Our adventure began as we landed in Costa Rica on November 9th.  Upon arrival, Michael was missing his luggage….big surprise.  The 2.5 hours in Miami obviously wasn’t enough time to get the luggage on the plane to Costa Rica.  So, in the mayhem of dealing with the luggage, we lost track of our driver.  This guy was supposed to take us the 2+ hours from San Jose, to Jaco where the race would start.  After a few frantic phone calls, we tracked the driver down.  The poor guy didn’t look to happy either as he had now been waiting for us for a few hours at the airport.  With catastrophe averted, we finally made it to Jaco on the Pacific Coast of Costa Rica. 

So with pristine beaches, great surf, 80 degree humid as hell days, we took to resting at the hotel.  Michael got his luggage the next day, a minor miracle for sure.  We met up with a group of Canadians who were racing, some of whom I knew from the BC bike race.  It was Monday, and the race started Wednesday.  I took to avoiding anything questionable to eat or drink.  I did have my fair share of booze, but only because I was sure it would kill any harmful organisms I may have ingested.  I went for a “warm up” ride with a big group of Canadians.  I wanted an easy spin and after turning off the main highway, we started climbing like crazy…..seemed like a precursor for what was to come.  To make me more paranoid about eating and drinking, I found that 2 of these guys had already succumbed to a stomach bug, and they weren’t sure if they would be able to start the race.  I immediately went back to the hotel and had 4 shots of vodka (just kidding).

It was now Tuesday, I was feeling great.  I went for another short bike ride, and we went over to the race hotel to register and pick up our race bag. 

We had to put all of our belongings in this bag for the 4 days of racing and give the rest of our stuff to the race staff.  Anything that didn’t fit in the bag would meet us back in San Jose after the race was finished.  This is when my day began to unravel; 3 hours later, after 4 temper tantrums, after packing and repacking , after stomping on my bag to try to squeeze more in, after bribing Michael to stuff some of my crap in his bag (why was his bag so much bigger??), I was mildly convinced I had what I needed….maybe…..     To make matters worse, I began to do the math regarding what time I would have to wake up the next day to eat and get to the race start on time.   The race started at 5am!!!!!!!!!!  That meant we had to set the alarm for 2:30AM!!!!!!!!!  Not good!  I was contemplating not sleeping at all, but decided that wouldn’t be very smart.  So after our racer meeting that evening and our “last supper”, we settled in for a short and fitful slumber.

DAY 1- Jaco to Quinta del  Sol                                                                                                          

 74 miles/120kilometers. Total Ascent: 17,000ft /5220m.    

32% pavement; 30% mud; 38% gravel……….. 110% HELL!!!

In the pre dawn light, approximately 400 racers lined up in eager anticipation.  I had half heartedly stuffed down pancakes and coffee.  My camelbak was filled with 1.5 liters of water, tubes, tools, passport, phone, credit card, duct tape (duh…) food, and who knows what else.  The damn thing weighed 10 lbs, but I was scared to death of being trapped in the jungle with out supplies.  Michael had talked to the race director and before I knew it, I was lining up in the front.  When the gun went off, a peloton of squirrely mountain bikers when careening down the dark potholed streets.  We had an ATV leading us out of town.  Luckily there wasn’t much traffic.  I had marked another woman who was in front of me, and followed her through the paved streets, up the first relentless climb, and into the mud laden jungle

She was going to be a formidable opponent, and it seemed (though against the rules) that she had a support vehicle (turns out that many people did) following her along with another racer riding with her.  I was envious that she did not need to carry anything extra.   My first mistake may have been doing this race “unsupported.” 

As we hit the jungle, the red clay mud got really annoying.  It would gook up tires, and stop the bike in its tracks.  In addition, we were navigating jungle paths that went straight up and straight down, with body swallowing ruts running through.  As soon as you thought you had made it out, another steep and barely hikable hill would appear.  The tico (short for Costa Rican) woman was now behind me, and I was riding in first place, I kept plowing through, determined to make it out of the jungle. 

About 3 hours into the race, we emerged from the jungle.  Back on gravel and paved roads, support vehicles began appearing.  Ticos were set up on the side of the road to spray bikers’ chains with motor oil. It was crazy.  I was grateful, as I think that motor oil was the only thing that kept my chain from rusting off my bike.  I got sprayed down with water at one of the aid stations, and lost the Tico lady, as she did not have to stop to refill and refuel at the feed zone….bummer! 

