Holguin

Balance Odyssey CUBA begins in a few days, in which we psyclists will roam tropical miles and miles, along the way holding impromptu slackline workshops and gifting the gear, planting the proverbial slackseeds. As a wiser man than myself once said, "What you have to do, you do with play."

Then, in my delirium and shaken state, I stripped the pedal inset by attempting to screw on the left pedal on the right side. Cue assistance beyond the call of duty of several guards, one of whom cycled the entirety of Cuba when he was younger. The rad dude who helped me figure out my pedal fuck up rolled with me from his airport post and crammed himself in the back of the cab with the bike all over him.

Ray

February 28. I landed at 2pm and walked off the plane onto the tarmac. Immigration wanted a hundred answers. What do you do? I'm in IT. What are you doing in Cuba? Riding a bicycle, circumnavigating Oriente. Who are you here with? My friend Logan. When did he arrive? Last week, Thursday. I showed them the map.

They let me through to customs. Armed guards were walking dogs through the bags. I was clear, found my bag, and turned around into a guard standing right behind me. "Ven conmigo, por favor." A back room, posters of drug charges, a swab on my hands, a machine that said clear. They stared a good minute, apologized, and let me go.

Sara and David in Holguín, and Albion, the great white dog. Breakfast was quite the spread.

We planned to teach our final slackshop in Holguín upon returning.