a
small one from a bike shop that involves more disassembly. I wasn't able to
persuade the airline to keep my box but I did get a friendly information person
to make a reservation for me. I then broke down the box and tied it to the back
of my bike for the 8-mile ride to Liberia. The access road to the airport was
empty by then. The highway into Liberia was straight and mostly flat. The
two-lane road was reasonably wide but had not shoulder. Larger vehicles had to
wait to get around me if another vehicle was coming so the ride was not as
relaxing as it could have been but not too bad. I saw no bikes on the highway
but as soon as I got to town they were everywhere. Bikes and pedestrians
outnumbered cars. I passed the central park
and on one street encountered a huge tree that blocked the way. I'm glad people
here were willing to be inconvenienced to save a great tree. The Pan American highway
passes along the edge of Liberia and was a formidable mass of trucks, busses and
cars which I hope I don't have to ride much.
My first full day dawned sunny and clear. I strolled around the hotel admiring the pool area and watched a
squirrel,
with a stripe on its back, eat from some coconuts growing next to the dining
area. Elegantly set tables looked out over the pool with its perfect
miniature palms. Breakfast at my hotel began at 6:30 and by 6:55 a
cook had appeared. After my repast I headed though some poor neighborhoods
hoping to cut off some of the riding on the Pan American Highway required for my
days plan. I wanted to ride towards National Parque Rincon named for an active 
volcano
that forms the center of 14,000 hectare park. I knew the road to the park would
be mostly up hill and rough gravel so I didn't know if I would get all the way
there. I filled my water bottle and took along a couple of bagels for emergency
rations. I began to sweat abundantly even as I pedaled on the smooth, flat
tarmac of the highway. I turned onto the well-marked
road passing a sign that promised only 20 kilometers to the park (and also
stated that it was 73 kilometers to the Nicaragua border. As I headed up the
road I passed a sign saying no botar
basura (don't throw trash.) The road passes through hacienda
(ranch) Guachipelin, a working cattle ranch that takes advantage of its location
to charge everyone driving to the park a $2 toll. They even charged the guy
sweating up the rocky climb. I did pass a pair of 
sabaneros
(cowboys) on horseback herding some humpbacked cattle and irresistible calves.
The hacienda also has a lodge that offers rooms near the national park
and "adventure" tours. I was more interested in the restaurant where I
had breakfast again. A charming young waiter brought me a plate or artfully
arranged fruit including papaya, pineapple, orange, and carambola, a
pungent, star-shaped fruit novel to me. I had a long, leisurely meal and watched
work crews go out with several workers perched on a tractor. I was glad
for the food but knew I had my emergency rations in those bagels. The real value
in that meal was the copious amounts of water I drank and the opportunity to
refill my water bottle. Heading out I passed a paddock with a pair of white cattle
who were standing so perfectly that they seemed to be posing. 
The road continued long and arduous but with a great view of one of the volcanoes. Eventually I made it to the
park
and was considering turning around there when I realized it was the end of the
road. They allowed me to park my bike inside where it would be safe from thieves
and had a tap with potable water, so I bought a ticket and went for a hike. The
ranger was an enthusiastic young man who took my $6 and gave me a number. I was
to tell him that number when I left. They keep track so they know if everyone
has
successfully made it out. He described several trails and I opted for the
two-hour hike with water fall and fumarolas (places where steam, gasses, hot
water and mud bubble out of the ground.) That superb hike turned
into one of those serendipitous events that make for a great bicycle vacation.
The trail wound through a tropical forest with some break from the heat due to
the shade and elevation. Strangler figs abound along the trail and intrigued me.
They grow around other trees eventually killing them and growing into huge trees
with hollow centers where the host tree used to be. A pleasant walk to me across
the Colorado River (more properly a stream at least this time of year) and
through to woods to a waterfall. The sign said
rainy season only but it looked good to me. After that I turned down a path to
the volcancito or little volcano
where I came upon bubbling mud and a sign warning of high temperatures. An iguana
on a tree provided a distraction from the sulfurous mud and high in a nearby 
tree
epiphytes grew in abundance. On the way to the
next fumarola I watched a group of maybe 15
monkeys pass by swinging from tree to tree. The trail
opened up as I moved into a new terrain. I passed a big pool of bubbling muddy
water and then saw another iguana, this one fully visible on a rock in the path.