I lost my mojo at the aid station after getting sprayed with a hose by some guy on the side of the road.   I had to de-mud my glasses, get my shit in order, and get on my way.  I navigated a few more waist deep rivers and was feeling sorry for myself on some rolling steep gravel roads.  I felt like I was getting no where fast, when my new best friend showed up from behind.  His name was Mario and he was from Argentina.  He gave me some food, and kept pressing me to ride fast as I was doing well.  At one point he began sputtering Spanish to some villagers on the side of the road.  Before I knew it, one of the villagers ran up to us and gave Mario a bottle of coke that was 3/4 full.  My first thought was, “GROSS! Some stranger has already drunk out of this bottle.  My second thought as Mario was sucking down the coke was, “I REALLY hope he offers me some of that!”.  Low and behold after taking a swig, Mario turned to me and asked if I wanted some.  All I could muster was a big smile and a head shake in the affirmative.  That was the best damn coke I have EVER had!

Mario finally went off ahead, and I caught up with a few other people.  As we took a right hand turn one of the guys said, “This is the start of our 10k climb.”  Ok, I could handle that.  I was eating and drinking and feeling ok.  I must have been about 5 hours into the day at this point, but I was feeling optimistic.  So up and up and up I went.  This climb had to have been longer than 10k/7 miles.  I passed horses and cows on the side of the road.  Even more unnerving was the Tico on the side of the road walking with rubber galoshes and a 4 foot long machete.  I kept looking at the horizon and was thinking I must be near the top, but NO.  On and on and on I climbed.  I was gobbling up people who could no longer even pedal.  I kept passing tiny stores on the side of the road called “sodas”.  They had shiny signs for coke and food.  I wanted to pull over so bad.  At one point, I was hoping to be hit by oncoming traffic; maybe not killed, but just maimed so I could stop. 

I finally made it to the last aid station of the day.  I wanted some salted potatoes SO BAD.  I pulled up yelling “potatoes!?!?”  I caught the poor volunteers off guard.  They started scrambling for potatoes that weren’t done cooking yet.  They put a bunch out and yelled that they were hot.  “Whatever,” I thought as I jammed them in the leg of my shorts.  Then, I frantically pulled them out as they burned my thigh.  I then squished them into my jersey pocket, where they fried my back.  I didn’t even care at that point.  Off I went, still climbing up and over the highest point of the day.

As I reached the summit, I was TOTALLY worked.  I was approaching 7 hours on the bike and was looking forward to a down hill.  Be careful what you wish for!  I veered off left, and the trail went straight down.  My arms were killing me, my shoulders dead tired, and my hands so cramped up I could barely pull the brake levers.  Fighting for control, I struggled down to the bottom of the climb that I worked so hard to conquer. 

Back down on the flats, I kept chugging along.  I was feeling terribly bad for myself, when I caught up with a racer with 1 leg and a prosthetic leg that was clipped into the other pedal of his bike.  Dammit!  This guy had a below the knee amputation and a prosthetic limb, and there he was, riding like a rock star!  I followed him for a bit which was great because he had some support cars with him.  They gave me a bag of fluid which I couldn’t bring myself to drink.  “I don’t know what the hell this is,” I was thinking to myself.  “I must be almost finished, I am not drinking this mystery fluid.”  I threw the bag off to the side and kept going.

A few miles later as the road turned up again, the one legged dynamo looked over at me and said, “Take it slow, this is a long climb.”  “LONG CLIMB!!!  WTF……I thought we were almost done.”  We weren’t done, and climb we did.  The stage was supposed to be 110k today, but it wasn’t.  It was LONGER.  To make matters worse, I was now by myself and thought I was lost.  I slowed down as a German guy pedaling triangles caught up and insisted we were going the right way.  Mildly convinced, I sped up and left him in the dust.  Eight hours into the day, I hit another brutal climb, short but steep.  As I crested the top of this steep pitch and turned the corner, I could see town.  “Hallelujah, I must be done now!”  No, not done.  I saw a sign that said 3 k (wrong!), as I almost got run off the road by a bus.  Head down, I kept going (5k- thank you very much) and was escorted the rest of the way through town by a guy on a motorcycle.   I was directed right into a park and finally crossed under the big blue finishing banners.

I finished this brutal day in just over 8 1/2 hours.  I was beginning to understand that my 3 hour training days were NOT going to cut the mustard.    I was the 73 person in for the day.  That meant there were well over 300 poor souls still out there.  I now understood why we started at 5am.  At 5:30 PM, there were still over 50 people still on course.  Many of them were unable to finish that stage.  They were cut off at 12 1/2 hours ON THE BIKE!!  due to lack of light!

