LA RUTA computer so I couldn’t see how slow I rode. We snaked up and through coffee plantations stretched in all directions. The climate was cooler and the mountaintops shrouded in clouds. We passed through small villages of brightly colored houses, where dogs and children played in the street. The kids lined up, wanted you to slap their hands and asked for autographs from racers in exchange for a piece of candy. Our reward was a fast downhill where the miles melted away. Of course a cardinal rule of La Ruta is what goes down must go up. I’m convinced that only in Costa Rica is there more uphill than downhill. With the impression that there were only 10 miles left we were faced with a wicked mud-gravel-rock road uphill that led to a super fun, slippery, greasy downhill. Just as I was pedaling through some gluey mud, keeping my momentum going, I came to a complete stop in sink-up-toyour-knee mud. Again. I stared at the short climb. It resembled one of those game shows where they make you run up a slime-filled slide, except they’ve added deep mud and you have to drag your bike up it. The mud stuck to my tires and the wheels decided not to turn, so I cleared it off with my fingers to get them to roll. I encountered a genius with a spatula. After slipping and sliding and grunting my bike uphill, some wonderful Costa Rican was helping racers hoist their bikes over a 10-foot mud cliff. I don’t know how any of us would have
La Ruta de los Conquistadores
wrenches worked on Roadmaster bikes. Kids cheered, “Vamoose muchacha!” A couple of young girls giggled and asked me to speak English to them, and on I rode. The last climb ascended an endless paved road. I chatted with a local man riding this race for the third time. It was the first of many times we rode together throughout the four days. We finished into a pasture where we handed our muddy bikes off to the mechanics. I cringed when I saw them power-washing the bikes, but by the end of this race my bike would see much more abusive treatment. Dinner at the finish line consisted of rice, beans and chicken. Weary and sore, racers boarded buses back to San Jose to the hotel. Once there, my routine was to take a hot shower, stretch, find someplace to eat a second dinner and then sleep. I went to bed elated about finishing the most difficult day, but realized this was just the beginning. The challenge of this event is doing it all over again the next day, getting up at 4 a.m. for breakfast, hopping the bus to the start line and swinging your leg over the saddle. The second day was a challenge from the time I woke up and dry heaved in the bathroom. I put toast in my bag, hoping to eat it later. The big road climb today was paved, which doesn’t mean effortless; I’ve never ridden my bike up, nor seen, such a steep road. Out of easier gears and going 2 mph, I changed my
I don’t know how one day can have so much climbing and really no descending. Just when you think you might start going down, you go up again. It is the cruelest trick of La Ruta, which had a total 14,500 feet climbing on just the first day. The next three days weren’t so easy either. 37