The path went back across the swinging bridge and I headed for the water spigot
to refill my water bottle. A local mammal wandered the area and came over to
drink from the water I had spilled. I hiked further to a pozo or pool on
another small river. I sat in the coolness of the
shade and the running water and absorbed the majesty of the park. I would like
to come for many days and hike all the trails. When I got back to my bike the
ranger was apologetic. Though safe from human thieves my bike pannier had been
ripped open by a local animal: a bird who's name I wasn't able to retain. I was
later to miss my emergency rations though I made it back to Liberia in good
form.Having enjoyed two nights in one place it was time to move on and pedal out into Costa Rica. I headed south past the airport on route 21. Traffic on the two-lane road was bearable if not pleasant. I enjoyed the route more when I got to Guardia and turned west on route 151. It was still paved but had less traffic, especially big trucks and busses. At Sardinal I got directions for the back road to Protero via Artola. It's dirt all the way and
reputed
to be very rough after Artola earning the name Monkey Trail. Shortly after
turning off the paved road I stopped for a bathroom stop in the woods and heard
something. I looked up in the tree and saw a couple of monkeys--good
name for the road! After a pretty easy ride I rolled into Artola, a tiny
one-store town. A couple of dogs lay in the road
and there were several well worn stools made of 2 1/2 foot sections of a tree. A
couple of friendly fellows sat under a
tall tree with horses tied to it. They told me the tree was a matapalo and said
they didn't mind if I took their picture and to be
sure and get the beer. I bought a cold drink and rested on one of the stools
looking across at a wonderful old ox cart. On the way out of town I passed a
small cattle and horse drive and encountered a pair of low water crossings.
The road became tortuous, twisted, sinuous, and circuitous. Then I hit some very steep climbs. The incline combined with the heavy load I
carried and the enervating heat made me feel old like 56 or something. I had to
walk one very steep stretch which is no big deal. I've learned that a well
placed walk can save legs and lungs for later. I stopped to eat a bagel and
drink some water and a fellow came down the hill on a mountain bike. He was an
American about my age and stopped for a nice chat. I was glad he caught me
taking a break rather than hoofing it. Some I hit the top and road a steep pitch
down the other side. It dropped so much that I was almost unable to stop to take
a picture. This view hardly captures the
magnitude of the hill, but it was both daunting and beautiful. Off through the
bushes I could see the ocean. I wonder if I'll go back that way. 
I rolled into Potrero and up to the beach where I encountered a friendly Tico. From my experience so far friendly Tico is redundant. I have gotten a smile and greeting from everyone I have spoken to. Any way he was sitting on a
bike in the shade on Penca beach. I could
see Flamingo beach across the bay. I asked about water and he directed me and
volunteered to watch my bike. That slightly cool tap water tasted sublime and I
knew I could now make it to my hotel. I got on the main road
which was still not paved but had a bridge instead of low water crossing. I
pedaled out to Flamingo Point. Along the
way I met a fellow from Albany. We had a nice chat about a wide variety of
things. 
He's
an antiquarian book seller and a man full of stories. Further up the road I saw
a sign warning of pescadores (fishermen) crossing. Many of them parked their
bikes against the trees and went off in their boats. A few kilometers down the
road I found the Hotel Brasilito on Playa Brasilito, seemed friendly and
inviting. My waiter was a cheerful young man from California who thought it neat
that I was traveling by bike down the coast. After lunch, I checked into room
3 and went for a little ride. There's a narrow dirt road that runs between
the Hotel Brasilito and the beach. As I pedaled along I saw a funny looking track
and thought that must by an iguana dragging its tail. I followed it and saw a
small, brightly
colored iguana.
Later I went for a ride through a neighborhood of little more than shacks right
on the beach. That road continued along a totally undeveloped
stretch of beach. I heard some green parrots squawking in the trees and as usual
had a hard time seeing any of them. What I did see was a boy
with a slingshot intently stalking them. I don't think he got any. I followed
the road to the beach.
The next morning while waiting for breakfast I pedaled down the road in front of the hotel. Alex, a fellow I met yesterday, told me about the road. It didn't look like it would go anywhere but I followed his directions. The road ended at the beach and I soon faced a fast flowing stream running through the beach. Since it wasn't salt water I thought it wouldn't hurt the bike so braved it and managed to keep my feet pretty dry. I followed car tracks to the
end
of the beach where they went up through a clearing
in a promontory that separates Brazilito Beach from Conchal
Beach. The beach gets its name from the fact that rather than sand it
is made up almost entirely of little shells and pieces of shells. It is quite
private as all the land between it and the road is cordoned off by a gated
community. However, they can't have the beach and a jeep road runs along it. I
followed the beautiful road with thick trees on one side and the beach on the
other. Eventually it ended and I pedaled inland to the small burg of Matapalo
where I got directions back to Brasilito: five miles via the highway.
