Central America

My first day in Central America was a grueling reminder that bike touring is not always fun and games. The combination of humidity, intense sun light, and rising elevation, helped to nurture a growing feeling of desperation to escape. Two weeks later, after pedaling through two polar opposite countries of Guatemala and El Salvador, I cant help but feel proud for enduring the tough times, and making the best of the good ones.

Guatemala

On our way up the volcano to Xela, we ate lunch and pulled out the inflatable globe to share with the kids some fun geography of where we came from.

Our first night in Guatemala was at a privately owned gas station, just a little over 2100′ of elevation. Our hosts, where a curious bunch of gas station attendants and the business’ accountant Calver. At first I was bit nervous because Calver and the others continued to ask about the monetary value of our gear. Since crossing the border to Guatemala, I was suprised at the direct and vocal curiosity of Guatemantecos as they asked us questions from the road, out of a moving car, and at the comedor on the street. It seemed my temporary discomfort with thier directness had come from growing accustomed to the at a distant stare of people from northen Mexico. After a few minuets of assesing the possibility of danger in answering thier questions honestly about the value, I asked Calver why it was that Guatemantecos asked such questions. Calver, a 30-something father from an extensive family who made about $100 a month, responded that in Guatemala people are simply curious about the cost of foriegn things.

The climb to Xela, Guatemala
 After an exausting 7-hour day of pedaling upward to 9000′ between two volcanoes, we found ourselves in the well known colonial town of Quetzaltenango aka Xela. I have mixed feelings about my 36hrs. in Xela. On one hand it was great fun to spend time discussing future ambitions and sharing life lessons with Cassi Grunder, a friend from back home in Alaska. On the other, after experience some of the nightlife, talking and eating with the locals around the plaza, and exploring by foot the surounding neighborhoods; I began to get the impression that Xela as a was a combination of a city catering to the power of the tourism dollar with a slight inbalance of western dominance in the cities center of western-world owned or operated businesses. This was most evident by the economic relationships of the people that frequented the hip-bohemian-wifi coffee shops, and those who bought their food from indigneous Mayan women and ate under tarps next to the other food vendors alongside the local market. After exploring both worlds, it seems the explanation for such behavior is the comfort level with the language and familiarity with places. All in all, Xela is a place where divisions between different cultures cohabitate to create a safe place to explore and challenge ones comfort zones.

Lago Atitlan, Guatemala


 The Mayan communties found along the route of the highest point along the Panamerican highway, were to me the most inspiring and memorable aspects of Guatemala. More specifically, it was the community and people that dotted along the road that descends into the town of San Paulo de la laguna Atitlan. Passing smiles, brief roadside coversations, and the bright colors of thier traditional regalia has me wanting to return, to work and live along side with them.

San Paulo de la Laguna, Guatemala
 Never along this journey have I felt that my bike was inadequatley equiped untill our partial 10km descent to the small pueblo village on the westside of Lago Atitlan. Rain, steep grades followed by blind turns, and rocks sparatically scattered throughout the road from landslides, brought us to hitch a ride in the down in the truckbed of the police’s Toyota Hilux. Upon arriving at the densley populated San Paulo de la laguna among curious Mayans, we discovered that it was not reccomnended to camp, and the road to the following town of San Juan with hotel accomidations was known to be unsafe after dark. The rain began once again as we waited outside the police station for our motorcycle police escort to the followin town of San Juan. There may be some truth to the dangers of Guatemala, however it is no different than the desperation found in other densley populated cities of the western world where poverty and crime are common after dark.

San Pedro de la Laguna, Guatemala
 Having had arrived with no harm the night before from San Paulo, we awoke at La Estrella hostel/ hotel in San Juan. After a small breakfast we set out once again on bike to the following pueblo of San Pedro de la laguna. Along the way we passed a group of indigenous women in traditional regalia with long colorful “cortes” or skirts. Thier presence gave me a better sense of security about our decision to treck out on the potentially dangerous road without police escort. A short 2km ride later we were overlooking San Pedro de la Laguna with it’s tiny walkway streets and San Francisco like grade streets. Besides meeting a few neat international travelers, the clearly dominant western owned business catering to young travelers to San Pedro left me feeling uneasy. I felt as though the indigenous community were seen as nostalgic detail in the landscape of the town where you could find an Italian resturant and hear electro-house music thumping from a local bar or night club. Still, my fondest memory from San Pedro was ventring out with my sister and a pack of travelers from the hostel to dance to an array of music. Erika and I kept the dance floor alive and helped to bridge the divisions between locals and travelers with dance.

San Lucas de laguna, Guatemala

Me diving with bad form. Photo: Erika Avellaneda-Celis

Biggest news from this even smaller pueblo accross the lake is the cliff diving. I have a slight paralyzing fear of heights, so when I dove from the 30′ cliff into the lake with no real second thought I learned that fears are conquerable if you can find a way to associate the situation with a comfort. In this case my comfort with water over rided my fear of heights.

El Salvador
 The hardships I witnessed in El Salavador were exasperated by the push to complete El Salvador in six days. We planned our first day of rest to be in Nicaragua after reaching crossing Acoos Bay from the southern most port city of La Union. Instead we found ourselves in a logistical nigtmare of having to digress to the previous city of San Miguel to catch a bus through Honduras. Our original plan to cross the bay to Nicaragua was not going to be financially feasable based on our schedule to arrive on time to volunteer in Costa Rica with Cortec to help out with the sea turtle season.

Colon to U.S. Dollars
 Just before crossing the border to El Salvador I learned that the U.S. Dollar was instituted as the nations currency in the year 2000. This came as bit of a suprise because I didn’t know what to expect on a budget of $5 day for food. Luckily the only inflated prices appear to be on packaged junk food and fast food franchise meals. Besides that a $1.25 can get you an excellent lunch with a cold glass bottle of coke and warm tortillas. I especially enjoyed the pupuserias found on nearly any street corner and made frequent stops for $.50 bags of coconut water.

