In Samara the road turned to pavement for the first time since I left Playa Tamarindo a couple of days ago. Perhaps the other riders went left anyway I never saw them. Commercial establishments abounded in Playa Samara but I didn't happen to see a breakfast place open so kept riding. Smooth tarmac made the traveling easy and in no time I rolled into beautiful
Playa
Carrillo. I put it forth as the
prettiest beach. In addition to having white sand and a perfect half-moon shape
it is lined with palm trees 10 deep for its entire length. As I passed the beach
and entered the town I climbed one incredibly steep hill. I could barely make it
in my lowest gear. At the top I found a resort with casino and restaurant and
went in for a second breakfast. The dining room had a superb view of the beach,
and they served an excellent breakfast. That was good because soon after leaving
there the road went back to dirt and I encountered some energy-depleting climbs.
First I crossed the Rio Ora and then hit a hill I couldn't pedal up. I cursed
and then pushed 
the
bike to the top. It wasn't long before I hit a hill that not only required my to
push my bike but was almost more than I could handle even on foot. The bike got
heavier and heavier and I was really sweating without the breeze from the moving
bike. I stopped to rest, I mean take a picture of the view.
I took a long break trying to cool down and lower my heart rate. When I moved on
I could feel the fatigue in my legs. I crested the hill and had a pretty good
idea more big hills lay ahead. I then went down the other side with a view of
Playa Islita.
It hadn't been long since my second breakfast and I had just had a break at the top of the hill so I considered not stopping in the little town of Islita. However, I stopped to take a picture of a mural with oxen. Perhaps because I
raised oxen, it appealed to me. Anyway I then watched a tractor load of bamboo
go by and decided I should have a cold drink at the little store. I bought my
Diet Coke and found a shady seat. Then I talked a bit with a couple from Macon,
Georgia. Next door was a museum and I began looking at some jewelry for sale and
talking to the woman working there. She started by telling me that she and her
husband had pedaled bikes from Vulcan Arenal to a town near Islita. That was
quite a hard outing and I was impressed. I learned that the museum had been set
up to benefit local artists by a foundation affiliated with the Hotel Punta
Islita, a luxury resort concerned with supporting the local community. Much of
the art is outside in open air. I mentioned that I had stopped because of the
mural and she said it was painted by a local youth who had been working in the
hotel. When the foundation learned of their talented employee they arranged for
financial help for him to go to art school. He has since won a prize for all of
Central America. She took me to the back where the women artists associated with the museum were working. They created the
necklaces
I purchased from local materials including seashells and seeds. She called ahead
for me to Playa San Miguel where I thought to spend the night and said that the
Azul Plata had a room. Finally I moved on and felt much stronger as I climbed
the first of three big climbs that remained. I made it up this one with great
views of the beach below Islita and the picturesque
town itself. The next climb was too steep and I had to walk but I knew I was
getting close. The road had little traffic
and nice views of ranch land and tree-covered
hills. This area is so remote that there are no gas sations so local people
sometimes sell it out of cans for those (probably tourists) who run out in the
worst of places. This sign says they
have gasoline and shrimp for sale. As I rode along a flat stretch, a young tico on a bicycle passed
me slowly. I asked him if he knew of the Azul Plata. He said he was going there
so we rode along. We came to a big climb and I made it about three quarters of
the way up but the long day and heavy gear on the bike forced me to walk for a
while. So he pedaled and I walked and then his chain broke. We found the links
and I had a Leatherman multipart tool that I had found last summer and been
carrying ever since. With that I was able to fix his chain and we continued on. He seemed embarrassed
to be riding the bike he was and wanted me to know that he had a better bike but
it was broken right now. When we got to the Azul Plata he explained that he
works six to two each day and when he gets off he rides over that hill for a
beer and then rides home--everyday. I told him that would make him strong.
The Azul Plata could hardly have been a more welcome sight. Hills and hard roads had worn me to where I felt strong like mush. When I have a reservation I can take having a room for granted but having no reservation always makes me especially grateful to get a place. In addition the room
was $30 and included breakfast. I had only a fan to recover from the heat of the
day but, a cool shower in the
private bath refreshed me. From the Azul Plata you can see
the beach and I went for a walk to check out the hammocks hanging on some almond
trees. The path to the beach made it pretty
clear that this was no high end resort. I spent most of the evening trying to
decide where to go next. A lady named Barbara gave me some partial information
about getting to Mal Pais. Back at home in South Carolina I had made tentative
plans to ride there. Mal Pais
means bad country and it is the end of the line for sure on the west coast of
the Nicoya peninsular. As the hard days passed by it began to seem less
necessary to go that far. The Lonely Planet stresses that the rivers can be very
hard to cross, you need low tide for some, there are no services, the route is
not mapped and getting lost is almost a sure thing. They say the tourist office
recommends against that trip and they are talking about in 4-wheel drive vehicles.