After breakfast I packed up, checked out and headed south. I was meeting some friends at Playa (playa means beach in case I forgot to say that) Tamarindo
at
10:30. I road into Tamarindo and stopped at the estuary.
Later I checked into the Mono Loco or Crazy
Monkey, a really pleasant middle-priced hotel on the edge of town. They had an
inviting pool I didn't try and a restaurant
that didn't seem open. She said I could have breakfast at seven but I left
before that the next day. Tamarindo is a popular place with crowds on the beach
and on the main street. With all the
high end development in the area it is amazing that the main street is mostly
not paved. Nevertheless it is a busy spot
with bicycles, motorcycles, pedestrians, dogs, cars, 4-wheelers and an
occasional horse in a steady flow. I went by the Blue Trax bicycle shop, which
featured some really high end bikes and lots of gear. I bought a tube and some
lubricant and hit the clerk up for some information about the road to Nosara.
It's described as 4-wheel drive only with sometimes impassable river crossings.
I wanted an idea of how far and could I reasonably expect to do it. He gave me a
careful map explaining that the road that went by the shop technically went to
Playa Junquillal and on to Nosara but was very bad and not an option. I saved
his map and made 
plans
to go the next to to Junquillal and then the following day the rest of the way.
Later that afternoon I realized if the old road to Junquillal was very bad that
might make for a very neat ride so I headed out that way. The road was much as
he described it: unmarked half flooded and definitely not maintained. I spent
some good time up there and never saw another person or vehicle. I did see a
group of monkeys moving along in the canopy above me at one point. The road
wouldn't have been fun loaded with all my gear and headed a long way but for a
short, mud-caked outing it was perfect. I had pizza at Portofino in the center
of town. I like eating in the open and my vegetarian pizza was superb. 
The next morning I left just before six hoping to get some riding in before it got hot, though it was already pretty warm. I pedaled back out to the road I had come in on and turned right and the road immediately turned to gravel.
It
was a good road (as in maintained) as my friend at the bike shop said but, it
was rough because the chunky rocks that made the weather proof surface had
recently been turned up by a grader and I spent the next ten miles pedaling hard
to overcome the resistance, bouncing all over and tiring out my arms as much as
my legs. Still traffic was light enough for someone to leave horses out to graze
along the side of the road without even a rope or anyone around to watch them.
Eventually I met up with the road from Santa
Cruz which was also not paved but much better riding. This 
road
too had light traffic and I encountered a farmer herding cows
slowly, one-at-a-time across the road. After about another ten miles I rolled
into Paraiso a rather drab town that didn't
seem encouraging for my delayed breakfast. I continued on to Playa Junquillal.
Things were very quiet there with no one at the beach. I did find breakfast at
Rudy's, a pleasant place where I was the only customer. I hated to order the
Gringo breakfast but it sounded good. A few other folks came in and I asked
about the road to Nosara. The waitress explained that I had to go back to
Paraiso and take a right before the bridge. I remembered the bridge so knew
exactly what she was talking about. However, I was lucky that an American woman
was part of the conversation and told me not to worry if it didn't look like
much of a road. It was actually a short-cut leading over to the road that led
south. I was glad she told me that because I loved the road but it was very
poorly maintained and I probably wouldn't have believed it led anywhere. 
On the way back to Paraiso I had some nice views of the hills. I took the short-cut and saw a few people on bikes, a cheery equestrian, some pedestrians but I'm not sure I saw a car. I came to a river crossing and wisely didn't worry about getting my feet wet: I needed to be sure I got across. It was almost deep enough to wet my panniers (saddlebags) but they were okay. I rode on working up a sweat and enjoying amazing views. At one point a monkey ran across the road and I stopped. I saw many others in the trees including this little guy. I passed a
beautiful beach at Lagarto where a man
worked on his boat in a scenic "shop." After Lagarto the road became
very hilly. Most of the hills weren't big but this "roller coaster"
riding really takes a toll on the legs and lungs. It was particularly arduous
because the rough road made it difficulty or impossible to race down one side in
hopes of some momentum up the other. I worked and I sweated and finally I
reached Marbella, a tiny town roughly
half way from Paraiso to Norsara. Proof that the town was small and the road
quiet came when a sendero on horseback drove a herd
of cattle through the center of town. After my break the work continued. Some of
the river crossings were so deep that I
had to carry the bike to keep the panniers dry. At one point I saw a nice bike/ped
bridge collapsed by the fall of a huge tree. 
