No Room: my much looked forward to afternoon relaxing, turns into a stressful time looking for accommodation

August 19, 2016

The day begins good. I'd only 43km, or thereabouts to cycle which should be achievable by lunchtime, then I could spend the afternoon relaxing. But faith had other designs on my day.

It was a pleasant morning in my wild campsite hidden down a bank from the road upon a track. Then I hear a vehicle stop up at the road, car doors open and shut, chatter and laughter, and shortly looking up, I see four young men, the youngest in his early teens. They are carrying what looks from this distance machetes, clearly off for a day cutting something for profit in the jungle. Then they see me and shout down a cheerful wowing greeting. The youngest shouts down, do I need any water.

The road continues like yesterday afternoon, a cornice ledge along a steep sided valley; a steep climb and descent into the next valley with a one street village at the very bottom, the houses dusty from passing vehicles, and the place totally miserable looking where the few residents I see sit around in hopelessness. At the end of the street I ford a river, which would perhaps be difficult in the rainy season, but now is nothing more than a four metre wide, by 10cm deep puddle in the ford.

All changes for the worse about ten kilometres on from that, when I pass what appears a road-building material quarry. No sooner have I passed the entrance than not one but two tripper-trucks have made their way out to the road and pass me in quick succession, leaving me in their wake of dust. This is followed moments later by two trucks coming the other way, returning empty to the quarry. It goes without saying, each stirring up big clouds of dust in their wake.

This is upon a short incline with a curving bend, whereupon the surface is loose, looking like a ploughed field: the truck wheels on each passing, spinning the surface up like a cultivator. It is up to 12cm deep powder with rough stones at the bottom; it's similar to trying to ride in fresh snow, made worse by the passing trucks, which force me to the side.

The passing trucks in both directions with the dust, would continue the rest of the morning, the rest of the way to Montegude.

In an eating place in Montegude, it being lunchtime the only available place is the end of a table occupied by others, from Sucre they tell me. They are two young couples with a little boy. The woman nearest asks me my name, and generally I'm not given the 20 question routine, they being more sophisticate than yesterday's interrogators. They say they're here for a festival on this weekend, Friday 19th to Sunday the 21th, celebrating the anniversary of the town's founding, or something, with all sorts of evens taking place such as folkloric music and dance, horse riding etc.

Well, from that information, I thought accommodation tonight may be hard come by, but I didn't envisage trying every hotel, hostel, or whatever type of lodgings to find them all fully booked.

First of all after lunch, I cycle around until I find the main plaza. By which time there's a familiar rim touching the road every time I ride over a traffic calming hump, or hit the edge of a fracture in the badly broken up street. The front tyre soft. Punctured. So I spend some time in the middle of the plaza finding a hole in the inner-tube, then patching it. I actually find two holes hissing out air; both on the inside; namely, the side of the tube facing the rim, so it isn't a thorn or the like; most likely, I didn't inflate the tyre hard enough and I got a pinch puncture. I also repair the spare tube punctured the other day.

I start my search for a place to stay at a tall block calling itself a hostel, across from where I did my repair. Then finding they've no space, I try a hotel the opposite side of the plaza. No space there either. I must've then tried more than a dozen other hotels along the main drag without any success, until coming to a residencia, where there is a room, but the woman wants 120Bs (£12), more than I envisage paying, so I tell her I'll keep looking, sure that there must be some cheaper alternative.

Eventually, after turning up nothing, I return to the residencia. The woman this time sees I'm desperate, at first says she hasn't any room available. When I insist there was only half an hour ago, and there must still be a free room now, she says she has, but now she has increased her price to 140Bs. However, I'm not going away. I bite the bullet and accept. I could've rode out of town and camped, but I really needed a shower after the morning's dust and the warmer, sweatier weather of late; plus, batteries need charging. As it is the price doesn't include breakfast, nor is there Wi-Fi. It's a real bum deal.

I write my name and details in a guestbook on the reception desk, sign, then she abruptly asks for the money up front.

I spend the remainder of the daylight hours showering, lying on the bed editing photos to the sound of Marriachi music coming from next door. Later the reception woman couldn't even tell me the way out of town I should take tomorrow, for route 6 further on east.

Today's ride: 43 km (27 miles)
Total: 12,315 km (7,648 miles)

Rate this entry's writing	Heart	0
Comment on this entry	Comment	0