For those people with GPS’s, you can download the GPX file linked below the maps and upload them to your device if you want to ride the same course. Maybe this belongs on the Team Wanderlust site, but I think its cool. What do you think? Please let me know in the comments.

080401 Hilton Falls.gpx

If you haven’t seen it yet, Juliette wrote a great race report on the Paris to Ancaster and another on the O-Cup.

The second album is from my surprise 40th birthday party at the beginning of the month. All of the pictures were taken by Tecla, so a big thanks go out to her for all the great shots.

It was a wonderful party and it was great to see everyone. I must say, I was quite surprised at how many people came so far out of their way for my party. I really appreciated it. Thanks.

Steve, Terry and the Collingwood crew gave me a GoPro video camera for my birthday, so I have been experimenting with different ways of using it. Last Thursday, I mounted it to the seatpost of my mountain bike while Tim, Juliette, Amanda, Trevor and I rode at Hilton Falls.

It was dark and rainy on Thursday, so I didn’t expect great pictures, but they turned out, so I edited down the video and posted it on YouTube.

What do you think? Like it? Want to see more? Let me know in the comments.

Update: I have started typing in my journals, so check below.  Each day will appear posted at the date I originally wrote the journal as I get it typed in.

Update: The journals are slowly getting typed in. Only seven days left. The photos are all in the gallery now, although they aren’t captioned. Head over and check them out.

Update: I have finally finished typing in all of my journals for the trip. It only took me two months! If you are interested, the easiest way to read them all is on the page I have created for the bike tour. It has a list of all the pages in chronological order and will hopefully eventually have more general information on touring in Cuba.

We spent the day walking around the city seeing the sites, checking out the shops and wandering the streets. We have past the point in this vacation where your mentality shifts and you switch into going home mode.

By 3pm, we are done, head back to the casa, call a taxi and are at the airport before four. It is still four hours until our flight, but it is quiet and we can sit and read in peace without someone asking us for a handout every five minutes.

We are first in line to check in, then head for the passport control. I pass through quickly, but Juliette didn’t come through. I wait and wait wondering what to do. I am beginning to get a bit frantic when she finally comes through. The officer didn’t want to let her through because she didn’t have here Canadian Citizenship card. It took a fair amount of pleading before he finally let her through.

Back in Canada, immigrations and customs wasn’t a problem. We dug out as many warm clothes as possible, then headed out into the snow to find our van and head home.

The ride passed quickly with a tailwind and beautiful scenery. Steep cliff topped mountains dotted the landscape and the terrain rolled enough to keep the riding fun, but not overly hard. We rode through the east side of Holguin to see the Plaza de la Revolution and the monument to Che Guevara. We then rode south out of town to the Villa Miradore Maybe for a nice lunch overlooking the city.

Back in Holguin, it was harder than we expected to find a free casa. Luckily, we stopped at the one recommended in the guidebook and they called around to all the casas that they knew until they finally found one that had a room. The owner then grabbed his bike and rode over to the casa with us.

Our room is in a nice house, but the family are very cold and unhelpful. They also don’t offer dinner or breakfast like all the other places have. It is a room though, so we are happy.

We spent the afternoon wandering around Holguin trying to find cardboard boxes to pack our bikes. The great box hunt proved to be more of a challenge than we expected. The problem with Cuba is that it is so clean and there is nearly no garbage anywhere.

We found one small box witha few rocks in it. We couldn’t figure out where to dump the rocks, so we tried to put them in a garbage can in the town square. Wrong! One of the women that keeps the square clean was immediately upon us giving us hell for our transgression. We scurried away with our tails between our legs while she fished the rocks out of the garbage can. We haven’t been back to that corner of that square since.

We went in several stores asking for cardboard, but were turned away. We found another small piece of cardboard on the street, then later, out of sheer desperation, we paid a bar tender one peso for one of his beer boxes.

Our quest complete, we returned to the case to disassemble the bikes and pack them down for the flight home tomorrow. Handlebars, derailleurs, chains, seat posts and wheels were removed, then everything was bound into as small a package as possible. We then took the boxes, wrapped the chainrings and put a piece of cardboard on each side of our bikes like a pretend box. An entire roll of packing tape, some zip ties and we were done.

Now the sun has set and we are sitting under a roof of vines and flowers drinking beer and making up stories about the people at the other tables.

A buffet breakfast, a swim in the sea, worshipping the sun; leisurely days in a place like this pass so quickly and everything begins to blur together. It is not for me, already I am feeling restless and miss my bike.

