Central America - the ride

This is the 1,300 year old Maya site that was recently named a wonder of the world, and it is definitely an epic construction. What blew me away as much as the pyramid of Kukulkan, the observatory, the temple of a thousand warriors, or the ball court, were the carvings in the stones. It's quite hot here all year round in the Yucatán, so make your way to the cenote on site, sneak over the fence, and jump in to cool off. It'll cost you about $13 to get in, and get there early. It opens at 8. We slept next to the car in front of a gas station a few minutes away and arrived on good time. We also parked, probably illegally, on the street heading up to the lot. Others were doing the same.

Don't try to set up a slackline inside the site. We were forced to take it down before we even had it tensioned.

The ruins, in Logan's notes

Driving through and around Mexico City proved itself a stressful experience and surely the most misguided detour we've taken. The third encounter and bribe with the police was the last straw for us. We all had different thoughts about how the situations should have been handled, and the explosive argument that followed was the most tense and discordant of the trip thus far. After pulling over simply to get off the road, fearing any further police confrontations, things came to a head. We got out of the car and agreed to take ten minutes to think over what had happened. We discussed everything and came to an understanding, at least agreeing on the fact that we still wanted to see the Aztec pyramids at Teotihuacan. We were anxious because the site still lay within the state of Mexico, the capital of Mexican police corruption and our seemingly inescapable purgatory at the time.

We needed a place to sleep and settled on the nearest town, Tepeji del Río, seeking nothing more than some level of peace and sanity, and a beer. As if the bribes weren't enough, the spare tire fell off the roof again. We found the nearest bar and entered, our spirits at an all time low and faith in Mexican kindness now forgotten. A few Negro Modelos and some free salsa and guacamole led to a helpful conversation with our waiter, who assured us a safe, police-free route to the pyramids. Then another stranger approached, seeing the map on the table. He was a motorcycle tour enthusiast, so he empathized, and even mapped out the entirety of our upcoming route to Cancún. As he brought us to the courtyard we learned that he, Manolo, was the owner of not only this restaurant, but also a prominent cattle ranch and a luxury hotel just down the road.

He asked where we planned to sleep, and we gave him our usual response. Wherever we find ourselves come bedtime. He smiled and asked his sister if there were any rooms at the hotel. She nodded.

We soon found ourselves the recipients of a complimentary night in the penthouse, yes the penthouse, of La Posada del Río, assuredly the finest hotel the town had to offer. To the jacuzzi we ran. A domed, Sistine Chapel-esque ceiling, a bar, a double-headed shower the size of a walk-in closet. Fit for kings. Certainly not three young vagabonds. After all three of us showered, separately mind you, we slept soundly.

We awoke early, planning on a head start to Teotihuacan, but instead explored the hotel until Manolo returned, inviting us to breakfast with his family. His mother, father, and sister sat with the three of us as we were bombarded with eggs, mangos, toast, cereal, and salsas until we could hardly move. We sat for hours discussing not only our travel plans, but the importance of family. Manolo's mother told us she would pray for us, and even gave us a tiny statuette of the Virgin of Guadalupe to protect us on the odyssey.

It was difficult to leave such a loving, beautiful setting, but we knew we had to press on to the Aztec pyramids. Within hours we were sleeping in front of a police station, next to a gas station, our tents ablaze in the glow of the passing headlights and the crescent moon rising overhead. The pyramids, faintly visible in the distance, awaited us.

From chaos to credence

This was late going up. By the time we wrote it we were already in Nicaragua. The bicycle tour, though, begins here.

Logan's writing voice takes over from here.

The next day we boarded a boat for Belize City and truly began the bicycle tour. When we finally made way out of the city I shouted, "Yes, it begins!" and at that exact moment one of my panniers came dislodged and crashed to the ground, Daniel nearly wrecking trying to dodge it. This was the first but not the last time. We regrouped and set forth on a 30 mile ride toward Belmopan. The feeling of finally being on the bicycles, after the Volvo from Atlanta to Mexico and after Ray's waiting in Costa Rica and Belize, was incredibly liberating. They were itching to get out of that black hole of a car, onto two wheels, and set forth with the real Balance Odyssey.

Unfortunately, we failed to remember that Belize is hot. Starting the cycling at 11 was a learning lesson. Don't do that. Don't start a Central American bicycle trek any later than about 4 or 5 in the morning if you want to cover any significant ground. It gets hot by 11. Coconut water is your savior. We bought several from the first stand we could find, with Ray engaging in his now infamously flawed negotiation tactic of offering more per item with a bulk purchase "incentive."

