But I was already in El Salvador for 9 days and although it seems little time, it was more then enough for that small and not so attractive country.
With the first pedal strokes in Honduras, the country immediately looked different from Neighboring El Salvador. The houses were older and more simple but well kept, the road was in good conditions and without traffic, the valleys more open and the mountains higher.
The road followed a valley where a small river sailed through the pine trees, with green lawns on its edges. Places of picnic colored with the rubbish left by families. The surrounding hills covered with fresh grass from the first rains of the season and cows grazed up in the distance.
For brief moments it seemed that we entered the Swiss Alps. It was only missing the bells!
But that idea vanished in the streets of Nueva Ocotepeque, our first city in the country.
Ocotepeque, as many other border towns was full of activity. Merchandises overflow on to the streets. Piles of chilies share the sidewalk with furniture, imported car parts or cheap "made in china" plastic junk. Men on horses with white cowboy hats trotted along the gravel side roads and bare-footed boys crossed in front of the bicycle. "Gringos, Gringos", the cried out when at a safe distance.
But all the chaos seemed to have a commanded form.
By the time we arrived in Ocotepeque we had made little more then 20 km. It was only 9.30 in the morning but the sun was already high and strongly hot. We thought we could push it to Santa Rosa de Copan that same day, and moved on.
what we didn't know yet, was that in front of us awaited a climb of 1300 metres followed by 1000 drop to climb again 500 meters , down 350 and up yet again another 600 meters before Santa Rosa.
At the end of the second climb already with 1896 meters of accumulated climb and with the sugar levels running low, we decided to pitch our tent in a corner of a soccer field near the village of Ojo de Agua, and spent the night there with Santa Rosa clinging to the mountain on the other side of the valley.
On the following morning we cycled the remaining 16 km to the city.
There was not much to do in Santa Rosa de Copàn. Its only a small pretty colonial town with a relaxing atmosphere, but we spent 2 days there absorbing the smells and sights of the new country culture`s we just entered.
The great attraction of the city seems to be the cigar factory, "La Flor de Copan". The Honduran cigars are considered by the black lungs experts as been of high quality and only surpassed by the Cuban ones. In fact, many are re-packed and sold under the Davidoff brand in the European market.
The following day we leave Santa Rosa on our way to Gracia de Lempira. One of the several villages situated in the southern mountain range of the country and named by the tourism department as "la Ruta Lenca, the verdadera Honduras", the real Honduras.
An region inhabited by the indigenous Lenca already assimilated by the "mestizo" culture of the lowlands and with few characteristic distinctions, at least to the eyes of a traveller on two wheels.
What the government "forgot" to do was to improve the access roads (or road). Between Gracia de Lempira and La Esperança, our next stop on Ruta Lenca, the dirt road varied between bad and worse, hugging the mountains in such up and down that that day I beat a new record on accumulated climb, 2216 meters in 83 km. Mostly on gravel road.
Despite the difficulties, the dubbed Ruta Lenca was without doubts the prettiest part of our 625 km cycled in Honduras. From Siguatepeque until the Nicaragua border the riding was uneventful for cycling even monotonous at times, at least our determination in remaining in altitude provided a ride with pleasant temperatures.
Siguatepeque would have been forgotten on the map of this pan-American journey if it was not for the scare we had there.
That afternoon the tropical downpour made us stop for a couple of hours not far from town. Tired of waiting we put the Gore-Tex on and hit the road. The rain ran down my face and soggy Gore-Tex as we entered the city.
We got into the first hotel we spotted: hospedaje El Nilo.
The cell-box rooms with space for the bed and little more faced a common patio. In one corner of it was the smelly bathrooms. Jeff's room didn't even had a lock on the rooted wood door. In its place it had a twine that was tied between 2 nails, one in the door and another on the door frame.
For 600 lempiras (2.25 euros) it wasn't the Hilton Honduras, but it didn't rain inside and Juan,the Honduran neighbor of room 8 - that had spent 4 years in Tijuana (Mexico) trying to get in the US illegal - offered supper to us.
At 6.30 AM the suspicious steeps of somebody going around the patio and stopping several times in front of the room window, woke me up. I hear the gate closing. When I open the door I faced myself with the vision a touring cyclist most fears: Jeff´s bicycle had disappeared.
"-Someone stole your bile, man!"
I shouted knocking on Jeff`s cell-room.
I mounted my bike and rode down the street, with Lilia - a middle-aged and large hipped lady owner of the lodging - trying to follow me. But giving up shortly afterwards breathless.
On the first corner I asked 4 people seated on the side walk, that by the looks, had slept the night right there. In the beginning they ignored my questions almost in complicity, but perhaps for seeing the panic faced, disheveled and bearded gringo in shorts and slippers, one of them yielded and pointed to the left street.
At the corner of the next block, I look to my left and see the robber pushing Jeff`s bike by his hand up the gravel road.As I came closer the thoughts of him pulling a knife or something else made me tremble. I shout at him and he stops looking backwards. After exchanging some words I pulled the bike of him and run way down the street.
Back in the hospedaje El Nilo, we loaded our panniers and left town. It was only at the exit of town, when we stooped for breakfast at Texaco petrol station that we ponder about what have occurred.
From today on the "burra" will sleep with me!!
During my cycling in Honduras I had came across many smily faces of kids on the side of the road, friendly looks or the strong toned "buenos dias" of an elder.
I could not this single event spoil my journey in the country.
That morning we cycled through heavy traffic on the "carretera al norte", the main 2 lane highway that connects San Pedro Sula with Tegucigalpa, the capital, and probably the busiest road in the country.
In mid-morning we arrived in Comayagua. We had made only 32 km but decided to call it a day.
Comayagua is considered one of the prettiest colonial town in Honduras, but after having gone through so many pretty colonial towns (specially in Mexico), not even the hidden speakers in the gardens of Plaza central impressed us.
Nevertheless it was a pleasant town and we spent 2 relaxing days there.
After our not so nice experience with San Salvador`s traffic, we had decided to avoid Tegucigalpa at all costs, making a loop north - partially on gravel - through Talanga and San Francisco, meeting the highway to the border 50 km east of the capital.
The following days to Las Manos on the border with Nicaragua were uneventful and just adding km to leave the country.
Jeff and me entered Nicaragua on the 20th of July, one day after the commemorations of the anniversary of the Sandinista revolution. The first page of La Prensa newspaper was filled with a photograph of hundreds of thousands of people that had gathered at the Plaza de la Revolucion in Managua to celebrate the event led by Daniel Ortega and his Venezuelan counterpart Hugo Chaves.
I had entered the ninth country of the journey.
the odometer marked 19314 km.
Nuno Brilhante Pedrosa
Ocotal, Nicaragua.
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