Bikepacking Cuba: Embracing Chaos in Bahia Onda

I keep telling myself that it is just getting dark and that it hasn’t actually gotten dark, but that’s just me kidding myself.

Not that it much matters. Despite my American brain being incredibly worried about cars and traffic, there is scant reason for concern. There are few cars and those are moving pretty slowly through this small, industrial town. We thought we had the night sorted out but were thrown a curve ball. Now we are wandering around, checking Gaia, then wandering around some more looking for a place to crash for the night.

I pull off to the side of the road. We have passed the Casa Particular on the map and I want to take another look to see where the hell we need to go. As we stop, a small scooter rolls up next to us. There is a guy in his 30s piloting the bike. He can clearly tell that we are out of place and out of ideas. When he asks if we need help, I immediately respond yes. We are looking for a place to stay for the night and ask if he knows of anywhere that could be a possibility. He ponders for a second and then says he thinks he knows of a spot that might be free. His cousins have an apartment, and it might be available. Follow him.

The day started in the lap of luxury. We awoke, had semi-warm showers and were then served breakfast in a botanical garden while getting to know our host. The more she converses with us, the more friendly and giving she became. She even gave KB a huge swath of Tiger Balm that she knew we couldn’t find anywhere easily, rubbing it on her sore shoulders and explaining that she was a nurse, but had been running the Casa Particular for years.

After breakfast, we settled our account and headed out of town. Vinales sits in a big valley surrounded by cliffs. It’s the outdoor rec capital of Cuba, if there is such a thing, and is even referred to as the Yosemite of Cuba. The rocks aren’t as big or even the same type of rock, but they are stunning, rising vertically above the valley. Heading out of town, we have the rocks, caves and cliffs as our backdrop. The road is more or less flat and the riding is easy. We cruise through the valley stopping for photos and enjoying our start to the day.

The rain from the day/night prior has left a hint of cool as we ride through the shadows. We stop often to enjoy the views and snag photos and tons of video no one will ever see as we head out of town.

The Ruta Mala ends in Vinales, but we have to get back to Habana. JT had drawn a route to do this with some variations. After the last couple of days, the group was less inclined to attempt anything that was not straight forward road. The possible road up through the mountains was discarded for a jaunt on the highway. As much as riding pavement sucks in the States, it’s quite pleasant in Cuba. There are very few cars and instead the roads tend to be communal spaces for everyone.

A couple of examples:

• As we were rolling through a small, agricultural town, we come up on a young lady walking next to a man. She has a toddler in her arms and he is pushing a wheel barrel. In the wheel barrel is a flat screen TV.
• A horse drawn buggy passes us. Strapped down and upright is a small fridge. The man driving the buggy has the reigns in one hand and a bottle of rum in the other.
• Rice. We rode through quite a few areas dedicated to food production. In these areas, they would clean off the roads and then take one lane to lay out rice for drying.

We started the day with hopes of getting to Bahia Onda. As we started to get closer, we came upon “commuter” traffic. The workers were headed back to the city from the fields. The typical uniform for these all-male workers is a pair of knee-high galoshes, jeans, t-shirt and some sort of hat. As we are cruising along, we come upon one such dressed man. His bike is an old steel contraption modified to accommodate disc brakes, but maintaining the 50’s era rack and triangle style kickstand. He has what I assume is his lunch pale strapped to the back rack.

As we roll up on him, he doesn’t look at us or acknowledge us at all and we just roll pass. He wasn’t going to have any of that and immediately passes us again and puts a little distance between us. The first time, we don’t think too much of it, but then we catch and pass him a second time. Same result. No acknowledgement, but as soon as we are in the lead, he puts some heat into the pedals and jumps back out front. We now know he is fucking with us which makes us very happy and willing to play along. I give chase and as I pass him I try to engage him in some friendly heckling, he doesn’t even look at me, but instead pounces on the pedals and soon drops me. Next Shalena gives it a go. She catches and passes him. He struggles to regain his lead but eventually does. We are all starting to feel the effects of this impromptu race and our opponent shows no signs of letting up. We leapfrog a few more times. We are getting close to our destination when John’s AXS battery dies.

As our homeboy pulls away from us, we all swing over to the side of the road. John changes his battery and the rest of us have some snacks and laugh about what has just happened. As we are in said state, we see our guy coming back toward us. He finally smiles and acknowledges us before continuing from whence we came. He was enjoying our game so much that he kept it going past his turn off.

Our little race has gotten us pretty much to our end destination, Bahia Onda.

We roll into town mid-afternoon. Our first order of business is finding a place to crash. The main drag is busy. There are people roaming the streets, cars, horse drawn wagons, dogs, scooters galore, chaos. We pick our way through town noticing a few houses with the insignia indicating they rent rooms, but eventually make it to the other side of town without stopping to inquire at any of them. We stop and check the map. JT finds one. For the first time in Cuba, the place feels sketchy. I don’t realize it at the time, but this town was going to be a thing.

We decline even calling to inquire and instead head toward a hotel that is a couple of miles down the road toward the beach. Upon arriving, there are two kids playing in the parking lot, but the place looks kind of abandoned. The guard shack on the road is more or less dilapidated, but we roll up to see what we can see. As we get closer, we can see a few people working and inquire about a room. The girl at the desk is hesitant and says she has to ask el Jefe. Strange, but whatever. She returns after what seems like a long time to inform us that we cannot stay. You see, this is a Cuban State owned hotel and foreigners are not allowed.