Behavior and Norms
 I am sad to say that I felt as though I was back in mainland Mexico because of the amount of blatant machismo behavior and possessive stares from the Salvadorian men toward my sister Erika. This was multiplied by the whistling, hissing and other verbal like demands made by male street vendors who not only tried to mandate my attention, but also where I spent my money. It didn’t help to hear the dictator like sermons coming from evangelcal churches as we passed by them in both rural and urban areas. On one particular occasion, a wedding ceremony was under way as the preacher screamed into mic reminding his listeners at incredibly unbearable decible levels of volume, that god made woman for man. Could it be possible that a societies belief in a male creator god and his holy son contribute in a passive and subtle manner to the same degrading opinion that exists about females inferriority to males? I think so.

Infrastructure & Public Services
 El Salavador has suffered a rash of odd weather much like the rest of the globe. Intense heat is no longer cooled the same way it once was with the arrival of the monsoon rains. Instead, the rain stays concentrated in specific areas for extended periods and causes massive flooding and damage to roads and bridges. We crossed at least three completely destroyed bridges that required either serious deviation or careful footwork accross wobbly wood planks supported by steel cable.

The second bridge we crossed that was destroyed by massive rain flooding. Photo: Erika Avellaneda-Celis

To this day I try to imagine what it would be like to witness rivers nearly the size of the Knik river in Alaska wiping out the road. In urban areas the obvious problem is a lack of proper waste management that is evident with overflowing dumpsters on the sides of the street mixed with at times seriously deteriorated road surfaces and sidewalks.

El Slavadorian Spirit

With his 7-speed modified wheel chair, this man we met at a Shell gas station, sold choclate bars and candy for $.50. This image serves as a perfect example of the ongoing pattern through Latin America where no matter what the obstacle you never give up.

In light of the hardships, I encountered spirited and curious Salvadorians who shared with me their ambitions for travel and adventure. One such case was the one of Ernesto, a Salvadorian immigrant to the United States, who had just recently returned home after nearly two-and-a-half decades of not seeing his family. He had waited 23 years for his permanent residency to be accepted so that he could be sure of his return back to the US. Ernesto’s chipper movements and lively attention to tending the families roadside tienda, made this middle age man appear to be more like a kid.

This kind preserverence is at the core of the Salvadorian spirit. It was evident in the furry of questions I answered from people in the plaza the day we reached our final Salvadorian destination of the port at La Union, as one after another began to share thier stories with me.

Nicaragua

A view from the ferry ride through the worlds largest freshwater lake, Lago Nicaragua, to Isla Ometepe. Photo: Erika Avellaneda-Celis

Our leisure time in Nicaragua was spent primarily on the Isla of Ometepe. Reason being, the bus we took from El Salavador through Honduras brought us directly to the Nicaraguan capital Managua. That evening, just as the sun was setting, we made our way from the bus terminal through a sketchy neighborhood to the hostel. After pulling out the maps and travel guide books, we calculated that in order to arrive on time in Costa Rica to volunteer with sea turtle nesting, we would have to catch the following days ferry across the lake of Nicaragua.

Ferry Ride – Lake Nicaragua

This in it’s self was a a bit of a heckle, and reminded us why we prefer not to deal with any sort of public transport while traveling by bike. The cost, formal-yet-informal  ”fees”, and the constant dismantling of bikes and equipment were testing our patience. The worst of it was a 14-hour boat ride from the Isla Ometepe in Lake Nicaragua to Los Chiles, a port town for preparing to enter Costa Rica. Erika and I accommodated ourselves the best we could on the crowded upper boat deck, only to have rain start pouring after getting an hours worth of sleep. This disastrous (but common) natural event led to flustered-smelly-damp travelers to pack like sardines into the upper cabin, while the excess like me and others, slept of the the only partially dry area on outer deck where occasional winds blew rain. The lesson learned? Poor planning is expensive, and usually not very enjoyable.

Before this climatic event, Erika and I enjoyed three very chill and much needed days of rest on the Isla Ometepe. It was here that we met another group of cyclists travelers who were going to board the ferry we just got off. One of the cyclist Baptise, an Austrian, gave us the heads up on a Sweedish cyclist and photographer/ journalist Hanna Jakobson who should be passing through in a few days.  We met with Hanna two days later and spent a day recapping from our hammocks, our favorite places and experiences from the road while staying at Little Morgans. I will never forget how Morgan, an Irish immigrant who now calls Nicaragua home, would adamantly remind visitors of the house rules for the pool table. “No slops mate, ths’s peugh poo’l.”, he would repeat through his Irish accent. Ometepe was also the first time we made use of our Kendal mud tires, due to the 8km treck across the island through roudy rocky roads and mud.

Reversing the norms one article of clothing at a time

I found washing my laundry in the stream with the local women from Isla Ometepe very enjoyable. Through this activity, I testified to the men working road construction laying concrete bricks, that house hold duties can be done by men as well. The experience of being waist deep in clear water with fish hovering around me was also fun. Getting back on track, my first morning in Managua, Nicaragua, I was happy to find and read an incredibly concise and well written op-ed on the importance of student-teacher and teacher-student relationship that leads to open dialog in sexual education. In the article, Maestra Teresa Crespin, identifies how informal dialog from media and entertainment industry on sexual activity dominate the informal knowledge of sexual education because of it’s dynamic ability to engage on the subject. Maestra Crespin goes on to point out that as long as sex-ed facilitators continue to distance themselves from the students and simply dictate facts on the subject, the longer the dialog will stay dominated by misconstrued and false information. She advocates instead for an open dialog approach where students and the teacher can learn from one another, and in the process organically create an exchange of information where both can feel comfortable to learn and share.

