Oh noooooooo….it can’t be!

January 26, 2012:  When you rent a bike from the local bike shop you would think that it would be in excellent working condition.  That is a silly assumption I know…and yes, I was wrong.  The bike sounded as if someone was grinding a mouthful of pulled teeth into a microphone.  It was a horrid sound that kept me from standing up while peddling the bike as I explored Marajo Island.

During the ride there was a woman peddling her mom and even a little girl, whom I desired to pass though I was already struggling to keep up.  I blamed the bike at first but when I stopped putting the blame on other things and simply turned on the juice – I slowly and eventually crept passed her.  Looking back at them, I internally repeated a saying that I said when I was a child, “eat my dust!” as I laughing once again at my maturity.

I took the bike to a few beaches and I saw a huge group of some pink flamingo looking birds that were…scarlet ibises – oh noooooooo!  I can’t believe I just remembered its name.  It can’t be!  I am getting to know the names of the birds now – I just can’t become a birder – I can’t!  I am just too young.  Oh God, please - please - please let me not learn any more bird names!

I rode about 30km today in total - keeping it in kilometers since it is a bigger number than in miles.  Once back in the town of Soure, I decided to replenish my body with what this area is famous for, buffalo meat.  I can safely say that it doesn’t taste like chicken…it simply tasted like meat.  When I finished my meal, I could barely stand up on my legs of rubber. 

It was a nice day today…except now having to figure out how to clear my mind of bird names.

Death Road part II

October 27th, 2010: Going back to La Paz last week for my third and final time, I ended up repeating a mountain bike ride down Death Road…this time for work - if that is what you call it. And again, I am sad to report that…nobody died. You could probably put a child on a bicycle with training wheels and there still would not be any deaths. As I said before, they really need to reconsider relabeling this road to perhaps the “Disney Joy Ride” or something in that effect.
Even though this was my second time down this road, I must say that once finished…the trip back to La Paz was much better this time around since it was during the day. Between my nap breaks, I was able to see the spectacular surrounding looking as if I was on the coast of the Hawaiian island, Kauai. This drive back must be added to one of my top 10 drives of all time. I couldn’t help but take a multitude of mostly blurred photos from the window of the moving van.

Needing to move on, yesterday I felt torn if I should go up north to explore more jungles and fight the mosquitoes with my bare hands (which I would like to add which are registered as deadly weapons in the mosquito community) or to start making my way south. Walking to the bus station with now only the mildest limp, I decided to sit there until I made a decision. I thought and thought and thought, finally deciding to go south, buying myself a 12 hour bus ticket to Sucre. So, I leave the high city of La Paz tonight to go to Sucre that is the official capital of Bolivia and another god forsaken high city.

Please note: I am going to attempt to write less and to post more photos, telling my stories with bigger captions in hopes to have more time to read a few enormous books. This is so that I can lighten my backpack for my upcoming trip to Patagonia and to make more time for other things. And please...don't be scared to post comments, it at times feels as if I am writing into a black hole.

31 dead mountain bikers piled up...

September 10th, 2010: Today I successfully completed a 64 kilometer (39.7677563 miles), 3,400 meters (11 154.8556 feet) downhill bike ride on, “The Death Road.” This year…only 1 Israeli mountain biker died shooting off the edge, when yearly this road use to average anywhere between 200 – 300 deaths for those in cars, buses, trucks and anything else in four wheels before the “new” road opened about 4 years ago.

Over the last 15 years…31 dead mountain bikers piled up at the bottom and I can see how people died on this because the scenery is beautiful making it hard to stay focused on the narrow road. I guess if I was going to plummet to my death…this would be the place to be – there would be a lot of air time before impact…a lot.

When starting the ride, I told myself I was just going to take it slow. This is just what I did…I would take it slow letting everyone get far ahead, then needing to catch up I just “had” to go…fast. I reinforced my realization today that sometimes…I don’t always make the smartest choices.

Thinking about it, when riding down this road…if nobody dies on it anymore, the tour companies would no longer be able to sell their tour for a premium because it wouldn’t matter what types of bikes or safety equipment they provide. And, if nobody dies on “The Death Road” the name of the tour would have to change due to false advertisement. After abandoning the current name and changing it to “The Happy Road”- who would even want to do it let alone get a t-shirt saying that they completed “The Happy Road”?

With this said, the companies can’t possibly eliminate all deaths and only have serious injuries…there needs to be a sacrifice or two every year in order to maintain the excitement and heavy flow of income to the tour companies and t-shirt manufactures so that they can feed their families. Today...I was obviously not one of those sacrificed, since you have to be a virgin – a female virgin.

The Flying...Doucheman

September 16th, 2009: Today I made a trip back up to the 15,180 feet high parking lot on Mt. Cotopaxi, but this time with a bicycle tour company called the Flying Dutchman - strange because none of us on the tour were Dutchman…not even our Ecuadorian guide. I saw this company here my first time I made my way up to this magnificently scenic parking lot. Yes, this is the reputable company that I originally deferred to experience the cheaper bicycle tour with the faulty bikes down a different mountain.