Day 1 was the hardest day that I have EVER experienced on a bike.  I was so discombobulated that it took me another hour to drag my stuff to the shower and try to get all the mud off of me.  Then it was time to eat and take the shuttle back to the hotel for the evening.  I was hoping Michael was able to finish, and he did!  What a trooper.  He arrived in at 10 and 3/4 hours. 

Back at the hotel, we ate dinner with the Canadians.  One ended up in the hospital really sick from low sodium levels.  We rehashed our story, and I was explaining how I was hoping to get hit by oncoming traffic 2/3 through the day.  Four of the guys looked up and started laughing.  They had just said the same thing!  A bunch of these guys had done the race before (I found it unbelievable that you would subject yourself to this twice).  They assured us that after day 1, things got easier, but warned that the climbing on day 2 was even steeper.  “It can’t be that bad,” I  thought.                                                                                                                                                         

DAY 2- Quinta del Sol to Terramall 

47 miles/76 kilometers.  Total Ascent 13,200ft/4024m.    

50% pavement; 25% mud; 25% gravel……….. 105% HELL!!!

Since day 1 of La Ruta was the HARDEST day I have ever spent on a bike, day 2 was a close second.  I woke up to a blaring alarm and a very sore body.  Those 8.5 hours the first day had taken its toll.  I stumbled around and got all of my stuff in order at 5am.  At breakfast, I was greeted by many tired looking bike racers, but I was sure that I was more tired than anyone else there.  I was definitely one of the more cranky people at breakfast.   I gulped down some coffee and some beans and rice and some toast.  One of the most difficult things for me during stage racing was waking up and shoveling food down, but you have to, or else you will pay dearly later.

I couldn’t find my husband, so I opted to drag my bag over to the shuttle and get to the race start.  I would find him at some point.  Maybe he had thought better of things and slept in; if so, I was really jealous.  When I got to the race start, I found that the mechanics had not changed my rear tire as they were instructed to.  Not a huge deal, but this meant I still had a skinny mud tire on my bike, which was not very good for descending.  I found the mechanics and my voice was becoming a bit raised and frantic as I pointed to my rear tire.  The race started in 3o minutes, and I was not thrilled with them starting the change so close to the start.   I opted to leave the tire that I had on the bike, hoping I would not regret the decision.

I lined up and was able to start in the elite front box due to my finish the first day.  At 7am sharp, the gun went off and the peloton started frantically down the streets.  When I say frantically, this was an understatement.  The roads were not closed to traffic, and at one point the pack was separated by a garbage truck.  This sent racers careening through on the wrong side of the road and up sidewalks and over curbs.  I all but closed my eyes and followed the people in front of me weaving through traffic, lights, curbs, etc.  Finally we took a right hand turn off the main drag…..and guess what….oh yah….we started climbing and climbing and climbing. 

We were snaking up the mountains right outside of town, and the roads were steep.  To make matters worse, my legs were not feeling too spry.  They were more like peanut butter.  I was thinking I went way too hard day 1, and now I was going to pay for it.  About 30 min into the climb, I was passed by woman #2, so now I was sitting in 3rd, just hoping I could do damage control.  The mountain was getting crazy steep at this point.  There were Ticos on the sides of the road with ATVs and motorcycles, and bikes and cars….they were all cheering like crazy.  I was struggling, and when the terrain got even steeper I had to get off and push the bike up the globbed concrete.  

The roads got so steep at points that it looked the like people took handfuls of concrete and threw them at the side of the mountain.  These globs of concrete (it had to be textured or else no vehicle could ever get up or down….though I am still not sure how and if vehicles got up or down….the whole thing looked entirely terrifying to me….) formed an odd looking path up the side of these cliffs.  The grades must have approached 30% at points, and all I could do was look down at my feet and push the bike along with everyone else.   What was worse was that after each one of these demoralizing pitches, the road would level off for just a bit, maybe 50 yards, enough for you to think that maybe, just maybe, you had reached the top….but NO, another pitch from hell would emerge, so steep that you were not even sure you could walk it.  This went on for miles, maybe 5-10, who knows, seemed like 100s; crazy cheering Ticos, crazy steep pitches, demoralized racers.  At one point I was told an ATV was coming down one of these pitches and actually flipped over front wards the road was so steep!!!

