bike trip
This story is so long that I can’t write it so a sketch with some photos will have to do. During Semana Santa, 4 PCVs left from my apartment, rode through Jarabacoa to Manabao (where we had pica pollo for lunch) then on to La Cienega where we slept on the porch of the lodge at the entrance to the park where Pico Duarte is located. That was the first day. I can’t tell you the altitude change (no Internet at the moment) but there were some fairly long, steep hills, at first on pavement, then on dirt. The next day we rode up into the mountains above La Cienega bound for La Constanza, an agricultural city in a high valley. We stayed there two nights, mostly to recover some of our energy so we could tackle the next stage of the trip. So, on day 4 we headed for Valley Nuevo. Like the trip from La Ciénega to La Constanza, we spent most of our riding time in 1,1 (lowest gear,) which, it turned out, was just a hair faster than walking the bikes. Walk the bikes we did, some of us often, some occasionally. Walking, while arguably a little less efficient, gives the bicycling muscles a rest. In each of the uphill days we spent about 4 hours climbing roads that were muddy, slippery, deeply rutted (mostly by erosion, not tire tracks) and so steep that I, at least, often found it hard to keep the front wheel of my bike on the road to maintain direction.
We wore packs on our backs. Some of us also had gear tied to our handlebars. None of us had bike racks. I have one coming for the next trip, though I will still not have panniers. I’ll tie the pack to the bike. The bikes, BTW, were inexpensive mountain bikes (~ 400 $US here in the DR, new, weighing between 25 and 30 pounds…that’s an educated guess based on carrying mine up and down a set of stairs every day.) All had front shocks, only.
Back to the trip. We were really lucky (or unlucky, whichever) with the weather. As we climbed into the Parque Nacional Valle Nuevo, the highest park in the DR with the highest road in the DR, near as we can tell. Sometimes we were bicycling at between 8000 and 9000 feet, according to Google Earth. We worked for hours climbing and, still climbing but inside the park boundary, finally reached a tourist retreat called Villa Pajón owned by the family of a friend. We rode in, at my request, to get some badly needed water and to say, hello, to my friend. He wasn’t there, as it turned out. We arrived there in fairly nice weather. As we gathered beneath the porch roof, it suddenly darkened, thunder boomed and it began to rain, pretty hard, and it hardly let up after that. We’d arrived at about 1:30 with a long way to go…and, we felt, still most of the afternoon to get there, if we got on with it. The rain was cold as was there air at that altitude and we were inadequately dressed for it. And, anyway, I’ve done a fair share of riding in the rain and find it pretty pointless. With rain coats and pants on, I have always managed to have a tropical rainstorm inside the rain suit while the temperate rainfall was going on outside. The summer I rode in Europe was one of the rainiest on record to that time in many of the countries I visited. I learned to just stay in my tent and snooze to the sound of the rain on the tent or, otherwise and anyway, stay out of the rain. Rain gear is for emergencies…and if you’re not in one, I’d suggest you not go out of your way to create one, such as by leaving a warm dry place in the cold and rain, at altitude, without warm clothes, to head off on an uncertain road for an unknown distance to no certain water, food or shelter.
At first we were offered the water we’d asked for. Next cassava bread biscuits appeared. Then, as the rain continued, we were offered a place, inside the lodge, by a newly made fire. It’s cold up there and all the cabins and the main house, have fireplaces. My friend has a deal with the forest rangers in the park that enables the lodge to have (downed, found) firewood for the lodges. Warmer (we’d cooled after stopping but were still wet from the up-hill workout/ride,) we were drying by the fire when the family laid a table for us and served us lunch, a delicious fish soup. We discussed what to do. We were told there was a cabin available. No price was named. I know the lodge is expensive. It’s the only one up there and it is beautiful. See pictures. We decided that if the rain had not let up by 2:30, we’d stay. The rain slowed, then seemed to stop and the moment we began gathering ourselves to get back on the road, it darkened and the rain came down again, hard.
I suggested, it being the Saturday before Easter Sunday, that, if we were paying attention, and, keeping the possibility of miracles in mind—our present location and the offer held in one hand weighed against the hour, weather and other uncertainties held in the other—we might just consider the sequence of events and the amazing offer that had been made us and simply relax and stay. We walked the bikes through the next pause in the rain to our cabin, bought firewood for our own fire and got together some food (there’s a small community some miles back the way we’d come, and a mile or so off the main road, and it has a colmado that had spaghetti and there was someone with a moto we could pay to take one of us there and back) and talked and played cards till late. We’d offered to chop wood for the family and, so, learned about the way the firewood is provided and that there was nothing we could do but relax.
The following morning we got a start not as early as we might have, and continued climbing for another couple of hours. The forest up there is pine with lichen hanging from the branches, very different from where any of us live in the DR. That day, day 5, turned out to be the longest day of the trip and as it wore on, we realized that we’d have been foolish to have tried to make that trip in a single day. In fact, it’s most likely that we’d not have made it. The scenery down the other side of the mountains, out of the park, is stunning. Again, look at the pictures. We were running from rain most of the day and were in clouds some of the time. In better weather the vast expanse of the valleys the ridges of which we were riding down would have been laid out for us. Even so, wow!
