Part One: 9 Days, A Bicycle, The Pacific Coast and A New Year

It was Christmas night.  I left right from work to meet my friends at the bus station.  When I arrived, it was already very dark and only 3 of the other 10 had arrived.  The station, more like a parking lot, smelled of piss and cigarettes mixed the the wonderful aroma of the exhaust from a bus, stationary, yet running for 20 minuets.  One of my new friends even commented on how the people running the bus station try and get you high on CO2, only to steal your money while unconscious.  That was what happened next.

The men who operated the bus station had charged an extra 2 dollars per person, due to the fact that we had to put 11 bicycles onto an already jam packed bus.  That was arranged days in advance and something we had all expected.  However, when we got to the station, they now told us that it would cost an additional $5 per bicycle if we wanted to take them with us.  Watching a friend put up a fierce fight, but ultimately being left with little option, we caved, paying $7 more than everyone else on the bus.  Despite the trickery, everyone was smiles.  My new 10 friends and I were filled with an excitement, unmatched by any I had experienced thus far.  We all know that when the bus departed, leaving us to fall asleep as it traversed the mountains of Ecuador, we would wake to the smell of the sea air.

It was startling when bus stopped.  I, still half asleep, had not even realized we were at our destination, Canoa.  Getting off the bus, it appeared we had not left at all.  It was still dark as I started to assemble my bike together again.  However, their was something different in the air.  Mixed with the smell of urine, that seems to follow where ever you go, was a different smell I had not come across in Ecuador.  The air felt different, too.  Humid.  Then, as the bus rolled off, the sounds of the city still sleeping, I heard it... the ocean.

The sun had just begun to come up just as I got the gear properly attached to my bike (it took a few tries).  The street was certainly different than the one which we departed from.  Many of the stores did not even have full walls or doors.  They were just opened to the elements.  Fully assembled, we rode about a quarter mile and there it was.  Amidst ceviche stands, boats, umbrellas and surfboards, the ocean lay calm and beautiful.  I had not seen the Pacific since the previous March, when my friend Lauren Margaret Miller took me surfing off a San Diego Beach.  Everywhere lining the beach were different stands selling sea food, fresh juices and other beach necessities.  The group seemed to have that excitement rekindled at the same time upon viewing the water.  Not that it had disappeared, simply misplaced in the sleep of the bus. 

Throwing some food in our bellies, using the bathroom (25 cents each and no toilet seat or paper), loading up on tons of water and sunscreen and we were off.  I had not listen to any Dave Matthews Band since arriving in Ecuador, really not that much in the last few years.  As many of you know, there was a time where the music of Dave Matthews was the soundtrack to my life.  However, for some reason, it felt right to put it on for the beginning of this adventure.  I did and it was the right decision. 

As we rode away and the sun finally took control of the sky, birds I had never seen were flying along side of me, gliding above the water.  Trees unlike anything North America has to offer, grew along the other side, hanging their long thin branches over the road.  As we rode, a gang of 11, our bikes loaded with tents, gear and clothing, kids waiting to go to school or playing soccer just stared in awe.  Come to think of it, everyone did, not just the kids.  Workers would completely stop what they were doing and watch as this group rode by, smiles on their faces.  I wonder what was going through their heads as they worked in the hot sun.  I wonder how many of them had ever had the chance to explore the beautiful coast of the country in which they lived.

Just a few hours into the trip and I realized what my biggest enemy was going to be... the sun.  It was HOT.  Every 45 minuets or so we would stop under the shade of a tree, just for relief.  Each time suckling down water and reapplying sunscreen over the sweat of our bodies.  Each time we stopped, I would pull out my notebook, scribbling what I had seen or thought of on the ride. Each time, the words getting smugged with sunscreen on the paper.  At the end of one particular long and torturous hill, a watermelon stand at the end of the road became our heaven.  We sat in the shade of the stand and as a group devoured 3 large watermelons.  The locals running the stand just smiled at us, enjoying our company as much as we enjoyed the shade and fruit.  There were little girls spilling the watermelon juices all over their new Christmas clothing, truck drivers wanting a little treat before heading back to the road, people from the city, loading up 50 watermelons into a small car and an old woman, sitting in a hammock enjoying the day.

The days of riding went on like this.  Up and out early, trying to get as far as possible before the sun took over.  We would find coconut stands and drain the milk while waiting for the rays to mellow.  Jump in the ocean to get the sweat off our bodies.  Really, it was glorious.  To have the wind against my face and sun on my skin everyday was wonderful.  Each night we would pitch our tents and talk (I did a lot of listening) until at last we would fall asleep.  The sounds at night are different along the coast.  Different critters sing you to sleep.  The sound of the waves crashing off in the background, setting the slow tempo for the creatures to sing.