In addition, I would have the problem that once I got there I would be even
further from Playa Tamarindo where I want to be for Christmas. I thought about
it much of the night as I ate an excellent (not too greasy) veggie pizza and
looked at the Christmas tree. In the morning
I still had not decided but went for a bike ride on the beach down to the estuary
which Barbara had recommended. I noticed that the tide already low was going out
so that was a good sign. I confirmed that with the clerk who took my payment; he
showed me the tides chart. The Lonely Planet says you can avoid the climb to
Cobano by getting on Playa Manzanillo and taking it to the road that leads to
Mal Pais. In the end I couldn't resist and decided to continue south. Anxious to
go I had to wait for breakfast and everyone but one one British tourist and me
ran late. I finally settled into a hammock and read my book until breakfast 40
minutes late. 
When I got to the road I discovered that the man who runs the road grader had not slept in. He had churned up the rocks and dirt and made a rough road temporarily much rougher. I stopped in San Francisco de Coyote and bought some rations and a big jug of orange juice to supplement my water bottle. I resolved to ask directions every chance I got. I went though a lot of rivers. The first one had a pedestrian bridge so I pushed my bike across it but after that I had to wade. In some places they were so deep that I had to carry the bike and edge of my shorts got wet. At one crossing a van, serving as a bus was stuck. The water bubbled from the exhaust pipe. The roads and
scenery
were very nice and I felt confident as I watched my progress against my high
dollar map. I passed a mellow bunch of goats including these kids.
At one point I passed a bar with a road running beside it. I had decided the
egress to Playa Manzanillo would probably be past Betel because of the river. So
I cruised right by the bar without asking directions. I crossed a river and then
began a huge tiring, climb in baking sun. Near the top I took a break for food
and drink. When I started up a couple fellows on horses came by. I asked them
about getting to Playa Manzanillo and 
they
confirmed by suspicions, the bar back there was the one I wanted. They expressed
come concern about the tide but when I told them it was "complet"
at 2 p.m. they said I should be fine. I had just that morning figured out that complet
was high tide and now I got to use it. Language can be fun. Fortunately it was
only about a mile with one huge downhill and then flat back to the bar. That
road was especially enjoyable. The big adventure was fun so far but still quite intimidating. Lots of things could go wrong. I found Playa Manzanillo and it was firm enough for me to cruise along most of the time. Eventually I got to the end and saw a road. I thought I had made it to Mal Pais but when I asked a fellow he said I was still on Playa Manzanillo and that it would take about an hour to get to Mal Pais on a bike. I stayed on the road until it climbed inland and got back on the beach which was once again ridable. Eventually I pedaled down the dusty street into funky Mal Pais. I found lodging at the Tranquilo Backpacker. I paid $5 extra for a private bath. The room included free Wi-Fi but no soap or towel. Mal Pais has a wonderful funky atmosphere with surfing and low budget young travelers the majority.
Where else would you see a main street of dirt
with pot holes, bicycles, Costa Rican kids with Santa Claus hats, trucks
unloading in the middle of the street, signs in the street, tourists in rented
SUV's and pedestrians? Dogs wandered around and every now and then a huge dump
truck would pass through. It was sweltering hot, noisy and obviously popular.
After lunch at Buena Luna, an outdoor restaurant with a mellow ambiance--open
the the street of course, I rode to the very south of Mal Pais. There I
encountered a portion of the Cabo Blanco preserve. It is normally entered from
the other end and I think you have to pay. However, I walked down to a secluded
beach behind a tangle of rocks and boulders and
startled a couple of iguanas. Then I pedaled in on an exceptionally rough jeep
trail that took me to an amazingly isolated jungle. I saw monkeys in the trees
and watched this mother and young one
enjoying each other. I wasn't absolutely sure I was supposed to be there but a
work crew watched me go in and while I was in there a ranger on a four-wheeler
went by with a wave. 
As in the past few places I had stayed there is no ATM in Mal Pais and ironically no one takes credit cards. I had purchased gifts in Islita and even they didn't take credit cards. The hotels would only take cash: dollars or colones. Once I had lots of both but now I was getting a little close. I looked for a credit card restaurant but the only one I found said they weren't open. So I went into a grocery store, definitely the hottest one I have ever been in. OSHA wouldn't let people work there. I bought some rations and ate in my room.