Further
on I came to a really long swinging bridge over a river. I pedaled across noting
some space between the boards that made up the walkway. I heard a strange, loud
sound. It sounded to me like a big compressor springing a leak. It wasn't a
howl, or a screech but something like that. The Lonely Planet calls male howler
monkey's call as "roaring of howling, this crescendo of noise is one of the
most characteristic and memorable of all rain-forest sounds." I couldn't
have said it better. I just sat there for a while admiring the bridge, the
river, the towering trees and the strange calls. By now hunger and the heat were wearing me down. I had no reservation and needed to find food and a place to stay without a whole lot more riding. South of Nosara along the beach the hotels and restaurants tend to be off the road down toward the beach. I followed some signs and found an attractive place that was closed up. Then I came upon Pancho's Mexican restaurant where I got a lovely seat in a garden under a thatched umbrella just far enough away from the main seating area that I couldn't hear the Bears game. I've got nothing against football or the Bears but I wanted to savor my Costa Rica experience. I enjoyed a superb chicken burrito and a cold drink and water that restored me. Having pedaled 50 hard miles I was tempted to see if Pancho's had a room even though it was more than I like to spend. However, I went searching for Rancho Suizo listed in my Lonely Planet as a bit cheaper. I got a wonderful room in a garden paradise for $38 with breakfast. The proprietor, Ruth a no nonsense woman with a German accent, was welcoming and efficient. She showed me my room and the grounds and the path to the beach. They have an honor system bar with beer and soft drinks in a cooler. You can rock in a hammock and sip on a cold drink. She found a safe place for my bike and showed appreciation for my bringing my bike on the plane and seeing the country by bike. I took a welcome shower and as I soaped up looked out the window into the tall trees and saw a mother and baby monkey cavorting in the canopy. I knew I had found the perfect lodging. In fact, I liked it so well I decided to stay an extra night.
The next morning I went for an early ride before breakfast. I took the old road up to the village of Nosara, a modest place with little to note except that a small portion of the main street had the only pavement for miles around. I then rode up on the hill over Playa Pelada near Largarto Lodge where I saw an interesting squirrel. He didn't cooperate with my picture taking so I had to settle for a shot from the rear that did show his unique coloration and stripes. I pedaled by the beach enjoying the surf by early light. After breakfast I rode down to Playa Guiones, watched the surfers and
was
able to ride on the beach itself. It is 7 kilometers long and I was able to ride
from one easily accessible end to the other which was not accessible by road. I
enjoyed the view back toward the end
where I had started. I just stopped for a while adjusting to the fact that I
wasn't going anywhere that day and had time on my hands. I watched pelicans
flying fantastic formations along the surf and high in the sky. I watched them
dive through the binoculars and the force with which they hit seemed impossible
to survive. At one point an osprey flew overhead flashing some white markings
and making its distinctive cry. I looked up and saw it carrying an eel, I
suppose. It flew overhead in a big circle and landed on a tree
high up on the top of the cliff that formed the south end of the beach. I walked
closer to get a picture. A couple of rangers on a four-wheeler rode over by my
bike. I walked over to see if I had broken some rule but they ignored me. I
showed them the osprey and the younger one said it was an aguila pescadero
or fisherman eagle and that it had a fish not a snake. So I guess it was an eel.
I rode down to the beach at Garza and got a soft drink which I drank in the
shade of palm trees on the beach. I got a
nice look at a pretty yellow bird with a
shrike-like mask, but didn't have a bird book to identify it. I whiled away the
afternoon swimming in the ocean, swimming in the pool and reading in a hammock.
It's been a long time since I felt that idle; it felt good. For dinner I had
another chicken burrito at a table in
the garden at Pancho's. 
The next morning a howler monkey awoke me at 5:11 so I got up and strolled the beach at first light. I watched an
American
oyster catcher, with its bright red bill, scurrying on the rocks looking for
morsels. I saw some brown pelicans on a
tree high above and others doing maneuvers on the waves. I don't know what ghost
crabs are but feel sure I saw some. They were tiny little crabs that moved
impossibly fast. I couldn't tell whether they were colored like grains of sand
or transparent. Anyway they were hard to see. I also watched fishermen launch
their boats into the surf, a job that took
some skill. Soon they raced off and disappeared off the end of the earth. That
reminded me of Ruth presenting me with the dinner menu Sunday and saying I could
choose from everything on the menu except the fish because the fishermen take
Sunday off. Finally it was 7:30 and breakfast was ready. I left at 8 and by then
the heat had returned in full. 
I headed south and felt terrible on the first climb. I couldn't do this all day. When I got to Playa Samara that would be it. Fortunately my strength returned because I would have missed a grand adventure. next page