 3 (the two of us, and our guide) to leave the refuge, and as we started shuffling up the snow-dusted trail behind our guide I thought, this is going to take forever! He was going so slow it seemed like it would be a frustrating climb. It didn't take too long until we reached the thicker snow where we put on our crampons and latched ourselves together with rope, and continued up the steep snow at our same pace.

As we slowly made our way up the clouds lifted, and we were able to see the majesty of the snow-capped peak in full. There was a nearly full moon and a star filled sky, and as we looked ahead we could see the rest of the teams with their headlamps lighting the snow around them, dotting the mountain above. It was here that we really could appreciate the grand scale of the mountain and our insignificant size relative to it. If we knew at this time how our vision would start to blur and how little we would be able to see or appreciate further up the mountain, we probably would have spent a few more minutes taking it all in.

From here on, we kept slowly trudging up the incredibly steep slope. Our guide in front, and us behind, roped together, in what was initially for safety but later became the only way to keep us moving. Our guide kept up his methodical pace, and the further we went the faster it seemed to become. It didn't matter how slow we were moving – it never seemed slow enough to catch our breath. Every time we stopped to rest both of us would collapse to the ground, our heads pounding and chests heaving, breathing harder than we had ever before. After a minute or two of this our guide would call out 'vamos', give the rope a tug, and we would fight off our feelings of nausea as best we could and continue on. Only a few hours into the climb, we passed the group of Europeans heading back down. At first we were excited by this sight, thinking it meant the summit was very close. However, we found out that they just were unable to complete the difficult climb.

For the first few hours of the climb we would leap-frog the other Canadians, and give each other a few words of encouragement as we passed, trying the best we could to stay positive in our exhausted state. It was amazing how much a simple fist pump or a 'you can do it' gave us an extra boost to keep going. Eventually our guide got the better of us and led us too far from the other group for them to catch us on our breaks, and we found ourselves alone, struggling up this massive peak.

After what seemed like forever, with both of us fighting our stomachs, Jeff's finally beat him and he fell over, covering the trail with his few spoonfuls of yoghurt, and anything else that had still been in his stomach. It didn't seem to be a big deal at all to our guide, and in fact, as Jeff was still kneeling on the ground, not sure if more was to come up, our guide gave the rope a tug and told us to keep moving again. He asked Jeff if he thought we could keep going, and after reassuring us it was only another 200 m or so, we decided to keep going. Jeff felt a bit better, and I managed to keep my stomach in check, and so we thought we were good to go for the last little leg.

Well, it turns out either our guide is a liar, or has perhaps just doesn't know his numbers in English. Later, on our way back down when we saw the Jeff's stained snow, we saw that at the time we were hardly even half way to the summit. From that point, the slope steepened, and we struggled mightily to make it up the 45 degree angle, having to use our ice axe to keep from falling backwards. We even came to an ice wall where we had to kick in the toes of our crampons and use our ice axe to pull ourselves up, eventually making it over the ice-wall. Had our heads not been pounding and had we been able to think clearly, we probably would have enjoyed this quite a bit, as the clouds were giving way to impressive views of ice and snow, and we likely looked like real mountain climbers.

At this point, we thought were just around the corner from the summit, and were ready to get our picture and get back down. However, this was not the case. We were disheartened to see the path descend down and around some impassable ice, losing elevation that we had never worked so hard to gain. Coming around a corner and up to what we thought must be the summit, we met the Dutch guys coming back down. They made it! We told them how Jeff had thrown up before, and they told us how just ahead we would see their own stains on the snow. Apparently the climb hadn't been any easier for them, but they assured us we were near the top, with only a little ways left to go. And so we kept going, with every step more difficult than the one before it. Our guide just kept going, his pace never changing, and us labouring behind. But then, just as we thought we couldn't go any more, we reached the top. He announced – this is it. We looked around and couldn't see anything besides white snow blending in to white clouds. But, it didn't seem like we could go any higher, and so we knew we were at the top. We collapsed to the ground (as we did anytime we stopped), and to celebrate pulled out a couple Ritz crackers. We took a couple pictures, and then our guide announced it was time to descend, and we were more than happy to comply.

We were given a quick lesson on our proper footwork for descending, and then started down the mountain. He kept calling out, first we thought to change our footwork, but then finally we realized he was just telling us to go faster. It seemed he wanted us to run down the mountain – it didn't seem to matter it was a nearly 45 degree angle on snow and ice – he told us since we were all tied together he could hold us if we started to fall down the slope. It turned out with our muscles as tired as they were, our legs were simply unable to go much faster. However, he still had the opportunity to demonstrate his ability at holding us, as both us of couldn't stay on our feet a number of times despite our slow speed. As we went down, we realized just how far we'd come. Even with all the clouds it was now light out, and we could appreciate the immensity of the climb. We had hoped that the lower we got the better we'd feel, but it turned out that wasn't the case. We still collapsed onto the ground with every (infrequent) break, and both nearly emptied our stomaches again.

The last few hundred metres to the refuge we slid down on our snowpants, using our ice axe as a brake. We were so thankful we didn't have to hike down any further, and normally this would have been great fun, but as we both just felt horrible we didn't appreciate it as we could have. Finally, after what seemed like forever, we made it back to the refuge and stumbled up the stairs to the bunks. We were greeted by the Dutch as they were lying in their beds, practically unable to move. “I should be in a hospital right now”, and “This is the worst I have ever felt in my life”, and “That was the hardest thing I have ever done” were statements that we were all making as we lay in our beds. The Canadians came a little while later, and we learned that Paul had thrown up a number of times as well. However, his sister seemed to fare the best out of all of us, still smiling and bright and chipper as the rest of us lay collapsed in our beds. We still don't know how she kept such a positive attitude throughout the climb, but we admire her for it.

