La Costa!

We’re back on the ocean! (costa = coast) Last time we saw the ocean was two months ago in Cartegena. However, that was the Atlantic (Caribbean), this is the Pacific. Totally different J

The 4-day ride from the mountains of Quito to the coast was a bit of an epic. Epic bad, not epic good. It all started out well enough with our ride out of the big smoke on a Sunday, which we learned from our Medellin exit, is the day they close off city roads and set up a bike lane travelling through the length of the city. With the sun shining and zero traffic issues, it was a nice ride towards the pass marking the long descent to the coast.

We were pretty stoked and looking forward to the 3200-m descent from the pass down to sea level. There aren’t too many places in the world you can roll a bike down 3200 vertical meters of pavement. As we approached the pass, sun gave way to cloud which gave way to fog and drizzle. By the time we got to the pass it was downright cold, windy, and wet. With no accommodation options in sight, and hoping it would get better as we descended, we wrapped ourselves in gortex and plunged into the fog and drizzle. Not overly uncomfortable, the temperature did indeed increase as we initiated our fast descent. The biggest letdown though was the zero visibility, meaning we never did get the fantastic views of our surroundings, which are reported to be stunning. You win some, you lose some. 

Drizzle turned to rain as we continued downward. Again, not critical, just unfortunate given the lack of views. Things were generally fine, other than the weather. Then the one unthinkable thing most feared by cyclists everywhere occurred – the high-speed front-tire blowout. As I was zipping downwards with the wind in my hair joyfully winding in and around large cargo trucks, I heard the bang as my front tire exploded, felt the 1-second wobble, and before I knew what was happening, I was skipping along the pavement like a flat stone on water – my bike and everything I own skipping along in front of me. The worst part, of course, was the fact that this was a highway full of large transport traffic, and no doubt, barrelling down the mountain right behind me. Amazingly, I came to a stop after a slide and a couple rolls, stood up without major injury, and had the 3 seconds I needed to sweep up my bike and scattered contents before the next steamroller truck passed by. The look on the driver’s face was one of utter disbelief. Yardsale gringo in the middle of the highway! That probably didn’t come up in truck-driving school.

 Anywhooo, whew, after a bit of side-of-the-road decompression, the only evidence that anything out of the ordinary had occurred was some road rash on my lower leg, a shredded Patagonia windbreaker, and the palm of a leather glove worn through to the skin. Oh, and of course a blown-out front tire. The bike was otherwise fine, except for slightly skewed handlebars. An incredibly fortunate outcome all things considered.

Funny though, the downhill slide in events continued. While replacing my front tube with a spare, it really started to rain (like it wasn’t raining already). More gortex. Then, just as we were packing up the tools and getting ready to roll, Amy announced that her rear tire was flat. wtf!? Giving up the fight, we found a small bus shelter nearby and hobbled over to it. In the relative security of the bus shelter, we fixed Amy’s tire and waited in vain for the rain to stop. After realizing that our wait could extend into darkness, and that we needed to get to the next town and find a place to stay, we launched into the rain and truck traffic again. Once is an exception, twice is a trend, right? No more than 3 minutes passed and I again heard the telltale bang as my front tire exploded and blew off. Fortunately, given our state of mind, we were crawling down the hill at low speed and I simply grinded to a stop. OK, is this day ever going to end? With the second tube destroyed, I had only one remaining tube. Not taking any chances, we had to replace the front tire with the spare tire, which meant digging to the bottom of the panniers, in the rain, and replacing the entire tube and tire. We did, and eventually rolled downward through the rain to the next dirty old town which could not come soon enough. Any port in a storm as they say. But the shower was hot, and the beer was cold, and we finally put that day to bed just before dark.

Back on the road the next day, mountains gave way to bananas, sand, and surf. The next few days brought us to the coast via a larger town called Santo Domingo, where we were able to find a good replacement tire (the original being unceremoniously thrown out) and to replenish our supply of spare tubes. Pizza for lunch as well, which was a nice find!  Arriving on the coast at a place called Pedernales was a bit underwhelming given the cloud and drizzle, which continued, but was a welcome overnight stop. The coast here seems quite beautiful, despite the constant cloud cover at the moment. Signs of development are plentiful – no doubt the area is on the ex-pat radar.

 So here we are in Canoa – a small surf town on the coast of northern Ecuador. The town itself is a bit of a dirtbag town (the theme song of the past four days has been the Pogue’s “Dirty Old Town”, which goes around and around our heads while riding), but we found a very nice budget place right on the beach, just outside town – about a 15-mins walk along a huge and mostly deserted beach to town. The plan for the moment is up in the air. We definitely feel the need to stay here for a while and relax, lie in a hammock, and watch the ocean. Hopefully the sun will come out. In the meantime, una mas cerveza por favor!