We awake well rested and high spirited for the day. We’ve had two easy days of pedaling that have both ended in ways that far exceeded any expectations we had.
Cuba continues to blow us away. Casa Lara, our casa particular, provides breakfast as part of the lodging fee. We had heard that such things were usually pretty spectacular and yet, we are still more than surprised at the feast laid out before us. Lara is super attentive. We get coffee, fresh squeezed juice, eggs, bread, fruit, cheese, jam and donuts. It was colorful and the perfect way to start our day.
We pay our bills, say our goodbyes, snag a photo of the house and head on our way.
The central mountains of the island loom before us. We know the next couple of days are probably going to be hot and steep with plenty of climbing to get to Vinales. Our route consists of 3 sections; the southern coast, the mountains and the northern coast. We are headed into the middle section which we suspect is going to be the crux of the route.
The day starts out with cruiser miles before we begin to climb. We are on pavement and it’s hot, but in general, it’s chill. The map shows a waterfall and we soon find ourselves conversing with a man trying to get us to go down to said waterfall. The group decides to head down, paying a few Cuban Pesos for the man to watch our bikes and for entrance into the “park.”
It’s a short walk down some steep steps to the waterfall. There’s several small falls cascading into a blue pool of clear beautiful water. I immediately start snapping photos, we all want to swim, but it’s just on the wrong side of warm and none of us brought our towels down. We hang out for a few minutes taking in the beauty and then return to the bikes. The man is a little flabbergasted that we hadn’t swam and encouraged us to spend more time. We feel a bit rushed due to the terrain that lay ahead and decline his offers, snagging our bikes and heading up the road.
The terrain is steep and covered with lush plant life. We are treated to multiple river crossings, each with its own style of bridge. We continue climbing and dropping and climbing. It’s hot and humid. We are all sweating our asses off. There’s nothing that is dry.
Sometime in the early afternoon, we enter a small village. The density of the flora makes it feel like we popped out of the jungle and landed in the town, but in fact, we just rode in. There’s a bus stop, a small store and a guy selling fruit across the street. All of this sits at a T in the road. We’ve only had snacks since leaving Casa Lara that morning. Without even needing to ask, we all stop and begin buying what we can.
The fruit vendor appears to be selling oranges, or an orange like fruit. Mama Bear and I walk on over and ask to buy some. He’s a bit surprised and then explains that they are super sour. It’s actually a hybrid between an orange and a lemon. I like strong flavors, even sour, so we ask to buy a few. He gets out his scale and weighs his product. The sign hanging in front of him shows that his price is a pound for 100 pesos. The fruit we are buying isn’t even heavy enough to register on his scale, but he pretends to make the effort. He vacillates and then proceeds to tell us that it will be 180 pesos. Those are some heavy fruit I think to myself, but we’re still talking about less than a $1 USD. I say nothing, pay him leaving a bit of a “tip” and we walk back to the bus stop where the Diggers are waiting.
Taking advantage of the shade provided, we sit and have lunch.
As we sit and eat, the locals congregate. The fruit vendor comes over to see how we like the fruit. I actually don’t mind it. The rest of the group isn’t too into it. The family that operates the store pops out the back and asks questions. A taxi pulls up and pretty soon the driver is there watching and conversing with us. This was the one time that the locals seemed genuinely curious and unafraid to chat with us. They laughed about our bikes, laughed at me eating the fruit, laughed and smoked and chatted. It was a pleasant moment.
We had no idea what the route had in store for us at this junction.
After the pleasant bus stop lunch, we gather everything back up and get ready to head out. In the above photo, you can see where the road splits. We assumed, based on our maps and how things had been going that we were going to stay on the pavement and continue climbing. So that’s what we did only to quickly realize that we had missed our turn. If you look closely, in front of the red car in the pic, you can see where we needed to go.
We turned around and headed up the dirt road as the locals yelled that it was the wrong way. It certainly was where the route went, but they were absolutely right, it was the wrong way.
We crank up a steep hill and pretty soon find ourselves pushing. About a 1/3 of the way up, a man comes out of his house and begins walking the same way we are headed. He asks where we are going. We tell him El Toro. He explains the route and the difficulties we will have to get there. A few steep climbs, some rutted sections and then he asks where we are going from there. I respond, “Entronque Los Palacios.” He gives me an incredulous look and then proceeds to inform us that the road goes to shit after El Toro, specifically saying “es La Ruta Mala.”
And the road is kind of already shit.
El Toro is a small clump of houses carved out of the jungle in a small valley. There are two ways to access the village. The road that we came in on and the trail we leave on. I use the word trail loosely. Within the first 100 yards we are pushing straight up and out of the valley. The climb is exacerbated by the clingy, pokey plants that we are pushing through. The trail turns to several as it grapevines its way up the hillside. Soon we get split up. I can hear John and he can hear me, but the vegetation is so thick that we have no visual contact. We’re just paralleling each other through a dense forest.