I was at the front desk promptly at eleven to find out our fate. Would we be moving on, or could we rest for the remainder of the day? A couple in front of me was begging for a room, but were turned away because they are fully booked. I stepped forward expecting the worst. I asked for another day as nicely as I could in Spanish. Maybe I flirted a bit, because she rolled her eyes and said that she would see what she could do.

She headed into the back to talk to the manager, then returned many minutes later with a smile on her face and good news. We could stay, but just for one more day.

I think that only the manager has the authority to release the spare rooms. If you can get the clerk to take pity on you and argue your case with their manager, you can sometimes get in.

We spent the afternoon reading, swimming, sailing and having the odd cocktail, then retired to our room to dress for dinner and unwind from a tough day of leisure.

He had already done the tour from Havanna to the western end of the island. Halfway through, his rear rim cracked and he couldn’t get a replacement. He left his bike there, caught a cab back to Havanna, then a plan back to Texas via the Caymens and bought a new wheel at his local bike shop. He then turned around and headed all the way back to continue his tour!

Once he completed the western tour, he caught a flight from Havanna to Holguin to begin the eastern tour that we are doing, only in the opposite direction. I looked at his rear wheel with a 700×23 road racing tire and didn’t have the heart to tell him how bad the roads ahead were, not that he would have heard because he had seen it all.

He said that he had planned on staying in Guadalavaca that night, but that all the hotels were booked up. With this thought weighing us down, we set off early once again so that we could make it to Holguin if we ran into the same luck.

The ride out of town was beautiful with the sun rising behind us and casting a rich orange light on everything. The road went north through rolling hills and lush bananna groves. By eight thirty, we had reached the high point in the center of this part of the island and were flying down the hills towards the coast laughing with the joy of it.

By nine thirty I was standing in the lobby of the first hotel in Guadalavaca; they were booked solid. The same thing was repeated at every hotel along the coast and we were soon on the road again for Playa Esmeralda. We received the same response at all the hotels there and began steeling ourselves for the ride to Holguin.

We have both worked so hard getting around the island and we were so looking forward to a few days at a resort. Having the final reward of the best beaches in Cuba denied us was hard to face. We tried to look on the bright side though, we could continue our tour a bit and see more of the country.

We discussed our options as we turned off the main road again 15 km later at Playa Pequero. The first hotel gave us the expected answer and we moved on to the second. At Blau Costa Verde, the clerk said he wasn’t sure if they had anything because they were booked, but that he would check with his manager. He went into the back and came out with good news, they could give us a room for at least one night.

Even though all the hotels are fully booked by tour groups, they keep a few rooms available in case there are problems with a guests room and they need to be switched. I think we were either there at the right time of the day, or they took pity on us.

Juliette was outside watching the bikes. She looked like she had lost her puppy as I tried to look unsuccessful. When I finally told her that we had a room, she jumped up and down laughing and yipping like a little girl who got a pony for her birthday.

We spent the afternoon swimming in the Caribean, drinking the complimentary drinks, watching all the people, reading and just relaxing. We will see what tomorrow brings.

Halfway to Banes, the road improved again and we started making good time. As we rode into town, a Cuban boy on an old racing bike pulled up beside us and was checking out our bikes. He wore a hat from Canada, a t-shirt from Kenya and had a yellow Lance Armstrong LiveStrong bracelet on. I asked him if he raced and he pulled up his shorts to show me his biker’s tan. His name is Fransisco. His water bottle is from a bike shop in Oakville on Robinson Street. His bike is 27 years old with a mix of Campy and Suntour parts and an evil looking crooked old seat held together with tape. He said that he rode every day and that he had got the water bottle in a race here in Banes two weeks ago.

I was so impressed with his collection of equipment that I pulled over, dug into my paniers and gave him one of my riding jerseys. He then offered to lead us to our casa in town.

We are now sitting in the shade on the back patio of our casa drinking a beer and catching up. Our laundry is done and drying and it is nearly time to head out and explore the city.

We had a late lunch at a small restaurant in town. We were impressed with the number of different things on the menu and began ordering things that we haven’t had in awhile. Each order was greeted with the response, “Sorry, we don’t have that today.” Eventually we gave up and asked what they did have today. Of course, it was friend chicken, fried bananas, rice and beans.

As we ate, a steady stream of people came in and bought bags of lollipops. They weren’t on display and were fetched from the back room. The thought of an underground black market candy smuggling operation made us laugh.

We walked around town in the afternoon and met Roberto, a 34 year old Cuban stone mason. He was riding an old Canadian bike that he said was a gift from a friend in Canada. We sat and talked about life in Canada and in Cuba. He says that as a mason, the government pays him 250 national pesos per month. That converts to about $10. It is interesting to think how you would feed, clothe and house a family for a month on what we spend for two beer on a night out.