Costa Rica


It’s true what they say about Costa Rica being expensive. Even the route that we took from Los Chiles to the Caribbean coast is pricey. The countryside from Los Chiles to Highway 4, that runs east to west is loaded with big monocrop farms of pine apples. The perfectly-flawless imagery of fruits and vegetables that dominate bus stop advertising for agricompanies who make biochemicals,  planted in my mind a seed of curiosity about the export market of produce in country where nearly no fruits and vegetables can be found at the super market. Even the tiny  fruit vendors I had grown accustomed to throughout Central America have disappeared. There are however some really neat familiarities to Costa Rica that remind me of life in the US.

For one, the law enforcement really does do a thorough job. Erika and I have been questioned randomly more hear than all through out Central America. Our first night setting up camp and making dinner outside a grocery store and pub off the side of the road, we discovered that the police are serious about their jobs. Another interesting familiarity to the states is the uptight and general distrusting tone that Costa Ricans have about strangers. This sort of mentality was predominant in bigger towns. On that note, one interesting observation since starting this tour, is that each country has a tendency to blame it’s southern border neighbor for any social or environmental issues. It seems immigrants are the universal scapegoat.

Sea Turtle Midwives

Erika Avellaneda-Celis logs GPS data in the early morning light after as Steven Hardwick (center) scans the beach and Aaron Honig reads GPS coordinates. Night seven-hour night watch shift for Green Sea turtles.

Ever sense Baja California, I have been in awe of  the stars found in the night sky. So much so, that my ritual for when I am nearing a full moon is to recall where I was on the previous full moon. Last night with the moon just three days away from it’s climax, and my right arm at shoulders length in a hole I had dug on the beach; I caught the glimmer of my promise ring in the moons light. Still digging with my face pressed against the sand,  I could feel three new mosquito bites on my back. I smiled. In another 30-days I would look up and recall the stealth night missions dressed in black walking the beach protecting sea turtle mamas from poaching.

This has to be the most rewarding experience of this trip for two reasons. One, I have greater understanding for the cycles and chaotic ways of nature. Two, the individuals I encountered in my two weeks here have left a permanent impression on my life.

First Impressions

The biological research station of Coterc in Cano Palma, Costa Rica, is slightly tucked away in the jungle, and  separated from the Caribbean coast by a murky water canal. Howling from Howler monkeys have replaced the wake up calls from gallos I have s gotten used to on the road.  I have grown accustomed to eating with cockroaches, and battle less with the ants that march through the kitchen. I have even grown comfortable to Juancho, the 6-ft caiman, who circles the dock. When I first arrived I battled with the presence of wildlife. After accepting the reality of where I was, and sharing life and duties with truly passionate individuals who let their meals get cold over critter sightings, I began to see and understand what it is that makes nature so mesmerizing.

Volunteer Work

There are two ways to acquiring knowledge. Most commonly, formal education through accredited institutions do the trick for individuals looking to get move up in line to get their ticket punched. The second, a lesser traveled road, is through hands on experience in the field that challenge an individual to not just recall knowledge, but also actively problem solve. Working with Green Sea turtles requires the empathy, patience and strength of motherhood, mixed in with the spirit of  stealth investigation, and yes a bit of grunting. The three mile long beach running north and south, began to take it’s toll after three consecutive morning and night walks. The morning shift began at 5AM and required the entire length of the beach to be traveled by foot in search for nests, turtle nesting activity and evidence of  poaching. Tracks would be covered, GPS coordinates taken, and even a bit of CSI type of investigation done in order to categorize the turtle activity. My favorite shift however was the later night shift that began at 10PM. This shift required a team of three people to perform three vitally important tasks. One person to tag the turtle, another to take biometric measurements (size of turtle), and a third to catch the eggs. The name of the game was essentially to sneak up on a turtle in the process of digging her hole to lay the eggs, then carefully insert a bag to catch all the eggs. With 100 or so eggs captured, two individuals would seek out another location to bury the eggs, which required triangulation and bit of digging. Once the eggs were safely buried, the mama turtle was usually still disguising her nest, and one could easily take measurements of her shell and look for any major physical characteristics. If she required tagging it would also be done at this moment.

Chaos is fun

One of the first things I learned from April Stevens, the research director in charge of the Sea Turtle Conservation at Coterc, is that in biology there are no natural laws. Nature is naturally chaotic. This single constant variable made the PM shift a double edged sword where one could never expect anything to be the same, but also where one could never be guaranteed that everything would go exactly as planned. One example being that turtles have different personalities. One turtle may buck like bull when tagging, while another may just hold still. Sometimes turtles just change their minds about where they want to put their eggs and you spend two hours waiting as they fuss around. But the worst is when you have multiple turtles hit the beach like torpedoes, and you have to juggle duties. I myself had multiple nights where I was able to share breakfast with the following days morning team because of the amount of turtles on the beach. Mix any one or all of these scenarios with rainstorms, mosquitoes, bitting ants and sand every where from in your ear to down your pants and you have the ingredients for a team building and bonding experience.

By Oki on August 23, 2010 | Posted in Uncategorized | Tagged , , , | Leave a comment

Oki is grateful

Lessons from the rain

When the rain starts the internet goes out, and often takes with it the electricity. This keeps me on my toes as to how often I can stock up on fresh fruits and veggies. In return, this small inconvenience has taught me to plan my meals and choose my produce accordingly. The tupperware containers in the bathroom and kitchen sink remind me that the water I use comes from a cement space the size of a walk-in closet under the yard that has to be filled. Water scarcity has put a smile on my face, because the morning after a rainstorm when the electricity has gone out and the refrigerator is getting warm, I can go out and collect what the buckets have captured and feel a sense of calm and gratitude for the cycles of nature.

