My ass hurts so bad right now, it's not even funny. I
can barely sit down without wincing!
But let me start at the beginning. Actually, I'll
start last night, where a funny thing happened on the
way back to our hotel.
We were walking down the street when this Dominican
woman came up to Pascal and asked him his name.
"Pascal," he answered. Without further ado, the woman
reached across and grabbed a good handful of Pascal's
crotch and purred "oooh, muy grande!"
Pascal turned a bright shade of pink and I laughed all
the way back to the hotel!
This morning, we woke up bright and early (again) and
ambled over to the mountain bike rental place. We
loaded bikes and helmets onto this crusty old Ford
pickup and took off for an eastbound 45 minute ride.
The idea was for the guys to drop us off at the top of
a local mountain (make that big hill) and for us to
bike down and meet up at the river.
It almost went as planned. As we climbed the twisty,
narrow roads, the pickup coughed and sputtered and
generally emitted a variety of strange noises one
might associate with an automobile's death throes.
Sure enough, smoke from under the hood and the smell
of burnt engine led half a minute later to a complete
dead stop. The mountain bike storekeeper and driver of
the pickup, Mike (a typical New Yorker from the Bronx)
cursed the thing upside down and sideways, while
Pascal myself and our British guide, 17-year old
Matthew, sat back in mild amusement at this latest
turn of events.
Some locals came to check the beast out, and it soon
became evident the truck would take a while to get
anywhere. So we grabbed our bikes, climbed the rest of
the way up the "mountain", and then proceeded to
barrel down to the bottom.
This ended up being quite a blast, as we achieved what
felt to me like warp speed on several occasions,
ripping past little villages, chickens, donkeys, men
on horseback, and hundreds of palm trees. Yee-hah!
The only part that got a little hairy was when I
decided to ride and film at the same time. With the
video camera glued to my eyeball with my right hand, I
only had my left hand on the handlebars (and thus only
the front brake) and had to navigate the road solely
through the viewfinder. The footage better be good
from this, because it definitely got my adrenaline
pumping overtime!
We made it down to the river in what felt like no
time, and swam in the water to cool down. However,
neither Pascal nor I were fully satisfied--the biking
had felt more like an appetizer than a main course,
and we wanted more.
Mike, who thought we were quite insane, agreed to let
us off near Cabarete for some additional hardcore
off-roading after our hearty lunch.
In the full mid-day Dominican heat, we made our way
through back roads to the entrance of some national
park. The guys who collected the entrance fees also
thought we had a few screws loose, and hadn't even
heard of the possibility of biking through the park to
get back to Sosua.
As it turns out, it was possible, but our 17-year old
guide didn't actually know the way, and we ended up
taking a wrong turn early on in our excursion.
The predominantly uphill terrain became increasingly
difficult, the red earth littered with protruding
volcanic rock outcroppings, some as high as 10 inches.
After flipping over the front of my bike's handlebars
bike twice, I reluctantly had to admit that some
sections of the trail had to be negotiated on foot.
This became more and more true as we progressed, with
the trail becoming increasingly narrow, steep, and
rocky--to the point where we were doing a lot more
walking than biking.
In fact, these trails were a lot more appropriate for
trekking than for biking. They would have been
exerting enough on foot without having to lug our
bikes around as well!
After a considerably period of time of this madness,
with all of our shirts completely drenched with sweat,
no end in sight to our increasingly small trail, forks
in the path taken seemingly at random, our water
supply running out and thunder rumbling off in the
distance, I questioned Matthew a little more closely.
He had no idea where we were, and his "we're bound to
hit a road sometime" answer didn't quite seem like the
most sensible attitude, especially when he admitted
that the park was several hundred square miles in
area.
I made the executive decision to turn around and head
back. Within a few minutes, Matthew's legs cramped,
and we waited 5 - 10 minutes for them to stop spasming
so we could go on (it occurred to me at this time that
I might end up having to carry the guy back into
civilization, a thought I did not relish).
Anyway, once we were under way again, the descent was
faster than the ascent (although probably more
dangerous--if you were to flip in some sections the
rocks could easily break your spine).
In fact, at one point a loose rock caused Pascal to
miss a turn and he went flying into the bushes. No
harm done, though.
When we got close to the very bottom, a local farmer
pointed out to us the error of our ways (we went left
at the first fork instead of right) and stated that
only an experienced person familiar with the area
would have found his way back to Sosua using the trail
we'd gone down.
But at this point late in the afternoon we didn't
quite have the energy (or the time, or the water) to
bike the correct off-road trail to Sosua.
So we took the 15 miles of highway instead. This would
have been fairly easy, if it weren't for the crazy
Dominican drivers I've mentioned previously. Some of
them came only within inches of us--way too close for
comfort.
It didn't help that Mike had told us on the way out
that Dominicans have no compunctions in hitting things
(animals, cattle, people) on the road, a statement
made all the more convincing by the fact that 90% of
vehicles (including trucks and buses) have enourmous
brush guards on the front.
At this point I should mention how incredibly
*uncomfortable* the bike seats were. I've never sat on
anything more aggravating in my entire life. Even a
slab of concrete would be more comfortable than these
seats, and if I'm never able to have children the
blame will lie directly with these. Thus my present
discomfort.
Anyhow, we made it back to Sosua without getting
creamed by a bus, much to Mike's surprise (I think he
half expected us to cry uncle and hitch a ride back).
After returning the bikes, Matthew took us to these 50
foot cliffs overlooking the clear blue ocean. As the
still incredibly hot sun set over the island, we
ignored our basic instincts telling us that jumping
off cliffs is not a good thing and leaped.
Whooooosh--SPLASH! What a rush!!!
I got seawater shot up my nose (and possibly into my
cranial cavity) on the second jump, but this was a
small price to pay for the thrill, and the ensuing
headache was nevertheless well worth it!
Returning to our hotel after a day well spent, Pascal
and I flopped onto our respective beds for some much
needed rest. After all, we have to recharge our
batteries for tomorrow's adventures!
Cheers,
Gabriel