At some point this horror ended and the road flattened.  As the pace quickened a bit I rode by villages and past tiny schools where school children were set free to watch the show.  These kids were cheering wildly at the sides of the roads with their hands out waiting to be slapped by their heroes riding by.  They were singing crazy chants and cheers in Spanish.  I really wish I could have understood them.  What I did understand was how much it meant to them that we were racing through their villages, and how excited they were to see us.  This was so motivating and amazing.  I couldn’t help letting out a huge smile as I went by. 

At some point we hit some steep dirt descents with more huge bike/person swallowing ruts.  I almost got run over by a motorcycle at one point….one of too many near misses.  My brake pads stunk as I gripped my bars and brakes and prayed that I would stay on the bike and on course.  I skidded out on some gravel and landed funny on my knee a few hours into the day.  Not a bad crash, but unfortunately I landed in such a way that my saddle popped off the rail on one side.  “Super,” I thought, “I hope this thing holds up for the rest of the day.”  Hold up it did, but it made a wretched squeaking noise for the next 4 hours as it precariously slid around on top off the seat post. 

At some point in the day, we hit pavement and must have climbed for 2 more hours (no, I am not exaggerating).  At one point, I turned to my new Canadian friend Erik and asked, “How can we still be climbing???  I don’t even see where we can be going??  There is nothing on the horizon higher than we are??”  Erik just looked at me and smiled.  He had done this race before (what a crazy mother f*^ker).  “We still have a ways to go.  When you get to a gravel pit, you are almost there”, he said, as he pointed to a ridge off somewhere in the distance. 

At this point, I was really hot and needed a Coke.  I had learned a lot from my friend Mario the previous day and started yelling “COKE” to anyone around.  Low and behold I got a bag of fluid from a support car driving down the road.  Today, I did not think about what was in the bag.  I bit into that bag of liquid gold with a new found vigor.  The fluid that came out was like manna sent from heaven…………I felt like I should be in a Coke commercial…. 

Up and up towards the heavens I went.   As I turned a corner through a tiny village, I heard a familiar sound; a sound like no other…..JOVI!!!!!   Oh hell yah, Bon Jovi’s ‘Livin on a Prayer’ was blaring out of some hut on the side of the road.  How bizarre, how surreal; I began to laugh out loud!  More potatoes, more bags of fluid, more bananas, more upward miles….was this ever going to end?  Some saint of a woman handed me a bag of ice out of a car window…..as I stuffed that down my bra, I couldn’t have been happier.

The miles slowly but surely ticked off.  At last I saw the gravel pit.  A Tico fan took hold of my saddle and pushed me 20-30 yards up the incline…..I clicked up a few gears….Now I was moving.  Then as he let go, it was as if an anchor had been dropped, and I was back to my own leg power or lack there of.  After the gravel pit, there were a few steep pitches up and a few down.  I almost lost my life to a street paver, as I careened down one of these pitches….another near miss….that could have put a quick stop to my misery. 

A quick left hand turn onto the dirt and the evil descending started.  Down we went.  Straight down.  God, what I would have done for some smooth silky single track descending, but NO!!!  All that lay ahead was steep, rocky, rutted downhill.  

Now I was super pissed that those mechanics had neglected to change my tire.  My arms were on fire, triceps killing me, shoulders yelling out in horror.  Back onto pavement we went; I got behind another racer who guy pulled me around for a bit.  “Oh God, NOT another climb….,” I yelled out as I saw a 5k sign on the road.   What were the chances there was only 5k left….. As 5k turned to 10k I knew I was close.  I rode into a village, up and around another steep pitch and was directed under a highway underpass, when I finally I saw them; those beautiful blue Crystal finish balloons. 

I crossed the finish line in just under 6 hours for the day.  I was the 3rd female finisher and still held 2nd place overall in the GC.  No rest for the weary, as it was now time to figure out if the mechanics could fix my saddle….I was a bit stressed about having to put a new one on that I wasn’t used to.  After finding my mechanic friend who spoke English, I watched as 3 of these guys struggled with this saddle taking screwdrivers, wrenches, and crow bars to it.  As I looked on with horror the damn thing finally popped onto its fragile titanium rail.  It was plenty crooked by this point, and after more crow barring, the guys were mildly convinced that it was even.  I tried to get it back on the seat post the way it was, and by this point was too tired to care.    After a shower, and some food, it was back into the shuttle to the race hotel.  Day 2 was finished!!!! 

DAY 3- Terramall to Turrialba

42 miles/67 kilometers.  Total Ascent 8,700ft/2654m.    