In San Jose de Ocoa we ate lunch and then went to the bus station to put our bikes on a bus and get to the capital. Nobody would take our bikes. At around 4 PM in a light drizzle (the rain finally had over taken us) we realized we had to get on to Cruce de Ocoa, some 30 km further where we were told, there is a bus stop and we’d be then be able to put our bikes on a bus. We rode, outdistanced the rain again and made it out to Cruce de Ocoa in about an hour and a half. On that road, now paved, stopping at a colmado for water, I asked the distance and road to the Cruce. I was told it was, “Only 5 km and all down hill.” That might become a slogan for our ride. It turned out to be 13 km and far from all down-hill.
At the Cruce there were many buses stopping on their way to the capital and with much happy anticipation we went in search for the bus. We had one almost-taker, someone who thought he could tie our bikes to the rear bumper of the bus, a rather robust and extended affair. I even got out my multi tool and turned my handlebars sideways to make it more possible for that to happen. No luck. He gave up.
Finally we found a bola (free ride) in the back of a pickup truck loaded with some softish, tarped stuff and set out for a hair-raising ride in the rain that had, again, overtaken us, the cold rain pelting my upper back and shoulders hard enough to sting through my rain jacket. In the capital, we headed for a hotel we knew had hot water and took a room. No hot water. So, after cold showers, we went for pizza. The pizza was real and as advertised. It was great.
This is taken from high on the road from Jarabacoa to Manabao. It's paved. This looks down onto the river Yaque del Norte which meets the Jimenoa river in Jarabacoa. At this point the road is curving wildly up the mountainside. A lot of altitude is gained in these steep turns. I am always surprised to see how much of the mountains sides are apparently stripped of trees as you see in the distance in this pix. I wonder how and when that happened. Plants grow fast here, fortunately, b/c if they didn't these mud hills would have long ago been washed into the sea.
This is the longest and steepest but not the only hill between Manabao and La Cienega. These folks are walking their bikes. Riding, as I did, might not have been the best decision. Walking was just a hair slower and gives the walker a valuable rest. And we're all together. It's not a race. Nobody is done for the day until everyone is done for the day. The road to La Cienega is not paved though there is (rare) evidense here and there that it once was.
The main colmado in town. We ate dinner in the tiny restaurant at the very right of this pix.
Looking back at La Cienega. It had rained all night as we slept and the mud road is slick, erroded and steep. The mud, which is infused with fine sand, a redish mud-sand mix, wet and sticky as it dried out in the sun, stuck to the bikes, wheels, derailleurs, brakes, everything. We wore out the brakes on downhill sections of the trip with this glued-on sand as an abrasive. At the end of the trip I was almost down to the metal backing of my brake pads.
We slept here the night we arrived in La Cienega. We were given pads and sleeping bags by the park service. I got bitten up by bugs that night, something like bedbugs. Perhaps you get what you pay for. The stay was free. Those bug bites have left colored marks on my body. This is not the first time I"ve had such bites and the older ones are visible 6 months later as colored discs.
Speaking "friend" in the local Elvish tongue. It is said that there's a guy living near this gate who has a key.... We even thought we might have seen him passing on his moto.... When without a key, improvise.
I've got lots of pictures of this road and most of them look a lot like this. I imagine these ruts are water errosion from the water following tire tracks. That's just a guess. We'd ride up these hills which are so steep I had trouble keeping my front wheel on the road. I'd pedal leaning forward and try to keep a line. We'd have to cross the ruts. There'd be places where this can be done, riding. We'd ride on the ridges between ruts. My bike tires slipped off the ridges a number of times. It's hard to get going again after stopping on these pitches. And a note about carying a pack...next time I'm tying the pack to a rack. My back hurt after several hours of carying it, and I think it only weighed 10 pounds or so.
And though we had been kind of lost earlier, this is the road. There was one half-hearted, wandering moto track on it and from this we learned that the farms behind us, while still over the ridge and on the La Constanza side, oriented to La Cienega, Manabao and Jarabacoa (ands probably La Vega and Santiago as these things go,) not La Constanza. Would this bridge hold a Jeep today? Apparently it did in 2007 when Jeeps did this trip as posted on Google Earth. We loved the remoteness of this road. It's a beautiful track. The trick is doing the trip and being strong enough and having enough time to enjoy it. There's no point in being rushed or troubled here. We rode carefully and mindfully through this section. No accidents or incidents.
The boys at breakfast at the Rincon Gourmet.
The way outaheah. A look down the road we'll take the next morning...into those mountains. Can't say we weren't warned.
Looking back at La Constanza as we ride up the road to the Valle Nuevo natn'l park.
Waiting for our group to ride up. Constanza in background.
