Redemption is a Beautiful Thing

I was in the car on the road to Santiago. I needed to replace my bike´s handlebars, and the major retailer who would have such an item was soon closing. My bike and I were passengers with Steve. Once we picked up the handle bars, we were to meet Carlos, Fred and the boys for dinner. After dinner, they were all going back to Santa Fe, while I got a room at a hotel close to the road. I planned to bike the entire road from Santiago to Santa Fe. Specifically, Carlos´house, which sits about fifteen km, south of Santa Fe. We agreed to plan for my arrival around noon.

That whole mineshaft situation really delivered a blow to my ego, due to all the jokes I had to endure. Further, the jokes were in Spanish, and I haven´t the faintest idea what they were about. I had lost face....my ship was not sunk, but I was now taking on water. My ego was just as bruised as my body.
I had already planned this ride months earlier. With my bike intact, I could finally get on the bike I had lugged along. Just in time to replace the story of the day with one that put me in a much better light. Besides, I had been training for this at the Y for months. It was a foregone conclusion that I was going to make this ride, but the timing of events, were such that it upped the stakes.

I awoke around 8:30 and was on the road by 9:30. I took the right turn off the Pan American highway to the road to Santa Fe. It´s Sunday morning in Santiago. The road here in the lowlands is relatively flat with a gradual steady incline. Great road for pacing myself and working up the stamina I had trained for in Spin class at the YMCA. Soon the road would climb into the foothills and up the mountain itself. This was to be the glorious Sunday morning bike ride of all time. At the end of this ride, a glorious reward,saving face.

The road from Santiago to Santa Fe is essentially 57 Kilometers of rolling hills and pastoral ranch land peppered with pueblitos. It´s a challenging ride for the avid cyclist. A variety of hills and dips, curves and scenery gradually gaining elevation. The incline steeply increases, as you approach Santa Fe, creating a real challenge toward the end of the ride. The towns along the way are spread out in near perfect distance for rest stops. My stops at local roadside stores, usually brings with it odd stares of curious locals. They are not used to seeing gringos around here. And a gringo riding a bike all the way to Santa Fe, induces exasperated sighs, along with marvel at my bravery. I enjoy chatting with the locals, but at every stop, I am asked if all the scrapes and cuts on my arms and legs were from the bike ride. I told them I was hiking del monte with a machete and forgot to wear long sleeves and long pants.

None of my friends are expecting me to complete this ride. Carlos said He would come looking for me if I don´t show up by noon. By noon, I´ve hit the steep incline of the mountain, with several Kilometers to go. Panama is 9 degrees north of the equator, so the mid-day sun is directly overhead. Comforting shade is a rarity now, and I´ve greedily sucked down all my agua. I´m suffering now... and struggle to peddle my bike up the long steep hill ahead. Carlos gave me his cell number to call if I needed help, but I don't have a cell with me, and there is no phone until the next town.

One great thing about rural Panama is the bus service. Plentiful and efficient, the locals rely on the bus system to travel across country in a few hours. A bus was coming my way, so I waved it down. There was just enough room in the bus for one person and one bike. I was a sweet ride, but came to an end two stops later, where several people wanted to board. I was obligated to disboard the bus. The bus ride was short and sweet, and shaved close to three kilometers of killer incline that I would have been difficult to tackle in this sun.


The hot sun problem changed into a wet road problem soon after arriving at a plateau from what was left of the big climb. The rain clouds that gather every afternoon are ahead of schedule. It´s a shower not a downpour, and I´m kinda digging it. My body´s cooling off, and I´m getting my second wind. I just need to watch my speed on the wet road. Nothing I couldn´t handled countless times before. I knew I was getting close and watched for el Rio Nance, a.k.a. home.


I arrived at Carlos´house about one o´clock. Just as a houseload of visitors were sitting down for lunch of homemade chicken soup, local style, and rice. The timing is impecable. I came strolling in as nanchilant as possible, but still sweating and breathing heavily, and ask the group at the table if I am late for lunch. Everyone was impressed, to the point where it has now become an act of bravado, a measure of strength, and soon to become a bonefied right of passage for the young men of Santa Fe. It was great. Most importantly, nobody was talking about mine shafts anymore. As Sunday morning bikerides go, this one was epic. dddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddd