Exploring the Nicoya Peninsula

When we first conceived of this trip it filled us with both excitement and nervousness. There was so much that we didn't know about how it would work. As the trip became real, continually, and bit by bit over the last two months we've faced many of those concerns and are learning our way through them. For example, I'm not sure you ever get used to setting out each day not really knowing where you are going to sleep that night, but we've certainly grown confidence in our ability to find something that works and so are increasingly able to carry that uncertainty more lightly.

But time and again we find that the greatest satisfaction and the greatest reward comes from when we find ourselves confronting new and different challenges - some that we choose and others that we don't! It is when our rhythm is disrupted or when we find ourselves doing things that combine anxiety and excitement that we know why we are on this trip.

Increasingly feeling comfortable and confident in what we are doing gave us the space to decide to spend a few days away from the traffic and on a detour around the Nicoya peninsula in western Costa Rica, an area famed for its great beaches and dense canopy. On the western side there aren't any asphalt roads to speak of, just a variety of dirt roads and rocky tracks. Our plan wasn't just to follow these tracks, but also to forge new ones and where we could (tide permitting), ride on the beaches. Hence the anxiety. But we'd read a blog or two suggesting it was possible, and that our effort would be rewarded, coupling it with excitement.

Whilst knowing that a road is asphalt encompasses a range in quality, for non-asphalt roads, that range is ten fold and we've experienced a good spectrum of that in the last few days, from hard packed dirt that your wheels fly over the top of, almost feeling like there is an added spring in the surface like you might find in running track, to wet rutted tracks with unexpectedly deep puddles and a surface layer of slick grey mud that slides all over the place; to red rocky paths with deep crevices running through the middle of them.

On the first day these roads wound round the coast rising up (often steeply) to provide stunning views of the sea and dropping (pleasurably) down to give us access to the beaches...

Calves of steel

Peaceful palm avenue

...where we met the sand. Beautiful wide open expanses of sandy beach with not a single person in sight. With the tide out we could ride on the newly drying sand at a glorious pace, relishing the treat of our apparent solitude with magnificent views. But when we hit the shingle we slowed to a painfully slow crawl, dragging the weight of our back wheels step by step through the deep gravel. The thrill here was looking down at the stones and shells beneath us and noticing how many of these tiny shells were independently moving, carried on their way by an inhabitant hermit crab.

Red faced selfie

The roads were often intersected by rivers as water off the mountains to our left hurried on its merry way to the sea. We'd been warned that these river mouths also provide outlets for crocodiles, similarly emerging from the jungle within. At many crossings there were simple bridges and we took pleasure in scanning the banks below for a glimpse of a sharp toothed reptile. But on our second day we came to an abrupt halt where the water flowed right over the road. Those same warnings ringing in our ears, we contemplated our options. With the desire not to have to do a massive detour pushing us (Ali) forward, and rational terror pulling us (Lizzie) back.

It didn't take long to notice the sign acknowledging the presence of crocodiles, which was all the confirmation we needed not to proceed. But on consulting a man living in a lone house some 500 metres back up the road he nuanced this by explaining that there are crocodiles, but that these are not a problem for people. This chink in the definitive danger caused us to waiver - we weren't sure that we quite understood what a crocodile that wasn't a problem for people meant, but the implication was that this route was not off the cards.

Back at the water's edge we began the laborious activity of removing our panniers.  The river rose up to just below Ali's crotch and we'd have to unload our bikes so that we could carry them, unladen, to the other side.  This would also mean crossing not just once, but mutliple times to transport the load across, hiked over our shoulders.

Each crossing took between a minute and a half and two minutes.  This was no mad dash, but a slow, intentional endeavour that took all our steel.  One waded out whilst the other waited on the banks, nervously scanning the waters edge left and right for any sign of life, equipped with a tiny (like, really tiny) Leatherman, ready to fling ourselves into the melee should any misdemeanour occur.

Ali bore the brunt of these multiple crossings, traversing the river again and again, including the excruciating return journeys where, empty handed, he would have to wade back across to collect another load.

Ali emerging from yet another crossing

Needless to say, no attack occurred.  The Leatherman was spared the indignity of being shown to be a woefully inadequate tool and our hearts slowly returned from their lightening pace to a moderately heavy thud.  In fact, we saw no signs of life at all.  (We joked about how we might have experienced that exact same scene entirely differently were it not for our sense of the unseen danger).

We have not covered a great distance in the last few days; the going has been slow and tough as we knew it would be.  But we've been rewarded with fantastic views, great wildlife and a deep sense of satisfaction. It is our bikes that have borne the brunt of our adventure; they were literally screeching for mercy as we nurtured them into our rest day, sand seemingly in every nook and cranny. They deserve some TLC, which will come once we have spent our well earned beer credits!

Lunch stop on an empty beach with a perfectly placed picnic bench