She apologizes and even offers that if it were up to her, she would let us stay. I ask if she knows of any casas particulares close by. She says she thinks there is a lady who has a two-story home closer to the beach that rents, but she doesn’t know for sure. We thank her nonetheless and roll back down past the empty, falling down guard shack and decide to see what we can find from her description. We’ve already ridden a couple of miles out of town and it’s only a short coast to where she indicated.

We find the road but aren’t entirely sure about which house it is and end up at the end of the road. While stopped assessing the situation, two older gentleman sitting on the porch on the other side of the street pipe up. Yes, there is a house and they give us better directions and let us know that the house we stopped in front of was also a restaurant. Things seem to be looking up. We thank them and head back up the road.

The house has two stories, is a peach color and no one is home. I call a couple of times, but it’s pretty obvious.

After another group huddle, we decide to hang out for a minute. There’s a small plaza with a store and steps that lead down to the beach. There’s no one in the plaza so we park the bikes. The small store has ice cold beer, rum and snacks. We buy some provisions and have a beer down by the beach to wait. The area by the beach is open and there is plenty of space that we could put up tents and camp. We ask the young guy tending the store if it would be ok to camp, he says yes. As the afternoon is starting to fade, we decide that if they come home, we stay at the house. If they don’t, we just camp on the beach.

Seeing that we are kind of just waiting to see what happens, we figure we might as well get dinner. We roll the half block or so to the end of the road and call at the dingy house we were told was a restaurant. A grumpy lady comes out, says yes follow her. Inquiring about where to leave our bikes, she tries to lean them all up out front before getting exasperated and telling us to bring them down the alley to the side of her house. With the bikes stashed out back, she takes us to the restaurant.

It’s open-air seating. The back porch of the house is built up right on the edge of the bay. We take a seat and can see the water lapping at the wall below us. The sun is slowly starting to fade giving us a glorious sunset. Seeing that we are on the coast, she has fresh fish. We order up some beers and food. The kitchen is tucked in one corner and we watch as the family comes out to help. Soon food production is dominating the scene. One more beer later and the food arrives. The setting is perfect, the food is great and the beer, like all beer in Cuba, is ice fucking cold.

With our bellies full, we only have one task left for the day, determine where to sleep.

We cruise back to the plaza. The house is still empty, but there’s a lady sweeping her front porch on the other side of the road. She confirms again that we have found the correct house but doesn’t know when or if they will return today. Seeing that the little store doesn’t have water bottles (bottled water is almost non-existent in Cuba), we ask her to fill up our bottles. She does. We buy a few more provisions from the store as he is closing up and settle in for a hang in the plaza.

Dusk is settling into the night and we are about to start setting up camp as a car pulls into the house. There’s a bit of a relaxation that goes through the group. We let the couple settle for a few minutes before heading over to inquire about a room. Yes, they rent rooms. No, they don’t have anything available. I ask again, indicating that it would be just for the night as we would be leaving first thing in the morning. Nope. They are booked until the New Year. I’m a little confused as it is clear they don’t have anyone staying that night, but finally accept that they are not renting us anything.

We retreat back to the plaza with a third contingency we hadn’t considered, the owners show up and don’t rent us a room. The consent provided by the teenage boy running the store felt inadequate, at least to Mama Bear and I. In addition, the owners would be right next door watching the people they wouldn’t rent a room to squat on public property. In hindsight, we should’ve just asked them, but we packed up our shit and headed back into town.

On our way down to the beach, a man had hollered at us that he had a room. We head that direction. He isn’t out hollering anymore, but there is a small store and we stop to inquire. A young woman is there conversing with the attendant who says she thinks she knows who we are talking about and says to follow. She takes us right to his house and while we wait on the street she goes up to talk to him. We can see he is visibly drunk, like almost falling down drunk. He only has one room.

Ok. We pull out the phones and find some houses marked on the map and head further into town. We find no houses and end up back at the main drag. Things are less busy, but it still feels pretty chaotic. Phones out again, direction set, pedaling.

It is at this point that we meet the guy on the scooter.

After a quick exchange, we follow him a couple of blocks to house (pictured above with the white gate around the porch). He calls and a couple of young women come out. There’s some back and forth and then finally, a yes. They have a place. It isn’t ready so it will take a few minutes and we’ll have to drag our bikes upstairs. We just want a place to sleep so it all sounds happy to us.

The girls run across the street with sheets and towels and soon we are hefting our bikes up the stairs. Stairs is a loose term here. They are steep enough that you would automatically use both hands going up them, but they aren’t quite a ladder. There is also the gate at the bottom. To even get to the stairs, you go through a gate and then make an immediate 90-degree turn. A human alone can easily do this. A human hefting a bike up the stairs just entered a puzzle. Between the four of us, we figure it out and lift four loaded bikes up the stairs/ladder and stash them in the tiny rooms we have rented.

The rooms are tiny and based on their appearance, most likely rented by the hour for the afternoon meet up of folks who can’t meet up due to their relationship statuses. The bed in our room is shaped like a hammock with the head and feet being on the same level, but the middle sitting well below. The shower and toilet are in the same tiled area which I guess makes it easy to clean up. Said shower has exposed wires going to the spigot for heat or electrocution whichever you prefer.

But there are cold beers in the fridge.

Quite frankly, we’re just toked to be “home.” After a terrifying shower, we reconvene on the porch/roof and enjoy some cold beers and watch this weird city slowly fall asleep.

Embrace Chaos. Seek Discomfort.