Page 33: - Dominican Republic Again - Tropical Adventure /w Pics - From the beginning
The Border with Haiti
I am up before the roosters. What is with that? I feel physically toasted from yesterday’s ride. I think I should be able to sleep. Maybe it is like when you over train and cannot sleep. I am sure! Or maybe I am excited about today’s ride, probably more apprehensive, ‘I need to be on my toes today’, ‘I need to navigate well’. I think about what I would do if I had a flat tire. I wish I were more prepared for a flat. I should have an air pump and a patch kit. If I get a flat in an isolated area today, I will be filling that tire with towels, socks, T shirts, leaves or grass, not air. At least I know I will be able to deal with it. My main concern is that the bike keeps running. If the bike quits, my only option will be to push it down hill, whichever way that is.
I miss the trailhead turnoff and end up in a small village. I stop at a colmado and buy three loafs of bread and two more bottles of water, more emergency supplies. I have to be prepared for a long hike at all times. Anyway, there is only one turnoff outside of Descubierta so I knew where my missed turn was.
The trail is steep. It isn’t long before I am high above the lake behind me.
I pass stunning views of rugged terrain
The road is steep but nothing like what I rode yesterday, not bad, not good.
I pass by a few homes and people walking with donkeys. The road is carved into the side of the mountain and at times, the side facing the mountain are covered with flowers.
My guidebook talked about one type of flower that is bell shaped, yellow with blue strips and how the Taino Indians made a strong hallucinate tea from the flower. Reports are that there is still religious use of the tea today, although it is highly illegal. The bell shaped flowers are everywhere.
On a steep section of road, I pass a motorcycle riding 2-up. I stop to take some pictures and they stop to stay hello. The driver is weaing a small tight black leather jacket and a helmet. The passenger is wearing a T-shirt and baseball cap. They look out of place for some reason.
I ride through the center of a small village and pull over. I see a small counter outside at a colmado. Standing at the counter are the two bikers. They are fun to talk with. They just rode up here for the day, the boy on the back is originally from here and the driver is from a town on the lake. The driver shows me his ID badge to prove he is Dominican. I am not sure what that was about, I figure he is a spy, maybe CIA. He knew the state of Wisconsin all too well and knew how cold it is there right now. I consider everyone a spy and up to no good until proven different. I have fun with that and it serves a purpose. I study everyone I come across well, I want to know what his or her deal is ASAP. There are bad people everywhere, I want to know if I am close.
Standing at the counter, this is the hub of the town.
While drinking a coke at the colmado, a kid from the village walks over and tries striking up a conversation with me in English. He struggles with English but he was having fun. He asks me
“Are you going into Haiti?”
“Where are you from?”
“That is Haiti right over there” pointing across the valley.
He is from Haiti, he told me. He made me feel at home here in this micro village centered around the store counter I am standing at.
The two guys on motorcycle are eating a plate of sliced sausage, cheese and yucca the colmado served up. They tell me that this is as far as they go. They are surprised when I tell them I am riding further. I am not sure why. I wonder what they were really doing riding up here. The atmosphere in this isolated village is true Wild Wild West. It is for sure the most primitive village I have ever ‘hung out’ at. The buildings all looked like they are just thrown together with whatever material they could get a hold of. One small home is made of what looked like metal strips from large tin cans. One person inside the front door of a brick home with a nice tin roof motioned for me to take a photo. He states that it is a “buen casa” (good house). I agree and tell him so.
At the end of another building, there are five or six people huddling around a pile of stones with a fire in the middle. They are starting to cook something. They look as comfortable as if they are in the middle of their living room and probably are. They give me nothing but smiles. I am glad I stopped in this village, it is fun to rest, drink a coke and talk with the locals. I like feeling the pulse of the culture and the scene. I wished I had spent more time here.
Continued: ---> Page 34 <----