Back where I belong - Bicycle touring in Central America Part 2

May 13, 7:49 PMBoise International Travel ExaminerNancy Sathre-Vogel

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Entering Honduras - Our sixth country so far

 Editor's Note:  This is Part 2 of one article in an ongoing series of articles about my family's bike trip from Alaska to Argentina as my boys try to break the Guiness world record as the youngest people to cycle the Pan American Highway.  You can read part 1 here.

We did finally make it to Guatemala – barely.  “I don’t feel good,” Daryl mumbled as he crawled off the bike and sought a spot under a tree to collapse.

“C’mon, honey,” I urged.  “We are less than a kilometer from the border – we need to get across and then we’ll find a hotel.”

Daryl dragged himself up and climbed onto the back of the tandem behind Daddy.  A few minutes later, we arrived at the border and started the proceedings to check out of one country, and into the next.

“I don’t feel good,” Davy murmured as he collapsed onto the floor of immigration next to his brother.

Egads.  Two kids sick – really sick – and we were still about two kilometers from the town.  At least it was only two kilometers.  In times like this, you have to count your blessings, even if there are only two of them.

With both kids barely able to stay upright, we struggled to make it those final two kilometers into the border town where we checked into the first hotel we found.  The next few days are a blur of oppressive heat, no water in the hotel, and frantic dashes to the bathroom with both kids sick with diarrhea and vomiting.  Slowly, but surely, the symptoms eased and the boys felt better and better.

We knew we had a 25-kilometer stretch of dirt road coming up, but we never dreamed that 25 kilometers could be as miserable as it was.  A thick layer of dust covered the road, and each truck that passed sent enormous clouds of it billowing into the air.  Within minutes, we and all our bikes and gear were covered with a thick layer of dust, and each breath we took forced more of it into our lungs.

Even so, all was more-or-less well until we reached the final climb up to the pavement.  It quickly became apparent there was no way we could pedal up the steep incline.  And it didn’t take much longer to discover that pushing the bikes wasn’t much easier.  I plodded along, pushing my heavily loaded bike up the impossibly steep hill… concentrating on each and every step… my shoulders began to ache… my legs cried out in agony…sweat dripped down my forehead and off my nose… 

“Daryl,” I instructed.  “Lay that bike down, and come help me with mine.”

The two of us pushed – me on the handlebars, my son pushing from behind.  Ten meters… fifteen… twenty…  The two of us panted like dessicated puppy dogs, gasping for oxygen in the hot, dry, dust-filled air.  Leaving Daryl to hold my bike and take a short break, I walked back down to get his bike and bring it up.  We played a bizarre game of leap frog up the hill – struggle up fifteen or twenty meters with my bike, then I went back to get his, work together on mine, I get his… 

Two kilometers later, we reached the top.  The top!  Pavement!  Oh mother of God and all that is holy – pavement at last!

Our journey through Guatemala was somewhat of a disappointment, as the kids kept getting sick over and over again.  Sick a day, then fine a couple days…sick a couple days, then OK…  Two weeks later, once we arrived into Honduras, we fed them a couple of antibiotics and they’ve been fine since.

Honduras!  We finally made it!  For months now we had been in contact with another cycling family – we’re not the only ones crazy enough to attempt a journey like this!  The Verhage family first wrote to us back in November when we were in Arizona to tell us that they, too, were cycling to the southern tip of South America – with two boys on the back of their tandems!  We vowed to meet up with them – and they hung out in Guatemala and Honduras to wait for us.

The next month brings visions of four blond-headed kids playing together.  Four blondies snorkeling on coral reefs, jumping off jetties, exploring islands, cycling together, and playing hard.  Davy and Daryl thoroughly enjoyed their month with the Verhage boys as both families traveled together throughout Honduras.  Our caravan of eight people on five bikes brought traffic to a halt at times, and was certainly a sight that will never be seen again here in this Central American country

Eventually, however, all good things must come to an end, and so it was with our union with the Verhage family.  We wanted to spend more time in Honduras visiting my Peace Corps family; they wanted to push on to Nicaragua.  We said our goodbyes to the Verhage family, and hello to my Peace Corps family!

My Peace Corps family!  I was back!  After 22 years, I finally made it back to my Peace Corps pueblo.  Just as the first rays of the sun illuminated the road on Mother’s Day, the four of us set out from Tegucigalpa – the capital city – en route to Choluteca, where I lived all those years ago.  We ground up long, steep inclines and plummeted down impossibly long downhills.  Mile after mile passed by under our wheels, each one bringing me closer to my dream of returning to Cholu. 

87 miles from where we started that morning, we finally pulled into the driveway of my house, and I was able to look into Gloria’s eyes once again.  I was back.  I was home.  Back home where I belong.

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You can read the other articles in the series here:

Prudhoe Bay (June 2008)  
Alaska Highway (July 2008)  
Yukon (August 2008)
Northern British Columbia (August 2008)

Icefields Heartbreak (September 2008)

Cycling Montana (September 2008)

Wyoming & Utah (October 2008)

Exploring America's National Parks (November 2008)

On the US/Mexico border (January, 2009

Adventure Travel 2009

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