(To the tune of Planes, Trains and Automobiles): Boats, Bikes, and Crocs . . . and Guatemalan Dogs

Santiago Atitlin – Antigua, Guatemala

Some days are not all about the bike.

This day started with a boat ride across Lago de  Atitlin. 

Sounds nice and relaxing. And I guess it was. But it could have been bad. Really bad. 

We weren’t quite sure whether we could take our bikes on the boat at all. After all, it’s not really a ferry. That makes it sound too luxurious. This is more like a 1980s New York subway, but on water. Kind of dingy. Gets the job done, but you’re never sure whether it might break down half way to your destination. And, like the New York subway, no one is making eye contact.

Anyway, we pull up and they don’t even blink about the bikes. Of course we can take them . . . Just throw them on top. (This is Guatemala – we don’t have those stinking bureaucratic rules like you people in the States . . .)

Umm, yeah. On top. Sure. I guess . . . There are no guard rails on top. Basically anything could just go flying off at any moment. But there are a bunch of other package things up there – so apparently most stuff doesn’t fall off. 

I put the bikes up there but I’m not feeling great about it . . .Seeing my concern the guy half-heartedly ties a little twine around Old Dan and Little Ann. Like they’re not even that important…

And then we’re off. 

For about ten seconds. 

And then the motor conks out. The captain guy – who is a young man who looks like he is about nineteen – opens the “hood” of the motor, kicks some stuff or something, closes the hood, starts the engine again, and we’re all good . . .

Love the can-do spirit of these places . . .

It’s like glass on the water when we start in the little bay by our town. But Diana and I laugh nervously when, after a few minutes, there are bigger waves as we make our way out into the main lake.

”The bikes will float if they fall off, right?” Diana asks.

”No, pretty sure there will be no floating . . .” I say.

”Well, at least if they fall off now they’ll be in the middle of the deepest lake in Central America,” Diana points out, helpfully.

So that’s twice now we’ve survived the legendary sea monster Chakona. He lures you to the middle of the lake before pulling you (or your bike) into the depths. But Diana survived her swim yesterday and both we and our bikes made it across in one piece today . . .

It’s a good thing, too.

Because the ride from Panajachel, where the llancha dropped us off, to San Lucas Toliman, was maybe the best single piece of riding we have done on the trip thus far. Lots of climbing again. But as we have learned, that’s how you get to the nice views. 

And, wow, what nice views. Lake Atitlin. The volcanos. The towns around the lake. The blue water. And the perfect day – with blue skies dotted by wispy clouds. 

Okay, enough on the scenery already . . .

Let’s skip ahead to lunch.

Diana and I have grown to love a good rotisserie pollo lunch. We get “entera” – a whole chicken with the works – meaning onions and papas (potatoes). We typically find some type of bench or staircase or just a curb along the road. The eating is pretty barbaric. They don’t give you forks or anything. You just tear into it and eat . . . Mmmm. 

Also, you don’t stop to napkin off half way through. Because they typically give you one napkin. And Guatemalan and Mexican napkins don’t exactly have the absorbing power of say, Bounty paper towels. More like one square of see-through toilet paper. So you just gorge yourself, and then try to wipe off as best you can . . . Which for me usually means licking my fingers and then wiping the remains on the back of my shirt or shorts . . . Got to do what you got to do . . .

Today’s lunch had an extra feature: a cadre of dogs, staring at us dolefully. But they were polite. Only inching forward occasionally – when their hunger got the best of them . . .

The ride was basically downhill from there . . .

Downhill in that it was actually downhill. But also downhill in that the riding kind of went downhill . . . 

Let’s start with a little parentheses before the bad parts . . . We’re biking along and we see a family of three – father and his two sons – “mining” for something along the side of the road. They are literally shoveling the mountain – and it does not look easy – and then putting what they have shoveled through a screen. After a little Google Translating I ask what they are looking for – thinking they must be looking for silver or gold. Why else would you go through this much trouble . . .

Nope. They’re “mining” for “construction material.” I think this amounts to gravel. They’re mining for gravel. And people wonder why they might want to go to the U.S. 