That coconut water fueled us maybe 15 miles before we stumbled into the first shady spot we could find, which was on someone's property. A church in its initial stages of construction. The owner came out, surely wondering who these stragglers were, sleeping on his altar-to-be, sweating and breathing heavily. He was incredibly kind, allowed us to nap for about an hour, and offered some absurdly tasty coconut pastries.

A few excessive breaks later we stumbled upon a restaurant fittingly called Amigos. There we stopped at mile thirty and, seeking only a cold beer and some shade, were instead greeted like amigos and offered free beers, great conversation, and the patio as a campsite. In case we feared the supposed bandits, there was a shotgun-bearing security guard who patrolled all night.

We set off a bit later than our hoped-for 4:30 the next morning. After some pretty tough hills, Jorge from the night before on his way to a wedding, students picking up trash for Earth Day, some fried jacks in Belmopan, we collapsed in the searing heat at yet another shade sanctuary. Someone's couch underneath a palm roof. Ray, having commandeered Dan's bike in an attempt to prove that Dan's slowness was not the bike but Dan's sloth, was showing symptoms of near heat stroke. Out came the owner, a really chill Belizean rasta, and he welcomed us to rest and directed us to the river, where we made the first of our now traditional river cleanses.

After the now proverbial herb offerings we felt ready for the final 10 miles to San Ignacio, a city near the Guatemalan border. We sadly missed the Barcelona–Real Madrid match, but happily ran into a guardian angel at, yet again, the first shady spot. Diana, who owned a furniture store and a few properties, was curious about the adventure and asked where we'd stay. We told her about a campsite in an embankment down by the river. Within a minute she offered her terrace. She took us in as the American misfit sons she never had. On the way to dinner with some of the adorable Dubon children, we entertained the kids with soccer matches and Call of Duty, joined them for dinners and lunches, and generally used the days to recover, having biked across most of Belize in high summer heat. We set up a slackline by a riverside park and shared the skills and the philosophy with the locals there, much to their interest, amusement, and confusion. The line in San Ignacio

Diana also took us to the Maya ruins of Xunantunich, Stone Woman, which were deeply impressive. Sleeping on her rooftop in hammocks seemed romantic, were it not for the hundreds of constantly yapping dogs. Ray had the right idea and came prepared with earplugs.

We left after a few restful days with the family, this time during sunrise, loads lightened, bodies recovered, and hearts inspired, with a new country on the horizon.

Let the bicycle tour begin

When we tell people about this bicycle tour, one of the most common questions, both here and back home, is how much it costs. Though the days vary, we've generally been successful in abiding by a $10 to $15 a day budget. Sometimes less than $10, and generally never more than $15. Camping as much as possible takes out transportation and shelter, the two primary travel expenses, and increases the need for food. Not such a bad thing in my eyes or stomach.

You can eat for very cheap if you play it right, and buy from local markets and street vendors. In Guatemala a mango was 13 cents, a very filling breakfast $2, a large bag of peanuts a dollar, a cold young coconut 75 cents. A beer at a bar should be $2. Pupusas, an El Salvadoran dish you can find throughout Guatemala, usually cost about a dollar and pack a lot of energy. Spinach and chicharrones smashed between cheese and two corn tortillas. Eat two and you would be full. Nicaragua was perhaps the cheapest food of the whole odyssey. Two dollars for gallo pinto, eggs, plantains, and a batido.

We camped with the hammocks as often as possible. Sometimes a place safe and hidden enough to sleep for free, which we called open camping. Sometimes a hostel or a campsite negotiated down to about $3. Lanquin was $2. You can also ask at a town's school, police station, church, fire station, or gas station, and camp in front. Talking with locals is the other way. If you mention the travels and you're friendly, they often offer the yard.

We're cycling the entire way, so the transport is free, except when a ferry company has the monopoly and docks you for the bicycles even when there's plenty of space. The Belize ferry from Chetumal was $25 for three hours. La Ceiba to Utila was $20 for one hour. San Jorge to Ometepe was $4 or $5, and the Nicaraguan ferries are far cheaper than those of Honduras and Belize. Cycling keeps us happy and financially on point.

Adventure bicycle touring is assuredly the way to maximize an extensive trip, both in where you can go and, often the most important element, in your money. American money goes very far in Central America, and especially far on two self-propelled wheels.

How much a day costs

Guatemala is notorious for being one of the most difficult places in the world to bicycle tour. Insanely steep, never-ending climbs that would make Lance Armstrong blush. Exhausted, and pressed for time, we took a more unorthodox approach. We call it hitchbiking. It's kind of like riding a bike, only instead of strong quads and good lung capacity, all you need's a thumb and a smile.