While eating I continued to puzzle over where to go next. It seemed like a really hard ride up to Cobano and then along the much maligned hilly, dirt road to Playa Naranja. There is also a mountain route but it is worse. Then I came up with the idea that I would go back up Playa Manzanillo and when I got to San Francisco de Coyote I would go inland on the route that had been my plan before I made the decision to ride to Mal Pais. In the morning I was ready to go at six but had to wait for a desk clerk to show up, late of course, at 6:45 to give me my key deposit. The ride up to the beach and along the beach went very well and the air had a slight hint of coolness. I saw a funny little arboreal mammal called a coati who didn't seem too shy. I missed the exit from the beach. It was amazingly hard to find but when I got to the Bongo Estuary I knew I had gone by it. Whenever you ride somewhere new it seems
much longer going in than coming back. The exit from the beach came quicker than
I planned and I had seen a man walking on the beach. I could easily have asked
him and been consistent with my plan to frequently ask directions. Anyway I soon
was back on the road with only a 1-2 mile detour on the beautiful otherwise
empty beach. Not many days begin in quite such a memorable fashion. I carried my
bike across the river and was looking over the scenery when I saw a lizard run
across the water. He went about six feet using, it appeared, his hind legs and
tail. It happened quickly and I didn't get a really good look at him but he
unquestionably ran on water.The ride to San Francisco de Coyote, including a flat, wore me out and I was sure glad to find a little road side restaurant for some breakfast. I still did not know where I was going. I asked the fellow if there were hotels and banks in Carmona. He said yes but that Jicaral was closer. That was the same town the lady at the Islita museum
recommended
so I decided to head there. Fortunately, a good gravel road led to that city
with several climbs at the beginning and then much flatter than I would have
dared hope. I took a picture of a hawk in the road
who wanted to finish eating something and gave me my chance. A funny thing
happened at one point when I came to an intersection with a road coming in from
the right. The pattern in the gravel suggesting most traffic went right. I
expected this but after 12 miles not 9 miles. Someone had painted Nicoya to the
left and Jicaral to the right on a gate across the way but still I
hesitated. My map showed no such road going to Jicaral that way. Then a lady in
a beat up car drove by and kindly waited at the stop sign to answer my query
about which way to Jicaral. She pointed definitively in the direction she had
just come from. Confident I head that way happy for the smooth, flat road. After
a slight delay for a cattle drive I headed down the road. Along the way I passed
a sign going the opposite way that indicated
one road for invierno (winter) and one for verano (summer.) That
intrigued me because in Maine we have roads that are not open in the winter. I
recently rode on one over Evans Notch in the White Mountain National forest. In
Maine the are closed for snow. In Costa Rica the temperature doesn't change much
but they have a wet season and a dry season and call the latter summer. So I
guess the sign referred to a river crossing that wasn't passable in the wet
season. Lots of scenery distracted me
from the heat and effort as I closed in on my destination. 
As I covered the last miles to Jicaral I saw a bunch of birds including a strikingly colored flycatcher with a long tail and a mouth full of caterpillar. I also saw what looked like a small piliated woodpecker and finally got a picture of a
large, noisy bird that looks a little like a
blue jay. I saw trees with large green fruits
hanging from branches. The road cut through mountains but seemed downhill. My
entry to Jicaral felt dramatic as I hit pavement for the first time in days and
passed an ATM that worked and gave me a pocket full of colones. Now I needed a
hotel. Well, it took asking a few people and getting sent to a Juzgando,
whatever that is, but I found a room.