30% pavement; 11% mud; 59% gravel……….. 100% the way you DON‘T want to spend your birthday!!!

Although it seemed impossible the day before (I was feeling so bad), I woke up this morning feeling worse than ever and sort of sorry for myself…I know, lame.  Today was my birthday, and I ached so bad, and to make matters worse, this pain was self inflicted.  I had no one to blame but myself….this was MY idea…. This morning, Nov 14, 2008….my 33 birthday…. here I was in San Jose, Costa Rica, feeling at least 125 years old and sorry for myself at 4:45 AM, with eyes so puffy I could hardly see out of them, and kankles so big, I couldn’t imagine they really belonged to me.

So, I did what any racer with too much pride to quit would do.  I shuffled around, got my stuff in order, put my bike shorts on, and went to breakfast.  My husband was so haggard and in such a bad way, he had no idea what month it was, never mind that it was my birthday….this made me a bit sadder, but I couldn’t really blame him.  I sat down with my new found Canadian friends and gulped down breakfast…more  Fu*^king beans and rice.   I HATED beans and rice, well at least by now I did.   I mumbled 1/2 way through breakfast that it was my birthday.  My new friends looked up through swollen puffy bloodshot eyes and wished me a happy birthday.  My husband stared in haggard horror, and said, “I’m really sorry….Happy Birthday….”

So it began, I suffered more today on the bike than any other day of the race.  I just felt terrible, and things didn’t start very well when I got to the race start and retrieved my bike.  My bike mechanic friend and his pals had FAILED to change my rear tire for the 2nd day in a row.  Now I was in pure freak out mode.  We had to descend down a fricking volcano today, and these guys couldn’t get my tire changed.   I looked around and found the mechanic I had been talking to the few days prior.  He gave me a sheepish look, as I frantically began pointing to my rear tire.  “OK, OK,” he said arms flailing… Things got worse when he wasn’t able to find the tire and sealant that I had given him.  He called over no less than 4 mechanics who started sputtering in Spanish, wide eyed, as they looked over and saw me completely melting down.  These men definitely knew what to do with a melting down crazy eyed female……they found that tire and sealant, and in 5 minutes flat had my new tire on the bike and big smiles on their faces.  “Thank you so much,” I said with a brand new smile of my own.

With a new tire and not so new feeling legs, the gun sounded, and I was off.  We wound our way through town and up the first 15k climb.  About 8k in, we hit sections of slippery concrete tracks the width of a car footprint and grades up to 20%.  I churned away and was racing in 3^rd, as we hit the last section of steep muddy rutted trail.  There were Ticos lining both sides cheering.  I turned right at the pavement and pedaled the flats heading up to the 20k climb up the Irazu Volcano.  This would be the high point of the race, topping out at 10,000ft above sea level. 

As I stopped at the 2nd feed zone, I was bummed out when a woman and her partner passed by me.  They did not have to stop as they had a car following them for support.  Angry, I got back on my way after stuffing the legs of my shorts with potatoes and bananas.  I took to churning up the pavement.  I worked to catch the woman and the guy with her and went by them.  I was eating and drinking as much as I could, but just felt like I had no power.  To make matters worse, I was all by myself and the wind was whipping.  I really could have used someone to hide behind.  About 2k from the top (pseudo top), the woman and her partner chugged by.  I was pissed.  A friend of mine chugged by a few minutes after motioning for me to get on his wheel, but I couldn’t.  I was relegated to no man’s land. 

After about 2 hours of straight climbing, I reached the high point.  We were so high, that as you looked out across the horizon, there were clouds below you.  It was absolutely beautiful.  There were tons of people cheering, but I was in no mood.  I wanted to be done, and I was looking for my ride down this Volcano from Hell.  After a short descent, I started climbing again.  Then began the slow traverse across the top of the volcano…about 10k worth.  I had really misjudged this stage, as I thought it was up and then down.  I was not prepared for an hour long grind across the top. 

This was definitely the low point of the race for me.  I was fighting to go forward, up at 10,000 feet, feeling dizzy and weak and awful.  To make matters worse, the trail was supper rough and rocky.  It was also cold up there; maybe 50 degrees from the 80+ degrees it was at the bottom.  I figured I should stop and put my jacket on, but I couldn’t even bring myself to stop and do it.  I had to be going down soon.  I knew that once I dropped in elevation, it would get warmer pretty quick.