Gratitude

Gratitude is fascinating. At times I only acknowledged as that sliver of a feeling that comes along with satisfaction and happiness. Lately though, I have come to realize that the tranquility I feel as I retreat to my temporary home in Las Juntas when the rain clouds start to swell, has more to do with what I don’t have, than what I do. In other words, the peace of mind that lets me sleep is due to someone else’s selfless nature. For example, the sense of panic and fear that developed inside me as I read the possible side affects of rabies was calmed when I discovered that the government of Mexico extends the same life saving vaccines to visitors passing through as it does to its people at no cost. The situation dosn’t even have to be that dire. Take for example the many roofs I have been extended in Paulsbo, Santa Barbara, Los Angeles and Huntington Beach. Even here in Mexico the span of hospitality has been a beautifully furnished condo in Puerto Vallarta to the living room floor of an incredibly giving family in Esquinapa who had me in tears the next morning when it was time to say goodbye. For a few of you, it was the time we shared in conversation or in passing, convinced you that my character and this adventure deserved the merit of your financial support or the donation of your services. This overwhelming feeling of gratitude coming from inside of me requires some sort of recognition. I know it, because I felt it just recently when I was back on my bike for the first time since nearly two weeks, riding with traffic in the streets of Guadalajara feeling complete once again.

In return

It is to you, my community of friends, family, businesses and strangers from the road that I am grateful for. The kindness of your actions continues to fuel me to complete this pilgrimage. So as I prepare to set out in the midst of monsoon season, I wanted to extend to you all a gift for your support. Along this journey, I have carried a camera that has allowed me to document and capture the places and people I have come across. Upon completing my voyage and returning to Alaska, I will compile a group of images from which you can choose. The memories, stories and the people and places I have encountered will be made available to you in the form of a limited edition  archival print.
A special thanks goes out to my partner in life and my wife-to-be Laura, for believing in me and handling the costs of getting my filmed developed. To the awesomely real crew of my favorite local photo lab in Alaska, Kellers, who has been digitizing my film. And to you my rockin Alaskan community of photographers and again to Kellers, for the many sweet rolls of film you sent down so that I can continue to feed my addiction, thank you. Last but not least, to Dropbox for believing in the freemium model of business, which has allowed me to obtain my images anywhere on the road and share the beauty of analog photography, and to those of you who have shared the wealth of your social capital by sharing my links and stories with others. Thank you all!!

Closing thoughts

That said, I leave you with the most recent depictions and events from the life of a thankful nomadic cyclist named Oki.
By Oki on July 5, 2010 | Posted in Uncategorized | 1 Comment

Oki Proposes

Night 1
Laura and I left Puerto Vallarta relatively early. It was another clear sky day but the sun’s intensity was no real challenge for the short 35km ride to el pueblo of Las Palmas. Just as the sun hit high noon, we had put the bikes to rest in the shade and began to prepare to eat our simple lunch of black bean soup with tortillas. After lunch we took off to the town plaza through cobblestone rock streets that rattled the bikes’ fenders. Here we made a few portraits and met an elderly man Roberto, who had previously worked in Alaska as a fisherman. We spent a great part of our time there under the shade of a tree till we set out to find our place for the night. Taking into account the advice of some locals, we headed to the dry river bed of a small creek that ran along the town. It was here that we swam and cooked dinner as a nomadic cyclist couple for the first time. With Laura’s incredible mental glossary of recipes to pull from, we prepared a Mexican-Alaskan pasta with Poblano peppers for dinner. The bits of smoked salmon that my mom sent along with Laura complemented the Poblano chiles to create a perfect blend of smokey pasta cooked over an open fire. That night we slept with the moons light coming through the tent screen wall I knew that this mini tour to Guadlajara would be a good challenge for us as a couple.

Night 2
It was a gruelling 5-hour climb to the town of Estancia. I knew when I was planning our course that this would be the toughest day of our trip. Little did I know how absurd the climbing would be. It didn´t help that we also got behind and started our morning off later than planned. Just like any other couple, we bickered at one another as to how we each played a role in the sun’s rays beating against us as we began our ascent. Yet it was Laura’s strength and constant push that helped me keep a decent pace so as not find ourselves riding at the hottest hours of the day. I remember watching Laura take off up the hill after another sunblock break and thought, ¨That is the kind of woman I want with me in life.¨ All in all we climbed nearly 3k feet that day to arrive in the town of Estancia where we simply collapsed on the sidewalk under the shade of a tree next to a tienda. We ate the leftovers from the previous night’s pasta and shared a massive orange and coconut water. Food had never tasted so amazing, as Laura experienced first hand how constant exercise and being deprived of food makes any tiny morsel of food an incredible delicacy. As if climbing for 5 hours in the hot sun wasn’t enough, Laura and I began to see the toll the tiny little bugs had taken on our legs and ankles from our river bed camping spot. With my ankles swollen from the barrage of these tiny little bites, I looked over at Laura’s legs to see the back of her thighs dotted with the same red sores. That night we went in and out of sleep as we tried to ignore the symphony of sounds at the town plaza with kids’ laughter, cell phones blaring a mix of American and Mexican music and stray dogs barking. I was beginning to understand how much Laura has to put up with chaffing, bug bites and little sleep.
Night 3
 Not wanting to make the same mistake twice of sleeping in, Laura and I woke up at 5:30AM with dark sky and a few stars still visible. The sun’s rays had just begun to seperate the mountain range ahead of us as we started our little MSR stove to make coffee and oatmeal. By 7AM we were packed and ready to go with only one problem. The public bathroom we were counting had been locked at some point in the night. Without hesitation we took off to get out of town, shortly thereafter (and I mean shortly!) we stopped to take care of our business. This isn´t necessarily one of the qualities I would have listed in a potential partner, but I do greatly admire how Laura puts to rest the stereotype that it´s harder and therefore takes longer for women to use the great outdoors bathroom. We climbed till nearly 11AM at a much faster rate and with good conversation, which is key for making time go by. As we started our descent from the top at just over 6k feet I had a constant loop of fear in my mind for Laura. My fear disappeared after watching her descend on the next big downhill, as I witnessed the same dexterity and control as when she invited me to go mountain biking back in Alaska. The remaining 12km or so to the town of Mascota were an easy flat straight course that we completed within half an hour as Laura pointed out the many odd mis-spellings on the signs along the highway.
Arriving in Mascota I finally understood how serious Laura´s chaffing had become. It was no slightly red sore chaffing like I had experienced in the Northwest. Instead it was two swollen red sores with a blister on each cheek the size of a jolly rancher candy and a surounding area that looked like road rash. With my swollen ankles and Laura’s chaffed bottom we decided to stay an extra day in Mascota so as to give our bodies a break in order to heal somewhat. After telling our story of how we came to arrive by bikes to the very curious town people of Mascota, we set out to find the lake “just 3km” out of town. Unfortunately, we took on these last few climbing kilometers fully loaded with food and water with the intense evening sun ruthlessly coming down on us. I remeber how frustrated Laura was as she climbed with a full 10L water bladder up the dirt road after an approaching vehicle honked at us to get to one side. Bathing at the lake with the sun’s heat diminishing into the evening was a real treat after the hot dusty climb. That night we had another amazing dinner with fresh cuts of beef thigh from the plaza butcher in our tortilla soup. It was also another typical night in the sense that as soon as we arrived, the two restaurants below were blaring Norteños. By 10PM Laura, feeling sore, bitten and chaffed, had had enough. We walked together hand-in-hand to ask the restuant patrons when the music would end. Slightly mocking us, an employee responded that it might not ever end. Defeated by the group of inconsiderate restaurant workers and friends who were fairly well intoxicated, we returned to our humble little tent on the hill to try to catch some sleep.