After the first longish climb, though on pretty good road, we had to drop down into this valley before climbing again. We climbed the rest of the day for as long as our bicycling day lasted... but it was another 4 hours up, some of us often walking the bikes. You can see the country we're headed into in the distance. As the steep, often walked hours passed, I suggested that if it continued like this, we'd wind up on the moon. Just how much "up" can there be in a road? So I suggest, now, that our trip be called "Senderos del Cielo," trails to the sky or trails to heaven--both fit--and become a classic Peace Corps bike trip.
We stopped here, on the way up to the top of the road through Valle Nuevo to say hi to a friend, if he was there. He wasn't. As we were there, a thunder storm came in and, there we were. It persisted. We were invited to stay in a fortuitously empty cabin, an invitation we gladly accepted. It's wonderful that we did. We got to see and experience the resort which we would not have done otherwise. As a result of that experience, we learned what a gem Villa Pajón really is and highly recommend it to visitors. Come on up. The entire trip, especially with the stay at Villa Pajón is one of the marvels of the DR.
The table being prepaired for us for lunch in the lodge while we warmed by the fire and cold rained fell outside.
Our cabin at Villa Pajón.
The very welcome fire in our cabin. It was cold up there at night. Fire wood cost 300 pesos, about 8 US dollars. We used less than half of it, were plenty warm, and left the remainder for the next folks. We played cards well into the night.
I have many photos of this sometimes lick-and-a-prayer road through the park. Here Dan pauses to appreciate perspective. The drop-away here, and in many places is...shall we say...awesome, kinda tickles the backs of your knees. It gives you that coveted flying without actually leaving the ground feeling.
High valley in the Valle Nuevo park.
The trees at the top of the DR's highest road. We had this kind of dry high Western US feeling landscape for a couple of hours of riding through the highest part of the park.
Winding through Valle Nuevo.
A little more of Trujillo's vanishing highway. The white lines are irrigation tubes that have been washed or avallanced off the mountain side above and lies in disarray. As the mountain rises above the road, so it falls away. This was a wet day.
Los Piramides. A brief lunch stop. We were being chased by the weather staying just ahead of it.
Out of the high mountain valleys but still a long way to go. We rode down these ridges for hours finally dropping beneath the soggy cloudes.
The San Jose de Ocoa side of the park. The road, while better than mud, is rough with the rip-rap stone in it. It makes for rough riding. At one point it vibrated one of my water bottles out of it's tight holder. I'm actually surprised I didn't lose water bottles more often. It could be quite rough descending on those roads. Pavement returns in Sabana Larga, 6 km above San Jose de Ocoa.
Down we go.
...And go.
Park boundary.
Below the clouds at last, views like this open up. Imagine this ride on a clear day!
Muddy track but only every once in a while.
I discover the joys and food value of Malta de India.
Crossing the Ocoa River...and up the other side. We followed the river, leaping over ridges until we got back to it, crossing it just above San Jose de Ocoa, then again just below San Jose de Ocoa. Then the road follows the river all the way to Cruce de Ocoa, closely for some miles in the last stretch.
San Jose de Ocoa near the park. Behind me is the main bus terminal where, in the rain, we learned that nobody would put our bikes on a bus. We ate pica pollo the other side of the park (you can almost see it through the trees over the moto rider's head) and then, in the rain, reluctantly headed for Cruce de Ocoa some 30 kms away. We tried in three different places to get a bola to Cruce. Nobody was having any of it. No rides. Part way along we stopped for water and was told, Cruce de Ocoa? No problem. 5 km and all down hill. I noticed he smelled of whisky and was very friendly and decided to not really believe him. 13 up and down kms later, we really did find Cruce de Ocoa. So I propose a footnote on our T shirt, "5 km and all down hill."
At the big bus stop at Cruce de Ocoa...trying to talk bus drivers into somehow putting out bikes on or in their busses. Three hopefuls, one try but, in the end, no takers.
The wild ride in the rain. Sorry this photo is a little fuzzy. It was nearly dark, just a little light left, and it was raining. My cap and red raincoat hood can be seen in the lower right. I'm holding the camera out with one hand but not steadily enough. The bikes are loaded up in the pick-up bed atop something, camping gear? under a tarp. We were told we couldn't damage anything there. Good job, Justin, for getting us that ride. It was fast, crazy (but what traffic on a DR autopista isn't,) wet and cold and we got there. In other words, it was just right. It did the job. And pretty much we were too tired to care about the cold or much else. A kind of fatalism settled upon us. We joked about the many near death experiences going on all around us. WTF. If it isn't dangerous, it isn't DR. The ride kept us awake. It was stunning, really: the swirling water in the headlights, the closely passing vehicles, the swings out into the fast lane, whichever that was, and the glorious accelerations as we passed other vehicles, slamming through traffic jams in Bani, the astonishing warmth in the 27 de Febrero tunnel, followed by the renewed even colder cold when we surfaced again...what a ride. The driver knew what he was doing. And dropped us off exactly where we wanted him to. We walked, did not ride, the bikes from there to our hotel.
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