Standing there feeling like a rotisserie chicken I couldn't believe they had no
air-conditioned rooms. However when she said it would be five thousand colones
(ten bucks) I knew I was in the real Costa Rica. I checked in, took a shower and
headed for lunch at the adjoining restaurant/bar La
Central. I had a casado or fixed plate for lunch. It included a mix of
beans, rice, salad, cheese, chicken and I had a can of peach nectar all for
2,100 colones or $4. Across the street from the restaurant I saw an attractive
little shop and wandered over there. As
I walked in the proprietor greeted me. I said I can't carry anything I'm on a
bike. She replied that she had ridden a tandem bike from Singapore to Bangkok so
she understood about traveling light. In the end she sold me a carved piece
about the shape of an egg and the size of grapefruit. It was the
fruit of the jicaral (Amphitecna latifolia
The next day I rode on pavement almost all day. One two-mile stretch reminded me of what it used to be like. I found the pedaling easy and myself grateful for each bridge that I crossed. My feet stayed dry all day until I went for a little 4-mile ride at the end of the day. I ventured out one street and felt pleased with myself when I found a different road back to town: less pleased when I had to cross a river and get my feet wet. Along the way I had breakfast at a
tiny
little outdoor place in a small town of Santa Rita. Called the Oasis de Golfo it
gave recognition to the fact that the Gulf of Nicoya lay just to the east. Once
again I loved the scenery; beautiful views motivate my riding and, these were
wonderful. An interesting phenomena, that really represented an extension of
earlier observation, added a lot to my day. The many Costa Ricans that I saw
along the way always waved and said hello. In some cases such as a security man
at a factory and farm workers laying plastic from a tractor, I hadn't seen them
and they yelled to me. When I looked I would have a friendly wave; I felt like a
celebrity. Guide books and the like warn of petty thievery and tell you to never
leave anything in your car but, all my interpersonal experiences ran positive.
At times I would see someone laboring away in the heat on some lowly manual task
and feel awkward about interrupting but always received an enthusiastic
response. Despite the scenery and friendly people, the day got hot and I
had tired problems. (actually that is tire problems but the typo tells the truth
as well.) I fixed one flat but it didn't stick so I had to do it again. On the
second I labored in the shade of the plaza
in Nicoya. Eventually I rolled into Santa Cruz, 50 miles from Jicaral and
reported to be the hottest city in Costa Rica. I got my first air-conditioned
room in five days and felt I needed it. Later I walked around town. The main
landmark seems to be an ugly vacant lot where some buildings burned. They have a
regular plaza but it is removed from the action. I walked down to it and saw statues
on every corner. One represented Chorotegan Indian leader, Cacique Diriá.
I had seen towns, a bus station, coffee
company and resort with the name Diria and now had an eponym. The final statue
honored matadors and cowboys and, my picture obviously flustered some teenagers.
The best picture of the sabanero (cowboy) town of Santa Cruz was the vendor
with his hats and the horses grazing behind.
The next morning I left before anyone was stirring which had two big benefits. First, I traveled the 20 miles to Playa Tamarindo before it got really hot. Second, the last time miles of gravel road was very dusty and traffic would only get worse. I spent the night there savoring the fact that my adventure had been successful. I rode 15 miles the next day to gritty Playa Brasilito to spend four nights at the beach before heading back to Liberia to catch my plane. I missed the excitement of the road but it was nice to unpack for a few days and not wonder where my next meal would be.
After a few days relaxing at the beach, I headed back for Liberia and the airport. That ride though only 45 miles taxed me more than I expected. First I had a big climb leaving Huacas and then I hit a stretch of bad, mostly unpaved road. Traffic kept the dust stirred up so badly that I had to wear a handkerchief tied over my face. The rough resistance combined with the heavy gear to make the pedaling take extra effort. In addition, the wind at times blew in my face and really slowed me down. I escaped the rough stuff just before I rode into the pleasant little town of Belen. There I found a gas station open 24-hours with a clean, inviting restaurant. I ordered the Desayuno Americano, American breakfast. I hated to miss my penultimate chance for gallo pinto but my stomach simply preferred the former. The manager chatted with me. He was interested in my trip and complimented me as fuerte (strong.) I said my flight left the next day and he wondered why I was leaving so soon. I mentioned work and he
asked
where I worked and expressed respect for my profession. My experience has been
that outside the U. S., people respect teaching, and especially higher
education. At home they express more ambivalence: we're often seen as too
liberal (questioning things) and not practical enough. Anyway the breakfast,
coffee and friendly conversation really restored me and I continued my ride with
enthusiasm. Traffic got worse as the morning wore on and I began to encounter
plant material in the roadway, especially over on the side where I rode. After a
while I figured it must be sugar cane. It looked like cane and where it had been
run over it left stains. A few cane-hauling trucks went by and I could see why
some stuff falls out. They are basically giant baskets with cane thrown lose in
the top. The picture of the truck at the left shows the nature of the cargo, it
also shows why I didn't have a whole lot of fun on that road. Another cane haul truck
parked by the side of the road gave me a good look at the body and then I
noticed the driver sleeping in a hammock under the body. I stopped at a German
bakery just before the airport and then rode the last ten miles. I checked into
the Hotel Daisyeta and they appeared to have lost my bike box. Happily about
thirty minutes later they brought it to me. I had ridden just over 500 miles of
hard roads and seen more beachs, monkeys, river crossings and iguanas then I
could keep track of. 