Night 4
After washing our laundry by hand and setting it out to dry, we decided not to test our luck on another potential sleepless night. Heading back towards Mascota, we planned our night of rest to be at the river that was just out of town. After arriving, Laura stayed to set up base camp as I took off into town to pick up some breakfast food and snacks for the next few days on the road. When I returned, Laura was in her brazillian bikini playing in the river with two local kids, Sergio and Cristian. The two were brothers, ¨Chayoteros,¨ as they called themselves after the vegetable their family grew. They had become fond of Laura as she taught them all about our tent and stove. Laura and I swam in the fairly still river, jumping off rocks and playing with the kids. After our swim, the two brothers followed us back to camp where again they fired off a number of questions about our stove, tent and cameras. Watching Laura go into teacher mode has to be one of my favorite parts about her. She is as playful as she is serious. Feeling refreshed from our river swim we slept better, but still the Norteños played somewhere in the distance from the trunk of another decked out ride.

Night 5
Didn´t happen as planned. We did make our goal of riding to Anteguillo 45km away after what was a fairly challenging day of continuous climbing, but not the treturous climbing of day two. Once again, we started off a bit later than expected, beginning our day with a much longer, steeper climb than anticipated. Soon thereafter we found ourselves once again racing to get out of the sun’s heat rays in the noonish hours. By 1:30PM we had pushed long enough and decided to eat a respectable lunch because we had been snacking on what was supposed to be our lunch for the day. We found shelter at the top of the hill just as the descent into another valley was within sight. The day’s special was cow heart in an amazing sauce served with beans and hand-made tortillas. Lunch was served with two lukewarm glasses of Coca-Cola as we once again devoured food just as soon as it had been put in front of us. The lady whose house it was came over twice to refill our tortilla pile and would as usual tell the mangy looking husky dog that was under the table across to shew away. After finishing lunch, Laura was feeling sleepy and asked me if I would help her set up a place to sleep. Looking around at the dirty couches covered in dust from the road, I thought it would be wise to place my Z-rest mattress atop as a barrier from the filth and potential fleas. I stood up, walked over and began to shake out my dry bag’s contents to get out the mattress when I felt a quick, short sting in my left calf. Looking back, I saw two puncture holes and the mangy husky dog behind me.

Two days after the incident we had finally found out that the Secretary of Health was the only place to recieve the vaccine.

Rabies Scare
After cleaning the wounds with the aid of the woman and her husband, it was discovered that the dog had not been vaccinated. Furthermore, the dog had previously bitten another woman and showed evidence of wounds around its neck from what may have been a previous attack. The wounds around the dog’s neck and the knowledge that coyotes existed in the area gave me a strong indication that the dog was likely to have been exposed to rabies through some sort of attack. Not wanting to take my chances on being wrong, we darted off down the hill to complete the remaining 15km to arrive in the town of Anteguillo. It was just as we began to descend that I felt with absolute certainty that no matter what happened by the end of that day, I was going to propose to Laura. I don´t know if was a state of fear for my life or the simple sense of urgency with the complication at hand, but I knew for certain that this change in events would be the proof that I needed to know that Laura was to be the partner I would share my life with.

Broken Systems
The three hour bus ride to Guadalajara from Anteguillo went by slowly. I passed the time reading a New Yorker article about Los Tigres del Norte, a  popular music group known for their lengthy performances of the classic norteño music. My first introduction to this group was through Laura who gifted me one of their emotional songs about the mixed blessings of being an undocumented worker in the United States. whose simple melodies and clear story telling have begun to captivate me. As we approached Guadalajara, the freeways and constant traffic of a city of 7 million was overwhelming. I was glad we had arrived by bus. With the bus parked at the station, I hustled to unload the gear from below as Laura discussed the logistics of how to get to the hospital with a few people who were also onboard. The plan was to find the nearest hotel to drop off the gear and head out to the major hospital downtown. With the bikes packed, fenders rubbing and squeeling brake pads from the mis alignment after being squished under the bus for storage, we peddaled to the first respectable-looking hotel across from the station.
Once inside the hotel bedroom, we were in and out like a pit crew with a few snacks packed and a fresh change of cloths. Our arrival at the hospital was no real assurance with the entire building surounded by a green fence. After finding the entrance we were told that I could not be attended there because I had to be a Mexican citizen. We were pointed towards another hospital in the area that served all people, including the un-insured.
The New Civilian Hospital, as it was known, was no help either because they had no vaccines on hand. With a referal phone number on a scrap of paper for the Green Cross who handles all toxology-related cases, we set out to find a public phone. After a few mis-dials I was able to reach the Green Cross, only to learn out they too did not have the vaccine on hand. Furious at this point, I asked where I should go, since the two previous hospitals had nothing. They gave me the phone number for the Red Cross, which ended up being incorrect. All the while I was dialing, Laura was thumbing through the phone book jotting down phone numbers for medical that I might also try. After a fury of dialing the Red Cross and a few other private hospitals, the answer was unanimous: nowhere in Guadalajara existed the anti-rabies vaccine. Even the 911 equivalent had no other resources as to where to find it.