It's more difficult than hitchhiking. You need a car that will accommodate not only you but your bicycle, or in our case three. And I look like this. Warm weather, minus pride, equals this. Regardless, we had some surprising luck from El Remate to Cobán. Not a lot of strangers in the States would go to this much trouble for a stranger. It puts things in perspective. At a river crossing we promptly transferred the bikes to the other truck on the left, which took us the rest of the way.

Five trucks and ten hours later we arrived at Cobán, a mountaintop city about 280 kilometers from El Remate and much higher. Call us lazy, but while we were crammed underneath the bikes in the back of a small pickup on our hundredth straight mile of climbing, all we could think was how miserable this ride would have been. When hitching, ask where drivers are headed instead of simply telling your destination. If they don't know where you're going, it's easier to back out of a ride with someone you're not comfortable with.

We found a good hostel at a fair price, La Casa de la Luna. Definitely some of the finest accommodations in the city. Everybody recommended the plaza to eat, so we did. A lot. Hitchbiking's hungry work. The next day we were planning to actually ride, crazy, to a city at the bottom of the mountain called Lanquín. We consulted a lot of people. The answers were consistent. Lanquín's only about 50 miles away, and todo pa' bajo. All downhill.

We left around 11, excited for an easy downhill cruise. And how sweet it was. Speeds in excess of 30 miles an hour, fast and furious, arms spread in imaginary flight, a la Meg Ryan in City of Angels. Then, suddenly, the downs started turning into ups, and though still furious we were now quite slow. After a few steady miles we reverted to our preferred method of transit. Another truck took us the rest of the way.

Hitch-biking, part one

We honestly bused across Honduras to the Bay Islands. Island prices are always more expensive than inland. What we came for was the diving. Utila is known for being the cheapest place in the world to get certified, and it is. We paid $250 for a lifetime open-water certification with Bay Islands College of Diving, the course, five dives, and four nights of lodging. Then the advanced course for about the same, another five dives and two fun dives. Shipwrecks, 30 meters, and at night.

Scuba diving is surely the strangest, most alien experience I have ever encountered. Much like outer space, the sea is no place for humanity. This was yet another instance on the odyssey in which we entered an animal world. When animals enter ours, they are forced to operate within our infrastructure. When we enter theirs, we play by their rules. Eat, don't be eaten. Sleep, be awake. Swim, drift. Consciously, in our case, breathe, don't breathe. And yet the experience down below still seems extremely free.

Forced to confront the absolute necessity of air and the limited supply on each dive, you are required to be completely present. Scuba in this way is a powerful mental and physical challenge, perfectly meditative. In the same way that Thoreau spoke of walking meditation, this is swimming and breathing meditation. Topping it off, you are surrounded by coral reefs shaped into canyons, caves, drops, tunnels, bridges, and, thank you Ringo, an octopus's garden in the shade.

When you are in the deep blue and see, out of the corner of your eye, two eagle rays flying slowly and gracefully through ocean and air, you signal your dive buddies by pointing to your mask and toward their vicinity. Then when you catch up to these unbelievably strange, prehistoric creatures and swim above them, soaring in tune with their steady pace, there's really no possible reaction except to ask yourself what you have ever done to deserve this. This is what's known as the sublime. A peak experience.

Lionfish, lobsters, moray eels, anemones, starfish, sea turtles (my personal favorite), manatees, barracuda, grouper, and countless other forms of sea life, all observed in collective awe, at shipwrecks, at night, and at 100 feet. Especially coming from someone who just weeks prior could barely figure out the breathing for snorkeling. Fear not. It takes some adjustments, but the feeling of rising to the challenge is something both powerful and humbling.

Waxing philosophical

Guatemala City was our first experience cycling through a true big city on the odyssey, and for me a welcome return to the paradoxically peaceful chaos of riding in city traffic. We seemed to be the only self-propelled two-wheeled vehicles on the streets. As we rode through town trying to reach the airport we were repeatedly given our now classic misdirection. Todo directo. Straight all the way. On every bit of road we encountered.

Eventually, with time running out to pick up Alex and Dan in the midst of parasite fatigue, we did the logical thing and turned back, seeking internet, and returned to the loving embrace of the U.S., always held deep in the heart of a Taco Bell. Wi-fi in Central America will often only be found in restaurants we would never consciously step foot in back in the States.