Everyone here needs to make extra money any way they can and most of the people we meet have an angle, even though Roberto never asked for anything other than conversation. It is hard though because you are always putting yourself on guard. The relationships that you develop, however fleeting, are never those of equals whether or not I am willing to admit that, even to myself.

There is a poster hanging on the wall across from the bed in our casa. A male lion is mounted on a female lion and they are both roaring as if in pleasure. Just looking at it makes me laugh and wonder if it is meant for decoration or inspiration?

We started out early from Baracoa because we were worried that we might have problems getting a room at the one hotel in Moa. The road quickly deteriorated as we rode out of town until it became the worst we have ridden yet. In places, it was so bad that it wouldn’t even be called a dirt road in Canada.

We sweated and dodged potholes on the climbs, then jarred our bones on the descents. The ride was beautiful though, passing through rural farms, groves of palms, secluded beaches and amazing caves in cliffs beside the road.

Tourists in busses and rental cars returning to the resorts in the north waved and took our pictures as we passed. The older group we saw riding yesterday passed us in a van stuffed with bikes and luggage. Slowly, the terrain began to change as we got closer to Moa. I don’t know if it is the hard red clay soil or the environmental damage from the smelters in Moa, but the forest turned to scrub and the palm trees were replaced with small pine or fir trees.

We then passed the nickle smelters spewing noxious clouds of smoke into the air. We passed the strip mines extending out for miles. The air smelled of sulphur and ammonia. Next came the rows of low apartments, run down and poor. Moa didn’t leave a good first impression.

We turned off the main road and headed into town to the Hotel Miriflores. The parking lot was full of white Mitsubishi pickup trucks and the hotel was full of the Canadians that work at the smelter. The entire hotel had been booked by the company and there were no rooms for travellers. It was suggested that we ask for a room in the dormitories of the university across the road, but we didn’t have high hopes for that. We decided to buy some water and move on.

We had already done 76km and it was only another 69km to the Campismo Rio Cabonico, that is, if it was still open and not full.

Luckily, the road from Moa improved dramatically and we had a decent tailwind for a change. We climbed each of the endless hills in turn, then cooled off in the wind rushing down the other sides. We knew what needed to be done, so we dug deep, put our heads down and did it.

We arrived at the river where the campismo was supposed to be, but the dollar store at the end of the road leading into it was no longer there, nor were there any signs. We asked a man and he pointed to the first of the trails on the south side of the road east of the river. This road split in two, so we asked again and headed left. We went through a small town and down a rocky hill and arrived at the gate of the campismo.

We asked for a room, but the guard said that the entire camp had been booked by an Italian tour group. We were shattered. We asked the guard if he had any suggestions. He said that there may be a hotel in the town of Nicaro, another 10km down the road then 5km from the main road.

We climbed back up the hill and out to the road and began to pedal as we took stock of our situation and the quickly setting sun. We were tired and didn’t want to sleep in a field tonight.

As we passed the turn-off to Nicaro, we could see the heavy industy in the town belching smoke into the air, so we rode on. Somehow, we managed to keep moving, racing the setting sun and our waning reserves. Over 30km later, we finally arrived at Mayari. There is apparently a bad motel here and a few casas.

It was getting dark and we had trouble seeing, so we followed the one sign we saw for the hotel. We kept asking people, “¿Dónde está la hotel?” and they kept pointing us onward. We kept riding and asking, but eventually I became suspicious, so I stopped and asked a man how far it was to the hotel. He told me 25kms!!! I looked at my map and realized that everyone was pointing us to the tourist hotel Pinares de Mayori which is in the national park far to the south of the town.

I asked where the hotel in Mayari was. He told us that there wasn’t one and another man beside him confirmed it. We asked if they knew of a casa, but they didn’t. Just then, a young girl came across the street. She said that she knew of a nice casa and tried to draw us a map. I went through the directions with her attempting to confirm them, but I obviously wasn’t doing very well because she ran back across the street, grabbed her bike and started leading us through the dark streets. We wound through dark, narrow alleys, barely able to see each other, let alone look for the blue inverted anchor signs that indicate casas.

We stopped at the end of a street and Anna, our new guide rang the buzzer on the casa. She told them that she found us in front of her house and they all laughed. She went to leave, but I asked her to stay a moment so that we could thank her. I tried to give her a five for her kindness. She blushed and wouldn’t accept it, but I insisted. We didn’t know where we would end up tonight and Anna had stepped in and did a very kind thing right when we needed it most.

After showering and unpacking, we ate a wonderful and welcome meal under a palm covered patio, then headed for bed. We are both exhausted and won’t need any rocking tonight.