Fleas in my bed
Defeated and frustrated, we caught the last bus that brought us partially back to our hotel. Walking the remaining distance hand-in-hand with Laura, I was thankful that I was in a major city with my partner who had been at my side supporting me all along. Now back at the hotel, we joked about how we would finally get a good nights rest and be able to start our second day of hunting for the vaccine. After taking a brisk shower together, Laura insisted she was being bit by something that she could not see. Not believing her, I asked her to show me some sort of evidence of the creature responsible for her bites. After I took the tiny black speck into the bathroom to study it under better light, it appeared not to move. Using my thumb nails to squish the black speck, I felt its tiny exoskeleton frame finally squish under a great amount of preassure. Once again, there I was repacking and prepping the bikes as Laura delt with getting her money back and lining up the logistics of how we would get to Arqui’s house clear across town. Its because of Arqui, our mutual friend back in Alaska who grew up in Guadalajara, that we would finally have some sort of respectable nights sleep.

Cramming
Enrique, Arqui’s good friend, pulled up outside the hotel with a tiny 4-door sedan. After a quick introduction and a brief joke about how our day has been, we began the meticulous, free hand process of trying to fit two bikes with gear and three people into the same car. With few modifications to Enrique’s after-market sound system, and rear passenger’s window half-way down, we were on our way through the now quiet streets of Guadalajara. After driving clear across town to the Southeast industrial side, we pulled up to the house on a dirt road with no name. Enrique got to wake-up Moises, Arqui’s youngest brother, who was dressed in his white bathrobe and slippers. With a little team work and the quick use of a multi-tool, we had all the gear and bikes out of the car and upstairs where Laura and I would stay.

Proposal
After the good nights and thank yous were said, we were left alone in silence after what had felt like a never ending barrage of tasks needing attention through the course of our long day. It was there, outside on the porch in the moonlight as we helped to undress one another so as not to contaminate our new home with fleas that I remembered the ring I had made for Laura. I went inside and grabbed the ring, returning quickly to kiss a now fully-naked Laura in the moonlight. Fumbling my words, I thanked Laura for her strength and told her how much I admired her ability to put up with the inconveniences and yet still stay optimistic throughout the day. It was then that I dropped down to my knees with the ring in my right hand and slipped it onto Laura’s finger. With tears in my eyes and my voice shaky from emotion I asked Laura if she would marry me. After an emotional yes, we kissed and embraced as we prepared for bed with not a single Norteño to be heard.

By Oki on June 5, 2010 | Posted in Mexico | Tagged , , | 1 Comment

Oki loves

I love many things in life. But after having had ridden more than 5k on bike i begin to realize what it is that i truly love and what it is that just gets me happy.

For example I don´t care for a beer. After a long day. Instead i look for the closest fruteria and buy a mango. I save the beer for an occasion when im prepping a hearty dinner so i can enjoy it as i prep all the peices of a fine meal over the MSR stove.

Cold showers. I crave this sooo much more now that we are in humid mainland Mexico.  Night time is the only time of the day that i can tell when my body is not part of the hot air. Im dont need no stinkin hot water, give me a bucket of cold water and a bowl.

Sailing! I am in love with sailing. Its like riding your bike down hill with the forces of nature to ur advantage. Its that rumble high you get if youve ever skated on a long board down a graudual hill. Sailing gives me a rush of power because the hustle needed to harness the wind. It is also incredibly rewarding to see your physical efforts take effect. I desperatley need to find a sailing community in AK when i get back.

Simplicity. Life truly is what you make it. I have seen evidence of this time and time again with the people and experiences I encounter. I witnessed it two nights ago when I stayed in the  humble beautiful home of Manuel and Feliz.

Photos to come. please be patient :)

By Oki on May 9, 2010 | Posted in Uncategorized | 9 Comments

Oki is learning to budget

Dear family, friends and followers, this full re-cap is best enjoyed with a delightful beverage of your choice and a free schedule. Please excuse the grammatical and spelling errors as internet access has become more of a marathon than a leisurly activity.

Preparing for our only brief encounter with rain while in route to Ensenada, Baja California Photo: Erika Avellaneda-Celis

Tiajuana -> Ensenada

Erika and I climbed out of Tiajuana and rode all down hill Rosarito on March 21st. where we set up camp on the beach. I slept decently Okay, but to be honest I was still a little weary about sleeping in urban public places so I found myself up at 4AM. Since then I mellowed out immensley because I have come to realize 99% of the Mexican population is no different than your average American going about their daily life. The problem is media loves to hype bad news and create drama.