We started our journey in this snowy parking lot that did not resemble the windblown mountain I previously recall. It was obviously the same mountain but with a different face. This time I was able to see the entire mountain without me having to use my imagination before it pulled the clouds back over itself to hide.

Heading down the mountain the snow dissipated as the elevation decreased. Thinking that I was going reasonably fast, pushing my body and bicycle to its limits, a blur flashes by me. This blur ended up being my guide, a flying…Douche - destroying my vision that I was the fastest person on the mountain with the least amount of brain cells. The race was on. Going faster and faster, not listening to my brain, I was slowly catching up. The speed I was obtaining was becoming more and more uncomfortable. With just enough space to make one of the tight turns down the wide gravel road, I almost unintentionally tested the safety rating of my bicycle for a head on collision into a hastily made dirt bank that strongly resembled a wall for those automotive crash test dummies.

I realized that by riding a mountain bike around the city for half of my life does not technically qualify me as a downhill racer. Pulling off to the side of the road, I stopped the race that my competitor never knew started. I looked back up the road pretending to wait for the rest of my group as my I caught my breath and let my shot of adrenaline work itself out of my system, accepting defeat by the Flying… Doucheman.

Over the top

August 10th, 2009: Feeling the need…for speed (some famous movie quote), I was cruising on a perfectly functioning mountain bike down a perfectly constructed paved road leading to the Jungle. Looking back over my shoulder for any potential cars that might be approaching me…I swerved ever so slightly off the main road for a brief second, going on the algae covered water runoff drain that ran parallel with the road. My front tire quickly buckling underneath me - time slowed down but not enough for me to be able to make any choices. My arms instinctively flew out in front of me, only having enough time to protect my left and right nipple. Somehow, I turned my head to the side and pulled my chin tightly into my neck…denying myself a prime opportunity to make out with the pavement as my head smacked the concrete.

Embarrassed, I quickly rose from the cement and attempted to get back on the bike. Feeling as if I had a much too many beers, I couldn’t ride the bike. When the cars down the road slowly passed by me, I looked away just in case they saw what just happened. Blood dripped down my skinned palms and knuckles from when my body slammed onto the concrete. My head was throbbing and throat hurt from imbedding my chin into it. Wearing a helmet that properly fit was the key to gradually making it back on the bike. Wondering if I had a concussion, I didn’t immediately vomit or form a speech impediment…which for starters, was a good sign. Thankfully, as for the rest of my body, I was wearing so many layers of clothes it provided me with a nice cushion upon impact.

Turning my bike in…the lady noticed the blood on my hands. Seeming concerned, she asked me if I was okay. I told her I was fine, saying that I scraped it falling off a rock at the waterfalls…not wanting her to worry about calculating the astronomical costs for the cosmetic damage I did and did not do to the bike. I thought since I saw no major visible damage…there was no reason to make her work too hard – it was a holiday.

Next time…check the bike

August 5th, 2009: I took a mountain bike trip that was run out of my hostel today. The selling point was that it was $30 cheaper than their competitors costing me only $15. After seeing their competition when going up the mountain yesterday, I thought that I must have gotten a good deal.

Driving up to the top of Mt. Ruminahui we disembarked the vehicle at 15,180 feet. Once we took the bikes off the roof of the SUV, I was able to get a closer look at the bikes…realizing why we got such a good deal. The bikes were perhaps worth $15…a lot less if you calculated what needed to be fixed. The repairs I initially saw were things like a bent seat, handle bars and pedals. Prior to leaving for the tour, I didn’t notice that in the book describing this tour, someone added an arrow in front of the word bike and wrote, “shit.”

We headed down a dirt road on these… pieces, dodging the minor obstacles such as rocks, fresh cow piles and the makers of these piles. The ride was not difficult by any means - the problem was when I was approached my first corner at a high rate of speed. Applying my brakes softly at first, nothing happened…applying more pressure, the only thing that happened was that my front brake pretended it was working and back one worked so well, the tire wanted to come out from underneath me - now it is time for me to add another minor item that needed repairs…brakes. Not a problem if you were intending on just going straight on a flat level surface, but you see…this was a 3,630 foot downhill bike ride.

Not sure if I should go off the hill with the bike and pull a massive non-recorded last jump or just lay it down - I choose neither as I squeezed my brakes, skidding sideways on the loose gravel. When hitting the grass before the drop off my tire gained stability as I was just able to make the turn. The bike ride just became…a little more exciting. Now that I knew not too expect much from the bike, I was able to compensate the lack of stopping power by unwillingly wearing out several weeks of good use on the soles of my shoes by using my feet.

Stopping the bike, I decided to do a somewhat delayed equipment check. At one point during my bikes life it had disk brakes on the front but for some reason they were replaced with pad brakes that were purely aesthetics. Continuing our ride I was happy that I was not the only one that had a lemon… everyone had issues. Next time, I will have to think about…spending a few extra dollars.

(Bow your head - I was told that the following week someone actually went off the side on one of these “shit” bikes and had to go to the hospital due to some deep lacerations to his face)