The sweat that has been poring from us all day begins to mix with mud and blood. The bushes like to grab a hold of your skin and not let go. It feels like everything has some sort of stabby part to it, clinging and puncturing our skin. We vacillate not sure if we are even on the route. It feels like we are, but it’s also entirely possible that there is a perfectly good road 30 feet to the right that we just can’t see or get to. There’s not, but the idea that there could be is as demoralizing as the plant life.
The two trails that John and I are simultaneously following eventually converge bringing the group back together. As we push our way closer and closer to the top, the density lessens. After an hour or so, we finally push our bikes into an open grassy section that feels like the top. We’ve gone about 3/4 of a mile in that timeframe.
Being at the top feels like a victory until we try to ride downhill. The trail is rutted and those ruts are filled with marble-like rocks. The grade of the trail is on par with what we just came up. It doesn’t take long before we are walking and instead of dragging bikes, the bikes are dragging us down the mountain. Our brakes are essentially useless as the ground just moves under our 3″ tires.
We are hot, bloody and hungry when the trail finally spits us out onto a two-track road. There are houses and the locals look at us like we are absolutely bonkers. We don’t care, we’re just stoked to be out of the jungle and back onto a surface that is actually ridable.
The dirt road takes us to pavement and then to the junction known as Entronque Los Palacios. There is a small cafe and a store across the street. We had been making good time before our jaunt through the jungle, but it’s now close to 5 and things are closing up. I ask at the cafe if they are open, the attendant says she is but she has nothing to serve us at this point in the day. Enquiring about other options, she points to the small store across the way that looks like it might be about 30 seconds away from closing.
Mama Bear and I walk across, buy some treats and a few beers. The lady at the cafe is kind enough to fill our water bottles and gives us some beta on casa particulares where we hope we can stay and snag dinner. With nothing left to do at this junction, we head down the road as the light is fading in the western sky.
Her description of the casa particular was pretty specific. We roll for a couple of miles, about as far as she said it would be, and there is a house that more or less fits the description. With one exception, it’s on the wrong side of the road. Thinking that maybe we just hadn’t gone far enough we keep cruising for another 1/2 mile. Nothing. There’s a guy and his kid on the side of the road. I’m not entirely sure what they are doing, but he was the only one around so we stop to inquire.
He confirmed that we passed the one house, but said that there was another just a bit farther that he knew for a fact rented rooms. Our consensus is to move forward not back and so we head on. We find the house just as he described it and it is hopping. There are children running around the yard, music blasting and from what we can see, it is going to be a party spot for the next bit. Not only this, but based on what we are seeing, they may rent rooms, but there isn’t any vacancy. It is, after all, Christmas Eve.
It’s starting to get dark and we are running out of options. We can turn around and hope the house we passed has room and is willing to rent to us or there looks to be a dirt road a couple of miles farther where we could hobo camp. We don’t have any fuel, but we could build a fire and cook over the open flame. Everyone agrees that this is a fine option and we head on.
We find the dirt road and then a spot where we feel comfortable camping and having a fire.
The group is visibly fatigued. The day has been brutal, not only physically, but mentally. Cuba isn’t a given. You can’t call ahead and make a reservation. You don’t know if the little town is going to have enough food to help you out. The roads are generally empty and the trails are what you would expect for a place where horses are still a dominant form of transportation. We are all sticky, muddy and bloody from the day’s efforts.
Despite our fatigue, we’ve still got some work to do. We begin by digging a hole and gathering wood. John builds up a nice spot for the pot to rest on. All we need now is fire. As the sole lighter keeper, I start digging through my gear. Within seconds, I’m throwing shit everywhere, yard selling everything I have. Even after double and triple checking my bags, I can’t fathom that I don’t have a lighter. I know it’s in there. I keep digging. The group’s morale is plummeting. It’s painfully obvious that we aren’t having any real dinner tonight, but I keep digging.
The Diggers settle for trying to cold soak some freeze dried meals. I eat a ProBar and start soaking some Ramen for the morning. KB eats a bar and is quiet. There are three beers and half a bottle of rum between us. We split it all up and retreat to our tents.
The party can be heard, but it’s really the humidity that keeps me awake. I’m sticking to my pad, sticking to my quilt and sticking to myself. There’s a few stars, but those disappear as a cloud cover rolls in trapping the day’s heat and moisture. Our day ends on the opposite foot as it started. There’s no hot shower. We didn’t get dinner. The beautiful breakfast mosaic might as well have been a decade ago as it is nothing more than a memory. Our only consolation now is a small shot of warm rum.
Merry Christmas to us!
Embrace Chaos. Seek Discomfort.