It was a fight to keep moving forward and I thought it would never end.  At one point, a guy went by asking if I was ok.  “I think I am going to die up here,” I mumbled.  I vividly remember saying this, and I wasn’t joking.  To die on top of a volcano in Costa Rica, with my bike by my side, on my birthday, would definitely have been an interesting way to go, and I was SURE it would happen.  The guy slowed down and looked at me oddly.  “What? Are you ok,” he said.  “Yah, yah, I’m fine,” I mumbled.  I did not want to slow the guy down.

After what felt like days, I got to the 4th feed zone.  Of course I grabbed more potatoes and some drink mix and was on my way.  I thought I was home free for a good 20k of straight descending, but I was sure in for a shock.  As the terrain started to point down, the rocks got really big, and the dirt was loose.  What I did not know was that I was now in for a good 1.5 hours of descending on super lose and rough rocks and gravel, almost like a dry river bed.  On top of that was the not so occasional horse, heard of cows, Tico, turkey, etc, etc.  Turning a corner and coming face to face with  few wild horses, at 20-30 miles per hour sure does get the blood flowing.  

My upper body was trashed.  My forearms ached and my brakes smelled horrific.  I had to stop a few times just to rest my hands and arms on the way down.  The last thing I wanted to happen was to face plant at 30 mph and do myself in.  After about an hour of descending, I was flying through coffee fields; zig zagging through one of the biggest coffee plantations in Costa Rica.  There were coffee plants everywhere.  I managed a smile, as I thought about how cool this was.  After about 5:30 on the bike, I crossed under the blue balloons for the stage finish.  It wasn’t a great day for me.  I think I ended up in 5th place for the day, but I had gotten through it.  I hadn’t died on top of the Irazu Volcano. 

Michael descending the volcano:

At the finish line there were kids everywhere.  They were cheering and yelling for the finishers.  They wanted autographs.  I couldn’t help myself as I went over and took the pens out of their hands and signed shirts, and pants, and arms, and papers…..”Ok,” I thought, “Maybe this isn’t such a terrible way to spend my 33rd birthday ;-)”

So, I had slipped into 3rd place in the standings overall.  I was a bit bummed out, but I was going as fast as my body would take me.  After food and a massage, I boarded the bus to Rio Perlas.  We were told this was the furthest place to stay from the start of the race (45 Costa Rican minutes away), but it was also the nicest.  The bus finally left, and after an hour we were still winding our way through the country side.  After 1:15 and in the middle of no where, we pulled into an oasis called Hotel Rio Perlas. 

This place was nuts (http://www.rioperlasspaandresort.com).  It was an amazing spa and resort.  About 100 racers ended up here, and we were all in awe.  We checked into our chalet and then on the way to find dinner, stumbled upon heated pools.  My body ached so bad, I opted to just go into the big heated pool in my underwear.  I couldn’t have cared less at that point.  I swished around, so happy and content.  Michael decided that this place was my birthday present….LOL.  As we made our way to dinner past a flowing river and coconut trees, we were trying to decide how we could just stay here for a few nights and forget about the race.  The funny thing was, we had NO idea where we were!  How many times in your life can you really say that??  Honestly, we knew we were in Costa Rica, but beyond that, no idea!  That is a pretty cool feeling to have.

At dinner we ran into a bunch of other racers who were plotting their escape from the race in order to stay at this place too.  Dinner was AMAZING!  All was well until I started to figure out what time we would have to get up in order to eat and get to the race for a 7am start.  With full bellies, and weary bodies, we set our alarm for 3:30 AM.  1 day left…..

DAY 4- Turrialba to Bonita Beach  (Limon)  

78 miles/125 kilometers.  Total Ascent 5,650ft/1720m. 

15% pavement; 65% gravel/dirt; 20% rail bed…..150% terrifying!!

I bet you know how happy I was to wake up at 3:30am today.  It was Friday, November 15th…. the last day of this fiasco.  This was a long day, almost 80 miles of mountain biking.  The first 50k were uphill, and the remaining 75k were descending and then fairly flat with traverses across the fabled rail road trestles and rail bed.   Part of the course description for this day is as follows, “besides the kilometers of  riding that have already made muscles deep-down weary, there is one final obstacle to be faced: the train tracks.  Two long sections with rail and ties intact- force riders to choose between a bone jarring ride or squeezing along single file next to the track where possible.  Add to that the long trestle bridges some over 20 meters over fast flowing rivers that have to be navigated, and this is definitely not a ‘cruise beside the beach’!”