A couple of people have asked if we’ve hit the halfway point of our trip. The answer: We’re not sure. It’s kinda impossible to tell where the halfway point is, because we don’t exactly have a planned route and if we did you know we wouldn’t follow it anyway. However, with all that said, when we ran into Joceline in Honduras (the French guy who was riding his bike from Ushuaia), he said he had covered 14,500km (9010 miles). We are ultimately headed to Ushuaia, so by his route, we are halfway there!
Someone sing me some Bon Jovi…Whooah, we’re half way there! Take my hand and we’ll make it I swear…
Just to clarify, we’re not halfway between Houston and Ushuaia. We’re halfway mileage wise for our route, because we’ve already covered 10,000 miles and it’s about 10,000 miles to Ushuaia. But before anyone gets too impressed, here are some rather unimpressive statistics. We are only about 2,200 miles from where we started in Houston, almost one year ago. We are as far away from Houston now as we were when we were in Portland, Oregon back in July.
Meanwhile back in Costa Rica…The roadwork ended and we lost our private two lane road. Roadwork oftentimes works to our advantage. The lanes that are closed to cars are usually open to cyclists.
We’re on the Pan-American Highway. In Costa Rica, it has little to no shoulder and some of the heaviest traffic we’ve seen in Central America. Much more of the population here own personal vehicles. This is in contrast to the other Central American countries we’ve passed through where it was more common for people to travel by motorcycle or bus. Gasoline was also prohibitively expensive in some countries.
It’s difficult to enjoy the ride when we’re constantly checking behind us, watching for the next big rig or bus. The wind has been strong and wild. When the big vehicles pass they create a push and pull effect on the bikes. After 10,000 miles I still freeze up, unable to keep pedaling when there is no shoulder and a passing bus or big rig. I probably hold my breath too, with all my focus to keep my tires on the white line. The first-classes buses are the worst offenders. They pass so close I could reach out and touch them as they go by.
While looking for a place to camp we’re spotted by a rancher. We were trying to camp in one of the pastures. He comes over and recites the usual spiel about how it’s dangerous to camp out here alone. He invites us to come camp in his carport. We do like the solitude of our stealth camping, but the carport has its advantages too. It’s the flattest surface we’ve had in a while and we have access to a faucet for water.