As soon as we pulled up with the fully loaded bikes, a friendly teenager ran outside, extremely curious. When we told him of the odyssey he immediately called us his heroes, saying we were living out his dream. We sat this 17-year-old on our laps and said, "Young grasshopper, don't be inspired. Be jealous." Try as we might, he remained inspired, and revealed himself to be extremely well traveled and brave, especially at his age. It turns out his dad is a Colombian diplomat at the U.N., and within minutes he offered his parents' place. With darkness approaching and no plans for accommodations, really, who makes those ahead of time in a new big city, we humbly accepted, concealing our giddiness at the thought of a roof and a shower, and a swank pad.

Alex pulled up in a taxi, still lugging the bicycle box he'd stored the bike in on the flight, insistent on carrying this unwieldy cardboard for his 10-day leg. We laughingly persuaded him against it. He left the box on the Taco Bell sidewalk. His home address was scrawled on it in permanent marker, and with God's help it will one day return to him. Felipe soon broke the news that we in fact couldn't stay at his parents' pad. We parted ways, having made a new lifelong friend, and sought lodging in the city center, now riding at dusk, and thus, in my case, in our favorite riding conditions.

Locating the hostels proved surprisingly difficult. We eventually arrived at what was listed as a hostel and definitely belonged on a different list entirely. Escaping the alleys, we made a last-ditch call to a member of Couchsurfing we'd contacted days before. Don't call people at 10 pm asking for a place to stay without telling them that not just you, but three other people, need to crash there too. I did that. On a taxi driver's cell phone, no less. William Escobar, expecting two guests, graciously gave directions to the sushi restaurant where he was dining. The driver and a nearby restaurant owner spent the next five minutes debating the accuracy of the directions, as Ray, Alex, and Dan chided me for not telling William our numbers. It was our only hope. We pressed on, eight miles in the heat of the night. William's expression, as he saw not two bicycles pull up but four, was priceless.

He said he only had room for two, but that he'd make it work. That he did. After some overpriced, what, dinner's not $2.50, but delicious sushi, William called another host in the area, Fernando, who agreed at 11:30 to welcome two perfect strangers into his apartment. Did I mention Latinos are amazing, welcoming people? Did I mention Couchsurfing? Trust people. Trust, people. That's what it's all about.

We went to sleep looking forward to dreams and to the next day's start toward the Guatemalan-Honduran border. We had oceans to scuba. Shout out to Felipe, William, and Fernando. Y'all are awesome humans.

Trust, and Taco Bell

Si ustedes pasan por aquí debido al programa de CNN que fue en el aire y por el internet hoy día (6/21/2012), les presentamos abajo con nuestra Declaración de Objetivos Fundamentales. Espérense por nuestros novedades del camino, es que estamos viajando tanto y así es difícil mantener la página al día.

Balance Odyssey está fundado por el hecho que el equilibrio en sus varias formas empieza con vivir directamente, por creyendo la conexión energética entre la mente, el cuerpo, el ambiente, y el momento presente. Durante el siglo pasado hemos visto avanzamientos tecnológicos enormes y estamos experimentando la explosión de la población mundial, además de la empieza de un mundo super conectado.

Pero con una población de siete billones de personas, y una manera de vivir desequilibrado, estamos empujando el mundo a sus límites. Mucha gente tiene miedo de un colapso global inminente en este tiempo crítico en nuestra historia. Al contrario, nos gustaría enviar un mensaje de esperanza; que tenemos la oportunidad de transformar la manera en que cada uno de nosotros vive en el presente para construir un futuro sustentable y abundante para todos.

Para llegar ahí necesitamos explorar maneras de vivir progresivas mientras honrando e integrando la sabiduría de nuestro pasado. Y es por eso que estamos andando en bicicleta por Centroamérica para compartir la práctica meditativa de slackline, cuerda floja, con la gente diversa de la región. Te conecta fuertemente al momento presente inmediatamente y te da energía y paz.

Llegando al equilibrio de escala mundial empieza con individuales existiendo localmente. En el camino, estamos explorando proyectos sustentables y progresivos como las comunidades solares, energía eólica, y proyectos de upcycling, usar basura en la construcción de edificios, de la región. Sobre la marcha estamos comiendo comida saludable y local, despertándonos en nuestras hamacas con el sol en nuestras caras, y continuamente encontrando gente super inspiracional.

Nuestra meta es de crecer y desarrollar una comunidad que nos junta en crear descubrimientos mentales, físicos, y culturales para que podemos tejer una red de crecimiento personal y cultural en nuestras comunidades y por las regiones en donde viajamos.

La Odisea del Equilibrio del año que viene nos llevará a Sudamérica, empezando en Patagonia, donde estaremos explorando la salud de los ríos y otros ecosistemas tan crucial a mantener un planeta equilibrado.

"Corazones jóvenes desatan el fuego; almas viejas se mantiene encendido."

La declaración de objetivos fundamentales