Danny Beer - From the city of angels to the land of fire. Danny Beer, gringo on tour

You leave Sofia in San Salvador. She wants to see a couple of things and you want to ride on. Besides, it will do you both good to spend some time apart. Traffic isn’t so bad with the notable exceptions of course.

The road is nice and gets nicer further out of town with a nice wide shoulder. Some ascents and a couple long deep descents. You get a flat. You change it easily enough but with the new rims you cannot inflate the tube. But you get by.

You leave the highway for a nice descent down to San Vicente. It is a sizable town yet only has the one restaurant. Nice.

With the most popular bar in town a mere three metres down the corridor from your room you couldn’t help but have a few beers. And after chatting to a few guys you couldn’t help but have a few more. You are invited to stay another night for a big fiesta in town. Perhaps you should but then again you really just want to ride on. TV and wifi internet also help to waste your night away.

So you wake up late. You go to the only restaurant in town and have a look around the market. Much like San Salvador many people are over eager to show you some very ugly shirts.

You climb the hill back up to the panamericana. There are some shops to buy food there but after that is nada for a very long time. Along the road people sell a myriad of different foods. You see your very first live armadillo. Maybe. And it is yours for only ten dollars, cooked and served on a platter.

Eventually you find a restaurant but after wasting too much time waiting for your meal you waste even more time arguing over your bill. Darkness comes way too soon and you spend an hour or so riding in the dark. From here it is mostly downhill though so it’s not too bad. There are nice wide shoulders but their condition is variable so you stay on the road. You need to concentrate hard on the road. But wait, headlights coming straight at you are cause for concern. But traffic isn’t that bad and it is a nice cool evening.

You come into San Miguel. Someone drives by and offers to show you to a hotel. So you are shown to a hotel. Apparently it’s not too safe in town. So you stay in for the night. Perhaps you should have stayed in San Vicent after all.

The first order of business is to find a bike shop. Unfortunately it is Sunday and they are all closed. So you press on. It’s 58 km to the Hondouros border apparently. The road is nice. The traffic is nice enough. You have a late lunch in Santa Rosa. From there it is 30 km to the border. And the border closes at five. Better get going then.

It’s not 30 km to the border. It’s ten km max. You go through the usual border formalities including half a dozen guys wanting to change your money. There’s at least one hotel on either side of the border. But there’s at least an hour of daylight left so why not use it.

Oh yeah. Welcome to Honduras.

Apparently the next hotel is 35 km away in Nacaome. You better get going then. You pass some young men standing by the road. One calls out to you in English. “Get the fuck outta here man.” Best keep going then. Apart from the one antagonistic almost everyone else is happy to see you. You get more than enough ‘hellos’ of various descriptions. A lot are actually ‘bye byes’ and ‘adios’”.

Then it gets dark. There are a lot of insects about which makes the going even more difficult. Just before town you spot a nice hotel. You pull up outside. Two men battle with a snake. “It’s not poisonous. I think.” So says one. The hotel is too expensive so you keep going. So is the next one. You head into town where two more hotels are. They are still more expensive than you would like but what are you going to do? So you take one.

You move out, having a look around town and in search of breakfast. People here call out to you but they are angry and aggressive. Hey gringo. They shout. And when you don’t respond immediately it’s like who the fuck do you think you are? No hablo Ingles. You respond. Hablas Espaniol?

“Hello amigo. Give me five dollars.” Some guy shouts at you. You keep riding. Up ahead you find something to buy. You are half way through sorting your money when the guy catches up to you, still asking for money. No. No. You say. The guy stays. Eventually he leaves, about a meter. You wait for a little while and just go, business unfinished. Perhaps the store owners told him to go away until you finished the transaction. Or maybe he just told him to go away. Either way he cost the guy business. And you still need to go elsewhere to buy the things that you need.

You leave town. Hungry. Five km up the road is the turnoff to the capital. Here you find something to eat. There are also a couple hotels here. A few short km further is San Lorenzo which almost resembles a resort town. You immediately get a strange sensation to buy fried fish and a milkshake and sit on a pier. There is even a bike path along side the road.

The thing about bike paths though is that they guilt you into using them no matter what condition or obstacles are about. The same replies for the shoulder along the road. Sometimes it is fine. Sometimes they are crap. Often cars park there. Usually buses and vans overtake just to pull up directly ahead of you to let passengers on or off. This one isn’t so bad though, except when pedestrians use it to walk on with scarce concern for the cyclist behind them.

As you have just eaten and don’t really have any interest in hanging about you move on. It’s a long hot ride to Choluteca. The town doesn’t look like much but they have a selection of restaurants and a few nice looking hotels leaving town. After lunch it is only 45 km to the border. You miss the turnoff due to lack of signage and it is another kilometer of so before you turn back.

You start to miss El Salvador. The traffic is a little nastier here. The shoulders aren’t so good. And the people are less than friendly. Children are trained to hold out there hand and say ‘dollar’ at you. You patience wears thin. Some girl says “I love you.” You say “How much?” Time to leave this country.

You get to the border. A swarm of money changers engulf you. “No gracias.” You repeat but the chance of a fresh fish is just too great. There is a hotel on the Hondouran side and you check it out. One of the money changers lingers, trying to corner the market. “Solo cambio.” He proclaims. “No solo.” You shout back.

Spending one last night in Honduras was not a good idea. The only hotel on the border is infested with insects leaving you with a rather restless night swatting cockroaches, mosquitoes, spiders, and other random insects. You leave the hotel. You make it almost one meter before being approached by a money changer. This time the exchange is about right although he doesn’t quite give you all your money. He just walks away. Well, you are still better off than yesterday.

You cross over into Nicaragua. Hello Nicaragua. Good riddance Honduras. For the next fifteen km about the road is really, really shite. So much so that you are able to overtake two semi-trucks with ease. You stop for breakfast five km in. Good thing too as you get a flat and your spare tubes cannot now be inflated with you tire inflator.