Further on there are whole caves that have been developed from this type of miner. One with music blaring out of it . . . And a couple guys have an elaborate system of shoveling gravel into their truck . . .

Did I mention that Guatemala is a different world . . .

Shortly after the mining we see a sign that says something about “destructio,” and then the road turns to gravel, and soon we are taking the now-gravel road over a river. There’s a boy there telling us where the best place is to cross, and there are a number of men shoveling the river bottom. Why? I have no idea. Maybe looking for more gravel? 

They are standing above what looks like a makeshift dam – a dam that looks like it is literally made of garbage. Not sure what that was about . . .

And then, shortly after that the road gets busier. Two vehicles in particular stand out . . . One, a super obnoxious bus. I’m going up a hill and I’m over as far as possible on the road. Doesn’t matter. Bus driver still beeps at me like six times. Obvious message: “Get out of my way!” 

I don’t look up. I hug the edge of the road so much that my panniers are scraping against the jungle. Another beep or two just to make sure I understand . . .

And then . . .

”What the heck? (Only “heck” is not the word that went through my brain at the time.) That f-ing bus is like two inches from me as it goes by . . . Not cool. Not cool at all. And in great contrast to everyone else in Guatemala. 

You know how Trump is always saying things like: “They’re sending us the worst people. Criminals. The people no one else wants in their country.”

I think he’s talking about these bus drivers. Terrible people. If they apply to come to America we should definitely refuse to admit them . . .

The second vehicle? There’s a pickup truck loaded with some type of agricultural product – I don’t remember exactly what it was. Maybe carrots. Maybe corn. I don’t know. But it was LOADED. On top of whatever it was there are about four people stacked up – just to really maximize the weight. And the pickup is about 37 years old. 

For some reason that I can’t understand the truck has broken down trying to go up one of Guatemala’s incredibly steep hills. Thick black smoke is pouring out of every pour . . . And as I go by I see that several of the riders have jumped out and they are now trying to push the old thing UP the hill! 

Remarkably, it actually gets going and manages to limp into the town at the top of the hill – smelling of burnt rubber and, well, burnt a lot of things. 

I’m sure that the Guatemalan mechanics will have it running fine again in no time . . .

We finally make it to Antigua. But we’ve done it again – about 6,000 feet of climbing. And, no surprise here, it’s late in the day . . .

But Diana has once again found us a great airbnb (in what is apparently the oldest hotel in Antigua). So we make a wonderful dinner – and now I feel like it’s the night before the Birkie. 

(For those who don’t know, the Birkie is the biggest ski race in North America. I’ve done it thirty times now. And every year the night before is this big thing because the race is such an event. What time do we need to leave? Where do we catch the bus? What wax will I use? What should I wear? What should I wear afterwards? Should I bring my phone or wallet? A million questions . . .The nervous energy usually keeps me up most of the night worrying . . .)

But back to today and the big hike up Volvo Acatenango. We are supposed to meet at 7:30 tomorrow morning. Apparently the temperature at the top of the volcano will be somewhere between -5 Celsius and +6 Celsius – which I think equates to about 23 to 46 degrees Fahrenheit. Needless to say we do not have a lot of clothes for those type of conditions. 

Worse, just ten minutes ago I realized that my bike shoes – which I was thinking of wearing – are self-destructing. The plastic/rubber on the bottom is cracked. Don’t think I can wear them on a two-day hike and expect to have anything left afterwards . . . So now the only option is my Crocs. And I only have one pair of thin socks – having lost the much warmer Smartwool socks somewhere in Texas or Mexico . . .

(Diana bought a pair of shoes at a flea market today for about $12. Sadly, there are no shoes my size. You see, the average Guatemalan man is 5’4” tall. So even though I have average sized feet in the U.S. I have giant feet in Guatemala.)

Hiking a 13,000’+ volcano in Crocs. This is going to be interesting . . .

Remember, it’s a two day thing – so don’t expect to hear from us until after Thanksgiving. That’s not to say that you shouldn’t worry. Not that many people die from the cold up there . . . Hardly anyone who has worn Crocs up there has died. 

Last thought . . . It was actually cold this afternoon. We’re in Guatemala. I guess I wasn’t expecting Guatemala to be cold. Am I crazy here? What the heck?