San Pedro La Laguna to Escuintla

I took the boat from San Pedro to Santiago instead of riding on the road around the volcano because I was told it was dangerous. Banditos.

When I got off the boat, I was excited to get on my bike. It had been so long. I was ready to ride. I rode up a steep, cobbled street from the dock into town. It was probably only 100 feet, and at the top, I pushed a little harder to get over the lip in the road. But I lost my balance and toppled over, me and my bike, still clipped into my pedals, and in front of the center of town. As I was on the ground, I looked around to see who noticed. A lot of eyes were on me, the gringo dressed in all black with an egg-helmet on his head, lying in the street with his pack-mule. My pride was hurting. It was the first time I had fallen since I got these clipless pedals.

I descended from the lake into the lowlands for about an hour, covering 30 miles quickly and easily. Then I got on the Pacific Highway, CA-2, a boring road. The air was steamy. I thought it would be a flat, easy ride, but I had to climb a lot. I struggled – I must have lost my legs. I was slow.

I stopped at a roadside pineapple stand and had a lady slice up one for me. Her hands were all over it, so when she was done, she dipped them in her bucket of water. Brown water.

The road was killing me. So boring. There was nothing around. I started feeling an urgent need to poo. I figured the pineapple had sped things up. But there was nowhere to go. I found a ditch that was partially obscured by a tree, offering some privacy. I took off my gloves, got my toilet roll, and prepared myself for something weird. I pulled down my sweaty bike shorts and that disgusting crotch-sweat smell hit me. My forearms and face and shirt were dripping sweat. And I had to add to the unpleasantness by doing a very natural shit in the ditch. It was bad. A fresh pile of human brown. I felt bad but I figured the rain would wash it away.