As we were all lying in our bunks, one of the guides came up the stairs to tell us it was nearly time to go, and we had to pack up. Nobody moved. This happened two or three more times before any action occurred and we somehow managed to pack our bags and put our boots back on. The hike back down to the parking lot wasn't as bad as we had imagined, and we managed to get into our Land Cruiser and survive the drive back to Latacunga (with a plastic bag in hand, just in case).

We have had a lot of difficult days riding in the past 7 months. And we both are confident that not one was as physically demanding as this climb. It was our first real taste of high altitude, and we now know just how hard it makes things. All in all, climbing Cotopaxi was an experience. We're still not exactly sure how we feel about the whole thing – we both are fairly sure we wouldn't do it again, and yet, we are both very glad we did it.

As a completely unrelated sidenote - we finally got our Central America photo album online. We know, it's about time. Check it out here.

It's Go-Time, Our Time in Quito is Over.

2009-04-06T14:59:00.000-07:00

Current Location: Latacunga, Ecuador
Number of World Cup Qualifying matches attended: 2
Total number of hours spent studying Spanish in Quito: 64
Total number of verb tenses learned: 6
Number of articles of clothing stained by mustard from attempted pickpockets: 4

Our week and half in Quito flew by, and while we had the intention of relaxing, it seemed that every day we were busy with something. Every morning we had 4 hours of one on one learning, and in our 8 days of classes we covered a bit more than a semester of university Spanish. We know this because both of us have taken a semester of university Spanish, and learned much more in our 8 days here in Quito. The highlight of school is of course the fieldtrips, and we enjoyed our tours of the Old City of Quito, a UNESCO World Heritage Site, as well as our hike up Mt. Pichincha, a 4,500 m peak that towers over Quito. We should admit, we took a cable-car most of the way up the mountain and really only hiked the last 400 m or so. It was our first experience at such an altitude (even Quito, at 2,800 m is noticeable) and we're looking forward to many more light-headed, heavy breathing experiences as we go on through South America.

We were lucky enough to get tickets to both the Ecuador vs. Brazil World Cup Qualifying match, as well as the Ecuador vs. Paraguay game. Both games were extremely exciting – some of the best soccer we've seen, with Ecuador outplaying their opponents badly in both games. However, both ended in 1-1 draws, and left the crowd a bit disappointed, and a little restless. Of course, it wouldn't be South American soccer without riot police having some participation, and the refs being pelted by a steady stream of bottles after the game.

We've had some pretty good luck with our bikes so far. Besides the rack bolt snapping back in Mexico, we had never even visited a bike shop except to change our rear brake pads back in San Diego, less than 4000 km into the trip. We just keep pedaling, and those Cannondales just keep chugging along. But, as we made our way up and down the steep hills of north-western Panama, my rear wheel started to get more and more wobbly. Not only that, but the smallest gears on the cassette started to turn independently of the wheel, which meant I was limited to only my easiest gears. The hub was definitely having problems, and we finally had to realize that we couldn't bike all the way to Argentina without having to fix something. And so here in Quito we found ourselves a well-stocked bike shop, and stopped in to see what they could do. We don't think they've seen many touring bikes, or even road bikes for that matter, but every staff member was very eager to help. They took apart the hub to see if it could be fixed, but saw just how shot the whole thing was. They found a new Shimano XT hub for me, changed all our brake pads, all our cables, our handlebar wrap, and lubed and cleaned everything to the point where our bikes look brand new again. And after all this, we paid only for the hub and a couple of the cables, despite a few hours of labour going into it and a few more parts involved. If you're in Quito and you need some tune-ups, we'd highly recommend Mario, and all the guys at Triatlon, on Ave Gral. Eloy Alfaro.

Of course, not all experiences can be great ones, and on our last day while sightseeing and taking pictures in the Old City of Quito, we were both victims of a popular pickpocketing attempt where somebody squirts a bunch of mustard on your clothes, and then 'helps' you wipe it off, meanwhile emptying your pockets. We had read about the trick before, and as soon as somebody pointed out the mustard we were on the defensive - and in addition, neither of us carry anything in our pockets anyway - but still, our one and only pair of pants, as well as one of the two t-shirts that we brought on the trip all had huge mustard globs, dripping all the way down to our shoes. We were not at all impressed. On getting home though, we were able to give everything one more wash and besides a faint stain on my pants, everything is alright. But still. Mustard? That's gross.

We've spent a good deal of time studying our guidebooks, maps, and reading other cyclists blogs and looking at their pictures to try to plan our route ahead. South America is a huge continent, full of amazing sites from top to bottom, and we're going to try to see as much of it as we can. It's been 2 weeks since we've been cycling, and we're both itching to get back on the road. It's been nice here in Quito – it's a very beautiful city – but we're both eager to see so much more that this continent has to offer.

The Amazing Race

2009-03-27T15:14:00.000-07:00

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

2009-03-23T08:26:00.000-07:00

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

2009-03-14T18:22:00.000-07:00

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...