Ensenada -> Catavina

We had a really awesome time riding to Ensenada where we stayed at the “Casa de Cyclistas” as it has come to be known. It is a little private apartment that is available (upon 1 week notice) to traveling cyclists who pass through. It is watched over by an awesome elderly couple Herrardo & Delia who still walk the streets holding hands just as if they were young lovers. We stayed here for two days and got our selves ready to head out to the desert by bus. Now typically this would not be the case, but Erika and i decided to fast-forward and take a bus out to the beggining of the desert. We did this based on 1) the advice of  Gabriel Shimomotoan, a cyclist and geniunely caring member of the Ensenada community, who is in charge of promoting tourism for the State of Baja California 2) being slightly behing schedule for our projected arrival to La Paz in order to meet with my friend and sister’s boyfriend Rodrigo. From what I could see from the bus window, I was a glad we did not ride this portion of our journey by bike. The treturous turns and cliffs on the two lane road that climbed out of Ensenda with truckers carrying farmed produce and pushy bus drivers was enough to cause any driver or cyclist into white-knuckle syndrome. On that note, to be completely fair, the truckers in Baja are no real danger to cyclists. They are incredibly aware and careful while taking turns because they are very familiar with how challenging the highway 1 can be. The real problem comes into play when you have motorists and buses who drive as though they are entitled to the entire lane and have no issue with passing on blind turns and up hills. I can’t count how many times Erika and I have had to pull over because on coming traffic was in our lane trying to overtake another vehicle. If you are thinking about riding Baja a side view mirror is a MUST!

Catavina -> Guerrero Negro

The bus let us off at around mid-night in Catavina as it is known to the tourists, or Rancho San Ignes to the locals. We set up camp behind the little resort and started out the next day a litle bit too late in the morning. See the trick to survivng a ride through the desert is to get up early.

Day one is the desert just about pack to leave Catavina. The whistle around my neck helps make my presence known amongst agressive traffic. Photo: Erika Avellaneda-Celis

Well, Erika and I like to learn things the hard way so the first few days where treturously hot and long. The desert landscape isn’t all that exciting and after a few days of long straight flat stretches with the same scenery. In facr you go into a time warp and forget which day of the week it is. The best part though about riding through the desert is camping in it. Especially near the turn of a full moon. Ever since southern Oregon, I have developed a nightly ritual of looking up at the stars and sleeping with my head pointing north. At first it started just with the desire of wanting to know which direction was North. I did this by looking for the last two stars of the Big Dipper that point towards the North Star. After a while I found myslef contemplating what it means to be under the same set of constelations that I could see back home in Alaska. I would think in my love Laura as I wished her a goodnight on the many nights I had no access to a phone. After 4 days of riding through the desert, three flat tires within two days; I arrived in Guerrero Negro, the first major city of Southern Baja California slightly sun-burnt and dirty as hell.

Guerrero Negro -> San Ignacio

Photo: Erika Avellaneda-Celis

Before prepping to do another stretch of the desert, Erika and I took care of some much needed bike maintnance and I got to do little bit of street photography. This was my first real opportunity to set out on foot and just watch life happen as the sun crept into the horizon taking with it the some of the most amazing shadows. From Guerrero Negro, Erika and I set out a 7:30 AM on March 29th on another full-moon attempt to break our previous record for total milage done in one day. Little did we know how incredibly hard and full filling this push would be. By 11Am we had a third member on our team. Fausto Irriate, a Mexican cyclist from Morelia on his 2nd tour.  After  80 km of riding ,we shared a filling lunch of soup, tortillas, beans, guacamole,  fruits and a beer; all in the shade of a Pemex gast station  in Vizcaino. We left the gas station around 12:30 just as you really start feeling the sun against your skin. The three of us pushed on till we could no longer keep a decent pace and pulled over to take a nap. I slept under the shade of a cactus while Erika slept under the bridge. Fausto was just an stones throw away under a tree. I have nerver slept so well or felt so refreshed as drank the tea-hot water from my black MSR water bladder. We laid low for about 1.5hrs hours and decided to keep trucking. The last 20km of this day where a big tease as the landscape tricked us into thinking that the oasis of San Ignacio was just over another hill.

Imagine riding 9-hours in the sun for 150km in one day! That is our friend Fausto in the back. Photo: Erika Avellaneda-Celis

Even the locals contributed to the confusion as they responded to our question of how much further, with ¨otros cinco kilometros¨, another 5 km, over a stretch of 20km. By the time we caught sight of the military check point that was some 2km from the oasis of San Ignacio the sun felt like nothing more than just a distant light source about to dip behind the horizon. We stayed at the Petates camp ground that sits just at the base of the still river. Upon arriving I immediatley took off my jersey and shoes and jumped into the water with my bike shorts sill on, I had never been able to experince the senastion of osmosis so well. It was that same full moon night after pedaling for 150km, that we formed our mini-tribe of cyclists and friends for life. We were a total of five: Anthony Musick from Southern CA, Pasquel the German, Fausto Irriarte from Morelia and Erika and I the Colombian-Alaskans.

San Ignacio -> Conception Bay

Reading Willie hensley´s memoir with the portrait I made of him on the cover always made me feel proud. Photo: Erika Avellaneda-Celis

We played and explored San Ignacio. We shared stories of cycling adventures and the lessons we have learned from life over Tecate beers around the fire as my Hasselblad pointed to the Northern sky jsut a few meters away capturing our existance. The following day I made portraits of the crew, and even re-created an image with the help of Erika who took the photo. The image (soon to come) was a spoof of an image of Ron who we stayed with while in Cambria, CA who at the age of 18 in the 1960’s had crossed Baja with his friends on horse back before the paved road existed. In Ron’s photo, his horse drinks water from the oasis of SanIgnacio, as he sits high with no shirt in his jeans with the near-noon sun glaring into his eyes. My version of the photo has a bike in place of the horse as I sit high on  my bike i my bike shorts. Stoked! Can´t wait to get the film back!!!

We left San Ignacio two days later with the goal of being within sight of the Sea of Cortez and Conception Bay. We made a quick pit stop in Mulege,  a small town just 20km away from the water. After picking up our food for the weekend I headed off to the internet cafe to fire off some emails and to confirm a work/stay in Puerto Vallarta. Not 5 min. into the computer-web-sesh. an American traveling by motorcycle came in asking to whom the two Surly Long Haul Trckers (our bikes) belonged to. Upon responding the American pointed out that he remebered meeting us back in Oregon in a town that I didn´t recall at the moment nor can I even now.

After leaving the cafe I went to find a much needed public phone so i could hear the voice of my long distance love and future partner in life (yep that means wife!) Laura. Before dialing home I made a group photo with the Hassie of a volunteer fire crew and their engine. Speaking to Laura made me realize how much I had missed while I was away in the desert. One of the qualities I love most about Laura is her strength and ability to endure.  Unfortuanately life had handed her a difficult two weeks and she was in need of love and comfort. Im sorry and wish I could have been there to hold you mi amor.

In Conception Bay one of the first beaches we stayed at was Playa Burro, were we found ourselves setting up our tents just inches away from our neighbors. The reason for the huge turn out was Semana Santa (Holy Week). It was incredibly beautiful to see families with their kids and friends and their public displays of affection. Both Erika and I noted how drastically different this is compared to public places in the US. All in all our weekend became a game of shuffle where we packed up the next day in the hopes to find the less crowded beach of El Caracol at the end of the Bay. Instead we found ourselves in the howling wind and not so pretty water for swimming. None the less it was a very enjoyable night as I had plenty of time to read Willie Hensley´s memoir before sunset. By nightfal we had even made friends with a Carlos and his family who were from the town just south where we camped called Loreto. Over a cup of hot chocolate, Carlos shared stories of his youth sleeping in the desert and some pretty interesting rattle snake remedies for curing scares.

The next morning we trucked back 35km to Playa Requeson where we stayed and enjoyed snorkeling and swimming. We even  hitch hiked back to the town of Mulege to pick up some groceries! This was a new experience for Erika and I. We weren´t to sure how it would work, but I am proud say it was incredibly easy.

Conception Bay -> Loreto and currently La Paz.

Loreto is south of Conception Bay and became the awakening point for me on many levels. It was here while staying at a RV park that I had a breif panic attack about my financial situation which had me convinced I had to call the trip quits. My mind has a tendancy to go on the fritz if I am unaware of the cause but concious of their consequences. In this example I basicly found myself almost out of cash on hand and still 4-5 days away from La Paz which represented my goal for budgeting the funds i withdrew since leaving Tiajuana. My mind raced as I panicked about how if at all possible would I be able to pay my bills back at home and keep on trucking on if i couldn´t see where my 2,800 some odd pesos had gone to. Erika helped me realize that what i needed to do was just sit down and re-asses my finacial situation. I did this while at the library and have since decided re-structured to live on a new budget of $5 a day rather than the original $10.  I am happy to say that since implementing this budget and tracking my finances I was able to reach La Paz with what few extra pesos. I even keep an on going paper tally  which has actually been really handy and even balanced! If you had had as crappy economics teacher as I did in high school you would be thrilled too to finally make sense of it all.

But before arriving to La Paz and meeting my financial goal, I had a profound emotional growth happen while at the beach of Lugui. As I lay in the shade of the palapa (palm tree beach shelter) finishing Willie Hensley´s memoir. My eyes began to fill with tears. It happened as I read about Willie´s realization that the Iñuit people had never had the strengths of their culture acknowldged. At that moment I too recalled the experiences and people through out my journey that have been affirming my identity as a talented and able Latino Male Immigrant. An identity I had partially denied through out my life due to the negative stereotypes and sayings i had heard of people like my working class parents. In the end, I found myslef identifying with some of the core strengths that have been deeply embedded in generations of Iñuit and allowed their culture and people to thrive in land were few even dared to visit.

Starting this tour I knew that I would be a entirely differrent person by the end of it. My body has become physically conditioned to ride longer and faster in a diverse range of environments. I have begun to teach myself through patience to read, write and speak my first language of spanish in public libraries with the help of childrens books and spanish literature. And now, I track daily my expenses and plan for my meals and entertainment on a budget that allows me to truely know what it is that i consider to be of value. The best thing about all of this is that I am just shy of a third of the way to my destination of Bogota, Colombia!

By Oki on April 14, 2010 | Posted in Mexico | Tagged | 4 Comments

Oki is off to Mexico

Oki. PHOTO: Laura Norton-Cruz

Enjoy the photos and video.

I tell my stories through photo captions. To read captions click on the photos.

By Oki on March 20, 2010 | Posted in California | 3 Comments

Oki Celebrates Women and His Hispanic Culture

By Oki on March 8, 2010 | Posted in Uncategorized | 4 Comments

Oki has arrived in the city of the Oscars

enjoy and my apologies for the delay.

By Oki on March 3, 2010 | Posted in Uncategorized | 1 Comment

Oki is a machine!

Crossing Deception Pass in WA.

It’s Monday and Erika and I are one day away from California. Yesterday and today will be our two longest days yet. We left Bandon at 8am and landed in Gold beach (69 miles later) at 430pm. It was amazing to be along the coast. My top speed down hill was 36mph!! We also ran into Ian, a Australian who had just been swiped off the road by a car. He was lucky, unfortunately his bike was not. To date we have only met two cyclists on this trip. I pass the time on the bike making sounds at cattle and at times to myslef. I think about AK and the things I want to accomplish when i return. I also count bananas peels, orange peels and apple cores. Erika keeps pushing me, and I do the same. We just finished our oats breaky and had a cup of hot chocolate. Although i dearly miss coffee. So with breakfast complete, it’s now time to pack the tent and gear and head towards the Redwoods. STOKED! :) Also my iPhone is semi functioning again now that it has it’s backlight,. however still no camera :(

By Oki on February 8, 2010 | Posted in Uncategorized | Leave a comment

Oki is gonna miss Sir William


William Tuovinen

Originally uploaded by okiave

Our friend Will has decided to continue exploring and developing his photography portfolio without the bike. 2010 is a year of discovery and analysis of what we each want out of life. I applaud and encourage Sir Will to continue doing so. You will be missed.

By Oki on January 31, 2010 | Posted in Uncategorized, Washington | Tagged , , | 1 Comment

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